#and that its meant to be them. and we will get some sort of explanation of how they got there

[moontropy]

i’ve seen a lot of “chester norris & augustus can’t be/aren’t/won’t be Thee jon martin & jonah because tmagp can be listened to as a standalone” and i totally get the sentiment but i just…. don’t agree?

like, the chatty incidents are already a mystery that needs solving. it won’t go unexplained, there’s no way imo that chester norris & augustus will exist solely as an easter egg, /especially/ with augustus not being voiced by ben meredith and the fact that the tts is noted within the show to not have been happening from the get-go.

i /don’t/ think that the mystery of the tts ghosts will be the main focus by any means, or that they will be jon martin & jonah in totality - the “some of him” incident feels important there.

basically, when i hear ‘can be listened to as a standalone’ im not hearing ‘not connected at all’ - i’m hearing ‘any necessary/relevant information will be explained somehow so you don’t have to listen to 200 episodes to understand’

[creatingblackcharacters]

"It takes HOW LONG?" Black Hair is an Art (pt.2)

(This is part two of the hair lessons, focusing on writing/narratives. If you want to know how the styles LOOK, refer to part 1 and its addendum)

Now that you know what our hair actually looks like, we’re going to discuss incorporating that into your writing (original fic, fanfic, webcomics, anything with a narrative). You don’t HAVE to give us a dissertation on "how you studied 'The Black People’s Hair'" in your story. That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I’m just asking you to CONSIDER the effort and existence of it. The same way you put effort into discussing nonblack hair textures? Should be the sort of tenderness and care you put into discussing ours. It does not stand to reason that I have read thousands of stories describing "the silky, black/blonde tresses/waves that fell down their pale back as their lover ran their fingers through them", but Black readers have nothing of the sort to compare to without seeking our own authors out. Our hair deserves some loving and adoration too!

This is a very long post describing hairstyles and how they can correspond to your character's design and decisions, so I'll put a read more here. The sections are organized into 'Twist Out', 'Afros', 'Locs', 'Braids', 'Black Men', and 'Straight Hair' if you Ctrl F. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take your time to read all of this at some point though, as I put a lot of resources and explanation into this. I'm trusting you!

The History

As I discussed in the last lesson, our hair is incredibly important to us, and part of that includes the vulnerability and trust that comes along with access to it. This is due to a long history of oppression. There’s a racist history of making Black women hide our hair, as if it would ‘tempt white men’ away, regardless of it were due to actual attraction or the (more likely) rape of Black women. There’s a racist history of touching our hair, as though we are animals or zoo exhibits. We aren’t just going to let anyone touch our heads, so DON'T write that, unless you are doing so to show that it is a microaggression towards your character. Even now, cultural appropriation is rampant. If I were to wear cornrows with hoops, it'd be seen as 'ghetto' or 'gang-like'. Meanwhile, it is a fashion statement for white women. When Miles G Morales showed up in Across the Spiderverse, animators specifically chose cornrows for him, but many people mistakenly took it to me that he was 'rougher and tougher' than the original Miles. This was a racist perception! Hearing the Fade get hyped up in the news as the 'Travis Kelce', when Black men and especially NFL players have been wearing it for DECADES to crickets... it hurts lmao. Point is, you can describe and respect Black hair without being racist about it. Okay? Okay.

Vulnerability

YOUR CHARACTERS NEED TO BE CLOSE BEFORE ALLOWING THEM TO TOUCH THEIR HAIR!!!

It needs to be someone they TRUST wholeheartedly. Again, do NOT let a stranger touch their hair unless it’s meant to be an uncomfortable situation!

Consider CONSENT! Consent is ALWAYS beautiful! Have your other characters (Black or not) ASK to touch your Black characters’ hair! And not in the ‘Oh can I touch it?’ way. But if they’re really close friends or dating, have them ask to help do their braids, or wash their hair, or even just to stroke their hair and face! Or if your Black character is injured with a head wound, and they have to tend to them, have them ask! The asking shows a level of care and respect for your Black character and their body! At any point the consent may be revoked, and that needs to be respected! If they let them tend their head wound, but then smack their hand away after, that’s not ‘rude’- they’re allowed to do that, especially to signify that they aren’t at that level of trust yet. That's still angsty!

One great example of love from a Black character is doing their partner’s hair, or allowing their partner to do their hair. The ‘Hair-washing’ fic is a common thing in fanfiction; we all understand how that shows the depth of the trust in the relationship between the characters. How would you write about that trust with a Black character, if you don’t know what goes into taking care of their hair? If you don’t even know what their hair looks or feels like? The lack of awareness will show, and what should be a beautiful, deep moment will fall flat for Black readers. I wrote one once for my character with locs, and it honestly made me tear up because I realized that I’d never seen one, at least not in the majority white spaces that the fandoms I was in were.

Think about it- how often have you read a hair-washing fic with a Black character? Was it accurate? Would you know if it was accurate? Have you spoken to or heard anyone Black in your fandom space talk about it? Do you know anyone Black in your fandom space to ask? It’s things like this that we have to consider!

If you have a character that is nonblack in a relationship with your Black character, that honestly reveals even more trust because there’s a long history (again) behind that NOT happening! In life, we can’t go to the same places. I can’t go to a white hair salon or barbershop. They won’t know what to do! People are allowed to go through hair school without learning how to work with different, thicker textures. It’s not right nor fair, but it’s a part of the casual, systemic racism in our lives.

My feelings on what Lestat symbolizes aside, the scene where he plays with Louis’ curls in AMC's IWTV was an intelligent way to show that closeness, and how a nonblack character would affectionately play with a Black character’s hair! How he works with the curl in his fingers, rather than trying to pet Louis or run his fingers through- it was an intelligent move on Sam and Jacob’s part as actors to understand that THAT’S how that would go down!

If you have a character that wants to show a violation of your Black characters’ space, touching/harming our hair is cruelty on a very personal level that will generate an extreme reaction.

Think About Your Character!

When thinking about your Black character’s hairstyle, you need to think about your character themselves! What do they do every day? What are their hobbies? Are they Type A, Type B personality? Do they have a lot of time? Are they always in a rush? Are they noncommittal? Are they self-conscious? Artsy? Serious? Are they in a time period where the means to care for their hair are limited?

People make jokes and comments about how Black women don’t like getting our hair wet and dismiss our concerns. But it’s not out of ‘silliness’ or vanity. What you consider ‘just hair’ may have taken days of planning in advance and HOURS of our time! We put a lot of thought and effort into our hair, and it will easily shatter the illusion for your Black readers if you describe our hair poorly or create an unlikely scenario with it. It’s not a joke!

Some Terms:

Protective styles- a style that allows our hair to ‘rest’ with minimal manipulation

‘Tender-headed’- some people’s scalps are more sensitive to the tightness of styles, so it’ll hurt a little bit more and require some more gentleness (Regardless it’s still going to hurt for a bit after a fresh style)

Bonnets- a silk/satin cap of varying lengths that we wear at night to protect our hair and keep the moisture in

Loc Sock- same idea, but for locs

Durag- keeps short haircuts protected; can even help create the wave pattern that many Black men enjoy

Scarf- same idea as the bonnets, except scarfs can be used specifically for straight hairstyles to wrap them up to keep it straight and neat

(It'll seem real legit if you include your Black characters wearing their headcoverings at night! I remember laughing while reading Twilight because I knew that if Edward snuck into my room at night, he'd see me in my scarf or bonnet lmao.)

General Hair Care:

While I don’t completely agree with some of the advertising in this first one (it’s the internet. Can’t go nowhere without someone trying to hawk something) it’s cool in general to explain how our hair looks the way it does.

If you have Black children OCs, it’s important to consider that their parents have to do their hair, and how that will be its own experience! (It can be very stressful for Black children to get their hair done, as it takes a long time and can be physically uncomfortable. There are plenty of stories of burnt ears and tugged tangles and not very nice old women. Children are children! Keep in mind how they may behave while getting the style of your choice.

Moisturizing to keep healthy

Twist Outs

Cute twist out styles

Twist outs are a style that takes overnight to hold, or maybe even a few days! The cool thing is that the twists themselves can be the style! So the tighter you want their curls to be, the longer they’ll wear the twists in. If you want to describe your character with tighter curls, there needs to be a section of time where their hair remains in the twists! If your character has an event, and they want twists… this needs to be done in advance. Your character will NOT untwist them the day of, unless they want weak, limp curls (or you want the scene to compose of them having weak curls).

How long they'll last depends on the activity of your character! If all they do is work a desk job, or they don’t sweat very much, the twists can last some time! But if they sweat, or wear hats or caps, it’s not going to last long. Maybe a week.

Pros: Very versatile! If you have a character that loves trying new looks and enjoy being spontaneous, twist outs are for them! Easy! If your Black character is younger, or haven’t done their hair before, this is a great way for them to start working with their hair! Doesn’t take long (to do)! If your character is in a rush, and they do their twists, they can go just about anywhere. If they’re not self-conscious, this will be just fine.

Cons: It cannot get wet again, or the style will puff up back into your natural texture. It does not last long enough to say “oh my character went on a two year long fantasy adventure with this style.” If you want your character to have a twist out the whole time, they’re going to have to take time to do it. It would be cool if you incorporate a scene where they’re working on their hair, maybe in the background while everyone’s discussing plans or something. Just a reminder that their hair isn’t just staying magically twisted (unless they have the magic to do that).

Afros

Afro Style Guide, Style Guide for Men (works for any gender though)

Wash & Gos are just that- wash it (or really, condition it, you don’t have to shampoo it every time) dry with a t-shirt (to prevent breakage), put some oil and a light crème on it, fluff it up and you’re good to go! Maybe an hour at max and can be done while getting dressed in the morning!

Pros: Easy! If they’re doing a full, combed out afro, it’s not as simple, it will take more time. And at night it has to be plaited so that it maintains its length, otherwise it will tangle. But other than that, that’s still not all that hard. They can show off their curls! Black characters can and should have pride in their hair. It’s beautiful. This is the opportunity that you as an author can describe the pure texture of their hair, how it shines in the light, how the coils look, how soft it is! Romanticize Black hair the same way you do anyone else’s!

Cons: None really! Afros are wonderful! Just make sure that your character has a way to keep their hair from getting tangled. Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean there’s no maintenance! A pick, a bonnet, oil and water go a long way!

Locs

Five stages of locs

A person who does locs is a loctician.

Can be palm-rolled or interlocked/crocheted

I cannot emphasize enough that you do not want just anyone doing their locs! They can really mess up someone’s hair if they don’t know what they’re doing. I say that to say, for your character, if they don’t trust the person doing their hair… they should. They should not be walking into anyone’s place to get their hair locked; they’d do research first.

The time it takes locs to ‘bud’ (that is, to actually form the loc) depends on the texture of their hair. But it can take up to 3 months to even a year for them to actually ‘loc up’. So if your character just got locs, they’re not going to look neat. They’re going to be frizzy.

As long as they’re washing their hair, keeping it moisturized, and not using wax products (DO NOT HAVE ANY BLACK CHARACTER USE WAX PRODUCTS IT IS BAD FOR BLACK HAIR) it’ll last forever! Locs are incredibly strong, especially the thicker they get! It is recommended that locs are retwisted every six weeks, but if your character has freeform locs, doesn’t have the money or time right now, or they just aren’t that pressed, they can grow indefinitely.

Something cute to write in your stories: sometimes locs do just… fall out. Not the whole thing! But the same way thin hair gets everywhere… sometimes the ends of thin locs just… fall off! You’ll find little buds on the ground. This happens especially in the budding stage.

Pros: Very low daily maintenance! At most they’ll need a bonnet or loc sock, and oil/water mix to spritz and massage in. Strong style that can hold any look- buns, curls, etc. They can be dyed, though it will take a long time to do so. I say that to say, if you want your character to have bright green locs, go for it!!

Cons: Low daily, but HIGH wash day maintenance! So if your character has a fancy date or something to go on, they should not be getting their hair retwisted the same day, or at least not so close to. It’s going to be shiny, oily, and tight, which can cause discomfort. Give them the day to let the hair settle!

Locs are PERMANENT!! This isn’t a bad thing, as much as it is a ‘KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING BEFORE YOU DO IT’ thing. Technically they can be combed out, but that would take a very long time and very precise effort, and most people aren’t going through all that. They’re just going to cut them off and start fresh. If you have a character that would balk at such a choice, locs aren’t for them. If you have a character that’s picky and choosy, that likes versatility, that can’t make up their mind, do NOT give them locs unless they’re making the conscious choice to commit. (Again, this is subjective! Maybe they have locs because their mother died and it reminds them of her! Okay! That works!) If you have a character that’s vain, or at least doesn’t like looking awkward… unless they’re going to style up the awkward stage, they’re not going to want locs. (Awkward stage: the first two stages get considered awkward because the locs look messy. This is because they’re turning from curls to locs!)

Braids

Styles

How long braids can take depend on the style. Box braids can take 10-12 hours to do! Microbraids? You HAVE to have multiple people or you'll be there for damn near a day (and that's assuming you have a masterful braider!)

How long they last depend on your character! If they're like me as a kid, I didn't care how I looked, so my mom got me cheap braids and let me run free for two summer months. So if your Black character is a carefree child! Go for it. But if they're a teen or adult (or are very concerned about how they look) a month to six weeks is about how long braids can stay in before your new growth shows. A character that is usually trimmed and proper having loads of new growth over their braids may symbolize that they don’t have it all together anymore.

Pros: Protective style! Great way to let your character have minimal daily maintenance; oil and water and something to cover it. SOME braided styles allow for high activity and even rain without changing. It depends on the hair that’s been braided in, as well as the style. Incredibly versatile! They can have multi-colored braids, long braids, short braids, beads, trinkets… if your character is creative and bubbly and likes to experiment, the sky is the limit! That can symbolize their artistic expression, just by describing what they look like! So long as they have the time, they can have any look and style they want. No need to commit too long.

If your character is capable of doing their own braids (and locs, btw), they’re amazing. Like… that’s mad respect for them. If you describe your character being able to do their own braids, they’ve got amazing arm strength, patience, and skill. That skilled dexterity can be revealed as a trait of theirs through that alone.

Cons: They take a LONG TIME. Your character is not going anywhere. If they’re getting braids… they’re not going anywhere. If you write your character doing anything fancy the day of, depending on the type of braids, Black readers are not going to believe you. Even if it did get finished, it would be very tight. I currently have a poll going on, and so far, a good majority of the 10+ answers are braids! It cost MONEY. It is NOT CHEAP to get braids done! If your character is poor as a church mouse, they will be doing those braids with their friend in front of youtube. Because it can be in the hundreds of dollars. (Don’t get me started on hair culture right now; BACK IN MY DAY IT COST-)

Hairstyles on Black Men

I want to specifically give space and applause to these hairstyles on Black men, because we REALLY don’t give Black men enough credit for all the creativity they show with their hair! And again, with The Killmonger being the choice style in all these damn vidya games despite almost no Black man I know choosing it as a look… PLEASE LOOK! WE HAVE OPTIONS! Try describing how gorgeous these looks can be on your Black men characters! It would be very nice.

Straight Hair

Well, I was going to explain, but ol ‘Guest Writer’ here pretty much lays it all out! So just go ahead and read this article lol.

Just to re-emphasize, straight hair is NOT something that just grows out of our head that way! It takes effort! So if you have a character that doesn’t feel like maintaining straight hair, they shouldn’t have it! If your character has natural hair and lives in a rainy or humid city, they’re going to be fighting that weather to keep it straight- make sure that’s consistent with their personality!

My best friend used to wash and flatiron her hair every day. Like, laser focused on looking that good, Type A shit (she’s a top money banker now, so I guess it worked out). If you have a character like that, it’s fine! If they’re lazy any other time of the day, they’re not suddenly going to be waking up at 5am to flat iron their hair. It’s not consistent.

Conclusion

That’s pretty much what I have! I’m not the guru on all things Black hair, and I obviously cannot encompass every potential scenario you may have for your characters. Really, my intention here is to get you to think about how our hair reflects our character and personalities, and how when you write and/or draw a Black character, you have that ability! And when you’re able to incorporate that naturally, it makes your Black readers feel seen, like you actually cared about that character enough to give them just as much description as your nonblack characters. You don’t have to be a master at it! Just… occasionally the little things that we can go ‘oh, yeah!’ at would be nice. An equivalent effort would be nice.

Remember, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

[lightningonatether]

Why c!endersmile were actually friends

ALTERNATIVELY TITLED: my crazy thesis on two bad bitches with not a single moment of screentime fueled purely by my own insanity

ALTERNATIVELY alternatively titled: to all loreheads please be nice i dont usually lorepost. feel free to engage though

So my return is courtesy of litchi, who mentioned c!endersmile like once a month ago, and got me thinking about them so hard I couldn't just walk away.

Namely, litchi reminded me of a few theories I have concerning c!endersmiles relationship, that I developed back when i was watching the SMP live. This might make my recollection of some events a little fuzzy, but everything should be canon compliant cause I was thinking about all this as I watched.

I was already watching ranboo pretty regularly at the point the prison arc started, I cant resist a really weird guy with horrible debilitating anxiety. I already thought the whole hearing dreams voice in his head was really interesting, but as the prison arc evolved it became clear that ranboos relationship with dream wasnt just some hallucination inside ranboos head and actually had some substance.

