#dot au

[crimsonterror577]

I spent way too much time on this for the little attention it ended up getting. Either way, I hope Tumblr likes this piece. If you want the full context and concept for this, then hit me up, and I'll give you link for it.

A Ship of Theseus, and a Drone of Tessa, a Murder Drones concept.

[awellboiledicicle]

I'm going to have Dot romance Astarion because i can, but also in isekai tradition she accidentally makes everyone fall for her.

Okay more specifically all the guys because the women know what the word platonic means. Is this me joking about the game being buggy here and there? yes. Is it also a comment on cultural differences sending a mixed message? also yes.

Gale gets his hair braided so it stays out of his face while he fights and cooks, doesn't know how to emotionally process how nice it feels to have someone play with his hair and pat his head and say he's good to go.

Wyll finds himself suddenly the one explaining what manners are, even after clarifying he's been a wandering hero for like 10 years. He's also the one teaching her how to use rapiers, and feeling very odd about all the touching to correct her stance and posture. Not so much because he can't separate the context, he's just not used to the excited hugs after he tells her she's doing well or the little taps she gives him when they're just in camp and he's slouching. "Posture, Wyll!" before snickering and asking how he's doing.

Astarion meanwhile is just entirely convinced she's going to be the easiest mark he's ever gone after that's sober. Because, by her own admission, she was a very lonely woman with no time for companionship outside occasionally meeting with friends. No real time for fun or release, as far as she tells it. So it feels like he's having an easy time seducing her... but she keeps like. Asking if he's doing ok. Offering him hats they find and cloaks, on the off chance the sun is TOO much for him. He'd never admit that it sometimes IS, but he deals with it because he missed it so much. She asks after his food preferences, if he can even have normal food, and then after his wine preferences when he lets slip that alcohol is the only thing that vaguely tastes like anything anymore aside blood. She finds out he embroidered his clothing and keeps asking him how he learned [he doesn't remember], if he'd like her to keep an eye out for thread, if he'd like her to get him some needles so he could be ready if they found some. If he'd like some of the garments they loot enough to unravel them into something he could use-- he doesn't point out that most of them are too coarse a thread or generally worn enough that the thread will snap. He's not sure why he doesn't point it out, after a bit. Like, she'll flirt with him when he flirts with her, and seems not to hold the whole first meeting against him, but she's just... nice. Cheery. Upbeat to the point of making his teeth grind. Until she's not. Until they're all limping through making camp so they can all lick their wounds and she nearly snarls at him for taking her spot. Or offers up some cutting remark after a goblin mouthed off, shortly before its head left its shoulders.

Because like, Dot is very customer service habit having. Very used to the whole culture of "yeah, we're a team!! go team!! Efficiency!" of a workplace. She's very prone to pulling up the smiley happy face most the time, and then going absolutely fucking hog wild. Because she doesn't HAVE to do that anymore-- she just knows she's the leader and best she has for template on that is team meetings where there were donuts and coffee she had to bring in.

The stark difference intrigues Astarion, i feel. If only because he can tease her about it and she just pouts at him.

i'm pondering

[lorryicious]

If Bill's dad is red, I wonder if Bill is reminded of him when he gets angry...

[morganbritton132]

I love Only Child Steve Harrington but I do also really like the idea of him having older siblings that are a lot older than him so he’s basically an only child. Like he was a save the marriage baby.

His parents are checked out because they’ve already raised children and are a few years out from retiring. Steve feels like a constant failure because he’s being compared to grown adults that are all established in their life. Three of his nieces are older than him.

No one ever remembers that he has siblings until after Billy beat the shit out of him and Hopper forced him to go to the hospital. A nurse cheerfully informs him that they called his brother which - “Fuck, Hopper. Get me out of here. I don’t want to deal with that.”

If they called Jason then he definitely called Claire and if Claire was called then she called Richie because he’s the only one who can ever get ahold of Dad, and “-please, Hop. It’s going to be so annoying.”

“Didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t. I have an annoyance that-“

Steve’s kinda expecting Claire to show up first because she works in the hospital, but they can hear Richie before they see him. He’s threatening to sue the hospital, sue the police, sue Steve-

“You can’t sue me for getting hurt.”

“Child endangerment,” Richie says. “You endangered a child by being, I’m sure, an idiot. I’d make the charge stick.”

“You can stick it up your- ow!” Steve flinched when Jason jabbed his fingernail into the stitches in his forehead. “Hopper, I’m being assaulted.”

“Since you have an adult here, I’m going,” Hopper says, abandoning him. “Good work tonight, Harrington. You did good.”

Steve can’t even articulate how much he’d rather go round two with Billy than be here but Hopper’s gone and Claire is apparently two floors up helping to deliver a baby, and, “Don’t tell Mom about this.”

“Already called her.”

[intistone]

this killed my artblock okay

well.

the hyperfixation created something something au, so....yeah.

AU where the whole Book of Bill and the backstory doesn't change at all, but instead of just putting bill into space therapy, the AXOLOTL also creates...uh.

This guy.

Not a twin, not a second chance, not a reincarnation.

