#So read with caution

[lackinggravitas]

part twoooo lets go. this one is. really long! more than double the last one. sorry 'bout that! next one should be shorter

i need a name for this au btw. i am open to suggestions

part 1 / part 2(you are here!)/ part 3 / part 4

warnings for: a bit of a panic attack at the end and also just general angstiness at parts. not all of it but. hoooo boy fellas

Ford decided to call him (he’d found out the creature was in fact male) Remus, after the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus. Ford was fond of those sorts of old stories - he studied cryptids and stuff of folk tales, after all. Ancient myths weren’t too far off. 

(He used to sit up at night in bed, sharing his pillow, sharing the same warmth and breath, whispering recollections of the stories he’d read to cover up the fighting downstairs. And Stanley would whisper back things like “Why’d he do that?” and “He shoulda done, I woulda done-” and Ford would shush him between the lines, whispering back, “It’s a metaphor, it’s emblem-attic of the society it's from,” and “That’s just how the story goes.” Stanley never liked those answers, but he’d quiet to listen nonetheless.)

The connection between man and creature seemed apt for a name. It was that or ‘Mowgli’, and that felt a bit too childish. ‘Remus’ fit the creature anyways, and rolled off the tongue much better than ‘Romulus’ did. 

Right now, Ford was trying to coax Remus into the bathtub. The faucet of the tub rumbled as it coughed out spurts of water, not so hot as to be painful to the touch but warm enough to be comforting. No bubbles, as he’d rather not heighten the risk of getting soap in Remus’ eyes. 

Remus eyed the tub suspiciously, hunkering down to the ground, chin to the bathroom tile, and growled softly at it.

Ford huffed. “Come now, Remus, it’s just a bath. I bet you’re itchy, with your hair as dirty as it is.” He  was also hoping the water might kill some of the bugs Remus likely had, if they did exist. 

Despite the sound logic, Remus didn’t seem appeased. He kept glaring at the bathtub like he expected it to jump at him.

“Is it the noise? Is that the problem?” The pipes weren’t particularly good, hastily installed as they were, and the tub was full enough now. Ford pulled the handle to stop the flow, and it coughed out one last burst before settling, the pipes going quiet. Some of the tension in Remus’ frame softened slightly. “There, now will you get in?” Ford patted the edge of the tub in what he hoped looked inviting. “I think you’ll like it, if you gave it a shot.” 

Remus’ eyes followed his hand, face and body still showing some clear apprehension. His eyes flicked towards the closed bathroom door consideringly. Ford sighed.

“Here, what if I went first?” Ford kicked off his shoes, then pulling off his clothes with a clinical detachment. Dropping his clothes on the ground and pushing them outside of the perspective splash zone, he set his glasses on the sink and eased himself down into the water. It was warm, really quite comfortable. He met Remus’ eyes, and gestured meaningfully to the water. “There, see? Perfectly fine.”

Remus watched him carefully. Creeping forward on his hands and knees, he lifted his head to peer into the tub. He dipped a tentative hand in, then hummed, the crease in his brow relaxing a tad. 

“Just water,” Ford continued, knowing full well Remus didn’t understand him and talking nonetheless, “Nothing to be afraid of.” He reached over to pull softly yet insistently at Remus’ upper arm in a clear gesture to get over here. “Now get in before it goes cold.”

Remus clambered awkwardly over the side of the tub and flopped in. 

“Remus!” Ford spluttered, wiping his face of the sudden splash of water Remus just sent in his direction. “Good lord, man!”

Remus popped out of the water, panting a bit - his version of a laugh, Ford had learned. Remus yipped at him, something playful mischievous in his eyes, bringing an arm down to stir up even more water at Ford. He barked excitedly before dropping the lower half of his face back under the water, blowing bubbles. 

“We’re not here to play, Remus,” Ford said in what he hoped was a sufficiently stern tone. “You’re very dirty, and for your own health and comfort we need to clean you up. I’m only in the tub with you to make you feel more at ease in this unfamiliar environment.”

Remus looked up at him innocently and blew more bubbles with his nose. Ford sighed. 

“You’ve had your fun, now turn around so I can get at your hair.” It would be a bit uncomfortable, and Ford usually didn’t allow people that close to him, especially without clothes on. But he knew that that was purely a cultural, societal thing. Remus wouldn’t think it was weird, and Ford didn’t need to think that hard about it. It was only Remus, after all. 

Remus, of course, didn’t do as Ford commanded. He lifted his head out of the water and blew a small jet in Ford’s direction. 

Ford huffed, but it was a weak sound. Stan used to do something similar, when they were young enough to share baths together. Splashing, kicking and laughing, throwing water in Ford’s face. The Stan Ford remembered would’ve hated this bath - there weren’t enough bubbles, and no toys to speak of. 

Stanley had had a way of making everything, even the most mundane activities, fun. He was the one who came up with new games, who had all the best jokes. 

Ford missed him.

He was brought back to the present by a hand pawing at him, Remus whining. He was looking at Ford worriedly, patting at Ford’s face clumsily. His own cheeks were damp, Ford realized - he’d started tearing up without realizing. 

“I’m fine, Remus, thank you,” Ford said softly, gently pushing Remus’ arm away.

Remus kept whining, giving Ford a truly pitiful look. He shrank back, hunching until it was just his eyes above the water, looking down. It was strange, almost like he was-

“Oh Remus, no-” Ford grabbed him by the bicep, gently but firmly pulling him back up. “It’s not your fault, no need to act all guilty.”

Remus whined at him, but it was softer now. He looked at Ford with something like hope in his eyes, tentatively leaning towards him. Ford sighed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” He pet Remus’ hair, trying to be comforting. It seemed to work - Remus stopped whining, just leaning close. His previous energy seemed to have dimmed, leaving him subdued. It put a weighted, slightly guilty feeling in Ford’s chest to see Remus so restrained, even if it would make bathing him easier. “I just… get a bit in my head sometimes, that’s all.”

Using his hands he gently guided Remus to turn around, putting his back to Ford. Remus kept trying to turn around to look at him, but Ford just insistently pushed him back into place each time. He leaned over the side of the tub, picking up the soap bar and washcloth he’d left there. 

“I lost my brother when I was a boy, you know,” Ford started, not really thinking about what he was saying as he wet the washcloth in the water. He rubbed the soap into the towel, covering it in suds and a faint, pine-y smell. “I was only five years old at the time.”

Remus stopped trying to move once Ford put the towel to his shoulder and started to scrub. He seemed to recognize what was going on now, and he relaxed contentedly into Ford’s working hands.

“We were traveling on a road trip to visit some distant family a few states away.” Ford scrubbed away what seemed like decades worth of dirt and grime, moving from Remus’ shoulders to his back. “I can’t remember what the occasion was. A shiva or a wedding, I suppose. My family wasn’t much for vacationing.” He smiled, wry and bitter. 

Then he paused. He’d scrubbed away most of the grime on Remus’ back, finding it dirtier than he had realized. But underneath it was faded, scarring of rope-like slashes, thin and thick, long and short, that had been obscured before. They didn’t look like animal scratches. 

Ford swallowed, forcing himself to go back to washing Remus, his hands now shaking slightly. “...I had fallen asleep in the car,” he continued, voice now trembling, struggling to keep his mind from the memory and his eyes from Remus’ back at the same time, “And when we stopped at the gas station, I didn’t wake up. Long car rides, they always… put me to sleep…”

Soapy water ran down his hand, the washcloth clenched so tight that his knuckles were bone-white. He switched to washing Remus’ arms. 

“I guess he went in to steal us some snacks, but he must have forgotten to tell my parents, and they were in such a rush to get there on time, they just… they didn’t notice he didn’t get back in the car.” 

He dropped the towel in the water. For a minute he just watched it sink, caught suddenly in the moment, unable to move. The soap dissipated into the water, the towel drifted back up to the top. He pushed it away, reaching for the small water pitcher he’d set aside. 

“If I hadn’t fallen asleep, if I’d been awake to tell them he wasn’t back, if I had been able to go with him-” he snapped his mouth shut suddenly, breathing sharply. He knew the answer to that.

He would’ve stayed behind in a heartbeat if it meant he could have remained with Stanley. 

That’s what got him about it all. The fact that everything would have been different if he had just woken up. How easily preventable it all was. 

But he hadn’t woken up. And now he didn’t have a brother. 

His hand tightened around the handle of the pitcher. He took a measured, sharp breath, dunked the pitcher into the bath, and promptly dumped water over Remus’ head.

Remus yelped, startled by the sudden dousing, whipping his head around to blink at Ford in surprise. Ford pushed him back into position. “I know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll… I’ll give you a warning next time.” 

Deep breath. It’s been twenty years. 

He filled the pitcher again, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder as a warning and then slowly pouring the water into his hair again, taking care to wet the stubborn knots and mats as well. Twenty years.

He set the pitcher aside and squirted some shampoo into his hand, then began working it into Remus’ thick hair. Ford had never had hair as long as Remus’, and it only seemed to get longer when wet. It was definitely supposed to be curly, Ford thought, but it was in such poor condition it was hard to tell. He pulled out a twig from Remus’ hair. Very poor condition. 

Stanley would have liked Remus. He would have thought he was cool at first, and then he would have thought he was fun when he got to know Remus’ personality. He would have-

“I built my lab with an extra room, you know. If I- when I find him.” Ford sighed, picking at one of the knots with his fingers. He should have tried to detangle Remus’ hair before he put the shampoo in. “Right across from mine. So that we wouldn’t have to be far apart ever again.”

