#all the fish were made into stickers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckret2 · 2 hours

Text

Chapter 69 (lol) of human Bill Cipher being a prisoner with terrible fashion sense: beach episode!!! Well, lake episode. Close enough.

And a few other people come to town.

Just after dawn, a sleek, nondescript black government SUV, now dusty from a long drive, parked in front of the Gravity Falls Police Department. Three agents in sleek, nondescript black suits stepped out.

As they left the car, Blubs came out to meet them, Durland trailing behind him. "Agent Powers, Agent Trigger! Good to see you again." He shook Powers's hand, then glanced at the new agent. "And you are...?"

"Agent Dale!" The rookie shook Blubs's hand next, beaming. "Very pleased to meet you. I was just saying in the car—you have a beautiful town here, just beautiful."

"Wouldn't stop talking about it," Trigger muttered.

Blubs chuckled. "Why, thank you. We're quite proud of it ourselves."

Durland said, "Say, Agent Dale—don't you agents usually have tougher-sounding codenames?"

"Agent Clyde S. Dale. Like the horse."

"Ohhh. Yup, that'll do it."

"Sheriff Blubs," Powers said. "I trust you have the requested materials?"

"Right inside," Blubs said. "We've got the readings on last week's gravity anomaly from McGucket's scanners, and reports on this weekend's power surge."

"No overlap between the incidents?"

"None anyone here detected."

"Hmm. Has anything else strange happened since we were last in town?"

Blubs hesitated. "Well—never mind all that." He quickly shifted topics, "Say, I like your 'honk if you want to be arrested' bumper sticker." ("Oh is that what it says?" Durland asked.)

Agent Powers said solemnly, "I can get you the contact information of the shop where I bought it. It's a very nice small business run by art students."

"Would you? That'd be delightful."

Powers paused before following the cops and his agents into the police department, glancing out at Gravity Falls' town square—the modest little main street shops, the town hall, the statue of the town founder, the distinctive water tower with the faded muffin graffiti, and the familiar mountains surrounding the little valley town.

And then he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he muttered grumpily, glaring at the town as though it were an old rival as annoyed to see him as he was to see it. "Let's just get this over with."

He followed Blubs into the police department.

####

"Attention, everybody," Stan said, standing in the entryway with his fists on his hips, Soos beaming behind him. "I've got some great news!"

Abuelita and Bill glanced up from one of Abuelita's soap operas; Mabel and Dipper craned their necks to see Stan from where they were having dinner at the kitchen table.

Stan announced, "It's finally time!"

Dipper and Mabel blinked. Bill said, "Great. I'll get the ritual daggers, you can set up the blood red candles. Dolores?"

Abuelita said, "I will put out the good sacrifice altar." Bill laughed in delight.

"Yeah, yuck it up, you two," Stan said. "We're going fishing tomorrow! I've got the bait, I found everyone's rods, Soos and I patched up the old boat, I even—" He paused at the sound of the vending machine opening. "Hey! Ford!"

Ford ducked in from the gift shop. "What?"

Stan chucked a hat at him. "I made you a fishing buddy hat! See, it's got your name! That's pretty good!"

"Oh." Ford inspected the letters haphazardly stitched onto the hat. "Why?"

"Fishing tomorrow! Half the summer's gone by, and we haven't gone fishing once! The guys from the lodge probably think I'm too ashamed to show my face. But it rained this weekend, the weather's just cleared up, now's the perfect time for fishing!"

"Oh," Ford said again, trying to drag his thoughts from magical tapes to fishing. "If you'd let me know earlier, I'd have built another fish-summoning beacon like the one on our boat." (Bill glanced curiously at Ford at the mention of an invention he didn't already know about; then stubbornly refused to be interested and dragged his gaze back to the TV.)

"No beacons! This isn't fishing for survival, this is about the sport! Asserting our manhood! Just the skill, strength, and patience of three men—and some women and children—against the lake!" (Soos beamed at being included amongst the men.)

Ford considered that. He didn't assert his manhood very often; usually he just sort of let his manhood hang around minding its own business, like an old cat that wants to be in the same room as you without socializing. It sounded like an intriguingly novel experience. "Okay, great. What time?"

"I want everyone on the road tomorrow morning! By six thirty at the latest."

The kids groaned.

"C'mon, dudes," Soos said encouragingly. "It'll be fun! After about three hours, once you're awake enough to think."

"No griping, we've gotta be there early to get a prime fishing spot," Stan said. "Tomorrow's a lodge fishing day. We're going home with a haul so big they'll be embarrassed they kicked me out!"

Dipper asked, "You mean the lodge for the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, right? Why'd they kick you out?"

Stan sighed, "Once the town found out about Ford, they realized I'd spent the last thirty years attending lodge meetings under his membership. Since I'd never undergone the—" He rolled his eyes and made finger quotes, "'sacred angler initiation rites,' they booted me. And they said I can't try to join again, just because of that one dumb little white lie! And my extensive criminal record."

Ford hurriedly crossed the living room to avoid blocking Abuelita's TV view. (Bill looked through him like he wasn't there.) "Stan got a lot more out of my membership than I did—once I'd finished my initiation I probably only ever attended three meetings. I tried to petition the Mackerels to let him rejoin."

"How'd they respond?" Mabel asked.

"They kicked me out too."

Bill scoffed. "Big deal! The Fishmasons and all their subordinate organizations are just a big boring social club that got you hotel discounts three hundred years ago. The mystique around them is more interesting than anything they actually do."

"Figuring that out is why I stopped attending after three meetings," Ford said. "I joined to learn about the dark secret underbelly of Western politics—not sit around eating charcuterie and fancy nuts while everyone talks about baseball and makes fun of me for not knowing what a fly ball is. It's a stupid term! Doesn't the ball always fly?"

"Really, they aren't even worth joining," said Bill Cipher, the only person to have ever been kicked out of seventeen separate Masonic lodges in seventeen separate bodies.

Reminded of the fancy nuts he was missing out on at this very second, Stan set his jaw in determination. "Yeah, well, they're a big boring social club that'll rue the day they kicked out Stan Pines! Out the door, six thirty, on the dot!"

"I don't have an alarm," Bill said. "Hey star girl, wake me at five."

Mabel shuddered at the thought of setting an alarm that early. "No way. You can borrow my radio."

"Hold on, I didn't say you're invited," Stan said. "We've already got a full boat! Me, my brother, the kids, and Soos and his girl. Nobody wants to sit on the lake with you for eight hours."

"I wanna sit on the lake with Bill!"

"Nobody but Mabel wants that."

"Relax! I don't want to sit on a boat with you underpainted clowns either," Bill said. "I just want to sit on the beach! I miss sunlight! Sunlight without being forced to hike through half the valley on no food or sleep."

(Ford decided that was his cue to make himself scarce. He scooted into the guest room.)

"Well," Stan said, "we're not staying thirty feet from the shore, we're not leaving anybody behind, and we don't trust you to stay put on the beach without your dumb magic bracelet—so how do you expect that to work."

"I'll just stay with Dolores."

Stan and Soos stared at Abuelita. Soos said, "Abuelita? Do you want to come?"

Abuelita considered it. "Sure. The weather is nice. I can catch up on my reading."

"Yes!" Bill hopped off the couch. "Then it's a plan!"

"Hey, hold on," Stan said as Bill breezed past him, "I didn't agree to—"

"Hey star girl!" Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Need your fashion services! I need a swimsuit before tomorrow."

Mabel gasped in delight. "What kind?"

"Whatever exposes the most skin without getting me arrested. I'm absorbing as much sunlight as possible."

"With sunscreen, right?" Soos said.

Bill turned and gave him a blank-faced stare.

Soos hopefully repeated, "With sunscreen?"

"Don't need it."

"You totally do, dude. Not many people talk about this? But having more melanin doesn't totally protect you from sun damage, it just slows it down," Soos said. "Trust me on this. When I was like eight, I went to this water park—

"Uh-huh, and three days later you were peeling off flakes of your own dead flesh," Bill said. "It's cute how you think you know more about humans from 23 years of passively being one than I do from 500,000 years of actively studying them."

"Oh."

"C'mon, star girl! No time to waste!" Bill grabbed Mabel's hand and tugged her off her chair.

"Wait, my sandwich—!" Mabel grabbed the rest of her dinner off her plate and shoved it in her mouth as Bill dragged her upstairs.

Abuelita shot him a dirty look as he passed, but turned back to her soap opera.

####

Just past five in the morning, Bill crept by the guest room door. He glanced through the wall as he passed; good, both of the Stans were in bed and sound asleep. Bill wouldn't have had a chance to get up to his mischief if Ford had decided to sleep downstairs.

He snuck behind the vending machine; paused to squint toward the future and confirm that when he looked at the stairs, he could only see himself using them anytime soon; then down to the elevator; and down, down to Ford's study.

Bill sighed in relief when the elevator slid open and he saw that Ford had left his study door ajar. He crept into the room, feet socked, hands gloved—Ford was the kind of paranoid to actually check for prints if he suspected anything, and Bill's triangular whorls were very distinctive—and looked through the objects piled on the shelves and furniture for any concealed sensors or cameras. The coast was clear.

He idly scanned the nearby shelves for any sign of his stolen time tape, didn't find it, but didn't expect to. That wasn't what he was here for.

He knelt in front of a half-disassembled filing cabinet, flipped through the files in the removed bottom drawer until he found several folders together about curses and hexes, and flipped through them until he found the one labeled "Curses & Hexes (w/ ingredients)". Good old Sixer, left everything exactly where Bill remembered it.

He rifled through the pages—"aha!"—until he found the paper he was looking for and pulled it out. Handwritten at the top of a ragged-edged piece of notebook paper were the words "Reverse Sunscreen". Bill read through the list of ingredients—"Oh, pepper juice, not pepper flakes, right."—then put the paper back.

He glanced back and forth between the past and present to ensure he put the files back exactly where he'd found them—again, considering Ford's paranoia, he might notice any difference.

And then he returned to the elevator and headed upstairs.

The whole time he was in the study, Bill didn't let himself glance at the back of the room where Ford's shrine to him used to be.

####

"Heya, pal," Bill said. "It's been a while! Where have you been hiding all summer?"

Gompers blinked up at Bill.

"I guess we both look different than we did the last time we met, huh? I think your makeover went better than mine, though! You didn't fall as far as I did." He didn't have as far to fall.

Gompers accepted the backhanded compliment with utter indifference.

"But hey, why talk about the past! Let's let bygones be bygones. Here." Bill knelt, pulled one of Ford's nutrition pills from the folds of his beach towel, and held it out. "A peace offering! A little snack for you."

Gompers eyed it warily.

"Come on, you've eaten worse things than this."

He delicately ate the pill out of Bill's hand.

"Thaaat's right. Tell me how you like that thing later."

Leaning on his car, Stan—the only other person who'd actually been ready to go at 6:30—looked over Bill's shirt and trout slippers, and asked warily, "You didn't forget that humans need to wear pants, right?"

Bill got to his feet, shoved his makeshift umbrella-cane under the same arm as his beach towel, and pulled up the hem of the puma shirt he'd stolen from the gift shop to reveal his bikini bottom. It was teal with little puffy gold triangles painted on. "Cover-up dress. Your arbitrary fashion rules are different for beaches."

Stan considered whether a t-shirt counted as a dress, decided he didn't know enough about dresses and he might as well give this one to Bill, and grunted. "Fine, you're legal."

"Am I free to go, officer?"

"Never compare me to a cop again."

"Stop acting like one!" Bill trotted off to his ride to wait for the other humans to assemble.

There wasn't room for all eight beachgoers in one vehicle; the Pines piled together in Stan's car, while the Ramirezes (including Melody—honorary future Ramirez—and Bill—magic braceleted to Abuelita) took Soos's truck. So that Abuelita didn't have to squeeze past the front seats into the back, Bill and Melody were assigned the back bench; when Bill greeted Melody and she only responded with a vague mumble and an averted gaze, he scooted closer to the middle of the bench, spread his knees to take up more space, and smugly pretended not to notice how Melody squeezed herself against the door.

