#Loading Screen Contest

[world-of-advice]

[phantomsies]

𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖙 • 𝖆.𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙

your biggest fan soon becomes your biggest obsession….

black onlyfans creator!reader (fem descriptions), nerdy!armin, public sex/public masturbation, squirting, mentions of toys, exhibitionism, throatfucking, cumshot

📝: I wanted to go a completely different direction with this but a) it’s no longer kinktober and it would’ve much better suited that and b) nerd!armin just scratches an itch in my brain I can’t quite put my finger on. So enjoy! 🫶🏾 (also, I AM SO SORRY THIS SHIT IS SO LONG 😭😭 I don’t intend on headcanons being this length but I can’t shut the fuck up.)

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nerd!armin had been a dutiful subscriber of (y/n) (l/n)’s or as the world knew you, (performer name) for quite some time. He’d faithfully watched your content, never missing an upload to your sites and shamelessly scrolling your Twitter.

nerd!armin preferred your videos over others because they were so unique. Always willing to push the envelope by shooting in unconventional spaces; your car, public bathrooms and even dressing rooms..a polar opposite to his shy, bashful nature. In a way, he was jealous but also aroused..

from your long acrylics, fluffy lashes, colorful hair that changed from video to video and of course, the beautiful, dark brown complexion that radiated underneath the sun or ring lights, nerd!armin was obsessed.

nerd!armin would lie in bed after a long study session, classes or even a hard day at work..mindlessly stroking his cock in one hand as he held his phone in the other, eyes glued to the screen whilst you performed those lewd acts.

shoving those dildos in and out of your tight cunt, those pretty pink walls and plump brown lips sucking on that silicone toy..stretching yourself open all for his pleasure. A jeweled butt plug shoved into your ass and cream oozing down onto that gorgeous skin and the leather of your seats as you worked yourself into countless orgasms..mewling and begging for the would be viewer to keep fucking you..

“Fuck, I’m about to come, daddy..you’re gonna make me squirt.” Crying out as nerd!armin jerked himself even faster..subconsciously responding back without a single other person being in the room. ”Squirt for me, baby. Come..” Whimpering before exploding with a load of his own..

despite only being an intern, nerd!armin was well off from his freelancing tech work and although it didn’t leave him much room for socializing, he would tip you amicably on all the new content, as well as leave kind, respectful, encouraging words. It wasn’t something you saw often in this field.

it also didn’t take nerd!armin long to realize that you never featured a partner in any of your content like some girls eventually did. Only the various assortment of toys gifted to you by supporters. Which only further fed his delusions when you made a mess and glared into the camera, batting those doe brown eyes before saying “..look at what you made me do..that big dick feels so good..”

nerd!armin, who had only been with one woman sexually in his entire life and didn’t date often, could only dream of being with a girl like you.

so it came as no surprise when you announced that you would be opening a contest to film with one of your subscribers for the first time, nerd!armin leaped at the chance! The thought of getting to fuck the woman he’d hopelessly fawned over excited him.

nerd!armin nearly fainted when he got a DM on OnlyFans one day to see that he had won, asking when he’d like to arrange the meetup.

nerd!armin was understandably nervous on the day you two came face to face..but felt as ease when you continuously reassured him and even made sure that both of you had been tested, as well as protection.

“You’re so cute..it’s nice to finally meet you. Thank you for supporting me..” your gentle voice sent a shockwave of butterflies soaring through nerd!armin’s stomach as you wrapped him in a tight hug…and of course, a tightening in his pants upon laying eyes on his favorite creator. But that was merely the beginning.

nerd!armin found himself blushing when you slowly traced circles all over his skin, examining the single tattoo on his forearm and complimenting the smell of his cologne as the two of you sat alone in the bedroom of the designated filming space of your spacious home. Impressed by the bookshelves full of old literature he passed on the way in.

“Mmmm..you’re nervous, aren’t you?” “…I guess you could say that.” “Well don’t be, I’m going to make sure we have a good time, I promise..”

nerd!armin had no idea just how true you were to your word when less than ten minutes after the camera came on, you were on your knees, tongue extended and a wide smile on your face as he towered over you.

nerd!armin could hardly contain himself when eventually, those glossy brims were now encompassed around his cock. Slurping noises emanating around the room, along with his adorable cries…sloppy drool and gag spit spilling from that wet mouth and onto the pulsating head, shaft and those swollen balls. Disregarding the fact that your pretty face had become a disheveled mess.

“Oh my God…that feels so good, beautiful. Your mouth feels fucking amazing..” “You wanna come for me, baby?” “..yes! Drain me, please..” pathetically pleading whilst relentlessly fucking your throat.

nerd!armin unabashedly spent days, practicing his stroke on a translucent flesh light, feeding it deep thrusts and stuffing it with an ungodly amount of cum, examining your videos like study material..in hopes of gaining some stamina against you.

but nothing could prepare nerd!armin for the sheer sensation that being inside of you brought upon him.. however, he wasn’t the only one caught off guard..especially when he’d gently tug your head down and force you to watch as he glided into that narrow hole.. a move he’d learn from his tapes.

“It’s so big..damn..” “I told you..” giggling to yourselves as your gazes met and he’d begin to move.

nerd!armin almost felt compelled to believe that you were faking your moans like other pornstars so often did…but that misconception was cleared up when your eyes began to trail back, legs began to tremble and a slight bulge formed at the very bottom of your stomach.

“Yes, you stretching the fuck out of this pussy, baby..right there!..” “Am-am I doing a good job?” “You fucking me so good, please don’t stop.”

nerd!armin nearly lost all composure when you all but pushed him away, only to shower him in a stream of your juices. Only increasing as he tapped that swollen tip against your quivering folds.

nerd!armin didn’t last more than five minutes after that powerful climax and began dry heaving as his own neared. Ushering you back to your knees to paint those pretty features and tits with his load.

nerd!armin was convinced that once the cameras shut off, you’d put him out for nutting too quickly. Surely a woman of your caliber would never deal with that again. But yet again, he was proven wrong when you smiled up at him, flicking your tongue across your lips before posing a question. “So..where should we should film next time? We gotta do this more often..”

nerd!armin had found himself the newest and sole object of (creator’s name) affection!

[sunnie-angel]

week 2 (oct. 11) | overstimulation

✮⋆˙ lay all your love on me (3k)

jason needs to come. a lot. what's a good partner supposed to do but give him a helping orgasm? or two? or three?

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, groping, dirty talk, cum play, slight objectification, hand job, begging, crying during sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

a/n: working title was "jerking him off until he cries". @sanguineterrain at last the handjob fic i promised you

⊘ this is an 18+ fic. minors do not interact, you will be blocked

Jason Todd enjoys being the little spoon. It takes a weight off of his shoulders to curl up into you, have your chin hooked over his shoulder, and just trustingly melt. He’d been a little hesitant the first time you’d suggested it, sure that because of his size this wasn’t wanted from him. But after that first afternoon he’d leaned in a little more eagerly each time. Looked at you real sweet as he’d hemmed and hawed his way around asking if you two could cuddle again. Innocent, hoping for nothing more than a little light making out. Really, knowing how insatiable your appetite for him has been since the first time you’d kissed, he should have known that the two of you would end up here eventually.

It had started off innocently enough, the two of you spooning on the L-section of the couch he had insisted on buying when you had moved in together. Jason sits comfortably in the v of your legs with your arms wrapped around his stomach, warm and drowsy, some cooking show playing on the TV screen. He’d worn those grey sweatpants, the pair that you have a love-hate relationship with because of just how good they make his ass and thighs look. You haven’t been able to tear your eyes away from the faint outline of his cock through the cotton fabric. If asked, you probably couldn’t even name the show you’re supposed to be watching. He shifts, pulling the fabric tight against his cock. Saliva starts to pool in your mouth.

“Hey d’you mind if I try something?” you ask distractedly, focus narrowing to the crotch of his pants.

“What– OH,” he bites out as your hand closes around his dick, hips twitching and tone breathy.

“Go back to watching your show,” you shush him. “I just want to play a bit. You don’t mind, do you?” you ask. The fabric between your hand and his cock feels super-heated.

“I don’t– I don’t mind,” he manages to grit out. 

“Good.”

You move your hand along his shaft, gently squeezing, just trying to map out the shape of him now that you’re in no hurry. He’s a big boy, your Jason, proportional in all the right places. Trapping his dick against his leg, you stroke down, fabric bunching up beneath your palm. Jason’s breath stutters. Not wanting this to be over too quickly, you let him go. His hips twitch, chasing after your touch.

Instead you reach further down and cradle his balls in the palm of your hand. Roll them just to hear him moan quietly in your ear. If you had to guess, they feel heavier than usual, straining against the stretched grey fabric.

“Someone’s feeling a little pent up. Need a hand with that?” It’s some of your worst wordplay but it has the intended result.

“Might be,” he hedges.

Your other hand trails up to his pec and squeezes. His body is a lot more direct about what it wants, cock already fattening up in his pants.

“Getting fucked silly last night not enough for you, doll?” you pretend to pout.

“I cum a lot,” Jason confesses sheepishly, shame colouring his tone.

“Oh I know.” Fondly you think back to late nights in bed, Jason’s cum running down the inside of your thighs.

“I just mean that I hafta come a lot.” He tucks his chin into his chest. “Starts to get uncomfortable if I don’t at least twice a day. Hurts if I’m wearing the cup for patrol.”

You reward him for his honesty with another sharp drag at his twitching dick. On the television a contestant gets eliminated.

“So my big boy’s got a big load. Just more to fuck me full with,” you tell him smugly. He tries to thrust up into your hand, but you pull back, tutting. “Hey, you ever try and see just how much you can come?” You trace his chest through his shirt idly while he tries to piece together an answer.

“No?” his voice rises, tremors running through it as you dig your nail into his nipple. A damp spot starts to appear through his sweats, right where his purposefully neglected cock head sits. “It’s embarrassing enough I gotta jerk off a coupla times a day. Don’t wanna think about it too hard.”

“Yeah? Do you think of me every time you sneak off to have a furtive session in the bathroom?” you ask, half teasing half serious. Your hand closes around his shaft again. “When your balls tighten and your cock kicks in your hand, do you picture me?”

“Ye–ah,” he moans out, chest heaving. You press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw and flick at his nipple just to feel his breath catch.

“Good. Then I’m going to give you something real good to picture tomorrow, and you’re going to show me just how badly you need this. Don’t want my baby doll hurtin’ ‘cause he didn’t take the time to take care of himself.”

He nods, jaw clenching, as you finally thumb over his slit. Dig in to the growing damp patch with the pad of your thumb until fine tremors run up and down his spine. You let go just as he works up the nerve to try and thrust into the pressure.

Tapping at his hip, you urge him “Up, up. I want these off.”

With hands that feel dreadfully clumsy for their size, Jason manages to push his sweats and boxers down just far enough to free his dick from its confines. He almost dies from embarrassment over the way it nearly smacks against his stomach, practically drooling pre-come. On the TV, a new lightning round commences.

“Always so wet for me,” you murmur, slicking your hand with his pre. “I don’t think I even need lube for you, doll.”

The first pass of your hot hand over his bare skin is electrifying and Jason knows his first (of many, he hopes) orgasm isn’t far off. You set a fast pace, an extra twist of your wrist right below the head that has his stomach swooping. It’s white hot pressure, wet and good as you murmur soft praise into his ear. His hips start moving unconsciously, prolonging the drag of your palm on his cock. He moans when you tighten and release your grip intermittently, caught off guard by the sudden change in pressure. Flickering heat builds at the base of his spine, so strong he can taste it like iron on his tongue. Clever fingers pinch his nipples and he careens into orgasm eyes shut, teeth closing around his earlobe.

His cock twitches in your hand as he comes, spurts landing on his clothed chest and tummy. After an eternity stretches out, it slows to a dribble, thick white globs catching on your knuckles as you continue to stroke him through it. Letting go of his now sensitive dick, you drag your hand across his stomach, causing it to twitch, collecting the cum in your palm.

You hold up your hand for his inspection, rotate it back and forth to show him just how wet your hand has become. Embarrassment burns through Jason at the sight, lights up his cheeks and tightens his chest, the image of his copious desperation shining in the lamplight seared into his brain. Cum pools in the webbing of your fingers and starts to roll down your wrist in hot drips.

“Didn’t mean to make a mess,” he says, stomach still spasming and hips still twitching.

“No?” You press warm wet kisses along his jaw. “Then we’ll just have to keep going until you do mean to.”

The first tug at his cock is electrifying, back bowing tight as a string, his head dropping back onto your shoulder. You mouth at the warmed skin of his throat, adding just a hint of teeth as you trace the veiny underside of his dick with a slick finger.

“C’mon doll, I know you’ve got it in you to make a much bigger mess,” you croon, reaching down to tug and squeeze at his balls until he’s moaning like a whore for you. “Want you to give it all to me.” He starts grinding into the air in desperation.

“Please, can I– wanna fuck your fist. Please?” he whines. “Wanna come for your hand.”