My theory really started to develop into what it is now with the explosions on the prison roof which led to the lockdown and tommys death; these were confirmed to be set by ranboo in his enderwalk state. He was one of the only people online at the time, ranboo found tnt in his inventory afterwards, and I think dream also told sam he knew ranboo did it at some point, although I can't find the exact stream.

At that point it was obvious that enderwalking ranboo held a different set of beliefs, alliances, and likely more memories than the "awake" ranboo we saw most of the time on streams, and was acting against amnesiac ranboos wishes. The explosions above the prison along with the reveal that ranboo had been regularly visiting dream in prison confirmed that dream and ender!ranboo were some sort of allies.

At the time, my assumption was that ranboo had simply made an attempted prison break. It wouldnt be a stretch to assume, if ranboo had visited regularly, that he would have noticed the poor conditions and tried to break his ally out. However, after the confirmation of the staged finale, and a better look at cdreams motivations(wanting to provide protection for punz, separating himself very publicly from his only known ally to keep them safe) the idea that enderwalk ranboo, an ally of dreams, would go against dreams explicit wishes to stay locked in that prison began making less sense.

It would only make sense if either:

enderwalk never knew about the plan or

enderwalk knew about the plan but went against it anyway

1 is a very tempting explanation. c!dream rarely lets anyone close. even punz, who knew the plan intimately, wasn't aware of dreams true motivations to bring the server back to a peaceful time before conflict. but..... it didnt sit right with me.

Two reasons for this: I know some people may have stopped watching/never watched ranboo lore, but towards the end of the prison arc, ranboo began seeing flashes of "lessons" appear on screen. These lessons all had that utilitarian and paranoid feel a lot of dreams actions/reasoning have, like "dont trust anybody"(paraphrasing, thats just what i remember the core of that message being) or "never hesitate to gain a favor from someone, you can use it to get something from them later". anyone remember technos favor to dream? It was heavily implied these lessons were meant to be from dream, directed at c!enderwalk. This would mean the two spent a significant amount of time together. not only that, dream was sharing his *life philosophy* with ender!ranboo. thats not just something dream would share with anyone, and implies a close allyship at the least. its almost like he was teaching a pupil. yeah, sure, some of his lessons were a little fucked up and weird in that dream sort of way, but he was looking out for the kid. and it seems that enderwalk wasnt hesitant to act on those lessons either. he promised to keep a shulker safe for foolish, gaining a favor, and didnt sign a single one of those prison visitation waivers, on top of sam discovering they were corrupted into enderian when he checked LMAO.

This alone would be enough to persuade me enderwalk HAD to have been let in on the plan, at least so he wouldnt cause any problems (such as trying to get his ally out of prison).

but the other reason is... ranboos stated philosophy against conflict. he doesnt like sides, he wishes they wouldn't exist. I remember watching a stream and nearly jumping out of my seat when he told chat he just wished the server could just be one big happy family! because that is nearly word for word what a bunch of loreheads were saying about dreams motivations at the time(and now obviously lmao). if we keep in mind their contact for those "lessons", ranboos visits to dream in prison, AND the fact that dreams and ranboos motivations coincide on a level even Above dream and punzs(punz seemed to have been unaware of and also not particularly motivated by dreams wish for peace) i cant really imagine dream not letting this guy in on the plan.

which leaves us with 2) ranboo tried to break dream out against dreams wishes.

Maybe ranboo was just an ally and chickened out after he saw dreams mistreatment in prison and went against the plan, but... dream missed him after sam barred him from visiting. he asked sapnap to deliver a note to ranboo(just a smiley face, likely with the hopes of triggering an enderwalk) despite fearing for his ally punz enough to lock himself in prison. it feels reminicent to how dream sounds when he comments on george not visiting him once. like he missed a friend despite trying so hard to separate himself from the ones he'd had.

Maybe ranboo tried to break in because he saw a friend being mistreated, and couldn't leave the plan stand.

And that kind of makes sense doesn't it? that dream, someone whos paranoid about how peoples connection to him puts them in danger, would choose an amnesiac who spends most of their time terrified of dream, and wouldnt remember any of his plans or their friendship to use against either of them in the first place?

[firstkanaphans]

Safe House, Season 4: FK moments you might have missed (Day 5)

Before I dive into the FK-specific moments from this episode, I want to briefly address the fallout from Foei and White’s comments the night before. Their apology is still available on YouTube in its entirety, which is ironic considering they removed the actual incident, so now it just looks like they’re apologizing for nothing. You can read a full translation of the apology here.

I also paid extra close attention to both First and Khaotung’s interactions with Foei and White in the aftermath because I’ve seen some people say that Khao in particular acted annoyed by them, but in all honesty, I couldn’t tell a difference. Neither First nor Khaotung gave any indication that they were upset by what happened. This is not meant to excuse what Foei did or even to suggest that there wasn’t animosity lingering under the surface, but they kept it civil in the house and I don’t think it serves anyone well to insinuate that Khaotung was on some sort of revenge quest when he was actually super chill and professional. 

But now, hopefully, I am done talking about Foei and White forever.

First was in an exceptionally good mood this morning and was up almost as soon as the wake-up call went off. He tried to wake Khaotung to no avail.

He eventually gives up and goes to help Fourth wake the rest of the house instead. (Please check out this gif set of Fourth’s attempts to wake some of the younger boys because it’s one of my favorite things on this website.) And although we don't get to see Fourth try to wake Khaotung, he does come back into the room and complain to First, “P’Khaotung won’t wake up.” To which First responds, “He won't wake up? Fine. I’ll do it naa.” And then instead of actually trying to wake him up, he just crawls back into bed with him 😂

The morning challenge involved the contestants trying to catch a piece of toast in their mouths. First was down an arm, so Khaotung worked the toaster for him during several of his attempts. This also led to one of my all-time favorite Safe House moments:

The fact that Khao just takes it. Out of his bestie’s mouth. Without question. Insanity.

The afternoon session opens with Khaotung making coffee. First is teasing him for saying a bad word, which Khao swears he didn’t say. You can watch the video and read a full translation of that clip here.

I’d always assumed Khao was making the coffee for himself, but he put the cup in front of First’s place at the lunch table and then they both drank out of it. You know. Just bestie things.

After that, there was another pool challenge that First couldn’t participate in. He still did his best to have fun, though.

That night during dinner, they are given desserts with flowers in them. Khaotung and First both spend the entire meal trying to secretly stick them on each other.

(via)

After dinner, everyone plays “Never Have I Ever” while waiting for production to set up their next challenge. Whenever someone loses, they have to do push-ups. This was Khao’s attempt.

And the aftermath:

Later that same night is when the infamous pillow-sniffing happens. First and Khao are sitting on the couch together. Khao gets up and, without missing a beat, First reaches for the pillow he had been holding and sniffs it.

Fourth is immediately like “bro, you good?” and although we can’t actually hear them, I can only assume that First tries to justify his actions in some way because the next thing you know, Fourth is sniffing the pillow too. You can watch the full video here.

I know people say “there’s no heterosexual explanation for this” about things that do, in fact, have a heterosexual explanation, but this is gay AF. Like? First, honey. Stand up.

Almost a whole hour of the evening session is just the cast watching The Eclipse on an iPad. (Really, GMMTV? An iPad? There was no way for you to cast it onto an actual TV?) At one point, First gets up and smacks Khaotung with a pillow over something Aye did. You can watch it here. I tried to gif it, but it looks overly violent in gif form because First knocks over a picture frame and everyone freaks out.

And then finally, our two favorite besties get into another squabble during the evening interviews. Khaotung playfully pushes First and First says, “Everyone, please take note that I am not usually the one who teases him.” Then Khao pulls him off screen.

Sorry this got so long. They were extra gay today.

[cookiebelle]

Me Fui de Vacaciones • Damian Priest x AFAB reader

Warnings • 2nd person pov (no use of y/n), reader is Afab but I did my best to be as inclusive and nondescript as possible

Smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected PIV sex, oral (m receiving), names (Gatita, baby, you get it), some extremely light kink (spanking, biting, choking, hair pulling), lil bit of Sir kink, size kink sort of, exactly two uses of the word “whore”, porn with an unnecessary amount of plot, tropes galore, idiots to lovers requires its own warning, bad Spanish translations probably.

Word Count • 6.2k words, I have no reasonable explanation for this.

A/N • This should go without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway. This is a wrestling fic, featuring wrestlers. While wrestlers are indeed real people with real lives, they are also playing characters. The people mentioned in this fic are their characters, and in no way am I depicting the individuals who portray them.

Burning logs crackled. One. Two. Three beers became five. Your feet dug into soft, cool sand as you and your closest friends talked around a fire.

It was the beginning of a well deserved mini-vacation, and the five of you weren’t intending to waste a moment of it. So when you all arrived at the little beach cottage you had rented, even at nearly midnight, you were hell bent on getting the most of your time off. So the fire was built, drinks were passed around, and laughter carried across the beach.

Most people called your friends “The Judgment Day”. You just called them family, though. You had met Damian first, in 2020, the near end of his NXT career marking your beginning. He quickly became your mentor as you navigated the tribulations of what it meant to work for the company, a true friend among those who looked at you only as competition. Later, he introduced you to Rhea. Then the faction formed, and Finn joined the circle, then Dom. Your call up to the main roster occurred shortly after, during the draft. The celebration that ensued when you learned you would be working with the rest of the crew was legendary. These, truly, were your people.

And then there you were, a year later, feet in the sand. You played a light tune on your guitar as though it were the backing score to Bálor’s story, leaving the group captivated. Well, everyone but you. You were looking up at the stars, taking it all in, wondering how you could possibly be so lucky. You decided not to tempt fate by asking the universe that very question, but it seemed fate had its own ideas for this week.

“You good?”

Rhea’s voice pulled you from your daydream and all at once, everyone was looking at you. You realized, in your deep state of thought, your random plucking at the guitar had faded to nothing.

“So good…” you grinned, slurring slightly, at which the group chuckled and carried on with their conversations. Crisis averted. At least you thought. Damian’s gaze lingered on you when you looked back down at the frets of your guitar, but you didn’t seem to notice.

It was a drunken stumble back to the house, sometime around 3AM, everyone finally exhausted enough to end the day and refresh themselves for the next. Except you. As they all said their goodnights and retired to their respective rooms, you found yourself on the couch, unable to sleep and watching reruns of the same sitcoms you had seen a hundred times.

—————

“Hey… Hey you…”

You felt something… poking you?

“Hellooooo…”

You gasped and sat up, eyes wildly searching the room until you found Rhea standing above you. It was light outside, light enough that golden rays peeked through the curtains and illuminated her face. You glanced at the clock. 7am. Hadn’t you guys just gone to bed?

“We’re going to the gym. You coming?”

“I thought we were on vacation,” You groaned and laid back down, covering your face with a throw pillow as you realized how sore your back was. Why the hell did you sleep on the couch all night?

“Suit yourself. We’ll back in a couple hours.”

You rolled over, scrunched up but content as the footsteps left the house, got in the car, and drove away. Slowly, you dozed back off into that euphoric state of half sleep.

“Hey…”

Oh fuck. Damian. Your heart picked up and suddenly you were awake once more. You thought you had heard all of them leave, and yet…

“Hey, you awake?”

You remained rigidly still save for your breathing, even as you heard him approach. For whatever reason, pretending to still be asleep was your first and only instinct. It did you little good, however.

In one sudden motion, as if you weighed nothing at all, you were scooped up into his arms. Still, you pretended to sleep. Despite your heart racing. Despite how badly you wanted to lean into the safety and warmth of his chest. Despite the fire that sparked in your core every time you got close to him.

Yeah, you were down bad. The moment he got in the ring to spar with you that first time, you were a goner, and it only got worse as years went on. You had spent holidays together, traveled to countless cities and countries, bared your soul to him over late night gin and cigarettes. You saw him for what he was. When others saw a monster of a man, a Broken Angel as he was once called, you saw someone sensitive, fierce, and loyal. Even the flaws drew you closer, but you could focus on those another time.

You kept the feelings under the hat as best you could. The only time you let it slip was to Rhea, early on in your friendship, your eyes lingering too long on Damian as he walked away from the two of you. She promised to take the secret to her grave. That didn’t stop her from teasing you in private, though, or from dropping the subtlest of hints when you were all together. Hints Damian never seemed to get, or maybe he did. Who really knows?

Back in the present, he was carrying you… somewhere, that much you could glean with your eyes closed. And then you were placed somewhere soft. Already warm and slept in, like the comfiest hug. Wait… was this his bed? You breathed deeply and realized it was, regrettably, recognizing the scent of his hair left behind on the pillow.

He covered you with a blanket, pushing away some hair that had fallen in your face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture from someone like him, especially for “just a friend”, but that was something you had gotten used to. It was one of the many facets of who he was, showing his love with touch. He was always there for you with a hug when you needed it, or a rub to your shoulders after a good match, and he seemed to mess with your hair a lot, too. You thought nothing of it. That was just.. him.

You decided, as his hand drew away from your face, that now was as good a time as any to begin to stir. You slowly blinked your eyes open and looked up as he was still standing beside you, just turning to leave.

“Mmmm hello…” you mumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up… you just looked uncomfortable and I was getting up anyway so I figured…” He seemed almost nervous, immediately pulling his hands away from you.

“No, it’s fine,” you cut him off, stretching for the first time in what felt like days, “thank you..”

“Okay, well.. you sleep. I’m gonna make breakfast..” he turned back to leave and you quickly grabbed onto his hand, tugging it backward.

“Too early for breakfast. It’s your bed. Come lay down…” your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard every word.

It wasn’t as though you two hadn’t shared plenty of beds. Traveling on tour was like that. With Dom and Rhea paired off, and Finn preferring to be alone, you two often ended up in a room together, and thanks to Damian’s stature that meant sharing a single king bed. Of course, you didn’t mind. Not even as you laid awake all those nights, trying to quell that burning need you couldn’t seem to shake when you were so close yet so far from him. You wondered how he could sleep, how he couldn’t feel your nervous energy from across the bed. Maybe he could, and just paid it no mind.

This time was different, though. Charged. Like the energy you felt shooting through the fingertips that touched him was somehow a mutual exchange. Like if you pulled your hand from his right now, you would see the electricity connecting them. You couldn’t explain how or why, all you could do was tug on his hand as he tried to decline your invitation.

“There’s no way you’re not tired, come on…”

And, after a moment of your insistence, he reluctantly obliged.

There was a dip in the bed, and you hummed happily as a strong arm wrapped around you, hugging you close for a moment as he got situated. You rolled onto your side, facing away from him so you could hide your secret little smile. Strong arms wrapped around you again, to your surprise, and you shifted until you both were comfortable laying there in each other’s space.

You two always ended up like this, once you finally found yourself able to sleep. You would wake curled up against his massive frame, him holding you in a manner that could only be described as possessive. It was almost as though he was protecting you in your slumber; From what, you weren’t sure. Bad dreams? Aliens? You always played it off as though you two just enjoyed the closeness, drawn to each other in the unconscious. You’d vehemently defend to Rhea that it was strictly platonic. The butterflies in your throat disagreed.

It felt like every single cell in your body was vibrating. You thought there was no way that you could sleep, and yet you felt your eyelids droop as his warmth spread around you. Once again, you dozed, your body weightless despite being hyper aware of the fact that you were pressed up against him. His shallow, sleepy breaths puffed across the top of your head, but you would later learn he was also not sleeping.

No, he was in the same predicament as you. Pretending to sleep while his mind raced and the smell of your hair drew him further into this downward spiral. It was all innocent thoughts at first. Friendly. Looking forward to spending time with you and the others over the next few days. Then he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of your peaceful, sleeping face and a switch flipped. Suddenly he was consumed by the thought of waking you up and taking you then and there, finally giving into the urge he felt every time he got close to you. Every time he watched you wrestle. Every time you smiled at him from across a room, or fell asleep on him during long flights, or gave his butt a pat as he walked out from Gorilla to the ramp. He valued your friendship more than that urge, though, and it’s stopped him every time he’s nearly gone through with indulging it.

Lost in your thoughts, you only barely registered the fact that he had scooted a little bit closer to you than before, hips flush with the curve of your ass. Something else pressed against you, something somewhat firm and insistent. You blushed, trying to muffle the faintest gasp at the realization of exactly what it was. He had to be sleeping… right? Would he do this if he wasn’t?

You didn’t know what to do, frozen still by the options before you. You could ignore it, pretend to keep sleeping and act as though nothing was happening. That was the safest option. You two could proceed as usual, protecting your friendship for the long run while you pined for him still. Or… you could give in and acknowledge it, say fuck it to all of the doubt and uncertainty.

Fuck it.

You moved to back yourself up further against him, making sure to slowly grind your hips and drag your ass against the clothed protrusion. You heard a low, barely audible noise from him, spurring you on as you arched your back slightly and once again pressed your ass into him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing…” he whispered under his breath, not wanting to wake you if this was all just some kind of cruel joke the universe was playing on him. His hand went from holding you across your waist to slowly tracing a line down your side, stopping at your hip and squeezing gently. You hummed again, softly, leaning into his touch.

It burned where his fingertips made contact with your skin, feeling that same electric energy as before, stealing the breath from your lungs. It was now or never, you decided, no going back from here. A calculated risk, but you were always so bad at math. Slowly, you reached back, grabbing hold of his hip and using the new leverage to really grind against him. You heard a low rumbling, like thunder in his chest, fingers digging into your hip.