The knot slowly came loose, soapy hair spilling over Ford’s fingers. He reached for the pitcher again, guiding Remus to tip his head back so he wouldn’t get soap in his eyes as Ford rinsed out his hair. The shampoo suds swirled in the water. 

Ford set the pitcher aside again, deciding to focus on the knots before he moved to the conditioner. He hadn’t had anything to de-mat hair around the lab, so he’d settled for a comb, some oil, and some scissors if working them out proved impossible. 

He wanted to keep as much of Remus’ hair intact as possible. He hadn’t devised a way to efficiently and effectively communicate with the creature yet, and he didn’t want to potentially risk upsetting him by chopping off his hair. It was entirely possible Remus might be attached to his current hair length and would react poorly to having it cut. It certainly was a very impressive length, even with the mats making it look shorter than it likely actually was. 

“That reminds me,” Ford said idly as he took up the comb in one hand and the oil in the other, “I’ll need to set up some sort of quarters for you if you are to stay here. I’m certainly not going to make you sleep outside - unless you want to, I suppose, but I think you’ll find yourself much more comfortable indoors.” 

Ford really hoped Remus would choose to stay. His lab felt much more like a home just with Remus in it - Remus somehow seemed to thaw parts of him that had long frozen solid twenty years ago, when Ford lost his brother. He felt warmed by him in that sun-touching way only Stanley had been able to do.

Perhaps if he were to make his home as appealing, as comfortable as possible to Remus, he might be much more inclined to stick around. Ford straightened a little, brain starting to waken from the murk and spin quickly, whirling with sudden activity. What did Remus like to eat? What would he find most comfortable? Would he find the stairs too awkward to climb, would an elevator just make him nauseous? Would he like it if Ford installed more windows, got some house plants? He’d need something to keep him from becoming bored indoors as well. What would that be?

Ford could remodel. Maybe he should buy new furniture. Would Remus be offended if Ford bought him dog toys? Dog treats? If Ford gave him enough food, would he stay? Ford could do, would do anything. Whatever Remus wanted, just so long as he stayed. 

Another knot unraveled between Ford’s fingers. He sighed. He’d be at this for a while. 

One at a time, Ford painstakingly untangled Remus’ hair, stopping periodically to pour more water over his head whenever his hair started drying. It took a surprisingly long amount of time, but Remus did have a lot of hair.

And as he worked, he talked.

“I’ve been studying anomalies in Gravity Falls since I graduated,” he said, using the comb to work out one of the mats. “I was originally going to West Coast Tech, but, ah,” he frowned, grinding his teeth together at the memory, “It turned out they had already met their Jewish quota for that year. I could have waited, I suppose, but I was desperate to get out of the house. It was suffocating in there.”

Remus idly stirred his hands in the water as Ford worked, content and patient. He seemed to enjoy the attention and the ministrations, leaning towards Ford when he could, seeming happy whenever Ford picked the work back up after a brief pause. Ford wondered if he thought of it as being groomed - Ford was no expert in coyotes, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that was a way they strengthened social bonds. It was a common behaviour among social mammals.

“The rules are rigid and outdated, not to mention discriminatory.” Ford sighed, feeling his brow furrow as he continued trying to comb out a mat. He continued, voice becoming more quiet and bitter, “It’s always something, Remus. If it’s not my hands, then it’s my family background, or something to do with my behavior, somehow.”

The mat finally came loose under his hand and comb. Ford moved on to the next one. 

“I don’t understand people. They’re like aliens to me, Remus. There’s so many rules, and they can be so illogical - and they never tell you what they actually think, or how they’re actually feeling, you’re just expected to know, somehow.” Ford exhaled sharply out of his nose. “It’s part of the reason why I dedicated my life to studying the strange and paranormal. To me, that’s easier to understand than why someone might have reacted a certain way to something I said.”

Remus swirled a finger in the water, making patterns out of the soap and shampoo that had been washed in and floated on the top like foam. 

“You don’t even speak and yet I already feel so much more at ease with you than I do with any of the locals in this town, and I’ve been living here for years.” Another mat finally came free under Ford’s comb and hands. He moved to the next. “…I was the same with Stanley, you know, it just came so naturally, before…”

Ford swallowed.

“We were so close, and…” The comb caught on the mat, becoming snagged. “And then…”

Ford stamped his mouth shut. No. He wasn’t doing this again. Stanley wasn’t dead, he was fine, any day now Ford would get a call saying they’d found him, any day now he’d come back to Ford. 

“He’s going to come back,” Ford finished firmly. “I know he will. We won’t be apart for long.”

For now Ford sat in a bathtub, the water slowly going cold, picking knots and mats out of a wildman’s hair.

A pile of sticks, leaves, and other assorted small objects accumulated on the ground as he worked, pulling them out of Remus’ thick brown hair. 

The sheer length of Remus’ hair was a marvel in and of itself. As Ford unraveled the years worth of tangles, knots, and mats, it seemed only to reveal itself to be even longer and longer, spooling down Renus’ back, his shoulders, his front, fanning out in the water. 

He looked like a creature out of a fairytale, an ancient fae of the forest. But then Remus tilted his head, glanced back at him with wide brown eyes, and the faerie-like illusion was broken. There was no century-old unknowableness in those eyes - they were wide and open and trusting. His eyes were human.

Ford guided his head back to looking forward, tsk’ing softly. “This wouldn’t take so long if you took better care of your hair. For an anomalous entity, you certainly don’t seem to have any sort of magic about you. I’d think one of those fae-types would be able to keep themselves tidier than this.”

Remus tilted his head toward the bathroom door consideringly. Ford huffed.

“I’m almost done,” Ford said. “I’m actually working quite quickly, you know. This is hardly an easy job.”

Picking up the scissors and a bowl he had set aside, Ford made quick work of the mats that had proven impossible to tame. He did his best to keep the hair from falling into the water - the mats would probably clog the drain if given the chance, and besides, their bath wasn’t over yet. 

Once the last of the mats were gone, he put the scissors and the bowl to the side and ran the comb through Remus’ hair one more time. It took a moment to get through all of it, the hair being as long as it was. It didn’t snag even once. Ford nodded to himself, satisfied.

“Right. Now we just have to apply the conditioner and wash your front, and we’ll be done.” Ford set the comb aside and reached for the pitcher, scooping up some water from the bath.  “I think you’ll find yourself enjoying how loose your hair is after this. It hardly seemed comfortable as it was before.”

He gently poured the water over Remus’ head and down his hair, making sure it was well-soaked. Remus stiffened slightly, letting out a small, unhappy whining sound.

“The water’s getting cold, isn’t it?” Ford sighed. He didn’t want Remus feeling uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much he could do. “We’re almost done.”

He patted Remus’ back, and surprisingly the creature actually did relax at that, muscles untensing under Ford’s hand with a small sigh. In retrospect, it made sense that Remus would be tactile like this - what with his affectionate behaviour, as well as his seeming lack of language comprehension, it was probably the best way to communicate with him. Ford made a mental note of that, archiving it in his head.

Ford set the pitcher aside and grabbed the conditioner, squirting a generous amount of it into his hand. He lathered Remus’ hair, finding it satisfyingly smooth and easy to work with now. Remus seemed to enjoy the attention just as he had with the shampoo - he leaned into Ford’s hands, wiggling happily in place. Ford smiled softly at him, patting the side of his head affectionately.

Once he was done with the conditioner, Ford rinsed his hands in the bath, then reached over and plucked up the washcloth that had previously been floating around, aimless and slow, on the surface of the water. 

“If memory serves correctly, you’re supposed to let conditioner sit for a minute or two before rinsing it back out.” He reached over the side of the tub, grabbing the soap bar again and rubbing it into the towel. “We can do a bit more washing up in the meantime.” 

Setting the soap aside again for the last time, Ford grasped Remus by the shoulder and wordlessly instructed him to face him. Remus looked up at him, - Remus always held himself with a slouch, like he was always trying to make himself seem smaller - tilting his head and letting out a small boof. 

“Just these last two steps,” Ford reminded him. He picked up one of Remus’ arms, scrubbing at the dirt there.

Just like with before, it took some scrubbing. The water had slowly turned gray, and it grew darker still. Ford tried not to think about how he and Remus both were marinating in shampoo, soap, and increasingly dirty water. Among whatever other things Remus had on him.

When he got both of Remus’ arms done, he moved on to his torso, and then the trickiest part - his face. 

“Don’t squirm,” Ford warned him pointlessly. “Not unless you want soap in your eyes.” 

He carefully wiped at Remus’ face. It was still dirty, but not as dirty as the rest of him. Thankfully Remus didn’t seem to be in the habit of sticking his face into the dirt nearly as much as he did his arms and back. The grime came away easier, less layers of it. 

Ford held him by the chin with one hand to keep him still, and it worked surprisingly well. Remus was completely docile as Ford washed his face and neck, running the cloth over his cheeks, his forehead, even down his neck-

-where the dirt came away to reveal a birthmark. Ford’s hand stalled.

Really, it was an incredibly benign birthmark. Two moles, about an inch apart, one right below the other, down the side of his neck. They were faint, a barely-there tint easily hidden by a shirt collar. Ford knew that birthmark. He knew it very well. 

It was on his neck too. As had it been on Stanley’s as well, because they were identical twins. Stanley used to say it was their ‘cool vampire bite scars, Sixer!’

