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ckret2 · 10 months ago

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Chapter 35 of human Bill Cipher is still prisoner of the Mystery Shack and still handcuffed to Stan in spite of their mutual irritation: we return to them under attack by the tooth fairy and her dentist lackey.

In light of this terrible peril, Bill and Stan put aside their differences, politely agree to cooperate, and work together maturely to deal with the threat—

Haha I'm kidding, no they're screaming the most offensive things they can think of at each other.

####

Packed in a dark cluttered closet, trying not to breathe too much of the same air as Bill, under the sound of the dentist mauling his way through the bedroom door, Stan growled, "Okay, genius—do you actually have a plan for when we get downstairs?"

Bill had hooked his borrowed umbrella over his elbow to let him rummage through the closet's contents. Trying to keep his voice low, he said, "We can take the fairy ring down to the guest room and make a run for the exit in the floor room." His eyes lit up with delight. "Hey! Vintage congressman top hat!" He sniffed it. "It still smells like Quentin and peanut brittle." He put on the hat.

Eugh. Stan found himself glad he couldn't see in the dark. "Why the floor room? It's a lot faster to just cut through the living room to the gift shop."

Bill hesitated. "Sure. Fine—"

"What's the matter, Bill, you got a problem with the living room?"

"What?" Bill scoffed. "Of course not. I said fine. It's fine!" He found a large baggie full of teeth, popped it open and licked one to confirm they were real, and stuck the bag under his new hat.

"But it took you a second," Stan said. "If we head for the living room, you won't slow us down by trying to go the other way, will you?"

"Of course not," Bill repeated. It was a little less convincing than the last time. "I was just—trying to figure out if that was the fastest way—"

"Oh, really," Stan pressed. "You sure you aren't scared to go in there with me?"

Bill whipped around to stare at Stan in the dark.

"You think I haven't noticed how you bolt out of the living room any time I come in?" Stan asked. "Or how you flinch every time I raise my hand?"

Bill swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about." He chuckled derisively. "I think you're fantasizing, Stan—"

"Do you really think I don't remember how you died."

Bill's voice caught in his throat. "You said..."

"Yeah, I wanted to see what kind of story you'd make up. You just can't stop talking down to me even when you know it's all lies," Stan said. "As if I'd ever forget seeing you on your knees, begging me for mercy, while I shattered your face like a cheap mirror—"

Bill shoved Stan against one wall, small hands wrapped ineffectively around his throat. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Admit it!" Stan shoved Bill against the opposite wall; Bill tripped and landed heavily on a cardboard box. "Admit that I killed you too! I played just as much a part in it as he did!"

"You did not kill me!" Bill stood on the box, even as it threatened to collapse under his weight, so he could scream in Stan's face, "You couldn't have killed me! I'M NOT CAPABLE OF BEING KILLED BY SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME?!"

"I'M NOT AFRAID—"

An enormous drill bit pierced the wood between their faces. Bill and Stan screamed.

Just on the other side of the door, Pearl cried, "Careful! Don't hit the girl's teeth!"

Stan snarled, "You moron, look what you—!"

"You started it!" Bill pounded on the door. "Hey! Frankie! Is this worth it?!" He jumped back as the drill came through again, just in front of his sternum. It grazed Stan's bicep; he roared in pain. Bill shouted, "Was paying off your dental school loans worth this? Do you wanna be a murderer, kid?!"

"I can't stop now!" Dr. Illing was audibly sobbing. "You don't understand, I'm in too deep!" The drill pierced again, widening the hole he'd already started.

"If you think she's scary, you can't imagine what I've got—"

Stan clapped a hand on Bill's shoulder hard enough to make him jump; but he growled in Bill's ear, "Count of three."

Bill hesitated, squinting at Stan's future to see what he was planning; but nodded. "Fine." He didn't understand the purpose but he could copy the motion.

Stan put his hand on the doorknob. "One, two..." Bill squeezed his eyes shut. They slammed their shoulders against the door, Stan grunting in pain. Dr. Illing's drill caught in the wood, and they kept shoving it open, jamming the dentist between the door and the wall. Bill leaned against the wood with his full weight to keep Dr. Illing trapped, using his new umbrella to swat away the fairy buzzing in his face. Stan toppled an old fortune telling machine in front of the door to pin it in place.

Pearl barked, "You're useless, Frank!" She had drawn out a wand that looked like a metallic blue toothbrush and was aiming it at Bill's face. "I'll get those teeth myself if I have to!"

Wheezing through crushed lungs, Dr. Illing said, "But the treaty—"

"What treaty?!" From five feet away, she fired a bolt of mint white magic at Bill's horrified face.

Stan seized Bill's umbrella, opened it, and deflected the spell. It ricocheted off the umbrella and punched a flaming hole through the ceiling. From behind this temporary shield, Bill took out the teeth bag and flung a handful across the room.

Pearl gasped, abandoning Dr. Illing to dart after them. "Babies! I didn't hurt you, did I?!" Huh. More effective than Bill had expected.

"Go!" Stan ran for the door, grabbing Bill by the wrist to pull him along too. Bill snatched back his umbrella as Stan paused to shut the bedroom door behind them again. Even though Dr. Illing had shredded the wood around the latch, maybe he'd still struggle to figure out how to open it. "Living room?"

"I said fine!" Bill shut his umbrella and used it to point toward the fairy ring. "As long as you don't act immature about it!"

"I'm the one being immature?! You're the one who's scared of a room!" They stopped in the fairy ring, too close to each other for comfort; and then, with a disorienting whoosh, they were standing in an identical circle of mushrooms in the guest room. "Why does it even matter so much whether Ford or me killed you?" Stan yanked the door open. "Why is it so hard to admit that I threw the punch that took you out?!"

Bill clumsily kicked several sliced mushrooms aside, breaking the fairy ring, and nearly fell as he tried to keep up with Stan's pace. "Because you didn't kill me! You can't kill me because YOU AREN'T IMPORTANT!"

Stan spluttered in outrage, turning to stare at Bill. "Not important enough to kill you?! How does that even make sense! What, you think you're—too good for a guy like me to take down?!"

Bill's eyes widened the tiniest bit, as though he'd just realized something. A sickeningly gleeful grin stretched across his face. "It's true! I've looked into countless universes! No matter where you go or what you do, you just don't matter!" He wrenched his arm free of Stan's grip with such an effort that he nearly fell down; but he raised his gaze again to Stan's face. "If anything, you just make everything worse."

Stan's hands curled into fists. "You'd better watch your mouth—"

But when Bill planted the tip of his umbrella in the carpet and raised his cuffed hand to point at Stan, he stopped. Just a second ago Bill had been whiny and defensive; but now his inhuman gaze transfixed Stan to the spot. There was power in that mad self-assurance Stan had only ever seen before in criminal lords who commanded hundreds of gangsters. Bill bore himself like an ancient god preparing to pass judgment on a mortal, and Stan had no choice but to listen in dread to his revelation.

Bill said, "You know, I first tried to work with Stanford in a universe where you don't exist? And I couldn't get into his head! He wouldn't give me a chance!" He jabbed his finger toward Stan's chest like a knife. "Because YOU hadn't ruined his life and made him desperate enough to trust an alien! And YOU hadn't spent your whole crooked childhood training him to put up with a con artist's lies—so he'd be ready when he met me. Isn't that funny, Stanley?"

The air rushed from Stan's lungs. His voice was thin and trembling with rage. "You just— You're trying to get on my nerves." He'd never heard anything before that sounded so terribly true.

"So what if I am! It's still true!" Bill's laughter was like a shriek. "You were stillborn in that universe! Your brother had to grow up without a twin watching over him—so he actually learned how to make friends. And he was a big success at West Coast Tech. Your mother was devastated she'd lost you—but you know what's really funny?" He had the awful grin of a court jester about to deliver a punchline that would start a war. "I think your family loved that dead baby you more than they ever liked the disappointment you turned out to be—"

Stan socked Bill as hard as he could.

He expected Bill to flinch, to duck, to shield his head—something. Bill always flinched. Instead he locked up, facing Stan, wide-eyed and watching the incoming blow. The punch connected with his face with a sickening crunch. Bill toppled flat on his back. His top hat and umbrella tumbled across the floor. The chain jerked Stan down to kneel over Bill.

It was like a spell had broken. Stan stared down at Bill like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. The shock even snapped him out of his anger. He uncurled his fist, saw a smear of blood on one knuckle, tried to say something, and only managed to come up with, "Aw, jeez."

Bill was weak. He wasn't a demon anymore; he was a yappy chihuahua trying to sound bigger than he was because he was scared. Stan knew that. He was only kicking a washed-up loser of a con artist while he was down.

He'd been there before.

Bill had slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, fingers digging into the skin, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Stan swallowed hard. "Hey, I didn't mean to do that much— I mean, you had it coming, but still... uh... you okay?" He awkwardly offered Bill a hand.

Bill reached up—and placed a bloody tooth, root and all, in Stan's palm.

Stan stared. "Wh."

"Tooth fairy bait." Bill gave Stan a wild, bloody smile. "Thanks for the help. It's been loose for days."

Tooth fairy— Stan automatically glanced toward the doorway to see whether their pursuers were catching up. And only then did he realize they were in the middle of the living room, standing in front of Stan's armchair. He'd been set up.

He stared at Bill.

Bill glared up at Stan. Voice rough, he said, "Who's scared of you?" He spat a wad of bloody spit at Stan's face. The attempt was so weak it landed on Bill's own shirt. A far cry from the whiny triangle who'd tried to bribe Stan into sparing his life.

They both looked up at the sound of wood cracking. Stan said, "All right, we've got bait." He seized Bill's bloody hand and, with a grunt, tried to heave him upright. "Can we set a trap?"

Bill unsteadily climbed to his feet. "I guess?" Either he hadn't thought past getting punched in the face, or the blow had knocked his plan out of his head.

Upstairs, Pearl snapped, "Now hurry, before we lose them!" Dr. Illing's footsteps thudded across the attic floorboards.

"Move," Stan hissed, and when Bill turned to glance cluelessly behind himself at the door, Stan rolled his eyes and shoved him.

Bill tripped over the steps up to the gift shop and stumbled backwards through the swinging door, with Stan following. When Bill had steadied himself, he stared in wide-eyed bafflement at the door he'd just passed through. "How did I..."

"Focus, Cipher!" Stan snapped his fingers in Bill's face. "Gimme some nerdy magic. What traps fairies?"

Bill dragged his gaze away from the door and shook his head woozily. "Uhh... carefully-worded contracts... salt lines, iron..."

"You couldn't have mentioned salt when we could've reached the kitchen?" Stan looked around the gift shop. Iron, iron...

"Wow, that's a great idea. Remind me why we were so bent on getting to the living room?"

"Watch it. You've got a few teeth left." Stan smacked Bill's arm, making him jump, and pointed. "Got it! The old diving helmet!"

Bill squinted his eyes unevenly. "Oh yeah—the one Fordsy got ripped off on. Hey—didja know diving helmets are supposed to be copper, but he got sold a spray-painted—"

"For two minutes, please stop talking about my brother. Will it work?"

Bill slowly traced a finger through the air as if he were trying to track the path of something only he could see. "Yeah, it could work."

"'Could'?"

