#I still have vague memories of doing it haha

[sysig]

Stick figure skeletons (Patreon)

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

something something nasty little parallels I don't really like

[antimonyandthyme]

body swap, for carcar or even landoscarcar?

He wakes up, disoriented. It’s not even light out yet, why the fuck is he awake? His throat’s a little sore, his hips are a little sore. Jeez. Didn’t even bother to put some pants on last night, and did he chafe his ass on like, the sheets or something? Wow. He’s sore all over. A settled, pleasant kind though, a muscle ache too deep for him to reach. Maybe he can skip the gym today, hop on a stream, relax. Grab Carlos for a round of golf before he leaves, if he’s not too busy mapping Monaco on his bike.

He turns to his left. Claps a hand over his mouth, shrieks into it.

Like, he’s groggy. He doesn’t have the remnants of a disaster headache, so he’s not hungover. But it’s early, and he never wakes up early. Must be why he’s hallucinating.

When he can bring himself to look again, Carlos is still there. Close enough that Lando can hear the air whistling softly through his teeth.

Lando shifts uselessly, stares. That’s Carlos, alright. He’s always been a loud sleeper. Back in their McLaren days, when they’d shared hotel rooms, Lando had taken voice recordings to prove to an adamant Carlos that he snored. The memory makes his lips twitch. It’s nice Carlos looks well-rested. Better than he has in awhile. A pretty trophy will do that for you. If he wants, Lando can choose to waste precious time counting Carlos’s lashes while he figures out what to do. He’ll lose count at probably a hundred.

That’s Carlos, alright.

What were they doing last night? Surely Lando would remember. The party was loud, raucous, the Prince of Monaco victorious here at last. All podium finishers present, fourth place included. Drinking, laughing, cozying up to one another. Carlos and Oscar smiling tentatively at each other after sharing just one couch, animosity seemingly forgotten. The prickly itch crawling under Lando’s skin, until Charles finally manages to bag him a set. The music, beats pounding a tattoo into his brain. He remembers all of that.

Surely he would remember taking Carlos’s clothes off. He’s wanted to for—

Lando slaps both hands onto his cheeks, hard enough to sting. He needs to take a leak.

He squeaks out of the bed, as quietly as he can. Trips over a pair of jeans that look vaguely familiar, rams his toe into the wheel of a suitcase that definitely wasn’t there last night. Finds the bathroom, closes the door with a silent snick.

Fumbles around like a dunce for the light switch, right there where all light switches usually are.

Flicks it on. Shrieks for real this time, without his hands to cover the noise.

It’s a good thing Carlos has always slept like the dead. To be absolutely fucking certain, Lando peeks his head out.

Yep, still asleep. That’s Carlos, alright.

Deep, deep breaths. As deep as he can go without passing out. He returns to the mirror. Feels for his face like it’s a foreign object.

Which it is. Because that’s Oscar Piastri, looking right back at him.

--

He means to start off with something useful. Something like, Hey, do you remember what drugs we were on last night? E? Salvia? Because mate, these are the strangest withdrawal symptoms I’ve ever experienced. Or even something funny, like Haha, now I know what you look like naked. The fans are going to have a field day.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Why are you sleeping with Carlos?”

“Good morning to you too,” Oscar says, after the longest pause on planet fucking earth.

He didn’t mean for that to sound as sulky as he did. But he’s sore all over, and his lips, which are not his, but Oscar’s, feel extremely kissed, and he definitely does not expect that to make something in his chest twist tighter than a coiled spring.

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

“What did we drink last night?” Oscar says, unsurprisingly choosing to be the level-headed one in this conversation.

“Something bright green, something ocean blue. Dunno. Lost track during the set.”

“Lando,” Oscar says patiently, in Lando’s voice. Which is just all kinds of weird. “Something green, something blue, doesn’t sound all that normal.”

“I knew that DJ couldn’t be trusted.”

The world-weary sigh Lando receives makes his skin prickle with heat. Things have been happening. The car’s gotten faster. From his grandmother to the mechanics, everyone’s been talking about a chance he could pull like magic out of thin air. It’s not his fault he wasn’t paying attention. At the club, or to every encounter Carlos and Oscar had prior to this that has led them here.

“Look, I’m gonna—where are you?”

“In Carlos’s room,” Lando says, rudely, unhelpfully.

“Right. I’ll. I’ll be there in. We’re staying just, two blocks away, right? I’ll be there in ten. Could you. Could you please, just—”

Lando expects him to say something totally condescending. Please just don’t freak out. Please just don’t do anything until I get there, because I’m being responsible and you’re being a baby.

“Just, go back?”

“What?”

“Be next to him, when he wakes up?”

Lando swallows. The acid from yesterday must be making his stomach churn. Oscar—in Lando’s fucking voice, sounds smaller and more hopeful than Lando ever wants to hear himself sound.

“I don’t want him to think.” Oscar stops. Lando can practically see him scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t want him to think I left, or anything like that. Could you—”

Lando hangs up.

The earnestness. The, the audacity.

The phone rings again, and Lando hangs up again, out of pure spite. He paces wildly, in front of the mirror. Each time he turns on his heel he imagines his body morphing back into what’s right. Each turn smacks him with the image that Oscar’s pale, freckled skin turns splotchy red when he’s angry.

What. A useful thing. To know.

It’s been half an hour since he’s woken up. Which means, oh fuck. Fuck. Carlos’s body clock has always been impeccable. Eight, on the dot, he springs out of bed like it’s a wonderful thing being alive at that hour, and then goes and makes coffee without fail. Which means in three, two minutes, Carlos will open his eyes. And, and he’ll be alone in bed.

He’ll be alone. That’ll make Lando feel better, right? Carlos will be alone, and then Oscar will no longer be a problem, and then the itch under his skin will disappear, for good.

Carlos will be alone.

He flicks off the light, slips out of the bathroom. Bangs his toe again on that damned suitcase. Slides under the covers, adjusts himself into a position he hopes might be believable. Head on one hand, face tilted toward Carlos. Body leaning, reaching. Always reaching. Eyes half-closed.

But open enough so that he can see the exact moment Carlos wakes. See that small, relieved smile. See the way Carlos clicks his jaw askew, the way he always does before making a decision. Then feel Carlos run the backs of his knuckles against a face he wishes were familiar.

[guiltyasdave]

sun is going down

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?

a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.

Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?

The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.

You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.

“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”

It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.

Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.

You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.

Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.

The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.

You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.

Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.

Please don’t let it be a trap.

They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.

The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.

You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.

“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”

The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.

“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”

The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.

“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.

“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”

You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.

You take another steadying breath. You can do this.

“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”

Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.

“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”

You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”

She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.

“It’s just you down there?”

You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.

The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.

Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.

You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”

The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.

In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.

You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.

You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.

“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.

“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”

“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.

“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”

But he shakes his head, humming again.

“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.

You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.

“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.

“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”

“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.

“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.

“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.

You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.

“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”

You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”

“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”

“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.

She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.

“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.

“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”

You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.

You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.

Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.

You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.

Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.

Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.

Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.

You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.

“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”

She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”

You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?

You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.

When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.

It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[kykyonthemoon]

Where Time Whispers

At the Time Post Office, where letters always reach their recipients, Xavier had written letters to you and let them fade with time. However, your response led him to a future together.

── .✦ Xavier x Female Reader|MC

♡︎. Tags: birthday fic, fluff, soft, warm, handwritten letters

♡︎. Word count: ~2k

♡︎. Inspired by Xavier's birthday event - Timeless Days. Happy Birthday to our little star, Xavier!

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

You arrived at Moonfall Bay one morning. The sunshine bathed each roof and every window in a beautiful, golden glow. You strolled alone through the little streets that had formed over time. You pondered why you had missed out on such a beautiful location close to Linkon before. 

After receiving a letter at your residence a few days ago, you arrived here. Curious, you looked up the address of the sender and took advantage of a rare day off to explore this place. You wanted to see the scenery that Xavier had once seen, to find the place where he had sent you a letter in the past. There were innumerable queries for which you believed a certain post office would have the answers you were looking for.

Thanks to the help of the people in town, you found the Time Post Office. It was an old building with a wooden sign placed outside. This place had closed many years ago and only recently reopened. For that, you felt fortunate.

“Welcome!” An employee emerged to greet you. He appeared to be roughly your age, if not younger. He was different from your imagination about an old postman working here, as old as this place.

“Ah… Hello.”

“Do you want to send a letter?”

You gave a modest nod, "In fact, there are a few more questions I would like to ask."

The staff shifted behind the counter. You took out from your bag the letter you had just received a few days before.

“I… want to know about this letter…”

The staff picked it up, examined it carefully and said:

"Yes. It was sent from our post. Regarding the date on the letter, it is true that it was shortly before the post closed in the past."

You looked at the letter. The date above was on the sixteenth of October, fourteen years ago. Xavier had sent you a letter fourteen years ago? Did he even know your address in advance? This was unbelievable! 

“Are you sure this letter was sent fourteen years ago?” You asked again.

The staff confirmed with a nod. “According to the seal and date, it is. This letter also made an impression on me, since it's the first letter we've sent after fourteen years.”

For a little while, you were unsure how to respond. When you regained your composure, you asked: "So... do you remember anything about the person who came here to send this letter?"

The staff frowned. “This has been so long. I only vaguely remember that one beautiful sunny day fourteen years ago, our very last customer arrived at the post office.”

And the staff began to tell his story.

On a warm autumn afternoon, that customer came to the post office.

His hair was the color of starlight, and he greeted the then postmaster as much courtesy as if he had known him for a long time.  The postmaster informed his young nephew, who was assisting him, that this was a frequent customer who visited to send a letter every year. While the boy was making tea, he heard his grandpa talking to the customer:

“This place is about to close. Do you still want to send the letter?”

That person nodded.

“How many years has it been?” The old postman continued. “Even in a place that preserves memories like this, things are constantly changing. It's a pity that I can no longer keep my family's old profession."

They were silent for a while. Then, the customer slowly turned his head towards the boy preparing tea in the corner of the room and said:

“Maybe there is still hope.”

“That kid? Haha! I have high hopes for him. In the future, perhaps he will know what to do with this post office. As for now… Maybe I won't be able to hold on much longer…”

The child paid close attention to what they were saying. Though it was the first time he saw him, his grandfather had told him stories of a specific client who would occasionally show up at the Time Post Office. How odd! Grandpa said the client had been visiting the post from the very first year it was opened, which was two centuries ago! Was the old man mistaken?

“Have you found the person you were looking for?” The old postman asked once the customer had completed penning his letter.

“I've found her,” the customer responded.

“So there will be an address on your letter this time, right?”

“No need. This letter, like the others I've sent here, is meant for something that's fading away.”

“Who knows, maybe in the future, your letter may find its recipient? At that time, I hope you two can be together.”

After the customer had departed, the postmaster handed the boy the key number 214 and instructed him to put it away. 

“Mailbox 214 always belongs to that customer. Keep that in mind, kid!” 

“But, grandpa… We are about to close this place. How can we send this letter then?"

The postman patted his head and replied:

“Have I not told you that every letter submitted to the Time Post Office finds its way to its intended recipient? This letter and all letters from that customer will eventually find their way to the right person. Think of it as the magic of this post!"

The boy fiddled with the key in his hand and kept thinking about what his grandpa had said that day.

“After the post office closed and my grandfather passed away, I assumed that what he stated about letters always reaching their intended recipients must no longer be true. I saved up for many years and finally was able to reopen this post office. After all, this is all my grandfather left for me. What a coincidence that the last letter of that year has now reached you. It's interesting; I recall the customer that year didn't write the address on the letter. But when the post office reopened and I reorganized things here, I accidently discovered it in the mailbox with your address clearly visible on the envelope."

When the staff finished his story, you remained silent. Previously, you were dubious of Xavier's identity, believing that he came from a different timeline than the one you were familiar with. This was merely another piece of evidence to back up your speculations. Of course, he would not tell you everything so casually. Despite this, you wished to learn much more about him during your brief time on Earth.

You began composing a letter to Xavier. You wanted to respond to him in the past.

After a while, you stopped writing. Most of the content of his old letter had faded, yet you could still envision Xavier from fourteen years ago, sitting here in the afternoon sun, crafting every word for you. You grinned and folded the letter before placing it in the envelope. You notified the staff, now the postmaster, that you intended to pick it up on the sixteenth of October, which was also Xavier's birthday.

The staff gave you the number 214 key as you had asked to put the letter in the same box as Xavier's from fourteen years ago. You walked along the empty hallway, where wooden mailboxes were stacked from the ground to the ceiling. Your feet stopped in front of the box you were looking for. To your surprise, the box was not as empty as you thought.

Many old, fading letters poured out from the box bearing number 214. They circled like birds soaring towards the ceiling, their paper wings fluttering in the wind, then they dropped down next to you. Floating around.

“Don't come close! It could be dangerous!” You informed the staff. 

He scratched his head. “What's going on? The other day I opened it, there was only one letter inside..."

You checked your Hunter watch. There were signs of a protocore fragment, but not alarmingly so. You told the staff that you would handle this. He nodded and walked out.

When you were alone, you reached for the letter floating nearest to you. There was no name or address on the envelope. You opened it. The paper was yellow and the ink was smudged. Nonetheless, you could distinguish the handwriting from the few brief lines that remained readable. These were Xavier's words.

To my dearest,

This is my very first spring on this planet.

This world is completely different from where we used to live. But perhaps you would like it as much as I do. 

…

I have found the Time Post Office, where letters will always reach their recipients. I do not completely believe that, especially when the person I want to send the letter to probably does not exist in this world yet...

However, when you appear, I hope that I will have the opportunity to be with you again, in this timeline...

The letter gradually faded and vanished in your hands shortly afterwards. You quickly grabbed the next one, then another. As soon as you read all the content that had faded over the years, the letters would all be gone.

You could, however, thread them together to form a tale. The person who had written these letters visited this post office every year. That person was always looking for the girl he once loved and lost for more than two hundred years.

Isolation was apparent through each line, through the time-worn envelope. It was Xavier, but a completely different Xavier that had existed before you appeared. Soon, nearly two hundred letters disappeared before your eyes. Only the last one left—the one you had just received a few days ago.

You held the letter tightly, placing it close to your heart. And your tears began to fall.

On the sixteenth of October, the young postmaster of the Time Post Office met that certain customer again.

In the midday sunlight, his starlight hair gleamed. Deep blue eyes met him. Just like that day fourteen years ago. The only difference was that, while the postmaster had grown up, the customer stayed the same as in his memory.

Could the person he met that year be the same as the one standing in front of him? There were quite a few strange things that had happened at this post office. The letter from fourteen years ago, the "little accident" involving mailbox number 214 the other day, and the recent appearance of the customer he once met a long time ago... It seemed like there really was magic in this place. It was something his grandpa had told him about countless times back then.

The man used his key to pick up the mail from box 214. He smiled at the postmaster before walking out, to where a woman was waiting. The sun glistened on her hair, and the wind puffed up her white dress. That was the woman who had visited this post a few days ago. They exchanged a few pleasantries before she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. On the yellow-leaved porch, time appeared to stand still. The man lifted her up and spun her around. Their crisp laughter blended into the sunbeam.

The young postman watched as their silhouettes fade away. On the long road, the man clasped hands with the woman. In his other hand, he was holding the letter she had written to him.

To my dearest Xavier,

Much has changed since your letter was written. The Time Post Office closed but has since reopened. You also found a new home, a new life in Linkon.

However, even after many years, your letter still reached me.

Like a miracle, Xavier always finds me no matter how many years have passed.

So I think, no matter how the world changes with time, from now on, I will always be by Xavier's side to witness those changes.

Thank you, Xavier. You found me.

[thatdeadaquarius]

imagine if reader is given an ancient scripture from around the time humanity founded out how to write and do the alphabet (somehow it was preserved so well that you can still see the words with no issue)

and it's the most heart wrenching, soul crushing, tear inducing, hyperventilating, sanity disappearing angst, misunderstandings, hurt/no comfort, it gets worse but never better, major character death, unrequited love story to have ever existed in teyvat.

and after reader goes through the whole thing, they can barely talk or breathe properly with how much they're crying.

(even better, it was smut not angst and reader is staring ar the scripture, jaw dropped to the floor with shaking hands.)

STOP- I avoid fanfics like that at all costs 😭 id stop reading it after the first angsty event LMAO

Im like... too emotionally affected by fanfics, esp angst ones 💀

Its just, ppl who write closer to my generation or just very psychologically honestly, are like fucking deadly writers. Got my day ruined and shit w/just fanfics 😭

LMAO THE GIF IS JUST YOU ON THE SPOT NOT EVEN HALFWAY THRU-

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Short! Headcanons-ish

Stars: my first of the Fontians!! Fontainianes? Fontainains?? u get it

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: sobbing, discussion of vague smut/NSFW book at the end, okay for Teen/Mature audiences, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

no but it’d be hilarious if u got this crazy like hand-width deep tablet for each “page” of the book, like how every novel or info in genshin is like one page at a time 😭

Sumeru and other international academics are literally constantly harassing politely requesting your translation of these and sending them to you in whichever country you’re visiting at the moment

Fontaine was even more complex and pretty in real life than it could ever be in game and i can def see you at like Neuvillette’s office or a nice french fontaine cafe and just WHAM

huge ass tablet bc as much as the fic tortures you, you have to know what the fuck happens to these miserable idiots

Neuvillette, Clorinde, and Lynette are all the type to immediately try and dissuade you from reading it again, bc from their point of view you just pull out this huge old rock and start sobbing quietly about 10 mins into the read every time 😭😭

(unsurprisingly, Neuvillette would even go so far as to get the Marechaussee Phantom to sneakily steal ur most recent tablets of the story to hide them, which sucks for you LMAO)

Freminet, Wriothesley, Navia, Lyney, and Furina,all frantically try to distract you, and also theyre in order of who would be the most dramatic w/it lmao

NO BC I JUST HAD THE THOUGHT-

Ur tears absolutely are top priority to Neuvillette and Furina so when they inevitably find the memories in them (and the traveler too maybe)

of what the story is about, except its like all the feelings and stuff, so like its the best “translation” they get of the book so far, u best believe it rains for a week straight

it started out as a light drizzle, but as Neuvillette “read on” in ur tear’s memories if got worse HAHA

mans is out here trying to convince himself like, “this is a classic tragedy from eons ago, its about a human romance, im definitely unaffected, though im glad i could figure out what ails My Majesty so”

meanwhile the story gets worse and its just like that meme “ohHHhhhHH its got a little kiicckkk”

Neuvillette nearly floods the streets by chapter 5 when the miscommunication happens and then they cant get in contact with each other to fix it lmao

LMAO I JUST HAD A VISIONNN

ur in fontaine and while yes drinks were popular (like obv fonta)

business is rlly booming bc now everyone you know (like the Vision-users or archons Neuvill, etc) all have develop this habit of having a water bottle or drink on them to offer you when u start reading to rehydrate you 😭😭😭

Navia, Clorinde, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney, Lynette all have a handkerchief on them at all times too 😭😭

Good God-

the moment you translate the now instant Shakespearean-level tragedy classic, it is a known tear-jerker thruout all of Teyvat,

like theres trigger warnings and age limits and shit 💀

◇

on another note,

if its smut,

ur desperately combing thru all the tablets and wall carvings and cave paintings to try and lowkey cover it up LMAO

and its not like a story with a smut scene either, its like what anon said,

just fully like the ao3 tag “Porn What Plot/Porn With Plot”

STOP

not u yanking the tablets out of Neuvillette’s hands when he curiously picks them up one time lmao

(he is now invested in getting these translated too bc of ur reaction lol)

☆

consider supporting me with an iced coffee? :0

Spooky Season! Spooky Season!! Spooky Season!!!

still not dead btw

just got hired at my new job so ive been training and busy!! :)

im a host at Olive Garden lol its weird and kinda hard, my feet hurt a lot and i havent had a full shift yet ;-; its a brand new one so it opens the 23rd

dw that eldritch one shot is still coming btw, just talking with betas and editing it now lol

hope if you read this you have a great upcoming weekend!!

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒

☆

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657

[luimagines]

Hello lovely Pinky!

I saw requests were open for only 24 hours and was hoping to request a Confident Hyrule scenario of your choosing☺️ it doesn't even have to be an x reader scenario if you want someyhing different. I don't care either way, I just enjoy your writing haha.

A lot of people write him being very meek and insecure, which is still good, but I do love reading about him when he's confident and in control of a situation

Sorry if this is too vague, but I hope it catches your fancy��

Thank you!❤️

THANK YOU!!!! I FULLY AGREE WITH THIS!

I also think this was my only Hyrule One-Shot request. DX

This boy gets so little love here. Let me give him the spotlight!!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

This was fairly common ground for him at this point.

The monsters attack, he says a few spells, swings his sword around a few times, end of story. It hasn't exactly changed much since he's found himself with this group of people.

They're a lot like him. They have the same name as him. They've defeated Ganon like him. (Well Sky had a different guy apparently. That was an interesting conversation that day.) They all use a sword like him and they all care about Hyrule like him.