“Don’t tease me…” another barely audible growl of a whisper. You chuckled softly, putting on an air of confidence in spite of your hammering heart, moving just enough in his hold to turn your head and look innocently at him. God, he loved that look. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking you over with a glint in his eye you’d never seen before, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Who’s teasing?” You offered a smile over your shoulder.

“I mean it…” he brought you closer to him, his lips finding your bare shoulder. He placed a kiss on it, then bit down softly, eliciting the tiniest gasp from you. Another kiss, another bite, another low, sleepy whine from you as your hips begged for more friction. His hand on your hip pulled you back as he rocked slowly into you. God, why did he have to make this so good? It was bad enough that you were past some kind of point of no return, but every press of his hips to your behind only made it worse, forcing tiny moans out of you. Officially helpless to the way your body was reacting to his touch, you didn’t bother resisting it any longer. Your hand on his hip reached between the two of you, teasing along the waistband of his boxers before reaching in. Your hand slid tentatively down his pelvis, running over smooth, hot skin before finally wrapping around what you were looking for.

It was damn near as intimidating as he was. Long and thick and heavy, twitching slightly in your grasp as he grew harder. You couldn’t help but utter a quiet “Fuck”. His chest rumbled as you stroked him a few times, and you couldn’t help but groan with him, the slick heat of your core only growing more overwhelming with each glide of your palm. You felt lips on your neck now, doing the same as before. A kiss, a bite, then another soothing kiss as you mewled at the sensation, your walls clenching around nothing, absolutely begging for him. You’d be lucky if you made it out of this without him marking you, but would that really be lucky? You kept on with soft, slow strokes, breathless as he continued to focus on your neck.

“Are you sure we should do this…” he breathed in your ear, your movements slowing as you processed his question. He was giving you one last out, it seemed. One last opportunity to say “you’re right, let’s stop”, though you both knew you had already gone too far to come back from this. But, with no hesitation, you nodded.

It all happened so fast after that. In half a second you were flat on your back, eyes wide as you tried to choke out something clever or witty to say, completely failing. He wasn’t touching you yet, but nonetheless you were pinned, his massive frame caging yours entirely. Your eyes cut down to discover he’d slid his boxers off, hard cock hanging between his legs. Fuck, it looked even better than it felt. Your gaze wandered back up to his confident smirk. He knew what he was working with, clearly. Smug bastard.

“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice…” you couldn’t help but laugh, doing everything you could to look normal, ignoring the steady beating in your ears.

“Just couldn’t help but notice you admiring something…” he chuckled, then leaned back down to kiss your neck, and suddenly your mind was mush again except for him.

You were ripped from your thoughts as you found your top being pulled off and your breasts exposed, his mouth immediately attaching to one. He was all teeth and tongue, frantic and desperate, years of tension finally breaking the dam and rushing through his veins. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, writhing and gasping as he played you so expertly, somehow finding every little sensitive spot and knowing exactly how to wring the most pathetic little sounds from your throat. Had your nipples always been this sensitive? You couldn’t remember. In fact, this all felt so new, like it was your first time all over again. His intense focus turned up to you as he switched to your other breast, the eye contact enough to ruin you both. You broke it, certain you would come in an instant if you held his dark eyes any longer.

Damian let go of your nipple with a tug of his teeth, leaning up to finally kiss your lips, both hands holding your face. White heat burst behind your eyes as his tongue immediately assumed dominance over yours. You wrapped your arms around broad shoulders, moaning shamelessly into his mouth as tongues danced and one of his hands moved to firmly hold your jaw. He only broke the kiss to speak, lips just centimeters from yours.

“Pretty little thing… me estás matando…”

Your loss for words left you grinning stupidly in response. You, killing him? While you’ve lost all sense of chill, not even bothering to pretend to be casual about this? He kissed the smile off your face, biting and tugging on your bottom lip as he pulled away, leaving your lips to chase his as you whined with need. It was strange, the fact that you needed him. You’d had plenty of partners, plenty of good sex. Sure, you wanted them, but this felt like you’d surely die if you didn’t feel him inside you soon. Like your body would simply vaporize without his touch. Maybe this was how it was going to be from now on, feeling like something was distinctly missing when he wasn’t touching you.

Your flimsy cotton shorts were the next to go, his lips finding every inch of exposed skin down your abdomen and claiming it as his own. Eager hands glided down his shoulders and back, taking in the way each muscle flexed as he moved along your body.

His energy was impossible to place, manic but calm. He knew exactly what he was doing, but still moved with an urgency as if the two of you would be caught any moment. Which… was partially true. In a moment of clarity, the rest of the crew came to mind and your heart picked up at the realization that they would be back soon, and this would be over. Or worse.. they could find you two, passionately entangled. What would they say? What would HE say? You feared he would deny it, too ashamed to admit he felt anything for you, even just lust.

Your thoughts continued to race, eyes closing as you panicked. You tried to be discreet about it, but if anyone knew your cues, it was Damian. He moved back up to you, a strong yet delicate hand wrapping around your throat as he kissed you. Well, that was one way to knock out the intrusive thoughts.

“Look at me,” he squeezed ever so slightly as your eyes focused, his tone stern yet soft, “whatever you’re thinking about. Doesn’t matter right now. Tell me what does.” Another squeeze.

“You.”

“And what else…”

“… me?”

“Good girl.”

Another kiss, another squeeze, and he was gone. Back to leaving bite marks down your body. He came down to your panties and let out a silent, somewhat shaky breath. Finally. Finally he had you right where he always wanted you. It was almost overwhelming, but he didn’t let onto that. His fingers gently traced over black cotton, finding a damp spot along the seam of your cunt.

“Oh gatita,” he kept focus along that spot, shooting sparks through your entire body with how inexplicably sensitive you were, “is this all for me?”

All you could do was whimper in response, letting your head fall back to the pillow as your hips chased his fingers, begging for more. He granted you that extra friction, mouth falling open as he watched you shamelessly grind against his hand.

And then he pulled away, leaving you whining from the loss. In a blink, your panties were tossed to the floor and finally the two of you could take in the sight of one another. It took all of the self control he had not to split you open on his cock right there, but he resisted, instead kneeling between your open legs.

You looked up at him, breathing out a barely audible “please”. You nearly took him out right there, his composure faltering as he fully looked you over.

“Perfect,” he exhaled, readjusting his position and giving his straining cock a few lazy strokes, making sure you were watching. Oh, you were watching, nearly drooling at the sight.

His hand found your pussy again, gently swirling a thumb around your clit, eyes locked with yours and hand still slowly working his cock. He wanted to see every reaction, every little microexpression, he wanted it all. He had waited this long for you, years of picturing you in this exact moment. He wanted to savor everything.

You moaned through your bitten lip as he teased, not daring to look away from him. He had you captive, it seemed, frozen in place and begging for anything he could give you. Which is why you whined so pathetically when he pulled his hand away, once again.

He sucked your essence from his thumb, savoring your sweetness. You hummed at the sight, closing your eyes, only to feel his grip on your jaw a moment later to tilt your head up toward him.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more serious. You didn’t dare disobey him, looking up like a deer in headlights. Something about that voice… you couldn’t quite place it. He growled lowly, bringing his hand back down to your cunt. He collected some of your juices on his finger, running it up and down your slick folds before slowly, agonizingly sliding it inside.

He still gripped your chin, daring you to look away as you whimpered at the sudden fullness. You had always admired his hands, giant and strong and rough, yet gentle. You’d wondered how they would feel in this exact scenario, often finding your mind wandering as your own smaller hand worked to your release in the late nights. It was beyond what you had imagined, so much more. His finger found a slow, steady pace, filling you perfectly and yet not enough all at once. You moved your hips with his rhythm, mouth slack in euphoria, eyes still trained to his.

“So fucking good for me, look how well you’re taking it,” he praised, letting go of your jaw to let you look down at where his finger was disappearing into your tight hole. Then, as you watched, he added another finger, wrenching a moan straight from your chest as your head fell back once more. Now the pace picked up, the thrusts of his hand stronger, more precise as he curled his fingers to find that sensitive little spot. You gasped and panted pathetically as he played you so expertly, looking back down at his hand only to fall back onto the pillow, overwhelmed by the sight.

It’s unfair, how he seemed to know you without knowing you. Without much effort at all from him, you found yourself closing in on climax, your panting gradually becoming uninhibited moans of “Please. Please. Please.”

“Please what, gatita?” He cooed, slowing the pace ever so slightly as he leaned over you.

“Please. Just. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Just don’t stop.”

“Oh, don’t stop?” He slowed just a bit more, grinning down at you. You could only whine in response, hips moving sloppily now, trying to encourage him to fuck you faster. Harder. He obliged… for the moment. Your walls slowly grew tighter, your moans more heady and uncontrolled. You felt the coil tighten. Tighten. Tighten…

And then he slowed again. Painfully. Your orgasm held at bay, he couldn’t have appeared more smug, knowing exactly what he was doing. You looked up at him, flushed and desperate.

“Why’d you do that?” A whine, to which his response was simply to kiss you. Again, he picked up the pace, adding another finger, making sure you felt just how much he stretched you. Oh, you felt it. Your vision went blurry at the sensation, focusing on him and only him.

It didn’t take much to bring you to that edge again, the coil tightening even more, threatening to break with every rough pump of his fingers. He was hovering over you now, leaning down and biting on your shoulder, sucking a mark into it. Apparently, he didn’t think about the consequences of that… or maybe he didn’t care. Nevertheless, he bit again, smirking into your shoulder as you arched your back and rode his fingers, dramatically chasing your high. You were so, so close, every muscle in your body tense, hands scratching down his back.

“Come on, baby. Come for me.”

It hit like a brick to the face after that, overtaking you in every way as you moaned and gasped, holding onto him for dear life. He nuzzled his face into you, kissing and sucking marks down your chest to your abdomen, every press of his lips electric.

Everything felt blurry and yet razor sharp, every muscle in your body twitching in the aftershocks. You barely registered that he had kissed back up your body, hands on either side of your head as he waited above. His lips locked with yours the moment your eyes focused, your hands immediately twisting in his hair, holding him as close to you as you could.

You felt the weeping head of his cock prod at your folds, one of his hands guiding it to rub against your clit, still sensitive from your first orgasm. You mewled with anticipation, your hips grinding down against him.

“Patience…” he breathed against your lips, your hips stilling as he slowly slid inside. Just the head. A gasp from both of you. And then another inch. Fuck. And then another. And another. Until you felt all of him and all you could do was pull him in for another consuming kiss. He started with a slow pace, almost sweet, letting you get used to his size. It quickly grew intense, rough and fast, as he let himself fall into the demands of desire. Your hands grabbed at anything on him you could as he overwhelmed you with his force.

It really was unfair, the way he was fucking you. You didn’t stand a chance against him, not finding a single opportunity to gain the upper hand, left only to meet his thrusts with reckless abandon as you moaned with each moment he filled you. You liked it, though, being at his mercy. You trusted him, strangely. You could probably get used to this.

He’s stronger than you thought possible, his grip on your thighs surely bruising you as you writhed and arched your back at a particularly delicious sensation within you. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, completely lost in the rhythm and harshness of the snap of his hips. He bared his teeth as he fucked you harder. Faster. Tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the intensity. And then his hand was over your mouth, his eyes off you for the first time since this dance began. He was scanning outside the open window, watching a car come down the street, thinking it could be the rest of the group. That didn’t mean he stopped fucking you. In fact, it only got more intense.

“That’s right. Fucking take it.” he was back to looking down at you and your wide eyes, burying himself so deep inside you, you were sure he was ruining you entirely, “that’s it, baby. Tell me how good it feels.” Except he didn’t pull his hand from your mouth, smirking as you attempted to speak anyway, your mind too gone. That is.. until he slid himself fully inside, grinding his hips against yours. You moaned out loud, sure that the neighbors have heard you by now, your walls squeezing around him and feeling the drag as he pulled his cock out entirely.

“On your knees,” a simple order, and yet your brain was static. You blinked up at him before shaking away the fog and turning yourself over, wiggling your ass in his face just a little. His growl shook you, two strong hands grabbing hold of your ass and squeezing.

“Love this ass. Always loved this ass. Estuve soñando al respecto,” he kept squeezing, spreading you and groaning at the sight. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, giving it another shake in his face. Suddenly, you felt teeth on flesh, letting out a yelp that quickly became a satisfied sigh, your head dipping down past your shoulders. Somehow, you didn’t expect his hand to come crashing down on you, the slap against your ass ringing out in the empty house. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, too immersed in the moment to acknowledge anything but the way your back arched and your chest created the most depraved noise you’d ever heard.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Another slap, you gripped at the bedsheets to keep yourself grounded, “you like being treated like a whore?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered involuntarily, nearly slapping your own hand over your mouth at the realization of what you’d said.

“What.. did you just call me?”

“Nothing…”

A ruthless slap, “Tell me.”

You sobbed at the impact, “sir.”

The growl in his chest shook you, and with little warning his cock was pressing to your folds once again, sliding in with ease and setting a brutal pace right off the bat. You dropped to your elbows and arched your back, eyes closing as your head once again dropped. Of course, he took advantage and leaned over you, one hand finding the back of your head and pressing you down into the bed, holding it there. He slapped your ass with the other, laughing when you moaned into the mattress. It left the prettiest pink handprint, he almost wished he could get a picture of it.

You couldn’t believe the way he was fucking you. Like— like a whore, just like he said. You’d think he’d be gentle with you, being your first time together, that he’d want to show you how worthy he was of your pussy. In a way, he was showing you that. He was showing you his worth by fucking you absolutely stupid, and you were loving it. So much that you weren’t far from another climax, feeling your walls tighten around him, dragging such a beautiful sound from him. His hand found your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling your head off the bed. You cried out, steadying yourself on your hands. It was overwhelming, every sensation he subjected you to, to the point that you felt completely delirious with pleasure, all sense of control lost. You fucked yourself sloppily back on his cock, his fist pulling tighter on your hair. The tears pricked your eyes again, eyes whiting out.

“Ohhh fuck, are you coming? You filthy little—” he didn’t finish, groaning as your cunt rhythmically clenched around him, his own thrusts growing more erratic. You didn’t even hear him praising you with little ‘good girls’ and whispers of how good you feel, your head clouded with the sounds of your own depravity. You rode out your orgasm for what felt like hours, nearly collapsing as your body ceased quaking.

Your brain was working in half time, barely registering that he was still fucking you slowly, trying to bring you back to reality. You tried to speak, but the words were completely incoherent.

“Need a minute,” you finally mumbled, reaching back and grabbing his hand that rested on your hip. He obliged, pulling out and laying down beside you, pulling you into his arms. Your breath caught gradually, your mental faculties growing stronger by the second despite your throbbing cunt. You sighed contentedly, leaning up and kissing him for just a moment. You had your own ideas, now, and one in particular overtook your thoughts.

You kissed him again, grabbing hold of his cock, still slick with you. Your hand stroked him softly as you shifted down the bed, timidly tapping his leg as to ask him to open them. He did so, and you climbed between them, licking your lips as his cock bobbed in anticipation. You took him hungrily into your mouth, not bothering to tease, too eager to feel him.

Now it was your turn to show how unfair you could be, expertly taking him deep into your throat, holding there until you choked. Immediately, he was gone, head falling back on the pillow until he realized he would rather watch you. Your hand assisted your bobbing head, using your tongue to lap at every vein and ridge of his perfect dick. His groans and words of encouragement and yes gatitas only fueled you, giving everything you had to taking him. You almost wanted him to cum right there, to lose all composure and fill your mouth. He had other plans, however, pulling you by the hair off his cock and admiring the fucked out look on your face.

“So fucking pretty,” he mused, pulling you up to him and kissing you. It was all a ploy, of course, and you let him guide you to straddle him, your hips hovering just above his waiting cock. He ordered you to look at him, your brain already to fuck drunk disobey, eyes fixed on him as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Go ahead, take it all,” he couldn’t help but grin, brow furrowing in pleasure as you did just that, your own face mirroring his. It was almost too much, almost. Getting your balance, you slowly began to bounce on his lap, leaning on his shoulders for leverage. From there it was an endurance test, the pleasure of riding him only tainted by the strain it put on your knees. Still, you continued, his hands finding your hips to help bounce you on his lap, mewling when his hand crashed down on your ass.

You loved having the power. Loved watching his face twist in pleasure as you grinded your hips down onto his. … and you loved that it took little effort for him to suddenly flip you onto your back once more, placing your legs up around his shoulders as he sunk back into you. Every thrust was slow now. Powerful. So much so that each one knocked you back into the wall. It didn’t matter, you were too delirious by the way he was abusing that little spot inside you, seeing stars as you looked up at his concentrated face.

It was close, again, a climax brewing in your core that nearly overtook you the moment you felt it. Your sighs and moans became whines, hands gripped the sheets below you as he just continued with each knock of his hips to yours, folding you up as he leaned forward and somehow sunk impossibly deeper inside you. You pleaded to him, begged him, did everything you could to encourage him to keep going, please. Just another minute. ‘I’m so close’. But he didn’t even have time to stop, the wave crashing over you as the last ‘please’ left your lips and all you could hear was ringing in your ears and the sound of him grunting through each perfect squeeze of your walls around him.

And suddenly you heard something new. A breathy sort of noise intermixed with ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ as his thrusts grew less calculated. Almost sloppy. His hips jerking with every thrust until he couldn’t stall any longer.

“Come on, Papí. Come for me…” you breathed, certain you were tearing the sheets at this point while your cunt pulsed around him, still coming yourself.