You give a slow, leisurely stroke of his cock that has his shoulders shaking, before pulling off completely, hand still clenched in a loose fist.

“You’re so polite.” You press a kiss to his temple, hook your chin over his shoulder for a better view. “Now c’mon, good boys get to take what they want.”

His hips surge forward, every taut muscle in his body working to piston his dick in and out of your fist. It’s a heady feeling, watching him flex and strain under your hands, sweat beading on his forehead. Jason whines when you make him work for it, holding your hand a little further away so his hips have to arch just that much higher. He’s more flexible than you thought, a fact you file away for later. You tighten your grip and pull your hand closer, force Jason to change his pace to something jackrabbit fast, punched out little uh, uh, uhs falling from his mouth. With every stroke he’s slicking his cock up with his own cum, all shiny and wet.

“Look at you, all covered in cum for me. Your dick’s so pretty like this, puttin’ on a show,” you murmur.

“Jus’ f’r you. S’all yours,” he slurs, brain melting out of his ears.

“Yeah?” You press your thumb into the slit of his cock head. “So that means this cock is mine, right?” Jason nods frantically, keeps trying to fuck his whole length through the vice-like clutch of your hand but you’re not done playing yet. You grab his balls with your other hand. “All of this cum belongs to me?”

“Yours, all yours,” he gasps, so far gone he barely remembers his own name.

“That’s right doll,” you coo. Dig your fingers into the sensitive spot just under the head. “It’s my dick and my cum. Mine.” Heat burns through Jason’s veins, hums with the desire-shame thrumming through him and pools in the pit of his belly. “I fuck myself with my cock whenever I want and I get my cum whenever I want. And right now I want all of it.”

“Yeah wanna– wanna give it to you. Please. Need ta come. Need it. Need it need it,” he whines through gritted teeth, tendons pulling tight in his neck. His hands scrabble for something – anything to anchor him – and close around your thighs.

“Be a good doll and come then,” you instruct him, voice heavy with your own lust.

You start jerking him off in earnest, palm wrapped tight around the fat girth of his cock. He keens, body seizing up. A wet hand trails up to pinch at the tight bud of his nipple, leaving damp cum stains across the front of his shirt. Jason comes with a throaty groan on a particularly wicked twist of your wrist, tries to tuck his face into your neck. Rapt, you watch the thick white fluid dribble down his cock, sticky between your knuckles. With a steady hand you stroke him through his orgasm, more interested in the way his dick glistens than the pleasure-pain overstimulation he’s riding.

Cum pools at the base of his dick. Forms a frothy ring of creamy white from where your hand has churned it up, clings to his pubes and gathers in the divot just below his hip bone. Its still warm when you dip a finger into it, use it to draw idle patterns over the skin of his lower stomach where his shirt has ridden up. His muscles twitch and jump under his skin as he lets out a high and reedy sound. Sweat clings to his temples. The hands clinging to your thighs tremble as you continue to tug at his cock.

Jason’s next orgasm rolls over him, builds so gently he doesn’t notice it growing over the harsh passes of your hand over his dick. Only a little cum dribbles out this time, pearls at the fat head of his dick before slowly trailing its way home to your hands. He mewls when you bite down gently on the meat of his shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, his head drops back to loll on you. Fine tremors rack his large frame as he limply clings to you, spent and vulnerable, raw with pleasure.

“Kiss, please,” Jason demands, fucked out and sweetly. Wetness dots the corners of his lashes as he gazes up at you, your pretty boy.

The kiss is almost chaste in comparison to everything that preceded it, closed mouth and sweet. He sighs into your mouth and melts into the cradle of your body. Shifts his hand to thread it through your fingers not currently rubbing cum into the heated skin of his cock. Jason’s mouth chases after yours, starved for tenderness. Pulling back, you lay your forehead on his and close your eyes. The two of you stay there, rough inhales evening out into something soft. Intimate.

“You were so good, baby. So good,” you murmur to him. Jason squirms a little at the praise. Or maybe at the way you slip a hand under his shirt at the same time. “Can you be good just a little longer? Want you to come again–” he whines, starts shaking his head, “–just once. Just one more, okay?” You dust kisses across the tip of his nose, the scrunched up space between his eyes. “You can do this, baby doll.”

“I can’t. I can’t,” he moans. His fingers clench and unclench around yours.

“Yes you can, I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You’re not doing this alone. Why don’t we just try, hmm?”

He looks up at you, hazy eyed and trusting. Jason’s curls are stuck to his damp forehead and there’s high spots of colour in his cheeks. His lips are shiny and swollen from where he’s bitten at them. Tongue darting out between his parted lips, the growing desire to be good, to give you what you’re asking of him, is nearly tangible in the air. What a sweet picture he makes, your doll. He looks like yours.

“Will you– will you kiss me through it? Don’t wanna get lost, don’t wanna be alone. Promise?”

“You can have as many kisses as you want,” you reassure him, squeeze his hand with your own. “You can have as many as you want after too.”

You kiss him and he melts. You kiss him and reshapes himself into the image you create for him. Hips twitching at every feather light touch to his cock, balls drawing up tighter and tighter with each breath. You swallow down every sigh and whimper, soak up the way his breath hitches as you neglect his cock to trail the pads of your fingers across the tense muscles of his stomach. How eager he is to open up to you, mouth parting for your entry. You flip his hand over so you can hold it properly, let him clutch it to his chest for comfort as finally you start teasing his dick again.

You work him over, running the flat of your hand against the length of it just to feel it struggle to get to full mast again. Jason cries out when you finally close a fist around the base of it. He settles down again with another soft kiss pressed to his open mouth. His hips start to roll with the slow, gentle pace you set, eyes closed. He gasps when you speed up the down stroke, still tortuously slow as you glide back toward the tip of his dick. Slowly the muscles of his thighs start to twitch, no longer relaxed as they begin to lock up. Something slow and cloying as tar builds at the base of his spine, tugging and clawing it’s way from the tips of his toes and the prickle of his scalp to settle low in his gut. He forgets to breath. 

Jason’s desperate, thrashing under your hold, trying to escape the drag of the blade across his nerves, pleasure spiking. He could break free, if that was really what he wanted. Instead he lets you draw things out, begs and pleads for more.

“S’too much. God. Don’t sto-p. Please.”

He feels strangely divorced from his body as he comes on an exhale, jaw slack and hips arching off the couch. One single spurt and then he’s coming dry. The force of it burns through him, toes curling, heart shaking. He’s light headed, limbs so weak Jason doesn’t think they’d hold him. He pants, trying to force air into his lungs as his ears ring. His molars hurt the same way they do when he touches a live wire. He looks at you with stars in his eyes, white spots dancing across his vision.

“Oh you were so perfect, doll. Didn’t I say you had one more in you?” You nuzzle into his cheek before tenderly placing a kiss there. “And look at how much you came!” Dragging a finger through the puddle around his dick, you giggle. “You’re going to have such a good time jerking off to this tomorrow.”

He groans at that thought, already pained at the idea of orgasming again anytime soon. Still, he lifts your twined hands together to press kisses to your sticky knuckles.

“No more sexy talk, okay? You’re gonna kill me. Let me enjoy the afterglow a little before you start planning to pull my soul out of my dick again.”

“Okay, okay! Glad to know you enjoyed yourself too,” you laugh. “I’ll go get a towel to clean you up and we can restart the episode.”

“The wh– oh.” Jason darts a sheepish glance back at the TV where the credits are already rolling.

[gay-dorito-dust]

lmao this is my first time giving a request. Could you maybe do dick Grayson head cannons?

Most of these hdc come from my little brain that I thought fit Dick in general, it’s not based on stuff (some of them are but not all) if ppl agree or don’t agree, I couldn’t care less honestly. Also thanks for the request anon, hope you like it! 🫶

I know I write him as a little goofy goober but he tends to play up this character so that he doesn’t have to open up about anything. Is it foolproof? Not entirely and it solely depends on the person and their relationship to him,those of whom that pick up what he’s putting down, and those (you) who can easily see through this facade and know something is up.

He’s more often than not the type who will become more affectionate in private where it’s just you, him and Hayley. Dick doesn’t need anybody else other then you two, his confidants as he so playfully called you both one day, and he’s more then content then he’s ever been.

Older sibling syndrome is strong in this boy.

Foot wars are a common occurrence in your shared apartment as you push against the others foot with your own to see who’s going to be victorious, only for you to accidentally smack him in the face with your foot and the foot war becomes ten times worse, seeing as how as Dick often wins them more then you did.

He will never stop feeling guilty about Jason’s death. Never. That boy who was filled with love and life and claimed that being robin was magic was still within Jason somewhere, dick just knows this to be true, even if Jason loves to claims that that little kid was gone.

And while he’s glad that Jason is back in his life, dick couldn’t help but feel as though he could’ve done better by him at times, holding onto that guilt and shame for not being their for his brother that still killed him inside to this day whenever he saw Jason laugh and or smile at something. It hurts but Dick will never stop being in Jason’s corner, not once. If Gotham was against Jason then Dick will gladly be by Jason’s side, to show that his allegiance to his brother would outweigh a lot of things.

(I’m so normal about dick and Jason being brothers can’t you tell 🥲 leave me here and be delusional)

The same applies to Damian also, which is why your mostly acquainted with both Jason and Damian in comparison to the rest of his family because they often come over by pure coincidence, or because dick dragged them by their ears with a smile on his face.

Insists that you cling onto his legs while he does pull ups and or sit on his back while he does push ups as he lets you count.

Complains to you when he looses the nightwing look alike contest, and to Jason no less, which no one that knows him personally allows him to live down.

They (Tim and Stephanie) even make memes out of it.

Has Hayley as his Lock Screen, you as his Home Screen. Both wearing cute matching pyjamas. So when he’s on his phone people think he’s smiling at his picture of Hayley -which is true- but he’s also smiling at the picture of you also.

His family pester him about you a lot, even Bruce asks when he’s going to meet you, claiming he’s not going to get any younger should Dick hold back on introducing you to him.

Even Alfred gets in on this as well but Dick always has an excuse locked and loaded when these questions are asked, but even he knows that Bruce knows that it’s all bullshit, however he doesn’t say anything outright incase Dick didn’t feel comfortable introducing you to them yet.

Wears only boxers to sleep or boxers and a light blue shirt, it depends on what he’s feeling really.

Loves living in the moment with you as you enjoy the others company without feeling the need to fill the air with chatter, you could just both exist and still love each other regardless because Dick didn’t feel the need to talk all the time, so moments like these were what he longed for most.

Ungracefully fell on his ass in fuzzy soaks once and hurt his tailbone in the process. It was funny until he asked to you put a bag of ice on the afflicted area.

Loved narrating what you and or Hayley do in a goofy voice that never fails to make you smile.

Doesn’t open up immediately but once he does it’s a sign of trust. He admits to his flaws in past relationships and how he wasn’t the most faithful and often saw commitment as a challenge. He understands if you see that as a sign to leave the relationship, he doesn’t expect anything from you, but if you did stay then he’s more then happy to not repeat those mistakes in your relationship.

Knows that people see Bruce when they look at him, he expects it because after being with him as long as he has it was only logical that he picked up some habits along the way whether he liked it or not.

Has a big heart but claims that Jason’s heart was twice as big because he’s so full of love and believed in love.

[ecstarry]

@rosekillermicrofic / cheat / 432 words / a guitar hero loser meet-cute @star4daisy

They had been going at it for hours. Their shirts were sweaty, and their fingers were about to cramp for the third time. Ten minutes between rounds was not enough.

As they prepared for the last round, Barty took one last look at his competitor. He adjusted his grip on the guitar, bracing himself for the final song. It was the other guy’s turn to pick.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Barty mumbled to himself as he watched the blond man select ‘Knights of Cydonia’ for their last song. It was the one song Barty had never been able to complete with 100% accuracy on the level they were playing now.

But he tried. For the first minute, they both easily played through the chords, not breaking the streak. Barty lifted his guitar and activated the power as soon as he could, and the crowd went crazy. All four guys watching them at the dingy pizza parlor cheered.

Then came the solo. The fucking solo. And, as every time before, he messed up at the same note. He didn’t give up, though. Blondy over there was bound to mess up; what kind of psycho chooses that song when they want to win a Guitar Hero III battle? Barty didn't look at the guy once until the song finally ended.

Everyone went quiet as the screen loaded. Barty cursed under his breath when he realized he had lost.

He turned around to congratulate his opponent and blushed when he felt the large hand and long fingers that grasped his own. A disgusting amount of filthy imagines of what those fingers could do were not crossing his mind. 

“Well played, mate.” Now that was a fucking hot voice, Barty thought.

“You sure you didn’t cheat?”

“Just got blessed with long and agile fingers, I guess,” the man said, showing his hands as if to prove he wasn't hiding anything. “I’m Evan.”

“I’m Barty. Are you new here?” Barty was certain that if he had bumped into Evan even once, he would’ve remembered. If not for those hands, definitely those eyes.

