#but i guess i signed up for this when i decided to stan him

[the-geeky-fangirl]

no because listen LISTEN everyone in tlou makes selfish decisions for love EVERYONE bill hoarded his supplies he only wanted the town for himself and frank so they would be safe so they would be happy henry sold out the rebellion in exchange for sam's life anna lied to marlene about cutting the umbilical cord before getting bit so ellie could live EVERYONE IS SELFISH WHEN IT COMES TO LOVE!!!! joel slaughtered an entire hospital and what a horrible thing to do and he's a morally condemned man but i fucking love him he's so based for that

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[slutz4marsh]

STAN MARSH X VIRGIN!FTM!READER SMUT

ok this one has a little backstory i guess? lore? anyway ive decided i get to consider myself a virgin still because i barely remember any of the times i've technically been touched & what i do remember is extremely traumatic. so i think as a treat for still being alive stan should take my virginity

this fic is probably going to be tooth rottingly sweet so im sorry in advance LMFAO

cw/tw: first time, stan calls reader "dude", stan is somewhat experienced reader is not, whiny soft pathetic stan

They say it starts with a kiss. You didn’t know about all that, you didn’t listen to The Killers all that much.

You and Stan had been on his bed making out on and off for about an hour. Stan’s hands wandered, drifting under your shirt and caressing the skin there gently. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered breathily.

You whined softly, overly sensitive to every touch. “Stan,” you breathed, hands gripping his jacket as though it was a lifeline.

Stan chuckled, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He loved how you reacted to him; so responsive and reactive. “You’re so cute when you’re all clingy,” he teased, giving your hands a gentle squeeze.

You shivered at his words. Your eyes flutter shut for a second. You swallowed thickly as Stan’s hands continued to wander, finding purchase on your body wherever possible.

“We should stop,” Stan said, his voice barely louder than a whisper as one hand dipped lower, tracing the band of your pants. His breath hitched as you whimpered.

“Last chance,” his eyes flicked up to your face, hoping for a sign.

Your own breath caught in your throat. “Have,” you panted softly. “Have you ever done this before?”

Stan smiled softly at you, his fingers tracing the edge of your pants. “God, dude, you’re adorable..” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. Couple times,” his hand paused. “You have too, haven’t you?”

His thumb hooked into your pants. You bit your lip.

You slowly, almost shyly, shook your head. “N… No,” you stammered quiet admittance. “Never.”

Stan’s eyes widened. He blinked, staring at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. “You’re joking,” He spoke incredulously. His hand tightens on your waist. “But you’re so… You’re so…” He trailed off, grinning.

You shook your head, adjusting somewhat nervously. “I’ve… Never. Not.. Not all the way.”

Stan’s grin faded, quickly replaced with a dumbfounded look. His hand drifted up, tracing over your chest. “But you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, frowning slightly. His hand paused over your heart. “Are you sure you want this?”

You paused. Did you? You decided yes in a matter of seconds. You nodded, slowly. “I… I want it to be you.”

Stan smiled warmly. “Okay,” he breathed. His hand drifted back down, tugging your pants down. His eyes flicked up to your face, seeking reassurance. His own heart raced in his chest. “You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

You nodded, squirming slightly as Stan tugged your pants down your legs and tossed them off to the side somewhere.

Stan took a moment to admire the view before him. His eyes dragged over every inch of your skin. His hand reached out, gently brushing against your inner thigh. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. “I don’t wanna hurt you..”

“Just- go slow. Please.” You requested, flustered as you looked away from him.

Stan grinned softly, nodding. “Okay, you got it..” he murmured. His fingers drifted closer to your center, brushing against the soft, coarse curls there. “Hey- look at me,” he said softly, a gentle command.

You looked up, already dripping wet just from the kissing and Stan’s soft teasing. You look at Stan, eyes darting back and forth across his face.

Stan’s heart melted at the nervous and yet oh so trusting look in your eyes. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. His fingers drifted down to your clit, stroking the small length slowly. “You’re gonna feel so good. Promise.”

You jumped slightly at the sudden stimulation. You let out a breathy sigh as your head fell back against the pillows.

Stan smiled warmly, his hands working slowly. He watched your face intently, gauging your reactions. “You like that?” he asked softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles around the base of your slick, throbbing flesh.

You nodded, clenching the sheets in your fist with one hand. “Yeah,” you breathed, nervous. Shy. Stan’s ministrations only made you even wetter than before, folds shining with your arousal. Stan’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your neck as he slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth over the highly sensitive nub. His other hand slowly inched lower, parting your folds to gently rub at your entrance.

You whined softly, instinctively attempting to close your legs at the soft prodding at your delicate, untouched pussy.

Stan gently pushed your legs back open, fingers tracing soothing patterns on your inner thighs. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against your neck. His thumb continued to rub at your clit, his other finger slowly pressing against your entrance and applying gentle pressure. “You’re so tight..”

You took a few deep breaths. Your breaths became sharper as you felt Stan slowly work his index finger inside of you. “Mm-” you breathed, eyes squeezing shut as you whined softly.

Stan’s own breath hitched as he felt you slowly relax and take more of his finger. He moaned softly against your neck, his hand moving slowly. 

“You’re doing so well,” he praised softly. “You’re taking it like such a good boy.”

You panted softly. You felt almost euphoric. You’d never felt anything like this. Your breath caught again as Stan started to slowly work a second finger into you.

Stan’s heart swelled with a mix of love and pride for you as he stretched you open with his fingers. He curled them slightly, brushing against your sweet spot as he pumped his fingers in and out slowly. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You made a sound of pleasure that sounded something like “Mmhph,” and writhed as Stan’s fingers brush against that spot inside your weeping cunt.

Stan’s eyes widened at the sound you made. He knew he’d found the right spot. He started to rub against it consistently, his fingers pumping in and out of your tight pussy at a steady pace.

“Oh god, dude,” he breathed. “You’re gonna make me cum just watching you.”

You squirmed. Stan’s fingers continued to stretch you out in preparation for what was next. “Mmh,” you whined softly, back arching slightly. You’re more responsive than anyone Stan had ever been with.

Stan’s mouth drifted lower, his lips closing over one of your nipples. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking out to circle around the hardened nub. His fingers continued to work in and out of you, scissoring to stretch you further. Stan’s own body ached with need.

You panted softly. “Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head falling back as you began to tense up once again.

Stan’s eyes met yours, his hand slowing its pace. 

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered softly, his thumb gently rubbing at your swollen, throbbing flesh. “Not ‘til I’m inside you.”

He slowly removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking your slickness off of them.

You whimpered softly, eyes dilating at the erotic sight. You swallowed hard and adjusted yourself again, spreading your legs apart further.

Stan settled between your spread thighs, his hard length pressing against your slick entrance. He took himself in one hand, rubbing the tip up and down your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Last chance to back out,” he murmured, the tip of his cock pressing against your hole.

You squirmed slightly, but you shook your head. “I-” you began, voice breathy. Whiny. “I want it to be you, Stan.” You repeated your earlier sentiment. You reached out to grab Stan’s free hand.

Stan’s face softened at your words. He intertwined your fingers, bringing your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside your head.

He leaned down to kiss you slowly, deeply, as he finally began to push inside. “I love you,” he groaned.

You let out another pleasured-slash-pained noise as Stan pushed inside. You panted softly, body tense as you adjusted to the new feeling. Or at least attempted to.

Stan paused, letting you get used to the feel of him. He nuzzled into the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” he whispered, his hand tightening around yours. “Just breathe.”

You did so as best you could, working through the strange feeling of the intrusion. You nodded almost weakly as you looked up at Stan.

Stan slowly started to push in further, his length stretching you open. He kept his pace slow and gentle, not wanting to hurt you. As he pushed in further, he rested his forehead against yours, your noses touching.

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly, voice trembling with need.

You nodded. Your pussy was tight around Stan. Warm and wet and tight, periodically spasming around him.

Stan hissed softly at the feeling of you clenching on him. “You feel so good,” he moaned, slowly continuing to push inside. He paused again when he was fully sheathed inside you, giving you a moment to adjust. “You take me so well, baby..”

You breathed, whimpering softly. You’d never felt this full. Your fingers were nothing compared to this. You wrapped your arms around Stan’s neck, tight as you pulled him closer. 

Stan wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he started to slowly move his hips. He set a steady, gentle rhythm, his length dragging along your inner walls with each thrust. 

“You’re doing so well, love,” he praised softly, voice thick with emotion and desire.

You moaned softly, eyes squeezing shut again. Your breath came in sharp little gasps and pants as you grew wetter and wetter around Stan.

Stan buried his face in the crook of your neck, his pace quickening as your heat grew wetter and wetter. His own breath came in short pants, his voice reduced to needy whimpers and praises for you. “Feels so good, baby..”

You whined softly and buried your face in Stan’s shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there slightly as you parted your lips.

“Mm- y’feel r-really good, Stan,” you panted softly.

Stan shuddered at the sensation of your teeth grazing his skin, his hips moving faster as he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you. He chants your name like a prayer three times, his voice broken and desperate. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

You gripped his back, nails digging into the skin and scratching. You’d never felt this good in your whole goddamn life. 

“Stan,” you breathed, teeth grazing Stan’s shoulder again as you refused to remove your head from right there.

Stan gasped at the sensation of your nails digging into his back. He buried his face further into the crook of your neck, his hips snapping forward as he continued to thrust into you. 

“Gonna cum soon, baby,” he panted softly. He knew he wouldn’t last like this, but he also couldn’t stop.

You whimpered softly. “Me too,” you whispered. Your cunt twitched right after, almost as a warning. A confirmation, maybe.

Stan’s thrusts became erratic as his own climax approached. He buried his face deeper into your neck, his hips stuttering as he fought to hold on.

“Dude, please,” he whined, his voice cracking. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

You squirmed slightly. You were moaning and panting, whining and gasping. You could feel Stan’s dick twitching inside of you, also as if as a warning.

“Please,” you whispered.

With a final, deep thrust, Stan buried himself all the way inside you. He cried out, his body shuddering as his orgasm overtook him. He moaned your name, cock pulsing as he came deep inside your tight heat.

And that triggered your own orgasm. You moaned loudly, whole body shaking and convulsing. You bit down on Stan’s shoulder, still whining – only muffled against the skin now.

Stan held you close as he felt your pussy clench and ripple around his sensitive cock, milking him for every last drop.

He moaned softly at the feeling of you biting his shoulder, his own hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his intense orgasm.

The bite almost seemed to elongate Stan’s orgasm as his cock twitched and pumped a few more spurts into your now well-loved pussy.

You whined softly as you felt Stan fill you up to the brim. You panted softly, eyes fluttering shut.

Stan gently stroked your hair as you both came down from your highs. His softening cock was still nestled inside the warm, slick heat of your pussy.

“That was amazing, baby,” Stan mumbled, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. “You did so well.”

You panted softly, gripping Stan’s shoulders tightly. You opened your eyes to look at Stan. Your heart swelled. You smiled softly.

“I’m glad it was you,” you managed to whisper.

Stan’s eyes softened as he gazed right back at you, his own heart fluttering in his chest. “Me too, baby,” He whispered. “Me too. I love you, man.” He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his arms tightening around you protectively.

[viceroywrites]

liquor on your lips (2/2)

you met stan pines on your first day working at the dead end motel.

in just a week, you were addicted to him.

mullet stan x gn!reader

part one here

inspired by you can be the boss by lana del rey

cw: smut ahead, praise, dirty talking, creampie

taglist: @autistic-rainbow

I saved it, I waited, I called it.

Your shift at the bar was closing up, leaning over to wipe down the counter and grabbing the tip jar to see how you did for the day.

Thumbing through the dollar bills, you tap them on the table to straighten them out before opening your bag to toss them inside before pausing at the sight of the cigarette that you had tossed inside the evening prior.

‘Give it a call when you get off tomorrow and let me know.’

Should you do it?