They're so much cooler than him. Or so he thinks.

He ruffles his hair and sighs, letting some of the others take the lead once again. Hyrule follows them without question... most of the time.

They seem to know what they're doing. Which works for him since he's been paying attention to many other things other than what they're actually doing.

He sees a few of them argue about the direction they're taking and sees some others jest and banter and takes it in stride. Hyrule likes this group. They're easy to get along with. They pull their own weight and it's nice to know that they've got his back if it comes down to it.

They were walking down a beaten down forest path on their way to wherever. He actually wasn't sure. He was too busy looking at the telltale signs of monsters nearby to bother asking about any specifics. Hyrule sees the scratches on the trees and the broken branches and keeps his hand by the hilt of his sword. He keeps his head on a swivel.

The others don't seem as bothered. So Hyrule assumes that they're not bothered by what's just beyond the tree line next to them. They're all experienced fighters. Surely they're aware of their own capabilities. That's why they're not worried.

Hyrule wishes he could have the same kind of confidence.

They're attacked.

It was sudden and quick. Many of the boys next to him are taken off guard and are instantly on the forest floor for one reason or another.

Hyrule unsheathes his sword in a flash, jumping into the fray without missing a beat. It's the same song and dance.

Duck, block, stab, swing, block again-

"THUNDER!" He cries out, eliminating these monster with a spell he's been dying to use since the others have showed up. Hyrule was worried about the implications since many of them wear armor- but he doesn't have the forefront thought to think about that.

This is just muscle memory.

Many of the monsters that survived his spell target him next- identifying him as the most powerful person on the field right now.

Hyrule doesn't care.

He runs ahead, slicing into the beasts with calculated yet reckless swipes. Some stay standing. Many don't.

Hyrule is light on his feet and quick to fire off another spell from his fingertips. The handful of monster remaining run away, having miscalculated their attack with Hyrule at the frontlines. Hyrule left a bit breathless but grinning and proud of himself for acting as fast as he did.

He turns around and looks at the others. Many are still on the ground, staring at him with slack jaws and wide eyes. He goes down the ranks of the boys. Wild gives him a thumbs up. Legend (still on the ground) has his mouth wide open. Wind and Sky look delighted and in awe. Four, Time and Twilight, had their weapons out and from the looks of it, were handling the ones that Hyrule had missed with his magic the first go around. Warrior was in the process of helping Legend to his feet but seems to be also frozen in place.

Hyrule snorts and puts his hand on his hip. The fact that not only has he left them speechless but quite literally frozen as well is admittedly, quite the ego boost. Maybe they were oblivious to the monster signs after all. "Thanks for the help everyone."

He aims a particularly cocky look at the Captain and winks. "I told you, like that."

[cupidisaliar]

Bound by infinity pt 2🪽

- hope you guys like it 🥹

-pt 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/cupidisaliar/751313995108122624/bound-by-infinity

warnings uhm: 2 swear words? gojo is kinda possessive and he grabs ur face. grammar might be weird grammarly is tweaking on my phone. sorry this is late :(

When you wake up, the morning dawn’s light holds your face as it rises from the horizon.

The feeling in your gut is still there, not butterflies.

Moths.

Everything feels heavy, and you don't wanna get out of bed.

Your eyes are red when you look in the mirror.

You can vaguely recall a strange dream. You found yourself trapped in a chaotic realm. Strange shapes and colours blurred your vision. You've never had a dream like that before.

As you prepare for the day the memory of your dream slowly fades away.

You have to push yourself further during training today... You are only a grade-four sorcerer. Even though you can get past Gojo’s infinity..you are still weak.

Heavy with the burden in your mind you leave the dorm and head to the training grounds. You ignore the hunger pangs, you are too anxious to eat breakfast. The sounds of the other sorcerers fill the humid air.

It’s too early for this…4 am to be exact.

You sit on the bench and chug water to push the hunger away.

“You ready?” a voice calls you to attention.

It’s Yuji.

“Yeah..” you nod. He always seems so happy to see you. You look at the others. Everyone seems to tolerate you, Panda, Toge, Nobara… save for Maki and Megumi… you don’t know why.

You like to think that you are close to Nobara and Yuji.

Yuji looks as eager as ever, he is a walking ray of sunshine. He notices your uneasy glance at the other sorcerers. “Hey now…don’t worry about it. We all started somewhere. Just do your best y/n.” He says with a thumbs up. Yuji’s uplifting words ease your nerves slightly, you feel grateful to have a friend like him.

You smile back at him. You see Megumi glance at the two of you but he doesn’t acknowledge your presence. You take a deep breath and stand up. It’s time to train.

You brush yourself off as you and Yuji head to the grass. You catch Megumi’s gaze and he slightly glares you before turning away.

“Uh don’t mind him..he’s always like that,” he remarks.

“So what are we doing today?” You ask.

Yuji leads the way to a row of dummies. “Today, we are all working on our cursed energy control.” He gestures to the dummies. “We are focusing on channelling are cursed energy at a specific point.”

“I feel like I don’t have a lot of cursed energy.” You confess to him, shoving your hands in your pockets.

Yuji looks back at you with a cheerful smile. “Hey, don't worry!” He reassures. “It's not about how much cursed energy you have; it's about how you use it. You can do it!”

He stops and you follow suit.

Then, he points to the first dummy. “See that?” He asks

“Yeah..” you nod, looking at the dummy.

“Now... I want you to focus on the dummy. Think about where you want to send your cursed energy. Then use that energy.” Yuji explains

You hold your hand out to concentrate.

Nobara strolls in, a small smile on her face. "Hey you two, ready for some intense training today?" she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye

"Of course! " you smile. Nobara is so badass

Nobara chuckles at your enthusiasm and gives you a playful nudge.

"That's the spirit! Now let's show these dummies who's boss." She and Yuji high-five before walking to the side of you.

You glance back at Megumi. You can't help but wonder why he resents you. It's distracting you.

As you glance back at Megumi, he's focused on his own training, paying no attention to you or anyone else.

Nobara notices your glance and leans towards you, lowering her voice. "Someone’s moody" she quips

You chuckle and you turn your attention back to your training. You channel your cursed energy, concentrating on the technique and aiming for the dummy with precision. Each blow you land on the dummy feels a bit stronger, and you feel a sense of achievement each time you manage to hit with more force than before.

You decide to funnel your cursed energy into a blade and hit the dummy.

Suddenly it shatters into a fine powder. You step back shocked.

Yuji and Nobara are startled by the sudden shattering of the dummy. They turn their attention towards you, surprise evident on their faces. "Wow, that was intense!" Nobara exclaims, clearly impressed by the surge of power you showed. "Nice job,Y’N!" Yuji adds with a smile, genuine excitement in his voice.

You can’t help but look at Megumi again. “Thanks, guys..” you mumble.

Nobara glances towards Megumi too, and she lets out a small laugh as she notices his reaction. "Looks like you've impressed our resident grump" she teases, and you notice that Megumi averts his gaze as if trying to hide his surprise. "Seriously though, that was something else." she says with a smile.

“I don’t know what happened…” You confess

Nobara grins, noticing your confusion. "It seems like you tapped into your cursed energy in like – a really powerful way." Yuji chimes in, impressed by your display of power. Megumi, still keeping his distance, watches you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. You can tell that he's trying to figure out how you managed to unleash such a powerful technique

“I’m gonna take a break, I’m gonna head to the vending machines!” You say, rubbing your shoulder.

Nobara and Yuji nod in agreement. As you walk towards the vending machine, you sense Megumi following you from a distance. His reluctance to interact directly with you becomes even more apparent. Once you reach the vending machine, you notice Megumi lurking nearby, seemingly disinterested but still watching you.

“You go first… I’m still deciding…” You explain, stepping away from the machine

Megumi steps forward, hesitating for a moment before inserting some coins into the vending machine and selecting a drink. He grabs the drink from the machine and hands it to you. "Here," he mutters, looking away from you.

Feeling surprised but appreciative of his gesture, you hesitate before you reach out and take the drink from him. "Thank you," you say softly, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment before he turns away. His actions were unexpected, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze that caught your attention.

You look down at the drink for a second.

Iced tea.

“Wait!” You turn to him.

Megumi’s pace falters at the sound of your voice calling out to him. He turns around, a hint of surprise etched on his features. "What?" *he asks, his tone somewhat guarded.

“Do…do you hate me?” You realize how embarrassing saying that is out loud.

Megumi lets out a long sigh, avoiding your gaze as he speaks. "Look, I don't hate you. I just...I have my reasons for keeping my distance" he says, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "It's got nothing to do with you, really. I'm just not exactly a social butterfly, you know?" he adds, a touch of sarcasm lacing his words.

“Well whatever it is…I think…we could be great friends that’s all… “ You stare at your feet. Awkward…

Megumi pauses for a moment, and then he lets out a small chuckle. "You're persistent, I'll give you that." he says, his tone softening slightly. "Listen, I... I apologize for being standoffish. It's not personal, it's just the way I am." he says, his gaze meeting yours for a moment before he looks away again. "But if you're determined to be friends, then I guess I can try, too." his words are laced with reluctance, but you can sense a glimmer of warmth in his voice.

You decide to play it cool.

“Yeah.. sounds good” you shrug.

Megumi eyes you as you try to play it cool, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Don’t get used to it," he says, but his tone lacks its usual biting edge. There's a hint of playfulness in his voice now, and you get the feeling that he’s starting to warm up to you, albeit reluctantly.

You smile back and watch him walk away.

Megumi glances back once more, catching your smile as he walks away. He gives a nod, a sign of understanding and reluctant acceptance. As he continues on his way, you notice that his shoulders are less tense, and there’s a slight change in his demeanour. It seems like he's starting to let his guard down around you, little by little.

You haven't seen Gojo... you should talk to him.

As you glance around, you realize that Gojo has been conspicuously absent for training. The thought of talking to him sparks curiosity in you, and you decide to go in search of him.

You have no idea where to start you just absentmindedly wander the halls. Lost in thought, when suddenly you hear a familiar voice echo down the hallway. "Yo, you looking for me?" You turn to see Gojo leaning against a wall nearby, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Oh hey! Yeah, I am!” you call out to him walking to him.

Gojo pushes himself off the wall hands in his pockets, strolling towards you with a casual gait. "What's up? You look like you have something on your mind." he asks, his eyes studying you intently.

“Uhm...about yesterday…” you start

Gojo's smile widens, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "Ahh, about yesterday. What about it?" he asks, clearly intrigued by your hesitation.

“I don't know... I just thought we should talk about it…” you mumble, wanting to ask how he's feeling without asking how he's feeling

Gojo raises an eyebrow, his expression betraying a hint of surprise.

"Talk about it, huh?" he says, his tone laced with a touch of curiosity. "Alright, let's talk. But first, what do you want to know?"

You look off to the side “Uhmmm. any recent thoughts on the matter?” you say casually. Like you’re discussing the weather.

Gojo lets out a huff of laughter, amused by your attempt to be subtle.

He steps closer to you, towering over you with his tall stature.

"Thoughts, hm?" he says, a hint of playfulness in his voice "Well, they've been plentiful, I can tell you that. But are you really interested in my thoughts?"

“Yes!” you blurt out exasperated “I..I hope it doesn't distress you... not that it shouldn't... it would distress me if I was– am the strongest and…” your mind departs your train of thought.

Gojo chuckles at your outburst, clearly amused by your eagerness. He leans in a bit closer, studying you intently. "You're worried about me, huh?" he says, a slight smirk on his lips. "You know, it's sweet but a little misplaced. I'm not exactly your typical person who gets distressed...not easily, anyway."

You just look at him. He can’t be serious.

Gojo's smirk deepens as he looks into your eyes. He can sense that there's more you want to say but are holding back. "You're curious," he states bluntly, his voice soft but authoritative. "You have questions, so ask them. Don't be shy."

“...really?” You ask.

Gojo chuckles again, clearly enjoying this exchange. "Of course, really," he says, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "Ask me anything. I'll give you straight answers...probably."

You scrunch your face up, even in a stressful moment he’s unbelievably cocky.

“Okay.... well....are you trying to figure out a way to prevent me from stopping infinity or are you just trying to figure out how I'm doing it?” You hold your hands out as if to show him the options.

Gojo's amused expression doesn't waver. He tilts his head, contemplating your question for a moment before responding. "So, you want to know what my next moves are, huh?" he says, his tone laced with a hint of curiosity. "Alright, I'll give you a straight answer. I'm figuring out both. How you're doing it, yes, but also how to prevent you from doing it."

“Okay…” you sigh... You aren’t sure whether to be relieved or not.

Gojo senses your slight disappointment at his response. "What, did you expect something else?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you think I'd just give up and let you do whatever you want?"

“...no?” An obvious lie on your part. You don’t seem to be good at hiding things from him.

Gojo's smirk widens, and he leans in a bit closer. "You're lying," he states bluntly, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "I can tell. But I'll humour you. You didn't expect me to just..give up, but...you hoped I'd have something more...reassuring to say, didn't you?"

You do.

“No.” You reply.

Gojo leans in even closer, his eyes still locked on yours, a hint of mischief in them. "Liar," he says again, his voice a low rumble. "You can't fool me. You wanted me to say something that would ease your worries, something that would reassure you...but I'm not the reassuring type. Sorry to disappoint."

“Well are you going to tell the higher-ups, surely–”

Gojo's smirk turns into a frown at the mention of the higher-ups. "You mean the old geezers up top? Why the hell would I tell them anything?" he asks, his voice laced with disdain as he cuts you off.

“Oh...maybe they could help...?” You cross your arms.

Gojo scoffs, clearly not interested in involving the higher-ups in this matter. "Help? Hah. Those senile old fools wouldn't know how to help if their lives depended on it. They couldn't handle something like this. And they definitely wouldn't appreciate your...unique ability."

“I see…” You think

Gojo crosses his arms, subconsciously copying your body language, his expression turning serious. "If the higher-ups found out about you and your abilities, they'd probably see you as a threat. They'd want to experiment on you, study you, see what they could do with your power. And they'd probably lock you up somewhere, never to see the light of day again. Trust me, you don't want to get them involved."

“...” You open your mouth for a rebuttal but you can’t think of anything.

Gojo's expression softens a bit as he realizes the serious nature of the situation. He steps closer to you, his voice quieter. "You're powerful, there's no doubt about that. But the higher-ups...they wouldn't see it the way I do. They wouldn't see it as a valuable weapon to be honed, they'd see it as a liability, something to be controlled. You don't want that, trust me."

You nod…

Do you trust him?

Gojo watches your reaction, his gaze studying your face intently. There's a hint of something flickering in his eyes, a mix of protectiveness and possessiveness. He steps even closer, towering over you. "You trust me, don't you?" he asks, his voice low and serious.

You nod again, quicker this time

“Of course sensei!”

Gojo's expression softens at your response, a small smile forming on his lips. He reaches out and places a hand on your cheek, his touch firm yet oddly comforting. "Good," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then you need to understand something. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not the higher-ups, not your fellow students, and certainly not any curses that come crawling out of hell."

That’s offensive… he knows you can fight right?

“I can fight... Ill be okay…” you reassure him.

Gojo scoffs, his grip on your face tightening slightly. "You can fight, I know that. But sometimes, even the strongest fighters need a bit of backup, someone to watch their back and make sure they don't bite off more than they can chew."

You push his hand off your face. “ You won't always be there…” you frown.

This is all so overwhelming.

Gojo's smile falters slightly as you push his hand away. A flicker of annoyance passes over his face, but he quickly composes himself. "Maybe, maybe not," he admits, his voice cool and calculated. "But what happens when I'm not there? When you're facing something bigger than you can handle, and there's nobody around to save you? You might be talented Y/N, but talent alone won't keep you alive forever."

“I'll manage... “ You scoff.

This is starting to get really overwhelming. You start to walk away Gojo is irritating you right now.

Gojo's eyes narrow as you begin to walk away. He steps in front of you, blocking your path, a hint of irritation in his voice as well. "You'll manage, huh? You think you can handle whatever comes your way, all on your own?"

You look up at him and shrug. “I'm just like every other student! I'll be fine!”

Gojo scoffs, clearly not amused by your nonchalant attitude. "You're not like every other student. You're special, and you know it. That power of yours...it sets you apart, whether you want it to or not. So don't go around pretending like you're just another face in the crowd."

“Like you? You think I'm like you is that what it is?” You point a finger at him.

Gojo's expression darkens, his eyes narrowing at your accusation. He steps forward, looming over you, his voice low and dangerous. "No. I don't think you're like me. You're far more powerful than I ever was at your age. That's what worries me. You're a ticking time bomb, and if you don't learn to control that power of yours, it's going to explode and take you down with it. And I'm not going to let that happen."

This is all to much!

You need to get him away.

You go to shove Gojo, extending both your arms.

His infinity stops you.

You start to push hard.

You feel pressure releasing like a balloon.

The colours of the rainbow and light erupt from where your hands are. Hues of blue, red, white, and purple swirl around you.

It’s beautiful.

Gojo's mouth opens slightly.

Then a slow, small smile reaches his face.

It pops. His infinity is gone.

Your hands now touch the fabric of his shirt.

It’s quiet now, for a moment. Just like how it was yesterday when it happened the very first time.

“Now now,” Gojo starts “That wasn’t very polite” Gojo looks amused.

You just stand there, touching the fabric of his uniform.

You feel the familiar presence of someone behind you. You turn your head…

It’s Megumi.

Fuck.

“Well, this just got interesting…” Gojo says, as he softly grabs your wrists.

Megumi is completely shocked mouth agape.

Just your luck huh?

[brightgoat]

Hey hi! I’ve been an avid follower of yours for awhile for your Pucci art but, this green child au has me hooked more and more lately! Your art is stunning by the way, thank you for posting!! The final metamorphosis panel has me excited for the next installment you share ngl.

Anyways, I was wondering if I could ask a few things about it? Specifically, what has happened after O-moon came into the picture, and the buildup to part 13 and 14? Of course if you wish to keep things vague or don’t know, there’s no need to answer! I’m just curious.

When did Jotaro get alerted to the incident and decided to finally come around? Did he encounter Pucci first or Jolyne? After the revelations that O-moon revealed to Jolyne, how did her perceptions of her father and Pucci shift? Did Jolyne ever figure out what Pucci was most likely about to do to FF while they were cornered by him? Have you thought about how Weather Report factors into this AU at all (since he’s probably in prison at this point)?

Sorry for the bombardment, and again no pressure to answer these if you don’t wish to!

- Kimera

Greetings! Thank you very much for the compliment, hope the payoff to that comic was satisfying haha

So, I wanna keep things vague with this AU, telling the main story beats through images and short comics- not only cuz I like it that way but also cuz... I haven't decided a lot of the details hahaha-

Answering this via lore dump, hope you like reading, this can be just one of many ways it could've happened:

I imagined that while Pucci and Jolyne were out getting souls, Jotaro was studying whatever is left of Dio's followers, and eventually tracks down Pucci, and travels to the US. Perhaps he finds out Pucci has been tutoring Jolyne from Jolyne's mum (who knows maybe they reconnected).

Oh and yes, Jolyne's mum knows abt Pucci, but of course not who he really is.

During this, Jolyne has awakened the Green Baby and fused with it. Jotaro may even sense that something is wrong through their family psychic bond thing.

Jotaro, realizing Pucci is a step ahead of him by already taking in his own daughter, tracks Pucci down to the church and confronts him there, sparing no time and going straight to beating answers out of him, where's Jolyne, what happened to her, what's your plan etc.

I had this thought, that once Jolyne fuses with the green baby, she inherits a bit of Dio's knowledge, and it helps her realise she's been getting used by Pucci all along. Not only that, she inherits the will to go to Heaven, and it drives her to complete the plan, she's strung along by fate now.

Now obviously she feels betrayed by Pucci, but still sympathetic to him, and rescues him from Jotaro. She's conflicted, she's angry, the only reason both Pucci and Jotaro reached out was because of some bigger-than-her plot, and not because of herself. She doesn't know how much of what Pucci gave her was genuine or because of her use to him.

(had this idea for a scene that right after Jolyne rescues Pucci, all three of them are still in church and Pucci realises she's transformed, he yells for her to stay still so he can get Whitesnake to take whatever's inside her out, but as soon as Whitesnake reaches out, a hand bursts out, he thinks it's Stone Free and suddenly JUMPSCARE O-Moon jumps out at him and the reversed-gravity throws everyone away from her-)

The only friend she has left is FF, and yes she finds out what Pucci did to them, furthering her anger. So she drags FF along with her, they are eachothers' only allies here, and although FF doesn't fully understand what's happening to Jolyne, they'll stay by her side (cue the uhhhh 'oh jolyne gave me so many memories and memories make up my intellect so i owe her yadda yadda-')

Aaaaand as for Weather, yeah mf's still in prison lmao I haven't thought too much about him. I wanted this to focus on Jolyne and Pucci, though if I did turn this AU into an entire actual story, Weather would probably come up at some point. God knows how though lmao-

[linabirb]

how to write characters, voice dramas and mvs for your ocgram! (kind of? sort of? i'm not an expert?)

do you want to make an ocgram? do you have no idea where to start? maybe you don't know how to come up with characters for your ocgram? voice dramas are way too hard to write? how the hell are you even supposed to write mvs??

well hello there! i hope this guide can help you with doing just that!

as someone who has an ocgram (@linagram hi) and is currently trying to get everything prepared for season 3, i also was struggling. a lot. i'm kinda getting better at organizing everything now, but still, all the work you need or supposed to do for ocgram can be overwhelming, especially if you don't really have much prepared at the moment and you're just getting started.

before we proceed, if you're able to make art, edits or any other visuals for your ocgram, i recommend checking out this guide by @tsuwmya, it has a lot of useful info, references and resources. if you can't do any of that, that's fine too! you having fun with creating is more important and if you don't have the ability to create visuals, that's perfectly understandable. this guide is more about the writing part anyway, haha.

let's get started!