Ford’s eyes moved up. He wiped at Remus’ face and, would you look at that.

The Pines family nose was very distinctive. It had been passed down to Ford and Stanley through their father, and his father before him, extending in an endless chain of noses. It was big and oddly shaped and a reddish-orangish color, standing out sharply from their natural Ashkenazi-paleness. 

Ford had found this nose a bit embarrassing, teased as he would be for it (he was teased for just about everything about him, because everything about him was abnormal), but then he would remember how proud Stanley had been of their noses. How much glee and pride he took from looking across a family reunion and seeing their nose on almost all of the faces there. How he’d loved how it made them look like their family. And remembering that, Ford could never feel bad about it for long, because it had been something that made Stanley happy. 

And Remus had their nose. 

A strange noise filled the bathroom, and it took Ford a moment to realize it was him. Laughing, except he didn’t find this funny. He was giggling uncontrollably, and none of this was funny at all. 

“No,” Ford said, wildly, head feeling dizzy, swimming like the water, rushing and roaring, “No, no, no.”

Remus blinked at him, making an inquisitive sort of noise. 

Ford barely processed the towel slipping out his hands or himself shrinking backwards, still shaking with high, manic giggling. “No. No! You’re not him. You’re- you’re not him.” 

Remus whined at him, leaning forward with a concerned look on his face. 

Remus couldn’t be Stanley. Remus couldn’t be Stanley because Stanley couldn’t be sitting in front of Ford, dirty, ribs faintly showing through his sides, face gaunt, hair overgrown. Not understanding English, living in the woods. Isolated from society for long enough he couldn’t remember his own language. Couldn’t remember he was human, that he wasn’t a fucking coyote. Remus could not be Stanley, Stanley could not be Remus.

Ford cackled, finding his throat constricting and his head going fuzzy. He was distantly aware his breathing wasn’t right, that he wasn’t getting enough air, but it barely registered. It didn’t matter. “This is all a very funny coincidence. You aren’t- you’re not him. You’re not him!”

Remus shrank a bit, whining loudly. He crawled forward, almost like he was scared, until he was close enough to paw at Ford’s face, his shoulders. Pawing, because he didn’t remember how to use his hands. 

No! No. Remus was not Stanley. It was a coincidence. A complete coincidence!

“Very funny,” Ford said nonsensically. “I can’t believe- I almost- and you-” Ford shook his head, giggling, vision going blurry around the edges, and he didn’t know if it was from tears or if he was about to faint and he didn’t care either way. 

He wasn’t Stanley, he couldn’t be Stanley. Stanley couldn’t be starving in the woods, small from malnourishment. Stanley couldn’t have those scars on his back. Stanley couldn’t have mats in his hair and a wild look in his eyes and visible ribs. Stanley couldn’t have hair so long from twenty years without human contact. Ford did not put his brother in a snare and Ford was being very reasonable and very logical and he did not abandon his brother to be alone in the cold and starving and having to join a fucking pack of coyotes to survive because Ford was an idiot child who couldn’t keep his eyes open for long enough to make sure his brother wasn’t left behind like a discarded toy. None of these things ever happened-!

Something wet rasped against the six-fingered hand white knuckled around the edge of the bathtub. 

Ford jerked his hand back, suddenly thrust out of his thoughts and back into the present. Remus was whining very loudly at him now, eyes wide and scared and tongue peeking out of his mouth from actually licking Ford’s hand like a concerned dog trying to calm someone down. 

Ford panted. He stared at Remus and Remus stared back. Still whining, Remus shuffled forward the water, pawing at Ford, looking like was about to try and lick him again. 

And without thinking Ford suddenly seized Remus, gripping him by the shoulders intensely. Remus yelped and for a moment looked like he might bite at Ford, but then Ford started talking. 

“You aren’t him,” Ford whispered intensely. “We’re going to finish this bath, and then I’m going to prove you aren’t him, and I’m going to feel very silly about this whole thing, and you won’t care, because you can’t understand English and you probably aren’t human anyways. And then I’m going to laugh this whole thing off and forget it ever happened.” 

Remus just blinked up at him worriedly. 

“You aren’t my brother,” Ford insisted, desperation starting to leak through his voice. “I- I would know if you were.”

(And deep down, he did.)

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@littlelilliana15

[firewasabeast]

The Only Exception

Had to write a little fic from Tommy's perspective based off of The Only Exception by Paramore. Read below or on ao3!

For so long, love felt to Tommy like wearing a turtleneck on a summer day. It was uncomfortable. Itchy, sweaty, and no matter how much you tugged it away from your neck it came right back to choke you again.

That was the type of love he'd grown up with. A love that was never truly love at all.

A father who failed more often than he succeeded. Who cheated and lied and spewed words of hatred. Who treated him like gum on the bottom of his shoe. Who treated his mom even worse.

And his mom would get sick of it. She'd say she was done. She'd cry and yell and pack her bags- only her bags- and she'd look Tommy straight in the eyes and tell him, “This is what love looks like, Thomas, this is all it is.”

During those times, Tommy's dad would beg and plead for her to stay. He couldn't make it through life without her, he didn't know what he'd do if she left, he was nothing without her, she was nothing without him.

He'd wipe away her tears and take her suitcase from her hand and lead her back to the bedroom. Tommy would make himself a bowl of cereal, sit on the couch, watch cartoons until after the sun had set, then he'd tuck himself into bed.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

When he got older and left for the army, there wasn't really time for love. There was time for quickies in secret hookup spots around base. There was time to learn more about himself than he dared speak about. There was time to get close to a guy who laughed in his face when Tommy told him that maybe one day they could leave the military and get a place together.

You're living in a fantasy world, Kinard, so here's some reality. Guys like us weren't made to be loved.

He was young and naive then.

He learned to grow up quickly.

He tried love after he first became a firefighter. But love was closing his eyes and imagining someone else when he was intimate with her. It was taking extra shifts at work so he had an excuse not to invite her over. It was telling her he had to sleep alone because he had nightmares.

It was unfair to them both.

It wasn't love.

Because love doesn't exist.

Tommy learned to be comfortable with being alone. Learned to keep himself busy with hobbies so he was content when he walked into his empty house.

Learned to enjoy another man's touch for a night, and be gone long before the sun rose.

Learned to fake girlfriends at work, be the guy who has someone new every other month. Let everyone call him a player because that was better than any other word they'd use if they knew the truth.

Love doesn't exist. Not for someone like me.

Even at Harbor, once he decided to be honest with himself and the people around him, love felt like an illusion.

There was the guy who was still deep in the closet, who didn't even want to look at Tommy when they were in bed together.

Then the guy who paraded him around and let everyone, including his ex-boyfriend, know he was with a firefighter.

The guy who in the end said he only asked him out because Tommy saved his life and he felt he owed him that much.

Just stop trying.

That's what he did. He stayed in his bubble of work, hobbies, home.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Every day the same.

Then he got a phone call from someone he hadn't heard from in a while.

And he literally owed his life to this guy, so of course he said yes to the most insane plan he'd ever heard.

Then suddenly he was meeting two new guys that had joined the 118 after he left. He was reconnecting with Hen, he was getting texts from Howie, he was gaining a new friend in Eddie, and he had plans to teach this Evan how to fly.

Evan with a beautiful smile and a hot body and the most adorable personality he'd ever seen.

He needed to keep his distance, because he didn't know Evan very well and he could be reading this all wrong.

Which, apparently he was, because Evan seemed to hate him and the last thing he needed was for this overall sweet guy with beautiful eyes to hate him.

He needed to do something to fix it. Needed to make things right so he didn't lose this friendship that hadn't even had a chance to begin.

So, he went to Evan's place and...

Oh.

It's funny how a person can really change your perspective of things.

Maybe the only time love doesn't last is when it's not meant to. Maybe there are exceptions. And maybe it'll find you when you least expect it. Maybe it'll find you in the loft of an apartment you've never been in before. Or during a messy first date that could've ended better on both ends.

Maybe love is an attempt to get your coffee order right when you've never even discussed whether or not you like coffee.

Or it's an insane ask to be a date to a wedding, because even though you barely know each other his family wants to meet you. He's talked about you to them.

It's found in a hug at a bachelor party, or in a “be safe” when you're going into work.

Maybe love is a kiss at the entrance of a hospital. So unexpected you can't help but vocalize your surprise.

Maybe it's not caring if you have evidence of a make-out session all over your face because you like this guy and you don't care who knows it.

Or maybe it's being there when someone from your past pops up and you can't quite vocalize how you feel.

Love is a late night dinner after a bad day where you can express your worries and discuss parental trauma. Love is knowing when to turn the conversation on its heels and flirt because life's been too serious lately and sometimes you need a reason to smile.

Love is found in the person you lean on when you're upset or angry. It's who you go to with your tears, whether they're from sadness or rage.

It's learning each other's flaws and not running away. It's learning to love their mess, all of their imperfections, and sticking it out because they're worth it.

It's a heated argument that no one wins and you forget what started it in the first place. It's in not giving a reason to pack your bags and threaten to leave, but in hashing it out because the person is worth staying for.

It's in honesty and thinking before you speak and being faithful.

It's in a hospital room after an injury that almost takes your life. It's when you open your eyes and your person is seated beside you looking worse than you do because they haven't slept in three days.

Love is cooking dinner together, and laughing so hard that soda shoots out your nose because only one of you knows how to follow a recipe.

