#euclid shook

[theamericanpin-up]

Euclid Shook "Promise" - November 1948 Girls of Esquire Calendar Illustration - American Pin-up Calendar Collection - "The most alluring creature in the world dwells in North America, roaming at will between the Atlantic and Pacific, south of Montreal and polar side of the Rio Grande. Her genus; Americana; species; Woman."

[secretinasecret]

Here are some the canon information we now know after the Book of Bill and the strange website Soos FINALLY FIXED:

Saclene and Euclid are Bill’s parents.

Stanford’s middle name is Filbrick.

After spending only one day in Gravity Falls, Dipper and Mabel debated escaping through the window and calling the FBL on Stan. Mabel shook an 8-Ball, and they decided to stay. Stan overheard everything, and he considers it one of his lowest moments in life.

There is a high possibility that Dipper and Mabel’s parents got a divorce while they were in Gravity Falls, and that is why they wanted to send them away in the first place.

Bill feels remorse for destroying his dimension and wears his father’s hat, or a similar one.

Dipper’s legal name is Mason.

Back at home, Dipper once overheard his parents argue, and it gave him a nightmare.

Bill tried to make a deal with Pacifica before Blendin.

Eda Clawthrone was only one of Stan’s ex-wives.

Stan once considered to blame every crime he ever committed on Soos, and it is his darkest thought.

Bill cannot get over the fact that Stan was the one who threw in the final punch and saved Gravity Falls. He never will.

Soos hopes to have children with Melody, very soon.

Gideon still has feelings for Mabel.

Dipper and Mabel only survive in one timeline out of infinite. (The wildest one)

Mabel once tried to send her mother a videotape of her sticking gummy worms up her nose.

Stan wears a male girdle.

Dipper and Mable were born in 1999, which would make them 25 years old today.

[thicctails]

Everytime I see your art of Euclid and Scalene and see their still existing injuries, I can't help but imagine a little just a goofy FUN little scene; that everytime Bill sees the injuries of his parents, the sight of his dad's sides slashed and especially the sight of his own mom missing an arm or one of her eyes because of him.

Bill feels GUTTED with guilt, I can see him considering finding a way to heal his parents but so terrified of messing things up and just making things worse for them. Like when things hopefully get calmer, I can see Bill immediately at either of his parents' side. Helping his mom when she aches or to get something that she's unable to, quick to get his dad to rest when his sides begin to bleed again.

AND BRO GIVEN THE FACT THAT EUCLID AND SCALENE CAN ENTER THE 3D PLANE BUT IT HURTS THEM, OH YOU KNOW BILL IS SHOOK OVER THAT GOD I LOVE YOUR AU I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS

[gregorovitch-adler]

Romance

After Holmes had arrested Jefferson Hope, and I had had a discussion with him that I was going to publish the story in The Strand - to let everyone know who had really solved the case - Holmes had agreed.

A better explanation would be that Holmes did not care. It did not matter to him who received the credit for solving the case in the newspapers. However, it did matter to me. Very much, in fact.

In what world was it fair for the police officers at Scotland Yard to take help from Holmes to solve the case every step of the way and not even thank him publicly? It simply could not happen. Not on my watch.

After having published the story, I decided to show it to Holmes. I was quite enthusiastic about it.

However, I had not expected Holmes to react so badly.

When I brought up the conversation, whilst he was consuming his damn cocaine - with his long and thin legs stretched out on the coffee table - he shook his head ruefully.

“I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.”

“But the romance was there,” I remonstrated. “I could not tamper with the facts."

I had feared that this conversation might be going in a dangerous direction. Holmes was not insinuating the obviousness of my feelings for him - that had developed over time - was he?

Well, if he decided to spell it out, I would not hesitate to remind him about how much he had blushed after listening to my compliments about his detective work.

I could not say anything for sure, but as time passed, I had a feeling that there was something between us. A connection, of sorts. One that went beyond what a couple of flatmates usually had.

Holmes may have a habit of pretending that he preferred to be unemotional, but I was his closest friend. I lived with him. I might not be as brilliant as he was, but I could tell that he did not mean it.

"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it.”

I was annoyed at this criticism of a work that had been specially designed to please him. Moreover, I was hurt to know that he would deviate this much from the truth.

Maybe I had miscalculated. Probably it was only I who felt the connection between us. Not him. I frowned at the thought and swallowed as I stopped pacing and took a seat on my armchair across from Holmes in the sitting room.

I was willing to speak up this time, though.

I inhaled deeply and held my breath as I spoke. "And why, pray tell, do you want to suppress the facts, specifically about romance? Is it because the same facts hit too close to home?"

Holmes came out of his dazed state, dropped his legs on the floor, and sat up straight with his grey eyes widened.

"What are you getting at, Watson?" asked Holmes cautiously.

"We have not been friends for that long, but for what little time I have known you, I've developed a profound respect for you and your work. There is more to it, however. I have grown to have feelings for you. Romantic feelings, in particular."

Holmes leaned forward in his chair and pinned me with an intense gaze. Fortunately, he did not try to interrupt me.

"I think that you have, too. Although I could be extremely wrong on that part, it makes little sense for you, of all people, to want to suppress the facts and events that happened for real. So, I want to know: Am I right about the real reason or not? I would certainly understand if I am completely off the mark and you do not feel the same, but I need to know."

I breathed deeply after having blurted all that out, hoping to dear Lord that I had not messed up everything and ruined our friendship.

"Oh, dear Watson," Holmes breathed. His long and thin fingers were tapping on his sinewy lap vigorously. "You are so exactly on point sometimes. Everything you said - all of it... I feel the same way."

My heart fluttered with excitement and happiness. A ridiculously wide smile spread across my face. It looked as though he wanted to say more, so I let him.

Holmes continued. "And yes, I do not wish for the whole world to know about it through your stories. I see I was a bit too harsh about it, moments ago. I apologise."

Holmes got up to make sure the door was shut and the window curtains had been drawn. They were. Holmes then walked across the room to approach me. I was still sitting, so he looked down at me with the same intensity as before.

I looked up to meet his gaze and locked my eyes with him.

He held out his pale hand to me in an offer.

My heart pounded as I took that hand and got up to meet his eye level.

His eyes were filled with longingness and pain. His brows were furrowed. "The world will never forgive us. They will never acknowledge that we are just two people in love who happen to be men."

He was right, as always. My eyes welled up as I gulped. I was still holding his hand, which felt warm and dry in mine.

"I know. Do you think this is a bad idea, then?" I tried to be prepared for the worst. 'Tried'.