(warning for some spoilers for the milgram novels (at least the first one) just in case!)

this guide will be separated into parts so that it's easier to understand and you can find the part that you think is the most difficult one for you.

worldbuilding.

before we start working on characters and voice dramas, let's say you're just starting out. you want to make an ocgram, but you don't even know where to begin!

now, this is probably going to sound a little scary, but what i recommend doing before writing characters, vds and mvs is some worldbuilding. no, no, i'm not telling you to figure out everything about your ocgram lore (but if you want to, feel free to do so! i actually think it's gonna help you a lot in the future), but try to answer these questions first.

"when does your ocgram take place?"

it can be as specific as a certain date or it can be as vague as "some time before/after canongram". canongram lore doesn't really give us much info to work with so you can go wild. but figuring out even something as simple as whether your ocgram takes place before canongram or after can actually help you a lot!

"is your ocgram closer to canongram or novelgram?"

the music project and the novels' settings have their differences and both settings have their strengths. you don't have to write mvs for the novels-like ocgram, though you will still have to write the memory scenes. also, for a novel-like ocgram your characters are expected to be named after some sort of adjective that could describe their personality or be a reference to their crime/backstory (example: "nervous", "gentle", "two-side"), but their names are still supposed to be revealed closer to the end. meanwhile canongram uses the voice dramas, timeline convos and mvs (and apparently earbuds voicelines) to tell you more about the characters. figuring out the "format" of your ocgram like that can help you a lot too.

now, you have figured out these details. great! if you're feeling like writing more about how your ocgram works, let's think about these parts more.

is your ocgram just like the milgram project you've chosen as a "base"? maybe it even has the same jackalope? is the guard still named "es"? maybe there's more than one guard and more or less than ten (or five in case of novelgram, if i remember correctly) prisoners? does the prison still look exactly the same? maybe something has changed over the months or years? all of this depends on your own preferences and what you decide to do with the story. you can make your ocgram as different from canongram or as similar as you like.

again, we don't know much about canongram at the moment, so don't be afraid of coming up with the whole backstory for the prison.

when you feel like your world is ready, it's time to fill it with characters!

characters.

oh boy, the fun begins. i'm not your mom, so you can do anything you want with your ocs, but if you don't have any character concepts in mind and you don't know what to do, here are some tips!

(we're going with the canongram formula here, but you can adjust it as needed)

as you probably already know, the canongram prisoner pairs have some sort of theme. both haruka and yuno's crimes have something to do with children. both fuuta and muu's crimes have something to do with bullying. you see what i mean. figuring out themes for your prisoners could be a nice start if you don't really have any characters in mind. pick themes that sound interesting to you and that you would like to explore more.

let's go with the theme of "luck" for example. how can two (or one, or three, or any number, really) prisoners share the same theme? how can you show that? maybe one of them is really lucky and the other one is extremely unlucky?

okay, but here's the fun part. how can you apply this theme to murder? maybe one of them was able to successfully get away with murder, meanwhile the other one accidentally killed someone because of their bad luck? and this way you can come up with really cool characters even if you didn't have any ideas in mind before that!

okay, so the milgram's whole thing is that all characters are morally gray in some way. and the character's moral "grayness" is a spectrum. for example, it can go from "eh, they shouldn't be here, honestly" white to "okay this one is kinda fucked up" gray to "JAIL. NOW. OH WAIT YOU ALREADY ARE THERE" black. but again, even the sweetest and kindest characters should have their questionable moments and even the scariest and most dangerous ones should have moments that make you feel sorry for them.

let's take some canongram prisoners as an example. we have haruka. an adorable squishy blorbo, everyone's skrunkly, the guy who everybody kins. don't you feel sorry for him? don't you want to give him a hug? oh, he kills animals, by the way. he also killed a young girl. just so you know.

now, we have muu. a spoiled teenage girl who always get the things she wants and is proud of it. a girl who literally said she's okay with haruka killing himself for her. literally has a song called "it's not my fault". cries every time a minor inconvenience happens and whenever someone suggests something to her, she just goes "i don't wanna..". her father is a landlord. except she also got bullied by her own friends, doesn't understand how real friendships and human connections work, still brings haruka food and checks up on him when nobody else does and it's heavily implied she actually does feel guilty for killing rei. yeah.

my own personal formula goes like this: i come up with a character. i write some things about them and then i take a look at their crime and personality and if i feel like they're a bit too sympathetic, i add a little bit of spice so that it isn't so easy to forgive them.

let's take my oc aimi for example!

she's such a cutie, isn't she? she's also a victim of bullying too.. oh, also she has the biggest number of victims out of all my prisoners. she also seems to be very obsessed with the concept of friendship and if you refuse to be her friend, she will not take it well. she will most likely try to kill all other prisoners in season 3 or at least hurt them in some way because she doesn't see them as friends anymore. she's been voted innocent twice. she has way too much power in her hands at the moment.

okay! now, let's take my oc kei!

a pretty guy! seems like the flirty type. oh, by the way, he takes photos of people being tortured and that's how he makes money (not counting his job as. well. a normal photographer). "oh, well, maybe he didn't have a choice-" he did. he literally does it because he wants to. he likes it. he enjoys it more than his boss. he likes seeing people in pain and believes that hurting someone means showing you love them. he physically and emotionally abused his own little brother for years and the poor guy still can't walk and move properly because of it. he has five victims.

but for some reason, he also has these huge scars on his back. he also was shown crying in his second mv. he was shown as someone helpless and someone who ended up in a very dangerous situation because of his victims. so.. is he the real victim here? or is he just trying to look more pitiful?

i think you're already starting to understand what i mean. of course, you have all the freedom to do anything you want with your characters. make them as dangerous or as cute as you like. but if you want them to have this "milgram vibe", i suggest you try to find "balance" between their traits that make them look forgivable and the ones that make them look unforgivable!

we can't forget about the guards though! does your guard have all their memories intact? do they remember their name, their past, etc? maybe they're just like the canon es and they don't remember anything at all? do they have their own jackalope or maybe they do their job without a fluffy little bunny around? what is their role here? are they more of a "self-insert"/"audience surrogate" or are they their own character with a backstory and everything? maybe they're an active type who has very deep relationship dynamics with the prisoners and talks to them a lot even when they're not interrogating them? or maybe they're just a creacher? maybe they just do their job and don't really talk to them? they're just standing there.. menacingly.. all of this is up to you to decide!

of course, the relationship dynamics between the characters are very important! first of all, look at your overall cast, when you're done with them. what kind of relationship do you imagine them having? maybe you see them as a found family? maybe all of them are friends? maybe all of them are kissing passionately in the moonlight? maybe all of them hate each other? maybe they even don't care about each other at all! again, it's all your choice and it depends on what kind of characters you're working with.

if you're stuck and you're not sure where to begin, i think a good start would be taking a look at your prisoner pairs and try to figure out the dynamic between the prisoners from each pair. what are their parallels like? how similar are they? how different? do they like each other because of their similarities/differences or they hate each other because of them?

okay, so when you're done with characters, a much scarier part appears.

plot.

so, what do you write first? is it the voice dramas? maybe mvs?

i think it really depends on a person and what you personally find most comfortable, but from my own experience i actually would advise you to work on the vds and mvs first before writing and posting a character's profile.

you see, it's possible that while you're in the process of writing the voice drama, you will notice that the character's personality is much different from what you had written in their profile and originally had in mind for them. of course, it doesn't mean that it will definitely happen to you, but this happened to a lot of my ocs, haha.

so that this doesn't happen but you also have an idea of how your character is supposed to act, try writing down or simply making a mental note about your oc's main personality traits. maybe they're the most extroverted one? maybe they get tired easily? maybe they flirt with everyone they meet? keep those traits in mind, but also give yourself the freedom to explore their character and make them more deep in the process. maybe while you write the most extroverted prisoner's voice drama, you will realize that they actually don't like other prisoners that much or while you write the sleepy prisoner's voice drama, you will get an idea about them not wanting to face their reality and use sleeping as a method of escapism.

if it helps, i personally work on my ocgram in this order: voice dramas > music videos > character profiles, but of course, you can adjust it to your preference.

i think it should be obvious that you should work on the characters' crimes and backstories before you actually start writing the voice dramas and posting stuff about them. sure, you can make it up as you go, if you're confident enough, but i strongly recommend you have a plan or at least a concept of what your character's crime is supposed to be. it will make everything much easier for you!

about backstories: you don't have to, i don't know, come up with names for every single member of your character's family, but i recommend thinking about your oc's backstory outside of their crime. what was their childhood like? what about their teenage years? do they have any friends? what's their relationship with their family like? all these details can help you understand your character's motives, personality, crime and other stuff. also it's simply fun!

so, let's start with the voice dramas.

voice dramas.

(i've also answered a vd-related question here!)

voice dramas can be very hard to write, so let's think about what makes them hard for you first.

maybe you just don't have any ideas? maybe you don't know what the characters are supposed to talk about?

what personally helps me when i start writing the voice dramas is asking myself this question:

"why are these guys even here?"

probably sounds weird, but if you think about it, it actually makes everything a little easier to understand.

why is the guard here? most likely to interrogate the prisoner.

why is the prisoner here? most likely to answer the guard's questions.

okay, we're getting somewhere.

now, how would your guard interrogate the prisoner? of course, it really depends on your guard's personality. maybe they would try to make the prisoner feel more comfortable? or would they rather threaten them and scare them?

now, let's add the prisoner's personality to this equation. what is your prisoner like? how would they react to the guard's questions? what do they think about the guard? are they scared of them? maybe they want to be friends with them? what do they think about milgram in general?

let's put these personalities in one room now and give them a moment. how will they interact? what will they think about each other?

if you're not sure what your guard is supposed to ask about, you can always use the canon voice dramas for reference, but my personal method is simply thinking about what my guard is most concerned about or interested in. and yes, this goes for the guards who don't care about anything too!

maybe your guard wants to make sure the prisoners are doing okay? in this case, they'd probably want to ask about how they're feeling first. or maybe your guard is more focused on the prisoner's crime. then they'd probably start asking about that right away.

okay, your guard has asked a question! how will the prisoner answer?

depending on your prisoner's crime, personality and backstory, they may be okay with revealing some things, but would never want to talk about something else. maybe they're okay with talking about their murder method, their victim and all, but they will never tell you what their motive is. if you're only getting started with the first season, try to reveal something they're okay with first! then you can talk about the other things in later seasons.

what helps me a lot is separating my prisoners' crimes into parts and sort of.. figuring out which parts should be revealed very early and which ones should be saved for later.

for example, maybe we can reveal the prisoner's murder weapon and method in the first season, their victim's identity in the second one and their motive in the third one.

what also helps me with writing the voice dramas is simply "visualizing" everything and imagining how it would go in a visual novel, anime, actual voice drama, etc. also remember that since it's a voice drama, you're kinda supposed to tell everything through sounds and, well, voices! so for example, if you want to tell the reader that the prisoner is nervous, maybe you can make the guard say "you look nervous" or simply make the prisoner say "i'm kinda nervous".

music videos.

mvs are something everyone does a bit differently. maybe you can actually draw/animate your prisoners' mvs. maybe you can write song lyrics for them. maybe you can simply write their mvs' descriptions. it all depends on your skills and what you're working with. so here i will simply talk about how to come up with an idea for a music video.

firstly, what are you supposed to reveal in your prisoner's mv? is it their murder method? is it their victim's identity? maybe something else? keep that in mind so that it's easier for you to drop hints to that thing.

now, what can we do for the visual part? is there anything you associate with the prisoner? a certain theme, aesthetic, etc? even simple objects can help, think about how many canongram prisoners have an object as their "theme": yuno has balloons, muu has an hourglass, kazui has an apple, etc. now, try to think how you can reveal something about the prisoner through this theme. for example, in yuno's case, balloons are a reference to her pregnancy. milgram loves symbolism, so take advantage of that, haha.

what also helps me a lot is simply listening to music that i associate with that prisoner and kinda coming up with music videos in the process. watching actual music videos can also help when you're looking for inspiration.

also, don't forget that everyone's music videos literally come from their brains. what does your prisoner think about their crime? what do they remember about it? how do they feel about it? do they feel guilty? do they feel like they've done nothing wrong? do they wish to forget it? do they see it as their biggest achievement? it can also help with writing song lyrics, if you're doing that.

if you're writing a mv description and you're not drawing/animating a music video, i would advise you to try to describe as many things as possible, as long as it's important. yes, we all love noticing small details while rewatching the milgram mvs, we all love the tiny things that are important for understanding the character's crime, but sadly, if we can't see it, how else are we supposed to know about it? so yeah, if the color of the curtains is important in your story, you should describe it too.

anddddd i think that's all for now! this is mostly done for people who haven't gotten to the second/third seasons of their ocgrams yet, so stuff like the prisoners' reactions to their verdicts, their punishments, etc, is not here. but you can ask me about it (and if you have any other questions, you can also ask me)!

hopefully this helps someone <3

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 6 - Strife of the Party

(Content warning; contains blood, gun violence and other potentially-upsetting themes. Reader discretion is advised)

— — — — — — —

Calling the walk to the bunker uncomfortable would be the understatement of the—Century? Millennia? Googolplex? Going off previous experiences that might rival it, Bill could vaguely recall a memory about five-thousand years back where he had dared Keyhole to ask Pyronica out on a date, despite them both knowing about 8-Ball's insatiable crush on her. A dare that Keyhole had responded to with a hesitant “I dunno, Boss, that seems kinda dangerous…” before reluctantly attempting it anyway.

Regardless of the exaggerated length of time—or any hypothetical superior understatements that might’ve left Keyhole with burn marks around his keyspot and Bill a giggling mess of schadenfreude—it was still an uncomfortable walk. Not only was Bill once again bound by unicorn-hair rope, but he didn’t even have the luxury of being tied to a chair this time. He simply dangled in Ford’s grasp like some kind of cheap luggage bag as the two of them trekked deeper through the woods towards their destination.

Bill tensed against the binds that restrained him. Speaking of which—

The bunker had been one of Ford’s more interesting projects, brought on by Bill’s own half-truth of a Dimension of Weirdness that lay parallel to the current one. His so-called assistant—Bill thought with as much metaphorical venom as he could muster—had suggested the idea, as a means of keeping themselves safe from any strange beings from said parallel dimension, while also granting them the ability to study such beings at a safe distance.

Clearly it had all been for naught; there was no way some half-baked hole in the ground and a few dozen gallons of liquid nitrogen would be enough to restrain anything that might’ve poured out of the Nightmare Realm—whether it was one of the lesser creatures, any of the Henchmaniacs, or even Bill himself.

Although the idea of someone like Zanthar being squeezed into one of those tubes was humorous enough to get an internal chuckle out of Bill. He sure would’ve at least let them try, if for no other reason than giving the big guy some enrichment—

“We’re here.”

Ford’s words pried Bill from his thoughts as the two of them came to a stop before a tall oak tree. To the uninitiated, it would appear to be an ordinary tree without any special characteristics to differentiate it from the rest of the surrounding forest.

To those who knew better—

“So tell me, Poindexter—” Bill began, his gaze traveling up and down the trunk. “How do you plan on reaching the lever with me in your hand?”

Ford didn’t respond, a hand pressed to his chin as he also stared at the tree in studious thought. After a few seconds passed without any answer, Bill let out a cackle. “Haha, you didn’t even think of that, did you?”

Despite Ford’s expression souring further from the mockery, he kept his attention fixed solely in front of him as he silently contemplated his options—

“Grunkle Ford!”

—until the sound of another voice spun him around, just in time to see Mabel stepping out from between a pair of trees. “Woah, you got here fast!” she said, breathing heavily as she slowed to a stop before them. “I mean, I guess you built the bunker, so it makes sense that you know all the best shortcuts to get here super quick—”

“Oh heeeeey, Shooting Star!” Bill interrupted cheerfully. “Thought you were busy prepping for the big party tonight?”

Upon being addressed by Bill, Mabel’s initial excitement vanished in an instant—a twisted glare in his direction taking its place. “Wendy and Dipper are prepping for it in my place!” she insisted, arms folded squarely across her chest. “And it’s gonna be so cool and awesome and amazing and you’re not invited!”

“Color me wounded,” Bill said with playful sarcasm. “Also wow, you really left Pine Tree to take care of party preparations? That’s like dropping a blobfish in the Sahara and expecting it to do anything else but shrivel up and die!” He tilted his head with a grin. “But hey, watching him flop around helplessly in the scorching desert sand would probably be twice as funny! Haha!”

Much like he had done with Bill’s previous tauntings, Ford kept his gaze fixed on what was in front of him—or in this instance; who—with the only reply he could muster up for a few minutes being several blinks of sheer confusion. “Mabel,” he finally managed to vocalize. “What are you doing here?”

Despite the ire she had directed at Bill, her smile was genuine as she turned back to Ford. “Oh! I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” she explained, tilting her own head to one side to peer around him towards the waiting tree. “I figured you’d need an extra hand to reach the lever, so you could keep yours on Bill!”

“He~ey, just what we were talking about!” Bill piped up, flashing his teeth at Ford. “Wow, can’t believe she thought about that before you did! You must feel pretty dumb right now, huh?”

Mabel shook a finger at him. “You shut up, it’s an easy mistake to make! And…and since I did think of it, that just means he actually has someone to help him do it!”

Ford continued to stare at her in wordless bewilderment, his emotions darting in as many different directions as his thoughts. Anger and irritation towards Bill’s…well, general existence, concern over Mabel interacting with him—terrible idea all around, he had to put a stop to it as soon as possible—

“Anyway yeah, like I said: I’m here to help you get into the bunker!” Mabel’s voice continued through Ford’s internal struggles. “Or just generally help you in any way I can, since Dipper, Wendy and I also thought you could use someone else to keep an eye on Bill while you work on all the techy-tech stuff in the security room.”

She gave a casual shrug. “I mean, it’ll be hard to keep an eye on him AND dismantle all the dangerous walls that wanna squish you at the same time, right?”

“Hey now, that’s a good point!” Bill said. “I didn’t even think of that second one, which probably means Sixer didn’t either~!”

He shifted his gaze back towards Ford with a delighted little wriggle against his restraints. “And I know I wouldn’t mind the company~! I’ll bet she’d be a lot more talkative than you were last night!"

“Nuh-uh!” Mabel insisted. “If you think I’m gonna talk to you or listen to anything you say, you’ve got another thing coming, you…you—”

A huff as she crinkled her brow. “Well, I could say the word I wanna say, but I don’t want to overuse it! But the point is you’re a massive jerk and a dummy and I’m not gonna listen to you or talk to you!”

While she stuck her tongue out in Bill’s direction—to which he responded with a sarcastic “That’ll show me.”—Ford’s grip on the rope tightened. Okay, enough thinking; he had to speak up. “Mabel, I appreciate you wanting to help me, but this isn’t a game,” he said, tone rigid. “Dealing with Bill is—”

Ford’s voice hitched in his throat as he forced himself to not make eye contact with the bundle in his fist, one whose wicked grin was assuredly widening further by the second. “—I think it would best for the best if you returned to the Shack.”

At Ford’s answer, Mabel’s tongue slid back into her mouth with a quick little ‘thwip’. “I know it’s not a game,” she insisted. “That’s why I want to help! Having someone around to help you will make things so much easier!”

“Psh, do you realize who you’re talkin’ to, kid?” Bill asked. “Pretty sure you’ve gotten several up-close-and-personal looks at the last guy who tried to help him! Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

He tilted his head. “Oh, no—wait, forgot about your pathetic brother and all the ‘help’ he provided last year! Sorry, he’s just soooo unmemorable that his presence always slips my mind—”

As Bill droned on—followed by a passionate scolding from Mabel in return—Ford forced his attention from them and back towards the waiting lever near the top of the tree.

As much as he hated to admit it, Bill had been right about him not thinking ahead and planning out a way to reach the lever once they’d arrived at the bunker. How could something that important have slipped his mind? He was lucky that Mabel had shown up when she did, otherwise he would’ve had to come up with another solution.

But that brought him to the main question—would it be wise to accept her help at all?