Papí. That was all it took for him to fill you, painting your walls as his fingernails dug crescents into your thighs. You laid there, chest heaving as the two of you shared a blissful moment, eyes locked in the realization of what had just happened. And then, as if to dispel the little voice of worry in the back of your mind, he let your legs down gently and climbed up beside you, taking your face into his hands and kissing you. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss, but it was perfect for that moment. Perfect enough to ease that budding anxiety.

“We should do that again…” he whispered into your ear, breaking the tension in the air as you burst into a laugh.

“I was thinking the very same thing.”

——

Friends who asked to be tagged: @melisabesurviving @bbygirlnessa18 @missfamilyjeweles @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @thealliasylum @romanreignkisser

[ckret2]

Chapter 29 of human Bill Cipher will find a way out of being the Pines' prisoner or so help him, featuring:

Summerween!!!!

and also:

Henchmaniacs.

Kryptos doesn't actually talk like that, it's just how he's currently feeling.

####

January 1, 1982

"You're late," Bill said, a bit reproachfully.

Ford gave him a surprised look. "Did we have an appointment?" He didn't remember one. He was pretty sure he'd remember an appointment with his muse, even if he'd made it in a dream.

"Pfff, appointments are for people without an eternity of time! No, I'm just used to you dreaming by midnight. It's weird for you to stay up past two when you aren't working on a project."

"I suppose it is." Ford was flattered Bill was paying close enough attention to notice his sleep habits. "I thought I'd stay up late to bring in the new year."

"The what?"

"The... new year?" What wasn't registering. How do you explain New Year's to an alien/angelic messenger? "It's when—"

"Oh, oh right." Bill waved off the rest of Ford's explanation. Several calendars and clocks spiraled in the air like a Ferris wheel in front of Bill, "Between trying to figure out whether you meant it was 0 Pop or Tishrei 1, I completely forgot about Chaos 1. You guys have too many calendars!"

And he'd skipped over January entirely. Wryly, Ford said, "The next time somebody asks for my input, I'll let them know you want us to use a few less."

Bill laughed. "Smart aleck." The calendars and clocks vanished. "And all you did to celebrate was stay up a little later than usual? No parties? Okay, I know you don't know anyone throwing a party—but you didn't even celebrate at a bar?" Bill ruffled his hair. "All work and no play makes Ford a dull boy!"

Ford endured the ruffling. He wasn't quite sure whether Bill was scolding him for staying up celebrating, or for not celebrating enough. "I... suppose I could celebrate in here?"

"What do you want, a fireworks show?" In the distance in Ford's mindscape, a single large firework exploded. It shifted colors, purple to yellow to green to red, before fading. "I don't think so! If you wanted fireworks, you should've gone to the show on the lake. I've got some prophecies to pass on, and I'd rather get to them this REM cycle."

By "prophecies" he probably meant a random assortment of warnings about Ford's upcoming week, which historically had varied in severity from "don't visit the lake Tuesday evening or you'll get caught in a snowstorm and die of hypothermia" to "you'd better get groceries in the morning before they sell out of your toothpaste brand." And Ford was always grateful for such messages—but now he wished he could see what sort of fantastical color-changing dream fireworks show his muse could put on. "I take it it's not a new year on your calendar."

"I don't keep track of that stuff. When you're as ancient as me, celebrating the new year is like celebrating a new hour."

Bill had so easily brushed off the implicit invitation to discuss "his" calendar. Ford wasn't surprised. Over the years of sporadic meetings with his muse, Ford had noted that Bill never shared information about where he'd come from or how he filled his time when he wasn't bestowing his wisdom—as if Bill was a thing that simply is, a muse that offered inspiration because it was made to inspire, with no history or identity outside of its role in service to humanity. He always dodged the questions gracefully.

But he never seemed bothered that Ford had asked. In fact, as long as Ford didn't pry into Bill's history and kept his inquiries comfortably shallow, Bill always seemed happy to receive personal questions. Ford had found that even when Bill talked like he was in a hurry, it was very easy to get him off track (and consequently extend his visit to two or three more dreams) by asking him about himself.

Ford wondered why that was. Was it a part of his duty—was he compelled to answer his chosen students' questions, to enlighten them on the mysteries of the universe, to help tug back the curtain of reality to reveal wonders unknown—wonders that included Bill himself? Or perhaps Bill was used to students seeing him as a source of knowledge without seeing him. Perhaps he was grateful that somebody was interested in him enough to ask.

Whatever the case—Bill clearly liked being asked about himself, and Ford liked getting his muse to stick around a little longer than planned. So rather than letting Bill get on to the prophecies he'd promised, Ford asked, "Do you ever... participate in any human holidays? After all, you've offered so much to humanity. I'm sure any of your prior protégés would have been honored to invite you as a guest to our celebrations. I would be honored." And Ford wouldn't mind having friendly company on the holidays that he'd gotten in the habit of ignoring until they shrank to nothing but a square on a calendar.

"Ha, I know you would! But no, not really," Bill said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I look down on your cute little local festivals. They just don't have any relevance to me! A celebration of a bountiful harvest, a prayer to get through the winter, the veneration of a local long-dead celebrity... I come from a timeless realm of divinity, sublimity, color and light! Most of your planet's holidays are about issues that don't matter to me."

"Ah. I see," Ford said. "Are there any human holidays you care about?"

Bill mulled over the question. "Maybe one or two."

####

June 22, 2013

Bill thundered down the stairs, charged into the kitchen, and announced to the Pines, "If I don't get to wear a Summerween costume I will literally die."

Without looking up from the morning paper, Ford said, "Then die."

####

It took ten minutes for Bill to bargain Ford up from "death" to permission to wear a costume—provided that it was free; that Bill agree to stay inside for the holiday without complaint (WITHOUT COMPLAINT) no matter what fun activities he heard happening outside; that Ford didn't have to do anything to help Bill obtain said costume; and that Bill take a dang shower.

Bill groaned. "Another shower already?"

"You wouldn't need so many if you didn't insist on running around in an acrylic sweater and polyester leggings in summer."

Bill knew that. That was one of the reasons he did it. It was useful for the humans to think the showers were their idea.

Bill agreed to all terms, and even volunteered to get the dang shower over with now so they could both get on with the rest of their days.

He'd never admit it, but Bill had been wanting a shower. Not for the hygiene, but for the privacy. This was the first time he'd had a door between himself and the Pines since he'd broken the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

Time to call in reinforcements.

Bill covered the mirrors, turned on the shower, undressed, stuck his head under the shower stream so that if anyone barged in on him he could use his wet hair as proof he'd been showering, and squinted through the wooden door to confirm there weren't any humans lurking nearby. Coast was clear—but wow, it hurt to bend his eye that way. He rubbed at it irritably as he set up his ring of candles again, and wasn't surprised when his fingertips came away bloody. He thought it hurt more than it had last time. He wondered how many more times he could glance into higher dimensions before this body's eyeballs gave out on him. Hopefully he wouldn't need them that long.

He drew Kryptos on the floor, lit the candles, and started muttering the chant to summon him. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas..."

The steamy air went chill, the water pattering in the tub grew muffled, the whole world slowed and paused. For weeks, Bill's every attempt to break into the mindscape had been a futile strain; but now, instead, the mindscape surged up and swallowed him into its gray twilight, like evening embracing the land on the heels of sunlight's departure. Bill knew he wasn't awake anymore. It was working.

A force outside of Bill borrowed his throat to speak the last of the ritual—it worked!—and before his eyes, a diamond window opened into the Nightmare Realm.

####

Standing at the edge of one of the Quadrangle of Qonfusion's many perpendicular floors, arms crossed, scowling deeply, Pyronica glared at a neon-acidic cotton candy nebula light years away. "Guys," she said, "it's doing the thing again."

8 Ball, Keyhole, and Zanthar glanced away from their video game toward the nebula. Amorphous Shape peeled a few squares off a column to peer at it with Hectorgon.

"Look at this." Pyronica clapped her hands.

In the nebula, crackles of lightning-like bolts of light millions of miles long shot through the starry clouds. A noise like thunder boomed from it, rattling the Quadrangle. An ugly statue fell off a column-shaped pedestal and landed on a wall.

She clapped twice more—each time, eliciting more lightning—then gestured emphatically at the nebula. "How am I doing that!"

"Can't be you controlling it," Amorphous Shape said. "That nebula's over a dozen light years away. That light had to have happened years ago, we're just seeing it now."

Already turned back to his video game and determinedly trying to murder Keyhole, 8 Ball said, "Maybe the nebula's controlling you."

Pryonica said flatly, "You think a bunch of stars is making me clap."

"Eh. Like astrology or something."

Hectorgon said, "Could be a time loop thing."

"Could be," Amorphous Shape said thoughtfully.

Pyronica threw up her hands, which made the distant nebula's colors shift slightly. "If it's not weird butterfly effects or faster-than-light light, it's time loops. I hate this place. All it'd take is a hard sneeze to knock the whole dimension down."

She'd been saying things to such effect for the past few months. Consequently, nobody really paid much attention to the latest round of griping about the Nightmare Realm's poor maintenance, until she said, "I'm bailing on the Quadrangle. Soon as I can find a decent rock in some other dimension. Who else is coming?"

8 Ball glanced down at Pyronica from the floor with their gaming setup. "Hold on, are you serious?" He quickly had to look away as Zanthar took advantage of the distraction to attack.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I don't wanna break up the gang, but I'm sick of this dump."

Huddled on a nearby wall like an unemployed gargoyle, Paci-Fire said solemnly, "I will stay, Mother. The Quadrangle of Qonfusion is the only home I have ever known."

"Probably one of my worst life decisions," Pyronica muttered. "The Quadrangle isn't our home, it was Bill's. We're just... just..."

Ducking in from between two columns that seemed to lead to a purple-shadowed nighttime meadow, Teeth said, "Eternal couch-surfers."

"Ha! Yeah, that. Hey, where you been the past week?"

"Took a wrong turn to the bathroom. I ended up in that pocket dimension Bill grounded the electrical wiring into."

"Again?"

"I never know how many times to cross that one infinitely looping hallway!"

Pyronica gestured at Teeth. "See, this place is a complete mess. We'd be better off moving to any other dimension. And you'd like living in a real dimension if you gave it a shot, Paci!"

"No." Paci-Fire crossed his arms. "I do not want to."

"At least think about it. Wouldn't you like to live somewhere that has moons? Instead of going on a road trip to another dimension every time you want to drive a civilization to extinction?"

Keyhole muttered, "I hate those stupid road trips. They're always a zillion light years long and we never do anything fun."

"Hey!" Pyronica pointed at Keyhole. "Watch it! My kid's a lunarcide prodigy, he gets to go on as many moon-destroying trips as he wants!"

Keyhole cringed. "Right, right, sorry." 8 Ball muttered something disparaging about Keyhole's intellect, right before blowing him up for the second time.

Paci-Fire asked, "And say we were to move to a dimension with more moons. What would we do when the authorities follow us home after another successful slaughter?" A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. "Are we to lock the door and cower from them like—like cowards? Or constantly flee from one dimension to the next? No, Mother. I do not wish to live like a pariah in the dark corners of—" his lower mouth sneered around his pacifier, "civilized dimensions. There is nowhere safer for us than the Nightmare Realm."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities in other dimensions—"

"Mother! I know no fear." Paci-Fire's eyes flared a bright, dangerous red.

Pyronica playfully tugged one of his horn. "We can find a dimension as primitive as 46'\ without any interstellar cops. Like—which dimension were you from, Teeth, it doesn't even have any organized space authorities, does it?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Teeth stepped on a column, slid off, and shuffled around it, trying to remember which side doubled as a walkway to the kitchen. "I don't really mind staying here, though. I mean yeah, we don't have a roof, or consistent walls, and the wiring's a mess. But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm."

Hectorgon processed that. "Hold on." He lay on a wall and slid up it until he was mouth level with Teeth. "You've been paying rent?"

Teeth paused mid-column. "Wh—yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing, elbowed Paci-Fire, and hissed, "I thought Bill was joking about charging Teeth rent!"

Paci-Fire murmured, "Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster."

"Who are you paying it to?" Hectorgon asked.

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?"

With a mildly offended tone, Hectorgon lied, "You were supposed to give it to me now."

"Oh." Teeth shifted awkwardly. "Uh... sorry, Hect, no one told me. I don't think I've got enough on hand to cover all the..."

"It's fine, everything's been topsy-turvy since... the last few months. Just give me what you have and pay back the rest as soon as you can, okay?"

"Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks, man."

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "All right, so Teeth is stupid enough to stay here."

"Hey!"

"But I don't see why the rest of us should be." She looked up at the trio playing games below her, then tried to remember which stupid paradox staircase led to that level. She hesitantly headed up one that looked promising. "Moving out would be worth it just to be somewhere with consistent physics!"

"I am contented with the inconsistent physics," Paci-Fire said.

"It took you fifty years longer than most kids to learn how to walk," Pyronica said. "I know you're my little genius! It's this dimension that's holding you down!" 

"Boo," Paci-Fire said sulkily.

"Paci, you don't even like the Quadrangle. Nobody does."

Amorphous Shape let out a chorus of sharp gasps. They slid around a corner and reappeared sliding from the underside of the staircase to the top, laying zigzag atop the steps to glare at Pyronica. "Excuse us."

"I'll step on you, Morph," Pyronica threatened. Amorphous Shape grudgingly slid over for her to pass. "Fine, Bill's stupid 2D groupies like the Quadrangle. But the rest of us don't."

"What's wrong with it?" Morph demanded.

"What's—?!" Pyronica gestured upward at the floor below them. "You don't see the problem with this?!"

"It's supposed to be like that. It's a shortcut." 

"It's a—!" Pyronica covered her face and suppressed a scream. "It's giving me vertigo!"

"It doesn't give us vertigo," Morph said defensively. They partially peeled off the steps to look at Hectorgon. "Does it give you vertigo?"

"No, I'm fine."

"What about you, Kryptos?"

There was no answer.

"Krypt?" Morph reluctantly peeled off the stairs entirely and hovered in the air to try to get a better view.

"He probably got sucked into The Void," Keyhole muttered, "it was vibrating this morning."

8 Ball sighed. "Why do we even have that Void?"

"Man, I dunno."

Pyronica ascended to the bottom of the stairs, sat on the arm of the gamers' couch, and said, "The point is—none of us need this place. I got by fine before joining Bill, most of you guys did too, and we can get by just fine now without squatting in his weird architecture project."

She leaned behind Keyhole and 8 Ball to poke Zanthar's arm. "Big Z, you still have worshippers in your home dimension, right? Aren't you still getting offerings?"

Zanthar shrugged noncommittally.

"They've still got legends of you, you can whip them back into shape in no time. Keyhole, you've got family—"

Without looking away from the screen, where he was losing hideously, Keyhole muttered, "I'm not moving back in with my mom."

"I'm not talking about your mom, stupid, what about your sisters?" 

Keyhole winced, though it was hard to tell whether it was from Pyronica's question or from getting killed for the third and final time. "I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—"

"Who cares what Bill said," Pyronica snapped. "Bill's dead! We don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"Hear hear," 8 Ball muttered; but he couldn't throw in anything else, lest Zanthar blow him up and win the match.

Pyronica said, "Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave."

Morph drifted through the kitchen—reaching around Teeth to grab a drink out of the fridge as they passed—and unfolded questioningly around a corner. "There you are."

Kryptos was in the rec room, lounging on Bill's stupid tacky optical illusion throne with the fabric of reality upholstery, staring out a window (or skylight, depending on your point of perspective). He grunted at Morph.

Morph said, "Bill's gonna be furious you're using his throne."

"Whatever. Z's already spilled time punch on the armrest." Kryptos pointed at the patch of reality on the armrest that was out of chronological synch with the rest of the throne.

"He's not gonna be furious," Pyronica said, shouting through the doorway that inexplicably connected to the rec room. "He's not gonna be anything because he's dead. He died. D-E-A-D."

"He's not." And suddenly Morph were in Pyronica's face, all of their polygons and lines and piercing slitted eyes circling her head like angry moons. Keyhole leaned toward 8 Ball to see the screen around them, and 8 Ball elbowed him back over. Morph said, "He can't be. If Bill was dead, the Nightmare Realm would be falling apart even faster—"

"So let's bail while we can—"

"—but it's not," they said. "If anything, its degradation is slowing down. That would be impossible if he were dead, he's instrumental to holding the Nightmare Realm together—"

"Unless he lied about that, and he was actually making everything worse," Pyronica said.

"Bill's not a liar! We have the data to prove it, we've been measuring the degradation for billennia—"

"I'm sick of your stupid measurements! It was your 'measurements' that said 46'\ was perfect to take over! Was that stupid barrier part of your measurements?!"

"That barrier was extremely localized, there's no way we could have detected—"

"The portal was right in the middle of it! How did you idiots miss it?!"

8 Ball groaned as Zanthar whittled away the last of his HP. Zanthar let out a gentle hum like the sound of an apocalyptic vacuum cleaner as the game declared him the winner.

8 Ball tossed his controller at the TV. The TV squealed in fear. "If Bill is alive, that's just another reason to get out of the Nightmare Realm! Leave before he gets back! He can play king in this dump by himself."

Paci-Fire said, "Surely, you do not mean that. Were Bill still around..."

"No! No, I do mean it! The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him! Not anymore! If his flat-brained cultists wanna wait for him, fine! But why do we all gotta stay?"