The gaps at the top and bottom of the "Employees Only" door glowed bright blue. "Fresh blood," Pearl said, "they went this way!"

"Give me the tooth," Bill said. "And keep Frank out, we're dead if he gets in."

"In there!" Pearl cried, and Dr. Illing's drill revved again. The door to the living room was a swinging door without a latch; curse or no, if Dr. Illing hit it, it would fly right open.

Stan yelled, "Hold it! Do not drill that door! It's... it's load bearing! Yeah, if you start hacking holes in it the whole shack could come down on us!"

The drill powered down. Dr. Illing said dubiously, "That doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about doors to dispute it."

Pearl swooped under the door—carrying an armload of the teeth Bill had thrown earlier—but she turned around when she realized Dr. Illing wasn't following. "What are you stopping for, you idiot! He's lying! Doors don't work like that—"

"Hey, sparkles!" Bill held his bloody tooth up next to his head. "You want this?!"

She gasped in horror, clapping her hands over her mouth and dropping the teeth. "You knocked it out! You monster, what if you chipped it?!" She drew her wand again and, with a tiny shrill roar, she dove for it.

Bill pulled it out of her way with the grace of a matador dodging a bull. She wheeled around faster than Bill could react, flung a spell at his back, and made another dive for the tooth. Stan jerked him out of the way. Bill laughed, "Is that all you've got? I've seen better flying out of dandelion seeds!"

She whirled around to face him again with a growl of frustration, fluffy bob cut puffed up in rage, wings buzzing like the propeller of a fighter plane. The third time she dove for the tooth, she snatched it out of Bill's fingers.

And immediately rammed head-first into the back of the solid iron diving helmet. It rang out like a broken bell. She croaked, "ow."

Stan slammed the front window of the helmet shut. "Ha!"

"Yes!" Bill pointed at the helmet. "You're stupid!"

Dr. Illing—who had dropped down to the ground to peer through the three-inch gap at the bottom of the door—cried, "No!" He pounded on the door in frustration. It swung a few inches open. He stared at it in bafflement. It swung back and hit him in the forehead.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we've got a proper hostage situation, don't we?" Bill rapped on top of the helmet with his umbrella's hooked handle. "Better stay away from the sides, Pearly. What would you say touching iron feels more like—being burned, or electrified? I've always wondered, but never had an opportunity to possess a fairy—"

Stan elbowed him. "Ix-nay on the ossess-pay."

"Right, right." Bill turned to Dr. Illing. "It'd be pretty easy for me to bounce your patron off the walls of this thing. So how's about you drop the power tools and back away from the door?"

Dr. Illing gave Bill the despairing look of a man who'd been struggling to carry an impossibly heavy weight for decades, only for one swift jab in the ribs to make him drop it. But he got to his feet, and after a moment, his yellow tool bag dropped heavily beside the door.

Stan opened the door, slung the bag over his shoulder before Bill got a chance to rifle through it, and pulled out the drill Dr. Illing had been menacing them with. Holding Dr. Illing at drill point, he nodded toward the gift shop exit. "Get walking. Outside."

"But..." Dr. Illing tried to look past Bill and Stan to the diving helmet.

Bill slung an arm around Dr. Illing's back, aggressively encouraging him to hasten toward the door. "Don't worry about her! We plan to resolve this peacefully, don't we, Fisher?"

"Oh yeah," Stan said. "Nothing to worry about."

"But we're negotiating with the boss, not the lackey. So..."

Stan opened the door. Bill planted a foot on Dr. Illing's butt and shoved. "Out you go!"

Dr. Illing went sprawling across the porch. Stan slammed the door on him as he got to his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder to give them a look like a puppy who'd been kicked out in the rain.

"You're going to be in so much trouble when I get out of here," Pearl yelled. She grabbed the bars across the window in the diving helmet, then gasped and withdrew her hands as the iron burned her palms. "When the fairy queen hears about this—!"

"That you were breaking into a human dwelling to try to rip my teeth out of my mouth?" Bill asked. "Oh, I'd love to know what she'll think of that."

Stan rummaged in the nook where Wendy shoved spare napkins and plasticware whenever she brought fast food to work. He used a few napkins to wipe off the bloody scrape the drill had left on his shoulder in the closet, and held a handful out to Bill. "Here."

Bill took them. "What?"

"Your face is a mess. Thought you might wanna—you know." Stan attempted to pantomime shoving napkins in his mouth. As much as Stan thought Bill had deserved the sock, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't help clean him up after the fact.

"Oh. Right." Bill attempted to wipe off his chin, then stuffed a napkin up in the gap where his tooth used to be and pulled it out to see how much blood it picked up. It was a lot. He shrugged and turned to the tooth fairy, grinning. "So. I believe we were negotiating?"

"I'm not negotiating anything with you," Pearl huffed. "Look at what you did to this poor tooth!" She was hugging it protectively to her chest, her thin blue dress stained with blood from the root. "Maybe I haven't obeyed the spirit of my treaty, but I've obeyed the letter of it, and the fairy court will back me up on that—"

"Again, you did try to rip my teeth straight out of my mouth in the middle of the night," Bill said.

"I never! A dentist did! If he happened to feel like giving me the tooth after that, that's his business, isn't it. I could have been aiming my wand at anybody, you don't know."

"Sure, sure! You did nothing wrong. You slid neatly through those loopholes. Maybe your court will even agree with you." Bill leaned closer to the helmet, grinning through the window. "But don't you think—if I drive over to Multnomah County, walk backwards into your queen's court, and tell her what you've been doing—she won't want to close those loopholes? No more hench-dentists."

Pearl had gone very still. "'Walk b—'? How do you... What do you know about our court?"

Bill laughed wryly. "Kid, I've known your court since before it moved to America. I've spoken with the ancestors of the ancestors of your queen. The fae tell fairy tales about me, so if you know what's good for you—"

"Easy." Stan put a warning hand on Bill's shoulder. "Just because she's not human doesn't mean you can just..."

"I know, I know."

Pearl had been watching Bill skeptically as he spoke, clearly trying to weigh how much of his boasting was true—but seeing Stan try to silence him apparently persuaded her of his honesty. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Who—What's your name?"

Bill cast a sideways glance toward Stan, then shrugged ruefully. "Afraid I'm not allowed to tell. You know where we are—even people like you and me can't afford to disobey the collector's house rules. You can call me Goldie Locke. And if you don't want me to negotiate your release with your queen, then you'd better be willing to negotiate with us. Are we clear?"

Pearl nodded.

"Wonderful." (Dr. Illing had circled the gift shop to the nearest window, where he was staring forlornly in at Bill, Stan, and the helmet containing Pearl. Bill waved cheerfully at him.) "I don't know about the Fisherman, here—but I, for one, would like to make sure this doesn't become a problem again. So how about this: if you promise to leave, never harass us again, never have your agents harass us, never via any means attempt to harm us or steal our worldly goods—teeth included—either directly or indirectly, and never return to this house, then we promise not to report your little dentist scheme to your queen. Does that sound fair to you?"

Pearl pouted; but she reluctantly nodded. "Yes, yes—that's fair. I agree."

"Hold on," Stan said. "Once she's outta here, how do we know she'll keep that promise? Shouldn't we get some kind of, I don't know, insurance?"

"She's a fairy," Bill said. "She can't lie even if she wants to. They're compelled to tell the truth. They can twist it, and they can try to get you with tricky wording, but they can't lie. Once they've made a promise, it's unbreakable."

Stan considered that. "Huh." He'd have to double-check that claim with Ford later, he'd know.

"Which is why I get along so well with them," Bill said cheerily, "since I never lie either."

Stan laughed loudly, smacking Bill's back. "Sure! And I'm the queen of England."

Bill mock bowed. "Oh my, your majesty. I had no idea." Stan laughed again.

"I agreed to your terms," Pearl snapped, "so set me free!"

"Hold on." Bill propped his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, leaning close to the helmet again. "I seem to recall I only promised not to tattle to your queen. I didn't promise to let you go." He glanced at Stan. "Isn't that what you heard?"

Now what was he up to? But Stan nodded in agreement. "That's what I heard, all right."

Bill winked. "Like I said: tricky wording."

Pearl let out a swear that sounded like tinkling bells and stomped her foot. "That's ridiculous! If you've already sworn not to tell the queen about my methods, you no longer have any blackmail against me! You can negotiate with her for my release now, for all I care!"

"Your tricky wording backfired," Stan said.

Bill didn't look bothered. "All right. I'm sure you're happy to wait right here until we make the long drive into town, aren't you. You do know where we are, right?"

The fairy's face immediately darkened. "You... I don't see why not! There's nothing to fear in this house."

"Isn't there? Want us to go wake up the head of the house, ask him to babysit you until we get back?" Bill asked.

Huff. "He's gone."

"He's back," Bill said. "If you're lucky, maybe he'll stick you in the freezer for an hour, so it won't hurt when he pins your wings to a cork board." (Stan blinked at Bill in amazement. Head of the house—Soos? Soos?)

Pearl shuddered. "You're a liar."

"Am I?" Bill raised his cuffed wrist. "I've worked with the queens of your queens. I have powers you've never dreamed of. Do you think I'm chained to a doppelgänger for fun?"

Stan said, "To a wh...?" but at Bill's sharp look, he fell silent. All right. A lot of phrases that didn't make sense to him had just flown by. Clearly Bill was using some kind of fairy talk mumbo-jumbo to give her a wildly inaccurate impression of what was going on in this shack. Stan had manners, he wasn't about to interrupt a fellow professional in the middle of conning a mark.

Pearl worked her jaw angrily; but there was something nervous in her gaze now, glancing between Stan's face, the handcuffs, and the rest of the shack. "Maybe you're not as important as you think you are," she said unconvincingly.

"I've got magic teeth, girl."

"Fine!" Pearl stamped her foot. "Fine, I'll negotiate with you! What else do you want?"

Bill pointed at her chest. "I want to choose my payment for that tooth there."

She hugged the tooth protectively, but said, "Fine."

Bill looked at Stan. "You want anything?"

He considered that. "Better-fitting dentures would be nice? Can she do that? Is that something I can ask for?"

"Yeah, you can ask for that."

"Is that all?" Pearl snapped.

"Dentures for him, payment for me, unenchant our door and take out the carvings you left in it, and..." Bill glanced at Stan again, who shrugged. Bill said, "Yeah, I think that's it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

Bill gestured toward the helmet, and Stan flipped its front window open. Pearl stepped out, hovered up level with Stan's face, and gave him a murderous glare; but she drew out her toothbrush wand again and flicked it at him. "There. Happy?"

Stan adjusted his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah. Oh, those're real nice. Hardly feels like they're there."

"They're better than you deserve," Pearl said haughtily; then turned to Bill. "And you? What payment do you want?"

Bill grinned wide, pointing at the new gap in his teeth. "Solid gold replacement! 24k."

"Pure gold's too malleable for dental work."

"I don't care, this body's a temp. Gimme the good stuff."

She gave him a sour look, but again waved her wand. The blood evaporated from Bill's teeth and gums and a new tooth materialized in the gap, the exact shape of the original but shining gold. Bill licked it experimentally. "Yeah, that'll do."

"Now get outta here," Stan said, "and take your creepy tooth temple with you."

"Hmph!" She turned her nose up at both of them; then zipped across the gift shop, ducking down to snatch up a couple of dropped teeth as she went. She dipped under the door into the living room and was gone.