By the time the Ramirez vehicle parked at the beach, the Pines family was already out of their car: Stan was glaring up the beach with his fists on his hips, the kids were unsuccessfully searching Mabel's supply bag for Dipper's sunscreen, and Ford was lingering back at the car, pretending to check the contents of their tackle box but actually trying to shake the sudden memory of weightlessness and water in his throat. As Bill passed, Ford muttered, "I'm surprised you wanted to get this close to the lake so soon. Considering." It had been less than a week since their joint near death experience.

"Why not? Nearly drowning was the most fun part of that hike." (Ford wondered whether that was a red flag, an underhanded comment about how unfun the rest of the hike had been, or just Bill being Bill; and, for his own peace of mind, decided it was probably the third thing.) "Looks like you got something fun out of the trip, too." Bill snapped the shoulder strap of Ford's waders.

Ford shoved Bill's hand away. "As long as I have them, I might as well use them."

When everyone caught up with Stan, he was scowling at four men, ages ranging from 50 to 80, wearing fishing vests and hats with the Holy Mackerel's distinctive stylized fish symbol. "Eugene," Stan muttered. "Eugene and his goons wanted to kick me out of the lodge for years. Just because I have a grating personality and am generally unpleasant to be around! And tried to get the lodge to pick a local affordable housing fund as our charity for fundraising one year!"

Ford gave Stan a surprised look. "You never mentioned you worked with an affordable housing charity."

"Yeah. The Compassionate Angel's Fund For Gravity Falls Tourism Business Owners Who Are Behind On Their Mortgage Payments."

Ford snorted.

Bill said, "I think you should've gotten away with it just for being funny."

"Don't even look at them," Stan instructed the group. "These jerks aren't worth it." The collected group studiously avoided looking at the Mackerels, except Bill and Abuelita, who didn't care.

As they walked up the beach toward the pier and veered around the Mackerels, Stan suddenly stopped, turned straight toward them, and said loudly, "Why, Eugene! What a coincidence! I almost didn't notice you!"

A tall, elderly man with a fishing rod over one shoulder and a black wooden cane in his other hand glanced over at the Pines/Ramirez party. "Oh," he said, with a voice like he'd found a fly stuck in gum on his cane. "Hello, Stan-ley. We haven't seen you out on the lake this summer."

Stan laughed loudly, as if Eugene had told a hilarious joke. "Oh, that! I was just waiting for perfect fishing weather! I'mnot about to waste my time out on the lake on a bad fishing day!" He gestured behind himself, "Besides, I had to wait until my whole family was free to come along."

(Soos elbowed Melody and whispered excitedly, "He called us his family!")

Stan clapped his hands proudly on Dipper and Mabel's shoulders—who looked like they hoped the sandy beach would swallow them whole—and said, "I don't see your family, Eugene, where are they?"

"Dead." With mournful dignity, Eugene said, "I outlived my wife and all three of my children. Remember? You ate potato chips during my daughter's funeral."

Stan opened his mouth, shut it, and said, "Was that the really boring one that went like an hour?"

Ford, who didn't always have the best social instincts but could tell when Stan had screwed up, started shooing the rest of the family away from the scene, elbowed Stan, and said, "Let's get to the boat. You wanted to get a prime fishing spot, right?"

Eugene looked at Ford. "Ah. You must be the real Stanford Pines?" he said. "So I'm assuming, anyway. Apparently it's hard to tell you two apart."

Stan scowled; but before he could retort, Bill pushed past him to butt into the conversation. "Is it ever! Listen, take it from someone who's made this mistake—you've got to count the fingers on these two, every time."

Eugene huffed sardonically. "So it seems." (Ford self-consciously hid his hands in his pockets and shot Bill a dark look as he shuffled off with the rest of the family.)

"Say, while I've got your attention—name's Goldie, by the way—I couldn't help but admire your cane!" He tapped the tip of his umbrella against Eugene's cane. "I'm in the market for an upgrade from this substitute I've been using! That's no blackwood, right? That looks like true ebony."

"Good eye," Eugene said, surprised. "Yes, genuine Gaboon ebony."

"Must've dropped a lot of gold on this thing," Bill said appreciatively. "You've gotta tell me where you got it."

"I'm afraid I don't remember off the top of my head..."

"That's fine! Look it up—" (he twisted around to speak over his shoulder as Stan grabbed his arm and dragged him away) "—I'm sure we'll meet again!"

About fifteen feet away, Stan growled, "What was that?"

"Networking. I've got plans for that guy," Bill said. "Hey, did you hear him? Gaboon ebony?" He laughed condescendingly. "Easiest way to make a guy look like a moron, start talking about 'true' ebonies. Didja know the word 'ebony' comes from Egyptian? And when they talked about 𓍁𓈖𓏭𓆱, they were talking about African blackwood. Wood so hard it sinks and you have to tool it like a metal! Gaboon ebony is a flimsy usurper!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"But you don't pretend you do, and that's what makes you better than that guy." Bill tugged Stan down by the shoulder. "Listen, Fisherman. I can't tell you where the fish are biting but I can tell you where they're swimming. It'll give you an advantage, but you'll need to do the rest."

Stan squinted mistrustfully at Bill. "What's the catch."

"The catch is you have to accept my help. Do you want it or not?"

"And why are you offering?"

"Because I think these lodge guys are a bunch of snobs. And they should've chosen your charity. It was funny."

That, plus Stan had been the most reluctant to let Bill live; Bill had to convince him he'd made the right choice.

Bill gave Stan directions to a bunch of fish he could see underwater by the Island Head Beast's right earhole; and then, his good deed for the day done, he headed off to claim a spot on the beach.

Ford had gone into Tate & Backle's to properly purchase the clothing they'd borrowed after the eclipse, and Soos was helping set Abuelita up with a low beach chair and a large umbrella. Bill smoothed out a patch of sand about ten feet from Abuelita so he could lay out his beach towel and dump his supplies for the day beside it. While Mabel and Melody got the boat ready, Dipper wandered around looking for sunscreen to borrow. He saw Bill's tube, snatched it without asking, and generously coated his arms, legs, and face. Bill fought back a grin and pretended not to notice.

He tossed aside his t-shirt and fish slippers, settled down on the towel in his bikini, carefully squeezed several horizontal lines of reverse sunscreen across the front of his abdomen and thighs, and drew a few vertical lines in between to break them up.

Ford trudged over from the bait shop to tell Bill, "I thought you'd like to know those ridiculous fish slippers were thirty dollars."

Bill laughed. "Whoa! Seems like a lot of money for some cheap novelty shoes! It's too bad you decided to trap me in a position where I'm too destitute and powerless to make my own purchases, isn't it?"

"All right, all right." Ford's gaze caught on the bruise-blue line discoloring the skin from Bill's left shoulder to his right hip—had he gotten injured during one of his hikes the past week? Or had that always been there? Ford didn't think he'd ever seen Bill's body shirtless, maybe it had always been here—but then he noticed Bill's lines of sunscreen and barked a laugh. "I suppose you're not planning to rub that in."

"Brilliant observation." Bill began smoothing down the lines with a finger, maintaining the pattern he'd drawn.

"You wanted to come out here to suntan? I'm sure you're already aware of the cancer risks from tanning."

"If I'm in this body long enough to get cancer, I'll welcome it." Bill lay down, laced his hands behind his head, and gave Ford an obnoxious smile. "Anyway, basal cell carcinomas are delicious. There's something kinda romantic about them, you know?"

Ford ruminated on that with thoughtful bafflement, shushed the voice in his head trying to point out that Bill was waving ever more red flags, and concluded that this was perhaps humans weren't meant to comprehend the romanticism of skin cancer. "Fine."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Stan asked, trudging up to Soos and Ford. "C'mon, we're burning daylight! Let's..." He trailed off, staring at Bill.

His bikini top consisted of two triangular red cups. Each cup had an enormous staring eye.

"See something ya like?" Bill asked dryly.

Stan quickly looked away. "Ugh. That's indecent."

"What is?"

"That—design!"

"What's indecent about eyeballs?"

"It looks like...!" He gestured vaguely but emphatically.

"What? What does it look like? Tell me what it looks like, Stanley."

"Never mind!" He turned away with a huff and muttered to Ford, "Can you believe him?"

"I honestly didn't notice anything until you pointed it out." Ford waved back at Bill dismissively as he followed Stan toward the boat. "Enjoy your sunburn."

"I will! I haven't had a good sunburn in centuries! That's one of the best features of earthling bodies!" Bill got comfortable and shut his eyes.

Soos finished getting Abuelita settled, headed toward the boat—but hesitated as he passed by Bill. Bill opened an eye a crack to glower up at him. "What?"

Soos mumbled, "You could've just told me you wanted to get sunburned. I mean—yesterday."

"But you didn't ask if I wanted a sunburn," Bill snapped. "You just assumed I didn't know how they work. And that's the point: you assumed I was stupid instead of considering that maybe you didn't know my plan."

"Oh. Uh... sorry." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

Bill's irritation flared higher. He sat up. "I didn't say you made me feel stupid," he hissed, voice low, talking fast. "There's nothing that you could do to make me feel stupid. But that doesn't mean you aren't treating me like I'm stupid, does it?"

"Whoa—!" Soos raised his hands defensively. "Chill, dawg. I didn't mean—"

"What's the phrase, do ut des? 'Do unto others'? Your species's phrase. Don't treat me like I'm stupider than you and I won't have to return the favor—sound like a fair deal, Question Mark?" Bill stared up at him challengingly, brows raised.

"But th— I w— You..." Soos's protests that he'd been doing nothing but trying to do-unto-others Bill got jumbled all around under the force of Bill's spotlight glare. His shoulders slumped. "Sure," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Good." Bill lay back down. "Get out of my sun."

Soos trudged away; and Bill took a deep breath, tried to get in a meditative mindset where he could shut off his mind, and focused on the feeling of sunshine on his body.

He'd just about managed to drop into a proper trance when Abuelita called sweetly, "Bill? Would you grab a bottle of water for me?"

His face twitched toward a frown as he was dragged back to full consciousness. Hadn't Soos left them close enough for her? Some grandson.

"Bill?"

He tried to think of an excuse to stay where he was; then growled in irritation and sat up. "Okay, okay." He couldn't afford to offend the chef with access to the poisons.

The bag with the water bottles was right behind Abuelita's elbow; but maybe her joints were stiff. Bill knelt to unzip the bag. "Another bodice ripper?" he asked, glancing at her book.

"A powerful sorceress queen has been captured by her enemies. She just learned they are led by her former apprentice."

"I can sympathize with that." Bill dragged the bag up next to Abuelita's knee so he wouldn't need to grab another bottle for her later. "Who's the love interest—guileless guard? Heroic rescuer?"

"The apprentice."

"Sympathy's gone." Bill glanced toward the boat to see what the rest of the household was up to.

They'd already reached the spot Bill had indicated and started fishing. Soos was excitedly reeling in his line; the boat listed to one side as everyone crowded around him to see what he'd brought up. Stan dipped a net in the water to scoop up his catch.

It was a boot.

Everyone's faces fell in disappointment.

Except for Ford's, who gleefully snatched up the boot he'd kicked off during the eclipse when he fell in the lake. He dumped the water out of his boot, switched places with Soos, and began fishing the same spot.

Abuelita said, "My grandson has been very nice to you."

Bill looked at her warily.

"Hasn't he?" She had a polite smile and daggers in her eyes.

He had the oddest feeling that this was going somewhere dangerous. "Yeah yeah yeah, sure he has," Bill said. "Nothing but nice. I think I'll take a little stroll, stretch these legs! See ya!" He stood to escape.

He only got a step away before the enchanted bracelet pulled tight around his wrist. He turned around to stare in amazement.

Abuelita had wrapped the slack of the bracelet thread around her hand.

Bill had made a severe miscalculation.

"So," Abuelita said. "Why are you being mean to my grandson." It was a trap all along. She'd agreed to be handcuffed to him so she could corner him for an interrogation.

"Whaaat," Bill said. "Me? No way! I'd never!"

Abuelita stared at him patiently.

"I don't even talk to him," Bill said, trying to think of a conversational escape route.

She raised a brow.

Got it. "He's just too nice, you see! I don't know how to talk to a guy that nice," he lied. "Makes things awkward!" How could any grandmother complain about her grandson being called too nice? "Yeah—not Jesús's fault at all. I don't hold it against him."