You should be happy, elated even that you have this opportunity to spend more time with the man that had charmed you in a matter of days.

Your interactions with Stan thus far had been fairly casual in nature. 

Sure, there was a lot of banter and playful flirting that happened every night but going on what essentially was a date seemed like a huge step.

A step you were uncertain about taking given the fact that at any given moment, Stan could up and leave.

You toss the wad of cash into your bag, deciding that the issue could wait at least until you get home and take a nice long shower to worry about.

Back at the motel, Stan twirls the extension cord of the phone mindlessly while he lies in bed. His eyes flicker to the phone every so often as he scratches his stomach, still in his white undershirt and boxers.

What the hell was he thinking offering his number to you?

Was he that lonely?

Stan sits up, deciding he needed a smoke break to clear his head and at least get out of limbo. He slips on his jeans from the night prior and grabs the room key and his pack of cigarettes, stepping out. 

Leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, he lights the cigarette that dangles from his lips, feeling the harsh smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it out. Reaching up to brush his long strands of hair out of his eyes, Stan winces as his knuckles graze against the cut that is a reminder of last night’s events.

“Shit…” He hisses under his breath, cigarette resting between his fingers as the dull ache creeps up. Stan clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the pain while he takes another drag from his cigarette. Glancing at the window outside his room, he sees his reflection.

The heavy, dark circles under his eyes show his fatigue.

The five o'clock shadow across his chin, not able to afford a proper razor in ages.

The chocolate brown hair atop his head grown out into a mullet, much to his chagrin.

His eyes, almost blood-shot, looked drained of hope.

The definition of exhaustion stared back at him. 

Man, he was tired of running.

That first day when you had offered to pay for his room, the first night in ages that he was able to lay his head on a pillow and get some rest, you gave him something he had been longing for in ages.

Stability.

A helping hand.

Suddenly the sound of the phone ringing cuts through his thoughts. Stan scrambles to unlock the door, practically leaping onto the mattress as his hand removes the phone from its receiver.

“Hello?” He says, slightly out of breath as his heart is pounding through his chest. 

God, what was he doing, waiting around for a call like some lovesick teen?

“Did you just get done running a marathon or somethin? You should be resting…” You ask with a raised eyebrow, toweling off the wet strands of your hair as the phone rests in between the crook of your neck and your shoulders.

“Didn’t realize I was signing up for a lecture when I picked up the phone, toots.” Stan grumbled, resting a hand over his heart in a feeble attempt to slow down its rapid pace.

“Well, I guess I’ll just hang up then…” You say playfully, giggling as Stan’s gruff voice says with a sudden urgency, “Wait, wait!”

“Surprised you actually gave me a call…” Stan mutters to which you blink in surprise, “Why are you surprised?”

“I dunno, figured you’d rather spend your day off doing something else other than getting dinner or a drink with a drifter.” Stan admits with a shrug to his shoulders.

“You know I never said that I was taking up your offer…” You tease, grinning once again as you have him stammering over his words. 

For someone who gives off a rough demeanor, it’s amusing to see him turn into a pile of mush.

“Stan, I’m just pulling your leg…” You chuckle, “ Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

Stan pauses for a few beats, and you stare at the phone wondering if you got caught off.

“Can you still hear me?” 

“I heard ya.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“... You’re actually serious?”

“Of course, I’m serious, Stanley.” 

God, the way you said his name sounded like a choir of angels to him, ready to take him to heaven.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far, toots.” Stan admitted, “Didn’t think someone like you would even dare look my way, let alone go on a date with me.”

A date.

He confirmed that it was a date.

“So this is a date?” You say with a sly grin, trying to ignore how your heart beat is practically pounding in your ears.

Stan in response turns beet red, clutching the phone tighter, “Well, only if you want it to be, sweetheart.”

“It’s a date then. Pick me up at my place at 7. There’s a diner near my apartment that has the best shakes. You got a pen to write down my address?” You ask hurriedly before he could take it back. You snicker as you hear clamoring on the other end of the receiver, hearing Stan curse under his breath for the damn pen. 

“Ready.” He finally says, having found a pen and grabbed a crumpled up receipt out of the trash bin.

You share your address with him and after hanging up, Stan flops back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in awe.

He hadn’t been on a date since that hippie stole Carla McCorckle from him.

“Alright, Stanley, you can do this. Sure, you may be a little rusty but you got that natural Pines charm.” He says, trying to be his own personal hype man as he gets up from the bed.

Heading to the bathroom, he looks in the mirror and blinks, “Yeesh. Should probably try to clean up a little bit…” Stan mutters, scratching the stubble on his chin.

He has a white corvette like I want it

A fire in his eyes, know, I saw it

He's bleeding from his brain and his wallet.

You glanced over your shoulder, almost anxiously staring at the clock as you plead for the minutes to go faster.

It’s 6:58 PM.

You turn your attention back onto the full-length mirror in your room, running your hands over the fabric of your outfit. You decided to dress up a little more than your usual attire that you would wear while working at the motel though you secretly hoped Stan didn’t randomly have a suit in his trunk that he was going to whip out for the occasion.

Though you did wonder what he could be wearing, cheeks reddening at the possibilities.

A knock on your apartment door startled you, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your eyebrow raises as you had told Stan to press the buzzer so you could let him in but when you go to look through the peephole, you see him standing outside your door and quickly undo the chain lock and open the door.

Stan stands before you, trading his usual attire for a maroon button-up that has two loose buttons to reveal a gold medallion that rested on his dark, wispy chest hairs and a pair of black slacks. In right hand, he holds a clumsy mess of various flowers wrapped in… is that a newspaper?

“You clean up pretty good, Pines…” You say with a sweet smile. Truthfully, this outfit was even better than what your thoughts could have conjured up. Your eyes flick towards the flowers, “Are these for me? You didn’t have to..” 

Stan places the flowers in your arms, “Well, I couldn’t show up empty-handed. What kinda guy do you take me for?” He says before glancing over his shoulder, “Hey, you don’t think your neighbor two doors down reads the paper regularly, do ya?”

You laugh, putting two and two together, “I don’t think so, let me put these in some water and we can head out. You can come in, make yourself comfortable.” You gesture, letting Stan step through the threshold before closing the door behind the two of you.

“You know you usually invite someone in after the date, doll.” Stan comments playfully, taking a seat on your cozy sofa as he watches your figure disappear into the kitchen to grab a vase. His eyes roam around the apartment, admiring the little touches you put to the place that made it feel like home. 

“What can I say? I like to cut right to the chase.” You tease, walking back into the living room with the assortment of flowers in a vase. You lean forward to place the vase on the coffee table in front of him and Stan finds his gaze drifting to your behind before quickly averting it as you stand up right, looking over at him, “You ready?”

Stan clears his throat, standing up from his seat, his cheeks tinted slightly pink, “Yup, you know how to get to the place?”

“Yup!” You say, grabbing your bag from the counter before raising an eyebrow.

“Why are your cheeks red? Is it hot in here?”

“Alright, let’s move it!” Stan says hurriedly, placing a warm calloused hand on the small of your back to usher you out the door.

It was your turn for your cheeks to turn red.

The liquor on your lips.

The liquor on your lips.

The liquor on your lips makes you dangerous.

“After being chased around a neighborhood by a husband who thought I was sleeping with his wife for hours, I stopped doing door to door sales. I mostly stuck to infomercials, you know the ones that cycle every few hours?” Stan explained, waving around the cheese fry in his hand.

You listen to his story with amusement, resting your chin on your hands as you take a sip of your milkshake, “Yeah, I’m familiar… surprised I haven’t seen you on my TV ever.”

“Well, when I shot them, I had a full mustache.” Stan admitted, holding the fry over his upper lip to mimic the facial hair.

Your laughter ran through Stan’s ears at the visual, leaning forward to pluck the fry from his finger and steal it from his grasp, taking a bite into it, “Now that’s something I would have paid to see.”

“Trust me, not worth the price, sweetheart.” Stan says with a relaxed grin, his arms spreading across the vinyl booth as he leans back.

His brown eyes take in your gorgeous features before catching the stray bit of cheese that was in the corner of your mouth. He can’t help himself, reaching over to run a thumb over it and pulling back to lick the cheese off his thumb.

You stare back at him flustered, your lips parted. Stan registers what he just did, blinking back at you before rubbing the back of his neck abashedly, “Sorry, had a little something on your lip.”

“No.. don’t apologize. I… liked it.” You admit with a cheeky grin, reaching for one of Stan’s hands that rests on the table. Your thumb runs over his knuckles that are still bandaged from the previous day, your touch delicate as you do so. 

“I gotta ask, sweetheart, what makes you like a guy like me?” Stan asks, entranced by your touch as he can’t help but spread his fingers out to intertwine your fingers with his larger ones.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“C’mon toots, I know first impressions matter and what you saw the first day you met me was a guy in a ratty old hoodie with no money to his name, barely able to afford one night at a motel.” Stan chuckled with a bitter edge of his voice.

“Well, that’s not what I saw.” You say almost defensively, squeezing Stan’s hand firmly, “I saw a guy who was down on his luck… who just needed a warm place to stay for the night. What you showed me is you’re funny, quick-witted, a con man.. But a business savvy one.”

“Ouch, on the conman…”

“Am I wrong?”

“No… but you gotta admit that I got good ideas.”

“You do… you just need the right audience for them.” You chuckle, “Now, no more of this self-deprecating talk, let’s go dancing, there’s a bar a few blocks down that does disco nights on Fridays.”

“You wanna keep this date going, toots?” Stan says a bit nervously, knowing he was only able to scrounge up enough money to cover the bill.

“I got the drinks, Stan. Don’t worry.” You say, squeezing his hand again in reassurance, “Plus I can’t let you waste an outfit like this on just a diner.”

I knew it was wrong, I’m beyond it.

I tried to be strong but I lost it.

To say Stan swept you off your feet was an understatement.

You weren’t expecting him to be practically dragging you onto the dance floor despite your protests of having two left feet after a few drinks in your system, his feet moving effortlessly as he guides you with his hands.

Stan watches with glee as his arm raises to spin you, watching how the disco lights illuminate your face. He spins you into his frame before dipping you low, your noses brushing at the proximity.

You stare up at him, a hand resting on his bicep. Your breaths mingle, inches away from each other’s lips. Time stands still as Stan can’t help but admit huskily, “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Something in you snapped and you broke the distance, hands reaching up to cup Stan’s cheeks and pull him into a sudden kiss. His eyes widened in surprise, almost dropping you in alarm but melting into the kiss as he returned the passionate liplock.

Without breaking the kiss, Stan pulls you up, large hands drifting down to grip your hips. You feel your stomach doing somersaults at the sensation of his fingertips digging further into your flesh almost possessively. 

Like you would disappear between his fingertips if he didn’t hold on tight.

Pulling back reluctantly for air, your chest moves up and down as you pant softly. Your eyes twinkle underneath the colorful hues of the disco ball, gazing up at Stan with want.

“Shit, Pines… didn’t think you were that smooth.” You say breathlessly with a cheeky grin.

“Look who’s talking… didn’t think ya had it in you to pull the first move.” Stan teases, “Not that I’m complainin’ about being proven wrong.”

Your hands rest on Stan’s chest, “Well, just cause I made the first move doesn’t mean you can’t make one yourself.”

“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

“Not a challenge, more like a wish.”

“Well, I can definitely make that wish come true.” Stan chuckles, leaning for another heated kiss. Stan’s lips search for yours almost hungrily, his tongue snaking out to run over your bottom lip almost pleading for entry. You allow it, a soft whine ripping from your throat as you taste the whiskey on his tongue. 

Those sweet noises that he’s able to pull from you cause Stan to grunt, pulling you further into him. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers running through his brown locks before playfully tugging at the ends of his mullet. He groans against your lips, loving the sensation more than he would care to admit.

Maybe having a mullet wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. 