"Well," Bill said. "We ended up better than we started. Free dental work, a bag of tools..."

"A bunch of property damage," Stan said. "We should've asked her to fix the kids' door."

"Ah." Bill winced. "Nooo, no, probably best we didn't push our luck. Fixing the other door's enough."

Stan shook his head, without much real rancor. "Can't admit you made a mistake, can you?"

"That would be a lie, wouldn't it? And like I said, I'd never lie." Bill smiled impishly. His new tooth gleamed in the dim light. "Let's clean up some of the teeth and mushrooms, huh?"

####

Sweeping up the gift shop was awkward with the handcuffs in the way, but they worked out a system: Stan handled the broom while Bill knelt and held the dustpan. Bill had retrieved his borrowed top hat and umbrella when they went for the broom, and now he kept his cuffed hand on the umbrella, which limited Stan's movement. He almost fussed about it, until he realized Bill's hand was shaking, and each time he stood he leaned on the umbrella like a wobbly cane. Stan tried not to notice how Bill sometimes winced when he had to turn his neck.

As they awkwardly swept up the gift shop, Bill said, "Lucky you got the dentist to stop drilling the door in time, huh."

"What?"

Bill nodded toward the living room. "The load bearing door? I didn't even realize it was that important." He laughed flatly. "We'd really be in trouble if he'd managed to knock it out, huh."

Stan stared at Bill. And then he burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You idiot, doors aren't load bearing!"

Bill stared up at Stan, face slowly going red. "Well, wh— How was I supposed to know that!" Over Stan's laughter, he demanded, "Then why did you tell him it was?!"

"Eh, if he'd so much as nudged the door, he could've gotten right through. Even with that curse you put on him," Stan said. "I had to say something to keep his drill away from it."

"Huh."

Stan could practically see the gears trying to turn in Bill's head as he attempted to understand that information. Maybe he should lay off the poor guy. It was really funny that a little curse made him too stupid to work a door; but he'd turned around and used that same curse to save their hides, Stan should probably give him a temporary pass just for that. He cleared his throat and tried to think of another topic. "Using that tooth as bait wasn't a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was pretty good."

"You could've just asked me to knock it out, though."

Bill glanced up at Stan. His face said, No I couldn't.

Stan understood.

During Stan's decade of travel—thrust into the world far too young, scared, alone, and homeless, with nothing but his wits and a mask of machismo—he had seen, again and again, the truth in one of his father's most frequent lessons: if you weren't tough, then you were nothing. Didn't matter what kind of money, possessions, or friends you had. If you weren't tough enough, you could lose them all in an instant.

And so often, toughness wasn't measured by how many punches it took to knock you down, but by whether the first one made you flinch.

The best thing you could do for yourself was win a fight. But if you didn't stand a chance (and Bill—short, noodle-armed, tiny-fisted, barely able to control his body, facing a man who'd been boxing for fifty years—didn't stand a chance), then the next best thing you could do was show that you could take it like a man. It might win you respect. If it didn't, then at the least it might let you keep some dignity. Bill was desperate for dignity.

Stan had the feeling that Bill had played this game before.

Who had Bill been before Weirdmageddon? Who had he been, that he could call Stan nothing but a con artist and a complete failure who'd have been better off never born—and in between suggest that Ford only trusted Bill because he reminded him of Stan?

####

They cleaned up as best they could, then dragged themselves back to bed.

Bill gave Stan a hopeful look. "Do I get to sleep in the guest room now?"

"No." Ford would murder Stan if he found out he'd let Bill sleep on his bed, and in his final moments Stan would probably think the murder was justified. And that was assuming Bill didn't murder Stan in his sleep.

"Aww, c'mon!" Bill said. "And here I thought we'd bonded a little!"

"Are you kidding? After you said I'm the reason you fooled my brother and my family would be happier if I was dead?!"

Bill laughed lightly. "You're too sensitive!"

As they repositioned their cushions and mattress on either side of the ajar door, Stan paused. "Was that stuff true? Or did you just say it to get a rise out of me."

"What, everything about Stanford being an only child? Naaah—I just thought it would be funny to make you mad."

In his heart, Stan knew Bill had been telling the truth.

Maybe not about there being a dimension where Stanford grew up alone, maybe Bill had made that up; but if so, he'd only made up a fiction that echoed the truth. Mr. Hotshot All-Seeing Eye was right: Stan had only made things worse for the people around him. The best thing he'd ever done with his life was put it on the line to destroy Bill. And apparently, even that hadn't been good enough.

Not for the first time over the past month, Stan wondered: if he'd never recovered his memories, would Bill have died with them? Was that the lifeline that had let Bill claw his way back? Would it have been better if neither of them had ever recovered? If they'd gone down into oblivion chained together?

Probably, on some cosmic level. Bill would be gone. Stan could've used his last few years learning to be a guy that brought more to the table than lying and punching. Everyone would be having a much better summer this year. But, on the other hand, Stan liked having his memories; and to be honest, Bill had been pretty worthless so far. Maybe it was okay that Stan had only done a C+ job at demon-killing. C+ was a passing grade; and he'd never been a straight A's kind of guy.

They'd just have to grudgingly tolerate being chained together.

Stan said, "So was it 'funny' getting your teeth knocked in, too?"

Bill considered that; then let out an involuntary giggle. "Yeah, actually." He settled down on his cushion bed. "But—no, really, I never saw a universe where you two weren't inseparable as kids. I'm sure it happened somewhere, the multiverse is infinite—but I didn't dig that hard. Wasn't one of my priorities. I only needed one Stanford to get my portal running, and the one here did just fine."

Stan still didn't think Bill was telling the whole truth; but then, Stan didn't think Bill had been telling the whole truth earlier, either. Bill wasn't actually telling Stan anything about what the multiverse was like—he was just telling Stan how he wanted Stan to feel.

And Bill could have said that everything he'd said earlier was true. But he didn't.

"You really are a pretty good liar, Cipher," Stan said. "It's too bad you're a lousy dirtbag bent on world domination, or you could've made a decent partner-in-crime."

"Yeah?" Bill settled down, holding his broken umbrella to his side and laying his free arm over his collapsed top hat, as if he was worried someone would steal them in his sleep. (Stan would have to get that umbrella in the morning. It had been fine for Bill to keep it while they were fighting for their lives, but he couldn't keep a blunt weapon covered in metal poky bits indefinitely.) "Well, my schedule's clear and I'm bored. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Don't count on it." Stan slid their chain under the door and pushed it shut.

Bill had wiggled out of explaining why he wouldn't admit that Stan had killed him; but Stan didn't think he needed to ask again. He kinda had an idea. He was at that age where he was starting to worry what his obituary would say, too. "Killed by his dimension-hopping long-time nemesis with 12 PhDs" probably sounded a lot better than "Killed by a crooked grifter in his underwear." The first one might let you keep some dignity.

####

Dipper and Mabel came home shortly after dawn. The light was already on in the kitchen; Mabel curiously ducked in to see why. "Grunkle Stan! Bill! What are you doing up so early?" She paused. "Is that my top hat?"

"Mine now."

Stan and Bill were sitting at the kitchen table, with two plates of eggs and bacon (Bill's eggs had chocolate sauce), and mugs of, respectively, coffee and Mabel juice spiked with ground-up caffeine pills. Stan had a bandage on one arm. They looked exhausted. Their wrists were still handcuffed.

"Oh, you know—" Stan yawned, "—just... full of vim and vigor today."

Dipper surveyed them, tried not to laugh when he saw the cuffs, and asked, "Did you guys even get any sleep?"

Stan grunted and looked at Bill to field that one.

Bill said, "By the looks of it, more than you two did." Dipper's and Mabel's hair were tangled messes, and their clothes were stained with dirt and grass. Dipper looked like he'd fallen on his side into a mud puddle. "How'd the monster hunt go?"

"Partial success!" Mabel said. "The thing that was stealing Pacifica's alpacas came back and we froze its leg! We followed it back to its forest lair and rescued the alpacas! Including Giorgio!"

"The anomaly got away, though," Dipper said, more to himself than anyone else. "But how? It was ten feet tall, it couldn't have hidden. Unless it was... abducted, maybe? In some invisible space ship...?"

Bill rolled his open eye. "Hey—how many of the alpacas were shorn by the time you got to them?"

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Everyone but Giorgio. How'd you know?"

"We don't need to know," Dipper said quickly. "We can figure it out on our own. C'mon, Mabel." He headed upstairs. Mabel shrugged apologetically, and followed after him.

Stan watched them go, then asked Bill, "So what did take the rich kid's exotic sheep?"

"Freak in the woods who really likes wool suits."

"Huh." Stan sipped his coffee. "It's not dangerous to the kids, is it?"

"Not as long as they don't try to film him." Bill picked up a strip of bacon, tiredly tried to stick it in his eye, sighed, and redirected it to the correct hole.

From upstairs, Mabel shouted, "What happened to our door?"

Stan winced. "Don't worry about it, sweetie! I'll fix it later."

Bill said, "We didn't clean upstairs, did we."

Stan tried to remember what all had been left behind. Bedsheet hanging out the window, teeth on the floor... "It's—it's fine. Those kids love mysteries."

"Ha. Yeah, the boy would probably just get mad if we told him what happened before he figured it out himself."

There was the faint sound of the vending machine opening. A moment later, Ford walked in with an empty mug of coffee. "You're up early," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

Bill gave Ford a sleepy smirk. "Aw, I didn't know you cared."

Ford shot Bill a glower, did a double take at the top hat, then shook his head and looked away. "I wasn't asking you. I hope you got a crick in your neck that lasts the rest of your life." (Bill laughed.)

Stan shrugged off the question. "Oh yeah, no problem. Got comfortable and didn't move all night."

"We barely even noticed the cuffs," Bill said, stifling a yawn. "Slept like babies."

Ford raised a skeptical brow. Still, he nodded and went to get coffee for himself. Stan had a broken umbrella hanging from the back of his chair; Ford assumed it was yet another confiscated weapon and picked it up to move somewhere Bill couldn't access it. "Well, I'm relieved that at least nothing weird happened last night."

"Yeah, nothing weird at all," Stan said.

"Most normal night of my life," Bill said.

There was a knock on the door. At this hour of the morning? Ford said, "I'll get that."

He answered the door.

On the porch was a haggard, slumped, very sad looking man in a white lab coat. Nearly on the verge of tears, he asked, "Can I please have my ability to open doors back? I—I had to sleep outside last night. So many bugs."

Ford stared at him. "Only the person who cast the spell can lift it. Just a moment."

He ducked into the kitchen, glared at Bill, and said, "'Slept like babies,' did you?"

Neither Bill's nor Stan's innocent smile was convincing.

Ford focused on Bill's mouth. "And where'd you get that tooth?"

"Ah." Bill looked at Stan.

Stan cleared his throat. "So the good news is, we've got a great story for your journal."

####

(And that concludes the tooth fairy arc! If you enjoyed it, I'd love hearing from y'all! I'm really proud of how this whole plot came out. Next week we start on the absolute stupidest plot arc you've ever seen.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #(character tags for the fic itself; obviously they're not in the art lol)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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three--rings · 3 months ago

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So hi, folks.