This Bill, or "Nick" (chosen by Mabel because he's got a nicked side from le punch) is more of a "what couldve been" alternate created for the purpose of being a test or an example for the real bill. Everything Bill was SUPPOSED to develop personality wise before the collapse of his dimension...but with his memories sill intact from that moment. It's not a restart and memory loss thing, but more of a coping and learning to heal, starring the Pines family losing their minds over what seems like o be a lookalike of the evil dorito man.

Again....his only purpose was to show the real Bill what could have been, if his coping methods weren't as....unhinged and destructive. So he wasn't intentionally supposed to be a long-term friend or anything to the town of Gravity Falls.

....but things change.

Things change.

some more info stuff under the cut about this au :D

Nick is nervous, anxious, uses humor to cope, and a bit mischevious (bit of the og Bill there), but takes out his trauma/guilt on art and creating instead of destructive tendencies. He frequently likes to throw up murals and run off.

He has multiple self-care issues. Just in general because of his memories and because of his fractured physical state.

He had to do a LOT of work to gain the Pine's trust. Obviously. but he would definitely get along with Mable and, though it would take a lot more time, Dipper. Because....Dipper. The Book of Bill really showcased how pissed Dipper was with Bill's actions.

The Pines don't like to call him Bill because...bad association with that name. Hence the name Nick, because they kinda think its not REALLY bill. just a less fucked up version

His powers are limited and fractured due to being an altered form. He can't levitate, warp reality, or be considered immortal. however, he still IS Bill Cipher....so all that may be buried in there somewhere.

Bro has a LOT of stuff to work through and unpack.

[that1notetaker]

This cotl concept horse is probably the reason why Narinder was banned from experimenting with life and put in jail time. I love it so much

The lamb: what IS THAT.

Narinder: Fucked up thing I invented once

The lamb: what do you mean invented

Narinder, a god not just in name but the lamb doesnt know that yet: Spare time project

The lamb: ...does it have teeth?

Narinder: Sometimes

[codename-adler]

November 4th, 2024

i love you boys

>> 26 next >>

[mipmoth]

Outfits based on Zekrom and Reshiram for some photo shoot Elesa convinced them

Also funny if it's dragon twin au because

[haro0o]

Just finished S1 TF EarthSpark and absolutely love the found family trope, you know what this means?

AU!!

Absolutely inspired by this lil cute au by @neonross ‘s lil Dee au!

More sibs for The Malto family!!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

PART 10

[bunnieswithknives]

How much can you fit under your skin?

For @warning-heckboop's AU :3

[crimsonterror577]

Once the puppeteer, now the puppet. A Drone-Tessa concept I've been thinking about. Hopefully the 6 people who followed me after the 1st drone-Tessa post like this lol. If anyone here has any thoughts or feedback on this, tell me, I'd be glad to hear it!

A day in the Elliott manor,

It had been some time since Tessa had awoken. Or Cyn rather, as the Solver declared her name to be. Tessa couldn’t tell how much time went by in the ruins of Earth. The clocks hadn’t been working since Tessa awakened. And ever since the Absolute Solver broke Earth to pieces, the Elliott manor didn’t have a fluent day schedule. With each day having an sporadic length, sometimes lasting hours, minutes, or seemingly forever. Even during the night, light was still reflected onto the Elliott manor’s surface, but the other pieces of Earth. Ensuring there wasn’t any end to Cyn’s playing.

Tessa couldn’t tell whether she could call the planet Earth, anymore. The Solver turned Earth into a debris field, with its minor pieces orbiting its largest piece, which contained the Elliott manor, now Cyn’s liar.

“No, ‘the stage’ is a better name,” Tessa thought, while laying on her knees, scrubbing a rug with a sponge. “For a pointless house of living dolls.”

It was quiet in the Elliott manor. Cyn usually spent her time torturing someone, though not always Tessa. Cyn also played with possessed puppets on far-off galaxies, and now she was sitting dormant in Tessa’s old room, playing her game of cat and mouse with mankind. In the meantime, Cyn always ordered Tessa around the manor, cleaning it pointlessly. 

The first thing Cyn ordered of Tessa, upon her awakening, was to clean the blood leftover from the Gala event. Which Tessa did, cleaning the room roof to floor, yet the blood mixed very well with carpets, dragging Tessa to a stalemate.

“Dammit, If she hates blood so much, why’d she flood the back woods with it?” Tessa exclaimed silently, while looking up. “I suppose this must’ve been how she thought when I was free.”

Tessa sighed, and looked to her right, where her eyes caught a portrait of her old self, with her drones, all assembled together alongside her parents. 

“Ah, when I was free…” Tessa thought out loud.

Tessa looked at J's face, and smiled, thinking back to the laughter they once sang, and how eager they seemed to help her when her parents had seemingly left her.

“It was all an act,” Tessa thought, her smile frowning, as she turned back to the blood soaked carpet. “Just a mask.”

Tessa began scrubbing the carpet with renewed vigor.