The last thing he needed was for her, or anyone else in the household to interact with Bill too closely. But she had raised an excellent point—if he let her take care of reaching the lever, then he would be able to keep a hand on Bill. She wouldn’t have to go near him or interact with him, which veered him closer to the side of approval.

Plus, Mabel was a strong girl for her age. A thought that sparked a warmth in Ford’s chest, one comforting enough to alleviate his concerns for a brief, few seconds. She was a Pines, after all—strength was practically baked into their DNA. And such strength, such heart, it was near identical to—

“Hey, you know, if the cat’s outta the bag on that bunker plan, I might have somethin’ that—”

“ No , Stanley.”

His shoulders tensed as a familiar Stanley-shaped cloud of guilt began to overtake his thoughts, one with an even-more-familiar Bill-shaped cloud baring its fangs closely behind. Fangs as menacing as the teeth that the real Bill continued to flash up at him with threatening delight. “You’ve gone awfully quiet there, Sixer. Got something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel added with a look of concern.

With an exhale to banish such thoughts for the time being, Ford looked back at her again. Mabel was offering assistance, assistance that he—unfortunately—required. There was still the issue of her second request to address, but overall the pros seemed to outweigh the cons when it came to accepting her help for at least getting him into the bunker.

Help that she might’ve not had to offer at all if he had simply taken up Stanley’s earlier offer instead but—

“Alright, Mabel,” he finally said aloud, interrupting his own thoughts before they could fully take shape. “If you can get me into the bunker, it would be very appreciated.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bill chimed in with flat look, one that quickly morphed back into a look of amusement. “And notice how he didn’t actually confirm if you could come down to the bunker with us~! Guess he doesn’t appreciate you that strongly, Shooting Star!”

Mabel glared at him, before casting a hesitant look to Ford. “Do I have to go back after I’m done? I mean, don’t you still need someone to keep an eye on Bill after that?”

“We can discuss any further involvement on your end once the bunker’s open,” Ford said with a firm tone.

“Translation: he’s already decided that the answer is ‘no’, but he doesn’t want you to keep asking,” Bill piped up.

His remark earned another glare before Mabel turned back to Ford. “You promise we can talk about it afterwards?”

After a brief moment of hesitation—one too short for either of them to comment on—Ford finally responded with a nod of his head and a reassuring: “I promise we’ll talk about it. But in return, you have to respect whatever decision I make in the end. Is that fair?”

Mabel’s features scrunched with consideration, before her smile returned. “Alright, well, I guess that’s better than nothing,” she said, before snapping a glare at Bill. “And don’t you say anything else, or I will use that word I wanna use against you!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I add an addendum to my earlier statement; color me wounded and threatened.”

An exaggerated huff was her reply as she turned to face the tree, tilting her head upwards. “Alright, the lever was that one branch waaaaay up there, right?” she asked, keeping her gaze lifted as she approached the trunk.

“That’s it,” Ford confirmed. “Do you think you can reach it without issue?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice that in all of Shooting Star’s braggadocio-ing, she has yet to mention how she actually plans to get to the lever in the first place,” Bill pointed out, followed by a wink in her direction. “Of course knowing her, I’ll bet she’s got some brilliant idea up her brightly-colored sleeves. Am I right~?”

Mabel crossed her arms with a sour look, but it was only a moment later that her features brightened again. “Actually, yeah, I do! Literally!”

With a grin, she reached inside her sweater sleeves and pulled out the rolls of streamers she’d stashed there earlier. “Ba-boom! Three rolls of Pink Mab-urple!”

Both Ford and Bill stared at her—varying levels of confusion present in their features—until their silence was broken by a cackle from Bill. “Haha, wow, she’s actually lost it!” he said, then corrected himself with a condescending look: “Oh, I mean—yes, Shooting Star! Please feel free to use paper-thin streamers to try and scale a tree! By the way, when you fall, be sure to aim for the nearest sharp rock you can find as a landing zone!”

“I’m not gonna use them by themselves!” Mabel insisted, and began to unravel them in her hand. “I’m gonna use them at the same time by braiding them together, ‘cause they’re stronger that way!”

“Braiding rope together does in fact increase its strength and durability,” Ford mused thoughtfully. “I suppose the same could possibly be applied to something as flimsy as paper streamers, if you use enough of them. Where did you learn that, Mabel?”

“Oh, I’ve been braiding hair since I was, like, five,” she said proudly, hands working away at weaving the streamers together. “Sometimes it was a braid train, sometimes I was just bored in class and messing with my hair for fun, sometimes it was with a braiding kit I got one year for my birthday…”

“Seventh one, right?” Bill guessed. “Gift from one of the girls in your class—said she got it for you in the hopes of ‘helping you fix that rat’s nest you call hair?’” 

He rolled his eyes. “Pretty rude of her to say when Mommy Dearest was paying out of house and home to take her to the fanciest salon in town every month to get her pretty blonde hair curled and rebleached.”

“I knew she wasn’t a natural blonde!” Mabel said with a look of vindication—

—one that vanished in an instant as she cast a nasty look towards Bill, before promptly turning her attention back to the streamers in her hand. And after a few moments, she finally held up her efforts for Ford to see; a decently-length braid of the streamers combined. “Ta-da! Streamer braid!”

She gave both ends a firm tug, to confirm that the braid would hold. “With this, I can get up the tree and to the lever!”

“How quaint,” Bill taunted. “Now why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and give it a go? Just remember; aim zone, sharp rock!”

“Go ahead, Mabel,” Ford said in a more encouraging tone. “Just be careful, alright?”

With a nod to Ford—and another irritated raspberry at Bill—Mabel approached the tree and looked up towards the waiting lever. It wasn’t too high—probably about halfway up the tree’s actual length—and a fall from that height wouldn’t cause much more harm than a few bruises. Maybe even less if she aimed for one of the nearby bushes—and not towards any rocks, Bill!

Despite all that, Mabel couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a teensy bit nervous.

Taking great care to focus more on how smug she could be to Bill about her success and less on the task itself, she wrapped the braided streamers around the tree and began her ascent up with slow, careful steps up the side. 

It was a struggle at some points, supporting her own body weight against the force of gravity. But hauling a heavy pig around for almost a year seemed to have paid off in Mabel’s favor, for it wasn’t long before she was in reaching distance of the lever. Despite how close she was, however, she kept her hands firmly on the ends of the braided streamers. She couldn’t exactly let go of them, otherwise she’d just fall back to the ground. Not a huge issue if she aimed for a bush, but she was pretty sure that Wendy had pushed the lever up with her axe last year. And how was she supposed to push the lever up if she couldn’t—

Oh, wait!

She shifted herself to cast a look back down at Ford—

—nope, bad idea! Way too high and she was suddenly remembering the brief period of time last year when she had a fear of heights!

She snapped her gaze upwards again with a deep, shuddery breath. Alright, this was fine—she could just talk to him without looking down! “Grunkle Ford?” she called, keeping her attention focused squarely on the branches above. “Does the lever only work if you push it up?”

“No, it should activate the stairs regardless of whether you push or pull it,” Ford called in return. “The lever was specifically designed in such a way that we would be able to either trigger the mechanism from the ground with a well-aimed shot of a crossbow, or simply climb up and pull it if we happened to leave said crossbow back at the house.”

“‘We’, he says,” Bill piped up. “And yet I have no memory of being included in that conversation.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

While they continued to bicker—or rather, Bill replied with some annoying remark while Ford fell silent again—Mabel turned back to the lever with a look of determination. Her initial theory confirmed, she bent her knees and launched herself upwards, grasping hold of the lever with one hand while the braided streamers fluttered off with the wind.

Sure enough, the weight of her body was enough to pull the lever completely downwards, and a rumbling noise suddenly echoed throughout the wood as the tree began to follow suit and descend down into the earth.

Luckily for Mabel, it eventually descended far enough for her to drop back to the ground without issue or injury, and both her and Ford—still clutching Bill tightly—stepped back in time for the tree to reveal the stairwell down to the bunker’s entrance. “Good work, Mabel,” Ford said with a proud grin in her direction.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all so impressed,” Bill said sarcastically, before he batted his eyelashes at her. “Now hows’about you scurry on back to the shack while ol' Fordsy and I spent some more quality time together~?”

Ignoring him completely, Mabel cast a hopeful look to Ford. “Since I did such a good job, can I stay to help you with Bill?”

“That’s right, Sixer, you did promise her you’d talk about it after she was done,” Bill reminded him. “Don’t tell me you were actually trying to trick her into doing your dirty work and planned on sending her back to the shack with her tail between her legs this whole time!”

Ford had barely processed Mabel’s sharp reply of “Stop pressuring him!” before the concerns from before engulfed his mind once again, thoughts once again dancing around wildly as he attempted to figure out the best course of action.

He had promised Mabel, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. But Bill’s constant poking and prodding about the issue had raised a completely new concern in Ford’s head—was Bill deliberately trying to get him to turn down Mabel’s request?

Bill was a master at manipulation, and one of the many tools at his disposal in that regard was his ability to isolate someone. To convince them in any way he could to cut off any outside help, whether it be a lab partner, a family member, or anyone else who might potentially help them poke holes in his plans.

Maybe Bill was either trying to torment Mabel to the point of making her give up and return to the Shack, or annoy Ford to the point of sending her back himself—in the hopes of being trapped down in the bunker alone. 

Or perhaps the opposite was true and he was actually attempting reverse psychology—pushing hard in one direction to the point where it looked suspicious, forcing them to veer in the opposite direction. Another cherished tool to one skilled in the art of manipulation.

But why? Either way, what was his goal?

The answer to the former theory was obvious; Ford would have to keep Bill in the first room while he deactivated the security system. And with no one to keep an eye on him during the long stretches of time while he worked, Bill would be granted a large window of opportunity to escape his binds. A task that would probably be easy to accomplish for someone with Bill’s omniscience—Ford could vaguely recall one of Bill’s older stories about assisting Harry Houdini during his golden days.

As for the latter—with how little Ford had budged on giving him information throughout the past day, perhaps he was turning his efforts to someone more willing to talk. And while Ford loved and cherished Mabel dearly, even her mere presence here had already revealed more to Bill than he needed to know.

Sure, Bill’s jabs towards her could simply be chalked up to his usual Bill behavior. Perhaps he was simply bored and desperate to stir up trouble with the only method available to him at the moment; his words. 

But naturally, such observation was simply that—observation. And Ford could observe and theorize all he wanted, but he wouldn’t get anywhere unless he addressed the concern that had hoped to ignore in favor of focusing on the task at hand. The major concern that had loomed over his thoughts since the second they had found that strange, cackling child between the birch trees the previous evening.

What was Bill planning now that he was back?

The obvious answer was another attempt at Weirdmageddon, with ‘revenge on Ford and his family’ following closely behind. Outside of that, Ford had mostly focused his efforts into finding some way to get Bill out of their hair first rather than coming up with any clear answers. If he had succeeded in getting rid of Bill, finding those answers would no longer be necessary.

But his failed attempts across the past day and current interactions Mabel had unfortunately brought Ford to an inevitable conclusion—he had fallen right into a trap by not considering further possibilities sooner and was now forced to make a choice with two concerning, unpredictable outcomes.

Granted, such outcomes could always have minor and otherwise harmless results. But at the same time, he was dealing with Bill Cipher. A master of making fire-and-eyeball-spitting mountains out of molehills, whether they be literal mountains or metaphorical ones in the form of a person’s mind.

Regardless of his choice here, there was a good chance that he would not favor the outcome while Bill could twist it to his own advantage—

“Uh, hello? Earth to Ford? Thought you were gonna have a talk with her?”

Bill’s voice and the shrill laugh that followed pulled Ford back to the conversation, just as he continued with: “Like I said before, I’m all for the idea of letting her stick around.” He raised an eyebrow at Mabel. “But the real question is; are you willing to miss that big party of yours, Shooting Star?”

“I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping Grunkle Ford stop you!” Mabel said, shaking a fist at him before turning to Ford. “I’ll miss a hundred parties if it means helping you stop him!”

“Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

His grip on the rope tensed as Stanley’s words washed over him once again. Whether or not this was truly a trap on Bill’s end was still uncertain. Perhaps Bill actually wanted him to let Mabel stick around and keep watch. Or perhaps he wanted Mabel to return to the Shack, and hoped his taunting would be effective enough to push Ford to that decision.

Regardless of whatever choice Bill actually wanted Ford to make, Ford knew which one he was going to make.

“I did promise we would talk about it,” he finally said aloud, mostly to Mabel. “I am impressed with how you managed to reach the lever all on your own. That was very impressive.”

Mabel waved him away with a humble smile. “Psh, I don’t deserve all the credit,” she said, once again holding up the rolls of streamers in her hands. “Pink Mab-urple did all the hard work! Although I guess it was named after me, so maybe I deserve MOST of the credit—”

“Regardless of how grateful I am, I still think it’d be best if you went back to the Shack. I can handle everything else from here.”

The words escaped Ford’s mouth as he spun back to face the entrance of the bunker.

“Wh—but Grunkle Ford!”

He could hear the sad faltering in her tone, one that gripped his heart tight. He was grateful he had turned around, he knew she’d have more of a chance to sway his answer if he had kept looking at her. “I said we could talk,” he continued, keeping his eyes forward. “And you agreed to respect my decision.”

“But—”

“I’ve given you my answer, Mabel,” he said, more firmly this time. “Please listen to me.”

Even with his back to her, he could clearly visualize the heartbreak in Mabel’s expression. Heartbreak so similar to the way Stanley had looked at him earlier when he had turned him down as well. Heartbreak he could—he would—apologize for later.

But for now…

Without another word, he disappeared into the depths of the bunker stairwell, leaving Mabel to stare at the tree alone.

— — — — — — —

The wooden steps creaked beneath Ford’s feet as the duo descended further underground, the sliver of light from the entrance eventually fading into darkness behind them.

At any other point, it would’ve been a great opportunity for Bill to crack a joke at Ford’s expense. In his current situation, however, one major concern had been lingering at the back of his mind throughout the entire trek to the bunker, interrupted by both their arrival and Mabel's sudden appearance.

In a matter of hours, he’d be stuck in one of the cryogenic tubes with no way out.

Put on ice, left to rot—and unable to play Birdbrain’s dumb game.

“You mean you haven’t figured out what’s happening yet?”

His brow furrowed as his thoughts drifted back to Tangy, and their visit in the Mindscape during Ford’s little fairy dust stunt. Oh, buddy, was he gonna need some time to sit and unpack all of that!

First of all, that sneaky jerk was clearly keeping tabs on his progress from wherever they were now. And much like invading someone's personal space, omniscience was only fun when he was the one behind the metaphorical screen. 

Bill Cipher wasn’t supposed to be the one to be on guard from an unseen entity behind the scenes. He was supposed to be the one to bring panic to others! To strike paranoia into their hearts and send chills down their spines. To make them glance worriedly over their shoulders—out of fear of being watched—as they trudged through the dark woods alone.

Barring that, Tangy had started to tell him something about his current vessel before Ford’s transfer spell had cut the conversation short. Something about his wrist?

He gave his arms a light tug against the rope that kept them bound at his sides. Welp—not like he could investigate that further at the moment, but it was definitely good to keep in mind.

In the meantime, he had to keep his focus on the matter at hand—getting out of Ford’s grasp before he was reduced to nothing more than a fleshy popsicle. 

A goal that would’ve been far easier to accomplish if Ford had actually let Shooting Star keep watch over him.

As tempting as it was to be left alone for hours on end—maybe with the occasional check-in from Ford at most—Mabel serving herself up on a silver platter had just been too good an opportunity for Bill to resist.

And it had taken all of his self-control to bite back his anger at Ford’s decision to actually send her back to the Shack. Come on, he had practically giftwrapped that bit of bait for Ford and had had the gall to go and turn it down?!

Granted, even he knew it was a stretch to outright ask Mabel to free him—heck, the only way he had gotten anything out of her last year had literally been through someone else. But that motor-mouth of hers was a liar’s goldmine; a treasure trove of information to exploit. It was one of her best qualities if Bill had to come up with a list—maybe second only to her overwhelming love of fun and her high levels of selfishness that resembled his own.

Even if she had no desire to cut his ropes herself, there would’ve still been plenty of ways for Bill to guide her hand towards the goal anyway.

But nope, Ford had to go and ruin that for him. Yeesh, either he was losing his touch or the old man was getting too wise to his tricks. Probably the latter.

He winced as the faint light of the overnight room finally came into view, shortly before Ford reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped inside. He lingered in the doorway for a moment—sadly Bill was clutched in Ford’s left hand, making it impossible to get a subtle glimpse at his expression and gauge his thoughts—before he continued onwards towards the old, dilapidated mattress near the wall.

So Sixer planned on leaving him there, huh? Alright, fine, Bill could work with that—no, wait, he was heading for the weapons locker first.

The possibility of torture crossed Bill’s mind for a fleeting moment; he definitely wouldn’t put it above Ford, and would—admittedly—almost respect him for resorting to such levels of cruel revenge. But the thought was dashed almost as quickly as it had appeared when Ford reached for another rope instead.

Nope, he was once again going for the excessive rope route. Ugh, just when Bill thought Ford had completely sunk to the bottom of the disappointment hole, he had pulled out a metaphorical shovel and was determined to dig lower.

Rope in hand, Ford moved to the mattress and let Bill’s body drop to it with a light thump—his free arm immediately wrapping around his legs before Bill had time to react, while the other hand quickly tied the rope around them. It was pointless to struggle, but that didn’t stop Bill from attempting it anyway until his legs were properly bound in place. And once Ford was satisfied, he rose to full height again and moved back to the weapons cabinet.

Oh, maybe this time he would fetch a weapon of sorts—wrong again, he was simply setting a moonstone on the shelf before slamming the cabinet door shut and moving to the opposite side of the room with a vial of mercury in hand.

At this rate, Sixer would hit the other side of the disappointment Earth with how deep he kept digging.

While Bill slouched unhappily against his restraints, Ford finished placing all the necessary ingredients before heading towards the large, red button near the door to the stairwell. And after a press—one that cause the entire main room to rumble as the above-ground entryway likely ascended back into place over their heads—he crossed the room to the tunnel entrance without so much as a look back at Bill.

“So you’re just gonna tie me up and leave me here for hours on end while you play mechanic in the next room, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “Better hope I don’t yell at the worst moment possible and scare you! One wrong step and it’s kersplats-ville!”

His remark did give Ford some pause, but after a moment, he climbed into the tunnel and pulled the latch shut behind him. Leaving Bill to lean back against the wall in a silent huff as his eyes scanned his dimly-lit surroundings.

Well, if he only had a few, precious hours to come up with an escape plan, then he needed to cherish every second of it and start brainstorming. Sure, maybe he didn’t have an easily-exploitable chump on hand to help in his endeavors.

But if the events of the last day had taught him anything, it was that no matter how dire the situation and no matter how hard Sixer tried to fight against it—lady luck always had a hand at the ready for Bill Cipher.

That, and maybe he could bust out a few of those tricks he’d taught ol’ Erik back in the day.

— — — — — — —

Despite Ford’s insistence to return home, Mabel remained where she stood for a few seconds longer. And after those few seconds of staring down at the darkened entryway where her great-uncle had gone, she turned away, took a couple of steps towards the direction of the shack—

—before she changed course for a nearby stump.

Hey, Ford had told her to go back to the shack—he hadn’t specified when she should go back. Not that she wanted to go back anyway, especially after Ford hadn’t actually kept up his end of the deal! Okay, yes, they’d kinda-sorta talked about it like he’d promised. But that wasn’t the same thing as talk-talking about it! Just because she still wanted to help him didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little annoyed about that!

After seating herself upon it with a stubborn harrumph, she fished her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. Once her screen brightened, she brought up her list of text messages, gaze bouncing between the two most recent conversations.

The first was Dev—with a series of new texts he had sent while Mabel had been occupied with cleanup and decoration planning:

[ET Cutie <3: Hey, Mabel! Sorry I had to dash so quick for breakfast, hope you guys are having fun!] [ET Cutie <3: Also hope your Great-Uncle Stanford’s also not too busy with his work stuff to hang out!] [ET Cutie <3: I don’t care if he’s one of the most influential scientists in the field of supernatural and paranormal study, I’ll fight him for not spending time with the spe-] [ET Cutie <3: -cialest, prettiest, most amazing girl in the world!] [ET Cutie <3: Sorry, ran out of room in my first text.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: …Please don’t actually make me fight him, you know I can’t fight.] [ET Cutie <3: Shoot, why did that send twice?] [ET Cutie <3: Whatever, you get my point. Love you! <3 <3 <3]

Mabel’s mouth curled into a smile—albeit one not entirely happy—as she hugged her phone to her cheek, before moving her attention down to the next group of texts. This one had been between her Dipper, their most recent exchange about two days old:

[Bro-Bro: Mom says we’re gonna be leaving for Gravity Falls around seven, so we’ve gotta go to bed early tonight in order to catch our bus.] Dipper had messaged to kickstart the conversation.

[Mabel: Is that code for ‘Time to leave Dev’s and come home?’] She had asked in return.

[Bro-Bro: You know it is.]

[Mabel: No prob, I was about to head out anyway!]