Love is running to you when you show up at their station unannounced because they forgot their lunch in your fridge.

It's a kiss in the middle of a station that once held your biggest insecurities hostage. It's a hand on your back leading you up the stairs because everyone will want to see you.

Love is a gasp and a plead for more. A whisper that it's never felt like this before. It's strong arms gripping your back, wanting to feel you, wanting to kiss you, wanting to see you.

Love is holding you close until you fall asleep, until the sun rises, and even long after that.

Love is breaking through every rule you've made for yourself without even realizing it. Breaking down each and every barrier you've put in your own way and doing it with such grace and care that it brings tears to your eyes if you think about it too much.

Love is the person lying beside you right now, snoring so loudly you can't sleep, but you don't even care. You watch them, place a hand over their chest to feel their heartbeat because sometimes you wonder if they truly exist.

Love is curling into your touch, smacking their lips as they tug you closer and resume snoring right in your ear.

Love is here.

Love is present.

Love is real.

Love is Evan.

[lbhslefttiddie]

youve heard of sex flowers get ready for the flower that makes you into a celestial shoujo herione complete with particle effects you cannot turn the fuck off and creates a wifebeam so powerful it can incapacitate and maim and keeps making you burst into tears and fall on your ass which makes the wifebeam More Powerful and you also cannot turn this off either. and is also still, sort of, a sex flower

from one of my favorite fanfictions, Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pam, a fic that defies description in the best possible way

[stealingyourbones]

recently watched a handful of episodes of Supernatural and im kinda impressed with Dean's steadfast belief that all monsters are monsters and can't be redeemed.

With that in mind... there could be some VERY angsty Danny Phantom crossovers with that as the main premise

[hcdragonwrites]

A Tiger on the Mountain (a @semisolidmind Fanfic)

Here it is ! Another one. I made up a creature specifically so I could play out a scenario in my head and lead into another fic after this one. This is not a two parter but it leaves it open for a follow up!

TW: Blood and Violence and allusions to torture at the end. (Not of Peaches SHES fine)

“Get out before you become a new rug for me to wipe my feet upon.” Sun Wukong snarled over the table, his staff in his hands. The Nine Tiger Demon took a step backward at the fury. The expedition to this kingdom of monkeys and flowers had been a fools mission. Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, dipped his head cordially.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The tiger smiled and stepped out of the council room, his great black cape swirling as he exited in a flourish. He had made a jab at the Monkey Kings pride by calling him Lord. He knew that his patience was wearing thin with him. Especially after he had eluded to the weakness of mortal Ally’s.

“It is necessary to procure some of the goods they produce.” Wukong had waved the complaint aside. As if waving a fly. Zari was a lord of a snowy country where resources were few and blood was spilt as common as the snowfall. His kind had been hunted by poachers for their pelts. For the magic quality in their stripped bodies. Bones, blood, tendons, fur, claws… Everything in a tigers body was hunted for medicine, magic and mayhem. To hear that the most feared creature west of his kingdom, the great demonic Monkey King who had challenged Heaven, had made treaties with humans…

Zari had licked his muzzle sensing weakness.

“Why treat when you can take?” The tiger lord had questioned. His attendants beside him fidgeted, their hands straying to the scimitars belted to their sides. A twitch of his tail tip called them off. A tiger was playing with a monkey to see what sort of prey it had between his claws.

“And cause further disharmony around me ? Mortal men are easily placated. It leaves me free to put my resources into more important things.” Here the monkey leaned forward, eyes glowing with the torchlight. “Like seeking new territories in the east.”

The threat was received but Zari didn’t rise to the bait. He was a patient creature. The scars on his stripped hands and body proved how many battles and hunters he had outwitted.

Of course Zari had only come to sieze up the competition in the West. He never had any intentions of swearing allegiance to the ape. To debase himself to an ape? Never. So it only took Wukong a few more verbal jousts to also know the game was at an end. He had dismissed the tiger with a threat. Zari kept his claws velveted. For now.

As he stepped out of the corridor he let the slightest bit of agitation show in his whiskered face. A twitch of a tail brought one of his attendants forward.

“Gather the lower Claw.” Zari whispered. “They need a good hunt.”

“Of course my King.” The lesser demon bowed and raced off, light as a feather in the wind. At least that would humble the foolish ape—

Zari came around the corner and bumped straight into something soft, and pliable. His claws caught it reflexively before the thing fell completely onto his black armor and ruined his perfect complexion. He hissed, about to snap at this new weaker underling of a foolish king when the scent hit the top of his mouth.

Human.

“I’m so sorry!” It was female. The women pulled from the tiger claws. Her eyes remained cast down. Simple peasant clothes. Hair tied up in a messy updo. Flushed cheeks, good proportions. The tigers eyes had been blown wide.

“Are you alright miss?” Zira smoothed the twitching of his whiskers, kept the lashing of his tail to a minimum. But his instincts roared and his mouth pooled. “I did not mean to bump into so harshly.”

A captured peasant girl? A pet of this monkey kings?

“Oh no it was my fault!” The women said. She finally looked up and the tiger demon got a good look at the curve of her throat. The hot pulse just inches from his fangs.

From further down the corridor someone called “PEACHES!” The girl stiffened a bit then smiled sheepishly.

Zira felt as if he was a wolf in the sheep pen.

“I should have been watching where I was going. Carry on!” She bowed and then quickly scuttled off.

“Well well well…”Zira smiled to himself as another monkey ran past and after the fleeing women. He felt his grin widen, the drool threatening to slip. “Look like I have some entertainment myself…”

For Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, was whispered and feared by mortals across his snowy slice of the world. Legends told of how he would slip in as silent as a ghost. How he would visit families and paint their walls in red crimson and spattered gore. For Zari was a man eater, a enjoyer of mortal flesh. And his favorite prey that he enjoyed devouring most was women.

This conquest just got a bit more interesting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I Demand compensation.”

The threat would have come off more terrifying from the Monkey King if he had been dressed in his armor. However he was… not. Instead Wukong was at the present moment, begging on Peaches lap beneath a cherry tree. His face was a storm cloud as he lifted Peaches hands up to his head.

“I am afraid you won’t be getting any.” Peaches let her hand fall limply off. The stormy face broke into a beggars crocodile tears.

“PEACHESSSS!”

Macaque would have snickered at his sworn brother begging but he was also not getting any sort of touches from Peaches. He didn’t know why she had decided today of all days to deny both of them.

Why was she withholding scratches from her husbands? Well. For many reasons. For one, one of them startled her awake this morning by swooping her into his arms because he got a little too excited and woke her from her dreams. It also triggered a huge sort of panic because she has had enough of nightmares on being snatched away thank you.

Of course telling the one begging at her knees right now that his over exuberance this morning had been one of the reasons for no pats, would only lead to more exuberance.

A second reason she was including both and not just the one who scooped her ? Well because the day before Macaque thought it would be funny to pop one of his shadows beneath her while she was trying to brush her hair and in the fall the hairbrush - still tucked into her hair- wrenched. It had been painful and she had lost several bits of her own hair in it.

And thirdly? Because these two had, for all intensive purposes of the words, kidnapped her and forced her to live here upon the mountain. Yes she was still bitter about it. No she wouldn’t get over it. At least not today. Too many tricks were tugged and her personal space breached for her to simply let it go. A little bodily autonomy and boundary would be nice. Instead her two lovers would look at her as one would a family cat and go “awwwwwwww!” and scoop her up.

So two very peeved simians sat cross legged staring her down. Wukongs tail was lashing back and forth, his eyes narrowed like a cats. He reached forward and grabbed Peaches hand again. She had learned long ago that giving them the satisfaction of her resistance- how cute! They would say as she practically threw all manner of pellmell closet clutter at them- would only prolong their inevitable smothering of her.

Being impassive was her best weapon.

So she let her hand be limply lifted.

Just as limply it slid off the Monkey Kings head.

“Peaches! Come on!” Wukong groaned. He sounded like a kid begging for sweets. Peaches sniffed. The day was nice at least. She had made her way out of Water Curtain Cave and out onto the mountainside before her attendant could shove and stuff her into royal courtly attire. Not today! Peaches hadn’t wanted to attend court. She hadn’t wanted to be near that council room. Her accidental bump into that demon had been as close as she had gotten. A tiger demon? Now that was something she hadn’t seen yet.

Wukong laid himself over her lap, his face pouting up at her. He looked… adorable. It was almost enough for her to forget about his transgression this morning. It wasn’t enough. She turned her head away.

Only for Macaque to be there. He had somehow snuck up, as was his silent way, and pressed himself to her back. He slipped her into his lap, and Peaches felt a little spark of unease. Macaque was the slower of the two when it came to affection, sneaking it in or trying to tease it from her. Wukong was all action and joyful tugs and play. His was earnest and forward. Macaque was… sly. Teasing. A fox inside the chicken house.

“Sweet peach, come now.” His hands settled around her. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Peaches fought the blush from rising in her face. Think of rocks and birds. What you will eat tonight. Anything but how his voice and how it feels rumbling against me.

“We just want to have a little comfort.” The dark furred monkey lifted her hand. He entwined his fingers in hers. They were so large. The practically swamped her own. The claws slide along the fingers as he lifted her hand and tugged it into his fur onto his cheek.

“Come on, little plumb.” His smile was as sweet as honey, as soft as downy feathers. If it had been any other day she would have mussed his fur and teased him back. However Macaque made a mistake of touching her hair with a free hand. Reminding Peaches that this little trickster had yanked some of her hair out.