Holmes placed his other hand on my waist and pulled me close. Our faces were just inches away. "I never said that, Watson. I was never the one to go with the rules, was I?"

We both shared a short laugh. Without another word, we leaned in and I captured his bottom lip with my mouth.

He made a desperate sound and we deepened the kiss with our arms wrapped around each other tightly. The dam had broken, and we were unable to let go for a whole minute.

I pulled away reluctantly. "Holmes, I-"

"Sherlock."

My ears had been aching to hear that correction. "Sherlock, I was saying that we need to deal with this in a practical way as well. I will not forgive myself if we were to be arrested because of this," I said with my brows furrowed.

"You are right," he said, holding my face in his hands.

"I suppose we would have to confine our relationship to the rooms of this flat." My heart was heavy.

My lover's ethereal grey eyes lit up with a mischievous glint in them. Christ, the effect those eyes always had on me.

"I have a plan."

Of course, he did. I was now looking at him with expectation and pride.

"You are going to have to marry a woman."

"What the deuce are you -"

"Shh." Sherlock placed a long finger on my mouth. "Just listen. That woman is a distant relative of mine. She is going to be our next client too. Her name is Mary Morstan."

I still did not get what was going on. Was he already pushing me away?

"For God's sake, do not look so heartbroken," he said and pulled my face close by my chin to press another kiss on my mouth.

"Her situation is just like ours. She has fallen in love with another woman too. Only I knew about that until now. She is in a constant state of having to look over her shoulder, trying to keep the prying eyes of this cruel world away. It occurred to me just now that if you married her, we would not have to worry about society anymore. It would be helpful for all four of us."

I sighed in relief and gave this whole thing a thought for a moment. "Excellent plan, Sherlock. This is brilliant!"

Sherlock smiled and looked down as he blushed.

"Just remember to never be on a first-name basis in public. John."

I grinned from ear to ear like an idiot, before pulling him in for a slow, drawn-out kiss again.

I knew what I had to do next. I just had to twist the facts in my next story to make it look like I was in love with Mary or whatever her name was.

Now, nobody would speculate a thing about Holmes and I, would they?

***

Sherlock September Challenge

Prompt Romance by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @lookingforlifeoutthere @clueless-mp4 @missdeliadili @curlyjohnlock @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @kettykika78 @calaisreno

[myemuisemo]

With April showers, Letters from Watson brings us the first installment of The Sign of the Four, a prospect that makes me quake. When I was a tot of eight years, reading the library's copy of The Boy's Sherlock Holmes with a creeping sense of guilt because I was not at that time (and have not been at any time before or since) a boy, I found The Sign of the Four... long. Very long. I was obviously too young for the concepts, even though I could make sense of the words. (That sums up a lot of my reading in that era.)

I'm also reeling from last week's "The Man with the Watches," an utter tragedy of "be gay, do crime."

What's striking me this time -- what with the introduction of Holmes' cocaine use and also the watch deduction that raises a wince and a shudder from anyone who remembers that BBC Sherlock happened -- is how Watson is being positioned (and I don't mean "positioned in the path of which bullet," though apparently he got hit by more than one while in India).

Cocaine

Watson is progressive! His objections to cocaine sound so mild to us in the twenty-first century, but in 1890, scientific opinion was just barely starting to turn away from seeing cocaine as a wonder drug. It was used for local anesthesia as well as for general pep. Queen Victoria drank Vin Mariani, a wine fortified with cocaine, and so did the Pope. Coca Cola contained cocaine until 1906. Sigmund Freud was a vocal proponent of cocaine for improving mood and performance, until he botched an operation in the early 1890s while high.

A couple hair-raising reads on this topic are Cocaine: The Victorian Wonder Drug and A Cure for (Anything) that Ails You: Cocaine in Victorian Medicine.

So Holmes' original audience would have seen him as an up-to-date scientist using a socially approved means of moderating his mood. His shooting up a 7% solution of cocaine is about equivalent to a 21st century person taking nutritional supplements that are meant to boost brain power.

After all the "say no to drugs" education in the American school system, that's so hard for me to get my brain around, but there we are. Holmes is doing something no more troubling than pouring a glass of whiskey and much more scientific.

Watson, therefore, can be read either as being right at the edge of shifting scientific opinion or as being a fussbudget.

Tinge it with romanticism

I'm firmly Team Watson when Holmes starts criticizing A Study in Scarlet:

He shook his head sadly. “I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.”

The reader is being positioned here to view with contempt the exact features of the work that we probably enjoyed. Poor Watson!

Is it possible that some reviewers commented on the melodrama of the Lucy portions? Yes, and it'd be a valid point. Nonetheless, having experienced a good many math classes, I think the fifth proposition of Euclid might be improved by a rom--

wait.

Doyle, you magnificent bastard.

Flatland: A Romance in Many Dimensions was published in 1884. It wasn't a huge success, but it seems likely Doyle could have known it, and it did, in fact, mention a love story in a discussion of angles. Back when I read it in college (because if you "liked math," someone would inevitably give you a copy of Flatland), I missed the social satire but appreciated the geometry.

Watson is canonically an effective popular writer, and I refuse to denigrate him for that.

The Watch

First, Holmes substantially invents forensic science with his monographs on tobacco and on callouses.

Then we learn that Watson is a second son, which fits with his his training for a profession and choosing the army to help make his way.

Watson was not on great terms with his brother before his brother's death. Holmes doesn't explicitly deduce this, but it's there to be deduced. Holmes knew Watson's father was long dead, which could have come up in any number of casual ways. Holmes had no idea that Watson had a brother, so Watson:

Didn't mention the brother in any context, ever.

Didn't set up any framed daguerreotypes from his childhood nor any modern photos made with the collodion process. Having a posed family photo would have been so completely normal, as would being sent new photos by family members.

Never interrupted his routine to visit his brother while living with Holmes.

Did not attend his brother's funeral (unless it took place while Holmes was away) and did not wear a black armband for mourning in Holmes' presence. Neglecting mourning for a relative would have been a sign of serious estrangement.

Holmes is possessed of some level of tact in not expanding on this topic.

Watson is also nobody's fool: he knows there are ways to fool a mark with apparently miraculous knowledge.

The question in my mind is this: did Watson deliberately distract Holmes from asking what was the subject of the telegram?

[notpulpcovers]

Euclid Shook

[whump-card]

Leandro and Krysa: Chapter 2

yeah, forget what I said about writing ahead further. I need these OUT THERE.