The conversation had been paused for a minute or two before she had sent her next text:

[Mabel: Actually, they also wanted to walk me home and talk to you about something.] [Mabel: One of your nerd club-type somethings.]

[Bro-Bro: It’s probably about their plans to try and snap some sky whale pics while they’re down at the coast.] [Bro-Bro: They mentioned wanting to borrow my camera last week.]

[Mabel: Or maybe they wanna just say goodbye to both of us at the same time before we’re gone for three months.]

[Bro-Bro: Either or!]

The thread had ended there, likely due to Mabel having tucked her phone into her pocket at the time to head home, hand-in-hand with Dev as she’d promised. Another smile tugged at her lips again—one that was unable to truly mask the wistfulness that was starting to overtake her features—as she typed out a new message:

[Mabel: Hey, Bro-Bro! So some good news!] [Mabel: I managed to get Grunkle Ford into the bunker, and he actually seemed pretty happy about it!!] [Mabel: Plus I did it by using streamers to scale a tree, which I think is a-PRETTY cool, if I do say so myself!!] [Mabel: Speaking of which, please send me pics of the Shack covered in streamers once you’re done!! I wanna see that beautiful mess of color that looks like a rainbow just died on the roof!!!!]

Before she could type out another reply, her phone buzzed as a text from Dipper came through:

[Bro-Bro: Morbid, but yeah, sure, I’ll send you some pics once we’re done.] [Bro-Bro: Does this mean Ford let you stay and help with Bill?]

[Mabel: Yeah, see…that’s the bad news.] [Mabel: He let me open up the bunker, but he didn’t let me go down with him.] [Mabel: I even pulled out the ‘he can’t watch Bill if he’s busy with the security room’ card and everything!]

[Bro-Bro: Aw man...] [Bro-Bro: So what’re you going to do then? Come back to the shack?]

[Mabel: I dunno, I still don’t want to leave him here all by himself.] [Mabel: Plus TECHNICALLY, he told me to return to the shack.] [Mabel: He never said I had to go back to the shack NOW!!! >:)]

There was a beat or two before Dipper’s next text:

[Bro-Bro: …You’re gonna sit outside the bunker and wait for him, aren’t you?]

[Mabel: Yeh-huh!] [Mabel: Now THAT’S a loophole dodge!]

[Bro-Bro: Cool, cool, so we should just go ahead and do the streamers for you then?]

[Mabel: You have my full permission! Again, dead rainbows! Morbid and horrible, but it gets my point across!] [Mabel: And I’ll let you know if anything changes out here.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, keep me posted.]

[Mabel: Only if YOU keep me pic…ed. Send me pics is what I mean.]

[Bro-Bro: …I mean, I already said I would, didn’t I?]

[Mabel: Yeah, but I couldn’t resist the pun!]

Mabel lowered her phone to her lap again, but it was at least half a minute before Dipper sent another reply and she raised it again to investigate:

[Bro-Bro: Wendy also said to let us know if you need anything else.] [Bro-Bro: She knows sitting out in the middle of the woods without something to do can get SUPER boring.] [Bro-Bro: Plus the food situation’s kinda nonexistent unless you’re willing to kill something.]

Barely ten seconds had passed before another pair of additional texts followed:

[Bro-Bro: And while I know you are…just PLEASE let us bring you some chips or a sandwich or something.] [Bro-Bro: We can do that, Mabel. We can bring you actual food.]

Mabel’s laugh echoed through the woods as she typed:

[Mabel: No need to worry there! I got my Sneaking-Snacks-Into-A-Movie-Theater outfit on!] [Mabel: Complete with twelve hidden pockets full of snacks AND my licorice hair tie!] [Mabel: I’m set for HOURS!]

She lowered her phone again to reach up for one end of said hair tie, giving it some slack so she could pull it towards her mouth. The tip had barely passed her teeth when another text came through:

[Bro-Bro: PLEASE tell me you’re not going to chew on it again.] [Bro-Bro: Mabel, your hair is going to get SO gross!]

Keeping the end in her mouth, she mashed out a reply:

[Mabel: It’s fine! I’ve got extras in one of my pockets, so I’ll just eat this one and replace it with a new one instead of sticking it back in my hair!] [Mabel: Problem solved.]

[Bro-Bro: Alright, but if you want something other than pocket snacks and hair-flavored licorice ropes, let us know, alright?]

[Mabel: You got it, Bro-bro!]

With that, she let her phone rest on her lap again, her smile from before all but gone as she looked towards the bunker entrance again.

The tree was still half-submerged—and from her spot, she could just barely make out the top step of the staircase that lead down into the earth.

Hmm.

After tucking her phone back into her pocket and pulling more of the licorice rope into her mouth, Mabel stood up and hurried back towards the tree to peer down into the stairwell again. As she’d expected the door was still wide open, leading down into the waiting darkness.

And leading down to a jerky triangle and a Dr. Grunkle in need of assistance.

She nibbled on the end further with a thoughtful look. Once again, Ford had told her that she should go back to the Shack but he hadn’t specified when she should go back.

Nor had he said that she wasn’t allowed to go down into the bunker at all. Or—as a completely random, hypothetical example—sit in the stairwell and wait for him to be done with his work while doubling as a guard for the exit, in case Bill tried to make another escape.

…Hypothetically, of course!

The rumbling from before started again, causing her to take a few wobbly steps back from the edge while her gaze snapped up to the tree. Sure enough, it was shaking with a loud, creaking sound, a likely indicator that it would shortly be rising back to full height.

Her attention fell back to the doorway and staircase, the latter of which was beginning to retract back into the earth from the bottom upwards, while the doorway began to lower at a much slower speed than when it had originally opened.

Slow enough for someone to perform a pretty cool action stunt and dive inside just before it closed, if they moved quickly enough!

Shoving the end of the licorice further into her mouth with a look of determination, Mabel bounded down the remaining steps that had yet to retract and leapt down the rest of the way into the pit when she reached the last one. Keeping her momentum going, she barreled towards the waiting doorway that was lowering more and more by the second.  

And just before it could slam completely shut, she rushed though with all her might and landed hard against the concrete platform inside. Leaving the door to lock in place behind her, taking the last bit of light from the outside with it and leaving her completely shrouded in darkness.

While the room continued to rumble around her—the tree likely rising back into place outside—Mabel pulled herself to her feet with a sneeze from the kicked-up dust, causing the licorice to fall back against her hair and stick in place. With a grimace, she reached up to remove it completely and tossed the uneaten part to the floor before reaching into her pocket for a fresh one.

As she wrapped it in place around her hair and the rumbling around her finally stopped, she cast a look down the stairs towards the waiting bunker below.

The waiting bunker, aforementioned great-uncle in need of assistance, and that jerky—

—aw, heck with it—dumbass triangle.

She chuckled to herself as she silently creeped further down the steps, hand slipping back into her pocket to retrieve her phone. Mmm, no that still didn’t feel right. Oh well, she could always try again later!

— — — — — — —

“‘Change of plans, Bro-Bro, I’m gonna get a closer look at the situation.’”

“What does that mean? New roll.”

From his side of the roof platform, Dipper reached into the nearby bag of streamers for a fresh roll. “I dunno,” he said, tossing it at her. “Probably that she’s going to—oh, no wait, she sent a pic.”

He held up his phone for Wendy to see, and she peered closely at the screen. “Looks like a whole lotta nothing…”

“According to her, it’s the bunker stairwell,” Dipper explained, pulling his phone back to type out a reply. “Guess she raced inside before it could close, so now she’s gonna spend the whole day in there waiting for Ford.”

“Wow, she’s actually in it for the long haul, huh?” Wendy said. “I know the two of you have grown a bit since last year, but spending an entire day waiting for Dr. Pines out in some dusty old bunker seems more like a you thing, doesn’t it? Unless I’ve missed something across the past nine months or whatever…” 

She arched her arm back and swung it forward again, keeping a tight grip on the end of the streamer as the rest went sailing over the roof to the other side. “Oh, niiiiice,” she said proudly as she let her end gently flutter down to the tiles in front of them. “Bet that one flew clear into the woods—new roll.”

On request, Dipper tossed a new roll of streamers over to her before setting his phone down. “No, you didn’t miss anything,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to me too. But like she said earlier, one of her big things this summer was to spend more time with Ford. So I guess that counts as quality time, in the Mabel-est definition of the word.”

He shrugged to punctuate his sentence while Wendy unfurled the roll and repeated her previous action of tossing it over to the side of the roof. “Still…can’t believe she’s really going to miss out on a party like this,” she said.

“You don’t know if she will,” Dipper pointed out. “Ford could finish dismantling the security room, deal with Bill, and come back with Mabel before the party even dreams of starting.”

“Pretty optimistic theory for a guy who doesn’t believe a house can be lifted away by balloons,” Wendy said. “New roll.”

“Once again, never said I didn’t believe it could happen,” Dipper reminded her as he tossed her a roll. “I just said it’s gotta prove itself first!”

With a laugh, Wendy started unfurling the roll before taking aim at the chimney. “Hey, maybe we should try that will Bill instead? Tie a bunch of balloons to him until he flies up and out of our lives forever?”

“I mean, there are actual balloons designed to carry people,” Dipper pointed out. “But I guess with how small he is now, the right number of party balloons could probably get the job done.”

His words trailed off with a lingering discomfort, one he feebly attempted to mask by reaching for the tree-bearing journal he had set beside him on the platform. An action that gave Wendy pause mid-throw—the end of the streamer slipping from her hand and causing the entire thing to miss the chimney completely and sail onwards over the top of the house. “So, uh, you wanna talk about all that mess?” she asked. “Mainly the whole ��him looking like you’ thing?”

“Not in the slightest,” Dipper said, flipping to the page he’d been working on. “With Stan and Ford being how they are, and Mabel being how she is, someone’s gotta keep a clear head about all this Bill stuff.”

“Mabel being how she is?” Wendy questioned.

“I mean, you saw how she was acting earlier,” Dipper explained. “All stressed out about Bill and Ford and Stan. Plus she’s been acting kinda weird about Bill in general, even before we got back to town.”

He lightly tapped the edge of the pencil against the page. “Did you know she hasn’t even told Dev about what happened? Like not just about Bill coming back, but about Weirdmageddon in general? She even asked me not to say anything about it, and like…that’s fair, I don’t feel like getting into that mess with him either.”

Another shrug. “But I dunno, it feels like there’s more there than just her being worried about Mayor Tyler’s Never Mind All That Act.”

“Psh, if that’s all she’s worried about, she shouldn’t be,” Wendy assured him. “It took all of two weeks for Tyler to give up trying to keep that act in effect before people started planning out Bill costumes and decorations for Halloween.”

Her smile felt into a look of annoyance. “He does get really uppity about is people getting too close to the statue, though. So naturally a lot of my classmates started daring each other to sneak off and go shake its hand.”

“Did you do that?”

Her smile returned. “Kinda wanted to, but after the convenience store thing last year, I wasn’t in the mood to test my luck with ghosts. And with Bill actually being back now, I stand further by that choice.”

Dipper let out a weak laugh. “Well, like I said, I feel like there’s more to Mabel acting how she is than that,” he continued. “Which circles back to the whole ‘With her, Ford and Stan acting how they are, somebody’s gotta keep a clear head about this Bill stuff’ thing.”

He began to scribble something down in the journal as he spoke further: “Plus hey, it’s not the first time he’s piloted around a body that looks like me. Like I was telling Stan and Ford earlier, I don’t think he’s gonna top what happened last year—”

“Last year? What happened last year?”

The two of them exchanged a look. “Oh, did we not tell you about that?” Dipper asked. “Yeah, he possessed my body last year on the day of Mabel’s big puppet show. Stuck forks in my arms, poured soda in my eyes, said a bunch of creepy, ominous things as me—”

“Ugh, seriously? That was him?” Wendy asked with a grimace. “No wonder you were acting so weird that day! I thought something was screwy when you started cackling wildly to yourself in the car, but I also kinda figured you were just super sleep-deprived.”

“Yeah, it was a whole thing,” Dipper said, waving her away. “But the point is, I’m no stranger to him looking like me. It’s weird, but…I’ll be fine.”

The scribbling stopped for a moment, his trembling hand around the pencil a clear contradiction to his words. One that Wendy met with an unconvinced look before she moved her gaze towards the bag of streamers.

After a moment in thought, she cast him another grin and flicked her thumb towards the large sign that read MYSTERY [S]HACK. “Hey, you wanna see who can get a streamer inside the A on the sign first?”

She winked at him. “We can always pretend it’s Bill’s big, stupid eye and that the streamers are…I dunno, something that’ll really hurt if it gets caught in a big, stupid eye?”

A small smile of his own tugged at the corners of Dipper’s mouth, before he set his journal aside again and pulled himself to his feet. “I mean, I guess if he was still the size of a building, streamers would probably be enough to cause some serious irritation to that fucker’s cornea.”

“Heyyyy, nice f-bomb drop,” Wendy said encouragingly. “How’d it feel?”

“Honestly, solid six-out-of-ten,” Dipper added as he followed suit. “Felt good, but kinda unnatural putting it right next to the word ‘cornea’."

“Eh, you’ve got all summer to smooth it out. TWO rolls!”

— — — — — — —

Every twist of a wrench or disconnecting of a wire helped to keep Ford grounded as he toiled away at the intricate mechanisms behind the security room.

He’d stated it plenty of times in the past, but Fiddleford had really outdone himself with the bunker’s construction. Such brilliant craftsmanship had always been the man’s forte when it came to inventing; it was one of the reasons Ford had sought his help in the portal’s creation.

His grip on the wrench in his hand tightened as he twisted it a bit too hard, resulting in the current screw he’d been unscrewing to fall out of its socket and to the floor with a light clatter.

With a sigh, he reached down to pick it up before rotating the small metal object over in his hand. Yes, Fiddleford back then had possessed such a brilliant mind, one with so much hope and potential.

“Haha, pretty sure that hillbilly jerk regretted getting his memory back when he remembered why he tried to get rid of it in the first place!”

And what had Ford done to repay him for all that help? 

Insulted him, belittled him, disregarded his warnings about Bill, and left him to burn countless holes into that brilliant mind. All with the same gun that he had used to burn a hole in Stanley’s mind.

Frowning lower, he stuffed the screw into the jacket pocket where he’d stored the others and moved on to the next one. If it wasn’t Fiddleford coming under fire as a result of his actions, it was Stanley. And if it wasn’t Stanley, it was—

“I think I’m gonna kill one of ‘em, just for the heck of it!”

The threatening memory echoed through Ford’s mind, stilling him out of sheer instinct as his gaze moved to the tunnel. Mabel’s surprise appearance had admittedly been such a bright beacon of relief after the past day’s agonies, and his appreciation for her help had been genuine.

But any concerns he might’ve had regarding Fiddleford or Stanley were increased tenfold when applied to the kids. 

As he’d initially stated before, Mabel was strong. Strong as Stanley, strong as those Pines genetics coursing through her body. But she was also Mabel. Spirited, bright, wonderful Mabel, who wore such a vulnerable heart on her brightly-colored sweater sleeves. 

A heart that Bill was desperate to plunge a knife into just as soon as the opportunity was at his fingertips.

With another sigh, he once again pocketed the removed screw and moved to the next one. No, it was for the best that he’d turned down Mabel’s help. What if he’d actually agreed to her offer and she somehow got hurt while attempting to guard Bill, like so many others who had helped him in the past?

Sure, he had waxed several pages of poetic retrospective in his old journal about how important it had been to seek help from others, but at what cost? The compromisation of his loved ones’ well-beings? Was it truly worth extending a hand in his time of need if it meant any one of them would be caught in the crossfire again? Especially since he still had no idea what kind of tricks Bill had tucked up his sleeve this time around. 

Clatter clatter, went another screw to the floor.

Nor did he have a clue as to whether or not his current plan to restrain Bill would actually succeed.

Clatter clatter.

And what if his current plan did succeed but he failed to come up with anything better? What if his family had to spend the rest of their days with a ticking time bomb hidden down here, with only a thin layer of liquid nitrogen to keep the danger at bay?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Not to mention, there was still Bill’s current appearance to take into account. Why did he look so much like Dipper? Had the resemblance been intentional, or had he been telling the truth the previous day when he claimed to not be aware? Did it actually matter in the long run, or was it just a random happenstance?

Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter. Clatter clatter.

Question after question, theory after theory, concern after concern piling on to of him and dragging him further down—

BANG!

The end of the wrench was slammed hard against the wall, and Ford exhaled as much stress with the impact as he could possibly release. 

He had to stop spiraling, to remain focused on the task at hand. Whether his current plan was a temporary solution or not, it would still keep Bill out of the way long enough for him to think of something more permanent. As far as he could tell—and as much as he had deduced as much earlier with his fairy dust stunt—Bill had no actual means of leaving his current body.

Regardless of how powerful Bill was, he couldn’t do anything while trapped inside a weak, human body, one with no clear immunity to being flash-frozen.

And as for the vessel’s appearance…

His gaze shifted over to the tunnel again for a brief second, before he lifted his wrench again and moved on to the next screw.

No, it didn’t matter who Bill looked like or what he had planned. Once this was over, none of it wouldn’t matter.

Once this was over, Ford could breathe again. The kids would be safe again. Stanley would be safe again, everyone would be safe again.

Clatter clatter…

He just had to stay focused for a little bit longer…

— — — — — — —

The morning gradually shifted into afternoon, late afternoon, and eventually the bright, blue sky faded to the deep pinks and oranges of sunset.

“Good evening, Gravity Falls! This is Shandra Jimenez reporting to you live from the Mystery Shack, where we’re only a short while away from the biggest party of the year!”

And with the end of day came the beginning of the party, along with nearly everyone from town.

Behind Shandra and her broadcast, Lazy Susan came ambling up the pathway with a fresh pie in each hand and a delighted wink to the cameraman filming everyone’s arrival. A wink that unfortunately made her drop one of the pies as she reached up to manually wink her bad eye for dramatic effect—

—only for a small gnome to grab it just before it hit the ground, and hurry back towards a suspiciously-lumpy guest in a trench coat.

From further up the driveway, Manly Dan came charging towards the Shack with the Manotaur herd—all of whom were carrying large kegs of meat beneath their bulging, muscular arms. Behind them trailed a group of various other residents of recognizable nature. And perched above the party atop the old MYSTERY [S]HACK sign were the flocks of Eyebats and Woodpeckers from the previous day, all settled comfortably to watch the festivities below. The irises of the eyebats shifted about as they eyed each new guest come up the driveway, while one of the woodpeckers—the petrified Woodpeckerpecker from the day before still settled on its back—pecked curiously at the streamers that now decorated the roof.

And that was only a small percentage of the guests who soon crowded the grounds of the Shack. A crowd that Dipper peered out over from his spot atop the porch railing, pencil and journal clutched tightly in hand. “Let’s see, gnomes are here,” he mused, the scribbled words following his speech. “Lazy Susan…Shandra and her cameraman whose name I don’t know…”

He cast a smile to his left. “Wow, Soos, you and Melody really invited everyone, huh?”

From beside him on the porch itself, Soos let out a laugh. “Right? I mean, I guess we kinda overdid it with the invitations. But we couldn’t help it, dude! Everyone was just that excited to see the Pines family again!”

“As they should be,” Wendy added from his right. “You guys are, like, heroes and stuff.”

Dipper smiled wide at this remark, but his expression slowly sank as he turned his attention towards both the boat and the forest itself at the edge of the yard. “Ugh, if only I wasn’t the only member of the family actually at the party for us…”

The sound of the door opening behind them turned all heads to Melody, who had just stepped out onto the porch with a tall stack of paper plates in hand. “Is Mr. Pines still out on the boat?” she asked, kicking the door shut behind her. “He’s been out there all day! Has he even eaten anything?”

“I brought him some food and a change of clothes earlier,” Soos assured her. “But he just grabbed both from my hands and slammed the door shut behind him. Didn’t even give me a chance to see whatever big, secret project he was working on!”

“Secret project?” Wendy asked.

“I dunno if that’s actually what he’s doing,” Soos explained with a shrug. “But y’know…spending all your time somewhere isolated for hours on end, and not telling anyone what you’re doing? Seems kinda secret project-y to me.”

“Speaking of projects, although this one’s not really secret,” Melody said. “Could you help me carry these to the table, Soos?”

“Oh yeah, no problem!” Soos said, and rushed to assist her. “Although if we want it to be a secret project, you could always ask me in a secret language next time! Like maybe write it out in the alien goblin from Housebound!”

“Not a bad idea,” Melody agreed. “Although you said the name of the franchise out loud, and now anyone who heard you—” She tilted her head towards Wendy and Dipper with a smile. “—would be able to turn to the source material for ways to decipher our code.”

Soos slapped a hand to his forehead. “Aww, you’re so right, babe! Didn’t even think of that!” he said, then looked back at the teens as well. “Hey dudes, don’t even think about looking up Housebound and the well-crafted, original language the creator made for it!”

“Not my ballpark, Soos,” Dipper assured him.

“I will immediately forget the name of the show once this conversation ends,” Wendy added.