“Nah, just moved here. But I saw the ad for a contest in exchange for a free slice and thought I’d give it a try.”

“A try!? You killed me out there.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” A grin spread across Evan’s face and Barty’s face lit up. “Let me make it up to you, I’ll share my slice.” 

Barty nodded and followed him to the closest table. 

“So, Evan, tell me, what else are your hands good at?” 

This would be fun.

[ckret2]

Chapter 34 of human Bill Cipher not making friends with Stan during his imprisonment in the Mystery Shack, featuring: the tooth fairy and her dentist attempting to steal Bill's teeth in the middle of the night. Stan would care a lot less if he weren't still handcuffed to Bill. And also: Stan and Bill have a friendly chat. As you can see.

####

Even though Bill and Stan were trying to watch the same TV as they had dinner, Bill refused to sit in the living room with Stan; so he sat on the bottom step of the stairs in the entryway, Stan perched on the end of the couch, and they strung the handcuffs around the doorway with their little plastic microwave dinner trays balanced on their knees.

Both of their dinners had come out undercooked. Both of them were too proud to complain.

After picking through maybe a third of his meal, Bill decided he'd rather go to bed hungry than eat something he didn't enjoy, dropped his tray on the floor, and kicked it into the kitchen. "Hey Stanley, still glad you went with the cuffs instead of the bracelets?"

"Shut up."

Bill smirked victoriously, and looked back to the TV. "No mayonnaise in Ireland."

"What?"

Bill pointed at the screen and the rows of blank letters waiting for contestants to fill them in. "The round that just started. That's the solution."

"Oh." Stan counted out all the blank letters, frowned, and said unconfidently, "It can't be that. It doesn't make any sense."

"You're wrong," Bill said lightly; and then fell silent, running the tip of his tongue over the new gold spots on his teeth. 

When the contestants had guessed enough letters that one could hesitantly offer, "Is it... 'no mayonnaise in Ireland'?" Bill smirked triumphantly at the sound of Stan's silence. He just barely waited until the next board of blank letters flashed on the screen, and then announced, "Tip your waiter."

Stan counted the letters under his breath. "Man. I thought I was good at this, but we'd clean up if we put you on this show. No one would ever figure out how you're cheating."

Bill laughed. "Listen to you! If you were Ford, you'd just be mad that I'm giving away all the answers before you can guess. That's the great thing about you, Stanley: you don't get irritated at me for stupid little reasons. You're more fun." He took a deep breath and shouted, "Hey Ford, did you hear that?! Stan's the fun twin—!"

"Keep it down, you idiot. Ford's in the basement, he can't hear you." Stan had thought Bill was finally sobering up from the sedative; maybe not. (Then again, maybe this was just what he was like sober.) "And what are you talking about? You irritate me all the time!"

"Oh, well, I guess I just don't care when you're irritated." Bill laughed.

Stan grumbled, planted his chin in his hand, and tried to focus on Cash Wheel. It was difficult when he already knew the solution.

He tolerated the silence for less than a minute before sighing, looking toward the doorway, and demanding, "What's with you, anyway? Why are you so obsessed with my brother?"

Bill spluttered in disbelief. Stan could feel his handcuff chain jerk over. Voice even shriller than usual, Bill said, "Excuse m—Excuse me?! Obsessed? Moi?! I don't know what you're talking about!" He forced a loud laugh.

"If Ford's in the room, he's the only one you talk to, and when he isn't here you're yelling across the house for him—"

"Is it obsession to sometimes pay a little more attention to the human here I happen to know best and to whom I happen to be a teacher, muse, and friend—"

"Oh that's a load of bull," Stan snapped, "you're not any of those things! Friend? Friend? He wants you dead, you crazy—"

"Well if he does," Bill said, louder still, "then wouldn't it make perfect sense to keep my eye on the guy who killed me? There's no big mystery—"

"That's it! That's just it!" Stan tossed down his TV dinner and stood so he could face Bill properly. "He didn't kill you alone, remember? That was a two-man con you fell for! But you keep talking like Ford was the only one there!"

Without bothering to stand, Bill looked up at Stan and said, quite confidently, "Only one person killed me. You're just the place where I was killed."

"I wh...?" Stan fell silent, blinking at Bill in disbelief.

"Do you even remember what happened inside your brain? After you took my hand?" Bill asked. "You don't, do you?"

Stan glowered at Bill, but he shut his mouth and said nothing.

"I knew it." Bill laughed nastily. "We were both trapped in there when Fordsy fired the gun. Completely powerless. You were weeping and begging for a way out when the flames got too close, but there was nothing I could do by then—"

"All right," Stan took a threatening step closer, "I know that that didn't happen! I would never—"

Bill leaned back, hands raised palm out in appeasement, "Okay okay okay! All right, you got me—just embellishing the story a little—we actually had a big psychic laser battle. Imagined up all kinds of futuristic weapons. It was very 90's action movie. You did... fine, you were fine."

Stan considered that. "Ehh... sure, that sounds more like me."

"But it was all imaginary," Bill snapped. "It was a vast illusion! At that point there was nothing either of us could do to the other. We were just two victims locked inside a burning house as it came down around us. You didn't kill me, you never even had the power to kill me."

"Huh." That was all Stan said. But he kept looking at Bill, frowning distrustfully, studying him.

Bill's shoulders slowly went up under the pressure of Stan's gaze. "Oh—oh wow, okay, I see what's going on!" He gave Stan a crooked, mean smile. "You're jealous, aren't you? You thought offering up your body to be the scene of a murder finally made you a co-star instead of a sidekick! All your lives, Stanford got more attention from daddy, more attention from the teachers, more attention from the whole world... and you thought you'd finally get at least a little attention from the big bad living nightmare. Just because you let your brother shoot you in the head!" Bill laughed. "You weren't special enough for anyone else—why do you think you're special enough for me?"

Stan jerked Bill to his feet by the handcuff's chain. "I bet I'm special enough to break your face!" He dragged him into the living room, fist raised. "Let's see if you stay down this time—"

Bill scrambled back as far as the chain allowed him. "NO!" Horror filled the one ragged syllable. His free arm was raised to shield his terrified eye.

They froze, staring at each other.

Bill straightened up, forcing a nervous, rattled laugh. "Come on, I just got all this dental work done. At least give me a couple days to enjoy it before you pound it in!" He was talking fast to fill the silence. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind having a flatter face, all these bones and cartilage jutting out never did feel right—"

Stan feigned a punch.

Bill flinched.

Stan laughed at him, slapping his knee. "You big chicken! Look at you! Baw-baaawk-bgawk! HA!"

Bill tried, very hard, to explode Stan with his brain. This usually worked on people who dared try to insult Bill Cipher. "If I had one billionth of a billionth of my power, I'd have already destroyed you—!"

"But you don't, sucker!" Stan laughed louder.

Bill screamed in frustration, turned his back on Stan, and stomped upstairs to sulk.

Or, he would have, if he hadn't gotten one step up the stairs before the handcuffs yanked tight. He stumbled back, landed on his butt, and inadvertently jerked Stan down on one knee with a yelp.

Bill cast a resentful look at Stan—who was rubbing his shoulder and finally looking as irritated as Bill felt—and then he lay down and deliberately stared straight at the ceiling. "Whatever. I don't even care about your pointless mammal posturing. It's fine. It doesn't bother me. I'm calm. You're just making yourself look stupid." Bill shut his eyes. "I wanna go to bed."

####

"Bill," Ford said.

Bill cracked open an eye and peered up at the form looming over his makeshift cushion bed. "Mrm?"

In a very calm voice that suggested he was not calm at all, Ford asked, "Why are you sleeping on the floor in front of my bedroom door."

"Oh. Right, you missed it." Bill yawned and sat up. "Well, you see, Stanley got us handcuffed together until tomorrow morning," he pointed at his cuffed wrist and rattled the chain, "and I tried to be accommodating, but he doesn't want to sleep in the attic and won't let me sleep in the guest room—"

Stan yelled through the door, "And Mr. Accommodating here still refuses to sleep on the sofa bed."

"—so the best compromise we've got is sleeping on the floor with the chain under the door. Not my idea of a fun evening, but." Bill shrugged ruefully, like an adult resigned to indulging the whims of a petulant child. "Do you want in? It'll take us a little coordination to get the door open, but we've already done this once, so—"

"I'm not messing with this," Ford said. "I'm sleeping in the basement. Good night, Stanley."

"Night, Ford."

Trying not to sound miffed at being snubbed, Bill said, "Hey, do you still keep your cot on that rug you used to channel me better?" He laughed.

"Nope. I burned that rug." Ford turned the corner and left.

Bill stuck his tongue out at his back. He didn't actually know whether Ford was lying. He wished he'd thought to check out Ford's study before heading down to the portal back when he'd had his time tape.

"Hey." He rapped on the bedroom door. "I thought we weren't asking Sixer for help so he wouldn't find out about the handcuffs." They hadn't actually discussed it, but he'd taken it for granted. "Now that he knows, why aren't we getting his help?"

"What, you think I need his help to solve all my problems? Ha!"

"Okay, fine. Doesn't matter to me, I'm used to sleeping on the floor." Bill lay back down and sighed.

He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

####

Bill wasn't quite dreaming, but for a few seconds it was something very close to a dream. He saw points of light in darkness. One of his earliest, oldest memories. He'd memorized the constellations outside of his plain when his starblind species didn't even have a word for "constellations."

But these weren't those points of light in darkness. Some nearer, some farther—he could sense their distance—and all of the lights were calling to him. All of his eyes. He could see so many more than he had last night.

One was just a few inches away. He could almost reach out and grab it. 

But those few seconds of light-in-darkness were in the gray twilight between the dreamscape and the physical world, and Bill only fleetingly glimpsed them as he passed from sleep back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes.

To see a person looming over him.

And the taste of thick metal tools in his mouth.

"Hi," Bill said, for lack of anything better to say under these circumstances.

It was enough to make Dr. Illing gasp and stumble back from Bill. "Jeez." He clapped a hand over his heart. "I'm sorry— I-I didn't want to—"

"Uh-huh." Bill sat up and took the abandoned tool out of his mouth—pliers. They'd been gently clamped around one of his canine teeth. "Not the most unpleasant thing I've had aimed at my face in the middle of the night," Bill mused, "but it's pretty high on the list." He tried to lift his other hand to feel his face for damage—and only remembered the handcuff when the rattling chain caught his wrist in place.

They both looked at the cuff. As Dr. Illing realized Bill was trapped, a change came over his face—a desperate, crazed fury.

Bill shook his head. "Ohhh, no no no—"

"Give me that!" Dr. Illing lunged for Bill, one hand reaching toward the pliers and the other toward his throat, trying to pin him against the door.

Bill shoved his feet in Dr. Illing's chest, trying to hold him back. "Stanley!" He pounded on the door with the pliers. "We have visitors, wake up!"

"It'll only take a second," Dr. Illing insisted. "You were going to give me one anyway! And that tooth is already loose! You can handle the pain! Just—hold still, I can't damage it!" He managed to get his thumb in Bill's mouth—he cringed when Bill bit down, but didn't back off—and pulled a fresh set of pliers out of his tool bag.

Bill parried the pliers with his own pair. "STAAAN—"

The door unlatched and Bill tumbled backward into the room. He twisted out of the dentist's way, slid the handcuff chain out from under the door, and skittered behind Stan.

"Wha—what's—?" Stan squinted into the dark hallway. "The heck's going on?"

Bill stretched to Stan's nightstand and grabbed up his glasses and hearing aids. "Put your face on!" He shoved them in Stan's hands, then reached back for his dentures.

Stan put his glasses on first. "What the— Illing? What are you doing here?"

Dr. Illing stood forlorn in the hallway, trembling all over, eyeing Stan nervously. "Uhhh," he said eloquently. "I just..." He gestured around Stan's shoulder toward Bill, "wanted to check her fillings. I thought one of them might be a little loose—"

Bill's cackle cut through his excuses. "Oh, come on! I know your boss put you up to this! What does the little lady want with my mouth?"

Dr. Illing's eyes widened. All he managed to produce was a squeak.

Stan said, "What 'little lady,' this guy's self-employed. What are you talking about—"

"The tooth fairy, genius!" Bill flung his free hand in the air. "Why did you think your dentist pays you to pull your teeth! He lives in a van, who'd you think was funding him?!"

"Uh," Stan said. "You know, I sort of just took his whole 'creepy sadist who bribes people to let him pull their teeth' shtick at face value." (Dr. Illing's shoulders slumped.) "But—I know things are weird around here, but the tooth fairy's gotta be fake, right? That's the stupidest..."

A fairy popped out of Dr. Illing's bag—just large enough to use an adult man's hand like a chair, with a bob cut so white it almost shone, giving off a glowing toothpaste-blue aura, wearing a necklace of baby teeth like a hunter who'd taken trophies from the bones of her kills.

"Oh," Stan said. "Well. Never mind. Just one more crazy thing in this town."