3725 words

NSFW, spanking, unprotected sex but there's fantasy BC don't worry about it, near discovery, fellatio

Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Prince Leandro wasn’t exactly subtle. All the next day he kept glancing at Krysa, giggling, biting his lip, generally being a nuisance. Krysa kept his eyes ahead, bristling at every snicker. What was worse was the majority of their day was spent in a meeting; The Queen, the barons, the duchies, and the two princes, all gathered around a great table sipping and nibbling refreshments while a clerk droned out letters from the farther regions and the Queen barked her responses. Every once in a while a noble would dare to make a suggestion, and the Queen, eyes fiery dark, would stare them down until they acquiesced. Leandro’s older brother, crown prince Euclides, sat picture-perfect, the paleness he inherited from his late father making him look like a propped up corpse. Leandro, by contrast, slumped and fidgeted and whispered to the nobles seated next to him, who had enough sense not to engage. The prince huffed and sighed at being ignored, and set to flicking a grape back and forth between his hands.

The audacity, the disrespect, made Krysa fume. The prince of a nation, without the sense to take his position seriously! There were those who would kill for that privilege – literally, that was why Krysa was there in the first place.

The meeting eventually adjourned and Leandro was out of his chair like a shot, grabbing at Krysa’s arm.

“Krysa, let’s go to the pond!”

Krysa desperately wanted to swat Leandro’s hand away, but made no such move under the acute eye of the Queen. He only glared down, and nodded curtly. At this coldness, the prince’s eyes widened, and a horrible smile crept over his face.

“Oh, Krysa, are you mad about something?”

Krysa cleared his throat, feeling a flush creep out of his collar. He glanced around at the nobles around them, the throng trickling towards the door.

“Heyyy, Krysa…” Leandro teased, sliding his hand up Krysa’s arm and squeezing his bicep through the quilted armor. The bodyguard tensed.

“Knock it off!” he hissed.

“Make me,” whispered the prince.

Oh, that did it.

“Sit your ass down,” Krysa growled.

Leandro practically glowed with anticipation, returning to his chair and bouncing in his seat. The nobles cleared the room, and the Queen was the last to leave, shuffling together papers and trailed by her clerk and Euclides. She didn’t spare Leandro a glance – she had written him off long ago. His presence was a formality. He was a spare.

Once they were alone, Krysa left Leandro’s side and walked around the great table to bolt the two doors. Leandro watched him with a massive grin on his face.

“What are you doing that for?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m going to bend you over this table and smack some goddamn sense into your ass,” Krysa snarled. Then, after a pause where he remembered his position, “If I may.”

“Oh, you may!” Leandro crowed, “And can you, well, hit me really hard?” the prince flushed, worrying at his rings, “Because I really want you to, really, pin me down, and…”

“Will you shut up?” Krysa raised his voice. Leandro tittered uncontrollably, pressing his hands to his round cheeks. Glowering, Krysa strode around the table. Leandro let out an excited yelp and scrambled out of his chair, making as if to run, but Krysa closed the distance rapidly and caught the prince’s arm. He pulled him close, tightening his arms around and pinning Leandro to his chest. Leandro laughed and wiggled, and Krysa shook him slightly.

“Is there not a lick of sense in you?” Krysa demanded, “Behaving like a child in front of the whole court!”

Leandro tilted his head back to look up at Krysa with a devilish grin.

“Are you going to punish me?”

“Will it make you shut up and behave?”

“Mmmaybe.”

Krysa abruptly shoved Leandro away. The prince stumbled, catching himself on the table. Before he could turn around to face Krysa the bodyguard pressed a hand between the prince’s shoulder blades and shoved him down, pinning his chest against the table. Leandro gasped, and his hands scrabbled against the abandoned maps and papers. Krysa paused, allowing the prince a brief moment to collect himself, to voice any concerns, but unfortunately Leandro took the opportunity to just keep talking.

“You can really let loose, you know, I won’t mind, like you could really, really hit me, and if you wanted to, say, afterwards, do anything else-”

Krysa kept one hand firmly on Leadro’s back, feeling the ridges of his corset lacing through his doublet. With the other hand the bodyguard searched the prince’s pockets and found his handkerchief, shaking it out before wadding it onto a ball. He leaned forward and shoved it into Leandro’s running mouth. Leandro squeaked at the intrusion before bursting into giggles, muffled by the silk.

Krysa turned his attention to Leandro’s ass, full and round and at his mercy. The table was tall enough, or rather, Leandro was short enough, that his feet in his foolish little shoes were on tiptoe, straining for purchase. It was quite a sight. Krysa felt somewhat euphoric, but his heavy annoyance remained.

“Ready?” he snapped, lifting an open palm.

“Mhm! Mhm!” Leandro whined eagerly.

Needing no further encouragement, Krysa brought his hand down on Leandro’s ass with gusto, eliciting a loud smack! The prince jolted with a muffled yip, his feet shuffling, and Krysa took another pause. When no objections were raised, the bodyguard struck again, enjoying Leandro’s desperate little response, the straining of his legs, the flexing of his hands.

I could get used to this.

Krysa settled into a slow rhythm, taking a moment to watch the reaction to each strike, to savor the pleasurable whimpers and the twitching limbs. Leandro was breathing hard, his yelps morphing into moans as he pressed his flushed cheek into the cool wood of the table. Krysa could feel the quivering warmth of him under the hand on his back, and in that erotic split second when his other hand made contact with the prince’s rear.

Ten strikes. Krysa was… not satisfied with that particularly, he wanted much, much more, but it felt like a good number and the shrunken, struggling rationality sequestered in one corner of his mind reminded him that someone would be returning to this room to put it in order soon.

He released Leandro and took a step back, standing straight and clasping wrist in stinging hand behind his back as he viewed the results of his labor. Leandro was a mess, limp feet dragging against the floor, sweaty palms sicking to maps and charts, sides heaving with feverish breaths.

“Stand up,” Krysa barked.

Leandro pressed into his hands, slowly shifting his weight back onto his feet. His legs almost buckled, trembling like a baby deer’s, as he righted himself and turned to face Krysa. His eyelids were heavy, and the silk kerchief was still stuffed in his mouth.

“Take that damn thing out.”

Slow as a stage performer who wants the audience to catch their every move, Leandro reached up and pulled the cloth from his mouth. It was wet with drool, and a long string of it connected the handkerchief to his lips for a good moment before snapping.

Krysa very much wanted to fill that wet mouth with other things.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

The prince’s lips pressed into a mischievous smile.