"Ah," Abuelita said, "you aren't used to people being nice to you?"

Sure, they could go with that, try to get him some pity. "Yeah! You know how it is. King of Nightmares, scourge of the multiverse—I'm not a popular guy."

"But you have friends, don't you? The scary ones you brought with you to town last year? Are they not nice to you?"

Bill hesitated, trying to figure out his story now. "Sure—they're nice to me. They're my friends! They love me! They'd do anything I say!"

"Oh. So, you're only comfortable with people being nice to you when you can control them." Abuelita smiled sweetly.

Swift, efficient, and brutal. Bill gaped at her.

"I'm glad you have nothing against Soos," she said. "And that you won't be rude to him."

Bill snapped his mouth shut. "Of course not." He gave Abuelita a tight smile. Played like a fiddle. Even though he'd been lying, she still managed to make him look like a loser. How embarrassing. "If you don't mind, I've got a sunburn to get back to."

"I'm not stopping you." She let the extra thread on the bracelet cuffs unwind from her hand and drop to the sand.

Bill trudged back to his towel, snapping as he went, "I hope this is one of those books you hate where the couple only gets hitched because they've got a baby coming."

"The sorceress has magical birth control."

"Course she does."

Bill flopped onto his towel again and stared at the sky. Ouch.

####

(I've been promising Agent Powers AND a beach episode for ages, and we finally get to them both at the same time. Let me know what y'all think so for!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

93 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 4 days

Text

I Know A Guy

The post office on this space station was close to the landing docks, nice and convenient, so several of us went to check our mail while Captain Sunlight met with the sister ship. Not all of the crew had mail drops set up, but I did; this station was a big hub that we stopped at with some regularity. Perfect for relaying the occasional news from home.

And care packages, as it turned out.

I opened the box with some curiosity, sitting on a bench while the others waited in line and the spaceport bustled around us. Inside I found multivitamins, a letter from my parents, a type of cereal that I’d loved as a kid, and a smaller box with a sun logo.

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Paint asked, trotting over with her own box clutched to her scaly orange chest.

“A lot of stuff,” I said in distraction, turning the sun box in search of words. No luck. I opened it to find a fist-sized yellow globe and a base with lots of buttons. And an instruction booklet, thankfully. “Oh, it’s a sun lamp!”

“It even looks like a little sun; how nice! Is it warm, or just bright?” Paint gave it an appreciative look while she opened her package.

“Not sure yet.” I skimmed the instructions and decided to leave that for later. “It’s thoughtful, though. I think my parents were concerned that I’m not getting enough Vitamin D up in space. And other vitamins.” I rattled the bottle.

“That’s a lot of vitamins.”

“Yup. And look, they found the discontinued cereal! I thought it was gone for good.” I carefully opened a corner and fished out a palmful of the maple syrup flavored crunchy goodness that I hadn’t had in years. It was just as tasty as I’d remembered.

Paint sniffed the air. “I don’t recognize that smell. What kind of food is it?”

“Breakfast food,” I said. “I think it’s wheat based, so it’s basically made from ground-up seeds, and flavored with sweet tree sap.”

“That’s … creative,” Paint said.

“Delicious, too. Most tree saps aren’t worth eating, but this one is.” I crunched another mouthful. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” was the prim answer that I’d fully expected. “But look what I got! Fancy heat stickers!” Paint held up a stack of vividly colored starburst shapes, fanned out like playing cards. “I’m going to see if Sunlight, Coals, and Eggskin want any.”

“Thoughtful of you,” I said, closing up the cereal. All four of the lizardy Heatseekers on our ship enjoyed warm things. The ambient temperature was always kept at a comfortable compromise for the various species onboard, but a handy little warm sticker that wouldn’t get in the way was bound to be appreciated.

“Oh, they’re even scented,” Paint said, rubbing one against her snout. “I’m going to have to order more of these.” She sorted through the stack, checking scents and color variations.

Mur and Zhee were still in line, stuck behind a Frillian who was shipping many things to many places, so I settled in to read the note from home while I waited. It was a nice update on the various goings-on of the extended family; all reasonably good news, nothing earth-shattering. Somebody got a scholarship, somebody had twins, somebody was doing well in a competitive bumper-ship derby league, and was incredibly excited about it. There was a lot of detail about that one. I got the impression that this particular second cousin had given everybody a rundown at a family gathering, so now they all knew more about the best types of shrapnel shielding than they probably wanted to. Sounded like the favorite was a human-made version, combining tech that other species had already come up with. The force field worked with the ship’s scanner to predict which parts of the shield would need the most power for a given impact. My cousin was a big fan.

The quiet slap of tentacles on the ground accompanied Mur. “Well that was a long wait,” he said. “But now I’m all set for media for the foreseeable future.” He held a data chip in one tentacle.

Zhee was right behind him, hissing in what sounded like joy instead of irritation for once. He set a box down between his bug feet, not waiting for a bench, and tore it open with his pincher arms. Inside was something that looked like another kind of data chip, and something with straps that I couldn’t begin to figure out.

“Excellent,” Zhee said. “The correct version, the highest quality, and Trrili does not get to listen to it, heathen that she is.”

It took me a second. “Oh, that’s music?” I thought back to the impassioned rant about Trrili’s incorrect opinions on traditional Mesmer leg-singing. I hoped Zhee played it quietly. “And is that — I want to say ‘headphones,’ but—”

“Personal speakers, yes,” Zhee said as he stuffed it all back in the box. “I will be able to listen to the glorious arias in privacy.”

Paint nodded. “Great idea.” She’d heard the leg-singing when I did, and probably wasn’t eager to hear the artful screeching again.

I was trying to guess whether Zhee would be offended if I asked where his ears were, since it occurred to me that I didn’t actually know. But the others were gathering up their things to head back to the ship, and I decided to put it off until later. Maybe I’d ask Eggskin the medic instead.

Something occurred to me as I put the letter back in the box. “Hey guys, pose for a second. I want to send my family a picture with some of my cool alien coworkers.”

The three of them agreed that they were awesome and worth photographing. (Their responses ranged from excited to confident to egotistical.) A few moments later, I had a fantastic group selfie to send with my letter back. Paint’s open-mouthed lizard smile was adorable; Mur stood tall on his blue-black tentacles; Zhee loomed over all of us with the lights shining off his purple exoskeleton; then there was me grinning in the front. I’d definitely be keeping a copy of this.

We made our way back to the ship where it was parked next to a similar lemon-shaped courier ship with folded solar sails. The two captains hadn’t gone inside yet, which made me wonder what they were discussing with such intense expressions.

As we approached, Captain Sunlight was saying, “I may know someone who can help us out, but I’d hate to give him the satisfaction.”

She broke off when Paint trotted up to give her a handful of heat stickers and to show off the blue-white one she herself was wearing. Apparently it smelled like a plant I’d never heard of.

“Thank you; that’s very thoughtful,” Captain Sunlight said. “Those sound like just the thing.” She picked out a green one and pasted it to her own chest, where it contrasted nicely with her yellow scales.

Zhee and Mur tromped into the ship. I lingered, curious. “Is all the ship business going all right?” I asked.

“For the moment,” the captain said as she stowed the rest of the stickers and the backing for that one in her belt pouch. “Just considering our options with some monetary considerations.”

Captain Kamm waved a tentacle. “Both ships are on the family plan for damage insurance, and the rates have made an unpleasant jump.”

I shifted the box to my other side. “Do we need to earn more money?”

“No, it will be all right.” Captain Sunlight shook her head. “I have a lead on a better deal. I just need to make a call or two.”

Captain Kamm ushered us all into our ship, wasting no time. Paint disappeared to share her heat stickers while the two captains adjourned to the lounge. I put my things away and hurried back. No one had told me to mind my own business, so I was going to listen in before writing a letter to send back home.

I was quick, but Captain Sunlight was quicker. She was just ending the holo call when I arrived. A green-scaled Heatseeker gazed earnestly from the projection, urging her to get back to him as soon as she could.

“If you can get better shields, I can promise you a savings of at least 15% compared to your current plan!”

“Yes, thank you,” Captain Sunlight said. “I’ll see what I can do. Say hi to the elders for me.”

He said he would, and she turned off the projection with another deep sigh. Captain Kamm sat next to her, weaving tentacles together thoughtfully.

Captain Sunlight tossed the communicator onto the table and sat back with folded arms. “Of course it couldn’t be that simple. He talks a good game at every gathering, but oh no: prerequisites.”

I sat down at the end of the couch, absently petting Telly who was curled up in the center. In proper cat fashion, she responded by stretching to take up even more space. I was thinking about what the captain had just said about shields.

I asked, “Does he need a certain kind in order to get us the better deal?”

Captain Sunlight waved a hand. “Just a higher degree of resistance to micrometeorites. The shielding we have is perfectly serviceable, but it’s apparently not enough for the good rates.”

“Would we need to overhaul everything, or would it be enough to layer another kind over what we have? Like, say, a kind that connects to the ship’s scanners?”

The captain gave me a look. “Do you have a specific type in mind?”

“Possibly,” I said. “Are you familiar with bumper-ship derbies?”

Captain Kamm twirled a tentacle. “That’s some of the human ‘adrenaline junkie’ nonsense, yes?”

“I think there are some Smashers and other races that really get into it as well, but yes,” I said. “The letter from home I just got mentioned the shielding they use.”

I explained what I knew while they listened intently. Paint came in to join us and sat on the other side of Telly, who took the extra attention as her due. By the time I was done talking, everyone in the room was looking optimistic.

“Go ahead and reach out,” Captain Sunlight said. “We don’t have to rush off anytime soon. With any luck, we can get all this settled at once.”

“Here’s hoping!” Captain Kamm said, touching four tentacle-tips together over her head in what looked like the Strongarm version of crossed fingers.

“I’ll see if I can route a call through to home now,” I said, getting up.

Telly meowed in protest at the movement, then crawled onto Paint’s lap and rubbed her head against the heat sticker, purring audibly. Paint looked delighted.

I left with a wave, hurrying off to my quarters with plans to make a phone call, potentially save the day, then set up the sun lamp for the benefit of a certain fuzzy little heat-lover as well as for my own sake.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

85 notes · View notes

rainylana · 1 year

Text

“Can’t sleep?”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: you and eddie can’t sleep.

warnings: mentions of postpartum, mentions of abuse and eddie’s dad, so much fluff it may kill you, mom reader! dad eddie!

When he couldn’t sleep, he watched his baby. Watched her breath, stir in her sleep and make little noises and huffs. He’d pull up an old rocking chair wayne had given him, sit there with a pillow behind his back, often falling asleep. Tonight was one of those nights.

Her nursery was rainbow themed, pinks and purples everywhere with big, white clouds. Her crib had stars painted on them and glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling. In the day time, the room was bright and colorful, but it was dark now, only the glow of the neon stickers above his head and a revolving fish nightlight on the nightstand across the room.

His eyes dropped closed, but he didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to miss a moment of watching his darling angel sleep. Little Joanna Munson.

Being a father had completely changed his life for the better, but it was also the scariest thing he’d ever had do to. He worried about so many more things, things he’d never had to worry about before. But the most overwhelmed thing so far was the love that he had in his heart. He didn’t think he’d love anything more in the world than you when the both of you met, but his heart grew another size when you gave birth to her, and he was absolutely, unconditionally in love with his baby, so much that it almost hurt.

It made him love you so much more, so grateful for giving him something so precious, something that was a part of him to live on. He was indebted to you, forever grateful. He worshipped you like a god, admired all the things your body could do. You struggled with postpartum a lot, something he tried his best to understand, helped as best as he could. He tried his best to take care of Joanna as much as he could, not that he minded it. She was only two months old, but he knew she was incredibly smart. She was already wrapping her tiny hand around his finger, pulling at his hair and staring at him with her big, brown eyes that she had gotten from him.

“Can’t sleep?”

He looked over his shoulder, smiling softly when he saw you. He shook his head, beckoning for you to come over. You did so, sitting on his lap and cuddling up to his chest, smiling at your baby in the crib. He leaned his head against yours, wrapping his arms around your body as he slowly rocked the chair. “What you doing up?” He asked quietly.

“Woke up and you were gone.” You yawned. “Knew you were in here. Has she stirred any?”