I'm facing a pretty large dentist bill due to breaking a tooth and some other damage. It broke too badly to repair, so I have to have it removed and replaced with an implant. The alternate options aren't great for me for various reasons. (In addition I need several fillings and a crown. I put off needing a crown last year due to my insurance not covering crowns at all, and now I'm missing a tooth and things are worse, of course.)

I'm also having surgery on my foot in a few weeks to correct a lingering injury from a car accident (not my fault) last year and that's going to put my off my feet for a few months, so interfering with my ability to run my small business that I use to supplement my partner's income, on which I'm totally dependent as a disabled person with no disability income (because I was married before I became disabled.)

I'm not in a total emergency situation because I've qualified for some financing so I can have more time to repay the bill, but I'm having to put off some of the dental work until January to get more dental coverage. We do have insurance but it only covers $1500/year. And you know if you have serious issues, that's nothing. The original total they gave me was over $7000, though I think I've gotten that down by putting some stuff off and I've signed up with an additional discount plan to take up when my dental insurance runs out.

(Did you know that a lot of the worth of dental insurance is that it gets you discounted prices with in-network dentists, but after you use up your alloted benefit for the year, you DON'T get those discounts? Unless you have a discount plan without limit. Which you can just go buy for like $100/year but they don't TELL you this. THE MORE YOU KNOW.)

So anyway, I know everyone is struggling now but if you have anything to spare I'd appreciate it deeply. I'm not going to do a GoFundMe for now for various reasons, but I have Ko-fi,

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/threerings

Anyway, please don't neglect your teeth, even if you don't have insurance. You can get a discount plan and get cleanings cheap. Learn from my mistakes!

#personal #fundraising

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rosefinch07 · 9 months ago

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Jsjs so crime lord red Hood, right? With underlings and shit?

Jaime going to Gotham as a dentist bc he had a gothamite friend in dental school who runs a practice and surprise surprise Jaime takes the job

Depending on how the timing is jaime could be 26-30 to jason's 20-25 which i did not plan it just happened

Jaime, while not living in crime alley proper bc he's a dentist and rent is dirt cheap in Gotham, he still pretty close bc the dental office is in otisburg or something

He only is active as blue beetle when called upon bc he's practically retired, he's been doing the hero thing since late middle school and through highschool and a good chunk of college

He's tired, he just wants to sit down with his teeth and help patients

Khaji is there, they coexist, they have bets on how long they can go without a gun being pulled on the receptionists and therefore making them have to Handle it

Jaime wouldn't change it for the world

And he starts being popular with the goons who need to get their teeth fixed, mostly Jason's goons bc he's close enough to red hood territory that he's claimed

They start Handling people who pull guns on the receptionists

Jaime just sighs and goes back to checking on the dental crown being made for a teen who's obsessed with robin

He goes to his apartment after work and cares for nothing but the safety of his loupes and its carrying case on the walk

He's still in his scrubs when red hood breaks in while he's cooking dinner and his lunches for the week

Red hood wants to give his goons insurance beyond "throw money at the goon and hope that works"

Respectable

They get an arrangement, jaime's dental student kids have even more teeth from necessary extractions for their classes (he still had his tooth jar from when he was in school, it wasn't the weirdest thing in gotham no matter how many looks hood gave it on his shelf.)

The shenanigans that ensue are glorious istg

Among those are

-jason convincing damian to go to the dentist by only going to someone he trusts with his own teeth (damian gets curious about collecting teeth and jason quickly redirects him by asking about if braces are needed bc no he is not collecting human teeth in the manor.)

- jason having to go to jaime as a civilian and trust him to mess with his teeth bc they kinda got fucked from the recent fight he was in

Just

Dentist jaime in gotham and jason offering dental insurance to his employees go so nice together

#rose finch fic rambles #dentist jaime reyes #gunbug #jaime reyes x jason todd #jason x jaime #jaime x jason #jason todd x jaime reyes #red hood #blue beetle #jason todd #jaime reyes

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mentalmaggot · 6 months ago

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Hi!

I’ve been interested in alt fashion and diy and punk for a while but I don’t know where to start. Do you have any advice about how I can start making some cool stuff? I’m terrible at sewing but I’d like to learn!

You don’t have to answer to this if you don’t want to.

Thank you! (And have a good day)

Thanks so much for the ask :]

I'm pretty new at making things myself! The way I got started was to look at everything I already have and don't wear and think about how I could use pieces of it or add things to it to make something new that I would actually love and use. I get most of my additional supplies from the dollar store, or just straight up trash I had lying around (pop tabs, broken jewelry, etc.). Personally, my best inspiration is to see what I could make work with limited materials-- kind of forces you to be creative with things! If you don't have much extra lying around, thrifting is great. My first jacket (the one all over my account) I didn't do much planning for. If planning is more your style then go for it, but don't get hung up on making it perfect. If you're using cheap or free materials, I'd say just dive right in for your first try. Have fun with it!!

As for sewing, dental floss is the best in my opinion. It's super thick and easy to work with. Cheap floss and a needle on the thicker side of things is all you need! The most basic stitch you need is a whip stitch. Pull the floss through the needle, fold it over itself and tie the ends together. Start somewhere to make sure the knot isn't visible. All it is is stringing the needle through what you're attaching, then back down through whatever you're attaching it to.

It doesn't have to be perfect!! It's insanely versatile and pretty strong, great for patches. The only downside is that it's super visible, but you could turn that more into a feature if you'd like! If you look too close at the stuff I make the stitching is shit-- I think the most important part is just that it'll hold together and results in something you're proud of :]

#diy or die #punk #diy #punk diy #craftblr #sewing #battle jacket #i got an ask yippeee yippeee

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samfosho · 4 months ago

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I hate to do this, but not asking for help is how I ended up with tens of thousands in medical debt to begin with and I'm getting desperate.

So, hi. I'm Sam. I'm a queer, autistic & ADHD living with mountains of medical debt that has accrued after working a decade at a job I believed in for just pennies, with nothing to show for it but burnout and depression. (Yes, I know there are charities that buy medical debt. I did not know about them before I took advice from An Adult That I Trusted and Thought Was Smart years ago now, who said just put it on a credit card. I have learned and suffered for that mistake)

Fortunately, I've got a good job now. Unfortunately, that doesn't solve all my problems overnight. Currently, I have about $36 to my name, which isn't even mine if you think about it (see: debt), and I don't get paid for a week. I'm working on the Big Shit, but there are two things I really need help with:

Immediate: I have a car payment coming out today for $156 that I can't cover

Less Immediate, but still looming: I NEED to have my wisdom teeth out. I've put them off for a long time, and I'm currently dealing with a lot of pain as I wait for the appointment next month. Insurance came back with them covering half, but that still leaves $1400 out of pocket.

I thought I had everything budgeted a little better this month, and all I had to worry about was the upcoming wisdom teeth appointment. I had a small car issue (tires needed replaced) and I forgot my rent went up this month and not next.

This is a huge ask, and I know we're all struggling, so I'm not asking for that full amount.

That dental appointment is the soonest I can get in, at the least expensive office that takes my insurance, so moving to a different doc isn't an option. They DO offer payment plans, however they only offer 6 months, and the full amount is too much of a monthly payment for me to make and still pay rent/make car payments/feed my cats.

If I can make that first payment on the day as big as I can, and cut the monthly payments, that would be an immense relief.

SO, my goal is $600, if at all possible, in the long run, so I don't lose everything

But my immediate, PLEASE if you can, so I don't lose my car or miss rent or get hit with overdraft fees that will just hit me even harder goal is:

$200

This would get my car payment and a little extra to get as many cheap, non perishable groceries as I can so I don't have to worry about what I'll eating the next few months.

If possible, literally anything is a huge help and amazing. If not possible, a little boost would be amazing.

If you would like to receive an actual, physical thing—like, say, a cussy piece of embroidery—you can go buy something from my Etsy store. Stock is limited, cuz I have been working enough that I haven't had time to make a lot of things or get new supplies, but I have some stupid mushroom earrings I can add to the shop, too, when I get a moment, and some stone jewelry that I made and have been meaning to sell for YEARS.

I also have a comic that I haven't updated in forever, because of the aforementioned busyness, burnout and stress. So I will draw you a little robot or something if you donate if you want

Here is a pic of my cats, they would also appreciate eating

Thanks for taking the time to read, I greatly appreciate that, too 💚

I put my links under the cut, so they're not just out there in case this post travels past my need of it

Venmo @ SamFoShoBro

cashapp $SamFoShoBro

Message for paypal. I have it, I just don't like using it.

#help #mutual aid #mutual assistance #donations #queer business #queer artist

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hocuspocusbabyy · 6 months ago

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Learn to love it:

A Fic request from @selfcestmovies who also provided the beautiful cover art ⬇️

Rating: 18+ (E)

Pairing: Young Agatha Harkness x Older Agatha Harkness

Warnings: Public sex, faint daddy kink, alcohol consumption, selfcest.

Agatha needed a drink. Like a real fucking drink, one paid for by some seedy guy at a bar that she didn't know the name of. The kind of guy that made her skin crawl, but then again enough seedy guys and free drinks the crawling starts to feel more like a shiver, something almost bearable. She waltzed up to the bar crop top and leather jeans, heeled boots helping her view the liquor available for selection. Rows upon rows of brightly stained glass form every country imaginable, every poison available to her. The light seemed to catch a dusty bottle in the back corner with the image of a green fairy catching her eye - the young woman was taken back to her time in Paris, with her... Agatha swallowed thickly flagging down the bartender with the flick of her perfectly painted black nails.

Thinking about her always had this effect, which often led to drinking, drinking into forgetting. Though how else would one forget themselves? Lose how perfectly their reflection moved without influence. Free for viewing, a wilderness many would never experience. Agatha longed for the nights where her shadow split in two.

Three years ago…

She rests her hand on the stained bar, intersecting circles left behind from long-ago drinks. Green absinthe poured into a glass, a cube of sugar floating above it. Agatha watched as the barkeep meticulously dripped water over the club till it dissolved into a sugary film.

She turned to face the room, glass in hand, balanced between her slim fingers. There are couples curled together in dark corners, there are writhing bodies against one wall, moans of pleasure dampened by indie music from the band upstairs. The pool room catches her eyes, round five men were arguing over-rules and tactics, it would be easy prey for her to get a few games in at their expense. She loved to hustle, after all, she was just an innocent girl who needed a man to teach her how to play - right?

"Princess!" Agatha looked towards the noise and grimaced, "We see you over there, come play doubles with us," Some taller button-down wearing nobody shouts from where he's crammed into the pool room with his two friends all three dripping with their own apparently sleaze as they eyed Agatha up and down. The brunette merely smiled, she could practically smell the trio from where she stood all cheap beer, too much clone and bad dental plans. The perfect targets for a couple of free drinks and a pool hustle.

Agatha pulls on her best sickeningly sweet smile, giggling childishly "oh I don't know fellas, I'm not very good" she plays with a strand of her hair, walking towards the pool room. The men now grinning between themselves, elbows nudging, drinks spilling.

"I'd hate for you to lose, because of me" Agatha continued as she reached the table swinging her knees together, the perfect image of innocence to lure these idiots into a false sense of security.