Bill's back went stiff, his eyes widened, and he curled his fists into the fabric of Stan's tank top like he was holding his shield in place. "Oh, she's here." He lisped an inhuman swear under his breath.

Ignoring them, the tooth fairy glowered up at Dr. Illing. "How did they know? What did you tell them!"

"Nothing!" he protested. "I swear! I'd never!"

"Well, you must have let something slip—"

Bill swallowed hard; but then he straightened up, let go, and stepped into the open. "Why, if it isn't Miss Pearl E. White, in the fae flesh! To what do I owe such an honor?"

Dr. Illing and the fairy both flinched. She asked, "How do you know my...?"

"Oh, Pearl. I know things you couldn't even dream of." Bill favored her with his best, widest, most unnerving grin.

And got the creeping sense that she'd stopped looking at his face, and started staring at his teeth. He pressed his lips together. "And here's just one thing I know: lady, if you were toeing the line of your treaty any harder, you'd be tripping across it. So tell me what you're doing here and what you want."

She huffed defensively, wings buzzing as they lifted her several inches in the air. "I'm well within the terms of the treaty! I haven't laid a hand on you and I'm not about to start, and I've been offering more than adequate financial compensation—"

"Oh, right," Bill laughed, "I'm sure the queen of your court would be thrilled to hear you ordered your legally-dubious helper to rip out someone's teeth in the dead of night—"

"Hi," Stan said, "question. What the hey are you guys talking about. Treaties? Queens?"

"Oh, this is all going over your head, isn't it! I'll catch you up." He turned to the side to point accusingly at Pearl, "Little miss enamel-happy here has a thing for teeth. To the extent that she started stealing them straight out of humans' mouths. She went so crazy that the local human settlements actually declared war on her court over her dental kleptomania—and the fairies she dragged into the conflict weren't any happier about it than the humans were. So now, under the conditions of a human-fairy peace treaty, she's only allowed to acquire already freed teeth that are voluntarily offered to her by their owners—which is why she started bribing children."

Pearl crossed her arms, fuming. "That's a very biased version of events. You're just trying to paint me in the worst possible—"

"Save it, sparkles! I woke up with your minion's pliers in my mouth, I'll be as biased as I want!" He shifted his attention to Dr. Illing—who seemed to wilt under the force of Bill's glare. "But she's getting deep in a gray area working with this guy. Once a tooth is handed to a dentist, he's its 'owner,' and can freely give that tooth to the tooth fairy—but him extracting the tooth puts the whole operation on shaky legal ground. Really, I think the only reason you've gotten away with this racket so long is because nobody's filed a legal challenge with the fairy court yet."

"Nobody's complained about it," Pearl said hotly.

"None of your victims know about it," Bill countered. "Hey Fisherman," he jabbed Stan's arm, "how do you feel knowing your teeth were sacrificed to the tooth fairy?"

He considered that. "Well—it was free."

Pearl crowed, "Ha!"

Ignoring Stan's reply, Bill blithely moved on: "But by any reading of the treaty, hiring a human to steal teeth straight out of someone's mouth is beyond the pale. So you'd better have a good explanation for this!"

"Yeah. I do have a good explanation." She sucked in a deep breath. "I want your teeth!" She launched herself toward Bill; Dr. Illing had to grab her around the waist to hold her back. "I'd do anything for those teeth! They're the most amazing teeth I've ever seen!" She clawed at the air, hissing and straining as she tried to reach Bill.

"My lady, please," Dr. Illing said pathetically. "The treaty—"

She aimed a swipe at his face. "I know about the stupid treaty!"

Bill stared at her, baffled. His perfectly normal human teeth? But he shook his head, smiled, and said, "Well okay, fantastic! It's been a while since I've bargained with the fae, but I'm not too attached to this body—so how much gold do you have on you, kid?"

"We're not bargaining. You already know too much," Pearl snapped. "I'm not about to get blackmailed by a human, and I'm not going back to fairy jail. So here's what's happening." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward Dr. Illing. "I'm gonna have my guy rip out every one of your teeth, and then rip your head apart so you can't talk, and the only negotiating you get to do is whether or not my guy uses the local anesthetic before he starts. So what's it gonna be?"

Dr. Illing went deathly pale and his knees shook as he verged on fainting.

"Hey," Stan waved at the fairy, "listen, I'd love to see this guy's head get ripped apart, but—crazy thing, long story—it turns out there's fifty-fifty odds that killing him could end the world. So, maybe let's talk this out—?"

Pearl gestured dismissively at Stan. "His mouth has nothing left of interest to me. He's a witness. Kill him, too."

Dr. Illing swallowed hard; but, with trembling hand, he reached into his tool bag and slowly pulled out a large power drill that definitely wasn't designed for teeth.

"Right," Bill said. "Okay. This'll be fun." If he said it convincingly enough, maybe it would be true. "Hey, Fisher—you know that spell Sixer's got on me? If I cast it on Frankie here, can you..."

"Yeah, I see where you're going."

Pearl's eyes narrowed. She pounded her tiny fist on Dr. Illing's finger. "Hurry up, before they—"

Before she could issue a warning, Stan charged at them, fist raised. Dr. Illing flinched, shielding his face with the drill; but Stan dodged around him, heading for the hall. Bill seized Dr. Illing's upper arm as he passed—"Amnesia Limina, Stupidi Digiti, Occultus Locus!"—and then Stan yanked Bill out into the hall by their chain and slammed the bedroom door.

Dr. Illing gasped. "What?"

Blue light radiated through the cracks around the door as Pearl darted around, shrieking, "Open the door, you idiot!"

There was a moment of futile scrabbling. "How?!"

Bill and Stan retreated to the entryway. Bill said, "If we get outside, we can lose 'em."

"Or get the car and run them over," Stan said.

"You don't wanna be the guy who kills the tooth fairy! She might be in the doghouse, but she's still old fae nobility. Her court would—"

Bill cut off as Stan opened the door. Instead of leading to the porch and the forest beyond, it now opened into a bone-colored cathedral, the arches and vaulted ceilings constructed out of what looked like small irregular pebbles: teeth.

Stan gaped at the vast chamber. "Where the heck...?"

Bill looked at what had once been the outside of the door; the numbers "13 / 32" were carved into the wood. "Nowhere we want to go! Shut it!"

Stan slammed the door.

"That explains how she got in," Bill muttered. "There's no time to un-enchant this exit, we'll need another one."

Stan pointed toward the living room. "We can go out the—"

"The floor room exit." Bill dragged Stan back toward the hallway they'd just left.

"What?! That's the other end of the house, you idiot, the gift shop's right through here!"

"But it's a straight shot down the hall—" Bill stumbled to a stop.

The tooth fairy was clawing her way out from under the bedroom door. She caught sight of Bill, and her wings raised in a sharp V like a wasp preparing to attack. "You!"

"Never mind."

Stan dragged Bill back toward the living room. "Now can we go—"

Bill saw the living room—that familiar dark room, the familiar walls and carpet, the familiar armchair facing the doorway as though welcoming him back, the pale blue light from the fish tank climbing the walls like flames—and Stanley Pines, dragging Bill by a chain toward this tomb—and he grabbed on to the staircase railing. "Up."

Stan jerked to a stop. "That's a dead end!" He tried again to pull Bill toward the living room. "Are you insane?!"

"Yes." Bill locked his hand around the railing like a corpse in rigor mortis. He'd break his fingers before he let go. "We're going up."

"We are not—"

The tooth fairy shot past them like a glowing blue bullet, streaking into the kitchen. Stan started, and Bill took the opportunity to drag them up the stairs. Stan finally followed.

"You're not getting out of here with my teeth!" Pearl screamed after them.

"Ignore her," Bill muttered, "she can't risk touching us and she knows it. She's powerless without her minion." He stumbled on a step and just kept climbing on all fours.

"I wouldn't bet on her self control!" Stan struggled to keep up, his cuffed wrist in the lead. "Why are we going this way? How do you expect to get out from the attic?!"

"I don't know! It just seemed like a better idea! Do I have to think of everything?!"

"This was your plan!"

"There's got to be a ladder in the storage over the kids' room, we can get down out a window."

"I don't keep ladders—!"

"Well maybe Jesús does, do you know everything in the attic?! Come on!"

Bill kicked the door to the kids' room until Stan opened it. After a short argument about who should climb to the storage loft ("I have to look, you can't see in the dark!" "And you can?! Since when!" "Since always! You didn't need to know!"), Bill scrambled up the makeshift rungs nailed to the wall while Stan climbed halfway up to give the handcuffs a little slack.

As Bill started searching for anything useful, Pearl's ranting filled the shack: "Those teeth are too good for you!"

"I think she's getting closer," Stan said. "Find anything?"

"Not yet." Bill pulled out a broken umbrella with a hooked handle. He clung to it like it was his only defense as he scanned the loft for any signs of a ladder.

Pearl went on, "They're the most beautiful, pristine, unblemished, perfect teeth I've ever seen in my life!"

Bill asked, "Are they really that great?" He'd never paid that close attention.

"Eh..." Stan shrugged and made a so-so gesture with one hand. "A little weird-looking, honestly. They've got those jagged bits in the front that make 'em look like kids' teeth?"

"Huh."

"They're pure," Pearl snarled. "I've never seen adult teeth so pure! And you're ruining them by drilling out chunks of perfect enamel for unnecessary fillings! You don't have the right to those teeth! I deserve them!"

"Hey Bill," Stan said. "So you knew my dentist works for the tooth fairy, right?"

Bill was dragging aside a large box to see if anything ladder-like was hiding behind it. "Yes."

"And you knew she goes crazy for nice teeth."

"Yes." No ladder; he moved to another stack of boxes.

"And it didn't occur to you that she'd be furious that you carved up your new teeth."

"It's in the past, Stanley! Focus on the present!"

"—and I don't even know how you got magic teeth," Pearl continued. "Fully adult teeth in a fully adult mouth, but somehow they're barely a month old! It's impossible! I could barely believe it myself until I saw your mouth with my own two eyes! I must have those teeth, as soon as possible, so I can preserve them exactly like this, who knows if I'll ever find such a novelty again—"

"Ahh, so that's it," Bill said. "Welp, nope, didn't see that one coming at all."

"She's been shouting a while without actually coming after us," Stan pointed out. "What's she up to?"

Bill paused. "Check." He lay down and stretched his cuffed arm down from the loft to give Stan enough slack to peer out the bedroom door.

Stan frowned. "Huh. Weird."

"She's upstairs?"

"Yeah. But she's just flying in a circle. With... I think a veggie container from the fridge?"

Bill sucked in a breath. "Do we have mushrooms?"

"Wh—yeah? How'd you..."

"What!" Bill half-climbed half-fell to the attic floor. "That little cheater's making a fairy ring! That's not fair!" He leaned out the door with Stan. "She's probably already made the matching ring downstairs. We have to destroy it before—"

The circle of chopped portobello mushrooms glowed white; and with a glittery puff, Dr. Illing appeared in the ring.  He coughed out a lungful of fairy dust.

Pearl pointed at Stan and Bill and screamed, "Get them!" With a murderous scowl and terrified eyes, Dr. Illing stared them down and revved his drill.

Stan yanked Bill back into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Dr. Illing whined. "Aw, f—again?!"

"Just break through it!" Pearl commanded. "It's just wood! You have power tools!"

"He can't do that," Bill said confidently. "Doors don't work like that."

Stan said, "He can do that." A power tool whine announced Dr. Illing beginning his assault on the door.

"Oh." Bill considered that, eyes scanning the bedroom from one side to the other, mouth set in a grim line. "I have an idea." He pointed toward the window with his umbrella. "Stan, open the window." He hooked the umbrella over his elbow as he ripped the bedsheets off Dipper's bed and started tying the corners together.

Stan shook his head in disbelief. "You don't really expect us to climb out that window on bedsheets, do you?"

Bill dragged Stan closer and murmured in his ear, just quiet enough that their assailants wouldn't hear him over the power drill, "No, I expect them to think we climbed out the window, while we hide in the closet in the alcove. Once they're past us to check the window, we can sneak out and run downstairs."

"I don't like hiding like cowards instead of fighting. Illing's rickety, we can take him."

Bill kept tying bedsheets. He picked up Dipper's zodiac blanket, flinched, and tossed it to the floor on the other side of Dipper's bed rather than add it to his chain. "Funny—you didn't seem to have any problem hiding for a week while I had your brother prisoner."

Stan grabbed Bill by the shirt, dragging him closer. "You wanna say that again?"

Bill's hands shot up next to his face in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, sorry—"

"There were people in this shack I wanted to keep safe," Stan growled. "I'm not half as fond of you."

"Got it," Bill squeaked. He pointed toward Mabel's bed. "But I can see a dozen futures that end with our brains splattered across Mabel's dolls. I do not want to fight power tools."

There was a crack as the drill flung the first few splinters of wood free from the door. Stan's scowl deepened, but he let go of Bill and nodded.