She let her hand remain lax.

“No.”

“Then you leave both of us no choice.”

Macaque leaned back and with a woosh and gasp of air and black- they were back in their room. The pillow pit cushioned their fall, as did Macaque who lay beneath her. Peaches let out an indignant squeak as the demon monkey growled playfully in her ear.

“You have only a few moments before Wukong gets here. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“No.” Peaches sniffed. His hand was trailing along her skin, almost walking up her arm.

“Are you mad at him?” Macaque asked.

“Yes”

“Are You mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it … a mad kind of day?”

She didn’t respond.

He tutted and tugged her hands free of where she had shoved them beneath her arms. He placed one against the side of his head, eyes gently closing. He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

“Come on my sweet… just indulge us both..”

“No.”

“Little minx.” The purple eyes flashed along with that sharp toothed smile. Peaches felt her face flush. Macaque leaned in and over her now, his free hand twining in the hair on the back of her neck. The demon was angling her from being the one on top, to sliding her into the pillow pit with the dark haired monkey hovering above. He pulled her up and into him, and Peaches had the startling realization that she was so very very small and he was so very very large all of a sudden.

“What sins do I have to whisper into your ears ? What marks should I leave upon your skin to earn your affection again?” His eyes dipped to her lips. Peaches face felt like it was afire. “Should I sing your praises into your skin with my teeth?”

Oh dear.

And then the moment of tension was broken by a furious orange blur bursting into the room and tackling both of them. Peaches cried out while Macaques face looked deadpan at his sworn brother. The moment of tension, of turning Peaches pink as a lychee fruit, was over.

“MACAQUE! THATS NOT FAIR!” The monkey king was entangled with both of them as he grabbed the other hand and shoved it into his fur. Peaches only held onto them now as they jostled her. “HOW MANY HEADSCRATCHES DID YOU GET?”

“None…” His face was exasperated, his tail twitching at the tip.

“None?” Wukong echoed.

“None!” Macaque slammed his head closer to Wukong. Peaches was perfectly sandwiched between her husbands very bare and very exposed chests as the two brothers bristled at each other. She was loosing her own power of wills because … well. Peaches was only human. She could barely stay mad at one Monkey half dressed. Two half dressed and practically pressed cheek to pec against either side of your face ? It was a marvel her body didn’t burn up on the spot from how much she was blushing.

“Why you shouting at me then?!”

“You spoiled my sport before I could tease some out of her.”

“Oh?” Wukongs eyes shot downward. Peaches looked away, feeling like she got caught watching.

Oh no.

The two demons looked down on her. And Peaches felt like she was in danger. Not a you-will-die-and-be-disemboweled way. More of you-will-be-turned-into-a-second-sun-from-how-much-we-will-tease-you kind of way. They loomed over their mortal wife, ears perked forward and grins becoming sharp and feral.

Another burst through the door however saved Peaches from being turned into a puddle beneath the attentions of her husbands.

“Ugh what is it now?” Macaque sighed.

“My King! We are under attack!”

The two warlords changed from flirting devils to stiff and immovable stones as they stood. Macaques ears swished, forward and back, each set twitching as he confirmed it.

Wukong was across the room, his armor back on his body in a flash. His staff was plucked free from his ear, elongating in a flourish.

“Where?” The Sages voice was a silent rumble.

“Off the south slope- a band of panthers by the look of it.” The sentry’s tail was puffed in fear. Wukong nodded and was off in a flash of fur and fury.

Someone was attacking the mountain? They must be crazy. Insane. Or have a death wish.

Macaque set Peaches firmly in the Pillow pit, eyes somber.

“Love don’t move. Don’t leave this room. Understand ?” His face was pinched in worry bordering on fury. He was trying to maintain his composure for her, to hold back the anger that was threatening to bubble upward. Peaches may think of her boys a lot of way. They were selfish when they wanted her attention. They had taken her away reluctantly from her home. She had been forced to live her for the past decade or so. Her husbands were warlords, murderers and Demons.

They also cared for her a great deal, in a way that no mortal could compare. They clothed her in the finest garb but also gave her the option of comfort. They brought her to the Palace and laid laws down among the fellow demonic ally’s that she was to be respected and treated as an extension of Wukong and Macaques power. They brought her gifts from the outside world when they came back from expeditions, made her foods from the finest ingredients, told her stories of their travels. On nights when the past came back to rear it’s head she could find comfort in one or both of their arms.

And at times like this, she felt thankful that, of all the kidnapping creatures in the world, at least it had been these two.

That didn’t sound like a plus at all.

Macaque was waiting for her response. Peaches shook herself free of the cobwebs, of the past and back into the present. The mountain was under fire. Something was trying to earn the ire of the Monkey King and his People. As a very soft once mortal immortal now, Peaches had no sort of power to defend with or help. She was a liability, at least until she began her own cultivation, on the battlefield. So Peaches nodded.

“Yes.”

It was all Macaque needed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered “Good girl.”

And he was gone, falling into shadow.

“Hellooooo?”

Peaches started awake at the voice. Disoriented she disentangled herself from the soft fur and pillows she had been wedged between. She must have fallen asleep some time in the day. The light coming from the windows was a burnished gold, sunset settling on the

“Someone help! Help me please…”

The voice was disjointed, the sound echoing from beyond the closed doors. It set her skin to crawling. Shouldn’t there be guards ? Shouldn’t there be someone outside the doors?

“HELP. SOMEONE HELP!”

The voice sounded like a baby! The shrill high note cut through the last hesitation Peaches had. She opened the door and rushing out into the corridor.

The echos of her footfalls bounced back to her from the stone walls. The cry came again, a baby monkey hooting in distress. It came from around corridors, downs passageways. Peaches raced forward until she had burst out of the cavern and into the dying light of the sun.

The grass swayed in the breeze. The shadows danced across the field, like stripes on a great tigers back.

She felt a shiver go up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It felt off - the world felt off. The mountain was usually brimming with life and sound. Birds would be calling even at this late hour when day turns to night. The cicadas would be sonorously screaming their complaints to the night air. However…

Everything was still. Not a insect nor a bird called out. There were no generals or other monkeys present on the mountain. Usually sentries were littered about the fields and slopes. There was no one here at this moment.

That’s wrong. Completely wrong…

A faint gurgle, a dying cry of a baby monkey from somewhere just ahead.

“Where are You?” Peaches called. The child sounded in pain- and the sooner she got them inside the cave, the better. “You have to tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“Typical mortals.” The voice came from behind and peaches whipped around. A tiger demon, a creature of immense size and with terrifying teeth, toward behind her. Zira held the languid look of a cat with a full belly, tail swaying in the grass and claws meticulously being groomed. The blood from those long claws was the fresh scarlet of new blood.

“Your kind always come when lured by another— I was wondering if I should do a human baby or a mortal imitation but, seeing as you’ve been collared and tamed by monkeys, I thought that would be the easiest way to lure you out.” The tiger lord grinned. Peaches saw that he was fully armored. The black leather of his body was painted in dark splotches of red.

He’s … killed people. Who has he killed?? Where’s the baby ??

Peaches stepped cautiously back into the grass, heart racing. The tiger lords eyes grew round.

“Are you trying to run?” His voice was practically a pur as he stood straighter. “Please do. The chase will be good for me and clear this monstrous smell of ape blood.”

“What do you want?” Peaches needed to stall. To find a way to keep the beast talking. He liked to talk to full the silence. “Why are you here?”

“Those are boring questions dear morsel. Boring indeed. You mortals think all the same- but at least you taste better then your little brains think.” Zira stepped forward and into Peaches bubble- forcing her backward and further away from the cave. “Why am I Here ? Well to play. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play with another demons pet.”

Another slow pace forward. Another hasty retreat from Peaches.

“I can understand. I play rough. It’s hard when you all … scream at the slightest break of bone. At the sudden loss of limb…” the tiger lords body seemed to grow, a secondary face appearing from its left cheek. The new muzzle opened and in horror peaches heard people crying, of mortal women begging for their children. The voices of men pleaded for wives and sons and daughters. Anguished cries, cries of pain. Voices from the past.

Dead voices.

“They never last long.” The tiger smirked, that new face along his left side turning upward as well.

“So when I came to see this terrifying demon lord who has challenged heaven I expected him to have a show of strength. What I didn’t expect was a pet like you.” Those eyes flashed.

“Why? Wukong is the strongest Why—“

“Why did I not expect you?” Zira snorted. “Because demons forget themselves when they stop consuming lesser beasts and start befriending them.”

Peaches looked about her. She wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the caves. This tiger was driving her further and further from safety. She had been a fool to try and help, a damned fool. The next best thing she could do was to try and stay alive long enough. Long enough for her to call out. Wukong or Macaque would hear her. She had no doubt on that. There was also the willow tree just ten feet behind her. If she could get to it and climb she may be able to stall out this demon.

“Now dear. How would you like to die?” The tiger was closer now as Peaches kept stepping back. She was almost back pedaling, trying to stay out of the range of those claws. Of those red teeth. “I could kill you by fang or claw. Or maybe a sword would be better. But then… where’s the fun in it for me if you die so quickly ?”

Peaches spun on her heel and ran.

“HELP!” Her lungs filled with more air, to shout to the Heavens above. The grasses bent beneath her flight. She had almost made it to the tree, almost got enough air to scream again when something slammed into her shoulder. Bright hot pain bloomed and she fell to the dirt. Her hands reached up and came away with sticky blood.