"Not a problem Sweetheart." One particularly potent blonde states swinging an arm over the brunette and smiling, his eyes most definitely fixating a little too often in her breasts as he spoke. "You'll be playing with me and well— I won't lose." He winks, nudging her lightly and the other two set up the game, howling like dogs to support his claims.

"Oh well." Agatha tutted, fighting the desire to roll her eyes, "I guess you wouldn't mind us playing one on one then? Make things fair?" She asks, fluttering her eyelashes adorably.

The blonde laughs looking at his friends like a dog in heat, scratching his stubbled jaw pretending to think about it. "You know what gorgeous, you're on I'll even bet on it." He states cockily slamming down a $50 on the table.

Agatha cocks her brow slightly, surprised at his confidence just knowing how much more fun it will be even if she eventually beats him. Sliding a hand into her own back pocket, not ignorant to the way all three men followed her hand like a magnet, the brunette placed her own $50 onto the table - $100 on the line, easy money she grinned.

"Alrighty then," Agatha started, downing the last of her drink and dumping her empty glass in one of the nameless hands. She bit her lip, making a show of eyeing up the cues, weighting one in each hand before choosing her own to chalk up. "But take it easy on me." She winks, her voice dripping like honey as the blonde bends down to break the table and start the game.

"You got it, princess." He grins as he takes aim to pot a striped ball by bouncing it off the top left corner rather than the solid straight shot in front of him. Obviously trying to show off. He potted but missed on the second go, sighing heavily and calling himself a twat, something that Agatha was honestly inclined to agree with.

Agatha watched the move, and grinned to herself - men were so predictable she thought, shaking her head. Bending over the table, the brunette lined up her first shot, shifting a solid red ball from the bottom left of the table into the top right corner with ease. The cue gliding gently between her fingers, the chipped black polish tips pressing gently into the green.

"Nice" one of the men stated at the ball potted, earning the glare from his friend.

"Beginners luck" she shrugged, bending over the table again to line up her next shot. The blonde watching with amusement knowing she was blocked by his stripped ball. The brunette smiled at the smugness before aimed over the ball, switching down at the last second so that the ball chipped and bounced over the blondes own, potting.

"Fuck" the blonde muttered shocked, each of his friends looking a similar shade of blue, the realisation they had been sharked dawning on them.

Agatha grinned at the shot, making a show of standing back up, slowly drawing her hand back up her cue before leaning on it - cocking her hip.

"What's the matter, boys? Haven't you seen someone chip in pool before?" She grinned, watching the blonde man panic about where to place his next shot. The brunette smirked at the scene, each man looking a little more heated and well- sweaty knowing Agatha could actually play pool.

The blonde missed his shot, potting the white, and the game contained on. All the while Agatha couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched... She was used to the attention, especially in bars like this one after all she was the only thing in the place that was washed within the last 72 hours. Not to say that she wasn't pretty, Agatha knows she was- is hot, but attraction and looks in this place really was second to inebriation and stimulation.

But this feeling was different, it was warm and cold all at the same time - it made the hair of her arm stand on edge. It felt familiar. As though standing in the plains between mirrors - two ways.

She took a chance glancing over her shoulder as she lined up her next shot, but missed for the first time that night when she was met by the most perfect eyes she'd ever seen in her life. Ones she'd seen everyday since birth.

The older woman sat at the bar, perfect legs crossed intensely watching the pool game from across the room. She had a high set of cheekbones coloured by the dark light in the room. A sharp jawline that could probably cut skin if you touched it just right, and then that regal slope of a nose enough for Agatha’s fingers to itch around her cue. Suddenly desperate for a pen, a paintbrush, anything to depict such beauty on a substantial thing - the walls would do. Her lips plump, the bottom one pulled between two rows of perfectly white pearly teeth as her gaze flicked up and down her body - causing a shiver.

Her shoulders sloped into toned arms that rested against the bar behind her, the stretched elder relaxed stance complimenting her slender neck, the Agatha couldn't help but lick her lips at the pale white flesh like a river after months of drought.

She was exactly how she’d always imagined herself and she was waiting.

Agatha couldn't think of a better canvas for her art, the mystery replicas battered, brushed and bitten skin the paint, and Agatha mouth the brush creating the most perfectly arousing mosaic of pinks, reds, purples...

Piercing blue eyes boring into hers with an intensity that sends shivers down her spine. The woman is smirking at her, as Agatha realises she missed her shot. The trio of men all cheered with relief.

Agatha suddenly feels extremely flustered as those blue eyes travel from her face and downwards. They fixate on her cleavage for several seconds, and when a pink tongue pokes out to lick at those plump lips, Agatha gulps.

The replica’s eyes continue to flicker over her without her consent and she sighed, lining up her next shot. She was wreaking havoc on her pool game. Her gaze switches from the tempting replica to the trio of baboons she had the displeasure of playing pool with; wanting nothing more at that moment to take their money and buy that variant a drink. Not that a woman like that would give her time the time of day. She shot, potting her final ball and looked around ready to line up the black and finish the game.

A corpus of groans emitting from the men around her, that quickly turned to giggles as they realised they'd snookered her. Two stripped balls balling her final shot at the black. Agatha sighed, standing straight and perusing the table for any possible chance to take a winning shot. It was tuff but not impossible, not if she got her angle right.

Leaning over, Agatha took her time ribs resting delicately on the table as she lined up the shot. However, Before she realises what's happening a body is behind her, a hand gripping at her lower hip, dangerously close to her backside. A slender hand running up her arm slowly. The action sent a series of goosebumps all over the brunette's skin. Agatha gulped audibly, tilting her head to see the replicas from the bar now stood beside her, their hips sinfully aligned, as a curtain of red consumed her and voice graced her ear.

"Why don't you show these idiots what's what, pot that final ball and meet me in the bathroom honey?" The replicas smirked, obviously amused by the startled look on Agatha 's face at their close proximity. The replica's gaze flicks up at the view of the men in the room, grinning before she leans down to bite the shell of her ear gently, teasing the skin and flicking it with her tongue before pulling away - making a true show of things. Staking her apparent claim.

The brunette gasps at the sensation, the two still pressed together against the table in this very public pool room.

"Thank you for taking such good care of my girl here, gentlemen I'm sorry you couldn't beat her." She winks taking in the men around them, tapping Agatha arse lightly with her palm before she straightens her back and walks off back towards the bar and aforementioned bathroom.

Agatha practically shook, grinning as she takes her final shot, potting the black and grasping the $100 from the table; stuffing it in her back pocket. "Good game fellas" she smiles, practically throwing her cue at one of them, "but if you will excuse me" she doesn't wait for an answer as she turns in her heels and rushed off in the direction of her replica.

All three of the men left stood high and dry, their jaws slack, clutching their pool cues - all a little more worked up about the show the two women had put on for them than losing $100.

She stumbles for a few steps before catching herself on shaky legs, swallowing several times as she manages to straighten herself out, rolling back her shoulders fluffing her hair lightly. The last few steps to the door are excruciatingly slow, and her hand trembles as she reaches the poorly eliminated sign of a feminine gender sign. Its glow now tainted a dull brown from years of long hours and dead flys collecting at the bottom of the bulb.

Her fingers wrap around the handle; she took a moment for herself, drawing in a series of deep long breaths. Pulling till she hears it click and jerk down, sliding open with a creak a mass of sawdust collecting along the bottom from the floor. Before Agatha can talk herself out of it, she slips inside and closes the door smoothly - there's no lock she notes as her palm lays flat against the wood pressing it undeniably shut.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming"

Agatha has to shut her eyes at the sound. Every part of her was suddenly alert and on edge, her back still to the voice. The brunette couldn't help he wonder if this was what it was like for those who faced Medusa on Sarpedon; the fearful temptation all the more overwhelming that with the promise of ethereal beauty they just had to sneak a peak - despite the consequences.

She turns around slowly, letting her eyes flutter open to land on the old woman leaning over the sink on the other side of the bathroom. She was even more gorgeous in this light, one leg propped up against the counter, a hand raised to check her makeup and then another crossed over her chest, her features bathed in the harsh fluorescent glow of the flickering light bulbs above the sink.

"Well with a proposition like that, how could I not?" Agatha gave with a laugh, The replicas' eyes gliding over the brunettes reflected features in the mirror-like a predator.

"Humm how could you indeed." The other woman hummed finally turning towards the younger woman. Her back pressed against the bathroom counter, arms places behind her to hold the dominant stance. Half drank a glass of whiskey beside her. "did you win?"

"of course I did" Agatha states proudly, almost offended at that idea she may not have.

"I've been watching you little one." The replica started sucking her teeth audibly, "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Her eyebrow quirks, lips twitching into an almost unnoticeable smirk.

The term left her lips and Agatha could instantly feel the ache between her legs grow unmistakably. She presses her legs together, swallowing thickly, before nodding her head. Having an attraction to one’s self was natural surly? Having the ability to act on it… another.

"Use your words, sweetness." The replica's smirk grows, and she pushes away from the door to take a tentative step towards Agatha . "I couldn't possibly give you what we want, without your verbal consent." Her perfectly wet tongue peaking out to dampen her lips. The telltale signs of her teeth were imprinted on the delicate skin.

Agatha had to fight not to lose her balance, the closer the woman came the harder it was for her to maintain her composure - a faint yet sharp fragrance of pomegranates and bourbon consumed her. A small moan leaving her lips as her eyes flicked up to meet a familiar blue, never in her life had being asked for consent been such a turn on. She supposed the older woman had the advantage of experience, she knew what you liked better than you ever could, would… she would always be one step ahead.

"Yes." Agatha chokes out, her back slowly moulding to the wall as the replica steps closer to her, barely an inch each time. "Yes, I could feel you watc—watching me." The older woman leans in to tuck a lock of hair behind Agatha's ear and she hummed softly at the response. The air between them is thick with tension, her gaze falling down to the younger woman's lips, licking her own before returning her gaze to her younger self.

"And is that why you're here sweetness? Because you enjoy me watching you?" She teased leaning, a hand on either side of the brunettes head, her nose running along the a-line of the taller woman's neck. Agatha a faucet, a drowning mess beneath her.

"Yes," Agatha whispers, a small smile reaching her lips as her mind begins to calm down, two could play this game. "All night," she graces, blue eyes flitting down to the copy’s lips, "I couldn't stop thinking about you kissing me." She reaches up, unclamping her clammy fist to stroke a thumb across the older woman's lower lip. "Touching me."

It’s all she could think about really, ever since last semester when they had come across a spell to attract variants. The opportunity to see yourself in every reality, the rest of the class had buzzed with the concept of questioning, learning from their future and past self through every plain of existence. Agatha however, hadn’t been able to shake the feeling, the idea of enjoying herself further. How could anyone satisfy them better than themselves?

The replica whimpered then laughed. Taking a final step, now pressed flush against Agatha , pressing her lightly against the door. She's warm and soft - softer than Agatha would expect with all those lean muscles on down - subconsciously Agatha arched into the touch. The soft silk material of her dress pressing against the exposed skin of her torsos, the older woman's hands run down along the wall, tracing the outline of Agatha 's body behind her.

"What else?" The woman's lips ghost across Agatha 's cheek, her breath like the wind against her heated skin.

"Fucking me." The brunettes breaths leaning in to graze her teeth against the shorter woman's earlobe.