They tied the bedsheet rope to a table leg, opened the window, and flung the rope out the window; then retreated into the alcove at the other end of the room, pulled shut the ragged curtain that hid it, and closed themselves in the closet to wait for the tooth fairy and Dr. Illing to break in.

####

(Thanks for reading!! If y'all enjoyed, I'd love to hear what y'all think! Next week we conclude both with the tooth fairy and with whatever the heck is going on between Stan & Bill.)

[based-and-uncouth]

Caught in the Rain

"MePad? Me...ad! No, no- no no-!" WATER DAMAGE DETECTED. INITIATING SHUT DOWN MODE. - Taco and MePad get caught in a storm, and Taco comes up with the perfect plan to sneak herself into Hotel OJ. (It doesn't go very well).

Objects are humanized

-

It was raining— hard. The sound of raindrops pelting the leaves of the trees and the ground of the forest was peaceful and the scent of petrichor in the air calming. To the contestants inside Hotel OJ, the storm outside was nothing less than zen background noise.

To Taco, glaring at the brightly-lit building with a vengeance, this was a cold, soggy hell. Her arms wrapped around herself as she trembled in the rain, cold fingers squeezing a bit of moisture out of the drenched sleeves of her shirt. The trees she took shelter under were doing little to lessen the downpour’s onslaught against her shivering body. it had been raining for days at this point, and she was exhausted. But she had refused to stoop to the low of showing up on OJ’s doorstep, looking pathetic and sad, begging for a temporary room. She wouldn’t be caught dead doing such a degrading thing.

So, why was she here?

Well, she had a plan.

MePad’s robotic body laid lifeless beside her, wrapped in her soaked, beige vest. The fabric did virtually nothing to protect him from the rain, and yet Taco bundled him in it anyway, because that was all she could do. Meeple’s technology was advanced, but clearly not advanced enough to waterproof their own robots; MePad had shut down in the middle of the night as a branch had given way in their home (and that term was used very loosely), showering the both of them in the cold rain water that had gathered in their roof. To Taco, it was a minor annoyance with the threat of hypothermia. To MePad, with all his sensitive hardware and his electronic body…that much water could spell death. Or, the Meeple-product equivalent of it.

Taco’s breath stuttered in her chest again, and she forced down a cough. She pushed her hair, stuck wet to her face, away from her eyes, and pulled her vest-coat tighter around his robotic body. 

Come on, Taco. You can do this. This may be the only way to get inside. She thought. She took a deep breath, choking on another cough, before loading the heavy robot onto her back.His screen-chin dug into the back of her neck. Her legs nearly gave out beneath his weight, but eventually she managed to take a step. 

He needs to get dry.

Then another step.

I need to get dry.

And another, until finally, the welcoming lights casted shadows on her face.

Click she activated her InvisaBow, and the tingling feeling of going invisible shook her body. Slowly, she began to shuffle her way out of the forest. The wind and rain battered her body, pushing her off course and knocking the wind out of her lungs. They were both cold, freezing cold in this weather, and she nearly crumpled in relief at the doorstep of Hotel OJ. Her hand slapped desperately at the doorbell, a cacophony of ding-ding-didididi-ding- resounding in the hallway inside. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez, calm down…” came an exasperated voice from inside.

Taco slipped MePad off her back, not-so-gracefully depositing him onto the floor with a loud CLANG. She stared at her companion, debating her plan, before finally the front doors opened. She pressed herself against the wall beside them, trying to cover her visible bow tie, and watched as OJ took in the sight.

“Oh my- MePad?!” He sounded shocked, horrified at the condition of the robot at his door. It almost made Taco flinch at the volume. “Hey! Mic, Trophy, Paintbrush! Pause that game- I need help lifting this guy. Get him to the fireplace, quick!”

What.

What?

The names of her former…friend made Taco freeze up. A gust of strong wind blew more cold rain into her face, and OJ grunted, putting a hand up to block the worst of it from hitting his face. He took MePad up by the shoulders and began to drag him inside. Taco stared with wide eyes as Microphone and Trophy rushed out of the double doors, her throat getting choked up at the sight of her old…friend. 

“Mic…?” She whispered, her words getting swallowed by the torrent around them.

Microphone and Trophy each took one of MePad’s robotic legs, shoving the robot inside and out of the rain. Taco blinked, shuttering off her shock. She had a plan she needed to stick to, she needed to. So she willed her lethargic, invisible limbs to move, and squeezed herself through the doors of Hotel OJ before they slammed closed. 

~

REBOOTING. PLEASE STAND BY.

WAKING UP SYSTEMS.

PROBLEM IDENTIFIED. INITIATING FLUID EXTRACTION PROTOCOLS.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Kssshhhhhh…

ACTIVATING INTERNAL HEATING SYSTEM.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Vvvvvrrrrrrrrrr…

WAKING UP SYSTEMS. RESTORING MEMORY.

“God, how long is this going to take?”

“I thought Meeple’s tech was- I dunno, better than this.”

“Hey shh- MePad’s waking up!”

With a few more various beeps and boops, a few whirring and shifting noises, and finally MePad blinked into life again. The LEDs of his face flickered back to the bright magenta, and the shutters covering the upper half of his face slid away. 

“Hello.” MePad greeted. He blinked, taking in all the information around him: there was a fire thrumming in the hearth to his right. Beneath him were cushions, or perhaps a couch, and on top of him were four fluffy towels. There were many people hovering above him, also with looks of concern or anticipation. OJ, Lightbulb, Microphone, Paintbrush, a few season one contestants whose names were stored in his deeper memory banks- quite a few people, that was the point. 

But…she was not among them.

“MePad! What were you doing in the pouring rain?!” OJ fretted, pulling the robot upright. His orange hair was pulled out of his face in a messy bun, and the glasses on his nose were askew. “How did you end up on the doorstep of the hotel?!”

“I do not know. All I remember is that I had gotten caught in the rain, and powered down.” MePad responded. He made a surprised sound as Trophy dropped another towel on his head. “Thank you, for saving me.”

He looked around, scanning the perimeter for the person who knew must be here somewhere. She had murmured her plan to him before he fully shut down, but he could only make out her foggy voice calling his name again and again whenever he tried to remember the plan’s phase two.

“You came all the way from the contestant grounds? But, that’s so far from here. You couldn’t have wandered here by yourself, waterlogged or not.” OJ muttered in confusion. 

“Who cares?” Trophy wrinkled his nose in disgust, lightly kicking at MePad’s metal leg before yawning. “If lugging this hunk of junk is all you needed me to do, I'm going to my room. Game night’s been ruined anyway.”

The small crowd that had formed muttered things in agreement, some wishing MePad well, before returning to their rooms for the night. Lightbulb sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“What a meanie. Don't take anything he says personally, MePad! Sometimes the weakest ones like to put up the toughest masks. But in my opinion, masks are so four years ago, and super suffocating.” She blinked. “But- but your mask is cool! It's like, glowy and stuff, and I like glowy. Wait, that is a mask, right? Or is that just your face?”

She slid down to sit beside MePad, tapping at the glass screen that was his mouth. It made MePad chuckle. Paintbrush sat beside her on the arm of the couch, rolling their eyes as Trophy yelled something about Lightbulb being a loser. 

“Well, since you’re here, soaking all the towels and taking up all the space on the couch, the least you could do is play Mario Kart with us.” A gaming controller was thrown at MePad’s chest, and he looked over to see Paintbrush holding another two. They smirked at MePad’s confused eyes. They tossed a controller to Lightbulb and Microphone, however the controller just hit Microphone’s head, and she yelped in surprise.

MePad looked over at her instead, tilting his head. She had been staring at him, it seems, and was now desperately trying to avoid it. Her eyes were distracted, and her hands were shaking as she gripped the plastic remote. Something was on her mind, and MePad had a feeling he knew what. 

Or rather, who.

“Are you ready to get creamed?” Paintbrush grinned. Microphone shook herself out of her mute trance, groaning. 

“You say that, yet the highest you’ve ever gotten is second place.”

“That's just because we end when I'm so close to winning!”

“No, it's because OJ comes and shuts us down because you’re raging too loud!”

“Wha- look who’s talking!”

As they argued, MePad looked helplessly at the TV as some animations played, the gaming controller unfamiliar in his hands. He had a feeling that Taco would be much more socially adept at whatever was going on than him. 

He hoped Taco was somewhere in the Hotel, getting dried off with fluffy towels by a fireplace, and playing games with friends. But, as much as he hated to admit it, he doubted that was true. 

~

Her plan was working perfectly. MePad’s sudden arrival had drawn many people from the common areas to the main living space, giving Taco ample time to sneak through the hotel and find a hiding spot. It was a huge, ornate building on the outside, and felt even bigger on the inside. There were so many hallways and so many doors that she began to think she had gotten lost in some liminal space instead. Taco was surprised that this hotel cost only one million dollars to build— surely OJ must be suffering from crippling debt to keep it up and running. 

And yet, there was nothing in it's walls that suggested lack of funding. No spider-webbing cracks in the windows, nor black mold creeping in the corners of the walls. The paint wasn’t peeling, not even chipping could be found. Warm, centralized air thrummed through the ceilings, blowing in through clean grates and making Taco feel a bit less cold as her soaked shoes squelched against the carpet. 

She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped walking until she found herself turning in a circle, taking the hotel in. Hotel OJ was nothing like any of the sketchy motels she’d stayed in throughout her life. The little, hidden corners of the world where she would just make do. No, compared to those dumps, Hotel OJ was like a castle. A luxury resort. It…it was…

A place she didn’t belong.

The realization came crashing down on her, making her throat seize up and her heart rate spike. The orange walls towered over her short figure. Her muddy shoes sank into the carpet, as if she were to fall through. 

She dredged up her foot and took a step backwards, then another, and another, away from the towering walls, until her back hit something solid. She whirled around, heart in her throat, and caught sight of her bowtie in the window she had run into.

The InvisaBow on her neck glitched, and her body shivered with rematerialization. God, she was filthy. Soaked to the bone with rain, white shirt stained brown with mud, sweat, and blood. Her once clean-ish cut hair was tangled in with her bow, the greasy strands much longer than the bob she remembered it being. Her right eye thrummed with pain, the scratches and bruising swelling into an ugly purple-red. Beyond that, she looked exhausted. Eyebags sagging from lack of sleep, cheekbones much more prominent than she remembered them being, wrinkles lining her face, lips chapped and cracking, skin freckled from sun exposure. 

Ugly, was the first word that came to mind. Vulnerable was the second. Pathetic was the third.

Terror shot through her veins at the thought of somebody seeing her like this. Seeing her so pathetic. 

Taco’s head spun, and she coughed wetly when she attempted to breathe in deeply. She jammed her hand into the InvisiBow again, returning to invisibility, and fled down the hallway at the sound of approaching people. 

People.

People lived in this Hotel. People who didn’t like her, who probably wished she was better off dead. Who would kick her repulsive face back out into the pouring rain if they caught sight of her in their wondrous, royal, luxurious home. 

Taco couldn’t face them. 

So she ran. She ran and ran, like she so often did. Heaving and suppressing her coughs, she ran. She had been so focused on getting somewhere warm and dry, she hadn’t even thought about what she would do if everything went wrong. 

What would happen when MePad woke up? Would he sell her out? He had no reason to, unless-

Unless he realized she had used him. Like she had with every other person who had the misfortune of trusting her.

She should have built up a sturdier relationship first, or explained her plan as a benefit to him, or even admitted she was scared when he suddenly blacked out. But instead, she had cut corners. Rushed plans. Not thought things through.

Mic was wrong. She wasn’t changing. She wasn’t capable of it.

In the midst of her turmoil, she slammed into a door labeled “DO NOT OPEN!” Immediately, she tugged on it. At the slightest hint of give, she dove inside and shut it behind her, collapsing against a supply shelf. Her lungs stuttered, and her hands touched a suspiciously slimy substance. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

It was quiet. It was dark. It was slightly damp, and it was stuffy. It was nothing like what she was used to, and nothing like what she was hoping for.

But it worked. She would have to make do for now.

~

MePad couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to this comfortable bed, the downy pillows and the soft quilt. Granted, he normally slept on a hard, metal charging platform right beside MePhone, so anything that normal people would deem “comfortable” would not apply to him. He was not human, after all. He had no pain receptors in his metal body.

OJ had told him to “get some rest”, but all MePad could think of was the empty, clean bed on the other side of the spare room he had been lent. One that Taco should really be sleeping in, because Taco was a human. She had a toughened body yet a weakened immune system. She would benefit greatly from being warm, dry, and cozy, and MePad would not. 

The robot sighed, sitting up mechanically in bed. He neatly laid back the quilt before standing up, dressing in a robe —orange colored, because of course it was,— before walking to the door and grabbing the handle. 

He was going to find Ta-

“Ah!”

He blinked in surprise. Microphone stood in front of him squinting her eyes at the brightness of his LED eyes and mouth. She was standing surprisingly close to his door, bleary-eyed and dressed in a grey sweatshirt and pink sleep pants. 

“Y-you’re so bright…” The girl mumbled.