“Yes,” he said, lifting his chin. The tiny movement should have been innocent enough, but in it Krysa saw self-satisfaction and vanity.

“Will you,” Krysa said through gritted teeth, “Behave yourself now?”

Leandro leaned forward, batting his long eyelashes.

“Yes, sir.”

The ‘sir’ did something atrocious to Krysa’s insides.

“Next time you won’t be so lucky,” he breathed.

“Then I’ll have to be on my best behavior, won’t I?” Leandro teased and, seeming quite recovered, bounced past Krysa with a skip in his step. Krysa took a long, measured breath, and followed dutifully behind.

~~~

Leandro’s best behavior, miraculously, lasted a whole two days. He sat up bright-eyed and straight when the Queen held court. He made less taxing demands of Krysa and his servants. He listened to his tutors and properly acknowledged passing nobles. Rather then spend the evenings cavorting in the drinking hall he turned in early, allowing Krysa his evenings to himself.

Those evenings were well-spent.

Good things rarely last long, however. The third day began as if nothing had ever happened; Leandro whined, complained, demanded, and ordered. At his fencing lesson he refused to hold the proper stance, made faces at the instructor every time she turned her back, and seemed overall to be more interested in swinging his sword through the air to make it swish than anything else. All the while he stole impish glances at Krysa, winking and sticking his tongue out, flaunting his disrespect.

It made Krysa boil with rage.

When the two of them left the fencing studio Leandro started on about taking the horses out for a ride. Krysa ignored him, taking the prince’s upper arm just below the slashed puff of his sleeve. It wasn’t a terribly noticeable hold, to a passerby, or at least not a concerning one. What only the two of them knew was that it was a very tight grip and it made Leandro shiver. The prince looked up at Krysa.

“Oh, Krysa, are you mad?” he asked, as if he had just now noticed his bodyguard’s foul expression.

Krysa remained silent, gritting his teeth, picking up his pace and steering Leandro through the palace halls.

“Where are we going?” Of course, Leandro wouldn’t stop talking. “Are you angry? Is something wrong? Oh,” his eyes took on a diabolical gleam, “Are you going to punish me?”

“Keep running your mouth, see where it gets you!” threatened Krysa. Leandro twittered with delight.

“You know, I think if you fucked me properly I might shut up for a whole week. Do you want to try it and see?”

They reached Krysa’s intended destination, the small carved door to the chapel. Krysa threw it open and practically shoved Leandro through, confident the sanctuary would be empty – it would be attended next the following day for midweek prayers.

“Krysa, I didn’t know you were a man of the faith,” Leandro teased.

The small chapel was for the royal family and their closest only; Krysa was welcome there, but not a frequent visitor. The pews were ornately carved and padded with plush cushions, facing away from the door towards the grand altar at the front of the room, glimmering with sacred artifacts. The floor was scattered with sweet rushes and herbs to soften footsteps; the ceiling arched overhead, bisected by naked crossbeams. The confidence booth sat in the back corner. Tall, narrow windows sent stripes of sunlight across it all. Like many smaller chambers in the palace, it was able to serve as a hiding place in case of attack; as such, the door had a lock that Krysa slid into place.

“Did you know I fucked a sage once? It was so hot, he basically gave up his vows for me-”

Krysa seized the sides of Leandro’s head and silenced him with a crushing kiss, pushing him into the back of a pew. Leandro parted his lips and let Krysa into his mouth, warm and soft. The prince’s hands rose, creeping up Krysa’s chest and fiddling with the bone fasteners of the bodyguard’s quilt armor jacket. Krysa kissed like he wanted to consume Leandro; rough and greedy and breathless, fingers tangling in the prince’s hair.

If I just keep kissing him he won’t fucking talk.

Krysa’s hands moved downward, popping the hook-and-eyes of Leandro’s doublet open, then finding the buttons and ties of the prince’s trousers. The damn little things were tight and delicate, demanding his full attention. He released Leandro from the kiss, but the prince���s face gave him pause. Leandro was flushed and dazed, his eyelashes fluttering as he stared up at Krysa rapturously.

“Please fuck me,” he breathed.

Krysa’s heart flipped but he held his ground, raising a finger in front of Leandro’s nose.

“You’ll listen to your tutors,” he said.

“Yes,” Leandro whispered, his eyes locked onto Krysa’s.

“You’ll pay attention in court.”

“Yes.”

Krysa licked his lips, and Leandro’s hungry gaze followed the movement.

“You’ll do as I say.”

“Yes, Krysa.” Leandro said it like a prayer.

The bodyguard narrowed his eyes, searching Leandro’s face for facetiousness in the dim light. All he found there was lustful craving, a stare seemingly hypnotized by Krysa’s very presence, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks red, clothes disheveled, breath loud. Krysa drank it in for a moment before turning his attention again to removing the barriers between them.

“If you wear trousers this complicated again I’ll just cut them off.”

“I’ll have to have my tailor add more buttons,” Leandro quipped breathlessly, shrugging off his doublet.

It only felt like an arduous process of unbuttoning because they were both so eager for it be done; it was only moments before Krysa was crouching to pull the trousers down around the swell of Leandro’s ass, dropping them to the floor where the prince stepped out of them, and his shoes as well, leaving him in his shirt and corset and stocking feet. From where he knelt Krysa set a calloused hand on Leandro’s soft inner thigh, sliding it up between his legs to the generous wetness there.

“You really light up easy,” Krysa muttered, almost in awe.

Leandro opened his mouth and drew breath to respond, but his gaze snapped up when the door rattled. Krysa jumped to his feet, automatically placing himself between Leandro and the door. A muffled curse could be heard, then the jingling of keys. Krysa looked around wildly – it would be the end of him to be caught with a half-naked prince.

“Confidence booth!” he hissed, kicking Leandro’s discarded clothing and shoes under the pew. Leandro nodded quickly, darting past Krysa and opening the parishioner's side of the confidence booth. The two of them entered, Leandro following Krysa and latching the door behind them.

The little booth was incredibly cramped; meant to be cozy for one, prince and bodyguard found themselves nose-to-chest, breathing loud. Krysa sat down on the narrow bench to create a little more space; Leandro immediately closed the gap, straddling Krysa’s lap and sliding his arms over his broad shoulders.

“Leandro,” Krysa gave a warning growl, but fell silent as the door to the chapel creaked open. Leandro had other ideas; he began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, grinding against Krysa through his trousers. Krysa grit his teeth as shuffling footsteps passed the booth. Once they were a ways down the chapel isle he hissed, “You little shit!”