"Hey!" Hectorgon rushed in from the kitchen to snarl at 8 Ball. "Who're you calling flat, cue tip—?"

Kryptos tuned out the argument downstairs/next door as 8 Ball and Hectorgon started brawling. Who were they kidding? Nobody was leaving. Maybe 8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before and it had never been a big loss when they left. But no one else would leave. Where would they go?

Where could they go?

Kryptos didn't care about the outerplanar Henchmaniacs' reasons for joining Bill; but the shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. Kryptos was as desperate to hear from Bill as Morph and Hect were. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years—so how could they let go of whatever thin thread of that hope remained? Who would they be if they lost it?

But in his heart, Kryptos didn't really believe Bill was out there. He'd been gone too long. And Kryptos couldn't imagine anything less catastrophic than Bill's destruction could have reversed Weirdmageddon.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. He'd stay in the Quadrangle until the whole realm finally fell apart, just in case Bill casually floated back in one day. He'd do anything they could think of to find him and bring him back.

And then Kryptos got a call from Earth.

He sighed heavily.

Calls from Earth weren't unusual. Perks of having helped found the Fishmasons: Kryptos was occasionally summoned by the Fishermen high-ranked enough to be told their organization really did know an interdimensional alien who was their de facto secret leader and presided over their most important rituals. Assuming "de facto secret leader" meant "living equivalent of a beloved sports team mascot," and "presided over" meant "got free invitations to," and "most important rituals" meant "most fun parties." But the humans liked to pretend that their little group was a lot more important and cloak-and-dagger than the social club it really was; and all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge pretending-Kryptos-was-in-charge, while silly, was also kind of flattering. You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill.

So, Kryptos got calls from Earth from time to time—at least a handful a year—typically from a middle-aged man in a business suit trying to pretend he wasn't giddy about being the guy who'd gotten permission to pull out the candles and contact The Alien.

Kryptos was not in the mood to talk to humans. Humans were why they were in this mess. Humanity could go jump in a lake.

But it wasn't every human's fault that a handful had somehow taken out Bill. And maybe they were calling for a party. Maybe it would cheer him up.

So he sighed again, half heartedly shouted, "Guys—guys, shut up a second, I'm getting a call," and opened up a window to Earth.

His vision was filled with a brown-skinned golden-haired haunted-eyed human who, at the sight of Kryptos, gave him a relieved, face-splitting smile. "H—"

Kryptos hung up.

To reiterate: he took calls from middle-aged men in business suits. That was a naked woman crouched on the floor like an animal.

"Who was it?" Hectorgon asked.

"No one. Some woo-woo witchy type who probably dug up a leaked Fishmason ritual online."

Hectorgon laughed. "I bet it thought it could ask a 'demon' for lottery numbers."

"Sorry, sister, but that's Bill's schtick," Kryptos said. "My number is unlisted for a reason."

Kryptos wondered about Bill's human pals. Well—"pals" was a bit of a stretch—devotees and students. How often did he get calls? And now they couldn't reach him.

Stinks for them. Must be awful, reaching out to someone in another dimension for help and getting nothing back.

####

An ethereal, sourceless voice whispered in Bill's ear, "The all-knowing dream demon you're trying to reach is currently unavailable for visions and prophecies. If this is an emergency, wake up and call your nearest Masonic lodge. Otherwise, please leave your prayers or petitions after the beep." Beep.

Bill stared, jaw dropped, at the empty patch of air where Kryptos had been projecting just a moment ago. After several seconds of mute outrage, Bill said, "Kr... Kryptos. You... I swear, if you don't get back here this SECOND—"

The sheer force of his anger woke him up. His eyes fluttered open to the world of color and humidity and pattering water. He grabbed every towel he could reach, wadded them up, and screamed into them. "KRYPTOS YOU SON OF A— I KNOW YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL! AND WERE YOU ON MY THRONE, WERE YOU SITTING ON MY SPECIAL THRONE—!"

He shrieked until his lungs were empty.

####

At sixty minutes exactly, Ford knocked and opened the bathroom door. Bill stood scowling behind it.

Dryly, Ford asked, "Have a pleasant shower?"

Wet hair hanging in tangles, face flushed red, eyes even redder, Bill snapped, "Yeah. Refreshing."

####

"Mabel?"

Mabel glanced down from the stepladder at Bill, then pointedly looked away and continued taping Summerween decorations to the hallway wallpaper. "What."

"Mabel," Bill tried again, a touch more pleading. "O great Shooting Star. My hero. My one and only friend in this hostile universe. Last person who hasn't utterly forsaken me." He leaned on the wall, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "The sole illumination in the dark night of my accursed postmortem existence—"

Mabel grudgingly looked at Bill again. "What do you want?"

"Listen: I know I upset you at the mall, and I still need to make it up to you—I do, I do, I just haven't had a chance yet—and you're still a little mad at me, okay—buuut... can you help me make a costume." He pressed his hands together. "Please. I'll owe you one. I'll be in your debt. Just let me dress up for Summerween."

Mabel frowned at him. She frowned a little more. She said, frowning, "You're so lucky I love costumes."

####

(Next week: Summerween part 2!! Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed I'd love to hear from y'all what you think! I've been waiting to get to the Henchmaniacs for a long time. Mainly in the hopes y'all will yell at me for putting Bill through heck again.)

[cuubism]

for @magnusbae, as usual 😂

--

“If you relent now, you may be offered a small degree of mercy,” Dream told his captors from where he was sitting cross-legged in the summoning circle. Irritating, to have found himself summoned again. He was going to have to devise better protections against this sort of thing. At least he had his clothes this time, that was a small comfort.

A greater comfort was the certain knowledge that someone was coming for him. Rare, that feeling, and brilliantly warm in its newness.

One of the men sneered down at him. “You aren’t in a position to be talking about mercy, Dream of the Endless.”

His name spoken in such a way sent a prickle up Dream’s spine. The disrespect.

“I speak not of myself,” he said, then fell silent, watching a look of unease flash across his captor’s face, the worried expression he sent to his compatriot. The realization, there, that he meant someone was coming after him, and the fear of what kind of being might be loyal to one such as him.

If only they knew.

“Although,” he continued, “there are a great many fates worse than death in this world. Perhaps death itself will be your mercy.”

They would not enjoy what Dream would do with them when he got out.

They ought to know what they were messing with. They had summoned him as Nightmare, used a spell that called to the darker elements of his nature. But then, human folly knew no bounds.

The men had not contained Dream very well, either. Tonight, when they slept, he should be able to slip into their dreams and compel one of them to break the circle. That was if someone else did not get there first.

Dream hoped someone else got there first.

He felt it was only fair to get a little show in return for his trouble.

The men looked truly unnerved now, but Dream offered no more explanation. Let them stew in what they had wrought. It was satisfying, incredibly satisfying, to watch them shake in it.

--

Dream did not have to wait long for his reckoning.

The door flew open, banging into the wall. Hob stood in the doorway, haloed by the hallway light, one hand grasping a crowbar that Dream knew he usually kept in his car. Dream’s summoners were armed with guns, but Dream was not concerned, and not only because Hob could not die.

“Hello, Hob,” he intoned. The other men looked between the two of them, shocked into inaction.

“Hi, love,” said Hob. His tone was light but the look in his eyes was not. “You alright?”

“I feel deprived of my day off,” Dream complained. “We had plans.”

“Hmm. That we did.”

One of his captors, the one who had scorned his offer of mercy, finally regained his senses enough to raise his weapon. Dream propped his head in his hands to watch.

Some days, Dream wished he could have seen Hob on a proper battlefield, sword in hand, ruthless, brutal efficiency on full display. There was no elegance to the way Hob fought, only experience, instinct, and an utter lack of pretension characteristic of one who had used those skills for illicit gain and survival rather than showmanship. Dream loved every second of it, especially when it was brought to bear for him.

Hob cracked the man across the hand, knocking his gun aside, then smashed him overhand with the crowbar. Dream heard the man’s skull audibly split.

Hob spun for the other, who was scrambling for his gun. Dream watched with disgust. Such amateurs dared to summon him? They knew not what they meddled with.

Hob backhanded the man across the cheek before he could even properly grip his gun, and the man shrieked, falling backwards. Hob turned to Dream. “You wanna…?” He waved a hand as if to indicate plunge him into endless torment.

Dream shook his head. Such sorry excuses for men did not deserve his effort.

Hob shrugged and smashed the man over the head with the crowbar again, not quite killing him but pushing him very close to his sister’s embrace.

Footsteps down the hall, and then two more men burst into the room. One held a cattle prod instead of a gun; Dream could only assume it had been meant for him, and they simply had not found cause to use it yet. Hob’s gaze zeroed in on it, and something dark sharpened in his eyes.

“You’ll regret that, but you won’t have long to do it,” he said, dropping his crowbar as he ducked the man’s lunging blow with the cattle prod to grab him around the back of the neck and knee him in the gut. The man doubled over, gasping, hand spasming as he dropped his weapon. Hob twisted him into a headlock, his arm an iron bar across the man’s throat.

“Next time you mess with beings beyond your understanding,” he growled, “consider that they might have someone waiting at home for them.”

Dream’s breath caught. He watched as the air seeped out of his captor under Hob’s grip until he slumped to the floor. This was all far more satisfying – and attractive – than he’d even anticipated.

He was so caught up in the vicious heroics of it all that he didn’t realize the final co-conspirator had pointed his gun at him until Hob said, very low and very dark, “I wouldn’t.”

Dream looked up at the last man standing, either the smartest or dumbest of the group based on his current antics, depending on which way one looked at it. His hand was shaking where it was pointing the gun at Dream’s chest.

“I’ll kill him!” his captor insisted, voice squeaking up an octave in fear. Was Hob frightening? Dream supposed he was, from that angle. The thought thrilled something in him.

“I wouldn’t,” Hob repeated, the man’s fate should he do so very clear in his voice. A bullet would not kill Dream, of course, but bound as he still was by the summoning circle, it would probably hurt. Besides, it would upset Hob, and that was not acceptable.

The man looked wildly between Dream and Hob as if trying to decide who would be less likely to kill him. At this point, he would probably be better off jumping into the summoning circle with Dream and being consumed by his nightmares. The look on Hob’s face was not charitable.

True to Dream’s supposition, the man swung back around to point his gun at Hob, but hesitated half a second before firing. Hob moved in the space of that hesitation, moved like shadow in a way Dream’s nightmares themselves could learn from, grabbed the man’s arm and forced it up and back so the moment his finger pressed down on the trigger the bullet went right between his eyes.

Blood splattered. The body dropped. Dream didn’t bother to watch; instead, he was watching Hob. The sweat just prickling his brow, the way his chest rose and fell with exertion. The utter steadiness of his hands.

Hob strode over to the circle, brushing through it with his foot, then stepped in to crouch beside Dream. He took Dream’s face between his hands, looking him over with concern. “Are you alright, my love?”

“Quite.” Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile; he leaned into Hob’s hands. “I enjoyed your heroics.”

“Oh?” Hob’s concern fell away, replaced by humor. “Did you?”

“Mm. You were gallant and ruthless.”

“Didn’t think those could go together,” Hob said.

“And full of contradictions,” Dream added, and Hob laughed. Dream rested his hands on Hob’s sides, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. “I believe you may be featuring in some nightmares now. For the ones who are remaining, that is.”

Hob hummed, evidently not upset about it. “Should see yourself.” He traced under Dream’s eye.

Dream had thus far neglected to let his eyes slip back to their more human appearance after the summoning. When he smiled, his teeth felt a bit sharper than usual. “They summoned Nightmare, and Nightmare is what they received.”

Hob kissed his forehead. “Summoned,” he repeated, a banked flame in the word. “Oh, I hope you weren’t scared.”

“They trapped me poorly, I would have escaped as soon as night fell. But failing that…” Dream pressed Hob’s hand to his cheek. “I knew that you would come for me.”

Hob pulled away again to look at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. There was something in that look, too, beyond fondness. Like he was proud of Dream, almost. “Always.”

He helped Dream to his feet. Dream didn’t need the help, but Hob’s touch was pleasant. He leaned into Hob’s side as Hob rested a hand low on his back.

“You know…” he mused, “it can be quite tiring for one to be summoned.”

Hob looked at him sidelong. “Are you trying to get me to carry you?”

“…If it is on offer.”

Hob sighed heavily. “Suppose it wouldn’t be a proper storybook rescue mission otherwise.”

“Precisely,” Dream agreed.

“You’re a menace,” Hob declared, but obligingly bent and scooped Dream up in his arms. His body was pleasantly warm after the exertion of the fight, and solid as always.

Dream tipped his head against his shoulder, hiding a smile. “Gallant,” he murmured.

They were nearly to the door when there was a fluttering of wings, and Death was standing in the center of the room. She looked from Dream in Hob’s arms, to the bodies scattered on the floor, and back again, an aggrieved expression on her face. “Please tell me this wasn’t elaborate roleplay.”

“It is my understanding that role play should not come with a body count,” Dream told her solemnly, and she shook her head.

“Whatever it is, I’ll leave you to it.” She tipped her head at the bodies. “I have work to do.”

“Sorry,” said Hob, not sounding very sorry.

Death sighed and waved them away, crouching beside one of the collapsed men. She whistled. “You did a number on him.”

“Nobody gets to try to capture Dream anymore,” Hob said, indignant, arm tightening around Dream’s shoulders.

“Quite right,” said Death. She looked up at them again with a small smile. “Take care of him, Hob.”

Dream should have felt more offended by this. But it was hard to care about much when Hob was carrying him so delicately.

“Always will,” said Hob, his tone soft but certain, and Dream pressed his face into his chest.

“You know,” Hob murmured as they left the building and stepped out into the cool evening air, “it could be elaborate roleplay.”

Dream’s lips tipped up in a smile. He leaned back against Hob’s arm to look up at him. “In the Dreaming all things are possible. No permanent bloodshed required.”

Hob smiled down at him, sharp and fond at once. “My thoughts exactly, darling.” 

[libby-for-life]

Ok I’m officially convinced that there is some kind of drug in your works, because I am an addict! It’s incredible!!! anyway what I wanted to ask you about you know how eventually Lilith and Lucifer are sent to Hell for their actions, what if Adam was sent with them as to make sure they never rise up against Heaven. and think about it, Lucifer gets not one but TWO queens!

Why thank you. I do happen to put coke in the stories so that's probably what you're experiencing!

I really like this idea!

Adam died after a long and fruitful life. He had many many children and he was alive to see those children become parents and then grandparents and then great-grandparents. He died at the ripe age of 989.

He closed his eyes, his family surrounding him as he passed on. He opened his eyes to a bright light.

"Adam." A familiar voice said. "Welcome, to Heaven. We have much to discuss."

Adam didn't have much of a chance to gain his bearings before he was grabbed and hauled up. "What?" Adam muttered.

"Hush. Be silent." A gruff voice said and it made Adam look over to see a familiar angel. "Michael?" Michael gave him an unreadable look and pushed him forward. Adam was guided roughly toward a building. "Michael, what's going—"

Adam yelped as he was pushed into the building and came face-to-face with Sera. "Sera. What's going on? Why is everyone being so weird?"

Sera grimaced as suddenly chains bound Adam to the floor. "Sera!" Adam cried, a look of betrayal on his face as he was hauled up onto his knees.

"For what's its worth, you were meant for Heaven." Sera began as a gag was fitted over Adam’s mouth. Tears gathered at the edge of his eyes as he glared at Sera. "But I have to think of what's best for Heaven and that means sacrifice." Micheal picked up Adam and they all stepped onto some pad. Glowing light filled his vision as the room was replaced and they appeared in another room.

The air no longer smelled sweet and Adam coughed into the gag.

"Lucifer. Lilith. It seems that you have already arrived. "

Adam's eyes widened at those names and began to violently shake. No. No! Not them! Not the people who abandoned him! More tears fell to the ground as Michael jostled him.

"That's him?" A smooth voice said and Adam immediately recognized it as Lilith.

"Yes. In exchange for you and your people never going against Heaven, we give you what you've requested. Adam's soul." Adam tried to fight out of Michael's arms but his hair was harshly pulled making him whimper in pain. "Stop squirming. Be grateful. You're helping Heaven stay strong."

He risked a glance at the two people he feared the most. They both were glaring at Sera and it made Adam pale. 'They're gonna kill me.' Adam thought as he let out a choked sob.

"Then I suggest you hand him over," Lucifer growled. Micheal scoffed at his brother before holding out Adam like he was some sort of disgusting pet he no longer wanted. Lilith glided over and Adam flinched when she touched him but was somewhat surprised when her arms held him gently.

Lilith guided his head to the crook of her neck and Adam could smell Lily of the Valley, cinnamon, and something distinctly Lilith.

While his mind was still in a frenzy, his body relaxed in the gentle hold, her pheromones making him calm.

"Good. Now leave."

Adam could feel the angels leave and he whimpered at being left alone. He was always being left alone. Why? Why?!

"Oh, Adam. What have they done to you?" Lucifer crooned as he rubbed Adam's back. "Let's get these nasty chains off you." Adam held back more tears as Lilith and Lucifer began unwrapping him from the golden chains. Adam didn't understand the looks they were giving him.

They looked...soft and loving. Adam must be hallucinating it. His mind was trying to come up with an explanation and this was what he had always wanted so of course his mind went there.

Soon, all he was left in was a gag and the tunic he arrived in. His white wings shivered as Lucifer caressed them. "So beautiful." Lucifer murmured.