Stan pulls back, smirking as he stares down at you pouting back at him, wondering why he stopped. His response is tilting his head to pepper kisses along your jawline and down your neck. You can’t help but giggle when his stubble tickles your skin, arching your neck in response, “Whoa there, tiger… we’re still in public, ya know?”

“Sorry, toots, can’t help myself…” Stan mutters against your ear, pulling you in by your waist so you’re both chest to chest, “You just taste so sweet… ”

Shit, your knees felt weak after hearing his deep voice rasp that against your ear.

You really tried to resist as much as you could.

But something about Stan Pines had your resolve crumbling before your eyes.

Fuck it.

“Stanley…” You coo in a sticky, saccharine tone that causes his arm hairs… and something else to stand up. Your fingers massage the nape of his neck, pressing your lips against his ear, “I would love to give you a taste… maybe somewhere more private.”

You let out a squeal in surprise as Stan practically drags you toward the exit, making a beeline back to his car. He looks back at you, his eyes darkened with lust, “Oh, I plan on getting more than a taste, doll.”

You taste like the 4th of July.

Malt liquor on your breath, my, my.

The sound of jingling keys and smacking lips against skin echoed through the hallway outside of your apartment. 

“Stan… cut it out for just a sec, I’m trying to get the door open..” You whine breathlessly, biting your lower lip as Stan’s teeth graze against the sensitive spot on your neck. You can feel his hardened bulge against your backside, his grip on your hips possessive.

“Alright, I’ll let up on ya.” Stan chuckles at your whine, pulling away reluctantly. He watches your fingers still fumble with the keys in amusement despite him halting his relentless flurry of kisses and love bites.

The moment the door opens, Stan’s arm wraps around your frame and hoists you over his broad shoulder, causing you to burst in a fit of laughter. Stan snickers when he closes the door behind him, feeling you playfully flail and stomp your fists on his back with the exaggerated plea to release you. He finds his way to your bedroom, nudging the loose door with his foot to get through the threshold before tossing you on the bed gently.

You have a beat to process your back hitting the soft material of your mattress before feeling the bed dip down and your lips being ensnared into another heated kiss. 

Your fingers find themselves gripping the back of Stan’s button-up, wrinkling the fabric underneath as you cling onto him. His lips slowly descend down your jawline, to your neck before his hands hover over the fabric of your top. He pulls back briefly, “Can I, sweetheart?” He asks breathlessly.

You nod eagerly and his hands slowly pull off the top to reveal more of your bare skin. “Jesus, are you sure you’re not an angel? Look at ya..” Stan says, his touch over your exposed flesh sending shivers down your spine.

“Well, don’t just look… you can touch more.” You say with a desperate edge to your voice. Stan chuckles darkly at your impatience, deciding to give into your demands. His tongue glides over your collarbone, deciding downward before capturing a sensitive peak in between his lips, suckling firmly. The delicious sounds you make go straight to his groin, spurring him on to tease, pinch and suck on your hardened nipples.

He needed to hear how good he was making you feel.

“Stan… more, please.” You whimper out, your legs wrapped around him.

“Tell me how much you need this, angel.” Stan grins against your flesh.

“Fuck, I need you, Stan. Please, you make me feel so good, I need your tongue, your fingers, your cock, anything!” You moan out after a particular torturous squeeze of nipples.

Your praise, your pleas caused any self-restraint Stan was holding onto to fall apart, his hands tugging down on your bottoms. Your hips snap up to allow him to shove the fabric down your ankles before he pretty much rips off his own stuffy shirt, revealing to you his chest hair, broad shoulders and biceps and round stomach. 

Stan practically melts as your hands glide over his chest and down his stomach. His abdomen tensing when your nails make their way down his happy trail to start unbuttoning his tight pants.

After you undo the top button and zipper, Stan’s hands join yours, impatiently tugging off the fabric. His rock hard shaft springs out from its confines, tip red and leaking with pre-cum.

Just as your hand is about to reach down to give it some attention, Stan catches your wrist, shaking his head. “Another time, sweetheart… I need ya now.” 

Your legs spread as Stan adjusts himself between them, his fingers gripping the meat of your thighs. You can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious when the man above you is staring down at your lower parts with such intensity and attempt to squeeze your legs shut. Unfortunately, Stan’s hold on your thighs is firm, holding them apart with a click of his tongue, “None of that, toots. Don’t hide such a gorgeous sight from me.”

Toes curl against the sheets and nails dig into Stan’s shoulder blades as he decides to torture you just a little bit more, brushing the tip of his shaft against your opening and teasing it with shallow movements. After getting his fill of your desperate whimpers, he finally shows you some mercy, groaning when he fully sheaths his cock inside you.

“Jesus, angel… you even feel like heaven..” Stan groans, pumping his hips slowly as he finds his rhythm, “You’re gonna be the death of me, doll… I swear.” He holds onto your hips for dear life, his fingertips practically imprinted into your flesh. Your walls clamp around him tightly, hissing through his teeth as his hips pull back and forth.

You relish in the delicious stretch as Stan’s cock digs deeper with every thrust into your walls, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut when his shaft bottoms out inside your walls. Stan shudders, feeling every inch of his aching cock being squeezed down by your warm walls.

After giving you a second to adjust to his full length, he finally lets go, his hips letting loose. His pace is quick yet powerful, his thick tip kissing that sweet spot that has your thighs trembling over and over again. Stan gazes down at you in awe, relishing every single moan and cry that escapes your throat. He lets out a deep chuckle, hearing you babble for more, “Oh, you need more? Such a greedy little thing.”

Stan gladly indulges in your pleas, his pace now brutal as he hammers his cock at an almost erratic pace. The sound of your hips lewdly smacking together echoing through the room, your cries silenced by Stan’s searing kiss, swallowing them up greedily. He presses all his weight atop of you, pinning your legs back at an angle that allows his cock to drive deeper inside of you.

You feel a warmth boiling in the pit of your stomach, your legs wrapping around Stan’s frame as your nails dig red welts into his back. “S-Stan… I…” You gasp in between breaths of your heated kisses, causing Stan to pause to stare down at you. “Ya close, sweets?” You nod in response, so cock-drunk that you can’t form a coherent sentence.

Focusing all his efforts to bring you over the edge, Stan reaches for your chest, thumbing your sensitive nipples, causing you to flinch and squirm beneath him. His face buried in the crook of your neck as he groans against your ear, “So fucking good for me, you take my cock perfectly, angel. God, you don’t know what you do to me..” His hips reel back, delivering slow yet deep strokes that finally push you and him over the edge.

Stan grins against your neck, feeling and hearing you come undone beneath him. He loves how you latch onto him, clinging on for dear life as he slows his strokes down to help you ride out your orgasm. His cock twitches with each lazy drag, murmuring sweet praise into your ear, “That’s it… did so good for me, sweetheart.” With a stutter in his own hips, he cums as well, filling you to the brim with a guttural groan before collapsing on your chest.

You both lay there for a while, your thighs aching in the best way possible. You run your fingers through Stan’s brown locks, curling the ends of his mullet in your finger. The sound of your heartbeat echoes through Stan’s eardrums, relishing in your warmth. 

“Um… toots?” Stan mutters, causing you to look down with a raised eyebrow. 

It’s almost comical to see the man that just had you seeing stars looking abashed as he asks, “Could.. I..”

“Spit out, Pines.” You chuckle teasingly.

“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t even form a sentence a few minutes ago.” Stan huffs before muttering against your skin, “Mind if I stay the night…?”

You stare down at Stan in understanding, tilting his chin to pull him in for a soft kiss.

“Of course, Stan. You can stay as long as you need.”

You can be the boss

Taste like a keg party, back on the sauce

I like you a lot, I like you a lot

Don't let it stop

[realmsalot]

Oh, How Forgetful Of You

"Did you see him," Caryn asks, breaking the heavy silence. "Did you see him before he died?"

"Yes," he answers truthfully. She already knows that it him who asked Stanley to come up here.

"Did ya two talk?" And he knows what she's hoping for. He knows what she's hoping he'll say.

Yes. We worked it out. We talked things through. We apologize to each other. He died knowing his twin loved him.

He doesn't have it in him to lie.

--------

Or my take on a reverse portal au. Enjoy :)

Edit: So this isn't done yet. I was writing this on Tumblr mobile and thought I saving this in my drafts when app decided to post it! So now I guess this is sneak peak for a really long oneshot I'm working on. So enjoy I guess. I will appreciate any feed back on this. Don't write your fics directly on Tumblr.

Edit Edit:

Started posting the actual fic. It's a chapter fic now. Ao3 link

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

It's a cold March day in Gravity Falls. There's a fresh layer of snow on the ground glistening in the cool sun. And yet, the signs of the upcoming spring are as clear as the current sky. The snow is a mere inch on the ground, no where near the hight it was earlier in the year. There are starts of new growth on the deciduous in the area and songs from a few individual birds of migrating species that came back a tad early.

It's a beautiful day.

Even at a funeral, he acknowledges that. He's pretty sure everyone else there does as well.

Stanford Pines stands in front of an empty grave, with a hallow coffin waiting to be put in by its side and staring at the name of his twin brother etch on the headstone.

He knows that the death date on the headstone is wrong. It says that his twin had died last week, when the Stanley Mobile had careened off a cliff and was later found with no body inside. When he sent it off that cliff with a cut of the breaks, a quick hot wiring of the car and the heaviest chunk of firewood he had on the pedal. Stan had loved that car. Ford remembers the face - the smile that Stan had when he first bought it at sixteen. He remembers Stanley shoving him into that car for the first time before they went for drive, where they drove it way too fast with the windows down and shouting kings of New Jersey at the top of their lungs to celebrate. Ford remembers the last time he got in that car, screwdriver in hand, and looking around for just a moment and seeing stolen motel bedding on the back seats and trash on the floor consisting of fast food wrappers, bags convince store snacks, and losing lottery tickets. Stanley had lived in that car.

And now, thanks to Ford, the only things left of that car are a burnt pile of metal in the dump, the license plate sitting on a table in his cabin, and an old photo he stole from the drivers visor.

The death date on the headstone is wrong, but Stanford doesn't know what the real date would be. By the time Stanley had come, Ford was so paranoid and sleep deprived he didn't know what day it was anymore. But he should know. Ford should know the date. Ford should know the date he sent his twin brother to his demise. And he hates that he doesn't.

A hand touches his shoulder, and Ford is startled out of his recently encrypted head. He looks over.

It's Ma. And she's staring at the headstone, too. They stay silent for a while.

When Ford saw her arrive, he was honestly surprised she came alone. He thought for sure that she would somehow drag Filbrick or Shermie along, but no. She came alone.

The only other guest that came, aside from Fiddleford who came here for Ford not Stan, was an IRS agent. (And Ford is pretty sure he heard him whisper to the, "I know you're not dead," while glancing at Ford. )

Did Stan really have no one?

"Did you see him," Caryn asks, breaking the heavy silence. "Did you see him before he died?"

"Yes," he answers truthfully. She already knows that it him who asked Stanley to come up here.

"Did ya two talk?" And he knows what she's hoping for. He knows what she's hoping he'll say.

Yes. We worked it out. We talked things through. We apologize to each other. He died knowing his twin loved him.

He doesn't have it in him to lie.

"We talked," he starts. Scenes of that night flash in his mind.

Stan's face filling with hope as Ford talks about their old childhood dream. The way it fell as Ford tells he to sail away.

"We argued..."

I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won't even listen!

"We fought..."

Stanley’s scream as he kicks him back dowases the anger for a moment, and Fort starts to apologize. And then Stanley punches him in the face, and it all comes back.

"And then he..."

Stanley had pushed over the danger line. Now all Ford can see is the fear taking over his brother’s face as he floats up to the open maw of the portal. And Ford stupidity calls out for him to do something. To not let his creation- his mistake eat him.

And Stanley does.

He doesn't doesn't hesitate to jump and push Stanford away from the portal. Consequently pushing himself in. And all Ford could do is watch as his self made monster ate Stanley.

"...he left."