He didn’t tell Leandro to stop, though, and the prince’s triumphant smile more than showed he noticed the omission. He rolled his hips with grater enthusiasm, pressing his nose and mouth into the underside of Krysa’s bearded jaw. Krysa found himself gliding his hands over Leandro’s thighs, grabbing his ass, pulling him closer. He controlled his breath, stayed as quiet as possible, but Leandro dared to let out a small moan. The air in Krysa’s lungs froze, adrenaline coursing through him, but the footsteps continued unbothered. They scuffed to an unhurried stop a moment later, though, and the thumps and rustlings of books being rearranged could be heard.

“Be quiet!” Krysa whispered urgently into Leandro’s hair. The prince lifted his head, gazing through his eyelashes at Krysa with an unfortunately familiar gleam.

“I know what would make me shut up.”

“Fucking hell, you little…” Krysa’s hands dove for the fly of his trousers, frantically undoing the buttons. Leandro shifted back to give him some space, and his eyes widened with a gasp when Krysa produced his engorged girth.

“Having second thoughts?” Krysa whispered smugly.

Leandro shook his head.

“No, no, I want – I want that, can you – oh, please-!”

“Shh!” Krysa clamped a hand over the prince’s mouth. The two of them sat frozen for a moment, blood pounding hot, listening to the unperturbed shufflings outside. Leandro’s fingers crept downward, taking hold of Krysa and stroking him. Krysa huffed, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the long-anticipated touch. Leandro moved in close, guiding their bodies together, and Krysa stifled a groan as his head nudged into the prince’s hot, wet entrance. Leandro sank down, quivering and tight – there was no way the stretching didn’t pain him, but he only fluttered his eyelids in ecstasy. Krysa felt drool under the hand clamped over Leandro’s mouth. He lifted his hand and, as Leandro opened his mouth to speak, stuck his thumb between the prince’s lips and hooked it down to hold his jaw – firmly, but Leandro could twist away if he truly wanted to.

“Quiet now,” he whispered, “Ride my cock like a good little slut and maybe I’ll let you clean it off.”

Leandro’s eyes flashed open wide and Krysa was momentarily concerned he’d overstepped before a giddy smile sprang up on Leandro’s face, baring his teeth as he ever so gently bit down on Krysa’s thumb. He started to rock his hips again, working Krysa deeper into himself, breath blowing out hot across the bodyguard’s thumb. Hie eyelashes lowered again as he gazed at Krysa, his hands sliding up the Krysa’s chest to grip his shoulders, pulling himself closer. His tongue slid over Krysa’s thumb, slicking it with heat. Krysa lifted his thumb and pushed it in, pinning Leandro’s tongue, and the prince gagged slightly, his eyes rolling and his hips twitching. Krysa sat back with a slanted smile, just admiring Leandro: his neediness and his eagerness; his soft face and silky hair and rounded shoulders; his plush thighs and shapely corset. Then the bodyguard’s ears pricked up; the footsteps outside were coming back their way, towards the chapel door.

“Shh,” he murmured, “Quiet now, until I say so.”

Leandro held his breath but didn’t cease his gyrating; the footsteps passed them, the chapel door creaked and slammed. Krysa gave it a good thirty seconds before speaking; in that time Leandro’s breath returned, desperate and labored, hints of stifled groans beneath it.

“Alright,” Krysa said, “Make some noise.”

Leandro’s throat opened and released obscene moans in time with his grinding, low and lewd and rhythmic. The act of release seemed to stimulate him further, and his whimpering increased in pitch with each breath. The heat in Krysa’s own groin was nearing a peak, and it was all he could do to keep himself under control as his hands gripped at Leandro’s jaw and ass. Leandro twisted his head, though, escaping Krysa’s hold to speak.

“You can come inside, if you want, I’m on arowart, you could-”

Krysa roughly seized Leandro’s jaw again, forcing his thumb back into the prince’s mouth.

“I’ll do as I please,” he growled. Leandro giggled madly around Krysa’s thumb until his laughter devolved into mindless moaning once more, straining with intensity until a full-body shudder and a throaty sigh carried him over the edge. He went slack, leaning his head heavily on Krysa’s hand. Krysa let him recover for a moment before withdrawing his thumb and moving to fist his hand in Leandro’s hair.

“My turn,” he said ominously, “Get up.”

Leandro’s eyes widened with excitement, and he carefully pulled himself off Krysa’s dick with a small gasp. He scrambled to get his feet under himself, hands going to Krysa’s knees as the bodyguard’s grip on his hair kept him bowed forward.

“Kneel,” ordered Krysa, spreading his legs slightly. Leandro dropped and looked up at Krysa through his lashes, the bodyguard’s hard cock standing between them, glistening with Leandro’s wetness. Krysa tugged Leandro up and closer.

“You know how to do this?”

“Yes, sir,” breathed Leandro.

“Get to it, then.” Krysa smirked, releasing Leandro’s hair and settling his hand gently on top of the prince’s head.

Leandro needed no further encouragement; he leaned forward and closed his mouth around the head of Krysa’s cock. His mouth was just as warm and wet and soft as Krysa had spent his evenings imagining; he relaxed back with a sighed “Fuck.” Leandro swirled his tongue and took Krysa a little deeper, lifting his hands to stroke the remaining exposed shaft and fondle Krysa’s sack. Krysa’s fingers gently scratched at Leandro’s scalp, and he felt vibrations as the prince purred his satisfaction.

A devilish instinct arose in Krysa; he took hold of Leandro’s hair again.

“I want to make you choke,” he said, watching for the prince’s reaction. Leandro’s eyes flashed, and he hummed “Mhm! Mhm!” in assent. Krysa held his gaze, giving him a moment to prepare, to take in air, then he pushed Leandro’s head down on his cock. The prince gagged when the tip hit the back of his throat; Krysa held him there, enjoying the feeling of his tongue fluttering uselessly for a moment before letting him back off and breathe.

“Y’alright?”

“Mhm!”

Krysa shoved Leandro down again, rougher this time, grinning as the prince sputtered. Krysa fell into a slow rhythm, guiding Leandro’s head up and down, fucking into the prince’s face, allowing himself to grunt and groan and curse from the decadent sensation, the power he held over the royal blood’s debasement. The dizzying heat in his gut crescendoed into a storm of lightning and he forced Leandro down one last time as he emptied into the prince’s mouth and throat. Leandro gagged, choked, and sneezed, and by some infernal machination of his upper respiratory system Krysa’s spend shot out his nose, spattering across the bodyguard’s lap. Krysa released him immediately and Leandro fell back on his rear, coughing uncontrollably.

“Leandro!” Krysa exclaimed, lunging forward and grabbing his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

His question was answered by laughter finding its way through the hacking coughs as Leandro waved a hand.

“That,” (coughing), “You,” (more coughing), “So good!”

Krysa sat back with an exasperated smile.

“You’re really something else.”

Leandro grinned, wiping his nose and mouth on his sleeve. Then he looked down at his half-naked self, up at Krysa’s cum-spattered lap, and around at the tiny confidence booth they were penned in.

“So,” he coughed once more, his bright smile unwavering, “How do we get out of this one?”