“Apologies. I did not expect someone to-“

“Shhh!” Microphone pressed her finger to his screen-mouth, although that would not work on an android like him. “Can't you speak quieter too?!”

MePad nodded. He closed his eyes, visualizing the dials for both his brightness and volume. When he opened his eyes again, Microphone was no longer squinting in his face.

“Apologies, again.” MePad said, much quieter. “How may I help you, at this time of night, Microphone?”

“Well-“ She shifted on her feet, nervous. MePad stepped aside in the doorway, welcoming her into the borrowed room, and she ducked inside with gratitude. Once the door shut, she got straight to the point.

“Taco.” She said, unreadable emotion on her face. “Where is she?”

“I'm afraid I do not know.” MePad sighed. He watched from his standing place as Microphone moved to sit on the bed opposite him. “I had thought that she was here, in Hotel OJ, however I was unable to spot her once I awoke. I have vague memories of teleporting us near the hotel, yet everything after I have failed to recall.”

Mic sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. Despite their rocky relationship and sudden falling out, MePad could see the concern etched into Microphone’s face. She was worried for her friend. It was kind of her to continue to care for Taco, even after recognizing all the hurt and manipulation the girl had put her through. 

“You are worried for her.” MePad pointed out as such. Microphone’s back went rigid at the words. “That is kind of you.”

“W-whaaaat? No, I…” Microphone trailed off, and her cheeks flushed red. “I'm- I’m worried about what she might do in the hotel! I mean, OJ will be furious if he finds out she snuck in. Pickle, too. And, uh…”

MePad hesitated.

“You are not worried for her wellbeing?” An edge of protectiveness tinged his tone, a sharp warning.

“No, no! I didn't mean that, I-I am!” Microphone sat up straight again, and MePad was even more confused at her reaction. “I just…its complicated. Complicated feelings-y stuff. Y’know?”

“No. Not really.” MePad shook his head, and Mic sighed.

“Ah. Robot. I forgot.”

They lapsed into a tense silence, and MePad’s gaze was drawn towards the door again. He couldn't waste any more time than he already had.

“Well, I was just about to look around and search for her.” He looked back over to Microphone, hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me?”

~

After what felt like hours, perhaps even days, Taco got her breathing back under control. Her brain had stopped somersaulting, and the walls had gone back to being just, well, walls. The darkness of the storage closet she had stuffed herself in helped, --she supposed that the bright lights had disoriented her poor vision-- but the disgusting, half-dried goo that coated the shelving units inside was not doing her any favors. If anything, she had felt even more sick now than she was before, as if that could even be possible.

But it was whatever, she could make do, so she had no reason to leave-

Knock knock knock. 

Taco tensed up, staring at the door in front of her. No, it couldn't have been for her. Perhaps a tenant room beside the closet-?

Knock knock knock.

She stayed silent, finger hovering over the InvisaBow on her neck. Perhaps it was MePad. But if it wasn't, it could be Microphone, or OJ, or Pickle, and she did not want to take her chances with them yet

“Hey…um, Taco?” 

The helium-high-pitched voice behind the door startled her, her brow scrunching up as she began to think that maybe Suitcase was not the only one experiencing hallucinations. 

“So, uh, I know you’re in here. I think. Uh, there was a trail of wet footprints, so I guess I assumed it was you-” Damn her un-waterproofed boots, foiling her plans again… “-but, whatever. If you’re in there, hi! It's um, it's Balloon.”

Balloon? What would Balloon want with her? She knew him, of course, they had done Season 1 together years ago. But nowadays, she barely knew the guy. Much less had a vendetta against him, but-

“I just wanted to help someone who, I thought deserved…another chance.” Suitcase’s words rang in her mind. 

Yes. Another chance. 

I see.

“Well, whether or not you want to talk or not, that's okay. I'm used to talking to myself, so uh, I guess I’ll just go on and monologue, or something!” He slid down against the door, and Taco found herself moving closer to the door to hear him better.

“Um…so I won't ask how you’ve been doing, since it's probably been not-so-great. Heheh, believe me I understand.” He sighed. “I'm sure you remember how I acted way back then, in Season 1? A huge jerk, yeah. Not the greatest person, I’ll admit. And, um, it wasn't fun, believe it or not, being a not-great person. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. It wasn't until when the season ended that I realized that I was alone.”

Taco sighed, leaning her head against the door. If it were any other night, one in which she was dry, rested, and not feeling like utter crap, then she would have probably fired back with a defensive rant. 

“You probably won't believe it, but…well, it's hard for me to talk about, and I still kind of hold a grudge against OJ for this, but…it was raining, too, on the night I came back to ask for forgiveness. It was cold and wet, and I thought I’d get hypothermia or frostbite if I stayed outside for much longer. So I tried, wrote a whole long apology note and everything. All that got was my butt kicked back to the curb. But hey! At least he gave me a sweet, orange umbrella, right!?” Sarcasm was ripe in his voice, and Taco found herself rolling her eyes at the tone. Balloon huffed, as if sensing her gesture. 

“Honestly, I didn't even notice you sneak in here. But it was probably a much better idea than groveling. You were always the clever, quick-thinking type. Me? I was just a meaner version of Knife.”

“Oh, please.” Taco found herself mumbling. Her voice was shot, thick with a cough, and she cleared her throat. “No one can be more brutish than that ironically-dull kitchen appliance.”

“So you can talk!” Balloon laughed from behind the door. “Ah, I forgot you turned British.”

Taco laughed, wheezing a little bit, but a laugh nonetheless. “I was always British, I'm just a very good actor.”

“Sure, sure.” Balloon said sarcastically again. They went quiet, and Taco sensed Balloon had something to say. But before he could speak, she cut him off. 

“I appreciate your words of comfort, but I'm afraid our situations aren't so similar anymore.” She looked down to her black-gloved hands, ripped at some seams and still damp with rainwater. “Gods know how, but you got Suitcase on your side, and managed to complete a nice little redemption arc. Me? I can’t say I’ve even started one.”

“Really?” Balloon hummed. “Well, Lightbulb told me she thinks you’re getting there, slowly but surely. Don’t know how true that is, but what I do know is that turning over a new leaf is always easier with a friend by your side.”

Taco scoffed. “But I don’t-”

“Balloon? What are you doing, sitting in front of the storage closet?”

Taco’s eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet. She stared at the door, straining her ears to hear that voice again.

“You don’t have any friends, you say?” Balloon said, a smirk evident in his voice. 

Taco pushed the door open, accidentally slamming Balloon in the face; but she couldn't care less. A relieved grin stretched across her face.

“MePad!”

~

MePad’s eyes flickered brightly as Taco’s lithe body barreled into him. That was sure to leave a bruise on her skin, but considering how she was hugging him with all of her strength, she didn’t care, and MePad wasn’t about to spoil the moment. He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling relief melt off him in waves. For something who claimed not to feel emotion, he certainly was getting a little soft. 

Taco’s own relief was short lived, however, as when she opened her eyes again she was met with a few people staring at her. Microphone, of course, was looking at her with concern in her dark eyes. OJ was behind her, arms crossed and clearly only begrudging her presence in his hotel. Balloon had emerged from behind the door, rubbing his red cheek, looked less than happy about being slammed in the face, but still held a small look of pride. 

They were staring at her, waiting for her to…speak. Do anything at all. So, Taco pushed MePad away, cleared her throat and fought the urge to look away. Instead, she stared them all right in their eyes. 

Alright, Taco. Say something, she thought to herself. Speak your lies, and manipulate them into letting you stay. Or at least, to not say anything. Blame it on MePad, he surely wouldn't mind. Yes! MePad teleported us here and- and I had no say. Perfect.

Mind made up, Taco opened her mouth to explain…only for her lungs to seize up and a fit of wet coughing to wrack her body. 

How embarrassing…

MePad made a distressed beep! at her sickness, trying to pat her back like she was a choking baby (which she wasn’t, thank you very much). Even still, she kept her head held high and her back straight and attempted to smoothen out her wrinkled shirt. She had class, elegance, and a simple cold wouldn't stop her from appearing her usual posh self.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Taco raspily muttered, waving MePad’s concerned arms away from her. She coughed into her fist once more before facing the dumbfounded group. “Honestly, OJ, you should up the security on this fancy little hotel you have here. You’d be surprised-” “Taco.” Microphone strode up to her, arms crossed and face scrutinizing. Taco swallowed discreetly, but still stood her ground against her former friend. Even if sweat dripped down the back of her neck, and her cold fingers began to tremble. The taller girl stopped in front of her, her face hesitant as she stared Taco down. 

“M…Microphone, I-”

“Shut up.” Microphone said quietly. Taco blinked, a little surprised.

“But I-”

“Just- just shut up.” She was still keeping her distance from Taco, and yet she looked…worried. 

Worried for Taco, of all people. The way she stared into her eyes was stifling with hatred, and yet softened with concern. Taco…didn't know what to say to make this better. 

The air was thick, as if Microphone had something more to say but she couldn't get it out.  

“OJ, do we have any more dry towels? Or spare clothes? And is the fire still going?”

OJ looked at Mic with a small smile on his face. “Who do you take me for?” He looked back at Taco, the corners of his mouth only twitching just slightly.

“Listen, we can work this out later.” OJ said to her, turning to the stairs. He paused, giving her a once-over again, and sighed. “Once you don't look like you’re about to keel over with a flu.”

“I am not-!” 

“According to my health sensors, your body temperature is higher than average, and you are at risk of suffering from exhaustion and hypothermia. I strongly encourage you to sit by the fire, even for an hour or two, Taco.” MePad said, concern replacing his apathetic tone of voice. 

“Trust me, you do not want to develop pneumonia.” Balloon, emerging from behind MePad, shuddered.

“Please, Taco, just this once?” Microphone was practically begging her. Huh, strange, she was acting as if they were still friends…

“Alright, alright, alright!” She pressed a hand to her temples to soothe a developing headache. “All of you, quit your yakking. I’m…I’m coming.” 

Microphone smiled, the tension in her face melting into relief. Hesitant, she extended her hand to Taco. 

Hopeful to begin again, Taco took it. 

“Achoo!”

Swaddled in towels and blanket so much that she resembled a burrito, Taco warmed herself by the fire. She leaned against Mic, who, despite obviously still uneasy about Taco’s presence, had a comforting arm around her as she huddled near the fire. MePad was humming quietly, fans running to keep him from overheating. Taco closed her eyes, ready to give in and fall into a deep sleep that would surely cure her of whatever illness she had developed, when she was stirred awake by heavy footsteps. 

A teacup clinked down beside her, on a plain white saucer. It smelled of lemons and ginger, and was still lightly steaming. The warm ceramic chased the damp chill away from her fingertips, and she breathed in the calming aroma as best she could through her stuffy nose. 

“Thank you.” She muttered, looking up at the person who had handed her the cup; only to find him part-way up the stairs. He stopped and looked back, and Taco’s eyes widened. 

There was something in Pickle’s stony look that proved he was not one to forgive as quickly as Microphone. And yet, he had still brewed her a cup of her favorite tea, and (even if begrudgingly) accepted her into his home.

He simply gave her a subtle nod, and continued on his way. Taco took a sip of the warm drink and smiled.

[hotvintagepoll]

John Fiedler (Twelve Angry Men)—You're about to say "what the heck, who is this, I don't know this man." Yes you fucking do. The second he talks, or should I say pathetically mews, you do. That's Piglet. If a man who speaks with the voice of Piglet in fucking "12 Angry Men"—who has to be an angry man with the voice of did i mention PIGLET— isn't pathetic I don't know what to tell you any more

Mantan Moreland (Mr. Washington Goes to Town, Cabin in the Sky)—i love mantan moreland SO. MUCH. and he is the pERFECT scrungly little guy!!!!! like a lot of black actors at the time he was always getting sidelined into small parts, but unusually he also managed to become a star in his own right and was almost one of the three stooges! he was a groundbreaking comedic actor known for his distinctive stare (very good for the horror movies he did), and he always is way more fun to watch on screen than anyone else. he had a famous double-act where he perfected this technique of non-conversations (where both people keep finishing each other's sentences before any actual information is conveyed). a lot of his movies are free on youtube and i really enjoy seeing him do his silly little guy thing in all of them!!! anyways yeah please include mantan he deserves some recognition as peak scrungle

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

John Fiedler:

Mantan Moreland:

He just had a scrungly look about him and he played big with his roles so any of it became especially scrungly. Plus he was very funny in the way only scrungly people can be.

the FUNNEST GUY TO WATCH ON SCREEN. he was an immensely gifted physical comedian, able to convey loads with his eyes, and while some of his parts are so sad and cringeworthy, I feel like he always brought a humanity and humor that lifted them beyond cheap stereotype.

here's his double act in action!! [editor's note: Benson Fong cameo too!]

[amyfarbright]

Sonic 1 Mega CD Port

(download here)

(if you think this is cool, consider helping me find work/money <3)

Welcome to the Next Level!