“Calling for help is useless.” Zira licked the fresh blood clean from his claws, enjoying the taste of terror on his tongue. “My men have them busy against the farthest side of the mountain.”

Peaches rolled, to get up to get away she did not know. Her movement was stopped by a booted heel to her shoulder. The new pain elicited a scream to peak from her lips. It rang eerily off the mountain that was so still. So awfully still.

“The pain will only be temporary.” Zira knelt. The tiger reached down with his clawed hands. He cupped her face as she fought him. He smiled and opened his jaws wide to close over her throat.

The suns last dying ray cast a shadow as black as night over the grassy floor. It pooled beneath the mortal women and then, with a slip and tug, Ziras prey was swallowed by the black. The tiger snarled claws raking the soil in a vain attempt to dig her back out.

“So it was you.”

Zira turned.

There, leaning against his staff was the Monkey King. His clawed hands and golden armor were covered in black blood. Zira felt a worm of unease creep into his calm and cocky smile. Those warriors had been the best of his Claw- the best in the Snowy Steppes. There was no way they had failed—

“Ah King Wukong!” The tiger Lord began. If he could stall him out, lead him into a false sense of security, then that would be better. It would buy him time to get closer, to steal into range and pounce. “So nice to see you agai—-“

The tiger lord didn’t even see the moment. On second the orange monkey was standing before him and the next he felt a blooming pain cut along his secondary face. He roared in confusion as the sight from those eyes was lost in a shower of blood. The tiger had no time to reorient himself however. The neck blow was to one of his hands. Sun Wukong clasped one in hand and with a terrible crunch, shattered all the bones within.

Panic came traipsing up the tigers spine. This was not good. The monkey was moving incredibly fast - too fast- for him to counter. He reached for his Scimitar- the blade of Nine Tigers- to end the fight. This blade could cut mountain in half- it could cleave souls from bodies and leave the flesh whole.

“You come to my mountain…”

The staff slammed into the side of his head, casting several of the tigers teeth from his jaws. He was unbalanced but determined. He just had to grab his sword —

“You attack my home…”

Another blow to his middle sent him slamming into the willow tree. The force of it snapped the bark and collapsed the Willow behind him. Zira felt stars float in his vision, tasted his own blood. He had a hand on his sword now though. He drew the blade, cutting it across the insolent ape that towered over him. Wukongs soul would be cleaved, his body left behind for the flies to lay eggs in. He would be dead. The blade sliced —

And snapped in half.

“You tried to devour my wife…” Fear is not something a tiger experienced often. It raced over his stripes, twitched his crushed whiskers, and made his eyes widen. That had been his wife ? That common little dustmote ? Zira had miscalculated. A pet was one thing. But a wife —

“You took… a mortal… as a wife? Pa—“ Zira tried for bravado, tried to spit into the monkey lords face. The tiger was desperately clinging to what remained of his pride. He had chased a rabbit into a ravine and found wolves.

Zira opened his jaws to cast his last disrespect. Only for the claws of Wukong to cut along his jaw and crush it closed before he could finish.

“I will break every bone in your body before I let you die. You will wish you were dead before I’m done with you.”

The shadows swallowed Peaches and arms wrapped around her but she was still flailing. She grabbed at fur and skin and battered her fists and nails against it.

“Ow - PEACHES - PEACHES ITS ME!” Macaque voice cut over the adrenaline that floated high and fast in her blood. She blinked at him. They were back in their room, back inside Water Curtain Cave. Peaches hand was still curled in a fist, still raised up to beat along her captors face. Only. This wasn’t the tiger anymore. It was Macaque.

“It’s just me.”

“I’m not dead am I?” What stupid words to say but it was the first thing her numb mind could think on.

“What? No.” Macaques face was a sea of worry lines as he gently turned her shoulder to him. The blood was sopping beneath the cloth of her shirt. He gave it a sniff and murmured in soothing tones. Mostly to himself. “But I’m concerned for your shoulder. Let’s get that looked at alright ?”

Peaches nodded. Macaque used his claws to rip free the ruined cloth of the shirt and gain better access to the claw marks.

“It’s an ugly scratch but nothing deep.” She felt his hands, paper soft press along the skin. She hissed at the fiery pain as damaged nerves and sore skin protested. “Peaches you will have to be brave for me and let me stich it closed ok?”

She nodded. Her mind was still processing the events just moments ago. Of tiger teeth flashing to bite her throat. Of claws cutting her skin. Macaque returned to her and tugged her into him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t stop as he pulled her hand up to his face. She twined her fingers into the fur, needing the grounding almost, if not more, then he did. Macaque made soothing chirps and soft noises as he worked, pulling needle through flesh and closing it up.

It was only after a time, when Peaches own fear began to fall away, that he asked her.

“Why did you leave the room Peaches ?”

“I heard … it sounded like one of the babies Mac.” One of the little monkey babies all alone and crying for help. The haunting sound echoing off the stone and always just out of reach. “One of the littles in pain and hurt. I didn’t think. I just … acted.”

“Mmm.” Another stich pressed into her skin and she flinched. “You know this means you will have to have a day guard now yes?”

“Are you putting more restrictions on me after I almost got devoured ?” It was a bad attempt at humor but Peaches tried anyway. Whenever something happened to her - if it was an imagined insult from a courtier, a threat to her life because she tried something new and it didn’t agree with her- the boys would set new limits, new conditions. Macaque scowled at her and she bit her tongue from adding to the humor.

“Precautions. If I hadn’t heard you—“ His voice chocked at the end. Peaches looked back. Macaques ears were all low, dropping like flower petals. For all their faults, for their transgressions in taking her choices from her, they loved her. Peaches could see that love in Macs eyes as he imagined the possible outcomes that could have happened. She twirled her fingers around s patch of his fur, soothing him and herself with the confirmation that this was the reality now and not those flashing teeth.

“We can’t loose you Love. I — we — we were so afraid.” When Macaque had heard the strangled help in the heat of battle he had stopped. He had felt his heart give a lurch and Wukong had been of like mind. That battle was practically won. Between the two sworn brothers, nothing much could stand in their fury. But hearing Peaches— Peaches who they left back safe in their room, in the palace, calling for help—

“I was too.”

“When I tell you to stay inside - stay inside. Understand?”Anger laced Macaques words as he pinned her with a look.

“Yes.” It wasn’t good enough though. Not for him. It wouldn’t be for Wukong. The next time the mountain was under attack—if there was a next time— Macaque would lock the doors and the windows. He would shudder the room in shadow if he had to. But. A yes for now was the best he would get from her.

“Good. That’s all the chewing out I’ll give you because when Wukong gets here he’s going to have some very harsh words with you.” Peaches shoulders flinched a little.

“He’s mad at me?” There was genuine hurt and dismay in her voice. Wukong and Peaches had the toughest days when it came to their relationship. Some days she could forget he had taken her without her consent from all she knew- had wiped her village clear off the map. Other days she only saw the blood soaked Warlord in all his fury. On those days arguments ensued and the kings mood was ever sour.

“Never mad at You.” Macaque reassured. Wukong never was genuinely upset at their peach. How could he be when he was enamored with her so? Macaque couldn’t even keep his own anger at her negligence of self after todays events. All she had to do was look at him with that puppy dog look and he was wanting to tease and soothe her into smiles and comfort. “Never. Afraid for your life ? Absolutely. He has half a mind to keep you indoors from now on.”

“He said that ?”

“As we were racing to come get you yes.” Macaque finished the stitches with a pull and tug. The cord came free in his claws. He set about binding cotton gauze around the area to protect the stitches. In the morning he would let them breathe.

“But I think if you let him coddle you for a few days and you agree to a guard, he won’t take your outside privileges away.” Macaque teased and gave advice. Wukong could get a bit … territorial when it came to their Peach. He understood how important it was to give some sort of semblance of freedom to her. Peaches was like a flower- she needed light and air to thrive. If Wukong took that away, he wouldn’t like how she would wilt. Even though Macaque himself had half a mind to keep her inside forever. Especially after today.

Peaches head brushed beneath his chin suddenly and the monkey was jarred from his thoughts. She was nodding off, fighting sleep. Macaque gathered her up easily and set her into the bed they shared. He took care to arrange the pillows, to settle her into her most favorite blankets and soft things. It was a distraction from the rage that now was bubbling upward. For though Macaque had the calmest demeanor- he was just as bloody and furious as his brotherly counterpart.

“Go to sleep.” He commanded. Peaches yawned, catching the trailing end of his tail.

“You won’t leave me … will you?”

“I will be right here till Wukong gets back.”

It was hours later when Macaque heard his brother step into their rooms. Wukong had bathed and cleaned himself elsewhere from the smell of the water and floral oils coming off of him. They both knew how Peaches had an aversion to the scent of blood. The monkey king was across the room and hovering over the pillow pit where she slept.

“How is she?” Wukong asked. All the rage had gone from him. Only worry remained. His tiny little wife… he could still see the Tiger hovering above her, his jaws parted wide over her throat to devour. It made Wukong wish to break his muzzle again.

“Worn out. The cuts are superficial at best. I stitched them up.” The sheen of white medical gauze and cotton took over one lovely shoulder of Peaches back. Wukong felt his teeth beginning to grit in a threatening smile.

“Why would she go outside?! Peaches isn’t a fool.”