He shook his head. “Nah, she’s fast asleep.”

You closed your eyes, his soft breathing a lullaby for you, his body warm and comforting. Eddie still wouldn’t close his eyes, trained on the pink onesie and head of hair that he could see in the dark. Sometimes he cried when he watched her, he wouldn’t dare tell you that, but he did.

“I’m so in love with you.” Eddie squeezed you. “I can’t ever thank you enough for giving me this life. I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.” You said sleepily. “How many times do I have to say it? You deserve this, us.”

He kissed your forehead, his cheek against your ear. “I never thought I could love anything as much as I do her. It’s terrifying, loving someone so much.”

“I know.” You opened your eyes, finding your daughter in the dark. “It’s so overwhelming, isn’t it? Sometimes I think my heart is going to explode.”

He nodded in agreement, parting his lips in deep thought. That’s it exactly what it felt like. His heart was going to explode. “She’s so perfect, isn’t she? And so small.”

You chuckled, your feet curled up on his thigh. “Thank you. I take most of the credit for that.”

“Honey, you get all the credit.” He smirked. “She’s your exact replica. You can definitely tell she’s your baby.”

“She’s your baby, too, sweetheart.” You looked to him, cupping his cheek. “She may have my hair and my nose, but she’s got your eyes, and that is a telltale sign that she’s your baby.”

His heart warmed at your words, his cheeks blushing in the dark. “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?”

You smiled tiredly, grabbing his jaw with your fingers to pull his lips down to yours, giving him a sweet, delicate kiss. “You’re a wonderful father, Eddie.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “I’m terrified I’m gonna end up like my old man.”

“Eddie,” You sighed. “I promise you that’s not going to happen.”

It was his worst fear, a nightmare that he feared would eventually come true. He’d drive you away, raise a child that he’d beat and abuse, who would later grow up to hate him. He didn’t want his family to repeat the one he’d had before.

“Hey,” You noticed the swell of his eyes in the dark. “Eddie, look at me, baby.” You held his cheek. “You are not your father. You’re not going to be your father. You’ve got me and her to keep you steady, just like you keep me steady, right? We’re a team. You don’t let me fall, I don’t let you fall.”

He let a tear fall, nodding and whispering a choked yeah. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek as you held him tightly through the night.

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson drabbles

904 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

♡ Barbie Girl ♡ | AU!Joel Miller x f! Reader

A/N: this was such a fun lil idea to pursue and I love the idea of Joel wearing pink just cause he knows how happy it makes Sarah ♡

~word count: 1.5k~

Summary: Joel, Sarah and Tommy go to the Barbie movie opening weekend

Warnings: none, lots of fluff, Joel is a feminist icon, soft dad vibes, Joel is a girl dad himbo, he’ll do anything to make his kid happy, Sarah is an icon on her own, Tommy is Tommy of course but he’s so himbo too, AU that takes place in 2023, Joel is a progressive dad, Sarah loves him for it, little bit of flirting with Joel and the reader, no age gap, some spoilers for the Barbie movie! (+18 for language) minors dni.

July 2023, Austin Texas

Joel Miller never would consider himself to be a ‘girl dad’ as the younger generation would refer to him as. He had to literally look up what the word ‘DILF’ meant when Sarah told him one day after school that all of the moms thought he was attractive. He had Google on speed dial just so he could feel like he was ‘hip’ again. 36 years old and he felt older than ever. Sarah was a big help of course and steered her dad in the right direction political wise. Her dad was a good man of course, but nothing made her happier than when she had his full support as a young woman. Before the Barbie movie came out, Joel and Sarah spent every weekend volunteering at a local women’s shelter. The bumper of his truck was decorated with women-empowering stickers including a sticker that said, ‘Abortion is Healthcare’ and ‘Women’s Rights Are Human Rights.’ He didn’t stop there of course. He also had a BLM sticker, ‘Dismantle White Supremacy’, ‘Eat The Rich’ and he still had a Bernie sticker front and center.

The weekend that the Barbie movie came out, Joel had already pre ordered tickets for him, Sarah and Tommy as well who had multiple pink shirts for Joel to choose from. Sarah had insisted that they all had to wear pink and Joel would do just about anything to make his baby girl happy.

“Are ya sure your old man doesn’t look silly in this?” Joel gestured to his hot pink tee-shirt with a soft huff as he observed his appearance in the mirror.

“Dad, why do you think you look silly? Pink is totally your color!” Sarah responded with a genuine smile as she playfully placed the Barbie baseball cap on his mess of brown curls. “Do you or do you not feel Bonita?”

Joel stifled a chuckle, shaking his head as he fixed the cap on his head. “I feel Bonita.”

The drive to the movie theater consisted of listening to a Barbie inspired Spotify playlist off of Sarah’s phone. Joel and Tommy proudly knew every word to the Barbie Girl song of course. Once they arrived to the theater, Joel was awe-struck at the amount of people who were dressed in pink and he felt less self-conscious about his hot pink shirt when he saw numerous guys and dads wearing pink shirts as well.

At first he was confused when a group of women around his age said, “Hi Ken” to him and Tommy, and “Hi Barbie” to Sarah who immediately responded with a wave and, “Hi Barbie!” She gently nudged her dad with her elbow as he stood there blinking, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Dad, you gotta say hi Barbie! Back.”

“Oh. OH! Shit, sorry sweet pea.” He cleared his throat under his breath before he raised his hand with a sheepish smile. “Hi Barbie!” He was looking right at you out of all of your friends. You were dressed head to toe in pink and you mirrored the same sheepish smile that he did. Joel turned to his daughter afterwards, cheeks feeling inflamed. “Did I do alright? So, I say that everytime someone says hi Ken?”

“You did great, dad! Yeah, so everytime a Barbie says, ‘hi Ken!’ You say, ‘hi Barbie!’, and when a Ken says, ‘hi Ken!’ You say, ‘hi Ken!’”

“Yeah, brother. It ain’t that hard.” Tommy chimed in and wrapped his arm around Joel’s shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

“Shuddup Tommy.” Joel grumbled under his breath.

Your friends from your college days insisted that you join them to go see the new Barbie movie. At first you were against the idea until you read reviews and once you saw it was a movie that empowered women, you were all in. It was your idea in the end to dress head to toe in pink and you and your friends each had a comfort Barbie in your purses as well.

When you saw Joel Miller across the way looking confused as all hell when your friends said ‘hi Ken!’ You thought he was adorable for two reasons. One being he clearly was wearing pink to support his daughter and two, he looked proud of himself after saying ‘hi Barbie!’ To you and your friends.

“Now, that’s a real man if I’ve ever seen one!” Your one friend, Jessica excitedly whispered to the group as if she was back in her highschool days in the passing period hallways.

“Okay, but his brother? Jesus Christ, if I wasn’t married I would be all over that!” Avery chimed in with a giggle.

“How do you know that they’re brothers? They could be two dads taking their daughter to the movies.” You responded with a shrug as you pulled up the tickets on your phone.

“Nah, they look related and besides, the one with the baseball cap was looking right at you babe!” Jaimie commented with a small grin as she nudged your side gently.

“No, he wasn’t.” You responded with a light laugh and shake of your head.

“Girl, he looked like a blubbering fish when he saw you.” Your friends all affirmed.

Your friends were right on the money with that one. Joel Miller was doing his absolute best to check you out in the most respectful way he could while he was in the line for popcorn. Sarah of course caught the way her dad was looking at you, and she was determined to get him to muster up the courage to talk to you after the movie.

The movie was everything Sarah had imagined it to be. She laughed, she cried and Joel and Tommy had teared up during some of the scenes. Especially when Barbie and Ken travel to the real world and the first thing she experiences is being cat-called and objectified by men. The patriarchy was alive and well outside of Barbie land and as a straight, white man, Joel recognized that he and Tommy had an easy life compared to their female counterparts. This didn’t mean that they agreed with it. In fact, Joel and Tommy were fully against the patriarchal system.

Sarah found herself hugging her dad tightly as the credits rolled and he was gently smoothing down her curls and kissing the top of her head. Sometimes Joel felt guilty over the fact that Sarah no longer had a mother figure in her life, but it was moments like these that reminded him that he was just a dad doing his best for his kid who he loved so dearly. “I love you so much, baby girl. I’ll always fight for you. Okay, kiddo?” He whispered softly with his lips against her temple.

Sarah hugged him tighter. “I love you so much dad. Thank you for always being there for me.”

Tommy was tearing up again.

The three Millers took a selfie with the Barbie poster just outside the movie theater with their faces squished into the frame. The picture was being taken while you were standing outside of the women’s bathroom waiting for your friends. You watched as Joel struggled to get his phone at the right angle, so you took it upon yourself to go over and help. “Hi Kens, hi Barbie! Would you guys like me to take a picture of you?”

Joel already felt his cheeks begin to heat up. “Hi Barbie. That would be great if ya could. Can never get these damn angles right with this thing. I uh—I like your outfit. It’s very Barbie.” He commented softly.

“Thanks, Ken. I really like your baseball cap.” You responded with a genuine smile as he handed you his phone. You took a few steps back so that all three Miller’s would be in the frame. You took a few photos before handing him his phone back just as your friends were departing from the bathroom.

“Hey, Barbie? Before you go, my dad is way too shy to say it but he thinks you’re super duper pretty.” Sarah proclaimed without skipping a beat.

Joel was beet red now as he scrubbed a hand down his face, fingertips scraping across his beard. “Sarah! You can’t just—” He sighed with a nervous smile. “Okay, it’s true Barbie. I do think you’re super duper pretty. Cats out of the bag thanks to my daughter.” He gave Sarah a playful warning look and mussed up her curls.

“Well Ken, it’s your lucky day because I think you’re really handsome. Do you wanna see Oppenheimer with me next weekend?”

“I would absolutely love to go see Oppenheimer with you next weekend Barbie.” Joel didn’t hesitate to respond.

“It’s a date. See you next weekend, Ken.” You exchanged phone numbers before you made your way over to your friends who were waiting for you.

“This Barbie has a date next weekend!” You told your friends the good news and they all excitedly cheered for you.

As soon as Joel and Sarah got home, Sarah dug out her old box of Barbie’s and brought them down to the living room, while Joel had found all of the Barbie DVD’s that Sarah insisted he keep. They spent the rest of the evening playing with her Barbie’s and watching the Princess and the Pauper; Sarah’s all time favorite Barbie movie.

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @saradika @cavillscurls @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42 @last-girl @tessa-quayle (you will love this one)

Creator divider made by @saradika

Barbie divider made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

427 notes · View notes

drunk-on-dk · 7 months

Text

[11:16 PM] | Yoon Jeonghan

pairing: bestfriend!Jeonghan x afab!reader tags/genre: angst, slow burn, friends to lovers (?), maybe fluff?, maybe suggestive? (minors DNI), college au, frat au, mentions of alcohol (drunk cheol appearance), the reader is a bit emotional, no specific pronouns but mentions wearing a skirt w/c: ~1.4 (a bit long for a timestamp I'm sorry) summary: Jeonghan has always been your Valentine, even if he's only been your best friend all these years. a/n: this is an excerpt that was taken out of my WIP Over the Country Club [teaser link here], which I didn't plan to include and sort of used to think of how I want to develop their dynamic a bit more. I still thought it would be fun to share! Happy Valentine's (and carat) day!

“There you are! Don’t you know I’ve been looking everywhere for you?” The shrill voice that rang from behind you was easily recognizable as your best friend’s. His tone was unfamiliar, a mix of disappointment and concern that made your eardrums trill in embarrassment knowing you must have worried him. Selfishly, you don’t bother to respond nor look in his direction, too embarrassed to face him and expose your likely swollen eyes.

It’s not like he’s bothered to spend any time with you tonight anyway. You didn’t think he’d even notice you were gone.

Jeonghan comes to a hesitant stop behind where you’re sat on the curb, sneakers smacking on the dewy pavement just inches away from you, definitely close enough to hear your sniffles. A quiet hiccup escapes you, pulling a sigh from Jeonghan who evaluates you carefully.