NOTE: I'm aware of issues regarding audio playback and transitioning between zones, and intend to push an update once the contest judging period is over. In the meantime, you can use level select (Up Down Left Right A + Start at title screen) to explore the game.

At the 1992 Consumer Electronics Show, a teaser for a Mega CD version of Sonic 1 was shown within a sizzle reel. No Mega CD version of Sonic 1 was ever produced, and this footage is almost everything we know about this project, but it's extremely likely that this idea is what morphed into the separate game Sonic CD, the only Sonic game officially released for the console.

In 2006, Stealth released the Sonic for MegaCD tech demo, marking the first time any substantial effort was made to bring another Sonic game to the console. It contained the title screens and first levels of Sonic 1 and 2, with three playable characters. In the following years, he would build on the ideas in that demo further, eventually reaching a point where his setup accommodated a Mega CD version of a rom hack called Sonic Megamix.

For a long time, this rom hack was the only way to experience Sonic 1's levels, and was the closest you could get to playing the original game on your Mega CD...

until now.

This is a port of the original Sonic the Hedgehog (revision 1, mostly) to the Sega Mega CD (running in Mode 2/off a CD). Not a mere one-zone demo, not affected by an original hack's mechanics, this is a full playable Sonic game running on the Mega CD, with the source fully available, and with the intent of enhancing the game with the extra hardware.

I started this project about a month and a half ago to enter into the annual Sonic Hacking Contest. This was done as both a learning experience for myself to learn new hardware (I was already familiar with programming for Mega Drive, but wanted to explore its addons), and as an example others can learn from.

This has been tested with BlastEm, Fusion, Gens, and on real hardware using a Mega Everdrive Pro.

Features:

Expanded Sound.

The Mega CD comes with a chip supporting PCM playback for up to 8 channels, complementing the 10 sound channels already in the Mega Drive. This port leverages that by moving playback of drum samples to a custom PCM sound driver running on the Mega CD CPU.

Because drums no longer need to play on the Mega Drive hardware, an extra sound channel was added in the main sound driver to allow for more sound effects to play without cutting out channels of the music.

Unfortunately, I was not able to get CD audio playback fully implemented in time for the initial release. Most of the pieces are there though, and I intend to add it in a future update.

An open-source Mega CD game. The scene for Mega CD has grown significantly over time, and over the years there has been new homebrew and hacks of other games, but not nearly as much done with the blue guy this contest is about. This port aims to change that; this is a full game running on Mega CD, with source code and development history available for browsing right now. Code for the kernel programs to load and run the game from disk is written in mostly C using the megadev toolchain. Rom hackers and developers more familiar with the Mega Drive standalone can use the code repository as an example of how to bring more full-fledged MD projects over to Mega CD with as few changes as possible.

Other features:

Custom loading screen while files are loaded from CD

Modified title screen, to remind you that this is indeed utilizing Mega CD hardware

Various bugfixes applied (for those familiar with Sonic Retro's Sonic 1 disassembly, FixBugs is turned on)

Much smoother special stage. The movement of objects making up the maze was unlocked, and the walls now display with 128 degrees of rotation (up from 16).

Even though I started this project to have something for the contest, I'm incredibly happy with what's been done so far, and I intend to work on it further after the contest to add more features. I consider this the beginning of a goodbright future for Sonic games and hacks on Mega CD.

Note: Debug mode and sound test have not been fixed to accommodate for the code that has been moved around. Try at your own risk!

Credits

Main developer: Amy Farbright

Playtesting and bug reporting: The Let's Talk About Sonic Discord

Special thanks: @fiffle, @milly, @crepe

Code used/referenced:

drojaazu's megadev toolchain

Devon's partial Sonic CD disassembly

SCHG How-to Guide

tversteeg's Rust implementation of rotsprite

Graphics used:

CD graphic on title screen: Sega Multimedia Studio, converted from sprites ripped by Mister Man

[lar-mx]

dcxdp write indication

At the Wayne Mansion, the entire Bat Family is gathered to watch The Voice USA (or the talent show of your choice). As they watch contestant after contestant pass by, Cass is suddenly startled to see a familiar face on the screen. Danny (Fenton) Nightingale takes the microphone and makes a small statement, he will sing the song "Fairytale" with a dedication to someone from his past, someone who became his own fairy tale. Each fragment, each note is loaded with emotions that only the audience present could appreciate. When the song finished the audience was applauding. Danny Nightingale moved on to the next round with a slightly melancholic but happy look if that were ever possible. While Cass's brothers said that (Danny) had done very well, she didn't know what to think, after years of not seeing each other it seems that some embers were left, even if only at one of the ends of the red rope that joined them together. sometime.

[midwestmade29]

Imagine Request ✨

To anonymous: I hope this is everything you hoped for! I'm not sure if I did it properly, but I can assure you I did my absolute best to follow your request. Thanks again for the request…I loved it 🖤

Original anonymous request: "Can I send a Christian Cage x Female!Reader imagine? So what is we have Evil Dilf Christian, The Patriarch, The TNT Champ, the Face of AEW in a serious long term established relationship with a loving America’s Sweetheart, Sunshine Baby Face reader. Is the kind of relationship they’ve never played up on TV and even though they don’t post about each other too often, the fans and everyone is well aware they’re together. Maybe the reader is in a high stakes contender ship match and she ends up injuring herself somehow. This causes Christian to break character and come out to help get her out of the ring and loaded into the ambulance to get checked out and it ultimately ends up with her having surgery and Christian being the best boyfriend/fiance/husband (you can choose that!) he can be and takes care of his woman while she recovers?" Word count: 950 GIFs are not mine. Credit goes to their original creators. I selected each GIF to further help visualize the things happening in the story 🙂

Disclaimers: Some cursing, injury sustained (broken bone), pain due to injury, ambulance ride, mention of hospital and surgery. Read at your own discretion.

“After tonight, we will be the TNT and TBS champs. You’re going to do great baby,” Christian whispered into your ear. You had dreamt about having the shiny belt around your waist ever since you arrived in AEW. You worked your ass off to get this title shot and you’ll be damned if you don’t give the match your all! “You’re going to be watching, right?” you asked while Christian embraced you. “Of course! They need me for a pre taping in a minute, but my eyes will be glued to the monitor the entire time.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is set for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. It is for the TBS Championship!” Justin Robert’s announced, your music blasting through the speakers immediately after. Excalibur hyped up the match, “And here comes everyone’s ray of sunshine, Y/N! She’s looking to take down our reigning TBS champ Julia Hart after securing a title shot last Saturday on Collision. Let’s watch as these two fierce competitors take on one another!” You smiled and waved at everyone while you stood in the ring waiting for Julia to make her entrance. “We love you Y/N!” one fan cried out, and smiled when you blew them a playful kiss. You stood in the darkness when Julia’s music hit, nerves calming a little when you thought about celebrating your victory with your favorite temperamental Patriarch later.

“That’s it baby, don’t ease up! Show her who the real champ is!” Christian yelled at the tv monitor while he watched you. “Don’t count Y/N out guys. She’s holding her own against the champ very well!” Taz praised. “Smart man,” Christian laughed to himself, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he watched you attempt to use Julia’s new finisher against her, landing awkwardly on your feet before your leg buckled causing you to fall. You sat in the center of the ring writhing in pain while you grasped at your ankle. Everyone in the crowd cringed while they watched the replay on the big screen. You tried to stand, wailing in pain when you put pressure on your ankle. “Bryce, my ankle! Something’s wrong with my ankle! I felt a snap and now I can’t move it!”

“Something isn’t right. What the hell happened?!” Tony Kahn’s voice crackled through Bryce’s earpiece. Julia leaned against the turnbuckle, laughing in delight at your pain as she stayed in character. “If Y/N can finish the match, wrap it up and change the finish. Julia will retain!” Tony Kahn called the audible, Bryce sighing in defeat because he knew tonight was supposed to be your night. He bent over and asked if you were able to continue, you grimaced and nodded yes. You stumbled to your feet, trying to hold back your tears as you hopped over to Julia on one leg. She read the situation correctly when she gave you a thrust kick that knocked you back down, instantly locking you in her submission hold Heartless. “Could this be it for Y/N folks?!” Taz shouted as everyone was on the edge of their seats, hoping that you weren’t going to tap out.

“What the fuck was that?! Y/N was supposed to win! Shit!” Christian roared when he saw you laying in the ring with your eyes skewered shut. He bolted through the backstage area and down the ramp and into the ring as the cameras captured his every move. “Christian Cage?! What the hell is he doing here?” Tony Schiavone questioned. Everyone was surprised by Christian breaking character as he knelt by your side while Doc Sampson examined you. No one knew if this was a part of a storyline or if it was real since you and Christian kept your relationship out of AEW. You were placed on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance while everyone watched. Christian held your hand the entire ride to the hospital, assuring you that you were going to be okay. The sirens wailed in the night as you rode in the back of the ambulance. You were delirious from the pain that was consuming you, and your body was slowly coming out of fight or flight mode.

“I’m right here, baby! Take it easy, try not to move your legs. The doctor said the surgery went well!” Christian sat next to your hospital bed holding your hand, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles, and kissing them. Your engagement ring caught his eye, making him smile and chuckle to himself. You were still groggy from surgery, but coherent enough to notice his bright smile. “What’s that smile for?” you murmured as you stroked his cheek with your hand. “I was just thinking about our upcoming vows. In sickness and in health. I guess we’re practicing that part now, aren’t we?”

Recovery was difficult, but you had the best caregiver by your side! Christian waited on you hand and foot making sure you never had to lift a finger. He never missed a doctor’s appointment and made sure to do whatever he could to comfort you after a physical therapy session. As he helped you get situated in bed, an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over you as you watched the man that most people viewed as evil and cantankerous cover you with a blanket and kiss your forehead. Christian really is the best fiancé!

“Thank you, baby. For everything! You risked a lot when you ran to the ring to help me. You’ve been by my side through this whole ordeal and loving me through it all. It means so much to me having you in my corner.”

“I know you’d do the same for me Y/N.”

“In a heartbeat, Christian.”

[clus444]

RealityStar! Gaz Part 3

Open The Chat Rooms

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello everyone! I'm your host, Sativa, and I'm here to test certain theories about love. The contestants will blindly choose their 'Their Forever Partner' and be put through challenges so we can find out how forever their partners are gonna be," Sativa says cheekily. "Sometimes we put what we call 'spies' in the game that no one knows about. Their job is to act like their here for love but its to test limits. More will be explained later as I want to get this show on the road. My final question to the contestants is, are you ready?" The screen turns black and I stare at it waiting for something else to happen.

The words ' Start dating' appear with a loading bar under it. The room is nicely decorated with a beach theme to it. The walls are a nice blue color with a accent wall painted to resemble a beach. They put nice black couch in the wobble with beach themed pillows. Quotes about not giving up taped on the wall. One camera not so secretly placed in the top corner of the room.

The bar finishes loading and 12 profiles pop up. I accept 4 chats and I start three with a simple,

R-Heyyy

Everyone was told no names in case recognition happened. Especially since some have made it known they were on the show. One of the chats consisted of talking about sports only, one treated it as a sex thing kinda and I immediately left, and the others were downright boringgg!

How hard is it to have a normal conversation? Though I can't completely blame them. Dating for me hasn't been lucky and I think I find myself carrying that onto here. But hell can you blame me? Rome wasn't built in a day.

I decide to click on one more before finishing for the day. Clearing my mind and coming at this with as much positive energy as I can.

R- Your profile says that you are from Great Britain

Is the food as bad as they say?

G-Though I love my country,God bless the queen (She's alive right now,I have my reasons), the food does have its faults compared to America

R- Are you trying to say it is better than any other place?!?

G-I said we had some faults... We have some delicacies

R- Can you even count chicken masala...

G- I'll have you know that degradation is my kink

I laugh out loud at that. I guess I kinda did go in hard.

R- Looks like we have something in common.

We began texting back and forth the conversation flowing smoothly. I catch myself giggling and twirling my hair. We talk about movies and of course land on the argument of rose and jack. He could've fit!

G- Yes the door was big enough but! Weight would weigh them down.

R- Puh-Lease! She could have given him her life jacket to help cover him for the cold.

We talk about each others families. His father was enlisted in the army but now spends his days in the wilderness to get his hands dirty. His mom stayed at home to care for him and his sisters. I told him about how my father died which left me and my mother. I only have one sister.

R- My father passed when I was young so I don't have many memories with him.

G- Daddy issues go crazy for the both of us.

Though my father is here, we weren't always close. We are now repairing our relationship.

I also found him to be very funny and quite sassy! His quick comebacks had me dying on the floor. I'm sure the viewers will have a field day with our messages.

*Buzzt*

A buzz happens and lets us know that we have to stop chatting.

G- I'll text you tomorrow. Tell your other dudes I'm first in line.

I smile as I reread his text. I fist bump the air as I start to feel like this wasn't a complete failure. Maybe love is in my cards or maybe I'm being naive and desperate. I'm not quite sure but what I do know is that if this doesn't work out, Hot Girl Summer will!