“And she wasn’t one.” Macaque soothed. He was standing now that Wukong was here, making his way to the door slowly. “She went outside because she heard the bastard imitate a baby cry.”

“A baby?”

“She thought it was one of the babies.” Wukongs heart gave a shudder. Of course she would throw caution to the wind. His Peaches loved the children of the mountain almost as much as he himself did. “Peaches said she went out to look and that’s when he leapt at her.”

Wukong felt a bit of his anger ebb. He was never angry at Peaches. He could never be. But anger around how she acted ? … yes. That was a possibility. Hearing how she didn’t go out until she thought it was a baby- well. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“The sentries are dead.” Wukong had come across their bodies after restraining the tiger demon. Seeing his peoples cut throats and crumpled bodies had not soothed his anger. He hoped the tiger healed quickly enough so he could repay them for each of his peoples lives. “The tiger killed them. He thought he could kill me by swinging his fancy sword. Too bad it snapped on the first try.”

“Did you leave him alive?” Macaque was at the door now, his fists uncurled.

“He’s somewhere beneath us in a wet cave. I broke all the bones in his body. But … I Left the tail for you.”

“Good.” The door opened and his brother was gone.

Wukong stared at Peaches as she slept for a moment. He had almost lost her today. He half wanted to wake her up and shake her and the other half just wanted to keep her tucked away and safe inside the mountain. Wukong would pull promises and such from her tomorrow. In fact, he may have to teach her some basic self defense. She would never be able to stop a full demonic beast. It would ease his mind however - it would sooth him and settle the fur that kept rising along his back- if she at least had an understanding of what tricks and traits demons used to tempt food out of hiding.

Wukong slid into the nest, settling himself so he didn’t jostle her awake. Tomorrow he could sit her down and tell her the new precautions he would have to merit out. A new guard, lessons in defense, maybe even a copy of him nearby or in the shape of some common item… Wukong could gift her a hairpin each morning and do her hair with a copy of himself. A magical copy that would have ears out for any mischief she may wind up falling into.

It would give her the illusion of freedom without telling her I put a spy on her person. That made Wukong feel better. For the next few days however, she wasn’t leaving his side. He didn’t care if she cried out or pouted or started to throw things. They had almost lost her.

Peaches half woke with a start as Wukong adjusted the blankets about her. Her face came upward, staring and trying to see all about.

“Wukong?”

“It’s just me… you can go back to sleep.”

To his astonishment Peaches shifted, settling herself into his chest. Wukong welcomed her tangle, twining has hands into her hair as she tugged on his fur. Her cheek was pressed to his chest where his heart must be hammering beneath. The Monkey king made soothing chirps and soft calls to her, a reassurance of safety and care. Soon enough her fingers relaxed again as she fell into sleep.

He kissed her temple and nose, twirling his fingers through her hair. It was just as soothing for him as it probably was for her.

Wukong was glad the tiger had been able to survive him. He couldn’t wait to gift his pelt to her when he was finished with him.

If Macaque didn’t kill him after all.

[maramahan]

Sometimes I think about that book I read as a kid where the protagonist figured out the secret to human photosynthesis (by eating a ton of iron-rich food (like liver (which he hated))) thus turning himself into a plantsim & effectively solving world hunger But then the government shut him down because if nobody needed to eat food anymore the economy would utterly collapse and. there’s no point to this post. sometimes I just Think About It

[lickthehilt]

Yandere! Blade x Reader Drabble

T/W: violence and toxic relationships. Choking. Death (brief). Allusions to body horror. Not edited 💀

There’s a stillness to Blade as he watches you bleed out under him. Your blood is liquid sugar, nectar bled by fruit cultivated by years upon years of tenderness. He finds himself knelt above your body, cradling your head between one gloved and one bandaged hand—the bandages soaking up the blood pooling from your nose.

“Will you run for me?”

An irritated flicker gleams in your eyes, a wet sheen gathering to the corner where it cascades down your cheek. When it mixes with your blood, it turns to a pale pink that looks similar to the gradient of the tassel hanging by his coat.

“Not… today. No more,” you wheeze.

A finger twitches from where your hand is splayed, palm upwards, beside you. Leaning back he hums in a low grumble.

His gaze is sharp as it trails down your beaten body. You can’t see clearly through your wet gaze, but you can feel his finger tips dance across the flower-like bruises and cuts that had been made by the thrashing of his nails from your earlier tussle. You would rather be trapped in the prison cell of a panopticon than be subjected to his surveillance, his wonder and curiosity.

Underneath him, his touches, your body stitches itself back together. Your cells rejoin in waves, weaving together as if someone had sewn ladder stitches to every single open wound and had just pulled the sting taunt. Your streams of blood runs dry. Your chest heaves with air. Your eyes can focus on him once more.

He has your hands in his, roughened arms bringing them to his body. Your limbs are slack as he presses your palm against his chest; beneath your fingertips his heart races like the beat of show horses galloping against dry soil.

Your palm is now on his throat as he helps you to squeeze your fingers. His fingers press yours to dig into his flesh.

“Choke me.”

Finding your nerves, you clench. His skin is tough, but your grip is firm as you leverage your nails to anchor itself into him. Fighting against gravity, you roll to have the upper hand, to now pin him to the floor as he had done to you. A flush of anger pools at your ears, the blood dancing in your veins as you squeeze tighter and tighter.

“I wish to turn myself into liquid.” He gasps as he pulls his hand to cradle your wrist. “To enter your body.” There’s a sting of saliva dripping past his lips. His eyes shake in focus as he continues to look, to gaze. He looks at you as if you were death, eyes round. There’s a fantasy passing though his mind that you could bring him this salvation, be the one to bring him to- to- “if I were liquid— I would eat away at your lung to replace it, would train myself— augh— to become solid so you could no longer breathe without me.”

His free hand slaps gently at your waist, holding it in a tender grip. “Would you like me— hng— to be your rib instead? To be a bone that you could live without? But for me to be removed from your system— it would— ah— change you. The soreness— your body would be different.” There’s a pain at your waist as he squeezes. “When you press to where I once was— ugh— all you would feel— is the impression of me— where we were once— joined.”

The seconds seem to creep by as your grip shakes. A grin is at his lips as he watches your tender cheeks get coated in the salty liquid of your tears. It’s a chore to slam him to the ground, so you settle at bringing your body weight forward.

He gurgles and you imagine his veins popping under the lack of air flow, the rush of warm liquid pooling from his lips. They’d drip into your fingers and coat them in a glove of crimson. But you’d stare at him in envy, that the fact that death would be successful at cradling him. But that isn’t the case. It never is with the two of you.

He no longer looks at you as his eyes roll backwards and his body slackens. He speaks bullshit to you.

Your head swims in warmth as you slowly release him, eyes watering and the nerves of your fingertips buzzing. When your head meets his chest, you can hear his body stitching itself to work once more. It’s like clockwork hearing his heart start up as his popped lungs gather itself. When he takes his first breath, the sound of Kafka’s heels echo through your ears and entrances you to dream.

Tucked into each other like lovers is how Kafka finds the two of you.

[evilasiangenius]

He didn't so much hear Armand come in as he felt Armand come in. Like a moment of nullity moving through the room, a presence that was not a presence. A ghost.

“Daniel...” Armand sat down on the bed, his weight depressing the mattress lightly.

“No...go away.” Daniel tried to turn away but he was sweating and shivering, too cold, too hot.

“It's all right, Daniel. I'm here.” Armand shifted, bringing his legs up and lying down beside Daniel, moving into Daniel's arms. “I'm here.”

“You feel good.” Daniel pressed his cheek against Armand's cool forehead, sighing. He wrapped his arms tight around Armand and it was as though he could feel the heat melt away from him, soaking into Armand.

“My poor Daniel.” Armand stroked Daniel's pale hair. Daniel had only the faintest roughness of stubble clinging to his jaw, and his mussed hair had been cut and clipped in a slick modern style that suited him. Even his ruined clothes were new. That man had taken good care of him.

Daniel shifted, so he could move closer to Armand, so he could press his entire body against Armand. The fever was burning up inside Daniel, and Armand felt the twinge of that old fear, the fear of sickness and the death it brought. So often over the years he had seen Daniel shrug off coughs and chills that it had made him wonder at the strength of these modern mortals.

Death. His fingers brushed through Daniel's hair and Daniel sighed, turning so Armand's hand moved against his cheek. Just hiding under the skin, just beyond the bones. He wondered if he pressed his ear to Daniel's chest, if he could hear the little cells inside of him slowly dying, bursting and floating away.

“I won't let you.” Armand kissed his eyelids, speaking so softly that it was more for his own sake than Daniel's. “Not right now.” And he made that little cut on his throat and guided Daniel to to it. Daniel's dry lips moved against him, at first sluggish, but then he caught the taste of it and his mouth moved hungry.

more

[mochi-kitty]

I wish they talked about this more

That’s all.. (except the tags lol)

[jusst-you-race]

14 with lestappen? :>

is it angst if it's just two petty bitches being annoying? idk... hope you like this lovely!!! from this angst prompt list

"I'm not going to hurt you"

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“That wasn’t the deal.” Charles knows he’s whining but he’d invited Max to his room with a plan and now Max wasn’t agreeing. 

“I’m not going to let you use me as some fucked up type of self harm.” Max has his arms firmly crossed. He’s looking at Charles with something that borders on pity and it makes Charles feel prickly.

“But I want it.”

“No.”