Admittedly, if Jeonghan hadn’t spent the last thirty minutes running around the frat house in a frenzied search for you, he might have teased your slumped form that was dressed in a ridiculous Valentine’s Day get-up. The red tinsel headband with spring hearts was crooked on your head, your hair slightly frizzy from the humid air of the yearly Cupid’s Arrow party his frat held, and fingertips nervously tugging at your comically short miniskirt.

Jeonghan advised you not to wear that skirt tonight, not that he ever intended to dictate what you wore, but just out of friendly concern. You know, since you might get cold, and definitely not because he had a hard time controlling his wandering eyes. No, friends don’t do that.

As per usual, you were excited about this party; you had a plethora of festive accessories - including that silly headband you were presently wearing - that you’d dig through a bin for, fishing out an item for you and Jeonghan to wear. (Every year you’d beg Jeonghan to wear something festive, he’d typically settle for the fuzzy pink ‘xoxo’ socks you had, but this year he let you put little heart stickers on his cheeks).

“Everything OK?” His voice is soft, deciding to set aside his frustration that you’ve been MIA. Jeonghan squats down behind you to place a gentle hand on your back, feeling you tense slightly at the contact, but you don’t pull away from him, which he takes as a good sign. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, your voice sounding a bit hoarse, revealing that something is in fact wrong. Jeonghan sighs again, this time you feel his breath fan out against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle at the warmth.

There’s a pause as if Jeonghan is thinking deeply about what could have caused you to be upset. “You were with all the guys when I last saw you. Was it Cheol? Did he say something stupid?”

“Jeonghan,” your voice is whiny, and it would almost be embarrassing if it wasn’t your best friend you were talking to. Seungcheol didn’t upset you. Well, maybe he inadvertently did, which is why you couldn’t admit to Jeonghan that he might be onto something. You forget that Jeonghan knows you better than anyone does.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Jeonghan clicks his tongue, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips. “That bastard. Do you want me to go knock some sense into him? He’s on another level tonight, seriously can’t keep his mouth shut.”

You’re almost frantic, turning around to grab Jeonghan’s wrist when you feel him stand up to go confront his frat brother, who was also one of your closest confidants other than Jeonghan.

Seungcheol who may have had too much to drink tonight and may have been a bit loose-lipped when he pointed out the fact that, slurring, “You know, Y/N. Jeonghan’s really messed up your game tonight. Won’t let anyone hit on you, even told the whole frat that you were off limits for Valentine’s, and he’s practically ditched you with me. What’s that all about? Kinda fucked up if you ask me, dude.”

When Seungcheol made his comment, you had rolled your eyes and shoved some crackers his way, encouraging him to sober up. He was talking a load of bullshit. That was until you really sat back and thought about it, how no one has approached you tonight. Not even one soul, and at this point you settled on the fact you’d unceremoniously go home alone later tonight. It hadn’t bothered you at all, not until your eyes narrowed in on Jeonghan who was busy flirting in the corner, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach at the sight.

God, was that a confusing feeling. Enough to send you into a panic, sending you stumbling outside in search of fresh air. Instead of finding solstice, it almost felt as if the cool breeze knocked some sense into you, tears welling in your eyes thinking ‘fuck, it is annoying that Jeonghan hasn’t spent any time with me tonight. It is annoying that I’ve been apparently branded with an invisible ‘off limits’ sign. And why is he there flirting with someone instead of hanging out with me?’

Not that you planned on leaving, but you needed to collect your thoughts a bit before heading back inside. You hadn’t realized you were gone for that long until Jeonghan came looking for you.

Hence, which is why Jeonghan feels his heart breaking when he sees your expression, a small hand wrapped around his wrist and red-rimmed eyes silently pleading as if to say ‘don’t leave.’

Like the softie he is for you, Jeonghan pauses, urging you to speak when he quietly utters, “Something’s wrong, and I can’t help you if I don’t know why.”

“It’s seriously nothing,” you breathe, finally gathering the courage to stand up from the curb. You let go of his wrist to properly brush yourself off. You know Jeonghan doesn’t believe you, so you muster up your best lie. “Just a few tipsy tears over the fact it’s another year without a Valentine. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s a big lie, you’re practically sober, and not once have you ever been bothered by the lack of a true Valentine. However, after seemingly contemplating your words for a moment, it must be convincing enough for Jeonghan, who pulls you into a comforting embrace, lips pressing against your forehead just like he usually does when you’re upset over something.

“That’s not true,” he mumbles into your hair, a teasing smile evident when he squeezes you a bit too tightly, earning a discontent groan from you. “You know I’m always your Valentine. Forever and always your Valentine.”

To which your heart skips a beat, what is supposed to be an innocent comment evokes a foreign feeling in your tummy for the second time tonight. It was true, long ago you two had pinky promised in grade school that you’d always be each other’s Valentines, not knowing the true nature of the holiday at that time. It was a curse you clearly had to deal with for almost your entire life.

As you attempt to push him away, his nimble fingers tickle your sides in an attempt to cheer you up. Jeonghan stumbles away from you when you successfully break away, loving the way you huff in frustration at his teasing, his impish laugh quelling the weird fluttering feeling through your body.

“Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan,” you use his legal name, evoking an incredulous chuckle from him as you stomp towards the house. It’s a feeble attempt to get as far away as possible, trying to hide what you assume is an incriminating blush on your cheeks.

“Slow down, Valentine,” he sing-songs behind you, following closely as you re-enter the house, and immediately pulling you in for a bone-crushing back hug, guiding you back towards your typical group of friends.

Thankfully, you find Seungcheol in a much more sober state, but you almost wish he was long gone, face-down in his bed instead. Especially when his sharp eyes narrow in on you and Jeonghan, curious and analyzing as Jeonghan clings to you. It wasn’t out of the usual, it was just that Seungcheol started paying closer attention, and you felt seen for the first time ever during your friendship with Jeonghan.

“You sure you’re doing OK?” Jeonghan asks, his voice low as he leans closer to your ear, making sure you hear him over the booming music.

It was then you knew you absolutely were not OK. Regardless, you twist your body as best as you can in Jeonghan’s grip, head craning so that you're face-to-face with your best friend. His worried eyes indicate that he’s still concerned, leaving you to breathlessly (nervously) respond, “Yeah, I swear I’m OK. Thanks for always being my Valentine, Hannie.”

#jeonghan fic #yoon jeonghan #seventeen fic #seventeen angst #svthub #yoon jeonghan fic #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan seventeen #jeonghan

154 notes · View notes

hogmilked · 1 year

Note

what's ur process for identifying cars? like what features do u look at and so on?

oh hell yeah i assume you’ve seen my other blog lol, yeah a lot of it is just years of paying attention to them and design trends, so i can usually place a general era and brand based on what logos i see, what some companies design languages were at different times, body styles, stuff like that. so even if i can’t identify an exact model, i can look at a big long boxy sedan in usually rather muted colors with a long hood but sleek profile with rectangular headlights and a specific hood emblem and know it’s a cadillac from the 70s or 80s. if i don’t know more than a brand and general era i’ll usually have to do a bit of googling but just having that preliminary knowledge helps narrow it down.

for a lot of relatively common or newer cars i usually just recognize them, i’ve hyperfixated on cars for almost 20 years, used to get tons of car enthusiast magazines and still engage with a lot of enthusiast media, so i kind of just know a shit ton of them. then it’s usually just googling to check my work/intuition and get an exact year or range of years. like i identified a toyota 4runner and specific generation of it in a video where a lot of the more obvious identifying features were only visible for a second, but in that second i recognized it even at a glimpse because i am just somebody who could recognize a car from a taillight in the dark when i was like 9. or in cases where it’s a closeup shot, like the toyota highlander from the daffy duck fish sticker post, all i had was a cut off bit of the text and the bottom of a taillight, but i know the highlander model and could estimate the general era of car based on the shape and moulding of the body contours and taillights, and narrowed it down further based on differences in the tail light housings between generations

i know that was a long explanation that probably made only so much sense but the tl;dr is autism :3

#mothman answers #thank you anon for the question!#gonna reblog it to the related sideblog too #maybe even pin it

427 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

hii!! how are u??

i was wondering if you could write something with one of the marauders/ steve in which the r is wearing pimple patches and they mistake it for stichers so they roll with it and but a pack of stichers for r, who is all like “🌝 what”. idk if this is too confusing, sorry!! tysm <33

thank you so much! this idea was so cute and sweet 🥺 james x fem!reader

James is already unloading the plastic carrier bag of shopping when you reach him.

Sirius likes to joke that you and James are both like eager puppies when you see one another. James figures he isn't half wrong, and he couldn't care less, receiving your unbridled affection eagerly. Your arms are quick to hug his elbow, your lips dropping a smattering of dainty kisses up and down the outside of his bicep.

"Hullo," you murmur, "I missed you."

He preens at your touch. "I missed you too, trouble."

You reach out to right a tipped bag of mixed veggies and your hand skirts close to the bag, where James has left your stickers. He doesn't care if you have spots, honestly, but he's noticed that you stopped putting your stickers on top of them, and wondered if maybe you'd run out, so he'd picked up a new box while shopping.

"I have a small gift for you," he says.

"What is it?"

"I'm about to show you," he says with a laugh. He fishes the stickers from the bag, and leans his head on top of yours as he passes them over. "They only had shiny ones."

You accept them with a slow closing hand.

James holds his breath. "Wrong ones?"

"No, I mean, yes? James, what are they for?"

"Your face? You stopped putting them on, so I thought you'd run out. You know, you were putting them on your spots."

"Oh." You take a deep breath brimming with fond pity. "Jamie, thank you, but the ones I put on my face aren't stickers."

"Uh…"

You tap his shoulder. He turns to face you head, pleased when you tuck a curl behind his ear delicately. Your smile is transformative though small, a sorry, sweet sort of thing that makes him want to lean down and kiss it up into a grin.

"The ones for my face are called 'Dots for Spots'," you say gently. "They're like little blister plasters, I got them from the chemist. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

He's embarrassed, sure, but that makes so much more sense. "Oh! Sweetheart, I thought you were– I think I've made a twat of myself."

"No," —you rub your hand down the side of his neck— "you haven't, of course you haven't, that's so sweet that you were thinking of me."

"Aren't I always?"

You snort. James isn't the type to lie in self pity, and instead cracks the seam on the plasters to pull out one of the sheets of metallic stars he remembers from his school days. You lift your chin, and he sticks a gold star over the small suggestion of a recurring spot, the one that gives you the most trouble. You look very cute, and you're very grateful, but he buys the real ones off the Internet that night for you anyways.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter imagine #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders

585 notes · View notes

junk-heart · 1 year

Text

Finally made an experimental batch of stickers^^

If I were to actually sell them they'd go in 3 packs: ej pack, cute pack and fish-bird pack

They came out too big (first picture are ejs in comparison to an a5 sketchbook, they're literally longer than my hand), and next time I'll make them opaque cause they look quite sad on any surface that isn't close to white since they're translucent

It's kinda funny that I had to cut them all out by hand:"")

Already gave most of them to my friends for the wear and tear test, they only ones left are ej-s, so if you're in Belgrade city centre you might see them stuck somewhere (I'm yet to do that though)

#eyeless jack #eyeless jack fanart #stickers #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta #my favourites are badly drawn pigeons #and ofc all Jacks

266 notes · View notes

darth-mortem · 7 months

Text

Here is Valentine's Day GhostSoap fanfic 😌

Someone sends Soap anonymous valentines, and it would've been fine if not the text inside which disturbs him greatly. 1999 words.

Yeah, it's my knives on the photo :)

Johnny brought the mail into the house and began to lazily sorting the envelopes, newspapers, and flyers. Today, February 14, was the last day of his leave, and he had to go back to the base in a few hours, but for now he was at home and enjoying it.

“Maw!” Johnny shouted towards the kitchen. “Ye hae a letter from Aunt Agnes!”

He put the envelope aside, took the next one, and was surprised to see his name on it. Soap had no idea who could have sent him a paper letter, even to his parent’s house address, not to the base’s.

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“Maw!” Johnny shouted again. “Did ye tell anyone I was ‘ere?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. MacTavish said, looking out of the kitchen, “as ye asked. And what’s th’ matter?”

“Someone sent me a letter wi’ no name ‘n’ no return address." Soap rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

“Well, mibbie someone wanted tae confess his feelin’s tae ye on Valentine’s Day.” The woman gently stroked her son’s head. “Let’s go tae eat, dear.”