It's silent again for nothing but a moment before Caryn starts to sob. She pulls Stanford into a hug that he weakly returns and she cries into the hand-me-down suit his father gave him.

Ford's eyes don't leave the headstone again until long after the mostly empty coffin is buried.

He had killed his own brother.

.-- .... .- - / -.- .. -. -.. / --- ..-. / .- / -... .-. --- - .... . .-. / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..-

Stanford had contacted Fiddleford not long after Stanley went through the portal.

He needed help to finish the mind encrypter because it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and he knew that as soon as he closed them, Bill will come out and destroy it. He needed the mind encrypter to be finish and fast. He didn't know how much longer he could wait. So he went back to his ex-assistant, who (unfortunately) knows how to make machines that affect the mind best.

Ford was prepared to beg, having just lost a brother and just reached a breaking point that even his pride couldn't get to. But to his surprise, Fiddleford readily agreed. That was the second time that week someone whom he wouldn't want to see his again helped.

The mind encrypter got done in record time, and Stanford's mind was finally safe.

Then, for some reason, Fiddleford stuck around.

Then, for some reason, Fiddleford started acting like they're friends again.

[the-universal-sun]

hi, if you don't mind could you write some fluff of regressed Stan receiving one of those alien plushies with paws?

Thank you and have a nice day

Okay so I did have to look up what you meant by Alien Plushie with paws, and yeah, they’re cute. And of course I don’t mind! I hope you enjoy it!

I’m sorry if this isn’t as fluffy as you imagined, I did have Stan go into a brief turmoil there, but it doesn’t last for long! I’m always open for helpful critiques in my comments and DMs!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan stared at the weird green thing.

The weird green thing stared back.

“Lee? How do you like it? I saw it at the fair, as I was walking around with the children when you were manning the Mystery Shack’s booth. It’s quite cute, right?” Sixer looked so excited about this stuffy that he was holding out, that Stan didn’t know how to tell him he doesn’t know what it is. Does it look soft? Yes of course, and it looks cute-not as cute as Poindexter and Shanklin 2, though. Stan looks up at his brother and signs “What”, pointing to the green thing in his brother’s hands.

“What is it? It’s an alien of course! Well, the human’s approximation of an alien. While there is a species of extraterrestrial that looks similar to this…” Stan tunes the rest of Sixer’s words out, he can’t understand them anyways, and focuses on the…alien stuffy? It’s big eyes are kind of scary, but he thinks he can get used to it. He grabs it while Ford talks and paces around the room, turning it around in his hands. It has paws! And little toe beans! Stan loves him already!

He hums lightly as he traces over the shapes of his new friends' paws. Where should he go at the table during their tea parties? Poindexter has to sit next to him, he gets upset when he’s sat beside someone other than Stan, and so does Shanklin 2. He could go beside Ford, but on which side? Stan can’t decide, he’ll have to play with all three of them to see who his new friend gets along with best. He’ll also have to name him, but what’s a good name for an alien stuffy with paws? Stan picks up Poindexter and Shanklin 2 from next to him, going over to his toy box in the corner of their room, digging through it to find some legos and doll sized furniture. He plops down and starts building houses with his legos, a different one for each stuffy, fit to match their personalities. Ford’s still walking around and talking, Stan looks back to check on him, he has a Journal out now and is flipping through it.

“It’s amazing to have observed the Convergent Evolution of the M’aacri’i and the Ensvolere’s of the planet Aegna VI in dimension 53-Alpha-” He’s lost Stan for sure now, the scientific names and processes getting lost and jumbled around in his head. He turns back around and continues to play with his stuffies, trying to figure out the perfect name for his new friend and who to sit him beside at the table. This is a tough process, Stan has to think about potential conflicts between his stuffies and the order being changed around now, and he has to give another one an equal amount of attention so he doesn’t feel left out and lonely-not that he’s complaining about his new friend. It’s frustrating Stan, leading him to whine and pull at his hair as he thinks about these things. He doesn’t want to think about these frustrating things anymore!

“Lee? Are you alright? What’s wrong, Bud?” Ford snaps him back out of his head, Stan didn’t even notice him stop talking and come over. His brother’s so cool, so sneaky. He gestures to his stuffies, including the Alien, and tries to make his shaky fingers sign a sentence, but only able to half sign a “friends”, “three”, and “hard”. “It’s hard for these three to be friends? Make friends?” Ford guesses wrong. Stan shakes his head, pointing at the stuffies and then shrugging, trying to convey his frustration with not knowing how these three will go with each other. It’s stupid. He feels stupid. He is stupid, finding such a stupid thing to get upset over-

“Hey! It’s okay, Lee, I think I get it. Please don’t hurt yourself.” Ford pulls down Stan’s hands which had started to beat against his head, “You’re having trouble figuring out if these three will be good friends, right? Well I’ve got the answer to that, of course they will be! You’re their best friend, and I know your stuffed animals love you.” Ford presses a kiss to Stan’s forehead, and he leans into it, relishing the contact with his favorite person and problem solver. He needs help with one more problem, where they sit at the table. He tries his best to sign this question, too, only getting out a barely legible “table” and “sit”.

“Where will they all sit at the table, hmmm? Well I think Shanklin 2 is just fine where he is, my right hand Opossum. Your new friend,” Ford waves to the Alien stuffy can sit on your right, where your teddy goes, and Poindexter can sit on your lap, is that alright?” Man, Stan’s brother was a genius! He never would have thought of that-well, not in this headspace anyways. His brother is so cool, he loves him so much! Stan nods his head in response to Ford’s answer to his most pressing problem, agreeing with his solution entirely. “That’s good! I’m glad I could help, Lee.” Ford takes a moment to smooth back Stan’s hair, his smile matching his Little brother’s right now. “Do you need help naming your new friend, or do you already have a very cool name picked out for him.” Stan nods his head again, of course he has a name! Silly, Sixer. That was the easiest part. He pauses for a few seconds, moving his tongue around in his mouth. He wants to try to say the name of the Alien, with his mouth. He deems his tongue to not be too thick to say one word right now. Stan opens his mouth, he can see Ford leaning in closer, a wide smile on his face and his chest puffing up the longer Stan waits to speak. Is he just excited to hear the name? Is Stan keeping him-what’s the word? Surpence? Suptense? Whatever, Ford obviously needs to hear the name before he explodes. Stan takes a breath and focuses really hard on not stuttering. Finally, he feels like he can speak good enough for this-

“Pickle.” Stan says, softly but as confident as he can manage his voice to sound right now.

He bursts out laughing, falling back in tears, as Ford’s face falls.

(Ford totally thought Stan was going to name the Alien Toy after him, let's be real. That’s the biggest reason he was excited about presenting it to Stan lol.)

[strawberryshortcake1495]

So at school I’ve been watching this old show from the 90s called “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” and I think it’s pretty neat. Apparently it has a reboot but it doesn’t have that same vibe that the old one brings. Anyways, I decided to make an AU. Let me cook.

So Stan accidentally breaks Ford’s project, Filbrick kicks him out, but instead of telling him he’s not welcome in the household, he just tells him until he makes the family a fortune, he’ll be staying with his aunt in Bel-air. Stan tries to get Ford to stand up for him but Ford abandons him and Stan is forced to drive all the way to his new home. He gets there and explains the situation to his aunt who takes him in with open arms. While Auntie is speaking with Filbrick on the phone, Uncle is treating some scrapes Stan got when his father threw him out. Nothing too bad. Then two kids come downstairs, and you guessed it! It’s Dipper and Mabel! They’re 7 at the beginning of the story and 13 by the end. So everyone’s just sitting in the dining room and Stan gets to know his baby cousins. Auntie argues with Filbrick and hangs up the phone. She tells Stan that no matter what happens, he’ll always have a home here. Stan tries not to cry in front of the twins but he can’t help it. Uncle gently embraces him and everyone has a family hug.

From then on, Stan is trying to balance earning money and bonding with his family. He gets into some sitcom-style adventures with the twins, which include the following in no particular order: Trying to scam people but he endangers the twins (he saves them), signing Dipper up for boxing lessons so he can become strong just like Filbrick taught him only for Dipper to have a mental breakdown over masculinity. Said breakdown causes Dipper to swap places with Mabel for a day to see what being a girl would be like. Mabel accidentally gets a concussion from softball and Stan is tasked with looking after her, and so on.

Stan is absolutely SMITTEN by the twins, they’re like the friends he never had. He’s also super protective of Dipper because of how much he reminds him of Baby Ford. As time goes on, Stan eventually stops trying to make money cause he doesn’t want to go back home. And everything is swell!

Did I mention they live in a mansion?

(art by @goreroll)

[aquaquadrant]

thoughts on the new character bios/interviews that the dreamworks twitter posted below the cut, as promised

so right off the bat, i’m trying to figure out when these interviews took place. it seems to be along the lines of a ‘where are they now?’ for the nublar six, so it’d be long enough after their rescue for them to be settled back in their lives. in terms of exact timing, my guess would be it’s 2-3 years before the time frame of chaos theory, and here’s why.

ben’s part mentions him starting college. if he was 14 during JWCC, he would be around 17 at the time of JW fallen kingdom (ie. during the epilogue scene) cuz it’s 3 years after JW. this would make him roughly 21 during chaos theory cuz it’s supposed to be around the same time as JW dominion (i think so, anyway, could be misremembering), which is 4 years after fallen kingdom. while it’s possible ben delayed his start at college bc of the whole ‘was stranded on dinosaur island for a while’ thing, starting at 21 seems pretty late. so this would most likely indicate the interviews were closer to the timing of the epilogue scene, maybe a year or two after (putting ben at 17-19).

more evidence: darius’s part portrays him as fairly well-adjusted and mentions him traveling to give talks, as we saw in the epilogue. we know that at the start of chaos theory, darius has been isolating himself for an unknown amount of time following brooklynn’s supposed death. i doubt ‘the dino times’ would’ve been able to get ahold of him for an interview.

final point: kenji’s part mentions his relationship with brooklynn and that “all is good in casa de kenji.” so like, it’s very unlikely brooklynn is ‘dead’ yet LMAO

the only thing that snags at me is sammy’s part saying she has her own ranch now. if this interview took place a couple years before chaos theory, she wouldn’t be older than 20. that’s a pretty damn young age to own and operate your own ranch- but since she comes from a family of ranchers, it wouldn’t be impossible. perhaps her family purchased some additional land for her to manage a smaller herd and they stay in close business with each other (providing surplus calves as replacement heifers for sammy’s herd, for example). either way, we stan a strong independent businesswoman.

also there’s the fact that they didn’t make one for brooklynn, when theoretically she would’ve still been alive at the time these interviews were done. but i think the dreamworks team might’ve just been concerned that ppl would confuse the timeline and use it as proof brooklynn is alive (full disclosure: i fully believe brooklynn is alive but ofc the show wants us to still think she’s dead) so i could see them leaving her out just for that reason.

now that the timeline junk is of the way, here’s more random thoughts.

yaz doesn’t seem to have returned to her career as an aspiring pro athlete (seems like something the interviewer would’ve mentioned if she had). this feeds my headcanon of her retaining permanent damage to her ankle quite well. also, the trauma. sammy’s part says they “don’t have time to keep worrying about all that running for our lives stuff.” maybe that’s part of it: yaz decided to just settle down and enjoy the quiet life on the ranch. good for her!!

kenji opened up a climbing school?? that’s random as fuck but i’m here for it. on the surface, it seems like the kinda thing rich tourists would sign up for- y’know, the ppl who travel to exotic places around the world to climb shit. but it’s actually a super useful skill to have in a post-dinosaur world, and kenji knows all too well how important these kinds of skills are for survival. so for me, it’s a choice that reflects the maturing he did during his character arc.

i’ve seen some ppl speculating that yasammy might’ve had a breakup/relationship issues. i sincerely hope that’s not the case- at the time of the interviews, they seemed to be in a very committed relationship, but since that was prob a couple years ago i guess there’s a chance something could’ve happened after. fingers crossed i’m wrong and we’ll just get loads of wonderful yasammy content in the show🤞

i’m curious what ben went/was going to college for. considering the epilogue slated him as researching with mae on mantah corp island, i wonder if he’d pursue some kind of neuro/psych/animal behavior thing.

yaz anxiety mention! god please let the show delve into all the PTSD these kids must’ve brought back from the island.

every new bit of info we get has me so excited like can the show just drop already 😩⚰️

[deserteye]

CHAPTER ONE ;; Return to the Falls

DIPPER'S P.O.V.