Lilith chuckled before taking the gag off. Adam gasped and immediately asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Lilith and Lucifer looked surprised but then angry making Adam close his eyes in fear. "Is that what they told you?" Lilith demanded, her hand finding hold of his brown locks. It was gently rubbed through with delicate fingers.

Adam whimpered. "N-no. You hate me!" He cried but was silenced as he felt lips meet his wings, no, the base and it made Adam shiver in Lilith's lap. "We don't hate you, Adam," Lilith said with a sultry smile as she kissed his cheek. Adam blushed heavily. He was very confused but a warm feeling filled his belly and he couldn't help but hide in the crook of Lilith's neck.

Two chuckles filled the room. "Don't worry, Adam. We have an eternity to prove it to you."

[goodfish-bowl]

A Unicorn Hair Rope

Danny Phantom x Gravity Falls Crossover

Part 1 (Read for this to make sense)

Masterpost

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 7 - Captured by the characters of a different media

Summary: Dipper and Ford give chase, intent to take Danny down before he can hurt anyone else.

Warnings: near panic attack, it/its pronouns used for Danny by Ford

Notes: I've decided the story takes place between the GF episodes “The Last Mabelcorn” and “Dipper and Mabel vs. The Future”, so Bill is a known and acknowledged mutual threat, but not yet able to start Weirdmageddon.

Word Count: 3109

AO3 link

Grunkle Ford was on a warpath, and Dipper was helpless to stop it. The mad dash from the gas station to back to the Mystery Shack was enough to leave him breathless for several minutes, and gave Ford enough time to devolve into a frenzy of preparation and catastrophizing. Dipper could barely keep up with Ford’s ramblings, the very little of it that made sense to him at least. There was too little that made sense, and his Grunkle was not giving him any sort of explanation or at least letting him mentally catch up. 

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper shouted, finally both catching his breath, and Ford’s attention. “Explain what’s going on!”

Ford paused for a minute, before taking in a deep breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing, before leveling a tense, worried glance at Dipper, before returning to work at a much more controlled pace. 

“That boy, or well, what’s possessing him, is dangerous beyond belief,” Ford started, sinking into one of the chairs scattered about his lab. 

“There are many beings across many different dimensions, but there are some that exist between dimensions. Spirits, ghosts, even gods. But they can’t exist on the physical planes very long, due to the amount of energy they need. If this one has been here for months, then something is very wrong. I honestly doubt there’s much left of the boy it’s been using as a vessel. We need to find it, and exorcise it before it can cause more damage.”

Dipper blinked owlishly, processing for a second before it hit him, “You want to exorcise a god?” 

“I doubt it’s actually a god, more likely a spirit of some sort, or simply a powerful ghost. Either way, the same methods will work no matter what it is. Though I fear it’s too late for the boy, he’s as good as dead,” Ford explained while answering nothing. 

“What?!” It was Dipper’s turn to panic. 

“They’re not meant for this plane, they need a host of some sort to stay for any extended period. No wonder that boy looked ill enough to be confused for a vampire. But with the way their blood has been mixed, there’s no separating them now. Best get it in its current vessel, while it’s weakening.”

“If… If there’s no separating them, then why do we have to go after him?” Dipper asked. 

The… spirit guy hadn’t done anything. Dipper already felt horrible about the entire situation. There were plenty of magical creatures already living in Gravity Falls, he didn’t see why they had to go after this one in particular. 

Ford gave Dipper a look that was likely intended to be sympathetic. “After this vessel fails, it will go after another, it has to. Even if it ‘doesn’t do anything’, that doesn’t mean it’s harmless. It’s already taken at least one life, best not let it get another,” Ford paused, taking out the machete, scraping the multi-colored blood into a vial, and into one of the many machines on his workbench, before discarding the machete into a corner. 

“There’s no guarantee of this, but there is a non-zero chance that this spirit is working with Cipher. We can’t take any chances that he could get his hands on the rift.” 

Dipper frowned, unable to picture Danny, worn and looking more exhausted than Dipper did after two all-nighters, working with someone like Bill Cipher. But he knew how manipulative Bill could be, the chance was non-zero. Danny looked like he’d do it for a decent sleep. 

“Fine… I… I don’t like this. But, fine,” Dipper gave in. 

The machine beeped, and Ford connected a different, handheld device to it. 

“But… how are we even supposed to catch something like that?” Dipper asked. 

Ford gave a confident smile, pulling the handheld device off the other after it gave a small ‘beep’, showing it off. “This device will allow us to track it based on its unique energy signature,” Ford explained. “From there, trapping it shouldn’t be too difficult, especially since we have some leftover unicorn hair from Mabel.”

 Dipper swallowed the uncomfortable feeling in the back of his throat, before putting on a nervous, tense smile. 

“I guess we’ve got a ghost to catch, then.”

Danny Fenton had not expected to encounter ghost hunters in nowhere, Oregon. In fact, he had run as far as he practically could to and from any and all locations that could potentially have ghost hunters. Gravity Falls, as odd as it was, was supposed to be safe. It was only be coincidence that it had just enough ambient ectoplasm in the air to keep him going. The veil was worn thin here. 

Gravity Falls was supposed to be safe, and it had been, Danny supposed, for all of 2 months. He had only managed to get the nightshift at the only gas station in town because no one else had wanted it, too scared of whatever metaphorically haunted the night. Sure, the gnomes were weird but they were paying customers, and he had to occasionally chase Old Mac Mcgucket out from under the dumpster, but this was the closest to normalcy Danny had experienced since getting chased from Amity Park. Gravity Falls was just weird enough that Danny was able to fly under the radar. 

There were also the kids. Mabel and her gang of girls who dragged her twin brother around. Then the group of teens (who were not always paying customers, unlike the gnomes, but Danny was not a snitch), but he didn’t have any problems. At least not until the brother had decided he was a vampire charming his sister. He had thought the kid had been joking, and Danny had laughed him off, claiming girls were just ‘like that’ sometimes. (Danny did not want to think about Paulina’s Phantom Phan Club and their treatment of him anytime soon). The kid was apparently serious enough to find someone who believed him, and Danny’s cover was blown clear out of the water. 

The silver was expected, the machete and the solid iron cross were not. Danny didn’t know he reacted to solid iron until it burned him, and that old man tried to lop his head off. He was lucky that the camera’s in the store were dummies, otherwise Danny wouldn’t be surprised if the GIW made a grand appearance. No one other than the kid and the old man had seen him use his powers. He hadn’t expected them to actually be competent vampire hunters. 

Danny had fled back to the old hunting shack he’d been staying in. No one had been there in years before Danny had decided to haunt the place, so he’d figured it would be safe enough. He clutched at the cut on the side of his neck, forcing whatever energy he could spare towards healing it with gritted teeth. That old man had tried to kill him, full and in earnest. 

After two months of being a normal human being, Danny had forgotten just how much a look like that hurt him. But at least it was from a stranger this time (even if he was vaguely familiar). It was worse when it had been someone he knew. It was worse when he knew they intended to draw out his suffering for the crime of his existence. The old man was practically merciful in that regard. But merciful or not in comparison, he had still tried to kill Danny. He probably couldn’t go back to work then. 

Danny started the process of packing, fitting the few belongings, some newer than others into his backpack when the hairs along his neck raised. It was nothing compared to his ghost sense, but Danny knew better than to ignore any sense of danger he could. He dropped his things and clicked off the battery powered camping light he used to light the space. He locked the door and closed the curtains in the same second, hunkering down, pushing his hearing as hard as he could to hear whatever was approaching the cabin, fingers crossed it was just the multi headed-bear again. 

There were voices, very quiet, and Danny couldn’t pick up what they were saying from so far away, but there were two of them, one old and the other young. Danny hunched even deeper into the corner cabin, as far from the windows as he could. It was likely the same pair from the store. Danny didn’t think they could find him this quickly. It had been, what, maybe a few hours at most? They must’ve found a way to track him. Images of all of his parent’s ghost tracking devices came to mind. He hoped, with all he had, that they hadn’t gotten one from his parents. Either way, he would have to run, run far and fast as he could to get out range of the tracker, and mark another location off as uninhabitable. 

Danny gathered what energy he had to spare, letting it buzz just underneath his skin, and finished tossing the absolute necessities into his bag before transforming and launching himself into the air. 

Danny collided hard with what he had almost assumed was the wall of the cabin. He blinked the spots and stars out of his vision, feeling a tingling, pins-and-needles sensation burn over his skin. He was still about half a foot from the wall, he hadn’t run into it. Danny slowly reached out to touch the wall, and was met with a shimmering barrier several inches from the wall, sending pins and needles at contact. He pushed against it, sending more sparks over his skin, until the sensation became painful and repulsed him away. 

Danny painted against the threadbare carpet, more panic building under his skin, joining the burning of his ectoplasm. Danny traced the barrier, hoping for a hole. It curved around the single room of the cabin in a lopsided circle, leaving only the path the door free from obstruction. That wasn’t an option. Danny watched the barrier cautiously. It wasn’t ectoplasmic in nature, he would’ve had a much stronger reaction to running into it if it was but… it moved, shocking him in the process, pulling in tighter, still leaving the door as the only exit. 

Danny cursed a vile string of words across a smattering of languages, living and dead. They weren’t going to give him a choice, they intended to drag him out, slowly tightening their noose of a barrier until he was forced outside. Danny hissed at the invisible barrier, before taking a steadying breath, and becoming human again to try his typical escape tactic. It wasn’t one of his parents' barriers, he should be able to get out like- it zapped him again. Danny couldn’t get out. He was going to die here. 

Danny screamed, desperation, frustration, and fear spilling from him all at once.

Dipper’s knee’s almost buckled at the sound of whatever was screeching inside. The whole cabin shook with the force and power behind it, shattering the remaining glass in the windows. Dipper did his very best to swallow his fear, looking towards Grunkle Ford for reassurance. 

Ford had something between a grimace and a grin on his face. “Looks like we made it mad.” 

Ford continued pulling in the end of the rope that he had Dipper run around the cabin. He had said it was some kind of unicorn-hair laced rope, completely slipping through anything non-magical, and only snagging the supernatural. It also made a decent portable, if makeshift barrier as well. He had hammered the end of it, tied up in a slip knot in the end, slowly pulling the rope in. Dipper stayed carefully behind Ford as the barrier closed in. 

Dipper jumped when the door to the cabin creaked open, but nothing seemed to be there. Ford just continued to pull the rope in, eyes not leaving the space just above the rope. 

Ford dropped the rope standing further back from their oblong barrier, which now had less than two yards of diameter inside. 

“We can wait here all night, you’re not going anywhere. Might as well show yourself,” Ford growled. 

A figure flickered into visibility, vaguely reminding Dipper the ghosts haunting the only convenience store, and the ones from Pacifica’s party. It was Danny from the convenience store, looking several times more exhausted than he had earlier that night, with burns up and down his arms. His eyes blazed that same bright green that Dipper had only managed a glimpse of in the store. He was curled into himself, glaring at the rope, sharp teeth bared. His eyes seemed to linger on their tracker, glazing over Dipper, before settling venomously on Ford. Something in Dipper’s mind couldn’t seem to connect the earlier shriek to the person… to the spirit in front of him. 

“Well?” Danny rasped out. “You’ve managed to drag me out. What now?”

“Release the boy you’re possessing, spirit,” Ford demanded. 

Dipper held his breath as something in Danny’s expression shifted, mouth closing into a frown. 

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?!” 

Danny did not break eye contact with Ford, and Dipper was grateful to be ignored. 

“I’m not possessing anybody. This is my own body.”

“If that was true, then you would’ve dissipated a long time ago, spirit. Your kind can’t stay on this plane very long,” Ford argued. 

Danny huffed. “Know something about ghosts, don’t you? Normally you’re right, but not in this case. I’m as physical as you are. This has been my body since the day I was born.”

Dipper glazed up at Ford, finding his brows knit together. “That’s impossible. You’d either have to be possessing your own corpse or-”

“Of not fully dead. Bingo,” Danny confirmed blandly. 

“That’s impossible,” Ford denied. 

“Impossible things happen sometimes.”  

Dipper was actually able to see the resignation on Danny’s face, and his own guilt resurfaced. Ford was beginning to look conflicted too. He had wanted to end the ghost because he was a threat, and could possibly leave people hurt. 

“That depends, spirit.”

Danny’s gaze actually landed on Dipper, recognition filling the other’s gaze before drifting away. 

“Depends on what?” 

“First, what are your intentions here in Gravity Falls?”

“Nothing, really,” Danny seemed to respond earnestly. “I don’t want any trouble, just to lay low for a bit.”

Ford’s eyes narrowed. “What reason could a spirit have to stay low?”

Danny looked away. “Are you familiar with the GIW?”

The name caught in Dipper’s ears, completely unfamiliar. 

“They’re government goons. A bunch of idiots chasing things far above their understanding.” Apparently not unfamiliar to Grunkle Ford. 

“And what do you think they would do to someone like me, who they believe is completely non-sentient, nothing more than an echo of consciousness over energy?” Danny asked back. 

Something about how Danny described spirits and ghosts didn’t sit right with Dipper. A good collection of the monsters were sentient, and Dipper couldn’t imagine how people could see someone like Danny and claim he wasn’t. 

“Running from the government,” Ford huffed. “A lackluster reason. Fine,” Ford practically spat the admission. “Then secondly, how are you possibly getting enough energy to stay here? Your kind need massive amounts of energy, just to stay physical.”

Danny crossed his arms. “Eating food. You know, like a person. Other than that, the veil is thin here. There’s enough ambient energy that I’m doing just fine.”

‘The veil is thin here’? Dipper wondered if it was due to the portal. From the look on Ford’s face, probably. 

“You haven’t been feeding off of anyone?”

Danny just look straight up confused this time. “No, I thought we already cleared the ‘vampire’ charges?”

Ford looked a bit miffed at that response, and Dipper was beginning to let relief fill him. Danny really wasn’t hurting anyone but…

“Lastly, are you working with, for, or alongside the dimensional being known as Bill Cipher?”

Dipper could see genuine confusion on Danny’s face, more so than the ‘feeding’ question. “No… no. I have no idea who that is.”

“None at all?” Ford pushed. 

“None,” Danny confirmed, crossing his arms. 

Things fell silent then, Danny staring at them, while Ford seemed to try and fit things together. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Still going to take my head off with your machete?” Danny asked. 

“Machetes don’t work on spirits,” Ford retorted back. 

“Okay… your point?”

Dipper suddenly had an idea, probably not a good one, but, “Hey Grunkle Ford?” Dipper tugged on Ford’s sleeve to get his attention. 

“What if we enlist Danny’s help against Bill… or something like that? Some kind of, um… agreement so he can’t hurt anyone, but we could also use his help? Aren’t spirits really strong?” Dipper whispered. 

Ford frowned, leaning down towards Dipper so Danny couldn't hear, “It's… not a terrible idea. He would be bound by it under the right circumstances, but those things are tricky.”

“We would have to make one with as few holes as possible. Even then… Danny doesn’t seem the type to try and twist the deal. Mabel and I have interacted with in him plenty of times before, and he always seemed… kinda nice. Wendy and the older teens like him too. I just…” Dipper trailed off. 

Ford sighed. “If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it right. He can’t do anything from inside the circle, and I’m not letting him out without some assurance. He’s definitely a threat, but you’re onto something to get him to help us against Cipher…” 

Ford leveled a hard, stern look at Dipper. “This is your idea, so you’ll have to take responsibility for it, got it Dipper? We have no idea how strong this particular spirit is, so your deal has to be airtight. Can I leave that to you?”

Dipper gave a resolute nod. “Yes, Grunkle Ford.”

“Then I’m going to get the necessary items out of the car. Work out your deal.” 

Dipper nodded, and watched as Ford shot a glance behind himself, leaving Dipper alone with Danny. 

“Is the old man going to get a non-machete weapon to take off my head with?” Danny joked without an inch of humor. 

“Oh…uh…no. I… I don’t think so,” Dipper hesitantly answered.

“Okay,” Danny seemed just as uncertain as Dipper felt.  

Dipper took a deep breath, solidifying his will for this. He could do this. He had delt with more terrifying things this summer already. 

“Danny,” Dipper started, fully gaining the spirit’s attention, who seemed shocked at his own name being spoken, like he hadn’t expected to be addressed by name at all. 

“I want to make a deal with you.”

[wannabe-cartoonist-blog]

Last Game hair style fixes, in order of who needed it most.

I've never liked the canon hair styles in Last Game. They're either hideous, or just simply don't fit the characters/style of the main series. I get its a (mostly different) art department and meant to age the characters up, but most of the time, they simply just look off-model to me. I know I'm not the only one who's got issues with the hairstyles in this movie too, so I did my best to fix them up and give them styles that I personally think suite them. Originals below cut as well as my explanations! Important to note, these are my preferences/headcanons for them so take everything I'm about to say with a grain of salt.

**Akashi isn't here, because believe it or not, I actually think his hair looks the best out of everyone in LG.

I wouldn't change it. I like to draw him with neater hair/his bangs pushed out of his face when I age him up, but for the summer after the Winter Cup - when LG takes place - the canon hair is exactly the sort of style I think he would/should have. I like the allegory that the rough chop is something he did when his mental health wasn't good, so now as his mental scars heal, it's growing back out. ❤️

Midorima

A neater/shorter hairstyle does fit Mido's character/personality, but the LG hair simply just doesn't look like the same hair type we see in the main series. Mido's hair has got the slightest wave to it (which I tend to over-exaggerate whenever I draw him).