Johnny opened the enigmatic envelope in his room after breakfast. There was a postcard in the shape of a heart with standard greetings on one side. MacTavish grunted, turned it over, and everything inside him went cold. There were inscriptions made from letters cut out of magazines or newspapers, stickers with skulls, and an uneven heart made from photos of various knives. Feeling an unpleasant pressure in his chest, Johnny started to read crooked lines of words.

The first were lines from a song he knew very well:

‘Valentine is done

Here, but now they're gone

Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity

We can be like they are’

After them, there were a few more words. ‘See you later,’ Soap read, ‘bye.’

It looked like a treat. It was a treat, and Johnny involuntarily looked around and then peeked out of the window, as if he expected to see the person who had sent this eerie postcard there. Of course, there was nothing suspicious on the street. Soap stood there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, then stuffed the postcard into his already packed bag and went downstairs. Whoever this madman is, he won’t spoil MacTavish’s last hours of his leave at his parent’s house.

Anxiety began to grip Soap again, as he was already flying back to the base. He wasn’t alone in the helicopter; there were other soldiers whose leave was over. Johnny stared at them involuntarily, wondering if the sender of the menacing valentine was among them.

“Hey, MacTavish!” One of them called, and Soap shuddered. “How did you spend your leave?”

“Ah was at home,” he answered. “Ate maw’s food, slept a lot, went fishing wi’ my da. And what about ye?”

The rest of the flight was spent in cheerful conversation, and Johnny relaxed a little. Gaz met him at the airstrip, eager to tell him all the latest news from the base as they made their way to the residential block.

“Well, I have to train rookies.” Kyle said when they got to the building. “See you later, mate!”

He left with a waving farewell, and Johnny’s insides went cold again because he immediately remembered the text of the creepy postcard. He walked down the corridor nervously, looking around, and almost ran into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Turning around, he breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a second, and then...

There was a postcard in the shape of a heart on the floor. It wasn’t far from the entrance, so it could be assumed that someone had pushed it under the door. Johnny carefully picked it up, turned it over, and read the text made from letters cut out of a magazine. ‘Be wary, my dear, as you walk alone,’ it said, ‘for on this night, you're never truly on your own.’

Johnny panicked again. Everything indicated that someone was watching him; someone knew where he was and what he was doing. Perhaps it was someone from the base, or he had connections here, a friend who, at his command, slipped the postcard into MacTavish’s room.

Soap was not given much time to think about all this. Price knocked on his door and ordered him to go help Gaz. Johnny wanted to say hello to Ghost first, but the captain told him that the man was busy with paperwork and, given the amount of it, wouldn’t be free until the evening.

Johnny walked to the training ground, looking around and tensing if anyone got too close. Gas noticed his strange behavior and, finding a free moment, took him aside.

“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Kyle asked. “You’re twitchy since returning from leave.”

“I’m fine,” Soap tried to smile. “I just need tae get used to it all again.”

Gaz didn’t believe him but didn’t ask any more questions, and they went back to training. The rookies needed a lot of attention, especially after one of them fell on the obstacle course and injured his arm. Kyle took him to the medical center, leaving Johnny to continue the training. He didn’t return until dinner because he had to write a report on the incident.

Objectively, nothing at the base had changed, but now MacTavish felt that someone was constantly watching him. He caught glances at himself and wondered if this person was the mysterious sender of the creepy valentines. That’s how the whole day passed, and, realizing that it couldn’t go on like this, Soap took the postcards and went to Price’s office.

“I need tae tell ye something, sir,” he said, approaching the captain’s desk.

Price looked at him intently and pointed on a visitor’s chair. He also noticed that something was wrong with the usually cheerful and friendly sergeant and worried about him.

“What happened, son?” He asked gently, looking at nervous Johnny.

“I think someone is stalking me,” MacTavish answered, sighing heavily. “I received a postcard tae my parents’ home address. And then I found another one in my room ‘ere at th’ base.”

With that, Soap placed both valentines in front of the captain. He took them, examined the inscriptions attentively, and looked up at the nervous sergeant.

“Son,” Price spoke cautiously, “what made you think they were sent by a stalker?”

“And how else?!” MacTavish exclaimed with resentment. “He knows where a'm, knows mah home address! And thae inscriptions? Thae ur true threats!”

“Well, the inscriptions are really weird,” the captain admitted. “And about the other... Tell me, son, who knows where you were on leave, who loves skulls and knives, and who gets a themed magazine every month?”

“Ghost,” Soap answered without thinking and froze with his mouth open. “Fucking hell… I’m an idiot, yeah?”

“That’s your words, not mine." Price got up and went to the exit. “Close the door when you leave.”

The captain left his office, and the sergeant grabbed a document from his desk, turned it over to a blank side, and started to write something concentrated.

The door of Ghost’s room was locked as usual, and Soap knocked until it was opened to him. He burst in, turned to the lieutenant, and saw that he looked very sad. It was visible despite the balaclava on his head.

“What do you want, Johnny?” Ghost asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Simon,” the sergeant exhaled, catching his breath, “it’s for ye!”

Ghost silently took from his hands a crookedly cut paper heart, on which was written: ‘I like ye too.’ Johnny watched his gaze change, and then the lieutenant looked up at him in confusion.

“Sorry for bein’ sae late,” Soap sighed and made puppy eyes. “I’m just an idiot, ‘n’ only now guessed that those postcards were from you.”

Johnny didn’t say that they scared him to not sound even more like a fool. Instead, he took the first valentine out of his pocket, turned it over, and, smiling, pointed to one of the knives that formed the heart.

“I like this one,” he said.

“You have a good taste." Ghost finally calmed down and smiled under his balaclava. “It’s the best one, and I hoped that you’ll choose it.”

He went to the closet and came back holding the knife from the picture.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Johnny.” The lieutenant said.

“Och, Simon…” Soap blushed like a boy, accepting the gift. “Thank ye! It’s sae cool! Och, hauld yer horses a second…”

The sergeant started rummaging through his pockets until he found a quid coin in one of them. He handed it to Ghost, and he took a symbolic payment so that the gift of the knife wouldn’t cut the relationship between him and Johnny.

“I have something for ye too,” Soap said. “I’ll bring it now!”

He ran to his room and soon returned with a neat box of chocolate chip cookies that his mother had baked for him. Handling the gift to Simon, Johnny rushed into the break room of TF 141 to make them tea. When he finally got back and sat down, the lieutenant looked at him and asked:

“Johnny, why did you make your valentine on the page from the annual budget of our unit?”

“What?..” Soap froze, blinking his eyes. “I… dinnae know, I just..."

The sergeant remembered that he took the first paper he saw and didn’t look at what exactly it was.

“Price will kill me,” he said finally. "So, mibbie, I deserve one kiss before death?”

“Maybe you want more than one kiss?” Ghost answered the question with a question and rose up the edge of his balaclava to the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

“Och, I want to!” Johnny smiled cheerfully and a little stupidly. “Will ye take off yer mask ‘n’ show yer face?”

“Negative,” the lieutenant answered composed, and took the cookie from the box.

On the morning of February 15, Johnny woke up in Simon’s arms. He really didn’t take off his balaclava; actually, it was the only thing he didn’t take off. His clothes were mixed with Soap’s on the floor by the bed. It was still dark outside, but the wake-up call had already ringed, so the lieutenant and the sergeant stirred and reluctantly started to get up and get dressed. They went to breakfast together and sat down at the table opposite Gaz, who came to the mess hall first.

“You’re kind of weird today, mates,” Kyle said, looking at the sergeant and the lieutenant.

“We just didn’t get enough sleep,” Johnny answered lazily, and then understood what he said. “I mean, separately, each in their room, you know.”

Soap coughed, and Gaz slowly looked from him to Ghost and back.

“And where is Price?” The lieutenant asked, changing the topic of their conversation.

“He took sandwiches and went to his office,” Kyle answered. “He said that he had to check and hand over some papers to the general.”

Johnny paled, but he didn’t have time to do anything. Price was already entering the dining room, and, seeing MacTavish at the table, he shouted angrily:

“Soap, you, son of a bitch!!”

“Better run,” Kyle advised, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded and then looked at Ghost. “See ye later, Simon.”

Johnny jumped over the table, rushed to the window, and threw it open. Blowing Ghost an air kiss, he jumped out and sped away, followed by surprised looks from the soldiers and rookies.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Gaz asked Ghost.

“Negative,” the lieutenant lied.

“Oh, really?” Kyle absolutely didn’t trust him. “And since when does MacTavish call you by your name?”

“I don’t remember,” Ghost said, annoyed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So I can call you ‘Simon’ too?" Gas didn’t stop asking questions.

“Try it, and I’ll shoot you.” Ghost barked, took his tray, and went away quickly.

“Yeah, each in their room,” Gaz grunted, then smiled and finished his coffee.

62 notes · View notes

astrowaffles · 3 months

Text

Pride Month

Gojo peered out of the window. “Your neighbour’s got a pride flag out,” he observed. “You’ll fit right in here.”

“Well, it’s pride month,” said Megumi.

“I like to call it Megumi Month!”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

“What?”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

Confused, Gojo held out his phone. Had he changed his password? He couldn’t remember. If he hadn’t, that meant Megumi could still unlock it.

Uh-oh.

Megumi didn’t unlock it, he just turned it on and spun the screen to face Gojo. “Look at it.”

“At…my lockscreen?”

“Your lockscreen, showing what?”

“Me….and Suguru?”

“Yes, you and the evil mastermind. And why is it you and the evil mastermind?”

“Because we were best f-“

“Boyfriends. You were boyfriends. Happy pride month.”

“He wasn’t an evil mastermind. He was pretty stupid, actually.”

“He’d have to be, to date you.”

“We weren’t dating!”

“Uh-huh. I believe you.”

-------

OR: megumi moves into his apartment ft. gojo being nostalgic, itadori being a ray of sunshine & nobara being lesbian

“MEGUMI!”

“WHAT!”

“WHERE DID YOU PUT ‘LEGALLY BLONDE’?!”

“Dear god,” Megumi muttered, beginning to rummage through the nearest cardboard box.

“I HEARD THAT!”

Megumi rolled his eyes and rummaged further. “He could just look for it himself,” he complained under his breath.

Gojo finally gave up on screeching through the wall and came in through the kitchen door. “I heard that too, you know.”

“And?”

“And it was very rude?”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” Megumi sniffed, finally fishing the movie from where he’d packed it. “Why do you want this?”

“Don’t ask silly questions and you won’t get silly answers,” Gojo sniffed back.

Megumi glared at him.

“Okay, okay, it’s to watch,” Gojo relented. Then he pouted. “You don’t even have a DVD player, do you?”

“No, because I’m not ninety years old,” Megumi told him. “Put it in the laptop if you want.”

“Oh, so you’re old enough to have a laptop with a DVD slot but not a DVD player?”

“The laptop’s old!”

Gojo pulled a face. “And you’ve still got it? I would’ve bought you one if you asked…”

“I like this one,” Megumi said defensively.

Gojo eyed it. “It’s because of the stickers, isn’t it.”

“They don’t come off! I don’t want to throw them away!”

“I knew it,” Gojo sighed, and turned it on. It made a slightly disturbing whirring noise as the fans immediately began frantically cooling the struggling machine, and the DVD slot didn’t come out until the second attempt. “I’ll buy you some new stickers, so let me get you a better laptop.”

“You’re the only person in the world who asks to be allowed to buy new stuff,” Megumi pointed out.

“You’re the only person in the world with his own apartment at eighteen,” Gojo countered.

“Apart from you.”

“No, I had a penthouse,” Gojo corrected. “Now keep unpacking and let me watch the magic of Reese Witherspoon.”

Megumi didn’t fight him; he’d expected way more stress, and way more tears, from Gojo today. While Gojo wasn’t often an openly emotional person, moving his ward/son/annoyance into a separate flat would usually be enough to tip him over the edge. Megumi had been prepared, ensuring the tissues were the first thing set up on the kitchen counter and the laptop was unboxed in case Gojo had needed to watch Titanic.