"It's only been six years since you've been to Gravity Falls, it's fine-!"

"Dip, you're mumbling to yourself again."

Mabel commented, lightly pushing my shoulder.

"Oh, shit- Sorry,"

I laugh nervously, rubbing my wrists.

"You're anxious over nothing Dipping Sauce, it's just the old gang! We saved the world together, it'll be fine."

She reassured. We were about maybe 6 minutes from the stop in Gravity Falls, and it'd been six years since Weirdmageddon. We just graduated Highschool and decided to start our first summer out of school back at Gravity Falls. Mabel kept in contact with Grenda and Candy, and I had Wendy's phone number, but I was always too scared to start a conversation. Mabel says I need to just 'talk to her like a normal person' the same way I did in person, but it's, different, I guess.

"Dipper! It's the sign!"

Mabel jumped in her seat and pointed at the old 'Gravity Falls' sign. I smiled and tried relaxing. While going to high school, I got recommended to a counselor for my apparent social anxiety, which I had no idea I had until someone brought the idea to mind. I've found a few coping mechanisms for my anxiety, and currently, none of them were working for this anxiety.

"Last stop, Gravity Falls."

The bus driver called, and Mabel leaped from her seat, grabbed her suitcase and backpack, and ran out the door, Waddle following close behind her. I picked up my bag and suitcase as well, following her close behind with nervousness running down my spine.

I walked out of the bus to see Mabel group hugging Grenda and Mabel, and being greeted by Grunkle Ford and Stan, Soos, and Wendy.

"Hey, dude,"

Wendy called, grabbing her hat off my head and putting my old pine tree hat back on my hat, pushing the brim of it which pulled a laugh from me.

"Hey, Wendy."

I smiled and blushed awkwardly, putting my hands in my pockets.

"Dude, you hit a huge growth spurt."

She laughed, and Soos stood next to me for comparison, I was almost as tall as him.

"Dude, you're almost as tall as me!"

He commented, smiling and I laughed in response.

~TIMESKIP~

After our little meeting, we decided to walk back to the shack, just to view the changes in town, and see old friends. While walking, there was a new face spotted leaving a grocery store, waving bye to the owner. Around Y/H (Your Height), and S/C (Your Skin Color), they wore a C/C (Color of Choice) sweater and jeans, with a ruby pendant.

"Woahh, who's that cutie?!"

Mabel called out, guess they caught both our eyes. Figures. I discovered I was probably bi in high school, Mabel of course, being omnisexual, was more than supportive, which didn't really surprise me since she cut my hair and helped me bind my chest whenever I found out I was trans. She had way more luck with guys and gals, however.

"Oh, yeah, that's Y/N Sphinx. They don't come into town much."

Wendy explained, putting her hands in her pockets.

"Yeah, they're some kinda hermit, back when I lived here I only saw them out like, once."

Grunkle Stan added, humming suspiciously.

"So, do they not have any friends?"

Mabel hummed sadly.

"No, we have even tried befriending them, and they do not seem interested."

Candy commented, and I noticed Mabel get a sparkle in her eye.

"Mabel." I said sternly,

"Common Dipper! They need a friend!"

She cried.

"Can we at least go put out stuff in the shack-?!"

I plead before she ran off saying "Nope!" in response, and I chased after her, crying out to her.

YOUR P.O.V.

"Finally done with groceries.."

I sighed, thinking to myself, before looking over my grocery list quickly and humming, putting it in my jean pocket, and I continued walking. I was never a fan of socializing or being out in the town, nothing against the townsfolk. Lazy Susan was a sweetheart, and funny enough Tyler Cutebiker, now Mayor Tyler Cutebiker, and I got along pretty well, I just always kinda got drained from talking to almost anyone besides forest creatures.

"Hey, hey, heyyy!"

I heard someone call out to me and I turned around, stopping in my tracks and looking at the brunette girl who approached me, wearing a pink sweater, and a very similar boy following behind her, having to lean down and take a breath.

"Um- Hi- Can I help you-?"

I asked nervously.

"Hi! I'm Mabel, Mabel Pines, and this is my brother! Dipper!"

Mabel responded, introducing the two of them. She put her hand on her brother's back, patting it while he struggled to breathe. I smiled nervously, laughing lightly at Dipper's struggle for breathing.

I could instantly tell their dynamic, Mabel is the heart and Dipper is the brain, Mabel probably drags them into chaos all the time. I really gotta write that dynamic sometime..

"Hi, I'm so sorry about my sister,"

Dipper apologized, standing up to his full height, he's much taller than I thought- He coughed nervously, putting his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, you're alright- You said 'Pines' right-? Are you related to the Mystery Shack guy?"

I asked, being polite.

"Yeah! He's our Great Uncle Stan!"

Mabel smiled, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh, cool-! So, can I help you with anything-?"

I smiled nervously, not sure what to do.

"Uhh nope! I just wanted to say hi and compliment your sweater!"

Mabel added, having a bit of a jump in her step.

"Oh, I see- Thank you, my sister made it for me."

I laughed awkwardly, holding my grocery bags in both hands in front of me. We stood in awkward silence for a moment, clearing affecting Dipper and I more than Mabel, before I broke it.

"Well, thank you-! It's been a pleasure but I should be off, uh bye-!"

I stammered quickly before walking off around the corner. Once I got around the corner I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

The twins stood there, Mabel and Dipper looking at each other in confusion about the sudden hurry to leave.

[A/N: bit of an extra long chapter since it's a bit late! ^^']

· · ─────── ·⃤ ─────── · ·

Next Chapter | CHAPTER TWO ;; That Old Statue

Last Chapter | PROLOGUE ;; An Axolotl's Assignment

[sgiandubh]

I think it's interesting that people (you included) will not find fault with Caitriona. She's on social media but not acknowledging anything or anyone and it's stated well she did it privately. You don't know what she did privately. You stating it doesn't make it true. Stans on Twitter claiming up and down, it's because she has a husband and child, so they can see how weird it looks that she ignores everything, but think of excuses. Lots of people have a spouse and child, yet take 45 seconds to publicly acknowledge things. Sam gets made fun of for selling or promoting (you included) but Cait is precious and fault on her part is not a thing. Why?

Dear Find Fault Anon,

One more time (and I shall always repeat it, until we get somewhere): I am not interested in S and C separately and I dare to think, based on things I do know, that this is not a possibility. Therefore, I shall always consider them as an entity and I am not a Caitriona Balfe stan. Between you and me, I think this is the most ridiculous accusation you could have thought of: usually people shout at me for being an S worshipper, which is not the case.

How could I, Anon? These people are my age, FFS!

Yes, it's very poor manners of C not to thank the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films for that award. But you seem to conveniently forget the tiny detail that S did not congratulate her on social media, either. And, lest I forget, neither did Skeleton, who wouldn't have missed the coat-tailing opportunity for the world, I think and who genuinely likes both of them. S is the only one half-heartedly promoting OL on his socials. For example, I know you don't give a shite about him (I do), but did you hear anything else OL related from Vandervaart, since promo was over? Or John Bell, for that matter?

Nope. You haven't. They all seem to have vanished into thin air, only to materialize when *** will finally decide to put us out of our misery and broadcast Season 7B.

To me, this is the sign something is brewing. I have no speculation to offer, just something that makes you go hmmm. Eventually, though, dots will connect, things will make sense. They always do.

You seem unhappy with my pragmatic take on things, by which I stand: we don't know a thing about this situation and can only speculate. And guess what, my dear: neither do you.

But sure, feel free to focus on nitpicking. That makes you the ideal fodder for this silly game currently being played. Focus on Insta follows opening trails that lead you nowhere and on online times, if it makes you happy. I couldn't care less, Anon. But don't come here stirring shit because you are bored and looking forward to engage with someone. You are barking up the wrong tree.

Finally, I hope you know the difference between opinions and facts. If you don't, by now, I am very sorry and somewhat worried for you. Truly.

[fushiglow]

am i the only one who still thinks megumi is coming back???

let's talk about the 230 leaks!! once again, satoru proved he's him and i never doubted him for a second, but every week more and more people seem to lose hope for megumi and i feel like i'm on another planet?? maybe i'm just coping, but i think there are more signs in 230 that he isn't down and out yet:

gojo is visibly concerned when megumi tanks unlimited void. why would he care if he wasn't trying to save him? yeah yeah, water is wet, but lots of people have been worried about this. clearly, gojo hasn't given up on megumi yet, and he's way smarter and stronger than me!! so, if gojo hasn't given up, neither have i.

we see megumi for the first time in ten chapters!!!! sure, he's not looking too hot right now, but as long as we can see him, he isn't gone (he's still in fetal position so he's gonna get his maki moment, trust!!)

we also see megumi's soul, or at least gojo does. the visual when he realises that megumi took the hit is very similar to the visual from the 'my soul knows otherwise' moment in shibuya. there are two orbs this time — presumably the larger one is sukuna and the smaller one is megumi — but again, i think that as long as gojo can see his soul, sukuna hasn't succeeded in sinking it.

gojo's last line in the chapter is a direct reference to the first time he fought sukuna in front of, you guessed it, megumi!! i don't know whether it's a message from gojo to megumi or a message from gege to the readers, but gege never self-references by accident. was it just a little 'hang in there' to megumi, or are we gonna see some of the beats from the first fight play out again??? 👀

a couple of thematic things which i think work in megumi's favour too:

seeing the smiling faces of gojo's students getting behind him RIGHT before sukuna starts thinking about love and strength and solitude feels kinda 'power of love and friendship' to me. maybe gojo isn't as alone as he thought and perhaps that's the edge he has over sukuna OR sukuna is about to pull out whatever yorozu gave him... or perhaps what tsumiki gave megumi????

on that note, i really didn't get what gojo said about megumi's soul adapting to the 'process' of unlimited void rather than the effect. we'll have to wait for the translations but, knowing gege, it's probably ambiguous on purpose. however, it's yet more crumbs about the whole body/soul connection. the fact that sukuna didn't expect it to affect the brain of the body he's occupying is very interesting, no????

look, gojo said he's gonna take care of things, so he's GONNA TAKE CARE OF THINGS 😤 (god i hope i'm not clowning)

i think this chapter beats 229 as my favourite of the fight so far though. i know some people are bored of this arc, but i've really enjoyed the unpredictability of it. i will concede that the cliffhangers have felt a bit icky at times, but i'm not gonna blame that on gege. at the end of the day, they want sales.

i'm giving up guessing what's gonna happen week-by-week though, because gege just keeps throwing curveballs. i think it's safer to stick to broader predictions based on the themes already established, because it feels like they're increasingly coming to the forefront.

anyway, this actually started out as an essay about gojo's character before i decided i really wanted to talk about megumi. guess i'll post that tomorrow because 230 has got me feeling FEELINGS about this man. with tomorrow's episode on top of that, it's a hell of a week to be a gojo stan!!

[amydiddle-fanfiction]

10 Years More (Stanley’s Tale)

Stanley Pines is hitting his late 30s. He has lived a hard life on the road and only when he was in his darkest moment in '82 did he finally turn to family to help. Now, after a few years of living with his older brother, he is mostly on his feet. There are still days where he sleeps in his car but he at least knows he can make an honest living and turn to some people when in a terrible bind.

Still the world does change in terrible ways and now Stan finds himself packing up once again to drive towards a person he is sure never wants to see him again just because his mother asked him to. The last time anyone even heard from him was that same year Stan dialed up Sherman's number, who said that the man just decided to fully cut himself off from family forever?