~~~

Thank you for reading!! As always I would be delighted to hear your thoughts!!

Previous, Masterlist, Next

[shobolanya]

For reasons I will now make a list of my favorite lyrics from each song on Take Me Back To Eden, feel free to add yours if you want

Chokehold: "So show me that which I cannot see Even if it hurts me Even if I can't sleep Oh, and though we act out of our holy duty to be constantly awake"

The Summoning: "I would be lying if I told you that I didn't wish that I could be your man"

Granite: "So keep an eye on the road or we will both be here forever I was more than just a body in your passenger seat You were more that just somebody I was destined to meet I see you go half blind when you're looking at me But I am"

Aqua Regia: "Between the pain and the way you look I'm stuck in a time where the mountains shook And these days I'm a picture frame Screaming at the sunshine, singing in the rain"

Vore: "There is always something in the way I want to have you to myself for once Follow me between the jaws of fate So I can have you to myself for once"

Ascensionism: "other eye following a scarlet trail And the last few drops from the Holy Grail, now Rose gold chains, ripped lace, cut glass Blood stains on the collar, please, just don't ask"

Are You Really Okay?: "And are you really okay? Yeah, yeah Are you really okay?And I, I cannot fix your wounds this time But I, I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine Please don't hurt yourself again Just please don't hurt yourself again, oh Please don't hurt yourself again Please don't hurt yourself again"

The Apparition: "I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I my dear And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do"

DYWTYLM: "Do you roll with the waves? Or do you duck into deep blue safety?"

Rain: "And I don't wanna get in your way But I finally think I can say That the vicious cycle was over The moment you smiled at me"

Take Me Back to Eden: "My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire I will travel far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden"

Euclid: "For me It's still the autumn leaves These ancient canopies That we used to lay beneath"

[scpaftermathau]

Motives pt.2

He lumbered down the concrete corridor, his scalpel clutched firmly in his hand. He read the signs at the otherwise unmarked doors of the Euclid Sector, 047, 048, 049. He stopped at the door of his father's room, reaching his free hand towards it, but he paused as he felt a pair of eyes watching him. He turned back around, and for just a moment, he could have sworn he had seen his sister, but he shook his head, don't be ridiculous, he growled internally, 049-J2 has been dead for months.

He stuck his fingers through the small gap of the ajar door and pulled it open forcefully. A small sense of satisfaction come over him when he saw his father jump at the noise, dropping his 'oh-so precious' notebook on the ground. 049-J stepped inside the room, "049. You know exactly why I am here."

049 met eyes with his son as he spoke, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

He stifled a growl, "The Pestilence, I want to be able to cure it."

His father sighed, shaking his head, "You know why you can't. You are not a true doctor, you never will be."

049-J bunched his fists, seething with fury, "But I am your son, surely that must mean something."

049 shook his head, speaking with a frigid tone as he kneeled to pick up his book, "You are no son of mine."

Something snapped inside of 049-J, and before he knew it, he had tackled his father to the ground, one hand around his neck and the other raising the scalpel high in the air. 049's eyes widened at the sight of the blade as he struggled to break free.

049-J counted how many times he stabbed his father, 4 straight into the chest and 2 in the neck. He stood up, surveying his bloody 'work'. He wiped the blood from his scalpel, a cruel sense of satisfaction washing over him, "And you, are no father of mine." He spat as he walked away from his father's corpse.

[worship-sleep]

APOLOGIES ABOUT MY IMPROMPTU BREAK, HERES MY FIRST INITIAL THOUGHTS ON TMBTE:

• chokehold: literally the best song ever made the emotions this song invokes in me is unexplainable dhdhdfh

• the summoning: sex sex this song is sex; u literally can’t think of a better song to have put them on the map /srs

• granite: VES’ VOCALS AND TGE INSTRUMENTS GRAAHH SO SO CRAZY SO CRAZY I COULD ONLY IMAGINE HOW IT SOUNDS LIVE IN UR FACE

• aqua regia: this is one of those songs where you just feel like.. every word syllable and beat in ur CHEST

the way that “well my past is a holy book a call from olympus, ringing off the hook. between the pain and the way you look i’m stuck in a time where the mountains shook. these days i’m a picture frame screaming at the sunshine, singing in the rain. sugar on the blood cells, carbon on the brain out of eden’s vices running through my veins” sounds will NEVER LEAVE MY BRAIN FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!!

• vore: another song where i just can only pray i will hear live one day (especially if it’s iv providing us with the screams :D)

• ascensionism: (fives second in and i already wanna cry) HOLY SHIT THAT TONE CHANGE JUST CAUGHT ME OF GAURD OH MY WOWHA this song is like nothing at all what i thought it was gonna sound like /pos

• are you really okay?: the acoustic guitar oh my god this is gonna destroy me. vessel’s voice in this just.. feels like a warm blanket, it’s just engulfing you in every way and it matches blends perfectly with the music like you just can’t help but tear up and cry with him speaking like this

• the apparition: holy fuck HOLY FUCK OWUAH

• dywtylm: i actually am a really big fan of this song, which might be a hot take cause ik it wasn’t all that liked when it was first released. i think that vessel’s monotone voices matches up well with the fact the general best of the song never seems to change all that much, which ass this sort of focus on the senses of begging and almost helplessness that is shown in the lyrics and title of the song. (plus that helplessness and begging follows und the DRAMATIC change of the way the song sounds live)

• rain: the banging vocals in dywtylm saying “smile back at me” then being followed by him saying “but i finally think i can say that the vicious cycle was over the moment you smiled at me” IS SOO GOOD SOO GOOD I LOVE WHEN HE DOES THAT. (i wish someone was obsessed with me the way that vessel is obsessed with whoever this song is about)

• take me back to eden: hes back to wanting to sacrifice himself just for the slightest bit of attention like i understand him so well /j OH MY GOD THE SCREAMING ON “i have traveled far beyond the path of reason take me back to eden” IS SOO FUCKING GOOD SOO SOO GOOD BRREHEHU

• euclid: the ending of this looping perfectly back to the beginning of the sundowning makes my chest tight

overall this album sounds nothing like i expected into and that makes me SO HAPPY. it’s so good and it makes me so happy, however i just hope this is a closing of a chapter and not the beginning of the end of the band as a whole like everyone suspects (i don’t really but it seems to be the anxiety everyone is sharing)

[wil-is-done]

The Audacious Tales of the Lost Cipher and Her Daredevil Crew - Scenario 3: Lone Swordsman of the Astral Sea

Summary: Caught off guard by a Federation ambush, the crew of the Lost Cipher faces their darkest hour, until aid comes from a familiar ally.