"All you had to do was ask." The replica grins, surging forward, capturing Agatha 's lips with her own. Fused shades of lipstick, saliva, an audition of new touch, noise. A sensation that sets their bodies alight.

Her hands coming up to grasp Agatha 's hips firmly as she pushes her harder against the door. A moan breaks out between them as their hips grind together. Agatha tangles her fingers into the thick straight red hair tugs hard until the old woman grins and licks into her mouth tugging roughly at the flesh of her arse.

The wet glide of the replicas's tongue against hers sends Agatha reeling, and her moan is deliciously filthy as the brunette's hand slides up to cup her breast. Strong fingers knead her roughly through her dress. A strong thigh comes to rest between her legs, black red bottoms pushing her feet aside

She tugs at Agatha 's hair, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp as she arches her chest against her hand.

"Why'd— Why'd you stop?" Agatha breathed, their lips pulling away with an audibly smack, her chest heaving while the older woman still looked to be with the perfect state of grace. All but her eyes were now clouded, a dark film overcoming her earthy eyes like an ocean storm.

"Open your mouth." The replica states simply the hand in the brunette's hair drawing her head back so that her chin was pointed up.

Agatha complied, still a little confused until the older woman's hand comes to grasp her jaw their lips almost touch before she slowly spits down into her mouth.

The warm liquid hitting her tongue and rolling back down into her throat. Agatha moaned, untamed, grunting at the taste.

"Swallow" The copy whispered her tongue coming out to lick across the brunette lips as she closed them to swallow the other woman's essence, like the sweetest shot she'd ever tasted.

"Please" She croaks, voice rough and desperate, and the variant smirks in the most infuriatingly sexy way as she pulls back to stare at Agatha with hooded eyes.

"Please what, Little one?"

Instead of answering, Agatha pushes the woman back until she has control, or At least the illusion of which, pressing the replicas against the bathroom sink. One hand reaching to tug upon her dress, the other roughly shoving the straps aside to reveal a stiff, aching breast.

The replicas chuckled as she was suddenly engulfed by a warm, wet mouth. Agatha lavished her tongue against her nipple roughly before sucking on it, and she gasps feeling a gush of wetness between her legs. The brunette young and talented fingers teasing the waistband of her panties.

"Oh I knew we’d have fun, baby girl" She laughed, hissing lightly as Agatha’s teeth grazed against her breast. The brunette moaned against her skin as the nickname left her lips. "Humm, you liked that one? Huh? Baby girl?" The replicas hummed, repeating the endearment again.

Agatha pulled back a string of saliva stringing from her bottom lip and the other woman's breath, breathing heavily. Mouth agape, wet and wanting as she nodded hungrily.

"What's my name sweetness?" She asked with her hands raising the grasp on either side of the brunette face roughly, she had a feeling she'd respond to it well. Her thumbs pressing into her cheekbones, palms touching every crevice of her skin, fingers imprinting themselves along her jaw. "Say it and I'll give you everything you want."

The rasp of her voice was more intoxicating to Agatha at that moment than any other substance known to man; if she'd asked her to scream she'd scream, to get on her knees she'd crumble - Agatha Harkness was well and truly incapacitated by her older self.

"Daddy." She whispered, their lips brushing with every syllable, every shuddered breath.

"Good girl." The replicas smirked, kissing her lips quickly, hardly enough to quench either of their thrusts. Even as Agatha had her pressed against the counter in a public restroom she was still quite obviously the dominant one, completely in control of the situation as her hand ran down her torso to pop the top button of Agatha 's tight leather jeans.

"Can you stay quiet for my little one? We wouldn't want anyone to walk in and see just what a good little slut you are now would we?" She mocked, the brunette shaking her head fiercely as the replicas rewarded her with a kiss, her underwear uncomfortably wet. Like this woman, this goddess of a woman, who smelt like pomegranates, leather and tastes like expensive liquor; Agatha doesn't think she's ever tasted anything better.

She breaks away from the kiss for a second, gasping for air as she moves to suck and nip on the replicas' neck. The thought of leaving her possessive mark there, her undeniable claim had her trembling and clenching, and she can't stand being touched for another second.

"No marks baby. Not yet anyway" she smirks, as Agatha bites down at her neck drawing back to admire her work, using a thumb to clean her own face.

The brunette shrugs at her own disobedience, "Hardly anything there; and oh look, seems like I'm not the only one who's wet." Agatha giggles the final word falling from her lips with a thick tut of her teeth.

The replica tightens, her eyes visibly darken, a possessive groan emitting from her throat as her hand slipped into the younger woman's underwear. "Listen here brat." She whispers scowling lightly, "Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and I'll fuck you so good you won't be about to walk straight, but keep it up with that little attitude and I'll leave you here, like the sopping mess you are understood?"

Agatha whimpers, the ghostly feeling of fingers brush against her clit.

"I said, am I an understood slut?" The woman repeats.

"Yes!" Agatha cries out tears forming at the idea of not being touched, "yes Daddy I'm sorry, I'll be good" is promises kissing the replica’s jaw for good measure, burying her face within the soft and welcoming flesh of her neck as she is finally given what she wants, those slender, elegant fingers finally gliding through her slick folds, parting her and dipping into her wetness.

It was everything she could have ever hoped for and more, there was a distant level of understanding or knowing that circled beneath each variant's skin. Heightened and maddening - how could anyone ever compete?

"God, Baby girl, you're so fucking wet" The older woman groans, tilting her head up to kiss Agatha 's neck as she strokes at her clit. Agatha shudders and bucks against her hand, desperate for more friction. The replicas' fingers slip down to her entrance, dipping just inside to tease her and gather more wetness, before moving back up to rub tight circles against the aching bud. Agatha cries out as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine, and her knees buckle under her. The replicas steady her easily, pressing her into her body more firmly, her other hand coming up to grasp her thigh and pull it around her hip. The change of angle has Agatha silently crying out biting down on her own hand that grasps against the woman's shoulder, in an attempt to adhere to her orders.

"Would you rather me be gentle with you?" She whispers, taunting. Agatha could picture perfectly the smug look of faux confusion on her.

The brunette shook her head no, vigorously. The older woman chuckling darkly as She leaned forward, lips at her ear once more. Agatha whimpering involuntarily as the lobe of her ear was sucked in briefly. She bit her lip to stop herself from letting out noise at the sensation.

"You're doing so well baby," The other woman cooed, pulling back. Agatha groaning at the loss of warmth, before the hand inside her began to move in earnestly. Her pace was rough, unyielding. She pulled her finger out almost all the way out just to the tips, that circled her entrance before slamming back in, pounding in and out until Agatha lost all ability to form a coherent thought. One of her hands groped at the mystery woman's chest, pinching her nipple hard. She cried out, and Agatha grinned wickedly. She rewarded her lapse in control by moving the hand down her body, treating her clit with the same roughness as she did the rest of her.

The woman moaning throatily against her lips. Heaving Agatha 's thigh further up her hip, grip tight enough to leave bruises. Both women's hands working tirelessly.

"Oh, fuck daddy" Agatha sobs, clenching and fluttering wildly around the long digits, and she can't stop herself from bucking her hips, desperately trying to fuck herself on the talented fingers. The brunette sets a quick pace on her lover's clit, slick sounds filling the room as her hips thrust and the replicas's fingers pump into her swollen cunt, and soon both of them teetering on the edge of coming.

"Hold on baby, I want us to cum together," the replicas gasps, arching as Agatha leans down to take her nipple into her mouth again. She scratches her nails desperately against the brunette's scalp, and Agatha growls and biting down on the aching nipple.

The other woman circling her fingers, the stretch had Agatha 's spine arching and her whole body tensing as the replicas thrust faster and harder into her. When she curls her fingers deep inside her and drags them firmly against her swollen front wall Agatha screams, a desperate cry ripped from her chest. Her own thumb pressing firmly against the other woman's clit.

"Cum for me please" Agatha whispers, practically begging for her release while chasing the own. "Please Daddy" she whimpers bitting down on the other woman's lip until a familiar Natalia taste flooded her mouth.

Their orgasms hit together; a heat spending across their skin that flushed so bright they practically glowed as their bodies pressed together firmly - each woman clutching the other to them tightly. Their chests heaving, a mixture of giggles, moans, whimpers filling the room.

"Well fuck." The older variant flicked her head back from where it rested on Agatha 's shoulder, running a hand through sweaty yet annoying still perfect hair. "You're just full of surprises aren't you little one." She grinned, her tongue running along her teeth and lip cleaning up her own blood that had started to dry there. Then teasingly she removed her fingers and sucked them clean; the simultaneous taste of cum and blood filled her senses. "You taste amazing too, better than I ever dreamed."

Agatha laughed out her chest heaving, forehead pressed against the replica's collarbone. "Well, I aim to please." She winked, suddenly feeling excruciatingly thirsty. Her eyes flicker up to the mirror behind them over the replica's shoulder taking in her frankly destroyed appearance; her own lipstick and the other woman's spread across her face like spilt ink in an old painting. Her mouth was swollen and bitten almost blue; The only comfort being that the older woman looked just as thoroughly fucked too.

Her eyes flickered down to the replicas's forgotten malt drink, picking it up she took an indulgent sip humming slightly as the burn of liquor raced down her throat. The older woman's watched her intensely as the brunette raised the glass and suddenly drew a gasp from between her lips, the cool brown liquid new racing down her chest. The replicas grunted at the sudden burst of frost that hit her heated flesh, Agatha merely smirking before chasing the liquid with her tongue.

"Hmmm" Agatha made a sound of appreciable as she drank from upon the other woman's skin; begging sure to lick the flesh perfectly clean. Before raising her head, blue meeting blue.

"That was my drink." The older woman complains, a faux frown on her features and the younger woman grins.

"Oh, I'm sorry where are my manners?" She smirked raising the glass teasingly to the other woman, "here let's share." She continued pulling the glass back towards herself indulging in the final slip before grasping the back of the other woman's neck - connecting their lips and spilling the contents of her mouth in between her lips. The whiskey, their lips, silva and tongues mixing in a perfect serenade of sex and alcohol poisoning.

"Don't say I never gave you anything" Agatha whispers teasingly kissing the older woman's bruised lips before pulling away slightly. The replicas merely gazed at her in awe, her hand still groping at her hips and arse tightly. Agatha 's thumb swiping gently at the side of her face, to clean up the drizzle of alcohol that ran across her flesh. The brunette takes a moment to truly take the older woman in her blue eyes, flushed skin, her bloodied, bruised and cut lip.

Agatha tutted slightly reaching into the empty whiskey glass beside them to retrieve a piece of ice. Holding it up between them, the replicas cocked her brow in question before the brunette's free hand came to rest beneath her chin tilting up slightly before pressing the cool substance against her sore lip.

The replica hissing at the soothing yet stinging sensation; Agatha smirking slightly as she worked at nursing the other woman's lip with the ice gently, intensely focused on the broken flesh never looking away until satisfied with her work.

The other woman watched her closely, admiring the way the harsh light bounced off her soft auburn hair. The slope of her deep round cheekbones, the indentation of dimples clean upon her skin.

That's when she decided; This couldn't be a one-time thing. She had to see her again.

"There," Agatha stated, running her thumb gently across the broken lip, pulling it down slightly.