“Mother was right, none of them really cared after all,” Tessa thought, remembering the emotionless look in J’s eyes when her builder got struck down. “Took my name, my family, my home, even my whole name. Mother wasn’t even this cruel.”

Tessa’s scrubbing slowed.

“I really was just made to be someone’s fool, wasn’t I?” Tessa thought. “First pushed around by the parents, and now by an eldritch horror.”

Tessa stopped scrubbing, before slamming her fist down on the carpet.

“What am I thinking? I am still an Elliott, no matter what Cyn says,” Tessa thought. “And Elliott’s don’t quit.”

Tess’s face grew angry.

“Some day, I will get out of here. I have to,” Tessa thought, slamming the sponge repeatedly into the stained rug. “And when I do, I’ll burn this stupid blonde wig, I’ll call myself by my real name…” 

Tessa gave one last knock on the floor.

“And I will kill every last one of those 4 traitors,” Tessa thought.

Tessa’s momentum slowed to a halt, her eyes closed in contemplation. Finally, Tessa let out a sarcastic laugh, as she begrudgingly lifted herself up, and sat up against a wall, trying to breathe, yet her own metallic body failed to draw in air. Letting out a few shallow laughs, she felt an urge to cry, yet no tiers greeted her metallic face. Finally, Tessa sighed, and slouched back.

“But how?” Tessa said quietly.

[awellboiledicicle]

Its going to be all good until Dot gets a chocolate craving and mentions it around Gale "Waterdeep has Everything" Dekarios.

Because he'll start waxing poetic about a tart he had or a delightful cake... and she'll just.

"Gale that sounds great, but all I want to do is curl up and pour syrup and whipped cream directly into my mouth."

"That... is also an option. One I haven't tried, admittedly, but an option." A pause. "So do you just tip the bowls or--"

"Chocolate syrup comes in a bottle you squeeze. Think a waterskin of chocolate."

"Huh. Alright."

"And the whipped cream comes in a can." A blink as she processed his look of confusion. "Think flask that's under a lot of pressure so when you press on the top, the cream foams out."

"Fascinating... and you'd just..."

"Just pour both in, yup."

"Why?"

"You look me in the eyes and say that it doesnt sound like a decadent time. Just a nice treat."

"Well yes, but doesn't it go bad? What with Earths lack of magic to keep things cool."

"We have this magical thing called science, you know. Making a box cold we figured out."

"Fair enough." A hum. "I just can't imagine pure chocolate tasting good."

"Oh no, no, chocolate syrup is mostly just sugar and coloring. It's just cheap. If you magically summoned me a cake I'd take that any day."

"I see."

"Wait. Did you think I was saying I wanted to just sit down and house whole bowls of chocolate and cream? Because that's certainly an image."

"I don't know what people on Earth do for fun!"

"Nope we all sit around pouring sweets down our faces. Just getting real sloppy with it."

"Now that is a wildly different mental image--"

"And a thing that some people actually did."

"Pardon?"

"We have strayed from me wanting chocolate."

"No, no, let's stay in this delightful new world you've just described." Astarion pipes up, having watched quietly up to this point. "Do tell me where these people get enough chocolate to do that."

A sigh.

"Its mostly people watching women get lathered in syrup and wrestling in their small clothes." A grimace. "I just always get distracted thinking about the clean up."

"Go on."

"Not like that, christ--"

"You opened the door! I just peered through!"

Gale, meanwhile looked like he'd swallowed a frog. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Thats.. something to imagine."

"I cannot believe this is where we landed."

"Less landed and more strolled in a straight line, darling, but Do pretend you didnt raise this specter."

"I just wanted a mouth full of sugar and here we are."

"A mouthful you say--"

"Astarion I remind you I have eldritch blast on tap, just whenever."

"You think I'm funny, don't lie."

"Fine but you're going to kill Gale."

"I am... perfectly fine."

Karlach trotted further ahead and waved her hands.

"Actually, can we get back to the women wrestling in pools of chocolate and cream? Because--"

"You're all horrible."

"--whats the win condition. Does the loser have to clean off the winner--"

"We are not discussing this while goblin hunting."

"Soldier, you cant tell me theres horny wrestling and NOT clarify--"

"I didnt SAY horny--"

"Implied it!"

"Eldritch blast on all of you."

[lorryicious]

BACK WITH THE THERAPRISM COMICS. I was self indulgent this time and put my gravity falls oc lore in it I HOPE THATS OKAY-

If u don't wanna hear about him, just PRETEND THE LAST SLIDE ISN'T THERE. I LOVE BEING CRINGE!!!

haha Jack Cynosure Bill Cipher scar symbolism. A scar for a scar.

Been so busy but finally have a schedule down so expect more Bill art >:))

Also, just a reminder, his scar is TV-STATIC!!, which probably reminds him of Euclydia and his family in general, though either way, he's crying about it!! WOO

[ohposhers]

ive been sitting on this gay sonic mlp concept for months im gonna be sick to my stomach am i cooking or am i cooked chat

[kafus]

last night i randomly had a dream about a horizons movie coming out where the premise was dot becoming a dragon trainer so i woke up and immediately drew it LOL