“It’s actually an online comic,” Soos corrected. “Although it’s more of an experience than a—”

“Soos?”

“Haha, right, plate time.”

Both Soos and Melody let out a laugh as they divided the stack of plates between them two of them and made their way towards the tables in the yard. Leaving Wendy and Dipper free to turn their attention back towards the edge of the property. “So, what do you think the old man’s been up to all day?” Wendy asked.

“Not sure,” Dipper replied. “Wonder if he’s even aware that the party’s started. I doubt the boat’s soundproof, so he can probably hear everyone outside.”

With a chuckle, Wendy leaned closer and gave him a light nudge with her elbow. “Yeah, unless he pulled his whole ‘switch off my hearing aids’ stunt to try and ignore ‘em. Again.”

Her amusement was only met with a light knock of wood to skull as Dipper sadly propped himself against the nearest support beam, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, dude?”

“Ugh, I dunno,” Dipper said. “I wanted to be excited for tonight, but that Stan thing’s just kinda reminding me how he’s still out there on the boat with no sign of stopping—”

After straightening himself out again, he moved his journal and pencil to one hand so he could pull out his phone. “And how I haven’t gotten any new messages from Mabel in a while. Which probably means her and Ford are still stuck at the bunker, also with no signs of stopping…”

He sighed. “It’s just kinda hard to really get into the spirit of a party for our family when a whole three-quarters of us aren’t even here, you know?”

With a frown, Wendy propped her arms further over the porch railing. “Hey, come on, what happened to the optimistic attitude from earlier?“ she asked. “The one that said maybe they’d get back in time?”

She gave his arm another nudge, this time with her fist. “And the one that managed to get a whole roll of streamers stuck up in the letter A?”

A smile teased the corners of Dipper’s mouth, but disappeared before it could fully form. “I dunno, earlier we still had hours until the party started,” he explained. “And now it’s here and—as far as we know—nothing’s happened and Bill’s still around. “

He cast a look out at the crowd of party-goers again. “But I guess you’ve got a point: the impending stress of the guy who tried to destroy our entire dimension isn’t anything that can’t be dealt with through the old-fashioned method of pencil to paper as I take attendance of everyone arriving,” Dipper assured her. “Well, that and—”

He snapped a few, quick pictures of the scene with his phone. “Pictures for Mabel,” he explained to Wendy, readjusting the items in his hands so that the journal was situated back on his outstretched legs. “One that doubles as a reference for a later sketch, since I promised I’d add some to my journal for Dev to look at once we're back home! I’ve already started w—WOAH!”

With neither hand available to balance out his weight and his legs kicked out in front of him, Dipper wobbled atop the railing for a split second before his entire body tumbled backwards. Wendy moved to try and catch him, but her efforts only resulted in her snagging his journal out of mid-air—leaving its writer to fall to the wooden porch with a hard thud.

Despite the fall leaving him flat on his back, Dipper stared up at her with an embarrassed smile. “Nice catch...”

“Maybe limit things to pics now and journal later?” Wendy suggested, half of the journal clutched in one hand as she reached to help him up with the other. “Or maybe don’t do it while you’re sitting on a railing?”

“Heh, good call,” Dipper said, pulling himself to his feet before holding out his own free hand. “Maybe I’ll save it for the couch that we just have sitting out here, for some reason.”

She held out the journal for him to take back, although the page that she had accidentally opened to while haphazardly grabbing it gave her pause. A pause that made her pull the book back from him and hold up to her face to investigate further.

“Wh—hey, Wendy, come on,” Dipper said, reaching for it with more urgency. “Give it to me!”

Despite his insistence, she continued to stare for a few seconds before turning it for him to see: “Hey, Dip, what’s this?”

It was a recent page, one he had written earlier in the day. The beginning paragraph implied that he had been writing it while they had decorated the roof, but the main part she was addressing was a picture scribbled down beneath his words.

Not a picture of the decorated rooftop or any small pieces of streamers taped to the inside of the book, but an eerie sketch of Bill in his current vessel.

Dipper stared, his body language shrinking a bit. “You know, just…keeping track of what’s happened since we got here…”

She raised an eyebrow and flipped through the next few pages, most of which revealed more uncomfortable feelings about the events of the past day. “You sure you don’t wanna, like…talk about this stuff with someone?”

“Positive,” Dipper said, quickly snatching the journal back from her hands. “Like I said earlier, I’m fine and it wouldn’t be the first time I had to deal with Bill looking exactly like me. Or someone else in general looking like me!”

He flipped to a new page. “We’ve already covered all the puppet show stuff, but that wasn’t the only time! There was also the Dippy Fresh thing, and all those paper clones I made at Stan’s party to try and dance with you—”

“...Yeah, don’t think we covered that last one, dude.”

The journal was snapped shut again as a look of horrified realization overtook Dipper’s features. Before he could come up with any sort of believable explanation, however—

“Dipper! Wendy!”

The two of them looked over to see Tyler waving at them from across the yard as he hurried towards the porch. An action that made Wendy wince in disgust as she turned back to Dipper. “Okay, so listen: I know you’re having a time dealing with all this Bill stuff and family stuff—just stuff,” she said. “But—”

“You wanna get away from Mayor Tyler for reasons you don’t wanna talk about?” Dipper guessed. “And you want me to keep him distracted?”

“You do that and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last thing you said, nor will I question you about it later,” she assured him. “And I’ll also drop the Bill stuff that you clearly don’t want to talk about either.”

“Deal.”

After an exchanged thumbs-up and their trademark ‘zip-the-lip’ sign, she leapt over the far railing and onto the other side, disappearing out of sight just as Tyler came strolling up the steps. “Good evening, Dipper~!” he said with a laugh. “Do you know where Wendy went?”

“Not a clue,” Dipper said loyally. “Why, did you need to talk to her?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi,” Tyler said in his usual-cheery tone, before his features sank. “It’s so rare for us to cross paths these days, except when old Danny Man sends her with one of the Manotaurs on an errand to my office~!”

“Is that right?” Dipper said, casting a glance back towards the direction where Wendy had gone. “Well, uh—I mean, she never said she was leaving, so maybe you’ll catch her around the party at some point.”

“Oh, very true~!” Tyler said, the delight in his expression returning. “Maybe she’s just gone off to shoot the breeze with the rest of your family?” 

He pressed a hand to his chin. “Come to think of it, though I haven’t really seen either of those handsome great-uncles of yours since I got here!” he said with a wink. “I know one of them’s spent the past few decades doing some fancy footwork around all those other dimensions or something, so don’t try and tell me he’s afraid of an old-fashioned Gravity Falls shindig!”

“Uh…”

While he’d anticipated that the topic of his other family members would be brought up in conversation—especially at a party about them—Dipper hadn’t had a chance to come up with a proper excuse about their absence—

“Hey, Mayor Tyler!”

Both Tyler and Dipper turned to see Soos approaching from the direction of the tables. “Glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world~!” he said delightedly. “Dipper and I were just talking about Stan and that brother of his, and how I’ve yet to see either of them here!”

Soos opened his mouth to reply, but upon seeing the silent desperation in Dipper’s features, he instead hurried up the porch steps to drape an arm around Tyler’s shoulders. “Oh, Mr. Pines? Uh, yeah—he’s not here at the moment,” he said quickly. “He’s working on some, uh…big, fancy surprise for the party! And Dr. Pines is helping him out with it~!”

Dipper’s eyes widened as he pulled Soos away from Tyler for a hushed conversation: “Soos, what are you doing?” he whispered. “Not only is Ford not doing that, but he’s not even letting Stan help him!”

“Uh, I don’t know, dude!” Soos whispered back. “You weren’t saying anything, I panicked!”

“Yeah, well, now he’s going to expect a big surprise from them later!” Dipper pointed out. “Are we don’t even know if Ford’s going to make it back in time for the party!”

“Woo-hoo, the way you two are whispering, it must be quite the surprise!” Tyler said brightly. “Either that or something’s gone terribly wrong, and you’re about to make an excuse so you can leave and go take care of it~!”

He let out a giddy chuckle. “Haha, I’m just kidding! But either way, I just wanted to pop by and say hello, give my howdy-dos and all that! Can’t wait for this night to really start kicking off~!”

“Haha, right,” Dipper said with a nervous chuckle. “But uh, speaking of leaving, I actually do have to go find Mabel about something—”

“Oh, Mabel!” Tyler said happily. “That’s another face I’ve yet to see! Heh, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say all you Pineses are hiding from your own welcome-back party!”

“Psh, yeah, that’d be silly!” Dipper said, before hurrying to the porch steps. “I’ll be back!”

With that, he hurried down the steps and rushed off into the crowd, leaving Tyler alone with Soos on the porch. He shot Soos a wide grin of his own, accompanied by a thumbs up. “Great party so far! Can’t wait to see more of it!”

“Aw, thanks, Mayor Tyler!” Soos said. “Uh, we’re not like…breaking any noise rules or anything so far, are we? Not bein’ too loud or too…I dunno, party-ful?”

With an amused chuckle, Tyler reached over to pat his shoulder. “Soos, I’m the Mayor of the town, at a party to celebrate some of the most important people in town! I’d be more upset if anyone tried to come to me to complain about the noise! Heck, I'd probably have them arrested for being a giant party pooper!”

He pressed a hand to his mouth with a giggle before turning back to the crowd. “Oh, but you didn’t hear that from me~!”

With a wave, he disappeared amongst the partygoers and left Soos standing by the porch with a content smile. “Good to know!”

— — — — — — —

It was only once the last few screws had been pocketed that Ford allowed himself to lean back against the wall with an exhale of relief. It had taken almost an entire day’s effort, but he’d successfully deactivated the parts of the room that would activate the security system.

And just for good measure—

With the toe of his boot, he gingerly pressed one of the buttons on the floor and waited. When it was clear that the walls weren’t going to crush him into a fine paste, he let out another breath and finished gathering up his tools.

The difficult part was over for now. All he needed to do was get Bill to the other side of the bunker, and it’d all be over.

— — — — — — —

Okay, so maybe the tricks he had tossed Houdini’s way were easier said than done.

In his usual form, such escape attempts would’ve been mere child’s play for Bill. Just a snap of his fingers and the ropes would’ve turned into something like snakes, overcooked spaghetti noodles, or even something as simple as a pile of hair. Hey, not all of his tricks had to go the extra mile in terms of wackiness; sometimes all you needed was a pile of hair from an unknown—probably unwilling—participant.

In a powerless vessel he was still inexperienced in piloting, however—he was left with nothing more than several wasted hours of failed attempts to wriggle free of his rope binds.

Yeesh, maybe he should add ‘rope’ to the list of things he had plans to snap out of existence once he was out of this stupid vessel and back in his own body. Right behind ‘ears’ and potentially above ‘ruddy shelducks’, depending on whether or not Birdbrain was actually just stringing him along further.

He gave up on his most recent attempt to free his limbs and slumped against the wall with an irritated sigh, while the creeping realization that had plagued him throughout the day began to overtake him once him again. It was only a matter of time before Ford finished deactivating the security room.

Once he got him to the main chamber, escape would be near impossible by that point. At this point he had to cut his losses with the uncut ropes and come up with another idea, or at least a way to get Ford to postpone his little ice queen stunt.

Well, when all else failed, there was always his usual method to fall back on; his words. 

No matter how hard Ford had tried to hide it, Bill had done a pretty successful job at getting under his skin. Sure, while it had been Stanley’s fist to leave what was likely a visible shiner around his right eye, Bill had a feeling that Ford would’ve gladly swung that fist in his place. And while it hadn't been a fist, Ford had sure been happy enough to wave his precious little gun around every time Bill so much as breathed at him wrong.

Point was, even someone with only one functional eye could tell that Ford’s patience was paper-thin by this point.

Such anger could be useful to Bill to some degree if he could find the perfect way to take hold of it and steer it in the right direction. But his silver tongue would only get him so far if he didn’t know the right thing to say. Just the right thing that would allow him to further burrow himself under Ford’s skin like a parasite.

Maybe he needed to approach the topic in another sense. Alright, what did he need Ford to do right now? Keep him out of the cryogenic tubes? It was a start, but he also needed a way to—

A faint creak in the staircase corridor drew his attention to the darkened doorway, a spark of hopeful curiosity flickering in his eyes. While his attention had been mostly drawn to trying to free himself, he hadn’t missed the occasional sound of light footsteps or the faint crinkle of a wrapper in the darkness that waited just outside of the room.

Once was a happenstance, twice a coincidence that could probably be chalked up to rats or mole men—

But three times pointed to the idea that little Shooting Star had disobeyed her beloved Great-Uncle’s orders and had spent the whole day lingering around in the bunker stairwell.

Okay, enough with the party tricks—time to shift courses back to his original plan.

“If you’re trying to go unnoticed,” he called, “I’d recommend gluing giraffes to your shoes! Did you know those suckers are actually pretty quiet? Haha, maybe you can go the extra route and use horse glue to get the job done! Because they're...they both anima-you get it!”

Sure enough, a sharp gasp could be heard from just beyond the doorway, followed by the slapping sound of a hand to skin. “Wo~ow, you’re really bad at this,” Bill called again with a laugh. “Come on, Shooting Star, you might as well show yourself if you’re not going to be sneaky.”

The silence lingered for a few seconds, and Bill rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, you can’t just not make any sounds now,” he said. “You know I know you’re there. You can try all you want to trick me, but we both know who’s superior in that line of work—”

“You’re superior in the line of work of being a jerkface!” a voice finally muttered from the stairwell.

“There she is,” Bill said smugly. “Lemme guess, you’ve been here since ol’ Sixer turned down your offer to help? That’s a long time to wait, isn’t it?”

“I’m not talking to you!” Mabel insisted with a vocal ‘harrumph’. “I’m just gonna sit and wait for Grunkle Ford to freeze you! And…and then we’re gonna go back to the party together and he’s never gonna have to deal with you ever again!”

“Thought you said you weren’t talking to me.”

“I’m not!” she said, then after a pause. “...Starting now!”

Bill rolled his eyes again with amusement. Just as he’d initially predicted, Mabel was such an open book when it came to spilling more information than she should. Which would work very well in his favor if he could keep her talking. “Guess we’ll both have to keep sitting in complete and utter silence then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Surprised you of all people managed to do so for the past few hours, actually. If memory serves, you’re quite the little chatterbox of the family, aren’t you?”

“I’m not listening to you,” Mabel insisted. “And just because you can’t see me, I’ll at least tell you that I’m keeping my eyes on my phone! Which I’m told is very rude to do when you’re talking to someone else!”

“Ah, so we are talking,” Bill said with a grin.

“No, we’re not! You’re talking while I’m ignoring you!”

“If you say so,” Bill said. “So…you’ve got a cellphone now? Bit of an upgrade from last year, huh? Who’ve you been texting on it for this whole time? Your dweeby brother?”

He tilted his head in thought. “Or perhaps the latest boy in your long line of romantic interests? Did you write and produce a whole rock opera to ask this one out, too?”

“No! He asked me out first—”

Another sound of a gasp, followed by the slap of a hand to skin. “Uh, I mean—”

“Ah, so there is another boy in the picture, hmm~?” Bill taunted.

“Uh, no—I mean, he’s not a boy all the time, but—! No, I—”

With a frustrated groan, Mabel stepped fully into the bunker room. “Ugh, why are you such a jerkface?!” she asked irritably, glaring at him. “Why do you have to always stick your nose in places where it doesn’t belong, huh?!

“Well, for fun mostly,” Bill said with a nonchalant smile. “Not to mention it’s just so easy to get the answers I want outta people.” 

The smile widened into something more sinister, once again revealing far too much of his gums. “Especially when they’re just sooooo willing to give them~!”

Mabel simply scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Ugh, you’re the worst!” she said, then added as an afterthought. “And stop smiling like that! It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

Bill’s smile faltered for just a moment out of curiosity. A remark about his vessel’s appearance? Oh, he could physically feel the lightbulb going off in his head at the idea, which doubled as a blaring alarm in his head that practically screamed at him to probe further. “Smile like what?” he asked with another wide grin. “This~?”

Mabel turned away from him with a shudder. “Ugh, stop it! Stop making him smile like that!”

Her hands were slapped over her mouth in an instant—likely the culprit of the slapping skin noises from before—and Bill’s eyebrows shot far up his forehead. Him, she says? So his vessel ran male, did it?

A stereotypical choice on Birdbrain’s part—they must’ve been from a universe with a similar gender binary as humans if they’d taken a look at someone with the name Bill and just stuck him into a male body.

Not that he was complaining—it was all the same shade of gender to him. Still, get a little creative with it, Birdbrain!

Now the real question was; what did his male vessel look like? Did he dare risk another attempt to prod for more information? After all, she was initially the one to pick up on the fact that he didn’t know what he looked like back at the shack. Luckily he’d been able to play it off in such a way that left everyone’s brains nice and scrambled—but he could only get away with the trick so many times before they started growing more suspicious about what he did and didn’t actually know.

Lies were like the seasoning of a conversation—you use just the right amount and you’ve crafted something beautiful and delicious. Use too little and the dish is under-flavored and dull; too many and you end up with a mouthful of garlic powder every time you take a bite of your macaroni.

Hmm, his metaphors weren’t quite as clever today. He’d put a pin in that one for later.

In any case, he needed to tread carefully with what he said next. But on the flip side, so did Shooting Star. She had dropped two hints already and was aware of her blunders, anything further and she might as well hold up a mirror for him—

Hang on.

A mirror…

“Stop making him smile like that!”

“It’s just as bad as when you did it last year!”

His vessel’s height. Ford’s cryptic observations during his examination. The discomfort Pine Tree had experienced at breakfast upon seeing him—heck, the discomfort that all of the Pines had felt whenever they looked at him. 

Discomfort that was so clear in Mabel’s own expression now, as she stared at him with a mix of hatred, fear, and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint—much like the looks he couldn’t quite decipher. Heh, de-cipher.

Puns aside, if his vessel looked like someone she had never seen before, such an expression should’ve only contained that original hatred and fear. There would be no sign of contradiction behind her eyes, a clear desperation to hate the being before her but one could never truly come to form so long as that being was him.

It was strange, familiar. As if she were staring at somebody who wasn’t actually him, but—

“You…don’t know what you look like?”

Oh.

Oh.

…Oh, that tacky orange idiot had a real sense of humor, huh?! Thought they were SO FUNNY to have— “—plopped me down in a body like this—!”

“You really didn’t know?”

…Wait, had he been saying that out loud?

His gaze snapped back to Mabel, hands now lowered from her mouth as she stared at him curiously. 

Well, shoot.

Before he could drum up a further remark or think up an excuse to explain away his outburst, a loud clanging of metal echoed through the tunnel on the other side of the hatch. Loud clanging that sent Mabel rushing back towards the safety of the dark staircase, just in time for the hatch to swing open and reveal Ford.

Despite letting his gaze follow Mabel towards the staircase, Bill snapped his gaze back to Ford as he climbed out into the room. “Oh, is it finally time to put me on ice?”

As he’d initially expected, Ford didn’t reply to his remark. Instead, he simply turned to stare at Bill for a moment with that same violent, piercing glare that Bill had grown used to receiving across the past twenty-four hours.

Such a strong wall of malice, so desperate to mask all that fear behind his eyes. Fear just as strong as it had been the first time Bill’s eyes had met his the day before. 

Fear, malice, confusion—

Originally Bill had chalked it up to Ford’s uncertainty about how he’d made his grand return from the brink of death. And while that was definitely still a possibility, the information that Shooting Star had unwillingly provided him with about his appearance added another interesting layer to all of those feelings.

If Bill’s theory was correct, then Ford was being forced to stare down at a vessel that resembled his own great-nephew. 

A thought that brought an experimental grin to Bill’s face. Well, if he really wanted to test said theory out for himself… “Come on, Fordsy, didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to stare at someone?”

The grin widened to once again reveal as much of his teeth as possible. “Although I guess I’m quite the looker, aren’t I?”

Despite his best attempt to remain composed, Bill didn’t miss the way Ford’s eyes widened the tiniest amount before he grabbed Bill in one hand and turned back to the tunnel entrance before crawling inside.

The sensation of being awkwardly dragged through a small tunnel by his back was even more uncomfortable than being carried like a suitcase through the woods, but even such discomfort couldn’t wipe the grin off of Bill’s face. Sure, he still had no actual means of freeing himself, and still faced the looming threat of being flash-frozen. But as he’d initially suspected, Mabel had provided more than enough information he could use to his advantage—information that Ford had all but confirmed.

Was he still furious about the fact that his vessel apparently resembled some anxiety-riddled twerp who couldn’t tell a goat man from a coat man (a man made of coats)? Sure, but none of that was important at the moment.

What was important was the appearance itself, and how he could tie it back to the information he already had on hand.

His thoughts drifted back to his original remarks after he’d awakened to the end of Ford’s gun. How that violence in Ford’s eyes had only ignited further at even just a mere offhanded remark about Stan.