What kind of town was Gravity Falls anyways? Whose to say Stanford even needed help?

Ao3 (THE FIC THAT MAY NEVER BE COMPLETED IS BEING WRITTEN AGAIN)

Chapter 1

Gravity Falls, Oregon. A small sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. The town was surrounded by mountains and probably was one of those back-water places that did not accept outsiders easily. A perfect place to go to lay low if someone was on the run from certain people or go searching for someone that had dropped off the map almost ten years ago.

A red car sped down the lonesome stretch of road in the dark of night. The dim glow of the headlights were the only things making a dent in the shadows the trees and mountains were sending across the road. The driver hummed to himself to fill the silence the night held.

The phone conversation he had had a month ago was still playing in his head and he was trying to drown it out.

“Stanley, it is so good to hear from you.”

“Great to hear from you too, Ma. Sorry it has been a while, got caught up in stuff…had to move a lot. What is going on with you?”

Silence.

Stanley reached for the radio dial to try and drown out the memory of the conversation. Each spin of the dial only came back with static this far out in the mountain range. He would have put a tape in but the thing had been busted for years now; he regretted not spending the time to fix it when he had the chance. He was left with the only other option: humming. It wasn’t working.

“Ma?”

“Stan…I’m worried about your brother.”

“Shermie? I just talked to him a month ago. He seemed pretty unhappy that Sheryl is headed off the college now. Told him he should have been used to it after Jacob flew the coop but I guess it is different when both kids go off. That ain’t really something to worry about, Ma-

“No. No, Stanley, I’m… I’m not talking about him… I’m talking... I’m talking about Stanford.”

Silence.

Stan’s eyes landed on the road sign that told him that the exit to Gravity Falls was just twenty miles away. With the lack of people on the road he did not care to be cautious. The man pressed down on the gas to speed up his car and get there faster. Anxiety pushing in around him as the memory filtered through his mind.

“He hasn’t called in years and the post office said they stopped delivering my letters.”

“Maybe he just dropped off the face of the Earth, Ma. He was never good at calling you.”

“I don’t think it is that. I just have that feeling he is in danger; I’ve had this feeling for a while.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I just…I know you don’t want to talk to him but can you just go up and check on him? Please, Stanley, just to make sure he is okay.”

The welcoming sign of the hidden town of Gravity Falls came into view as the radio finally picked up a signal. Some late-night show began to play music and chased away the memory as he turned off the highway.

“This better be something bad, Sixer,” he grumbled as he turned the wheel, “I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

Even as he said those words the idea of his twin brother being in some sort of danger made his stomach squirm. The gut feeling only worsened as he drove closer to the allusive town; it almost seemed the woods that surrounded the road was watching. As if they had expected his arrival and were eagerly waiting to gobble him up.

Stan slowed his car down when he spotted a street sign that was almost completely covered by the wild woods. Tree branches and brush hid the white paint in shadows. The man had to squint just to read the name of the street: Gopher Road.

Road was being generous. It was more of an over grown dirt path that had allowed the trees to slowly consume it. And it was sadly his destination.

He thought it would have been harder to find but here it was. The exit to the town had led him straight to the road he was looking for. A dirt road that led right into the creepy woods that he wanted to avoid because they looked ready to eat him alive.

“You just had to live in the creepy forest, didn’t ya?” Stanley groused as he turned the car onto the dark street.

Gopher Road was a long, winding expanse that traveled far into the darkness of the forest. The whole pathway was bumpy and full of holes from rainfall washing away the loose soil. Vines, weeds, and grass had cemented the some of the uneven street to the ground but not enough to make it an easy ride in.

Stanley wished he felt some relief when he finally reached the end of the road where a cabin sat in complete shadow, but all he felt was a foreboding sense of a doom. His headlights chased the darkness away as he pulled up next to a rusting truck that seemed to have been parked in the clearing for years. Vines and grasses were growing around the tires; a branch from a tree had fallen and dented the pine straw covered roof of the vehicle. Stan doubted it would even run even if he hot wired the thing.

The house lit up by his headlights was in no better shape. The step up to the front porch was covered in moss and the front door hung off its hinges as if it was forced open. Even with the light shining right at it, a darkness seemed to envelop the inside of the house.  

All over it read that this place had been long abandoned.

Stanley pushed his car into park and sat there staring at the scene before him. The gut feeling of something terrible happening only seemed to grow the longer he stared at the dark house. He was very tempted to turn around, find a motel, and come back to search in the morning. But he needed answers.

His mother said this was Stanford’s last known address and, by whoever may be up there, Stanley Pines would find out what happened to his brother.

Hesitantly, he turned the keys and the rumble of the engine died. He turned in his seat to ruffle through his duffle bag that sat across the back seats, pulling out a flash light. He flicked the device on and off to make sure it had enough juice.

With shaking hands, he turned the headlights off and stepped out into the night.

A breeze blew as he closed the car door and made him shiver despite it being a warm wind. The cloud above moved so the moon was no longer obscured and cast the clearing with the house in an eerie glow. Despite it being a warm summer night, Stan felt chilled to the bone as he moved towards the house. His muscles tight at the terrible feeling of being watched as he carefully stepped onto the rotting wood of the front porch.

The wood of the porch groaned under his weight; it had not needed to support a human presence in quite some time. With a flick, the flashlight was turned on. He could see spots of mold growing over the wooden beams and did his best to avoid those places as he moved toward the front door. Last thing he needed was to fall in a hole on the front porch.

He tried to be careful as he moved the door open slowly, but his movement seemed to do it for broken, unused door and it fell with a clatter. The man jumped at the sound and sent a paranoid glance back at the forest before he let the light of the flashlight illuminate the abandoned hallway of his brother’s home.

Mud, dirt, and leaves had made their home inside the house over the time the house had been left alone. Who knew how long the door had hung down in such a sorry state. Stan would not be surprised if animals had used this place as shelter during bad storms or squatters had found this place as a safe-haven over the years. It certainly would be a place he would have chosen during his life on the road.

The trail of debris led into the kitchen which was in complete disarray. The idea of squatters and animals making this place their home did not seem too far off anymore as he flashed the light around the room. The dead fridge was open and empty, pots and pans were all over the ground, a few mugs were broken and another seemed to be full of old coffee, and the food that had been in the pantry was either gone or scattered over the floor in various states of decay.

“Nice of them to clean up after themselves,” Stanley muttered under his breath as he left the kitchen doorway to explore the rest of the house.

The living area was in a better shape than he thought it would be. The television was still in front of the couch, which was surprising considering one could get a decent money for a T.V. set. Dirt covered the floor just like the rest of the house and a dried-out fish tank stood against a wall. The couch was worn out but not destroyed by animals like he expected, but there was a winter coat draped over the back of it. Stan picked it up with curiosity.

It did not look like a squatter’s coat. It had the air of being new when it was worn to this location and seemed to have only been worn a few times. He would have guessed it was his brother’s if it hadn’t been a few sized smaller than he could fit into. The dust and grime over it seemed to indicate it had been there for a while, maybe as long as this house had been abandoned.

Stan dropped the coat back onto the couch. Possibly a friend of Ford’s? Maybe they were still around this town and could help him figure out what happened.

He next entered a large room that had different things scattered about. A dinosaur skull, weird machines, and chemicals in bottles. He moved to pick up a bottle with an eyeball in it when his light hit something that did not match the wooden aesthetic of the cabin. A door, slightly ajar, made of metal. Something about it drew him like a moth to a flame; like all the answers he needed would be answered if he just walked towards this door.

With a push, the door creaked open on rusted hinges and cold, musty air flooded out. Stan took an involuntary step back and clutched his flashlight tighter as he let the light hit every corner of the new area he had found.

The faint light of the beam hit the steep stairs leading down into the unknown darkness, the cobwebs handing from the ceiling, and a six-fingered hand print that seemed to forever mark the wall. If there was any place, he would find the answers to what had happened to his brother it would probably be down these stairs.

Stanley took a breath and rolled his shoulders. Whatever had happened to his brother could very well be hidden down at the bottom of these stairs. As much as everything was pushing him to turn around and leave, he took a step forward so he stood right on the precipice.

“Creepy woods, creepy house and now a creepy stair case,” he whispered, “Ya’ know, Sixer. When I said that you should be in danger, I was hoping I would drive up here and find you happy and angry to see me.”

He got no answer but silence and a flicker from his flashlight. With another breath to gain some courage the man took his first step into the unknown. The journey down the stair case was slow. He made sure to shine a light on every step so not to trip or step on a rat if any had made their home down there. When he got to the bottom he found his next obstacle: an elevator.

“What the Hell?” he said to himself. He shone the light around the contraption, “Why do you need an elevator in a basement?”

Stan took a closer look at the machinery and hesitantly touched the button that called the car. To his surprise the old metal working started to hum and the inner workings started to pull the old car up. Stan’s only conclusion on how it still had power was that it had to be working with its own power source; probably a generator. He stored that thought for later; the mysterious power source may come in handy later.

He stepped into the elevator when the car reached him and grimaced when he heard the metal groan under the weight. The lack of use and sitting forever in some unknown location under him probably made the metal weak. Stanley took a breath as he pressed the first button he saw, taking him to the third level of the basement. He hoped the machine would have enough strength to bring him down and back up. 

The further down the elevator went the more nervous Stan became at what he might find.

This was so much more than he had thought it was going to be. A basement with layers that were probably unknown to the builders, a house hidden away in the woods, and his brother just gone without any show that he had moved. When his mother asked him to come here, Stan had thought he would just find his brother rich in success and in his own world that did not involve any of them. Now, he was scared he was descending towards his brother’s grave. 

Stanley’s breath was taken away as he arrived at his destination and saw the room. The room was the definition of every sci-fi-horror nerd’s dream. The machines were covered in dirt and dust from lack of use, papers were scattered across the ground, and a few lights blinked on and off so it gave the space an eerie glow. He could almost think he had stepped onto a movie set or this was all some kind of trippy dream.

His eyes were drawn away drawn away from the machines when he caught sight of something at the end of the room through a pane of protective glass. A giant triangle made of metal; a machine of some kind that looked like it had come from another world.

His feet walked towards it without him directing them to. Stan did not even glance at the warning signs around the door as he stepped into that machine’s room. The closer he got the larger it became; whatever this device was it certainly had a hold on him. It made him feel scared yet, at the same time, he was filled with wonder. What stopped Stanley’s journey towards it was something crunching under his dirty boots.

Stan stepped back at the noise and broke his gaze from the machine to look at the ground to see what he had stepped on. On the ground lay a cracked pair of round glasses; mangled from the foot that had just crushed them. Just a few steps away were another pair of glasses that matched the style he had last seen his brother wearing. He picked them both up and grimaced when the cracked glass of the spectacles fell to the ground.

Stan stared into the faint reflection of the glass and then looked back up at the portal. If this was all that remained of his brother then what had happened? Had this machine been the cause of his twin’s destruction? He wanted to ask these questions but the only thing that came out was:

“What did you do, Sixer?”

The biggest unanswered question out of all the ones swimming around in his mind. Stan’s simple journey to check on his brother had turned into something huge and beyond his imagination. It was giving more questions than answering them. He was left confused and daunted by everything around him.

Stanley pocketed both the glasses in his worn-out jacket and left the machine’s room to enter the lab again. He looked over the dirty machines before he spotted something that should have been his first thing to discover upon entering this room. A journal sat on a dust covered desk; the gold hand print was on the cover and shone bright under the light of Stan’s flashlight.

He set down the light and picked up the book gently. Without the glaring light of the flashlight, he could easily see a number three written in the middle of the gold. Stan looked at looked at the attached monocle with mild interest before he opened the book. The name on the inside of the cover was all he needed before he dove into the story of what Stanford had been up the years before he disappeared.