"You a nurse or something." The other woman's laugh, grasping the brunette's hand sharply before she could pull it away. Sucking her thumb into her mouth, tongue swirling around it delicately rehashing in the taste of her own dried essence.

"Or something" Agatha shrugged watching as her appendage pulses in between the replicas's lips; before drawing it with an audible pop.

"You think anyone heard us?"

"Oh most definitely, we'll have to work on their volume control little one." The older woman complains smirking, leaning down gently then slipped her own underwear off and into their palm before stand up straight again, a bundle of red lace handing off the index and pointer fingers.

"I'll go pay our tabs. Meet me outside, ten minutes." The replica ordered kissing the brunette quickly before drawing her mouth open with her tongue and stuff the underwear in. "In the meantime to keep that pretty little mouth quiet and busy, look after those for me."

Agatha moaned at the taste of the other woman against her tongue, the Lacey material scratching the roof of her mouth perfectly.

"Understandable baby? Clean up, mouth shut, outside ten minutes." She stated, kissing her forehead gently as Agatha nodded slowly, groaning around the fabric in her mouth. The replicas grinned wildly, pulling away with one final kiss on the younger woman's hair before exiting the bathroom. The image of excellence rather than someone who was just got fucked in a public bathroom.

Agatha watches her leave utterly perplexed at what had just happened, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, legs in steady as she grips the dirty porcelain sink. Her mouth filled with a mysterious woman's expensive underwear, legs slick with her own desire, fingers rained with another. She shivered all the utmost exhilarated at the thought of what could possibly happen next.

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #wandavision #marvel #avengers #agatha harkness #Agatha Harkness smut #Agatha Harkness fluff #Agatha Harkness fanfic #Agatha Harkness fanfiction #Agatha Harkness angst #Agatha x Agatha #selfcest #cover art #kathryn hahn

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vladimirsangel · 2 months ago

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not Christmas (but close)

a vignette for @blackforrestpunk that once again got out of hand. I love their version of Nadir so much.

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

Nadir puts both his hands on the kitchen counter and once more he looks at the small, orderly piles of ingredients and cartons while trying not to sigh. It is December again. Outside the apartment building the fallen snow is slowly turning to slush, and he is about to make dinner.

Let’s see. He enumerates, pointing a finger to each element of his menu in turn as he thinks.

There’s him, obviously. And he knows what he’s going to eat because he planned the dinner and bought all the food and he is going to cook it.

Rooky – ah, his lovely Rooky – she eats most things with gusto. She is not so keen maybe on the rotkohl as the other things but she will happily take a little and move on to things she likes better.

His pointing finger then wavers over the packet of cauliflower florets because he’s aware that he’s now getting to the fun part. Or the not-so-fun part. He smiles a little grimly, because this is part of his plan.

This is not a Christmas meal. Nadir doesn’t do Christmas. But it’s late December, he’s here, and Erik’s here, and a couple of nights ago Erik came back with company in tow. They have a house-guest.

Aurik. The weird little goth with the truly alarming dental problems is back, both in Nadir’s life and in Erik’s room. Nadir has almost lost track over the years of the parade of strange people who have followed Erik home – Azzi, Jago, any number of street kids – but Aurik has got to be one of the oddest ones. So quiet he almost makes Erik look chatty, and as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

That’s before Nadir even starts on the fact that Aurik seems to be into extreme body modification. Kids these days. Like green mohawks and piercings aren’t enough.

Aurik hasn’t been back to visit them for quite a while, and Nadir hadn’t dug too deeply into what had happened. These friends of Erik – they come and they go. Erik had been evasive on the subject, saying only that Aurik had “been away” and Nadir had really hoped that it hadn’t been something criminal.

Nadir pokes at a packet of breadsticks in front of him thoughtfully, and now he sighs. He honestly thought he’d seen it all when it came to peculiar eating habits, what with raising Erik since he was thirteen, but this goth really has beat everything. He doesn’t seem to eat at all. Nadir had once made schwartzsauer (after a rather hesitant suggestion from Erik) and had felt triumphant that Aurik had seemed enthusiastic and had eaten a few spoonfuls. He’d felt much less pleased with himself when he’d overheard Aurik getting sick in the middle of the night. What can you feed a goth who won’t eat?

And of course there’s Erik. Mister “I disassemble my lasagna into its component parts”. The undisputed king of “this is too hot”. The champion of “carrots are evil incarnate.” Erik doesn’t do well if surprised with new foods. Getting Erik to consume enough calories and vitamins has been a decade-long challenge. So what do you feed the punk who won’t eat? Nadir taps a slim bar of dark chocolate with his finger and smiles slightly. It wasn’t cheap, but he knows Erik will appreciate it. Call it a not-Christmas present. That is, of course, if Erik can make it through Nadir’s small act of revenge for a disagreement they’d had earlier.

Almost as if he can hear Nadir plotting, the door of Erik’s room opens. A little trill of Nirvana filters out, and Nadir hastily stows the chocolate bar out of sight.

“I invited Rooky, by the way,” he says, seemingly to the air. He knows Erik will be listening.

“She’ll be here in about an hour.”

There is no reply. The door shuts again. Nadir thinks he hears a murmur of voices, but he’s not sure.

Rooky arrives up the stairs in a flurry of new snow, wrapped in her good winter coat and stamping her boots to shuck the slush. She greets Nadir with a bright smile, seeing hm busy with the food, and calls out “Hi Erik!” to no response at all.

“So,” she adds, settling herself at the table. “Can I help?”

Nadir grunts and waves a spoon in negation. He seems somewhat irritable, and Rooky senses conflict. She then looks at the place settings around her, does simple maths, and says: “Is it Jago again?”

“If it was Jago I would have warned you in advance.” Nadir puts a lid on the pan he’s been stirring. “And possibly I would have left already. No. It is the goth.”

“Oh. This is the young man who lives rough in the Hauptfriedhof?” Rooky shakes her head. “Well I’m glad he’s indoors in this weather.”

“I’m making them blumenkohlauflauf,” says Nadir.

“But I thought Erik didn’t like - “

“Cauliflower was on sale.”

Rooky takes note of the expression on her love’s face and decides not to push it. After all this time she is used to Nadir and Erik occasionally having differences of opinion and that tension between them being expressed in all sorts of ways. She moves away from the subject of cauliflower – or “ghost broccoli” as Erik disparagingly refers to it.

“I finally get to meet this new friend of Erik’s,” she says, instead. “That’ll be nice.”

It is not, in fact, nice.

This is rather an unfair description; it could be worse. Nadir makes his dishes, puts them into serving bowls and brings them to the table, then calls for Erik. And calls for Erik again.

On the third call, there is still no Erik but there are hesitant footsteps in the hall, and the greyest person Rooky has ever seen inches anxiously into the room on silent, bare feet. Nadir is watching her closely as Aurik slinks to the table and takes a seat. He thinks he can guess what she’s thinking, as he had thought it himself; the lad must have argyria. And terrible buck teeth, even before he decided to start having his face modified to look cool.

Nadir is, however, wrong. Because what Rooky is thinking is: that is, one hundred percent, no possible doubt, a vampire. But it’s a vampire who is trembling and who looks as if he fully expects to have the earth open up and devour him at any moment. Just like a hundred other terrified, traumatised street kids. She takes pity on him, and smiles.

“You must be Aurik. I’m Rookheeya. It’s lovely to meet another friend of Erik’s.”

Aurik stares at her with huge, liquid silver eyes, but rallies and smiles back nervously with that fanged maw as Erik finally enters the room and takes the seat next to him.

“Hi,” Aurik whispers, and proceeds to stare at his empty plate as if it is a life sentence. Erik narrows his eyes, head lifted, expression otherwise hidden behind the surgical mask. Nadir meets that accusatory yellow gaze stonily. He knows Erik has seen the cauliflower. He will not back down. He is making a point.

“Lovely to see you, Erik,” Rooky says, smiling at him too. Erik is too busy staring venomously at the blumenkohlauflauf, which Nadir is now spooning out onto the plate in front of Aurik. Aurik’s expression wavers between horrified and baffled. He sniffs like a disgusted cat, his exposed nostrils twitching.

“I don’t think he eats ghost broccoli, Nadir,” says Erik, in a tone that suggests nobody in their right mind would consider eating ghost broccoli. Nadir gives him a look.

“I’m sure he’ll eat what he’s given, because Aurik is polite.”

Erik’s head lowers. His shoulders arch defensively. He takes the serving spoon and wordlessly puts some of the casserole onto his own plate. Aurik’s eyes dart furtively between his own full plate and the floor, trying to see if Sasha is hiding under the table and could be surreptitiously slipped some cauliflower. Nadir watches them both like a hawk as Rooky proceeds to serve herself, murmuring appreciation over the food.

Erik is obviously seething. His body language is rigid and intent, and he drops the serving spoon back into the casserole pot with a deliberate clatter. The sharp unexpected noise makes the ever-anxious Aurik next to him jump, one bony elbow coming down onto the edge of his dish – which traitorously flips and proceeds to catapult several spoonfuls of blumenkohlauflauf efficiently skywards.

Nadir has precisely two seconds to react before the warm cauliflower slaps him full in the eye. He yelps, Aurik squeaks out “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry -” and in this rapid confusion the still-resentful Erik chooses to turn his own plate into a weapon.

More casserole becomes airborne, and at greater speed because Erik’s premeditated action carries more force than Aurik’s involuntary one. This time a little spatters Nadir’s ear, adding to the glob that’s made its way down into his beard – but the bulk of it lands squarely on Rooky’s beautiful hair. She gasps. Erik’s eyes go wide in a very obvious oh-shit reaction. His abused plate slams back to the table, teeters on the edge, then tips over and drops with another loud clatter. Aurik hisses in alarm, the sound of a frightened cat, and Sasha, who had been hanging about in the hopes of some nice leftovers coming her way, investigates the fallen plate.

It’s when he sees a sticky floret slipping slowly down Rooky’s shocked expression that Nadir finally loses it.

“Erik,” he growls, and everything descends into chaos. Erik shoves back from the table sharply, the metal chair leg shrieking against the floor. This discordant sound in turn spooks Aurik for a third time, and now he bolts up in a blur of speed and flees the kitchen in a silent panic. Sasha’s claws skitter on the floor as she scrambles to follow her owner while he stalks rapidly from the room.

Doors slam. Silence falls for a brief moment and then Nirvana starts up again, slightly louder this time. Nadir curses. Rooky pragmatically wipes cauliflower off her face.

“Thanks for dinner, love,” she says. And smiles at him sympathetically.

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

About twenty minutes later and Nadir is prepared to admit that okay, he may have screwed up. As he peers out into the connecting hallway he can hear Rooky, bless her, starting to do the washing up. Erik’s door is still firmly closed and now that the music has been switched off the resentful silence is almost palpable. He knows better than to try and invade Erik’s room right now, and realising that he still has food in his beard, he determines to go and have a wash. Maybe things will look brighter once he’s had a wash.

He pushes open the bathroom door, steps inside -

The shower curtain is shaking.

Nadir frowns. Carefully he leans forward, craning his neck so that he can see a little more.

Bare grey feet with black toenails, drawn up into the corner of the bathtub.