“Max, come on. I know you got off on spanking me last week.” He’s desperate now, hoping the reminder will be what finally makes Max cave. 

“This is different.” 

Charles throws the riding crop down petulantly. 

“Don’t you want me?” His voice comes out shrill, bordering on desperate. 

Max throws his hands up in frustration. 

“Of course I want you, Charles.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just know this isn’t what you really want.” 

Charles pouts, petulantly. There’s a persistent itch under his skin, a lingering guilt from a poor weekend, and he just wants to get rid of it. Normally sex with Max helps. He’s annoyed that he’s clearly not getting that tonight. 

“I do want this,” he waves at the riding crop. “I want it to hurt.” 

Max raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Do you want it to hurt? Or do you just think you deserve to be hurt?”

Charles opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. He glares at Max then stomps over to the bed and throws himself onto it. He hears Max sigh and then the corner of the bed sinks down under Max’s weight. 

“If you aren’t going to fuck me, then fuck off.” 

Max stands up. 

“Fine. If you are going to be childish then I will,” Max replies. 

Charles blindly pulls the finger, arm twisted around behind his back. He listens to Max stomp across the room, muttering under his breath aggressively. The door opens and then Max deliberately slams it closed behind him. 

Charles screams into his pillow. 

[circusfable]

Please read the tags for full content warnings. Y’all knew it was only a matter of time before I started cutting up poor Siffrin 🤭

[noirandchocolate]

Y’know, it’s always frustrating in a fandom when a regular ol’ fan makes a claim or states a theory and couches it in terms of “the creators meant this” or “the creator said this,” providing zero actual evidence of the creator saying or meaning “this,” and then thereafter other fans who’ve read the post or heard about it through the grapevine just assume that yes, this interpretation is canon, because “the creator said so” or “the creator obviously meant it.”

This can of course also happen without the original poster making a definite claim the creator did something; they can even say, “I think the creator meant this,” and if enough people read and think “oh hey that makes sense” about the post, later on there will still be people who act like it’s not just a fan-theory, it’s canon somehow.

Frustrating when you don’t share what is essentially a headcanon that’s risen to prominence. (Especially when the creator has actually, provably said the exact opposite thing.) But really, it’s frustrating regardless, because like…nobody asks for evidence? Not “what is there in canon that supports this theory” but “upon what extrinsic proof are you basing your claim that ‘the creator said/meant’.”

Plenty of neat fan-theories and headcanons have some support in canon. But if you’re gonna say “this IS CANON because THE CREATOR SAID/MEANT,” you’ve got to do more than just say that!

(Except, I guess you don’t. Because people will just learn to parrot you without evidence anyway.)

[not-poignant]

Hi! I am usually a lurker, but I have been following you for about a year or so (found from r/MM_Romance AO3 recs search) and my first read was Deeper into the Woods. -- Do you have any recommendations for "realistic" portrayals of sadists? (AO3 stories or MM romance but also open to non-fiction recs/other) -- I do not have any real-life experience with people who identify as sadists or the kink community in general, so I wonder how exaggerated the fiction is sometimes. Thank you for your time!

Hi anon!

I'm going to rec two of my own fics - Spoils of the Spoiled (especially tracing a young sadist who has to figure out where the lines are between reality and fiction in his own life), and Falling Falling Stars (which depicts an experienced genuine sadist who is quite frank/open about talking about it and is comfortable in himself about it).

You probably have a lot more experience with real life sadists than you know, since most of us are just regular people! (And quite a few of us are also masochists as well). Honestly it's possible to see people with sadistic tendencies in every walk of life. From massage therapists who enjoy working the knots out of their clients (including the 'good pain' it results in), to the professional manufacturers of boutique hot sauce, who like nothing more than watching someone suffer through what they created.

(And same with masochists - you need only look at the people who enjoy that hot sauce and the pain it causes them, lmao.)

You might also like the published m/m romance series by Lisa Henry and JA Rock known as the 'Boy series.' It starts with The Good Boy and the sequel is The Boy Who Belonged. It is, imho, a great and realistic depiction of an experienced sadist and a newbie masochist, as well as a trauma recovery story with an age gap, which realistically addresses the age gap, the sadism, lateral ways of being sadistic with someone who finds impact play triggery, and more. For me it's still one of the gold star versions of published m/m which shows the perspective of both characters, so we get to see what they're both thinking, and - imho - it's pretty realistic!

I'm also gonna rec one of my fanfics, The Beast that Chose Its Own Bridle, since a lot of the chapters are from the sadist's perspective, and while the setting is fantasy, the actual thought processes behind setting up scenes, the intention, riding the line between too much hurt and the right amount, what kind of pain is sexy and what isn't, etc. is - I feel - quite realistic. It's one of the things that fellow sadists have praised my work for (that the sadists feel like real sadists, and not just wish fulfillment sadists, who are otherwise apologetic for enjoying someone's pain), and while I still have a lot to learn re: writing in general, it's one of the reasons I write what I do!

[npdvelvette]

they need a dating app for cluster bs because how do i prewarn people who swipe me for looking nice that i’m actually fucked in the head

[a-storytellers-wish]

If wishing on a star and said star would come down to help me with my wish is real, god damn I wish I had a star buddy helping me with my schoolwork.

[nexstage]

Out of the equation AU

Vanished

Trigger Warning: Murder, kidnapping, sexual trafficking, sexual assault, and rape.

Forget the other AU prompts, this is the darkest I’ve written.

Inspired by ‘Hold them down’ from Epic: The Musical that’s why there are warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~

[Bill has managed to escape death and traveled in time to stop Stanley from ruining Weirdmaggedon. He and the Henchmaniac have managed to possess different people without raising too much suspicion and journeyed to Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey.

It is a cold night. Stan and Ford are twelve.

Bill and the others discover Stan with the ‘Extra Stan’ sign he has been punished to carry outside the house for the -F of the history test. Keyhole prepares a gun he had stolen to kill Stan but Bill stops him.]

“No one will know.” Keyhole argues.

“Keyhole, buddy, I think you have gotten a bit hasty with revenge. A quick death is just that. Quick, painless, surprising. One moment he’s breathing, the next one he’s gone. I didn’t get myself out of the trap of that lesser being just to give him a free exit from my reign in a silver plater. True revenge is slow, painful, hellish and maddening. Wanna know how?”

“We’ll screw this humiliation, let’s not waste more hours

We must get him first if we want all the power

This is our biggest challenge, no more delays

Or else Fez will ruin our fun again

This is how we

Put him down and he won’t get stronger

[He showed them a trash bag.]

Put him down with all our rage

[Pyronica smiles sadistically, twirling a razor. Bill grins back.]

Put him down if he dares to get bolder

[Xanthar crack his knuckles nodding.]

That is the price for provoking our hate

Here and now, this is the time for action

Here and now, for complete control

Here and now, burn Fez down to ashes

Extinguish the fire inside his soul”

[The Henchmaniac get excited and listen attentively. Bill points dismissively to a sniffing Stanley as he trembles from the cold, still outside with the sign.]

“No one would care if he goes missing

His father ain’t want him around

So I say we make everyone a favor

and get rid of this pest once and for all

We’ll wait for the others to be distracted

[Kryptos gives the sign using a flashlight.]

Some of you, make the street silent as a mouse

[Hectogorn, 8-Ball, and Pyronica invade various houses close to the Pines residence and massacre the people inside to not leave witnesses, they also get rid of any passerby walking in the streets.]

Then when we approach Fez all smiley and friendly

[Bill lowers Stan’s guard by saying he’s worth much more than 3 dollars and suddenly, grabs him by the neck roughly.]

We’ll put him inside a bag and take him out of town then

[He and Kryptos put him on the bag before he could scream. Amorphous Shape drives quickly to pick them up and the whole group escapes.]

Hold him down until he stops shaking

[Xanthar leaves bruises on Stan’s arms and growls menacingly at him.]

Put him down with a knife on his throat

[Pyronica silently threatens him placing the razor close to his yugular.]

Break Fez’s will, trust, and faith,

and let him be swallowed by the wolves

In a hole where the beasts live in

Here and now where there is no sun

[Months after the kidnapping, Bill makes a deal with human traffickers and they take Stanley, sending him to a sordid, brutal brothel that also sells drugs.]

No family or rescue will save him

And everyone will have the spoils.”

[Caryn, Shermie, and Ford search for Stan desperately after kicking Filbrick out of the house for his part on Stan being gone. Meanwhile, Stan endures as he can the constant abuse and threats; he tried to escape multiple times but his fear of being killed and not seeing his family again makes him stop.]

“And when the fighting’s done

And he has lost all hope

Letting the beasts to break his bones

Letting them all to consume him and much worse

[Stan slowly grows numb, depressed, and scarred. The only thing keeping him sane is the memories of his family, mainly of Ford.]

And then they’ll

Hold him down, no doors to stop them

Taste him now, up and down

Every inch of his body will be broken

Tainted and twisted just like his soul

[Sometimes is submissiveness, sometimes is fighting, other times is pleading or negotiating but old and new people keep leaving marks on Stan. He feels disgusted.]

This is how we will take action (will take action)

This is how we will have control (will have control)

Here and now, burn him down to ashes

Extinguish the fire inside his soul

And

Hold him down!

Hold him down!!

Hold him down!!!

This is how we’ll have complete control!

[Bill and his friends celebrate. Now all Bill has to do is steer Ford’s path to Gravity Falls, manipulate him to build the portal, and Weirdmaggedon will be a success!]