[houseofbrat]

Still so William let his cancer stricken wife being trolled online for the mother day pictures as well have her carry bags during at the farmers market. William sigh

That's the worst part. She had cancer all along and William was like "all right under the bus you go Cathy!"

Meanwhile the stans are calling him a hot zaddy and lusting after him.

Granted we are on Reddit so I guess the bare minimum is expected for men.

They have an entire press office and people that they pay to be their mouthpiece to the public.  Why the hell didn’t they just hand all of this off to them to have a plan to roll out to the public?  How did this go so badly?

Honestly, I'd love to know the whole story. Just to be clear, I mean the whole story of the PR fiasco, not Kate's specific medical problems.

This might be an incredibly unpopular opinion, not sure, but I really disagree with everyone saying oh she shouldn't have had to tell us about her cancer, she should have full privacy, etc. I agree with those thoughts for celebrities and influencers, but for people supposed to lead a country and whose lives are being fully funded by taxpayers, I do think they owe a duty of transparency around their health. I'm in the U.S. and we've all seen outrage because Biden's defense secretary kept cancer a secret for like a day, because Trump refused to release his physical results, I could go on.

I think it’s a really hard judgement to make because royalty is such a unique role, and there really isn’t much to compare it to.  Not to mention that there are 2 separate questions: what was she obligated to announce and what should they have expected as far as levels of curiosity about a high profile public figure.  I do think that there would have been strategies that they could have used to better preserve privacy in the face of public curiosity.

I agree. I tend to think royalty doesn't get to be totally private about major life events but that doesn't mean they don't deserve ANY privacy. I just feel like the outraged comments about how sad it is she was forced to tell people because of their evil speculating ways are going too far in the other direction.

I don't think she necessarily has to share a diagnosis, but expecting that she could disappear entirely from public view and no-one would ask any questions is ridiculous. They had at least two months to come up with any plan besides complete silence.

I never wanted them to discuss her medical issues but transparency would have helped. Don't treat people like idiots. They mishandled this, and there were a million ways to keep things private but not have things turn into a cluster. Prayers for Catherine.

in terms of prognosis...

"preventive" chemotherapy is a positive sign here

the fact that the surgeon did not recognize he was looking at a cancer tumor in the OR is a positive sign here

the fact that it required a complex biopsy (it took 5 weeks) for the pathology to find the cancer is a positive sign.

Having been through this recently with a spouse, what you’re saying sounds correct to me too.  She would have had the best of diagnostic tools, so that would have ruled out large masses.  The language also indicates that what they found was small.

whoever ran the PR definitely did it poorly. Part of the reason the mother's day photo blew into a bigger news event was all the major news agencies put out a kill notice on it. and they only did that because Kensington palace declined to share the unedited one when asked.

Chetwynd said news agencies asked Kensington Palace to provide the original photo, but they did not receive a reply. That’s when they decided to issue “kill notices,” something that is very rarely done.

but they didn’t stick to the timeline.. they decided to reveal a doctored image and then make Kate take the fall for it. even if she did edit the picture on her own just for fun, they didn’t have to put it on her alone? the whole thing was so odd.

They could have skipped the fake photo release. They could have reacted to the swell of interest by putting out a statement that there have been developments and they will communicate when they are ready. To pretend nothing happened since the Jan announcement is disingenuous and PR is about real time handling

[sebsgirl71479]

London Nights

A Shoot your Shot add on.

Sebastian Stan x Curvy!Actress Reader

Word count: 1,722 words

A/N: Yes, I started this story because of the most beautiful pictures of Sebastian Stan at the London premier of Sharper. This is in the same universe of Shoot your Shot but decided to give it a different name this time around. Again, reblogs are very much appreciated. Thank you to @christycurlswrites and all the ladies on my discord for encouraging me to write this even when I'm still in the middle of my Sebastian Stan!Mafia story

Warnings: 18+ no minors, Smut (pvp sex) Unprotected sex, Cussing, fluff. If i missed anything opps. 

The week before valentine's day you and Sebastian were heading to London for press and the premier of his new movie Sharper for Apple+. You had never been to London and this was going to be amazing because you were going with your very sexy fiancé Sebastian. The flight was going to be super long so you left New York around 11:30 pm for you to arrive a little after 9am London time. You and Sebastian both wore comfortable sweatpants and hoodies for the flight since you were hoping to get a few hours of sleep on the flight. “Seb do we have to go through the regular TSA or do we have to pre-check?” “I made sure we got pre-check. So just in case there would be too many people at the airport we could just go right through and you wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable being searched.” “Thank you so much baby, I love you.” “I love you too draga” 

You were both able to get 4 hours of sleep on the flight and so you didn't feel too tired when you got to Heathrow Airport. You each had a carryon and 1 large piece of luggage for your stay in england. Stepping out of the VIP area of the airport you were greeted by a man in a black suit and a sign saying ‘Mr Stan & Fiance’ “Well I guess this is for us huh honey?”  “I guess so, very cool.” “Hello, I’m Mr Stan and this is my fiance Miss Y/L/N.” “It's good to meet you sir, if you will follow me, we will get your luggage into the car and head to your hotel.” You followed the driver to the curbside pickup and handed him your things. You got into the backseat waiting for Sebastian to finish speaking to the driver while helping him. That man will try his best to stay humble in any aspect, that's one of the reasons you love him so much. While you sat there you thought of the sexy lingerie you packed especially for the premier he is going to flip. 

You were brought out of your dirty thoughts when Sebastain opened the door to get in the back with you. He slid over so he could be closer to you and wrap his arm around you. “I cant believe I’m in london with the love of my life and celebrate his newest movie.” you look up at him as you say the last part. “I’m glad you were able to come with me draga. Premiers make me more nervous than awards shows, I’m glad to have you by my side.” Sebastian gives you a kiss on the forehead and you snuggle closer to him as you drive through the streets of London. You settle into the hotel and spend the rest of the day relaxing on the couch in your room while Sebastain makes a few phone calls letting him know where his press interviews will be and with whom. 

That evening you have room service brought to your room and have a nice romantic dinner. The next 2 days are spent following Sebastian to his interviews and in between interviews you chat with a few of his co-stars. In a flash Wednesday comes and it's the day of the premier. You have no clue what Michael, Sebs stylist put him in and you’re buzzing with excitement to see what he is wearing. You spend most of your time getting ready in the ensuite of the hotel room making sure your skin is glowing and your hair is perfect. You put on the lingerie you picked out for tonight and checked yourself in the mirror one more time before you opened the door to get your dress that was hanging on the room door. “Sebastian are you in the bedroom?” “Yes darling, I'm all dressed, just waiting for you to put on your dress.”  When you exit the bathroom you see Sebastian looking in the mirror to make sure his suit is good. He hears you coming out and when you both lay eyes on each other it's like there is a jolt of electricity that hits both of you. There he stands, in an all black Prada suite with a long trench coat and turtleneck. 

He is giving off major vampire vibes with his long hair loose and beard. “Fuck me.” you say quietly. At that moment Sebatian sees you in the lingerie you picked out and his eyes blow wide with lust. He rakes his eyes up and down your frame and starts slowly walking towards you. His gaze is so intense it's almost embarrassing how hot you’re getting from it. You're so turned on by his look your pussy is practically dripping with desire. “Sebastian?” “Draga, how much time do we have til we leave? Because I don't think we can go until I've had your perfect pussy wrapped around me.” “I think we have enough time, besides we can always be fashionably late.” At that moment Sebastain is on you and crashes his lips to yours in a heated, passionate kiss. You slide your hands up his arms and and push his coat off his shoulders and onto the floor. Sebastian has his hands on your shoulders gliding down the sheer lingerie to have access to your breast. He grabs ahold of them and you moan into his mouth. 

He starts kissing down your neck at the same time removing the lingerie having it pool at your feet, when he comes back to your mouth you bring your hands to his belt and start removing it as well and unzipping his pants. You place your hand on his hard cock and gently tug on it. He breaks the kiss and bends down to bring your left breast into his mouth while pinching the right with his thumb and middle finger. “Oh god Seb, don't stop.”  “I won't stop until you can barely walk tonight. Don't worry I’ll help you if needed.” With a devilish grin he brings his hands to the back of your thighs and hoists you up to his waist and brings you to the large king size bed. He gently lays you down on the bed. With your hair splayed across the bed and you in only your thong you look like a sex goddess. He finishes taking off his slacks and then his shirt keeping him in boxer briefs. He grabs his cock over his briefs trying to stave off the ache he has for you.  

You lift your right hand and with your finger beg him to come to you, he obliges and starts crawling on top of you. Placing open mouth kisses up your body as he meets your lips in a bruising kiss. He is absolutely feral for you groping your breast and hips as he makes it down to the waistband of your thong. He takes it in his hands and rips it off your body. “I hope after this you weren't thinking of wearing these because i want you dripping my cum as we walk the premiere.” “I wouldn't have it any other way baby. Fucky me daddy!” Sebastian said screw it, no prep he rolled on top of you and started taking his underwear off and kicked them to the floor. He came back down and placed his forehead to yours while pumping his cock a few times before nugging your clit feeling how wet you are for him. “Oh god baby your so fucking wet, is this all for me?” “It’s all for you always.” Sebastian started inserting his cock into your weeping pussy inch by inch. You were so wet he could practically slide in with no problem which he did once he was halfway in and just slammed his cock the rest of the way elcting the most pornagraphic moan he has ever heard. 

“Fuck baby that was the sexiest sound i have ever heard lets see if we can hear that again.” He started fucking so hard the headboard of the bed started hitting the wall. You were already in a haze with how relentless his was fucking you. Your hands started scratching down his back as the intensity of your organism was approaching. “Oh Sebastain, baby i'm so close, thats it right there don't stop. Oh god!” “I'm almost there too, baby come on cum with me. I want you to look at me when you cum.” You slowly open your eyes and are met by his sweaty face and eyes that will look into your soul. You hold his face and give him the same intensity. He can feel you choking his cock so hard and brings his hand between your bodies and starts circling your clit. You bring your legs around his waist and lock them in place at the ankles. Then with just 3 words you let go of an earth shattering orgasim. “Cum for daddy.” You are milking his cock so hard he can hardly move when his orgasim comes. “Holy shit baby, i cant stop cumming there's so much i can't stop.”  He stays inside you for a few more minutes. “I love you so much Seb.” I love you too y/n, soon to be Mrs Stan. I like the sound of that.” He rolls off you and stands up to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom to wipe the little cum that is on your thighs. He still wants you dripping from your pussy tonight, no underwear. 

After redoing your hair and make-up and getting your dress on finally, Sebastian gets dressed again and keeps his disheveled hair for the night. You make it to the movie premiere 10 mins late but are on time to have Sebastian take photos with his castmates. As you two sit to watch the movie you are squirming in your seat feeling Sebastian's cum dripping out. He notices this and brings his lips to your ear to whisper to you. “You okay baby? Is there something wrong?” You can hear the smile on his face, smug bastard. “No baby I'm good just can't wait till this is over so we can have round 2 maybe 3.”  “God I love you so fucking much baby.”

Tag List: @christycurlswrites @frostironfudge @buckyalpine @altagraye @allandoflimbo @peaches1958 @wolphfeather @ozwriterchick

[villainsblog97]

Xdinary Heroes Reaction:

Hearing their S/O singing one of their songs

Another brilliant idea from @villainous-staytiny Thanks bestie!

Summary: How would our 6 heroes react to hearing their S/O (You) singing one of their songs?