With this in mind, I went and gave his hair some more body/volume by extending the sides. (You'll see a lack of volume/body is the key issue with the other LG hairs as well).

Murasakibara

Mura's hair in this movie looks so so flat and greasy. Now I didn't do the best job fixing it up, but this is basically how you'd go about doing it; just add more flowy strands. His hair is pretty pin-strait in canon, but there's lots of flowing strands, even when he's not moving much, which give it a clean-look.

When it's all just one limp form, like the movie does, it appears unclean as opposed to just long and sleek.

Momoi

Another victim of the lack of body/volume. The style they gave her is also simply bad, like she just took a pair of scissors and cut in a straight line. There isn't even really any style to it. Its kinda just laying there on her head, which is not what her hair usually looks like in the main series. There's always strands/some lift to it. Also Momoi has always had some sort of bangs/framing pieces in her face, so for her whole forehead to be out was just a tiny bit jarring.

I think the style I came up with is a little more mature while still having personality and life to it. Plus, LG takes place in the summer, so a shorter hair style would be more comfortable in the heat.

Kise

Kise I don't think I did a good job of fixing to my liking either. It was hard to edit it without making it look bad in general, because I really don't think this choppy sort of style suites him like at all, so it was too much to change. Now his hair is one of the better drawn ones in this movie for sure, but it feels more like a Kagami hairstyle than a Kise one to me. I just don't think his modeling agency would let him have such a choppy, hard-to-style haircut. I also think a more polished look fits his handsome, princely sort of appeal that makes him popular with girls.

Aomine

Alright, now its time for me to be playful and silly with some out-there hair styles. Aomine (and Kagami's hair) in Last Game I don't mind. After Akashi, I would say Aomine looks the best. BUT. We have NEVER seen Aomine with long hair, even in flashbacks when he's a child.

So for him to finally decide to grow out his hair - in the SUMMER HEAT - just feels like a weird move to me. Feels out of character. He strikes me as someone who likes his hair out of his face when he plays ball and just wants to roll out of bed and not worry about brushing/styling it or anything. The animators also aren't consistent in this movie and sometimes his hair looks particularly long in the front and back, which again, I don't think he'd like. This picture below and the ones above are from the same movie/take place within like a week of each other, yet look so different.

He looks cute and it definitely gives him a more youthful look; which is a weird choice, because they want to age up everyone else but Aomine in this movie. So, I think a fade would really suite him (I don't think I drew it that well tho). Keeps his hair short and out of his face but also ages him up a little more with a mature style.

Kagami

Alright, Kagami's look here is pure indulgence. @knbposting said "Kagami with a mullet" and I haven't stopped thinking about it. Sue me. His LG hair isn't bad and makes sense for his character and the time of year. But its just sorta plain. Honestly, Kise's hair style in this movie would probably suite Kagami more. I always liked how in the main series, Kagami's hair is a little scruffy in the back so I really wanted to lean into that.

Is a mullet suitable for the summer heat/something he'd like? Well, maybe not but I think it ages him up while also seeming like something he'd get at some point in his life. So here we are. I will end this with saying this is probably the longest he'd ever let his hair get.

Kuroko

Finally, we have Kuroko, whose hair I've barely changed. Now, the animators/artists do a really bad job of keeping his face on-model (eyes too beady, features too sharp) but that's a whole 'nother issue, and I managed to find a scene where they kept him on-model lol. I think a shorter, neat style is good for the summer and suites him, but a main feature of all the hair throughout the main series is the spikes/strands of hair on nearly every character - Kuroko especially - so I just added a tiny bit more here.

And that's the end! If you read all the way to here, thanks for coming to my insane-person rant.

[matchaxberries]

You want requests, i got em

I wanted to request a longer or more detailed version of the Moon predator/prey thing. Its a big kink of mine i have no idea how you knew lol, thank you once more

Punished Prey

Alpha!Moondrop x Omega!Gn!Reader

One-shot, Requested, NSFW (smut), Omegaverse!AU

Summary: Everyday, (y/n) helps Sunrise clean up the daycare, and helps with turning all the lights off when done. They always say bye to Moondrop, and make their way home after. But not today, Moon has other plans for his omega, a punishment in mind for their naughty behaviors.

Warnings: Omegaverse, like 2 paragraphs with Sun, reader is described with female anatomy but gender neutral pronouns are used, predator/prey dynamic (reader is prey), degradation, kind of dub-con, reader gets called a slut, a bit of praise, aggressive/rough behavior, biting and marking, fingering, orgasm denial.

(A/N) Sorry it took me so long to get to anon. :3 I hope this fulfills your desires, if there’s any spelling errors I apologize and this isn’t very proof read. Shaking your hand for the pred/prey kink me 2. If you have any other requests send them my way. :3

It was meant to be a usual day at the daycare for (y/n). Helping Sunrise pick up after all of the kids are gone, helping shut off all of the lights and saying goodbye to Moondrop. That didn’t go as planned, and now (y/n) is hiding with their hand pressed firm against their own lips, heart beating against their rib cage like some twisted drum.

(Y/n) adjusts their position as quietly as possible, foam pressed against their back, and their legs shoved against their own figure in an awkward position. One arm holding their legs, the other still firmly against their mouth to maybe muffle their breathing from being too loud. They can hear the noises of Moon walking, the bells on his clothing jingling, his small hums escaping from his lips. He’s enjoying this, every bit of this.

Moon begins to speak, knowing well (y/n) can hear him, but not knowing exactly where they are. “My star… Do you know why you’re in this position hmmm?” His tone is almost mocking, as if he’s explained already.

Earlier, (y/n) had finished helping Sun clean up for the day. They began to head to turn the lights off, but Sun had protested that clearly. “Sunshine, I really don’t think that’s a good idea-“ (Y/n) only ignored his pleas. “What? It’s not like we are doing anything. I’m just saying bye, you aren’t in any sort of rut are you?” They give a small tease. This causes Sun to flush, “no no no! It’s not that.” He holds his own face and sits down on the padded flooring.

As he does, the lights around him go dim, the only light is the glow on his pants, and the small illuminated stars around the daycare. He begins to hold his head tightly, and slowly Moon begins to come out.

Moon stands up swiftly, glowing eyes locking onto his prey. “(Y/n), you’ve been naughty today~” he begins his walk to them, and makes haste of pushing them against the wall. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to run. Don’t let me catch you unless you want a punishment.” Moon strokes their cheek lightly with a finger, stepping back so they can hide.

That brings them back to now, as Moon continues his explanation. “I saw you talking to that alpha earlier today. They were taking in your scent quite more than I’d enjoy.” His steps stop, as he continues. “No alpha eyes my omega, and an alpha with a kid at that. Naughty naughty…” His steps pick back up, he starts climbing up through the slide, his speech echoed now from the surrounding plastic. “I might have to ban them from the daycare. How rude, smelling up my prey.”

(Y/n) slowly begins to move their positioning, if he comes through the slide, they’ll be right in his sight. They begin thinking of the circumstances he’s explained, they are always friendly with all of the parents that come into the daycare. They don’t remember any particular alpha’s eyeing them, or becoming weird with themself. They want to explain themselves to Moon, but there’s no snapping him from this, he’s keen on punishing his prey, even if they have a reasonable explanation.

(Y/n) decides to slowly make their way down a rope ladder, since Moon is going up. They quickly go under the bars and other items of the indoor playground set. They find a place they deem safe, against the wall, and hidden behind a foam panel.

It’s oddly quiet now, and (y/n)’s heartbeat begins to quicken against their chest. They try to listen for the bells, maybe they’re too far away? They try to listen for the creaks above them of the bars or foam. Nothing, not a sound. Maybe he stopped moving, or maybe he’s lost in thought.

All of thoughts thoughts are cut off suddenly by a pair of red eyes directly in (y/n)’s face. “Found you.” Moon states menacingly, grabbing their shoulders a bit hard, and pushing them against the wall with a sick grin.

(Y/n) let’s out a quick noise of pain, almost a yelp. “Wait- please I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was looking at me weird or acting weird to me-“ Moon cuts their explanations off by sticking his fingers in their mouth, pressing two fingers down against the back of their tongue. (Y/n) chokes, and tries to force them from their own mouth, but they’re not as strong as their alpha. Moon hums at their struggles and stares at their face intensely with his glowing red gaze. His eyes might be the only thing really visible in the daycare right now, except very faint glows of the stars on his pants.

Moon trails his free hand down (y/n), forcing his hand into their shirt and up to their chest. “Do you like to choke on my fingers like a greedy slut hmmm?” He coos at them, pressing his other hand firmly against their chest, toying with their nipples. (Y/n) tries to let out some sort of noise, a protest or even a moan of pleasure, but Moon’s fingers are shoved too far into their mouth, any sounds come out completely muffled and gagged.

He begins to move his hand that was on their chest, down to the waistband of their pants. He makes haste of pulling them down, along with their underwear. The cold air now biting at (y/n) thighs, their cheeks flushing at the sudden exposure.

“My pretty star… You’re mine, ours. No other alpha can ever satisfy your heat like we do. No other alpha even deserves to smell your scent.” Moon begins, taking his fingers from their mouth finally, leaving a trail of saliva from their lips to his fingertips. His fingers quickly move down to (y/n)‘s clit. They let out a strained noise, grabbing onto Moon’s wrist tightly. “We’re in the daycare Moon, why can’t we at least move up to your bedroom-“ They whine out in protest, but Moon let’s out a small growl. “It’s a punishment. You’ll take it where I want and when I want.” (Y/n) takes that as their sign not to make anymore protests to him.

Moon begins to rub his fingers along their sensitive clit, just barely giving enough friction to get off on. (Y/n) places their hands up on his shoulders, he’s bending over by some, since they’re under a play-set. It makes it easier for (y/n) to reach him and see his face. They let out small moans, and try to grind themself against Moon’s fingers. He pulls them away quickly, and their legs go together in an instant trying to get the friction they’re missing. “Naughty prey. Stay still or I’ll make you…” He grabs them and forces them to lay flat against the floor instead of shoving them against the wall, sitting in between their legs after forcing them apart. (Y/n) tries to lift their neck to see what Moon is doing, but it’s uncomfortable considering the cold flooring, and lack of cushioning.

Moon places his fingers against their clit again, and begins to rub circles into it lightly. He leans up while doing so to meet their face with his, “My star… Are you a good omega?” He questions, mainly as a tease to cause (y/n) more embarrassment. He places a gentle kiss to their lips, instead of an aggressive one, and (y/n) kisses back with a small whine.

Moon pulls away, and while teasing at their clit, he begins kissing and biting at their neck. Not leaving anything too noticeable yet, but he’s doing it aggressive. He runs his tongue lightly down their neck to their chest. Taking a nipple into his mouth, nipping and teasing it. (Y/n)‘s back arches some, they let out hisses of moans, feeling the pleasure of multiple things building in their core. Moon pushes them back down flat, his lips leaving their chest with a small pop sound.

While his fingers are working away at their clit, he very suddenly pushes a bit of his finger into their entrance. Barely enough to please (y/n), but just enough to tease them. “Moon, please…” they begin to pout, trying very hard not to rock their hips against him. He only gives a hum, pumping barely half of his finger in and out of their entrance. (Y/n) let’s out whines, and small moans as he does, their leg very slightly twitching in anticipation for him to shove it all in them.

He finally pushes one finger all the way in, his fingers are long and slender, so they reach deep into (y/n)’s core. He begins to curl it against them, moving it in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “Already so soaked and slick for me aren’t you? You like it when I hunt you down and punish you like this?” His thumb continues rubbing slow circles into them, with his finger still pumping in and out of them.

His pace quickens, as he takes another finger shoving it in. He curls them upwards as he thrusts, placing a hand at their stomach and lightly pushing down. (Y/n) chokes at the sudden change in pace, trying to find something to grab, they hold onto his hair as lightly as possible, trying not to tug. (Y/n) feels their core tighten, an orgasm building in their stomach. As soon as they feel they’re about to release, Moon takes his hands away from them.

(Y/n) begins to speak, opening their mouth. A protest ready at the tip of their tongue, but fingers meet the inside of their mouth again. They muffle out a noise, and can taste their own juices on Moon’s fingers. “Clean them nice and well for me, my prey. You can do it.” Moon mocks, it would almost seem like encouragement to anyone else, but (y/n) knows well by his tone.

He takes his fingers from their mouth when he deems them ‘clean.’ And begins to work his own pants off. He unties the ribbon that holds part of them up, and unzips the rest off. His length is tightly pushed against his boxers, leaving a bulge that has a small stain. Moon must be pretty excited as well judging from it, he slips his boxers off finally, member springing out.

“Fix it for me, my star… I’m so hard, it hurts. I wouldn’t want to put it in you like this.” He lightly rubs his own length from base to tip. His glowing eyes stare into (y/n)’s, with a small smirk tugging at his lips. (Y/n) hastily sits up on their knees, putting their hands on him, and stroking him lightly. Moon tangles a hand into their hair, pulling them forward. “With your filthy mouth.” He demands to them,

Word count: 1,791

Character count: 9,854

(A/N 2) I am done with school now! I started this a while back so if anything seems different that is why, sorry for the random hiatus. I need to get back into writing often. Also slight cliff-hanger :3 let me know if a part two is of your interest.

Masterlist

Request Rules

[sophieinwonderland]

On "colonizing" spaces...

@obsessive-schizoid

Now, "colonizing" is such an interesting term to use here. It's a very loaded word meant to imply that endogenic systems are oppressors.

The idea that somehow, the concept of being a system is a unique cultural right to traumagenic and disordered systems, and that we're moving in to claim what's theirs.

What's funny about the use of the word here is how DID, and mental disorders in general, are largely colonialist constructs.

The concept of plurality is as old as time itself. Like most other strange and unexplained phenomena, people create their own explanations for what they were experiencing. Usually some sort of ghosts or spirit guides. It varies from culture to culture what plurality was interpreted as. But it has always existed.

But then you have these white, Christian nations that spread their religion across the globe. And with their beliefs, comes those that stigmatize and literally demonize spiritual plurality. To most Christians, there are no spirits other than demons and God's own angels. All possessing spirits must therefore be demonic entities that need to be cast out and destroyed as Legion was in the bible.

And thus, any cultural and spiritual plurality is stamped out by colonialists.

When psychiatry and psychology form as institutions, these doctors have been taught in this environment. An environment where there is only one person per body, and anything outside of that is bad and evil.

Instead of calling it demonic possession though, they call it a mental disorder. Just as these doctors, who grew up in this religious climate, once called homosexuality a mental disorder because even if they're atheist, they're still essentially culturally Christian.

A History of Secrecy

In the middle-ages, plurals couldn't be out as plural because if they were public, they would be accused of being demonically possess or even of witchcraft which could get them put to death.

By the 1900s, we saw the rise of insane asylums, torturous electroshock therapy, and even lobotomies for the mentally ill.

It's no wonder that most non-disordered plurals during this period would have kept their plurality to themselves.

Why risk people thinking you mad and stripping you of your human rights if you can avoid it?

This lasted until the 90s after this thing called the internet came along and allowed people to communicate across the globe anonymously. And for the first time, plurals learned that they weren't alone in the world.

Separatists, Not Colonists

I don't expect anti-endos to have a good grasp on plural history. Or any history. Or psychology, psychiatry, sociology, basic literacy or reasoning skills.

So let's take a moment to remind everyone that in the 90s, all "multiple personalities" were seen as pathological. This was a result of centuries of actual colonialists treating it as either evil or a mental disorder that needed to be cured.

Most non-disordered and endogenic systems at the time started in the MPD/DID community because all systems were treated as pathological. Some had self-diagnosed. Though others were actually diagnosed with DID before rejecting the diagnosis.

This idea of endogenic and non-disordered systems "invading" or "colonizing" is a fiction. It's a rewriting of history. "Alternative facts," if you will.

The TRUTH is that endogenic and non-disordered systems were always part of the DID/MPD community until they decided to break away from it.

And it's that breaking away that sysmeds hate.

The idea of all multiplicity being a disorder is, itself, a colonialist idea. It is inherently rooted in a history of colonialism, pushing a one-size-fit-all world, beginning with Christianity demonizing spiritual plurality, and continuing with Western psychiatry pathologizing all plurality.

Sysmeds are products of this colonialism, and have become its chief propagators on this site and others like it.

When separating themselves from the medicalization of plurality, the new natural multiples created their own language to distance themselves from the medical association.

"Headmate" became the alternative to "alter". "Plural" became the alternative to "multiple" which plural systems at the time felt was too closely related to "multiple personality disorder." "Fictive and factive" were borrowed from endogenic soulbonders.

And all of these are terms that, after being coined by pro-endos, were taken by sysmeds and claimed as their own.

Sysmeds have also attempted to claim resources like Pluralkit and Simply Plural as their own despite both being made by pro-endos. And many have tried worming their way into the Alterhuman community despite "alterhuman" being a term that was made by a pro-endo and is explicitly inclusive of endogenic plurals.

Surely you can see how ridiculous this is, where you have endogenic systems trying to distance themselves from the medical community only for the medicalists to come into our spaces, claim all the terms and resource we built for themselves, and then accuse us of colonizing them.

[starlightiing]

I was inspired by my own anger towards someone this morning. No, my anger doesn't come with unresolved sexual tension or heartbreak like Esteban's does, but I'm not projecting, merely channeling ;)

Anyway, enjoy?

It's meant to be Estemick, but it is also Mickierre and Estemickierre. Unintentionally.