And not just the violence in his eyes, but the violence in Stan’s eyes, body language, everything. The threats, his hair-trigger temper, the fact that both of them couldn’t go an entire conversation without fighting—

A common occurrence for the two of them, but there was definitely more to it than their usual brand of bickering from the previous year. 

The aforementioned discomfort in both Dipper and Mabel’s expressions at the sight of him, with the added contradicting emotions behind both Mabel and Ford's eyes—

And of course, the recently-received news about his vessel’s appearance.

Stir all that together, and he had a beautiful stew of manipulation that he could force down Ford’s throat, long enough to distract him while he found a way to free himself. 

Still, the latter was absolutely key to confirm before everything else. While Mabel’s words combined with Ford’s faltering expression had been pretty strong evidence, he still needed to make sure he was right before he tried anything.

Not that he had any doubts—he was always right. But hey, using Ford’s family as leverage had worked the year before!

Up until the betrayal, at least.

His expression twisted into that wicked grin as they finally stepped out of the tunnel. And he was always happy to provide Ford with more reminders when it came to who he thought he could get away with betraying.

“You must feel so proud of yourself, Sixer,” he said aloud, as he was dragged across the dark, deactivated buttons of the security room floor. “The whole town’s off having a party, and here you are. Stuck down in some worn-out bunker as you prepare to disappoint me yet again.”

He felt the fist at his back tighten. “Stop talking.”

“Aw, but I’m gonna be flash-frozen in a couple of minutes,” Bill pointed out. “This’ll be the last time we get to talk in a while, won’t it?”

His grin widened as they reached the main lab. “Well, I say a while because let’s be real, you’re never gonna be able to get rid of me! I mean, your zapped your brother’s mind to kingdom come and I’m still here. If that wasn’t enough to get rid of me, what makes you think anything will be good enough?”

“I said stop.”

Ooh, he was getting steamed. Good, good, just what Bill needed. He just had to push him a little bit more, just a little further— “So, what’re you gonna do once I’m gone, Fordsy? Spend more of your time poring through one piece of research after another, trying desperately to find a solution that isn’t just locking me inside someone else’s head and pulling the trigger?”

His voice grew low, serious. “...And what happens if that’s the only option you have? Ooh, what if you’ve gotta trap me in one of the kids’ heads this time around? I know I already said that wouldn’t fool me again, but I’d LOVE to watch their feeble little minds burn to ash—”

“I said STOP!”

The clanging of metal echoed through the bunker as the back of Bill’s body was slammed against the control panel—one of Ford’s hands keeping him in place while the other was wrapped tightly around his gun, with the tip of the barrel pressed against Bill’s temple. “If you don’t stop running that damn mouth of yours—”

“You’ll what, Stanford?” Bill asked, expression neutral. “Put a bullet in my brain? I think we already know by now that you’re not going to do that.”

His mouth spread into a grin—that awful, delighted grin with too many teeth. “And I think we already know why you’re not going to do that, don’t we? Not while I look like this, right?”

He could feel Ford’s grip on the gun tremble, despite the tip being pressed further against his temple. “What, Ford?” Bill continued. “Can’t bear to aim a gun at another family member? Especially not your little paranormal protege?”

Even the dim light of the lab couldn’t mask how pale Ford’s expression grew at such a remark, a reaction that only twitched Bill’s smile wider. Oh, buddy—he got him. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he continued. “You really thought I’d just be walking around with a body like this for funsies? Come now, Fordsy, you know me better than that and I know you better than that. So let’s not waste our time with this and just skip to the part where you put the gun down.”

Despite Ford desperately trying to keep the gun in place, Bill could feel the barrel trembling against his temple—

—before the tip was pulled away completely as Ford lowered the gun and turned from him in defeat.

Bill’s smirk only widened further as he gave a triumphant little wiggle against the control panel at his back. A movement that came with a light tug of the ropes as they snagged on something behind him—perhaps a switch or a dent in the worn metal casing.

Would it be sharp enough to fully cut through them? From this angle, he couldn’t tell for sure. Was he going to try anyway as he took another Ford victory lap?

As if anyone needed to ask. Why stop now while he had the upper hand?

“Hey, come on, don’t look so down,” he said, taking care to hide his movements as he tried to saw through the ropes. “Gotta hand it to you, IQ, it takes a lot of guts for someone to point a gun at a family member twice.”

He let out a cackle. “Guess the end result here would be waaaay more gruesome than whatever happened to Goldfish, though! I mean, trading a metaphorical hole in the head for a physical one? Yeesh, the cleanup alone would be a nightmare!”

Another cackle escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan laugh. “But I guess it wouldn’t be that difficult for you, would it? After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

He paused his attempts to free himself and slumped back against the control panel with a groan. “Aww, see—now look what you made me do!” he griped. “I went and did the one thing I said was super lazy last night; repeating a joke within the same millennia! I swear, Sixer, sometimes you bring out the worst in me—”

BANG!

The bloodcurdling sound of a gunshot echoed through the bunker as a bullet met the spot right between Bill’s eyes. 

As quick as it had happened, the few seconds that followed were an eternity. An eternity of pain, pain that only blossomed in strength with each passing second.

And despite the smile that remained on his face, there was nothing but genuine shock in Bill’s slitted pupil, as it shakily moved from the barrel of the gun to Ford’s hand, then up to Ford’s face—

Before eventually falling against its will to the control panel beneath him—deep red from somewhere he could no longer process slowly trickling down into the spaces between the buttons and paneling.

Another second passed. Then another. And another.

And Bill died.

[panlight]

hi!! i’m so sorry to keep sending you asks (if you get sick of it please just let me know and i’ll shut up i promise!! 💕💕)

so this is re: the cullens being in high school, as per the ask you answered a couple days ago! i also always thought it was super weird, and i’ve been thinking for a while now that a MUCH better cover story would for them all (even carlisle and esme) to be grad school housemates (i say this as someone who has now spent two years in grad school and is about to be there for another five at least lmaoooo)

here’s why i think it would work:

1. the age weirdness wouldn’t be as obvious bc people of all ages go to grad school (i started when i was 22 and had classmates in their 40s)

2. related to age, the visible/physical age also wouldn’t matter as much since some of my classmates (me included 😭😭) looked like we could still pass as high schoolers while others gave off huge “kids and a mortgage vibes” even if they were just like a year older

3. the whole looking “off” and tired thing is just like. the grad school Look™️. the shadows under the eyes and general gaunt-ish appearance honestly wouldn’t stand out that much and if somebody said something about them looking “off” or whatever, they could just be like “late night studying” and the other person would be like “lmao so true bestie”

4. if they pretended they were all renting space in the same big house (and carlisle and esme just acted a little less parental), the whole “dating each other” thing wouldn’t be that weird at all. i feel like it’s not that uncommon for couples who get along to rent different floors or sections of a house, and if they didn’t pretend to be one big weird family situation and instead just acted like they all met each other at school, i don’t think people would even bat an eye

5. people go to grad school forever. like. for so long (i vaguely knew of someone who was in the eighth or ninth year of her phd). esp if they picked something like a big state school where the “kids” could go to undergrad first, they could realistically do four years of undergrad, maybe a two or three year masters, and then a phd of indeterminate length (usually at least five). that would allow them to stay in the same place for at least 11 years

and this is not an official point, but i will note that for carlisle to still do his whole doctor thing, i think it would be perfectly reasonable for him to have already “graduated” or whatever, but continue to stay with his “friends” for financial reasons, or just bc the living situation worked for everyone

anyway, i’m so sorry this was so long, and honestly i bet someone has already said this somewhere before, but it just struck me when reading the “why tf are the cullens in high school” post that grad school would be such a great cover story for them

haha anyway thanks for putting up with my ramblings and thank you for all the lovely work you do on the blog!! 🥰🥰

I've definitely seen "just put them in college!" before (and I have made that argument myself) but I don't know if I've seen the grad school cover story specifically before!

It would allow Esme and/or Carlisle to be the 'peers' of their children rather than some sort of guardian or parental figures. They could, as you said, all be renting a house together and Esme could be studying architecture or getting a PhD in art history or whatever while the kids study who knows what. Maybe there's a medical school as well and Carlisle can go back (it still makes zero sense that Edward and Rosalie go "to keep him current' like how is that supposed to work? They come home and just recite from perfect vampire memory everything that happened in calls? Wouldn't Carlisle be keeping current by like, idk, actually being a doctor, reading journals, going to conferences, and continuing education?).

A group of friends renting a house together as a bunch of couples makes way more sense than two parents barely visibly older than their foster/adopted kids who all date each other.

And, honestly, it's probably a better use of their time to get actual advanced degrees rather than stopping at undergrad? I know because of secrecy how they use their knowledge and skills is somewhat fraught but like, publish papers under a false name or let someone else take the credit or something and you can still contribute to the world of academia.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi again Nalyra!

I’ve found myself stuck on something in 2x06 that I desperately need your help explaining.

I don’t know if it is the been-up-since-3am brain (yes), but I just can’t parse the implication surrounding the exchange Louis and Armand have regarding Louis allegedly requesting to have his memory erased. (It doesn’t seem to be confusing anyone else though, so I am making this SOS call, haha!)

This is the exchange:

Louis: I asked you to erase it? Armand: Yes. After you came out of a shower in our home in Sausalito. Three days after we abandoned him.

^ Is this exchange meant to explain that three days after they 'left' Daniel, Louis allegedly asked Armand to erase his own memory (re: the Claudia realisation/walking into the sun event)?

Because if so, what does that mean for the timeline? It happened only three days after dumping Daniel in the drug den = is that meant to imply that Armand was able to speed up Louis’s convalescence through the strength of his ancient blood? Otherwise erasing Louis’s memory is sort of moot if his body is still in a bad state, telegraphing exactly what happened to it, right? So Louis had to be all healed before his memory was erased. And yet it was only three days after they left Daniel?

What am I failing to grasp here with this exchange? Armand’s ancient blood is either power af or the ambiguous ‘three days after we abandoned him’ refers to a much later date than the drug den drop-off?

Seriously, send help. I’m all tangled up in probably unnecessary confusion, haha!

Heyyy!!!

Ahahaha, no it's not just your brain, I also stumbled over this.

Because... with Jacob's statement in the episode insider, and the comment re the martini... (also vermouth!!!!) - there is quite the clear picture emerging.

Namely that DM did happen in the past.

I think that comment was maybe the truth - but it happened a few years after that eventful night. I'm not sure what would have needed to happen for Louis to request that, but I do think there is a possibility for that to happen.

In any case I found the wording... let's say vague enough to ring the alarm bells for me as well. Because why not say "3 days after the interview" or similar. No, it's "three days after we abandoned him."

"We... abandoned him." A shared decision? What made Armand use the word "abandon"? There are implications to that word. Because you just "leave" people you just met and don't feel much for. They would have "left" Daniel after erasing his memories. But no, they "abandoned" him. There is one definition of "abandoned", which goes: "No longer maintained by its former owners, residents, or caretakers; forsaken, deserted."

And so yes, I think that word is definitely a clue. As well as that vague... time frame. He is trying not to lie, would be my guess. But there are ways to be vague. And as Assad has said it so plainly, Armand is already trying to spin another web, to keep Louis and Daniel away from the truth.

And that truth is that DM happened, but Akasha did not rise. And something else happened that made Armand (and Louis) decide to "abandon" Daniel. Or... they were forced to.

And if Louis really asked for it (we'll see)... then he could not stand to know about it.

And it will be extremely interesting to see what that was.

Or if Armand is just... throwing a smoke bomb there.

[chowadoe]

Heyyy I just have a question about your au (which I'm obssessed with btw)

How did Robotnik stumble across Sonic? How did they find eachother and why did Sonic choose to work with him? (I noticed you used quotation marks on the word "raised", this is why I'm asking)

(Also I'm sorry if you have explained this before I'm just dumb and forget things alot😭)

hehe yes!! i touched vaguely on it but in the AU, but i have more thoughts

the AU is set in a Mobius/Earth that's heavily-industrialized, nearly robot-run and almost-dystopian backdrop.. rather than it being a case of man vs robot, its more like Earth vs the over-industrialization done by humans.

I'd like to think Robotnik found Sonic when he was pretty young, before his teens. since it's a role reversal where Sonic takes on more of Shadow's "ism"'s, I'd think there's lapses in sonic's past/memories that's simply a result of his upbringing in an machine-operated unnatural world. possibly found him orphaned and beat up from an unfortunate run-in (with either a robot or something else) in some junkyard. also toying with the idea that Robotnik suspects a rodent problem in his lab because whyyy is stuff going missing :/ and it seems to be connected to this little hedgehog over here.

Robotnik, having a lapse in his usual evil scientist judgement, decides to take him under his wing under the self-disgusing excuse of 'yes! haha! i'll teach him for taking my stuff! he can become my minion! my protege!' (when really Robotnik probably has a soft spot for kids). Robotnik is also quite interested in Sonic's extraordinary speed, thinking he'll prove quite useful for his future endeavors if he can train him. of course, Sonic is like a stray dog and kind of feral, because who can he trust in this world other than himself, so used to fighting for scraps where he can. the socialization process is long and arduous process LMFAO (as for the clothes, Sonic isn't interested in things that are readily given to him, he likes pissing Robotnik more, so lets say its something he "borrowed" from the scientist's closet and modded to his own liking. hes silly like that)

Robotnik at first tries to placate him with clothes and "toys" and "treats" (like fidgets and building sets and small robots. Sonic always ends up breaking them.) with little success. Sonic probably escapes several times, only coming back for something he needs- and its a routine that they both get used to because Robotnik can say "this is your last chance!" all he wants but when is it ever. and it's a habit that Sonic never really outgrows either.

Robotnik comes to the conclusion that Sonic is better left treated like outdoor cat that lets himself in when he's bored or whatever else (Sonic's quite good at sneaking into places. hedgehogs and burrowing and all that). eventually the machines and robots Robotnik builds do pique Sonic's interest-- but mostly in breaking them. he's more invested in the ways he can take things apart than anything else and that's a reoccurring headache Robotnik imposes on himself by dishing out new tech for Sonic to try out and they come out worse for wear at the end of the day.

They both mind their business at the end of the day, their relationship is rather estranged with little-to-no familial regard, Sonic's more of a thorn in his side than anything, but Robotnik still does have a soft spot for the rodent. Sonic is like the adoptive son that just never left his rebellious phase, wanting nothing to do with his guardian but bothering them when its convenient. he's Robotnik's contractual accomplice but only when it's on Sonic's terms, only agreeing to certain requests if it's interesting enough, like trying out Robotnik's new "toys"/weapons/robots or if it's tech that happens to boost his existing abilities (that he can try out on Robotnik's robots or G.U.N. soldiers or whatever gets in his way first).

[sampirism]

talkn bout my opinions on rook and varric and roleplay and feeling disconnected (roleplay in a game sense not the freaky sense. sorry) - SPOILERS FOR ENTIRE GAME, BEWARE. this post is WAY too long. sorry about that too.

it's very evident that bioware/EA wanted an action/adventure game first and an RPG second, but let me type at you.

i hate to say that i didn't feel particularly sad about varric's fate, due to the structure of the game. it is, in hindsight, completely obvious that he was not alive! i just hadn't been thinking about varric much at all the entire game because you have limited opportunity to talk to him in the infirmary or when he plops around barefoot when everyone decides to sit at a table and talk about how fucked we are. i genuinely forgot he was there otherwise.

he barely feels like a guy himself. because there's no personalized worldstate, any specific mentions to events or characters might be jarring to the player who may have made a different choice along the way.

no one talks about how sorry they are about varric because they CAN'T or the twist is completely revealed. even with another DA2 character in the game (who my hawke romanced. who is now dead in the fade. glad to see you're LIVING IT UP ISABELA!!! (I'm jk. a little.))

there's no response rook can say to condolences outside of "oh, thanks" without the game fully revealing its Twist, because "I'll tell him you said hi" and "he'll be up and walking in no time!" are only reasonable responses from a Mourn Watcher, and even then, should still cause your companions to be a little alarmed. the closest we get to this is the inquisitor making reference to lost friends, and rook visually registers it, but its swept under the rug and moved on from immediately.

(i know we're all mentally unwell in this lighthouse repressing our feelings but jesus christ)

despite spending two games with him and enjoying him as a character, I struggle with feeling much for his loss AS my rook, because i found there to be no meaningful connection between him and rook. i was only told i was supposed to have one.

the game wanted so badly get the ball rolling with an immediate threat, its at the expense of roleplay. you could argue that da2 and inq also started with Immediate Threats but you are also very limited in the choosing of your backstory in those games.

rook was deliberately designed to be more open-ended, with more similarity to origins, but still gave you a prequel where you felt what your life was before The World Began To End.

there's this conversation you can walk in on with lucanis and davrin, where they're talking about their worst jobs. there are three dialogue for rook I think and i can only remember two but they were "I don't want to talk about it" or "man I have the dreadwolf in my head". (I... honestly think the third option was very similar to the second one but I have a very bad memory. sorry)

i played a mourn watcher mage. i had to have done some messed up spirit stuff. some bone shenanigans. not able to mention my Down With Nobles rebellion at all. i halfway expected it to be revealed that my rook was just like a shitty pawn (haha) and actually all her memories are fake and not real. but obviously you meet people from your shared backstory and they do know OF you but they don't really know you

in mass effect 1, there were some unique missions related to both the backstory and psychological profile you picked for shepard. they were short, and nothing happens like that in 2+3 that i remember, but they are unique to your character and are something at least.

no one really asks you much more about yourself! mourn watcher rook is literally Found In The Crypts as an Infant, an incredible mystery that you have to fill in the blanks yourself, which could be something someone wants-- but i personally like my characters a little more predefined in a game such as dragon age. vague history worked for me in games like skyrim and fallout new vegas, even baldurs gate! but makes me feel wholly disconnected from the story and group here.

there was a fair amount of dialogue choices for mourn watcher, especially with Emmrich-- talking with emmrich was one of the few times my rook felt like A Person-- but there were other times that my companions seemed to think emmrich was the only necromancer/watcher on the team. (i even specialized in death caller!)

by containing all the dialogue with companions to ! markers and outings, it's weird to be unable to have any conversations without being able to provide personal insight, whereas some NPCs in inquisition actively asked you about your past.

its particularly noticeable because of lucanis, whom my rook romanced. the dude has a lot to say about nevarran culture and the necropolis and such, and we can have zero conversations on the matter lol.

maybe this is like, really a mourn watcher thing? maybe it feels better as a crow or a warden. but if you offer me the choice to be a freak crawling around in a tomb. i am going to be.

TLDR: i really feel that a prequel mission, a recruitment by varric then a timeskip, a personal quest tied to the consequences of your backstory, something, anything, to make rook feel like an actual part of the world, was a necessity and sincerely a missed opportunity. if you actually read this far, thanks!

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .009

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: I actually looked at my notes and went huh, I can compress the rest of the ideas into one chapter, so next chapter we’ll kinda be getting back on track with the plot!

This chapter we will be having a poll for Ashrah, and this is the last love interest poll! I’ll still do polls from time to time to have some sort of reader interactivity, but it won’t be as frequent (though next chapter DOES have a bit of a special poll though haha)

As usual, taking votes on Ashrah for a week, aka until the tumblr poll ends.

Also I never mentioned this but?? Sadly, Rain didn’t get in the love interest line up, but don’t fret! He will still be relevant to the plot in other ways :D Mileena, on the other hand, did get in! 

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO COOKS FOR OTHERS

It turns out, you enjoyed cooking far more than you realized.

“Here, I’m positive this is your favorite.”

Handing Kenshi the meal, you grinned at him, a small hint of smugness in your grin. You admired your own handiwork. You had taken the liberty to pack it in a bento box this time, to match the Japanese cuisine you had made for him.

“You’re very bold claiming that.” Kenshi commented, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you. Yet on his face was a small, amused smile. His gaze dropped to inspect the box, and a small hum left his lips as he nodded approvingly at the way it was packaged. “You even used a bento box, nice attention to detail.”

“I try.” You said playfully, laying a hand on your chest. “I’ll have you know I went out of my way to obtain one just for you.” 

“I’m honored.” Kenshi replied in a light, playful way that reflected yours. 

You watched with bated breath as he opened the bento box. With satisfaction, you watched as the expectant look on his face gave way to one of shock. You crossed your arms smugly, basking in the pride you felt at his reaction. 

“This…is actually my favorite.” Kenshi said in awe, eyes searching the bento box as he scanned all the items in front of him. His eyes glanced from you, back down to the food, back to you with surprise evident on his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he processed the situation in front of him. “How did you guess this so accurately?”

“Just because I’m not a god like Lord Liu Kang doesn’t mean I don’t have tricks of my own.” You said vaguely. It was best not to mention how you had a hazy memory of cooking this food for him in your past life. You watched as the swordsman’s eyebrows rose, but ultimately he did not question you. Still, you watched as he pursed his lips. 

“It was a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” He asked, and you let out a small chuckle.

“Nope, I just have really good intuition.” You replied, grinning at the man still. His eyes narrowed, seeming unsatisfied with your vague and ultimately illogical answer. He glanced down again, scanning the food, scrutinizing it again.