Word Count: 6.838

-

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a repost.

This tale began with a pursuit. 

The location, the shadowy outer reaches of the Bradyon system, once believed to be a natural dark spot for conventional radars, hence the perfect hiding hole for outlaws on the run. 

The time, sometime after the larger sun reached its zenith and the smaller sun hung low, Local Galactic Time.

The pursuers, a Federation platoon of two Euclid-class destroyers and up to two dozen fighters, all loyal to the Federation to a fault, all willing to kill or be killed for their cause.

The target, the Lost Cipher and her dazed, discombobulated, dizzy crew.

The cause, a truly ludicrous amount of Smile Dip. 

“Someone was supposed to chaperone!” The good captain Coraline, sitting on her rightful seat in the center of the Lost Cipher’s bridge, roared. “Who the hell was the chaperone?!”

“Dipper.” A meek voice chimed through the intercom.

Dipper threw his hands in the air, in shock, disbelief, and even outrage. “Oh, so that extra pack I slipped you meant nothing, huh? Neil? You traitorous oaf.”

“Full offense, Coraline is way scarier than you, dude.”

“You!” Coraline slammed a fist down on the arm of the chair hard, enough to dent the metal, her brows carved into a glare that could kill even the strong-hearted. 

Unfortunately, her target was none other than Dipper Pines, whose resolve and stubbornness were nothing short of inhuman. “Like you weren’t busy in your room playing Peg The Nerd with your boyfriend!” 

What followed was a long, loud silence. “You have three seconds to take that back before my sword meets your dick,” Coraline hissed. The temperature of the bridge dropped to below zero.

Raz, non-ace pilot and ace provocateur, snickered from the behind the wheel. “Ooh, be careful there, cap. He’s had some experience with swordfights.” 

“Would you horny assholes just shut! Up!” Lili screamed, urged by the remaining vestiges of her sanity. “We have a Federation platoon right on our tail, loaded with enough shit to kill a ship twice our size, ready to plow us flat! And not in a fun way!” 

Coraline blinked, breathed, sat up straighter in her seat. The weapons officer, as always, carried a point as sharp as her tongue. There was a time and a place for everything. The ability to recognize it is paramount to surviving the realm outside the law.

“Just, uh, wanted to clarify that- that me getting pegged - that’s not a thing.”

An ability that the Lost Cipher’s lead engineer clearly lacked. Coraline’s hand moved, slowly, to cover her face, as the tired captain sunk further in her seat.

“How bad is it?” 

“Uh.” Dipper shook his head. Hearing that response over the intercom was an even bigger shock than the Federation ambush. “Distance 6000, closing in fast. E.T.A., fifty seconds. Fighters in twenty five.” 

“Wybes, divert energy to the thrusters and rear shields.”

“Diverting!”

“Raz, full speed ahead. Don’t let them get in front of us.”

“Just how I like it!”

“Norman, plot us a warp course out, just in case.”

Norman made a noise and a nod, but otherwise provided no further comment.

“Mabel, Winnie, man the turrets.”

“Roger!”

“Okie dokie!”

Coraline left her seat, standing proud, brave, and tall in the maelstrom of incoming chaos, her cape flaring out behind her like the beautiful, terrible wings of a furious angel.

“Let’s show them how pirates do it!”

Mabel and Winnie raced through the ship, through corridors they knew better than the back of their hand, reaching the turret seats with lightning speed, nearly at the same time.

“This is Winnie! I’m at the portside turret. Switching to manual!”

“This is Mabel on the starboard side turret! Switching to manual!”

“Manual override granted. Power divergence is at max.”

Their display lit up at Lili’s command. The sea of stars replaced the darkened chamber, breathtaking to behold, and unfortunately marred by rapidly approaching dots of metallic white. With Mabel grinning and Winnie smirking, they thumbed the trigger and lined their first shot.

But it fell upon the intel officer to alert when hostiles are in the killzone. 

“Fighters are in range!”

And it fell upon the captain to give the order. 

“Light ‘em up, girls!”

No hesitation, no mercy. The first salvo of lasers took out six jets easily, turning them into scorched scraps and its pilots into cosmic dust. The swarm broke off, smartly, spreading out and away from the Lost Cipher to decrease the chances of a laser round to the wing, not that it stopped Mabel and Winnie from tagging one more each. 

A festive lightshow was well underway, and the automated weapons haven’t even joined the fun. Under Lili’s eagle-eyed guidance, the smaller line of turrets were no less of a threat, chipping away at the scattered fighters until they too burst into an array of fire, dust, and blood. All the while, the photon peashooters of the fighters bounced harmlessly off of the Lost Cipher’s mighty shield, and their pitiful excuse for a guided missile fared little better. If not for the token resistance, it could be rightfully described as a massacre.     

The scene unfolding would be cause for early celebration, for a wet-behind-the-ears captain. Coraline had her eyes glued on the radar. A second wave of fighters was fast approaching, and the capital destroyers were never far behind. 

“Moving into cyber warfare range. How predictable could these normies get?” Dipper’s deep chuckle continued as he activated his cyber warfare suite, the screens unfolding in a circle around him.

Overconfidence can be a slow and insidious killer, and oh how the captain hoped her intel officer could learn that. “Stop talking and start walking.”

“I don’t walk.” Dipper cracked his fingers. The keyboard flashed to life. The dance has begun. “I run.”

To Dipper’s immeasurable disappointment, he needn’t run. The assailant’s tactics were as routine as they come. First, they aim for the life support, then the shields, then the engine. A newborn baby could’ve repelled their assault simply by mashing the keyboard. Some stragglers thought to make things interesting, going for the weapon systems and the radar, but they were too weak to matter, their numbers too little. It was a bore. However, the thought that somewhere on those destroyers, a squad of hackers, each with years upon years of experience under their belt, were being stumped by a boy barely in his teens, brought him a high better than any drug. 