To say Esteban is surprised to see Pierre at the door, already half-undressed and eyes dark with anticipation and desire, would be an understatement. Dread, hot and heavy and electrifying, claws its way up from the pit of his stomach and wraps around his heart like a vice grip.

The surprise on Pierre's face mixed with the gasp of horror from Mick over in the corner of the flat does little to quell the nonsensical jealousy bubbling up in his gut.

"Pierre." Esteban spits, proud of himself for keeping the waver out of his tone. Though he does sound rather unfriendly - and he is, right now, since there are no cameras and no media around to force them to play nicely.

Pierre has the gall to wince. "Esteban."

Anger roars hot like the blood in his veins, and Esteban has to take a deep breath to keep from shouting at Pierre at the top of his lungs. For once, this isn't Pierre's fault. No, no this is Mick's.

And that makes it hurt even worse.

"Esteban, wait - I can explain!" Mick sputters, quickly bridging the gap between them. Esteban listens to the thump of his feet as they hit the floor, and recoils away from the fingertips that lightly graze his shoulder. "Esteban..."

"No explanation needed, Mick." Esteban says, cool and calculated and firm. His heart is pounding out of his chest and his hands are shaking, but this is fine. It will always be fine. It always has to be fine. That is the name of the game, after all.

"I didn't - I didn't think you...I thought we were..." The way Mick flounders should be satisfying to Esteban. The way he wiggles and squirms under the pressure he's only brought upon himself. The way Pierre clears his throat and looks away, clearly uncomfortable. It should bring Esteban some sort of sick satisfaction.

It does not.

"You know, Mick, for once in my life it would have been nice to just...have something that was mine and mine alone. For once, I would have liked to have something that did not come with Pierre tacked on at the end."

Pierre looks like he wants to say something in response, but in a shocking turn of events, he keeps his goddamn mouth closed. A feat, Esteban thinks, to render Pierre Gasly speechless, among all people.

"Because nothing ever comes without you. Not when I was a child, or a teenager, and certainly not now as an adult. My friendships, my career, everything I do, somehow it always leads back to you."

Pierre looks up now when he realizes he's been addressed, eyes ablaze with something Esteban can't quite decipher. Anger? No, no he's seen anger on Pierre enough times. Fear? Sadness? God help him, should it be pity.

"You used to prefer it that way, no? That at the end of the day, we could take out all of our frustrations on each other and in the morning act like nothing ever happened. Somewhere along the way, you were the one that could not look at me anymore."

"No, Pierre. I could not bear the way you looked at me. Your anger, your pity, your shame. The worst of all was your disappointment. I still see it, even now."

Pierre sighs, a quick and dangerous little huff of breath, and takes a rather brave step across the threshold into the flat. He closes the door behind him, as if telling Esteban he has no choice but to stay, and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks every bit the defiant teenager that he was ten years ago - the one that stole Esteban's heart, stomped on it, and ran away with some of the pieces.

"Then take it out on me again. Scream in my face, throw me against the wall, have your way with me like you used to, before things were bad." Pierre suggests, and the hint of desperation to his voice gets Esteban's heart racing even faster still.

"And what will it change? You will still look at me with disgust and disappointment when we are done. You will still warm Mick's bed on the days I am not here to do it. You will still be attached, no matter what I do."

Pierre closes the gap between them, causing Mick to take a few steps backwards away from them. His hands are oddly cold as they cup Esteban's cheeks between them - a mixture of tenderness and desperation - and Esteban can see the pulse in Pierre's neck thumping along to a similar rapid pace as his own.

"Maybe it changes nothing. Or maybe it changes everything. I think, in the end, that one is up to you. But do not lie and say this is not something you want. I know you. I know you want it just as much as I do."

Esteban knows he's in trouble the moment he makes eye contact with Pierre. He knows there's no escaping this whirlwind that comes with Pierre's offer, or Mick's terrified desperation for him to stay.

When he wakes up sandwiched between the two of them the next morning, he lies to himself and says it will be okay.

But as long as Pierre is around, trailing along at the end of all of Esteban's loose threads -

It never really will be.

[ganondoodle]

this isnt as long as before but i just cannot stop thinking about this, why i dislike story and lore boils down to these main point

--the ending feels unsatisfying as hell even if i ignore everything i dont like about how the game treated zelda and ganondorf, the ending itself just feels, despite being presented as super epic an touching, incredibly empty to me and part of it is that it feels like an unearned return to status quo of course i didnt think zelda would stay a dragon and i actually wanted to help her, which is why i kept trying to hunt down impa since she said shes gonna search for a way for us to help zelda, bc i wanted to!! i was eager to help her!

i fully hoped and kinda expected that thered either be some kind of dragon dungeon (think, the water dragon from okami) tho that would be difficult since you can get items from her so i ended up thinking before going into the end thered be a mission with impa (or at least given to you from her) where she found answers in ancient scripts (that she told you she would look through) and that you need to find a special lil thing that will help zelda undragonfy, like some sort of ultra secret forbidden enigma stone able to reverse dragon transformations kinda deal (golden opportunity to make you go and talk to the yiga bc they might know or even own some ancient texts) that youd keep in your inventory until the very end and after you kill dragondorf (pretty mortal for becoming an immortal dragon huh) you take it out and use it, undragonfying zelda and ending in a similar epic falling and paralel to the beginning way

... and instead impa stays in the house and only has a few repeating dialog boxes and does nothing and you cant do anything bc in the end you just get randomly teleported (and stripped of your clothing AGAIN) into some weird ethereal plane somehow?? with the ghost of long ass dead sonia and apparently not as gone as i thought rauru (seriously i felt sad when he went poof at the end of the tutorial but i guess i shouldnt have) awkwardly blasting dragon zelda with some magic tm and its all reversed no problem (heck me for caring i guess) turns out helping her was killing an evil guy we never really knew and mineru just kinda says lol its bc time and light magic i guess lol as an explanation

like i really wanted to go and help zelda! i was motivated to do it and spent HOURS trying to find impa again but i wasnt allowed to do anything bc zelda gets saved by some deus ex machina bs in the end anyway, what a fool i was, of course killing the evil guy is the solution to everything >:( (and no i dont care if its meant as in uwu sonia and rauru wanted to help one last time uwu bc it doesnt change how unsatisfying it was to watch it all just kinda happen)

--point two is just how much totk feels like its trying to REPLACE botw instead of being a sequel, its not building on anything of it its ripping out the fundation and building its own thing in its place, like i was so excited to see what happened to the titans, and all the sheikah tech what they mabe had done in all that time now that theres a tech enthusiastic girl as the head of the monarchy, maybe even find out more about them and instead its just all ... gone with not explanation? theres isnt even a LAME explanation, its just gone?? you never find out what the ancient energy actually was, and why there were concentrations of it in the regions with the ancient furnace (well heck it didnt even have anything to do with ganondorf actualyl bc that would have been too interesting) bc that was so intrigueing?? like yeah where DID it come from and why is it there ?? and oh suddendly hey look theres an even MORE ancient and even MORE advanced civilization thats way COOLER and BETTER than the ancient sheikah now, they also built stuff everywhere and have been here ALL ALONG cant you see its everywhere!! and its the only thing everyone cares about all of the sudden, all evdidence of the ancient sheikah tech was scraped of the earth so there literally only being some guardian parts on top of the hateno lab feels like an oversight now bc everything lese was to thourohgly wiped of the map- for no reason even?? like im totalls fine with it being useless and not working anymore but .... why remove it like it was wiped from history?? and then they have the gall to mention the happenings of botw like, twice in the entire game but still just give you the most basic summary of it mentioned on a sidenote with again not even a hint what happened to all of it

wouldnt there have been the golden opportunity to use it to access the new parts and map points that changed?? like a shrine thats fallen into the underground, an access to caves and the underground in the broken and collapsed elevator tube of a sheikah srhine?? maybe even a broken interior of an old shrine, like the room you get put into with the puzzle and where the monk once were broken and half overgrown in the udnerground? some left over construction site where you can see oh thats how the ancient sheikah got all that tech underground, bc they all had access to it and built it there to then rise up when its needed? maybe even making use of the old sonau sites since they frequnetly built their srhines within those ruins?? that the ancient sheikah found em and put the ruins to use? to research it and built their own stuff from it? it wouldnt have to have any focus, literally just part of the enviroment even

really everything totk does is like -forget botw ever happend, look how much cooler and better i am, who cares about sheikah stuff sonau are the new cool guys that came out of nowhere but now apparently have been everywhere all along actually-

i LOVE botw and with it feeling much more like its attempting to replace botw instead of building its story and world further every reference to botw i found felt like a slap in the face instead, oh look where the shrine of life used to be isnt even a hint left of sheikah tech somehow, and also right under it is the lake of healing filled with sonau structure bc ACTUALLY they were here FIRST bc they are so cool omg you guys

dare i say it feel a little like they wanted to make an entirely different version of botw basically, but wanted to reuse the map and models so they just said yeah uhhhh its totally a sequel yeah yeha that makes sense, its not erasing botw and doing essentiall the same thing again but bigger cooler and better (tm) its just uuh a ...sequel ye.

[ominous-feychild]

i don't know how to word this, so i'm just gonna say

sammy. breaking the rules. <- that stuff. please elaborate if there is any coherence in this request

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ACTUALLY SENT AN ASK!!! (people actually do that for non-ask posts???)

Okay, to be completely honest, I think we had a misunderstanding! (I was exhausted when typing that up and was just about to sleep--) I meant that you could/should ask about Sammy, but I wouldn't answer about his magic... but I've done some thinking.

I'll tell you a bit about his magic. 👀

Fair warning: long post!!!

The Way Magic Works™

So, magic. I'll definitely give a much more in-depth explanation one day--I know @honeybewrites REALLY wants one 😂--but I need to give a bit of an explanation here for you to be able to understand why Sammy is Special™.

In my writing, there's technically four different kinds of magic. I describe them as such:

Existential (all-encompassing and literal)

Axiomatic (abstract and "type-casted")

Faerie (abstract and encompassing)

Runic (wizards hurrr durrr)

Each "kind" of magic is named, appropriately, by its source--Existential magic comes from the Existential gods, Axiomatic magic comes from axiom, Faerie magic (or "pure" magic) comes from the Faewildes and is typically associated with faeries, and runic magic originated from the runes non-magical people used in an attempt to match the power of the others.

(I mean, technically runic magic itself is a combination of axiomatic and faerie magic, but--)

Essence Is Equivalent

The one thing all kinds of magic have in common is their shared resource--essence. No matter what kind of magic you use, you're always using up essence in order to do it. The same magical tasks always cost the same amount of essence, meaning the only way to "advance" in magic-casting is to grow your mana pool.

Except for runic magic, but we'll get into that later--

(I hop between using "essence" and "mana" for this explanation, but in-universe it's always called "essence". As a fan of DnD and fantasy games, sometimes using the word "mana" makes more sense to me, haha. Idk if that understanding applies to everyone, but. Essence is essentially just "magical energy".)

Long story short--let's say we have four different people, each with their magic coming from one of each of the different sources. Except, they all have Water magic.

Existential user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes x amount of essence

Axiomatic user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes x essence

Faerie/Pure user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes x essence

Runic user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes .5x essence

Wait, what? Okay, let's try that again--

A different Runic user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes 1.7x essence

A third Runic user lifts 1 gram of water. It takes x essence

What??? What's the deal with that???

Well, this isn't the time to explain Runic magic in-depth, but long story short? Let's just say it's because they're not doing magic "normally". The other kinds of magic users will always use the same amount of essence, so we'll just stop including the variety for now. Just know it'll be the same amount by default. Except... you won't often run into "default" with runic users. Regardless!

Existential user lifts 1 kg of water. It takes 1000x essence

Axiomatic user lifts 1 kg of water. It takes 1000x essence

Faerie/Pure user lifts 1 kg of water. It takes 1000x essence

The first Runic user lifts 1 kg of water. It takes 500x essence

As you can see, it's all equivalent. Both across "types" of magic and in effort-to-gain ratio. So none of them have any sort of advantage!... except literally all of them do.

Similarly, since they're all drawing from essence as their source, there's no "backup" magic system one can use if they run out. If they're out of essence, they're out--nothing they can do.

Actually, wait. I lied. (aka Essence Banks)

There's a way to store essence for later use--essence banks! Basically, they're just magical items infused with essence. They can be literally everything. Except, they aren't everything.

Confused?

Essence Banks were a runic invention and have to be engraved with appropriate runes to be able to contain essence. Some have actually been commodified and turned into "temporary conduits" (aka, items that allow a non-magic user to wield magic like a mage) through people infusing them with their essence.

This is a case where "pure" magic technically separates from a faerie's magic. Pure magic can be used for literally anything, but faeries... well, it's complicated. Regardless, pure magic originates from the Faewildes, but is different from a faerie's magic.

Pure essence can be used for anything, but an individual's essence can only be used for their respective magic type. (Like, elemental / conceptual, not Existential / Axiomatic and such. That explanation's for another day, though.) Pure magic can only be gotten from the Faewildes through the use of runic magic.

People have turned essence banks into commodities by giving them to others who don't have their magic and allowing them to use it. However, as you can probably imagine, essence banks and conduits of both kinds (permanent and temporary) are expennnnnsive!!! Most who have them use them for themselves, to store their own essence to use later.

Just know--there is no way to just "create" essence! It all comes from SOMEWHERE! The most common places are from one's self or from the Faewildes.

Essence Banks Do Not Cross "Types" Of Magic

If someone with fire magic got their hands on an essence bank with essence from someone with water magic in it, they wouldn't be able to utilize it for fire magic--only water magic.

Except... not really.

The fire user could use the essence, it would just cost a lot more of the water essence to instead use fire magic.

Why does this sound familiar...?

Hm. Anyway!

I bet you've been wondering--how does any of this relate to Sammy?

Sammy Breaks The Rules of Magic™

So, now that you have an understanding of how magic works in my stories, you can better appreciate Sammy.

Remember what I just said?

Y'know, about how magic all always costs the same amount of essence, how "types" of essence don't translate well to others, and how essence can't just be created?

Well, Sammy heard that, laughed, and said "I'm built different."

"Amplification" doesn't exist in the world of my stories. There's simply no concept of it because of how inherent the idea of "essence is always equivalent" is to magic.

Except... Sammy is an amplifier.

So what does that mean in the universe of my stories?

He's able to make others' magic use less essence. He's able to enhance their abilities, let them do things they couldn't otherwise do. And it doesn't matter what kind of magic either of them have.

Oh! And since he's the amplifier?

His other magic is also always amplified.

Yeah, long story short? He's OP af. Both as an individual, and as a support character.

CONCLUSION!

I actually can't say any more about amplifying because, omfg, it's actually such a spoiler! As I said to you (almost) yesterday, I plan out the series I write to build up to things I'm going to eventually write! Amplifiers are suuuuper important for a number of reasons and, as I said, they basically don't exist! There's only two others wandering about at the time of Rising From the Ashes (the story Sammy's in)! And one of them is a complete hermit who 99.99% of people have no idea exists!

The other... well. He's actually an avatar. An agent of one of the gods. Who knows if/when he'll ever show up? 👀

If you're curious, the (albeit vague) Overarching Goals™ of the series are as follows:

The Arcane Rifts: explores the Faewildes and some of how they've impacted the world. Specifically explores in-universe political relations of Jhandar and Glavnran; the Existential War; the Existence of Magic; and how the Existential gods mess with the world. Oh... and is Gene's origin story. 😉😘

Sun and Shadow: strongly explores the Faewildes' impact on "the Real World" through their patchworking Lynsmouth into the city it is today. Hints towards plots in RFtA and tCC. Explores faeries themselves through the Major Faerie Characters and the highlights the role of magic in society. Is intended to be an introduction into my weird worldbuilding tbh, haha. Hints at Existential War and is also where a HUGE worldwide-plot event occurs. Thanks, Quinn! 😈

Rising From the Ashes: explores in-universe political relations, more directly builds on the worldbuilding through the character of Kieran Caron and his school, does some more planting in info about the Existential War, and showcases people in-universe trying to experiment with magic and expand on its capabilities.

The Calamity Crew (name to change): lots of worldbuilding through the literal crew of a merchant ship sailing across the world; builds up in-universe local Axiomatic gods; showcases the literal birth of a lesser god and explores the powers and abilities of gods; showcases people in-universe trying to experiment with magic and expand on its capabilities.

I plan to somehow make stories on the Existential gods' avatars, but don't know how I'll go about that, haha. Also intend to probably make some stories REALLY early in the in-universe timeline completely taking place within the Faewildes. Might merge those ideas together, idk.

If you can't tell, the Existential gods are super important to the overarching story I plan on writing, haha. Part of how I'm planning to build them out is through the very fact that they appear everywhere.

Yknow--because they are!

They're the puppeteers manipulating the entire world in their little game. Their Existential War.

To anyone who read through this all--congrats and omfg, thank you so much???

I know this is a lot and not all of it is exactly easy to understand, haha. I wanted to create a magic system that felt magical, but also was planted in "real" stuff like conservation of matter, haha. I want there to be, like, a limit to it, but also for things to have those good 'ole fashioned "fairy tale"/"gods rule over us all" vibes. Hopefully I've done a good job!

Tysm again and feel free to reblog and share!

Tagging list: @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star @aalinaaaaaa

@paeliae-occasionally ; to anyone else, ask and ye shall be added!

Divider from @cafekitsune