Kyle receives a small message that says...

S- Feel free to make a confessional. Just grab the camera under the couch and set it where to computer is.

He thinks for a moment weighing his options. He grabs the camera and sets it up. How should I start?

"I'm Kyle Garrick but everyone calls me Garrick. So far I've talked to 8 people. Only two really catch my eye but I have my doubts about this whole thing," He pauses and laughs.

"For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that none of this is real. What can I say? Stacey and I share a similar military family background. And the other one just seems crazy. But I will admit how interested I am to see how this plays out," He finishes talking and signs out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Giving you all some more plot but I cant lie and say I wanna skip some parts. Anyways hope you enjoyed!!!

Masterlist

[pandabandanna]

My entry for Lost Ark's loading screen contest~

[moonbeamwritings]

how easy you are to need

← PART 2 | PART 4 →

wc: 1.9k

pairing: dabi x pro-hero gn!reader

warnings: angst

Some nights, you come home from long shifts to an empty apartment, the smell of cigarette smoke and reheated takeout lingering in the air. Dabi’s come and gone, and you’re left to trace his presence through your apartment like footprints in freshly fallen snow. You find whispers, hints of him in the half-empty coffee mug he leaves on the counter or in the rumpled sheets on your bed, the dents in your pillows. You find his ghost in your laundry hamper (he’s the only one who wears your old, oversized U.A. hoodie anymore) and in the unsigned notes he leaves tucked beneath your strawberry fridge magnet, right smack in the center of the door so you can’t miss them.

I’ll see you tonight.

You need to buy groceries.

Don’t wait up.

Sometimes, you find nothing at all; no traces of him, no messages left on blue sticky notes. Untouched, pristine snow. Those nights, you wonder if every chance encounter and every visit has been little more than a dream. A cruel joke played by someone who relishes in watching your morality, your sanity, waver. It takes you longer to drift to sleep during nights like those. Your bedroom is much too quiet in the absence of his soft breathing. Your bed feels cold. Lonely.

But on some nights, like this one, you come home to find Dabi’s long, dark coat hung up on the rack, his shoes tucked neatly next to yours. You come home to find him resting on your couch with his arms splayed across the back and his feet propped up on your coffee table; the soft sound of the TV filling the air. He’s in your U.A. hoodie like always, with damp hair that you’re certain smells just like your coconut shampoo. He makes himself at home, worming his way into your spaces with practiced, shameless ease. You smile when you see him. You like nights like these the most.

“’Bout time you showed up, little hero. I was about to start watching the news.”

“Aw, you were worried about me?” You tease, shucking off your coat and toeing out of your shoes. You don’t miss the light scoff and click of Dabi’s tongue from the living room. “I missed my train. Did you eat?”

“Brought pizza. It’s still warm.”

Sure enough, a box of pizza rests atop your counter, a plate and napkin already laid out beside it. You open it to find that it’s loaded with your favorite toppings, a few pieces already missing. You glance out into the living room as the familiar sting of domesticity strikes your ribs.

Around a mouth full of pizza, you tell him, “’hank ooo.”

Without looking away from the TV, Dabi tells you not to talk with your mouth full.

You scarf down another few slices before you join him on the couch, stretching across his lap like a cat to try and grab the remote. He holds it high above your head, waggling it down at you.

“Ah, ah, I don’t think so, sweetheart. I was here first. And we’re watching...” He watches as the contestants on the cheesy late-night game show start to run across an oil-slicked surface, slipping and sliding all over it in an attempt to reach the finish line. “... whatever this is.”

“But I worked all day,” you whine, slumping onto his chest like dead weight. Some of your hair gets in Dabi’s mouth and he sputters, craning his neck to see over your head. “And this is stupid, anyway. I bet you’re not even paying attention to what’s going on!” Childishly, you mutter, “This isn’t fair.”

When he realizes you’ve completely blocked the screen, and stolen his attention, he curls his arm around your back and noses at your hair. It smells fresh, and he figures you must’ve showered at your agency. Absently, he wonders if you did it thinking he’d be home. “Life’s not fair, doll. We’ve been over this.”

The warmth of his chest stirs exhaustion in your limbs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, eyelids drooping. You let them slip closed as you nuzzle closer to Dabi, mumbling a complaint against the curve of his jaw. “Can’t believe you’d bully a poor, sleepy soul like me. That’s cruel, even for you.”

He sticks a finger into your side, and you jump a bit. “You know what you signed up for, keepin’ a villain like me around. I can be as mean as I want.” He hunches close to mumble into your ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of it only once he’s told you, “Even to you, my little hero.”

You mumble, “meanie,” into the crook of his neck, and fall silent. It settles between you for a few moments, only to be broken by the host announcing the next challenge. But Dabi can still feel the pout you press into his skin, and his eyes roll with a groan. “Fiineee, I’ll change the channel if it’ll get you to drop the damn pout.” A hand rubs up and down your back. “What do you wanna watch?”

Perking up, you turn to fix your eyes on the TV, shuffling to sit properly in Dabi’s lap. You keep one arm curled around his neck as you instruct him to the channel you’re thinking of. It’s one that airs reruns of silly, mindless soap operas. Perfect for when you’re feeling tired and inattentive after a long day at work.

“Ugh, this is the shit you like? Seriously, what are you? Eighty-five?”

“It’s perfect late-night TV, Dabi. You just don’t get it.” You snuggle closer. “Now shh, just watch.” 

Your head comes to rest on Dabi’s shoulder, and he obliges. Fine, Dabi thinks petulantly. He won’t tell you how stupid the dialogue is or about how much he hates soap operas. He won’t tell you that he’d rather be watching literally anything else. Instead, his warm palm follows a mindless path along the expanse of your back, delicate fingers tracing shapes and patterns between your shoulders blades and down the curve of your spine. 

You don’t speak for almost an entire episode, and usually Dabi can’t seem to get you to stop talking, so the absence of your voice plants seeds of unease in his lungs. He tries to ignore the shift of your brows, pulling together despite the joyful reunion happening between the couple onscreen. Though he can’t see it, he can picture the look on your face. He imagines it’s the same expression you made in your bedroom the night he came to get patched up. The crease between your brows, the far away look in your eyes. He resists the urge to smooth it away with the pad of his thumb. You talk too much, Dabi knows. But you think too damn much, too.

Finally, the silence breaks. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different?”

Dabi’s hand stills on the small of your back, the other grips the remote. The planted seeds start to bloom, turning his veins to thick, immovable stems as his lungs crowd with leaves. It takes all of his remaining strength to choke out, “What do you mean?”

“Like, if we were normal?” There’s a certain sheepishness in your voice that you can’t bite back. Dabi wonders if this is what you’ve been thinking about for the last twenty minutes, with your face hidden beneath his chin.

“If we weren’t...” He pauses for a moment, voice softer than before, “... us?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause, and then, “Sometimes.”

“What do you think about?”

“I like to think I’d try to love you properly, then.” He tells you. You pull your face away enough to watch his mouth curl into a bittersweet smile, almost like he’s imagining something familiar. Like he’s revisiting a thought for the millionth time. “I’d take you out to nice dinners and bring you flowers once a week.”

The TV fades into white noise as your heart hammers in your chest, anticipation pulling your muscles taught. Unconsciously, your fist curls into the hood of his sweatshirt. “I’d have an apartment with a comfy couch and a proper oven, and you’d spend weekends with me there. You’d teach me how to make your famous lasagna, and you’d get mad when I weasel out of doing any of the work. We’d eat breakfast together and go on walks...” 

A beat of silence follows as if he’s struggling to find the words. Your eyes don’t move from his face, following the slope of his nose before stopping to get lost in the emotion swirling in the deep seas of his eyes. His own refuse to move from the TV, but his scarred fingers migrate to curl through your hair, around the back of your neck. “... and I’d tell you about my piece of shit dad, and I’d blame him for everything. We’d argue, and I’d leave, but I’d always come back. And when I do, you’d look at me with that cute little annoyed expression you know I love. Pretend to be mad for a bit, but you’d kiss me and we’d work on it. Together.”

The chuckle he offers you is mirthless. “Even then you’d be too good for me.”

Tears collect at your waterline, a lump of emotion swelling in your throat, and for a moment, you feel as if you can’t breathe. A hopeful, twinkling tune plays to signal the ending credits as Dabi confesses, “But I think we’d be happy. In our normal little life.”

You imagine a life without stab wounds and blood, without quirks and expectations. You imagine meeting Dabi by chance, maybe on the train or on the street on your way to work. The universe would bring you together somehow, even then; you’re certain of it. He’d still push your buttons, and you’d still pretend to hate it. Every night you’d fall asleep with him, and every morning you’d wake up just the same, his nose against your neck and his slow, even breath fanning over your collar bones.

You’re lucky enough to catch glimpses of it now, but it’s a life you both know is far away, unattainable. On nights like these, you try to clasp it in your hands — that sense of normalcy — what with your head on his shoulder and your favorite pizza sitting on the counter. The scent of your body wash clinging to Dabi’s skin and his hand in your hair. But come morning, that dream will have escaped your grasp like sand slipping from your palms, and you will once again be confronted by the confines of your own reality. Despite it all, you’re falling in love with him, you know that much, but this love will never be that one. The one you both dream of.

A tear slips down your cheek, and you’re quick to swipe it away. Dabi feels its warmth for only a second before it’s gone. The arm resting around his shoulders presses closer, the fingers gripping his sweatshirt curling even tighter as you collect yourself. Your head falls back to his shoulder as if you hadn’t asked the question at all, but you’re certain Dabi can hear the sadness in your voice, can feel the shudders in your breath when you admit, “I think so, too.”

[woabp]

⚠️warning incoming chatting session abt evil leafy from beefydie if ya don’t want to see a load of words on your screen then please feel free to scroll past⚠️

ya’ll i just realized how un-seen evil leafy is as a character in the show like…

she has literally ZERO mention or scenes of her in bfb and tpot, and the ONLY season she’s really gotten the most screen time is in bfdia and even then does she not get enough

like where the hell did she go after bfb??? she just completely disappeared and nobody even mentions her like at all, so my best guess is after idfb they just completely forgot about her

and also even though bfdia is the season where she is the most present there are episodes where isn’t even in them at all which just makes it seem like she’s irrelevant to the story and just, there to just be like a side villain i guess.

but evil leafy seems like she has a TON of lore for her to not be talked about so much in the show.

For example: The Evil Here Hotel, what is the origin of the hotel? Was it originally a regular hotel that got abandoned or was it just the evil here hotel? And also, the applied cliffhanger at the end credits scene in bfdia 13. The show still didn’t let us see if evil leafy met leafy or not and also, we don’t get to see leafy that much either which is weird.

And also the origin of the evil forest, i guess since it has evil in its name it’s also owned by evil leafy? Or was it a regular forest as well as the hotel?

And evil leafy’s powers, tennis ball said in bfdia 6 that she’s getting stronger, which we have seen throughout the season where she gains more powers, but if she’s getting stronger she must have some relevance to the plot now, but for some reason, she just gets forgotten about in bfb even though her powers getting more stronger seems to link to an important part of the story that could have a lasting impact, but no.

Besides all that, evil leafy most definitely has a whole bunch of lore that the show just seems to not talk about. Hence why she’s never brought up again after idfb.

But.. maybe i’m just over-thinking all of this shit and jnj will find a way to answer the forgotten/missing evil leafy issue or it’s probably just because she’s neither a contestant nor a host but.. still.

Also holy shit sorry for blabbering so much in this post i mean jeez, this is enough to make like an entire powerpoint presentation.. sorry guys 😢

but anyways this is the end of the post of me being a chatterbox about evil leafy, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[thinkingimages]

Inside the Outset: Evoking a Space of Passage is a project by artist and filmmaker Rosa Barba following an invitation by Point Centre for Contemporary Art in Nicosia and curator Mirjam Varadinis to propose and realize a project in Cyprus.

The work proposed by the artist in 2013, started in 2014 and consists of two parts: a film and a long-term open-air cinema installation. The project was then presented to the Italian Council and received the first prize at the international competition (Third Edition) in 2018, and was awarded a grant from DGAAP (Directorate General for Contemporary Art and Architecture and Urban Peripheries), Italy.

Barba’s film is exclusively shot in Cyprus, including underwater shots of the Mazotos shipwreck, as well as aerial shots from archaeological sites. It is an investigation into the loaded, transforming topography that is already palpable in the landscape, before we actually understand what language it creates for our society. In that, the film follows Barba’s artistic approach to examine liminal states which manifest in between contested spaces, both mentally and geographically, in order to allow for a new perspective. The inaugural screening took place in Autumn 2021 at the open-air cinema installation in the Buffer Zone.

Inside the Outset: Evoking a Space of Passage, 2021

16mm film transferred to digital and 8k film, sound, 31:15 min

Produced by Point Centre for Contemporary Art, funded by the Italian Council. A collaboration with Famagusta Avenue Garage.

Images: Film still © Rosa Barba