As it was, Gojo was probably self-medicating with Legally Blonde - either that or he was pretending to self-medicate with Legally Blonde in order to avoid helping with the unpacking. Megumi didn’t mind, since Gojo usually just got in the way and messed things up and left food all over the carpet anyway.

Gojo peered out of the window. “Your neighbour’s got a pride flag out,” he observed. “You’ll fit right in here.”

“Well, it’s pride month,” said Megumi.

“I like to call it Megumi Month!”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

“What?”

“Show me your lockscreen.”

Confused, Gojo held out his phone. Had he changed his password? He couldn’t remember. If he hadn’t, that meant Megumi could still unlock it.

Uh-oh.

Megumi didn’t unlock it, he just turned it on and spun the screen to face Gojo. “Look at it.”

“At…my lockscreen?”

“Your lockscreen, showing what?”

“Me….and Suguru?”

“Yes, you and the evil mastermind. And why is it you and the evil mastermind?”

“Because we were best f-“

“Boyfriends. You were boyfriends. Happy pride month.” Megumi threw the phone back to Gojo, who caught it, disgruntled.

“He wasn’t an evil mastermind. He was pretty stupid, actually.”

“He’d have to be, to date you.”

“We weren’t dating!”

“Uh-huh. I believe you.”

“We weren’t!”

“Like I said, I believe you.” Megumi went back to rooting through boxes. “Did you pack this one? It’s full of shit I don’t want.”

“Language,” Gojo chided absently, eyes fixed back on the laptop.

“I’m 18.”

“I’m nearly 30, so what.”

“So shut up.”

Gojo gasped, very loudly and very dramatically. “Megumi! After all I’ve done for you, working hard as a single parent with ten jobs-“

“You have two jobs and they’re practically the same job. Teach jujutsu, use jujutsu.”

“-And I did it by myself! No childcare-“

“What was Shoko? Or Nanami? Chopped liver?”

“-And two kids, one of whom couldn’t even read-“

“I could read!”

“-Who said I was talking about you?” Gojo said wickedly.

“Well it wasn’t Tsumiki, she can read better than you,” Megumi shrugged.

“After all I’ve done for you,” Gojo repeated, “The least you could do it have some manners.”

“I have manners!” Megumi protested.

Gojo stared at him. “Are you absolutely certain, dearest?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“A-ha! Avoiding the question!”

“Prioritising my answers,” Megumi corrected. “I still have manners.”

“Suuure you do, buddy,” Gojo nodded, and went back to his movie.

Overall, June was a sucky month to move house in. The temperatures were high and so was the humidity, making everyone hot and sticky by the time the boxes were all inside. Megumi’s furniture hadn’t been delivered yet, having only been bought a few weeks ago – Gojo had insisted on paying for it all, even though Megumi had finally gotten access to a lot of the money stored up in his accounts from various relatives, jobs, and – of course – Gojo himself. He’d have even more when he finally turned 20.

Flies buzzed around Megumi’s empty rooms, making both Megumi and Gojo swat irritably at the ones that tried to nestle into the spikes of their hair.

Gojo watched Megumi carefully extract a particularly fat one from the back of his neck. He’d grown over the last few years, tall and broad, looking more and more like Toji every day. Maybe in a few years, when Megumi finally settled into his body and stopped tripping over things and looking confused with his new long limbs and wide shoulders, he’d gain enough muscle to make him almost indistinguishable from his biological father. There’d been a few times recently where Megumi, with the quiet footsteps taught by Gojo himself, had caught Gojo off-guard and had almost had his head blown off. All he really needed was a lip scar.

Gojo shuddered at the thought.

“You okay?” Megumi asked, noticing Gojo’s slightly horrified expression.

“Just thinking,” Gojo assured him.

“I didn’t know you could think.”

“You learn something new every day with me!”

“I wish that was true,” Megumi sighed. “Then maybe you would’ve been a passable teacher.”

“Okay, rude-“

Gojo’s tirade was cut off by Megumi’s new doorbell, ringing clear through the heavy, warm air.

“Must be Itadori,” said Megumi – who, in true Megumi fashion, absolutely refused to call anyone by their first name.

“HEEEEEEY MEGUMII!” Yuji yelled as soon as the door opened. In true Yuji fashion, he’d jumped at the chance to sound a bit closer to his friends.

“Hi,” Megumi replied, reaching out a hand to take some of Yuji’s bags. “Need some help?”

“Sure, thanks!” Yuji handed some off, and then turned sideways in order to fit through the door with the rest of them. “I didn’t know what to bring so I just brought it all!”

“All of what?” asked Megumi, cautiously peering into one. “Is this pride bunting?”

“Sure is! I thought we could combine the housewarming with a pride party, since we can’t go out without being recognised…”

It was true. After reaching peak celebrity status in the jujutsu world, their fame had even spread to the ordinary people, who hailed them as super-cool special reinforcements or whatever the media had chosen to frame them as. In an area so thickly populated with sorcerers as this was, it was frankly incredibly irritating trying to leave the house for a big event like Pride.

“I love that idea,” Gojo announced, having paused Legally Blonde to welcome his student. “Does Nobara know?"

"It was actually her idea," Yuji admitted sheepishly.

"Of course it was,” Megumi sighed. “When’s she coming?”

The doorbell rang again.

“She’s already here, isn’t she?” Megumi put down Yuji’s bags and went back to the door. “Hi, Kugisaki.”

“Hi, Fushiguro,” said Nobara, who had agreed to call Yuji by his name but insisted she wouldn’t be familiar with Megumi unless she got the same energy back. She was very, very salty about it.

“HI NOBARA!” Yuji yelled.

“Inside voice~” Gojo sang, shutting off his laptop now everyone was here.

“Sorry!”

“Jeez, let me in then,” Nobara demanded, bustling past Megumi. She didn’t have any bags with her, but from the way she immediately set about rustling through Yuji’s, she’d probably just made Yuji bring hers.

Megumi closed the door before more insects found their way in. “I like how you asked me about this party before you brought the decorations.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nobara told him. “Actually, no. New order: shut up and put this flag on your wall.”

It was a custom-printed lesbian flag, complete with a cutout of Gojo’s face.

“Oh my god, this is the best thing ever,” Gojo enthused, taking it before Megumi could reach out. “I want it on the wall forever.”

“Let’s start with it on the wall, y’know, at all,” Nobara snarked.

“I’m not a lesbian,” Megumi pointed out. “Neither is Gojo.”

“Neither am I!” Yuji volunteered. “I like the colours though.”

“You are all honorary lesbians for today,” Nobara announced generously. “Here, take a pin.”

She passed a small box around. Megumi stared at the ‘WOMEN SCARE ME’ pin he’d pulled out. “I want to swap.”

“No can do. ‘Sides, that one’s perfect,” Nobara shrugged.

“I’m attracted to women!”

“Yes, but can you be normal around them? No. Put the pin on.”

Megumi sighed and stuck it to his jacket; Yuji enthusiastically did the same with his ‘PRO CHOICE / PRO FEMINISM / PRO CATS’.

“’Three raccoons in a trenchcoat’,” Gojo read off the badge he’d been passed. “I like it.”

Nobara climbed onto some of the stacked boxes in order to string her fairy lights across the room. “You can keep these,” she told Megumi. “You need some decoration in here.”

“I’ve only just moved in!” Megumi argued. “It’s not gonna be perfect!”

Yuji was seeing how many boxes he could stack before they started to lean. The answer was six; he stood on tiptoe to slide his Bluetooth speaker on top. In the end, Gojo – ever annoyingly tall – had to help him put it securely on the middle of the top box.

“Good to know I’m still of use,” Gojo sighed.

“You’re not,” said Megumi. “Retire already.”

“Just because you said that, I’m gonna work another forty years.”

“Fuck you.”

Gojo’s dramatic gasp signalled another monologue coming on, but he was cut off by Nobara falling off her boxes.

“Fuck!” she yelled. Gojo didn’t correct her.

“When I got my first apartment,” Gojo reminisced, ignoring Nobara’s clattering in the kitchen, “I didn’t know housewarming parties were a thing.”

Him, Megumi, and Yuji were sat in a triangle on the floor, waiting for whatever Nobara was creating. By the sounds of it, she was attempting to remake the oven.

“I thought you said you had a penthouse?” Megumi pointed out.

“What? Oh, yeah, when I was 18. I got an apartment when I was ten.”

Yuji gasped. “Cool!”

“No, not cool, Yuji,” Gojo told him. “It was very boring.”

“Is that even legal?” Megumi questioned. Gojo shrugged, which wasn’t very reassuring.

“Dunno. I liked it, though.”

“Did you have fairy lights?” asked Yuji.

“No.”

“What about a fruit bowl?” Nobara called from the kitchen.

“Does anyone even have a fruit bowl nowadays?” Gojo asked.

“Fushiguro does, apparently.”

Megumi turned to Gojo, horrified. “You bought me a fruit bowl?”

“Apparently…?”

“I can’t believe this.” Megumi looked ready to murder someone – and that someone was almost definitely Gojo.

“You never know what you’ll need,” Gojo tried to argue, shuffling away from Megumi as best he could.

Megumi made a rather threatening gesture and then rolled his eyes. Nobara reappeared holding a tray of cupcakes.

“Look, Megs! Blue, pink and yellow!” Gojo pointed out, probably hoping to get back into Megumi’s good books. “Just like the ones I made you!”

“You didn’t make these ones, did you?” Megumi asked suspiciously.

“No-one made them,” Nobara confirmed. “Well, someone did, but it was someone in a factory.”

“Can I have one?” Yuji asked, tentatively reaching for one.

“No, Yuji, I brought them out for us to look at them,” said Nobara sarcastically, lowering the tray so the three sat on the floor could reach them.

After Gojo had gotten sick of telling extremely uninteresting tales of his childhood and had told enough of Megumi’s that he ran the risk of having his mouth taped shut by his own ward, Yuji started a horrendous game of ‘Guess Who?’. The category was ‘Jujutsu Sorcerers’, and soon devolved into hysterical impressions of various sorcerers they had met, including Nobara’s stellar impersonation of Nanami.

“I wear fake leopard print and I’m better than you,” she mimicked, voice forced deep and hands around her eyes to imitate goggles or glasses.

Yuji, arguably the closest person to Nanami, guessed Inumaki. Nobara nearly screamed with frustration.

“I think we should play something else,” Megumi suggested, watching Nobara attempt to attack Yuji without any weapons on hand. Yuji, whose main weapon was his hands, was frantically blocking and looking unduly terrified.

“Like what? Hangman?” Gojo pondered.

“Only if one of us actually gets hung,” Nobara offered, looking meaningfully at Yuji. “Inumaki,” she muttered scornfully under her breath.

“Maybe not,” Megumi backtracked.

“We need to do something gay,” Nobara sighed. “Otherwise what’s the point?”

“What percentage gay?” Megumi asked.

“Well if you’re doing it it’s 100% gay,” Nobara told him. “You can’t help it, you’re just built like that.”

“Says you, Miss Oh-No-Makki-Don’t-Do-That-Yourself, Let-Me-Lift-It-Even-Though-You-Have-Visible-Biceps-And-I’m-Built-Like-A-Mop-“

“Shut up!”

“Um?” Yuji interjected. “Maybe we could just watch a gay film or something?”

“I vote Luca!” said Megumi immediately.

“Awh, I wanted to vote one of the Haikyuu movies,” Yuji pouted.

“I wanted to vote this one,” Nobara said, waving the website for something niche - and probably unnecessarily emotional - around.

“I vote Legally Blonde,” said Gojo, like an idiot.

By the time they were all settled around Luca – which Megumi had literally fought tooth and nail with Nobara for – Yuji was dropping asleep and Gojo was tapping on his phone.

“Turn your typing sounds off,” Megumi told him.

“No,” said Gojo, but the sounds didn’t come again.

Yuji hummed and snuggled closer to Megumi. Nobara, on Yuji’s other side, looked extremely offended but didn’t say anything.

Gojo dropped his head onto Megumi’s shoulder. It wasn’t as much of a neck stretch as it used to be; Megumi had become an excellent pillow even if he wasn’t a good height for resting your elbow on anymore. Yuji started snoring in evident agreement.

“You guys suck,” said Nobara. “I can’t even reach Fushiguro to lie on him.” To compromise, she simply threw herself across both Yuji and Megumi’s laps until her head was in Gojo’s. “Much better,” she informed them, and closed her eyes.