“Aurik?” he says, surprised. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Aurik doesn’t say anything. He is huddled right up at the end of the bath, his stick-thin arms clutched around his knees. His head is hanging, curtaining his face with all that long, lank black hair. He is shivering as if utterly chilled to the bone, and Nadir, instantly recognising this kind of reaction with the benefit of long experience, immediately feels even worse. “Hey,” he says, softly, modulating his tone. “Hey. It’s okay. I know it was an accident. You’re not in trouble.”

Oh, this is far too much like Erik’s bad days as a kid. But this goth is not Erik; something which becomes very clear when Nadir tentatively starts to reach out a hand to help his guest out of the bath.

Erik was never keen on being touched. But Aurik sees the hand reached out in kindness and he practically lunges at Nadir, who finds himself being clung to with an intensity he had previously not encountered. Not having any other real option, he hugs back. The body in his arms is even skinnier than Erik’s, and he hadn’t even thought that was possible. Nadir settles himself back on the floor beside the bathtub, Aurik huddled against him.

And he’s still got cauliflower in his beard.

He sighs.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “You’re okay.”

He has got to get this kid some shoes. And a sleeping bag. Something. But for now -

He nudges Aurik slowly and gently, and the goth tentatively uncurls.

“Come on,” Nadir says, smiling. “You want to see if Erik wants some dessert?”

#phantom of the opera #poto #erik the phantom #erik poto #erik punk au #youve got the watches weve got the time #vampire oc #nadir khan #phantom fanfiction #my writing

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episodeoftv · 1 year ago

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Round 3 of 8, Group 1 of 2

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: 5.16 The Body

tw Death of a major character, grief, dealing with the death of a parent

Buffy, Dawn, and their friends deal with the aftermath of Joyce's death.

The purposeful removal of music for the whole episode, the grief portrayed, the portrayals of people with varying amounts of interaction with death. It hits so hard.

This episode killed me. I have never watched anything that has fully encompassed the feeling of loss and what it's like to experience death close to you than The Body. It is an absolute gut punch in the best way. I actually had to take a week off of watching Buffy to recover because I was so destroyed. 12/10 I don't think I will ever be able to watch this episode of TV ever again

One of the greatest depictions of grief and bereavement of all time. Both formally inventive and unique in its cinematography, sound design, editing etc. while also being an incredible personally affecting emotional experience.

There’s another buffy episode that probably deserves the title more, but I did have to give this one some recognition. For a whacky silly show about vampires, this episode is maybe the realest portrayal of death and grief I’ve ever seen. It’s not just a sad episode that makes audiences cry - I mean it is that - but it’s also this incredible examination of what it’s like to lose someone, and how the world shifts on its axis when that happens. The lack of any non diegetic music is an amazing touch to give this episode a sense of distance from all others. It’s real in a way that’s hard to watch but also unforgettable. Certain scenes and lines will always stay with me and will forever shape my feelings on life and loss.

The Simpsons: 4.17 Last Exit to Springfield

When Mr. Burns revokes the plant's dental plan, forcing Lisa to be fitted with cheap, ugly braces, Homer leads its union into going on strike.

Truly The Simpsons at its best. A small but heartfelt story with some iconic jokes (dental plan/Lisa needs braces; Classical Gas; punching Lenny in the back of the head) Lisa's protest song radicalized me at the age of 10. They have the plant but we have the power <3

#buff the vampire slayer #btvs #the simpsons #simpsons #poll #polls #round3 #r3g1

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locution-youngster-enjoyer · 5 months ago

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I'm gonna subjugate you all to my entire Seymour backstory (sorry in advance)

For my story... au.. thing, Seymour and Beau have almost completely parallel lives.

They both grew up in the same city (along with the Coach but he isn't important right now), and the city is essentially just.. the Outsiders. One side of it is really rich (Beau) while the other is really poor (Seymour).

Seymour's family is extremely dysfunctional. His father is horrible (I'm not going to dive too deep into it for trigger reasons), and he can't always go to school because of the conditions he's living in. The one thing he does have is his Mother, who's so unabashedly kind even when she's hurt. On the other hand, while Beau's parents aren't too hard on him and get him nice things, his relationship with them is shallow. He hardly has an emotional connection with them, they just want a nice poster child for their 'model' family.

Finally, Beau and Seymour meet at school for the first time. Seymour finds Beau crying in the bathroom because his nice clothes got ruined, so Seymour tries to help him make up an excuse. In the process of doing so, Seymour gets in trouble for ‘hurting’ Beau, and Beau gains immediate respect for him. No one could suspect that the kid with horrible dental care and habit for getting into minor trouble would befriend the goody-two-shoes rich kid. Although they are friends, they also branch off deeper into the societies they grow up in. Seymour learns his first 'tricks' to find a way to earn money, while Beau knows how to gain the respect from the snobbish members of his side of the city.

Speaking of their sides of the city, there are more differences than just the class system. Seymour's side of the city, while hectic, somehow has more sense of community. Sure there is violence, but overall there is a feeling of 'well this sucks, but it sucks for all of us here.' With Beau, there is hardly any violence, but everything is a constant competition of who's better in some way shape or form.

Despite all their differences, Beau and Seymour stay friends all the way until their later teen years when they start dating (Beau absolutely fell first). Unfortunately, Seymour’s dad forced him to drop out of highschool, so Beau starts teaching him from home. Meanwhile, Beau starts getting into orchestra, and Seymour does everything in his power to watch Beau perform. Eventually, after saving up (and stealing) enough money, Seymour is able to afford an admittedly very cheap ring to propose. No one had known of their relationship before then, and while Seymour wanted to rip the bandaid off and just tell their families, Beau was completely against the idea.

That's probably the biggest difference between the two of them. Seymour learned over time that he was never going to win the approval of certain people, so he stopped looking for it and only desired to be authentic. Beau wants to please the people around him, even if it means he's unhappy, and he's scared to do otherwise.

Beau is fine enough with telling Seymour's family they plan on getting married (minus his dad because that would be a disaster for everyone involved), but their relationship starts falling apart over the dilemma of telling Beau's parents. On top of that, Seymour is starting to feel a bit unappreciated because even though he’s taken so much shit for Beau, Beau never really sacrifices anything himself. Eventually, Seymour points out that Beau’s parents are going to find out eventually anyways, so Beau begrudgingly agrees. It goes as poorly as imaginable. Beau's family basically say that they're extremely disappointed in Beau, and call Seymour basically every synonym for 'gross poor person' imaginable. Seymour isn’t bothered by the insults, but by Beau’s lack of a response, and only gets pissed off when he realizes that Beau isn't going to fight back against them, and their relationship ends with Seymour calling Beau a "spineless, pompous piece of shit" and throwing the ring Beau bought him into Beau's face.

After that, Seymour realizes that he has nothing. He lost his fiance, The Coach went to boarding school because his parents wanted him to have a good education, and his home life is a complete disaster. So in a decision that he was planning to do for years, he shoves everything he owns into a suitcase, takes any money he has personally, writes a note, steals his father's credit card, and runs away from home. He had bought a train ticket in case he ever needed to run away previously, and used it to travel to a new city being built up so that he could start his life from scratch.

For a few weeks, Seymour's life consists of living in a homeless shelter, working at a gas station, and singing at bars to make an extra buck. One day, he gets lucky and gets pulled over at the bar by a producer who offers Seymour a better job. Seymour starts doing off-broadway acting, and while he never quite gets to broadway, he is talented enough that he gains a lot of fame from it.

Before his theater job really kicked off, Seymour continued to sing at bars, and gained a small fan-base over it. During one karaoke session, he runs into the Coach, who's finishing up college. The two are happy to see each other, and the Coach mentions that if Seymour ever needs help, he could call him. That help contained a lot of things, from general advice, to flat out selling illegal substances.

Meanwhile with Beau, his parents continued to push him through life. While he never voiced it, he had grown a strong resentment towards them ever since Seymour left. Plus, his parents had stopped any fake attempts at trying to connect with Beau. Eventually, Beau went to college and used every excuse possible to not connect with his parents, and eventually cut them off. He also started acting, but for small TV roles and ads, and also began gaining popularity. However, he was completely alone throughout the whole ordeal.

Throughout his theater career, Seymour started to sleep around, hoping to find someone in his life that could replicate the feelings he had when he was younger. His longest relationship at this time lasted about a week (they ended on good terms.) Beau on the other hand was committed to staying with one person. He had a girlfriend (the one he mentioned in that one May I Have a Word? segment). Their relationship wasn't that strong, and it left off with her telling him that he's weak. Considering how Beau's last relationship had left off, that stung.

Eventually, things start going left for Seymour. One thing I headcanon every villain to have in common is that they’ve all been screwed over by the Best family. In Seymour’s case, he had to deal with Victoria’s father. He was a absolute egomaniac, but admittedly a pretty good actor, and began to view Seymour as competition. So, somehow, he got knowledge of the fact that Seymour’s ex-fiancé is a man, plus the fact that he’s been intimate with other men during his career. He takes this knowledge, and outs Seymour to his producers and agents. His agent is a massive dong, and eventually just dumps Seymour off at a gameshow host job with barely any support. Seymour goes back to what he knows best; scamming. It actually keeps him on his feet for a while before Wordgirl catches onto him. For Beau, he lost motivation for the acting gig after his relationship ended, and decided to settle for a smaller job of being a gameshow host. Unlike Seymour, Beau didn't lose his financial support and is able to keep going.

The way Seymour got his 'im so awesome and sexy and talented and better than everyone' personality is a combination of the fame he got from his theater job, and his desperation to stay relevant during his gameshow. The way Beau got his 'im so good looking and nice and talented' personality is because of his parents and his desire to stay relevant.

Now we get to the present day. Seymour is back to being dirt poor (arguably more so than when he was a child) and is left suffering on the streets. Strangely, the person he seems to befriend in this situation is somehow the Narrator, who is the only guy who's willing to talk to the guy who's been regarded as a narcissistic douchebag. Eventually, the Narrator casually hints to Wordgirl that “hey, maybe you should go check on Seymour since you don’t talk to him that much.” Wordgirl sees how Seymour’s living conditions are incredibly atrocious, so she asks him if there is anyone he can stay with. After a quick talk, Seymour gets dropped off at the Coach’s apartment and becomes his roommate. Because of this, Seymour also is forced to hang around with the Villain Schoolers, both the ones who have graduated to the ones being taught. His opinions on them range from “I’m chill with you” to “Please shut up, I’m going to get a hernia from you talking”

Meanwhile, Beau’s gameshow is going strong, and he feels as though he has a sort of mini found family with the contestants + Huggy. Despite this, he’s become more depressed over the years. As much as he hypes himself up on tv, he has horrible self esteem, and obsesses over keeping himself ‘perfect.’ Despite the fact he hasn’t seen his parents in years, he still feels the weight of their influence, and is scared that one day they’ll show up and ruin everything for him. The main reason he adopted his pet cat was to boost his mental health, and she does give him something to focus on rather than constant negative thoughts. Otherwise, he feels completely alone. He hasn’t had a relationship since his last one with his girlfriend, and as much as he refuses to publicly admit it, he *really* misses Seymour.

UHh, yeah that’s pretty much it, feel free to ask me stuff about it. I’ve been working on this post for literal months. Also, feel free to let me know if I should do my backstory on any other character.

#wordgirl #wordgirl villains #wordgirl seymour orlando smoothe #wordgirl the coach #wordgirl headcanon #wordgirl beau handsome

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