Warnings: none that I know

Scenario: Boyfriend AU, Fluff, Romance, Comedy

Gunil:

Not gonna lie

I'd see this exact face

So he walked in on you doing the dishes

You had earphones in your ears

And you were singing Knock Down

More importantly

His part in Knock Down

Gunil was genuinely touched

Hearing his lover sing his part in his song

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist

You jumped a little at the sudden contact

But he would just pull the ear phone out of your ear

And kiss your cheek

"You sing beautifully Jagiya"

That low husky voice that we all know and love

(I'll let the Gunil stans breathe now)

Jungsu:

Jungsu was picking you up from your part time job at the coffee shop

It was a late shift and he didn't like you walking home alone

It was just you in the shop

You were closing up for the night

When it's just you

You tend to play your own music

Jungsu walked into the shop before flipping the sign over to Closed

His attention was caught though

When he heard you singing his band's song Crack in the Mirror

He watched with a smile as you were jamming hard to the song

He would have been completely fine and content watching you

If he hadn't missed the chair he was trying to sit in

He was so focused on your singing

He didn't realize he pulled the chair out too far and missed it when he sat down

The sudden crash to the floor made you jump

"Jungsu!"

You ran over and helped him off the floor

He was so embarrassed as he sat down on the chair

"I guess I was a little distracted by some beautiful singing"

Someone save this guy

Gaon:

Jiseok was playing on his computer

(Probably a game with Jooyeon)

You were laying on his bed with your headphones on

You were nodding your head to the beat of the song

Jiseok was highly engrossed into his game

But his attention was suddenly adverted

He heard you singing Strawberry Cake

Wait that's his song!

He smiles a little to himself and tells Jooyeon to stop talking

(Which we all know is physically impossible)

But he did

And the two band members were highly impressed by your vocals

"Yah... those are almost as good as mine!.... almost" Jooyeon laughed

Jiseok decided to get off his game

And came over and laid down on his bed and hugged you tightly

"You have such a good voice Jagiya!" He squealed as he hugged you

"You heard!?"

"Well you weren't being exactly quiet"

Now you were embarrassed

You hid your face in your hands and buried your head in his chest

That infectious Jiseok laugh rang through the room as he held you

"It was beautiful! sing another one Jagiya!"

Ode:

Seungmin sat in the studio working on his Synth

You sat on the couch there playing on your phone

Seungmin was trying to get a similar sound like the one he had in Ghost

So he played the song and observed the melody

He paused it for a second as he was writing down some notes

When he heard you rapping his part in Ghost

This was the only thing that took his focus away from the music

He was through the roof with joy

You nailed every lyric so perfectly too

He smiled to himself before finally speaking up

"Wow Jagiya... you sounded so good"

You slightly blushed at his comment

"Maybe we need to collab sometime" He laughed

After his comment

He tried to go back to work

But now he couldn't get the thought of you rapping his part out of his head

It kept making him smile like an idiot

Finally he sat down on the couch

And pulled you onto his lap

"I think I need a break from work"

Junhan:

Hyeongjun went with you and some friends to a Noraebang (Karaoke Room)

Everyone kept singing all sorts of different songs

Hyeongjun too

Finally it was your turn

And you noticed there was an Xdinary Heroes song on there

Happy Death Day

(You really think I wouldn't mention the song that started it all?)

So you held the mic in your hand

And belted out those all so familiar words

Hyeongjun was in absolute awe of you

Here he was

Sitting in a Noraebang

Listening to his partner sing his band's song

He was enjoying your voice so much

He knew you could sing

But it's different when he's hearing his song

His cheeks were starting to hurt from how much he was smiling

When you two were all done

Hyeongjun walked back home with you

His arm around you

"I knew you could sing... but I think I like hearing you sing our songs"

Jooyeon:

You and Jooyeon were in the car

You were driving of course

Normally Jooyeon felt weird when he heard one of his own songs being played

But you were playing your music on your phone

And you had to support your boyfriend and his band

So you had Xdinary Heroes on your playlist

And sure enough

One of their songs came on

잠꼬대 Zzz...

Jooyeon's face got a little embarrassed when he heard his song playing

But it eased up when he heard you singing his part

"Who am I? where am I?"

He looked over at you in amazement

"Wha.... my Jagiya can sing too!" he smiled

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed

You laughed a little and stopped singing

"No no keep going!" He smiled as he encouraged you to keep singing

So then you both sat in the front seats of your car

Singing your heart out to Zzz...

Now Jooyeon's gonna wanna hear you sing all of their songs

Better warm up those vocals!

[snowberry-crostata]

Better Reasons to Fight a Civil War

In TES:V, we’re told that the banning of Talos worship is the straw that broke the camel’s back and led to the creation of the Stormcloak rebellion after the White-Gold Concordat was signed (whether that’s due to earnest belief or because it was a convenient excuse for a power grab is outside the scope of this post).

Personally, I don’t like this as an explanation. If you're not a rabid, frothing-at-the-mouth Talos stan, there’s very little motivation for joining the Stormcloaks (other than muh freedom, I guess), which is why I always joined the Imperial side. But when I decided to start this Stormcloak playthrough for funsies, I still found myself wondering what would compel a Nord to join their cause.

Maybe it’s because I’m still struggling with what Talos’ role in the Imperial pantheon actually is (seriously, what does that guy even do) but on it’s own, forbidding the worship of the fan favorite God of Men doesn’t seem like it would be enough to plunge a country into war for decades, especially when it seems like he has relatively few dedicated worshippers. If this is all we have to go by, then the idea that the Talos ban is a convenient excuse used by Ulfric to grab power has merit BUT it doesn’t explain why so many people would join the Stormcloak cause since, as a recent post pointed out, people seem to be pretty ambivalent about Ulfric himself. Rikke has a line where she tells Tullius that more people join the Stormcloaks every day so there are obviously plenty of Nords who feel that establishing Skyrim as an independent kingdom is worth it, but why? Being part of the Empire obviously benefits Skyrim and its people, both economically and in terms of politics and stability. It feels like there has to be more going on here.

Interestingly, Ulfric Stormcloak’s (many, many…) speeches allude to a number of problems in Skyrim that do seem like they’d be more compelling reasons to take up arms against the Empire that has been your country’s ally and leader for six centuries. The problem is, you never actually see any of these issues in-game. Most of this stuff is only mentioned in books or in single lines of dialog (or in the case of Froki Whetted-Blade, a HUGE cultural shift that is only mentioned by a single character who lives in a shack in the wilderness).

So what are some better reasons to fight the Civil War on the Stormcloak’s side, especially for a Nord character? This is my personal list, from most to least compelling from a character/roleplay perspective:

(1) The Great War began when Emperor Titus Mede II refused to accept the terms demanded by the Aldmeri Dominion (outlawing Talos worship, ceding southern Hammerfell, paying tribute to the Dominion, etc.). He did this despite his own generals warning him that the Dominion had superior military strength compared to the Empire. Nord soldiers helped turn the tide of the Great War, but at great cost. Despite their sacrifice, and immediately following a significant victory at the Battle of the Red Ring, Titus II turns around and signs the White-Gold Concordat which gives the Dominion everything they were asking for in the first place! The sacrifice of what is presumably a large number of Skyrim's men and women who faithfully answered the call of the Empire is rendered useless. They died for nothing. If I was a Nord who lost loved ones in that war, I would be pretty mad.

(2) When Hammerfell objected to the terms of the White-Gold Concordat (one of the concessions, which was made without their input, would have forced them to surrender a large portion of southern Hammerfell to the Dominion), the Emperor betrayed them and renounced them as a province, leaving them to resist the Dominion on their own. Despite being abandoned by the Empire, the Redguards were able to fight the Thalmor to a standstill on their own for five years, eventually forcing a treaty which booted the Dominion out of Hammerfell. This victory would be highly motivating to those who envision an independent Skyrim. It also makes the Empire look really, really bad for rolling over and agreeing to the Dominion’s terms after they successfully pushed the Thalmor out of the Imperial City. If the Redguards alone could fight the Dominion to a standstill, then all of the Empire’s legions working together would have had a good chance at smacking down the Thalmor forces (there is definitely an argument that can be made in defense of the White-Gold Concordat, but this is post about the Stormcloak perspective).

(3) The Empire that Skyrim joined under Tiber Septim is not the Empire that exists today. Since the beginning of the fourth era, the Septim Dynasty (those of the dragon blood - culturally, this is probably as important to the Nords as it is to the Imperials) goes extinct. The Elder Council then spends decades bickering and backstabbing over who will be the next Emperor while the Empire’s territories try to recover from the Oblivion Crisis. As their leadership fails, Black Marsh secedes, then invades another part of the Empire. Hammerfell and High Rock go off and sack Orsinium, pushing Orc refugees into Skyrim. Skyrim, which actually seems to have it together at this point in history, steps in and not only allows the Orcs to settle in their lands, but gifts Solstheim to the Dunmer to help the refugees fleeing the eruption of the Red Mountain. While this circus is going on, the Thalmor take control of the Summerset Isles, back a coup in Valenwood, and then ally with them to form the Aldmeri Dominion. They manipulate the Khajiit into favoring them, and Elsewyr also secedes from the Empire to join the Dominion. Despite all of these losses, the Emperor still chooses to disown Hammerfell. By any accounting, the Empire of the fourth era is a shitshow. Their short-sighted bickering, backstabbing, and politics led to massive losses in power, territories, and allies. By the Stormcloaks’ reckoning, the Imperial leadership have shown themselves to be fickle, incompetent, and weak. Any competent leader is going to be questioning whether or not belonging to this Empire is worth it.

(4) The Empire was content to let the Reachmen take, and keep, control of Markarth (or at least ignore it while they monopolized Skyrim’s military forces for their own fight), despite the execution of Nords under the Forsworn regime (this in-game book says the Nords were jerks and deserved it, but the author is also pretty clearly a Forsworn apologist and miiiiiight not be the most reliable source).

(5) Skyrim’s resources are being exported to other regions of the Empire to pay their debts without suitable compensation or benefit to the Nords (I believe the silver coming out of Markarth is specifically mentioned in some dialog, but I could be misremembering). Those debts could very likely be tribute owed to the Thalmor (since that was one of their demands at the beginning of the war), adding insult to injury.

I'm going to throw out one more wildcard headcanon, because this really bugs me (but it’s not as supported by the in-game dialog and texts, so it gets its own section):

My personal headcanon to explain some of the retconning that happens vis-a-vis Nords between games is that the culture of the Nords has been slowly disappearing, consumed by the Imperial way of life, but (and this is where it diverges from canon) it is still the dominant way of life for the majority of Skyrim. Their language, their religion, and their traditions - all are being eaten away at by Imperial influence. One of the things that’s really bothersome is the retconning of the Nordic pantheon away from being the dominant faith in Skyrim. The Imperial Cult of the Eight Divines developed by St. Alessia in the first era was literally created by watering down the Nordic pantheon and adding in Elven lore. UESP describes it as “a carefully designed compromise between the Aldmeri deities …and the deities of Alessia's Nordic allies.” During TES:IV, Nords are still reported as being devout followers of the Nordic Pantheon, not the Eight/Nine Divines, but 200 years later in TES:V, they're all suffering from cultural amnesia and have completely switched over to the Imperial Cult.

(Side note: apparently discarding the Nordic pantheon for TES:V was not an oversight, but a conscious decision on the part of the lead designer, and I will argue to the ends of Nirn that it was a stupid-ass decision that seriously reduces the narrative potential of the main story)

The fact that this compromised pantheon is treated like the universal and unquestioned faith of Skyrim in TES:V is weird. The people of Skyrim have been violently opposed to elves and elven influence since the days of Ysgramor, so shrugging their shoulders and being like, “Sherzarr? Oh, you mean elven Shor. Yeah, I’ll accept it, no problem” would be so out of character. There are previous High Kings who have gone to war to fight the expanding influence of the Imperial Cult in Skyrim. Narratively, it would make more sense if there was tension between the traditionalist worshippers of the Nordic gods and the growing number of followers of the Eight/Nine Divines - things like disagreements about establishing temples of the Imperial Cult gods like Kynareth (rather than Kyne) and Mara (who has a relatively minor role in the Nordic pantheon) in Skyrim’s cities. Fighting the Empire and establishing Skyrim as its own kingdom is a way for Nord traditionalists (and isolationists, and xenophobes - let's not forget them in all of this rationalizing) to "return to the old ways" and push back against the erasure of Nord religion, language, and tradition.