“That’s basically the same thing as luck, if you think about it.” He pointed out with a small huff. He challenged you with a long stare.

“No.” You quickly replied, a small pout on your lips now. “Luck is guessing something out of nothing.” You pointed out before gesturing to him. “I used intuition. That means I used what I knew about you to guess what your favorite food was.” You shrugged. “That’s the difference, see?”

“And you think I look like someone who enjoys this type of food?” Kenshi inquired, trying to see if he could get more information out of you. You could tell from the tone of his voice he was being playful still. You gestured to the bento box with a sly look on your face. You glanced down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Well, I made it for you, hm?” You replied, with a tone that screamed ‘isn’t it obvious?’ “And from what you told me, I got it absolutely correct.” You continued, crossing your arms as you saw him sigh.

“I guess you did.” He conceded as he nodded. Kenshi then smiled at you, something that you weren’t all too familiar with, but found charming nevertheless. “Thank you.” He said, before pausing. “This will be nice to eat. I haven’t had any Japanese food since I left the Yakuza.” 

“No problem.” You told him. Too absorbed in your glee, you put a hand on his shoulder and pat it. “If you ever want me to make you more, just let me know.” You told him, sending him a wink. “You’re the one who helped me improve my cooking so far.” You glanced at the sky. “Well, it’s time for me to go, let me know what you think of it next time.” 

You left, and Kenshi was left staring after you, watching you for a few moments. The peace and quiet lasted for a few mere moments before Johnny Cage came strolling in, looking between Kenshi and you who was walking off in the distance.

“You having a moment or something, tattoo?” Johnny asked as he glanced between you two again. He peered over Kenshi’s shoulder as he inspected the food. “Hah, teach gave you some food? Let me try.” He said, before reaching out to grab a piece of it. He let out a small ‘ow’ as his hand was quickly smacked away. 

“This isn’t yours, Cage.” Kenshi huffed, glaring at the actor. Johnny put his hands up in surrender, letting out a snicker at the protective look on the swordsman’s face. He then, before anyone else could try and get their hands on his food, grabbed a piece of the food and popped it into his mouth.

It tasted like home.

“Kung Lao is here.” 

Opening the door to the kitchen, Liu Kang peered in. The smell of wonderful, delicious food wafted his way. Even the god himself felt hungry from the scent of your cooking alone, and he even was able to resist Madam Bo’s food. There was clanging of pots and pans, and the hissing of food as it hit the hot pans. 

“Okay, give me a moment!” You called out, glancing over your shoulder. You turned off the heat, quickly dumping the finished food into a bowl on the side.You could continue your cooking endeavor later. You wiped off the sweat that had formed on your brow. You had been standing over the stove for a while now, slaving away at making a wonderful dinner to which you’d be serving later for the Lin Kuei trio.

“Alright, I’ll have him wait.” The fire god called out before he closed the door, letting you finish doing what you had been doing.

With a sigh you stepped back and leaned on the wall. The air even a few steps away from the stove felt refreshing. You stood, letting the air cool you off a bit more before you stepped out of the kitchen. You quickly made your way to your room, grabbing the package Liu Kang had given you a day ago before rushing off to the room where people usually waited when they sought out an audience with Liu Kang.

“Hi, sorry for the wait!” You greeted, still feeling a little sweaty as you briskly walked over to Kung Lao. You watched as he looked at you in surprise. You supposed it was because he had never seen you to the point of exertion like this. After all, you rarely broke a sweat during their training. He had a similar reaction when you had shown up to train them in bandages after your sparring with Bi-Han a while ago, so your assumption probably wasn’t too far off.

“It’s all fine.” Kung Lao said, waving off your apology. He rubbed his hands together in excitement as he got up. You noted his casual clothes, and it warmed your heart as it reminded you of the movie nights you all had every month or so. He approached you, and his glee was infectious as a smile nearly as bright as his appeared on your face.

“Okay, this should be the last prototype, but it’s pretty much the final product.” You told him, carefully opening the box. The result of the hat within the box was you and Kung Lao discussing how to better innovate and design a hat that suited him. Not only in terms of a weapon, but also as a fashion item since he consistently mentioned wanting to wear it everywhere.

“What’s the point of making it a hat if I can’t wear it everywhere?” The former farmhand had insisted to you many months ago, when he had pointed at the hat which had been much too heavy to wear comfortably. You had sighed but agreed. He did have a point. 

It also comforted you to know that some things never seemed to change, such as Kung Lao’s devotion to his hat.

Lifting the hat out of the box, Kung Lao held it with some reverence. His eyes sparkled with delight as he held it up. He first inspected it from all angles, marveling over the precise craftsmanship that went into creating the perfect weapon that happened to be a hat. 

You sent him a look as his finger traced the razor sharp edge. It was the same look you sent him to warn him to be careful everytime he did it. He rolled his eyes, but in a playful manner. You scoffed lightheartedly in return.

“You’re going to cut your finger on it one day, Kung Lao.” You warned lightly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“But I haven’t yet.” Kung Lao bragged cockily. He withdrew his finger from the bladed edge, cut free. He wiggled his fingers smugly to show that fact off. “See? I am already a professional around this thing.” He said with utmost confidence. You sighed and shook your head.

“If I ever hear word that you end up cutting your finger on the edge, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.” You promised as you smiled at him teasingly. You watched as his eyebrows raised before a sly grin appeared on his face. He leaned forward with a small chuckle.

“Hah! That won’t happen.” He scoffed, and you could tell that his ego was growing again. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back lightly. Kung Lao let out a loud chuckle, amused by the banter that happened between you. This back and forth, it felt natural. For a moment, you looked at him and remembered simpler times with him and Liu Kang.

Your heart squeezed, a feeling you won’t ever be able to truly suppress no matter how many times it occurred.

“Oh really, want to put your money where your mouth is?” You propose, trying to ignore the way your heart yearned for a life you no longer had. You watched as Kung Lao’s grin grew wider. If there was one thing you had learned from training him, it was that the man from Fengjian loved to bet. It was something you caught your students doing often due to his influence.

“You’re finally making a bet with me?” Kung Lao asked, a tone of excitement in his voice. While it wasn’t often, you had a bet tossed your way here and there. You had turned them down previously, but now it was different now that you were the one proposing the bet. 

“That’s what I asked you, no?” You sassed him, raising your eyebrows. 

“Then I gladly accept a bet with you.” Kung Lao graciously accepted, tilting his head. “Just a shame that our first bet together will have a guaranteed loss on your end.” He added on. The pure confidence in your tone had you letting out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Calm down, we haven’t even set up the terms of our bet.” You reminded him, all too amused by his pride. Still, your words did not make the confident and smug look on his face waver at all. He truly believed in himself, a trait you somewhat admired.

“I’ll win either way.” Kung Lao quipped, which made you roll your eyes again. It was an action you found yourself doing often around the man, no matter how much he amused you. “How about this, you stop sending me that look you do everytime I do this…” The former farmhand traced his finger along the blade’s edge once more. Instinctively, you found yourself doing the look he was referring to. “For a week. And if I prove I don’t need that reminder to not cut my finger, then I win.”

“Do I get penalized if I accidentally send you the look?” 

“I’ll be generous and say no.” Kung Lao said, his smug look turning a tad bit more cheeky as he looked at you. “All I need to do is prove that I won’t cut my fingers on this hat.” He claimed, and you nodded, not finding anything wrong with the terms he had. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants.” He declares.

You let out a hum, now thinking of the terms of winning the bet. You closed your eyes, recalling how prideful Kung Lao was. He would probably be his own downfall, honestly.

A small voice whispered in your head telling you he already did, reminding you of the visions of his untimely death in another life haunting you.

“Alright, I accept.” You hastily replied, trying to ignore the voice that sent chills down your back. You stuck your hand out to seal the deal. Almost instantly, he grabbed yours and shook it in a firm handshake. You smiled.

His hand was softer than you were expecting.

“I hope you’re prepared to lose.” He taunted, putting the hat back in the box with his free hand that held the hat. He seemed satisfied enough with the final product. You sighed and squeezed his hand as if challenging him.

“Don’t be so quick to think yourself victorious, Kung Lao.” You warned lightly before letting go of his hand. How his hand felt lingered in your mind a few more minutes before you saw his face turn a little sheepish as he looked down at your torso. You raised an eyebrow and looked down, completely forgetting the apron you had donned.

“Had I been interrupting something?” He inquired, an innocent tone to his voice. You let out a small laugh as you waved off his question. How unusual for him to have that tone of voice. You shook his head, and he nodded, now a curious look on his face.

“Don’t worry about it, you had just interrupted me making dinner. I’m inviting the three Lin Kuei men who had tested you. Don’t worry about being an interruption though, I was the one who asked you to drop by.” You told him, reassuring him that he had not been a bother at all.

“You…cook?” Kung Lao said, processing your words. You nodded slowly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yeah, Madam Bo taught me.” You watched as Kung Lao’s jaw dropped in surprise. You shrugged causally, looking at him. “Who do you think was giving Kenshi all that food?” You asked. You watched as he processed all of this, and gasped.

“You cook like Madam Bo, and didn’t give me any?” He inquired, the tone of his voice indicating you’ve committed a crime akin to a sin. You laughed at the absurdity of his reaction, he was more of a food lover than you had presumed. 

“I needed criticism to improve, Kung Lao.” You watched him pout at your excuse, probably thinking it wasn’t good enough. “I promise I’ll give you some food soon enough, okay?” You told him, placing a hand on your hip. You watched as he perked up.

“You’ll be doing that regardless, since I’m planning on making you make me a feast once I win our bet.” Kung Lao declared, and you sighed. You pat down your apron, trying to clean it before you went back into the kitchen.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when you lose, Kung Lao.” You remarked, grinning at him mischievously. You grabbed his shoulder, pushing him towards the entrance of the Fire Temple. “Now go back and rest, I have to go prepare dinner.” You told him, knowing he would delay longer to see if you could also make him a meal.

“Don’t forget your promise!” He called over his shoulder as he began to walk off, a boisterous laugh leaving his lips as he began to walk off. You nodded, reassuring him that you would as long as he stayed on your good side. You sighed as you looked up into the sky, trying to gauge how much time you had left before you had to serve the Lin Kuei brothers.

You had time.

Turning on your heel, you briskly walked back to the kitchen to work away once again.

“You were very prepared for tonight.”

“I know.” You replied, trying not to feel too smug as you led the trio of men into the dining room you had set up. It was much more fancy today than usual, seeing as you didn’t bother to try and decorate much when Liu Kang ate with you. 

All types of food were spread across the table, from entrees to side dishes. You also had desserts planned, but you had them stashed away to allow the main courses to shine. Impressively, all of it looked fresh, hot, and ready to eat. You watched the trio’s reactions, and how they varied. 

Kuai Liang seemed appreciative of the whole ordeal. A small, rare smile was spread across his lips. His eyes slowly scanned the foods you had on display, analyzing them carefully as if each were a precious art piece. Then, his eyes made their way towards yours and he nodded.

Tomas was very eager, his eyes wide and searching. They darted to and fro, as if he could not settle on what he wanted to eat first. His grin was bigger, and he leaned forward just slightly. You watched as he inhaled deeply, and let out a sigh of longing.

Bi-Han’s reaction was the most subtle. He, as usual, had his resting face on. Yet, at the same time, you could see how his eyes widened slightly, almost as if there were a gleam in his eyes. He also scanned the dishes, but once they landed on a dish you knew was his was favorite, he honed in on it. He glanced away and towards you, a small huff leaving his lips. And dare you say it, you could say the corners of his lips were upturned.

He was smiling. Maybe not the most obvious one, but it was one nevertheless.

Okay, maybe you could afford to let your ego grow a little bit. It’s not everyday you get some of the best Lin Kuei fawning over your cooking.

You made your way to your spot on the table. It was the same spot you always sat at whenever you ate with Liu Kang. You just had a sentimental attachment to it, though you would never admit it outloud. You watched as Bi-Han claimed the seat beside you, and Tomas was across from you. That left Kuai Liang sitting the farthest from you.

“Eat up!” You told them, before grabbing the foods you wanted and sliding them onto your plate. The air was filled with the clinks of dishes being moved around. Here and there there would be a request to pass a dish over.

“This is amazing!” Tomas piped up after a few minutes. On his face was one of the most delighted expressions you’ve ever seen on him. You grinned at him, a surge of pride running through you. You watched with joy as he almost greedily put more of your cooking on his plate. “I wish we had this type of cooking back at the temple.”

“I must agree.” Kuai Liang spoke, nodding. Though he was not as fast as Tomas in eating his meal, you were surprised to see that he had eaten it more quickly than you had expected. “This is delicious, I did not know you were this talented at cooking.” He commended.

Instinctively, you glanced over to Bi-Han. To your surprise, he was silently adding more onto his plate, having almost finished the initial amount he had put on. He looked up from his plate, glancing over to you. His eyes narrowed at your expectant gaze before he tore his eyes away.

“It’s good.” He began, and your jaw dropped a bit at the clear praise. “The Lin Kuei’s cooking standards should be brought up to match these.” Bi-Han continued, which greatly increased your ego. You looked away to preserve your pride by not grinning like a madman.

“Oh it’s nothing.” You said, trying to downplay how happy you felt at their compliments. “I owe it all to Madam Bo, honestly.” You told them, only to feel Bi-Han’s stare.

“Teachings can only get you so far.” Bi-Han pointed out, making your eyebrow raise. He looked away from you to take another bite of your cooking, leaving you to ponder over his words as he ate. “With skill like this, you are far more competent than what you make yourself out to be.”

“Bi-Han’s right.” Tomas spoke up, giving you an encouraging look. “You’re really good!” Kuai Liang nodded in agreement as he silently continued to eat their meal. With their compliments combined, you felt your face grow warm. You looked downwards, a bit shyly and continued to eat.

“You, Lord Liu Kang, and your students are going to Outworld for the tournament soon, correct?” Scorpion inquired, looking up at you. You nodded, taking another bite of your food. “Do you have any idea of who, out of all of your students, will be chosen to compete?”

“Hmm…” You hummed, pondering over the question as you chewed your food slowly. “I think any of them are capable of becoming champion.” You responded, shrugging. “They all show promise.” You let out another hum. “But if I had to choose, I think it would be between Kung Lao and Raiden.” 

“The two from the exam?” Bi-Han inquired, his eyebrows raising slightly. At your nod, he huffed. “I recall Kung Lao being presumptuous. I hope your teachings have burst his ego.” He mentioned, and you vaguely remember Bi-Han scoffing at him long ago.

“He’s gotten better.” You say, smiling as you reflect at the progress you have done with your students over the months you’ve been put in charge of them. “Kung Lao is still prideful though, but not too much.” You paused, letting out a small chuckle. “Most times, at least.” 

“Are you excited to go to Outworld?” Smoke asked. You nodded in response. The three were not aware of your potential connection with Outworld. Still, you had previously mentioned to them how you were eager for the chance to travel to another realm. They just simply didn’t know why or how eager you were. 

“I am. Lord Liu Kang tells me it’s a wonderful, breathtaking place.” You mentioned a small smile on your lips as you heard the small voice in your head that you might finally be able to unlock more memories. “If I find any interesting trinkets, I’ll be sure to bring them back for you guys.”

“You do not need to, but it would be appreciated.” Kuai Liang said, looking at you with eyes that glimmered with appreciation at the mere promise. “I would not want you to worry over gifts for us instead of enjoying the atmosphere.”

“Oh it’d be no issue, trust me.” You reassured him, your smile growing wider.

The rest of the night was filled with lighthearted banter, for the most part, and delicious food. It was nice, having the brothers all together. Still, a bubble of worry formed within you as you all ate. They were all playing nice now, but Kuai Liang’s words of concern echoed in your head.

Was Bi-Han really set on a self destructive path that would tear the brothers apart? 

The with closeness of the brothers right now, you didn’t want to believe it. Bi-Han may not show his love for his brothers clearly, but he still cared. Or at least, you thought so. Kuai Liang was not one to worry over such things so easily.

A fire of determination burned in your heart as you bid the trio goodnight. You watched as Bi-Han led them away, and a sigh left your lips. You stood on the bridge, soaking in the moonlight for a few moments more.

You would mend whatever rift was going to tear them apart, no matter what.

“What is all of this?”

Looking up from the little set up, you smiled at the perplexed expression on Raiden’s face. You had invited him out for one last training session before the champion exam. It was nearly a week before you all were going to go to Outworld. For all the months you’ve trained him, Raiden had been very diligent and grown much.

So instead of a training session, you decided you would reward him instead. Maybe it was a little bit biased, but the expression on his face alone right now made it all worth it.

“It’s a reward.” You said simply, standing up. You gestured to the picnic you’ve set up in the courtyard. It was nearly perfect. The stars, the moon, they were all so much prettier tonight. It was the perfect night sky for a late night picnic. “I thought instead of training you to the bone, we could celebrate tonight instead for your growth.”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Raiden said, his voice full of awe as he walked over. You sent him a look that told him not to be so humble, not now. He let out a small chuckle as he walked over. You sat down and so did he. He looked over to the spread you had lying out. “This all looks wonderful.” He marvels.

“I hope so. I made it all myself.” You bragged, watching with a bit of satisfaction as his expression turned amazed. 

“You did?” He asked, and you nodded. He looked back over to the food with more scrutiny. “I’m honored you made this all, thank you.” He said, his voice full of reverence. He reached out, his hand hovering over some food. The former farmer glanced back at you. “May I?”

“Go right ahead, I made this mostly for you.” You said, grinning as you gestured for him to dig in. You leaned over, grabbing some food for yourself. “I still will eat some too, so don’t you worry.” You let out a small hum of satisfaction as you ate it, enjoying the flavor you had created.

You and Raiden ate, savoring the flavors of the food you made. Silence passed between the both of you for a few moments, finding comfort in simply sitting near each other.

“This is really good.” Raiden complimented after swallowing his bite. His eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think. Then, a look of recognition appeared on his face. “This cooking actually reminds me of Madam Bo’s actually.” 

“Well, I suppose the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.” You commented, grinning slyly at Raiden’s shocked expression when the realization dawned on him.

“Madam Bo taught you how to cook?” He inquired, glancing between you and the food you had created. You nodded, setting down your food for a moment to stretch. You sighed in satisfaction as you felt your joints pop. You really needed to stretch more.

“Is it really that surprising?” You inquired, a teasing tone to your voice as you looked over to Raiden. A look of shock appeared on his features, as realization settled on his features. An almost bashful look appeared on his features as he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Raiden quickly said, which made you laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully as you lightly nudged his shoulder.

“I’m kidding Raiden.” You told him, a small mischievous look on your lips still. “But yes, Madam Bo did teach me.” You said, a small nostalgic tone to your voice as you looked over the slowly dwindling amount of food that you were sharing. “She was very insistent that I learn from her.”

“I see.” Raiden ate a bit more food, seeming to savor it even more now. An appreciative smile appeared on his face as he indulged in the food you gave him. “I think I like this even more than Madam Bo’s cooking.” He mentioned. looking up at you with that smile of his. Letting out a surprised laugh, you playfully nudged him again.

“Hah! Don’t let Madam Bo hear that!” You teased, grinning at him. You weren’t certain if he was being polite or not. But, you were compelled to believe him with the sincere way he said those words. Raiden’s smile grew bigger.

“She’d probably stuff me full of food until I pop if I said that around her.” Raiden admitted, laughing alongside you.

Soon enough, the food was all finished, it disappearing quickly as you two conversed. It tasted even better with such lovely company. You packed things up in the small basket you brought, with Raiden helping. Even when the surprise was for him, he still found a way to try and work.

“Did you still want me to train tonight?” The man inquired, raising an eyebrow as he helped finish packing up the stuff, except for the blanket the two of you were sitting on. You sighed and shook your head, sending him an exasperated look. Even after al that, he was thinking about training?

And you thought you were the workaholic.

“We’re not training tonight, you have an important exam tomorrow.” You reminded him, sending him an amused look. You pat the space beside you, having him scoot a bit closer to you. You laid down, letting out another sigh as you stared at the stars above you.

“Let’s just observe and enjoy the beauty of the sky tonight.” You proposed, taking in the beauty of the sky. It was magnificent. The sky seemed to be particularly clear tonight, the stars above twinkling brightly. The moon was nice and full. and seemed to be even bigger, allowing for a breathtaking view.

You heard the sound of Raiden also laying down next to you, also taking a moment to lie down. Minutes passed, a comfortable silence once again settling in. It was just you and him, staring up at the stars and taking in the view.

It was times like this you remember just how lucky you are to be able to witness such a thing.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You asked, searching the stars. You spotted the constellations in the sky you remembered reading about in a few of the books lying around the Fire Temple. Raiden was sent out of his daze when you spoke. 

Raiden blinked, looking over to you. His stare lingered on you instead, admiring you instead of the galaxy above. You were too wrapped up in looking at the stars to notice the way he looked at you and how his cheeks warmed up.

There was a moment as he stared at you, realizing how fortunate he was to be by your side.

“Yes…yes they are beautiful.”

part ten