“Is this gay enough for you?” Megumi asked.

“Fushiguro. You’re a man. I’m not being gay at all.”

“Damn. Try again next year?”

Gojo laughed. “You can try again when you get your own apartment, Nobara. Just make sure to invite me so I can take pictures of the cuddle pile.”

“Are you kidding? If you’re there, it’ll be impossible to get you out of the pile long enough to take a picture,” Megumi objected.

“Good point,” said Gojo. “Try again next year instead?”

“Yeah,” said Megumi. “Try again next year.”

“Next year it is,” Nobara agreed. Yuji just hummed and snuggled even closer.

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

#jjk #megumi and gojo #megumi fushiguro #jjk fics #jjk fic recs #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #nobara kugisaki #a03

23 notes · View notes

son1c · 1 year

Text

if you like robots so much, then maybe you should become one :/c

falling stars fic masterpost

There was no escape from the tank. Sonic was stuck like a fish in a bowl, and he didn't even have the comfort of colorful pebbles to help ease his claustrophobia. Not that it would've mattered, since the cables at the top of the tank soon became alight with electricity, and the Roboticizer roared to life.

The feeling started in his eyes. They were as wide as dinner plates when the electricity coursed through them. It was like they were being peeled away and replaced by something else, something colder. Something that glowed dimly through the bubbles of the tank.

The feeling quickly spread to his nose. His ears. The rest of his body.

It was cold. So cold.

By the time it was over, Sonic couldn't even shiver. Temperature wasn't even a blip on his radar anymore, he was so incapable of registering it. His body was no longer flesh, fur, and bone. Now, it was metal, circuits, and wires. He saw the world through a red-tinted screen. At first, the image was fuzzy, but it quickly sharpened, the pixels that made up his environment rendered in crisp HD.

He saw a motobug with a star sticker on its forehead cowering by the door. He saw Doctor Eggman standing on the other side of the glass, grinning at him triumphantly. Sonic stared back at the man, the gears in his head beginning to turn.

Then, he realized something. He wasn't in pain anymore. The lingering ache that had been holding him down for days had been obliterated, and he was left feeling strong. Powerful. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders--or, more accurately, his leg. And the person responsible was standing right in front of him. Examining him through those round glasses and down that big, long nose.

Doctor Eggman.

Sonic… was supposed to listen to him. That's right. He was supposed to do whatever the Doctor said. As a part of the Eggman Empire, it was Sonic's job to help see its conquest through. And he would. He would do it. It was what he was made for. Yeah, he remembered now. Serving the Empire was what he was always meant to do.

The water drained from the tank, and the panel at the top slid open.

Eggman said, "Well? Do you plan on staying in there forever? Front and center, if you please."

Sonic's shoes sparked to life, and he flipped out of the tank in one swift motion. He stood in front of the doctor, still dripping, with his head tilted upwards. Even with the extra inch or two his new metal shoes added to his height, Eggman was still so much taller than him.

"Remarkable," Eggman breathed. He was admiring his handiwork. "Perhaps this old machine has held up better than I thought. How fortunate for you, Sonic… since the alternative would've been much uglier."

Sonic caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Immediately, he snapped his head toward the door, and only just barely managed to catch the back of Metal Sonic as he angrily flew away.

With a wave of his hand, Eggman said, "Oh, pay him no mind. You know how it is with look-alikes, don't you? They tend to become quite envious over time."

Suddenly, Eggman stepped away from Sonic. The doctor's attention was now on the motobug that was still cowering by the door. He shot it a loathsome glare. "Now, to take care of that miserable little traitor…"

The motobug curled in on itself when Eggman approached. It knew what was coming. Deactivation. Or dismantlement. Or something else that any sensible robot would be wise to quiver in fear of. It covered its eyes with its claws, unable to look at the disappointment on the doctor's face.

However, right as Eggman was about to lay a hand on the little robot, Sonic appeared in between them. He had crossed the room in the blink of an eye, so fast that neither the doctor nor the motobug had even seen him move at all. Now, he was standing protectively over the little robot, his glowing eyes boring into their leader like hot coals.

"What do you think you're doing, Sonic?" Eggman hissed.

"Easy, sir," Sonic said. His voice was covered in a layer of robotic vocal fry, and far too flat. "I'm just lookin' out for the Empire."

Frowning, Eggman leaned back. There was a hint of genuine curiosity in his narrowed eyes, but it was well hidden. "I don't remember telling you to do that," he said.

Sonic's heroic nature was, of course, common knowledge to Eggman. But to see it translated to--and even directed toward--his own robots wasn't something the doctor was expecting. And it was a strange sight to see. After all, none of his badniks had teamwork programmed into their code. None of them cared about each other.

The only thing that mattered was that they were loyal to Eggman himself. That was the driving force motivating each and every one of them. And Sonic, now a Robian, should be no different.

Should be.

"I- I know," Sonic said quietly. He looked down, the new programming in his head fighting against the will of his heart. It was hard for him to get his next words out. "It… won't happen again. I'm s- suh- sorry."

The motobug didn't dare move. It stayed perfectly still, every mechanism in its body locked in place while Eggman stared down at it over Sonic's shoulder. Slowly, the doctor's expression changed from resentment to rapacity.

Eggman stroked his mustache. He was calm now. He'd realized how to take advantage of this. "Actually, Sonic," he began, "it would save me a great deal of resources if you protected my badniks. You have no idea how expensive it is to replace them! And money doesn't grow on trees, you know. It's hard work printing it all myself."

Sonic looked up. His processors, which had just been whirring loudly from the war being waged inside of his mind, suddenly shushed. He smiled. "I'll keep 'em safe. Promise," he said. The faintest glimmer of emotion shone through his robotic voice: gratitude. "I won't let you down, Doctor Eggman, sir."

Eggman spun around on his heel. He started down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the long corridor. His blood red coat trailed behind him, a stark reminder of what he could have done to the motobug. If he'd wanted to.

Finally, the motobug allowed itself to relax. It was lucky to be online right now.

After letting his own shoulders slump, Sonic turned around to face the motobug. He winked at it with his electronic eyes. "Don't worry, little buddy," the Robian whispered. "I've got your back!"

"SONIC!"

Hurriedly, Sonic followed after Doctor Eggman. But not too hurriedly--he didn't disappear from view like he had when the motobug's life was in danger. He just jogged down the hallway at a respectable pace before falling into step at the doctor's side.

He didn't notice Metal Sonic watching him from the shadows. And he was too focused on Eggman's voice to hear when the look-alike exited the Scrambled Brain Bowl. He and the doctor continued on through the complex, unbothered.

While they walked, Sonic thought about how good it felt to have two functional legs again. He was thankful that Doctor Eggman had fixed the broken one for him. The Robian cherished it--cherished his freedom of motion.

For the next few days, Eggman kept a close eye on Sonic. The Robian could always feel the doctor's hawkish gaze on the back of his neck while he worked. But the brand new code swirling around his mind told him not to worry about it. And Eggman kept him too busy for any doubts to creep in.

So, he didn't ask questions. He served the Empire.

He ignored his whispering heart.

But the static in Sonic's mind was building. It grew louder every time he listened to Eggman. And it grew more insistent every time he ran an errand for him, or took down a G.U.N. drone that had wandered too close to Scrap Brain Base.

It pulled on his heart like a drawstring every time he was reminded to stay away from the deepest part of the basement.

No amount of un-OSHA-regulated labor could kill the part of him that was fighting. Fighting hard against Eggman's control. And as the days turned into weeks, the static plaguing his mind became impossible to ignore. Now, it was deafening.

At the same time, Eggman stopped ordering Sonic to follow him around everywhere. The doctor probably assumed his Roboticization was flawless. That he could be trusted not to rebel. So, his leash got a little longer. And Sonic was left alone with his thoughts more often. Thoughts that oftentimes, didn't match up with the programming that had been drilled into his brain.

Thoughts that he didn't belong here. Thoughts that he was forgetting about something.

Thoughts that he should really just go and check out that room in the basement, the one that was locked behind a heavy blast door.

Sonic groaned. All of these thoughts were giving him a headache, and that shouldn't even be possible. Annoyed, he kicked his feet. They were hanging off the edge of the Brain Bowl, because he was sitting on the very tip of one of the Bowl's mustache spikes. The movement made him feel a little better, but it wasn't enough to get rid of the static that was ringing in his ears.

Beside Sonic was the motobug with the star on its head. It balanced expertly on the thin strip of steel, having gotten used to Sonic's weird hang out spots by now. It looked at him curiously.

Sonic smiled. Maybe a little thinner than usual. "Just thinkin'," he told the motobug.

The little robot kept looking at him. It beeped once.

Sonic rubbed the back of his neck. "What else? About his vileness, Doctor Eggman. Duh."

The motobug beeped again.

Sonic pinched one side of his mouth and looked away from the little robot that could always, somehow, see right through him. "Alright, alright. You caught me. But it's nothin', bud. Seriously."

The motobug wasn't convinced, and neither was Sonic. But there was no more time to talk about it, because an alarm suddenly started going off in the Robian's head. His eyes flashed red.

[INTRUDER ALERT. IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED.]

[LOCATION: BB-F3.]

An intruder? That was different. But Sonic's directive remained the same: protect the Base and its badniks.

In a flash, Sonic stood up, hopped over the motobug, and slid down the roof of the Brain Bowl. He made his way inside and up to the third floor landing in ten seconds flat, his thrusters allowing him to skip the elevator entirely. Once there, he looked around, but the landing was empty. The only things up there were benches and tables, and a few spare tool boxes.

Sonic frowned. Could it have been a false alarm?

The thought had barely finished processing when he noticed it--something shiny on the table at the far end of the landing. Sonic bounded over to it and found that it was a card of some sort. He turned it over and was confused to see a bat printed on it with the words "Thank you" written over top in pretty cursive letters.

A voice from behind Sonic said, "Hey there, Blue. Nice of you to drop by. Mind lending me a hand? I'm looking for something special, and I heard it's stashed around here somewhere!"

Sonic froze. The static screamed in his ears.

Blue.

His sensors warned him of an incoming projectile, and he snapped out of his daze. He whirled around and caught the boot that was about to slam into his head with one of his hands. It belonged to a bat Mobian with white fur. And on her wrists, she wore two gold bracelets.

Sonic recognized her. From the photograph. The photograph that Doctor Eggman had shown him and…

Him and…

Sonic's heart tore desperately at the code that had his mind in a chokehold. It shuddered. Wavered. But remained intact.

The bat wrenched her leg free of Sonic's grasp. Then, she used the momentum to send a sweeping kick at his feet, attempting to knock him over. But Sonic recovered fast, and used his rocket boosters to dodge the kick and flip over her head. From there, he grabbed her by the arm, and threw her across the landing.

She used her wings to stop herself from crashing into the wall. But she was slower than Sonic, and he caught up to her before she had the chance to recover. He dug his claws into her shoulders and slammed her into the wall, and his momentum carried them all the way through it and into the room on the other side.

It was the room with the big green tank. The room he had been reactivated in, a little over a month ago.

The bat used her feet to push Sonic off of her. Then, she jumped up, and dusted herself off. "Wow!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "Not even Metal Sonic was able to get in a move like that. You can really do it like the True Blue himself!"

Sonic stared at her. The static was so loud. So loud.

Finally loud enough to unhook the claws of Eggman's nefarious programming from his mind.

"You," he gasped. Like he had just come up for air. "You're the one who stole Shadow's inhibitor rings!"

#falling stars au #thank god sonic has an iron will or else this could have gone so much worse <3 #anyways writing his dialogue for this part gave me the willies. LOL

242 notes · View notes

cal-daisies-and-briars · 1 month

Note

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore.

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees.

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family.

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May.

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet.

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps.

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her.

Athena takes a deep breath.

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive.

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway.

“You want backup?” He offers.

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone.

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another.

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car.

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up.

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality.

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says.

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary.

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met. Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe.

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street.

“Architect,” Athena explains.

Well that accounts for that.

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that.

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure.

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code.

The gate clicks open.

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her.

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly.

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it.

#daisies and briars writes #go and kill go and die fic

12 notes · View notes