The same disappointment was felt by the other half of the Pines twins. Two more fighters fell to her deadly aim, marking the complete annihilation of the first wave. A second swarm was eager to replace the first, eager to die just like them. They broke formation, spreading out in pairs, keeping their distance from the ship, yadda yadda yadda, the 200th century called, it wanted its strategy back. Mabel set her sights on one particular fish in the cosmic barrel and thumbed the trigger, ready to unload.

That fighter banked a sharp, sudden curve, set its thrusters to maximum, and made a mad dash towards the Lost Cipher. The explosion as it crashed against the shields was grand, blinding, and sent Mabel into a pregnant pause.

More and more jets followed the same, shameful tactic. A mindless, suicidal strike against the shields of the Lost Cipher, faster than they could be shot down. Mabel and Winnie could only stare in slack-jawed stupor as their displays were filled with frightening, fiery red.

“Those jets are loaded with explosives and EMP charges,” Lili growled. Had she possessed powers still, the bridge would’ve been consumed by raging hellfire. “Disgusting.”

“Our shields are dropping faster.” Wybie always kept half an eye on the ship’s shield level, and though the numbers were yet to cause him worry, the existence of the phrase ‘death by a thousand cuts’ did not escape his notice.

Unlike her lover, Coraline had a cause for concern, and it wasn’t the fighter jets bombarding the shields or the approaching destroyers taking aim with their cannons. It was the dark presence emanating from the intel officer’s seat. 

“Two can play at that game.” Dipper’s grin could only be described as beautifully maniacal. He cleared his display with a single swipe, setting a new stage for his next performance. 

Already, Coraline had an inkling of Dipper’s intentions, and unlike the Federation dogs, she knew better than to try and curb it. “Lili, ease off the guns.”

“If you say so.” There was hesitation, but Lili’s faith on her captain far outweighed her doubts.

“Wybie, weaken the shields at point 7 and 13.” 

“W-weaken?”

“The mad scientist has a plan.” 

That was all the good captain had to say. A few taps by Wybie, and the two specified spots slowly lost their strength. 

In perfect accordance to Dipper’s precise prediction, the fighter jets took notice of the false weakness in the armor, and were all but salivating to chase after it like the dumb dogs they are. Ten jets, five on each point, broke formation, aimed towards the weakened spot, eager to die for their despicable cause. Ten would suffice for now. 

Dipper’s routine was nearly finished. Numbers, symbols, and lines upon lines of code streamed forth in maddening formation, unintelligible but to a chosen few, like eldritch texts of myth and legend. The culprit, the conductor of this chaotic orchestra, flashed a wicked smirk, unleashed an unhinged chuckle. One decisive motion, and the tumultuous tempest coalesced into a single, circular mass of black light. 

“Your life…” Dipper raised his hands to the unfeeling cosmos. The executioner’s sword poised to end their sinful life. “…is mine!” 

He slammed his palm against the black mass. Their fate is sealed.

“Code: Dark Prison!” 

The assault was overwhelming, yet unseen. Dark tendrils emerged from his domain, traveling, ravaging through virtual space. Their target: the operating systems of ten particular fighter jets. A graze was all that it took for the tendrils to infiltrate the firewall. They cannot evade in the realm of ones and zeroes. They did not stand a chance. 

First, their machines shuddered, the entire system blinking on and off, as the tendrils violated every crevice of the coding. Then, sparks, as their lights, their display, went dark. Last, the display returned, but bearing only the eternal image of skull and crossbones, and the lights returned to life, but purple, bearing the same shade as the Lost Cipher - the last color they’ll ever see. The takeover was complete.

“You wish for death,” he chuckled. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Their machines turned, with the pilots trapped inside helpless to resist. At Dipper’s command, the jets took aim at their own capital ships, and set off at maximum speed. His target: the charging cannons. 

The other Federation dogs were left none the wiser. Their squadmates were preoccupied with seeking glory to notice they had broken formation. The operators on the destroyers saw nothing wrong with ten of their own moving against the current. The trapped pilots screamed for help, begged for mercy, pleaded for their compatriots to notice their plight, but all hope for salvation had been taken from them. Even the option of ejecting was no longer theirs to make. The shields protecting the destroyers, still recognizing the jets as vessels loyal to the Federation, did nothing to stop their approach. Not a soul suspected a thing, until it was too late.

The impact, and the resulting chain reaction of explosions, was nothing short of beautiful. 

Dipper leaned back, legs crossed, basking in the lightshow of fire and plasma and smoke and dust, of a well-deserved victory. On the opposite side of the bridge, Norman’s nose began to bleed. 

“Their main cannons have been disabled. Their ships’ overall integrity has been lowered by forty four percent. I estimate twenty percent of the crew were lost in the explosion,” he listed in cold satisfaction. “Hell, even got that five-headed dolphin in the blast.”

“The what?”

Dipper blinked and shook his head. The dolphin carcass on his display disappeared, because it was never there. “Disregard that last statement.”

Smile Dip, man.

Raz cheered, Wybie and Eggs shared a fist bump, and even Lili allowed a chuckle to slip past her lips, but Coraline didn’t let herself be swept by euphoria. Something about this scenario didn’t sit well with the good captain. The Federation could have picked a multitude of methods to truly cause them grief - a small boarding party, a cloaked bombing run, or even a precision cyber-attack. To announce themselves so brazenly, so quickly with open assault was a horrendous strategy. Almost deliberately so.

“Wanna turn around and finish ‘em off, cap?” Raz asked with a grin that split his face. Anything other than a yes would greatly disappoint him. 

“No. That’s enough fun for today,” came Coraline’s firm reply. “Wybes, we’re warping out. Start diverting power. Norman, those coordinates better be ready.” 

The disappointment Raz felt was immeasurable. It nearly undermined the joys of victory he experienced mere seconds ago. But he listened, and obliged. Everyone onboard the vessel did. The captain’s expert, sometimes even uncanny intuition was one the main reasons why they remain living and breathing today. And that intuition continued to serve them. Because she is correct. 

“Warp signature detected! Dead ahead!” 

The ship fell into deathly silence. Quiet, reserved Norman never raised his voice. Whenever he did, it was a signal, an omen, of grand significance. For this scenario, his message was simple.

“It’s a cruiser! Keter-class!” 

Hell is coming.

Simply exiting warp space caused a shockwave that staggered the Lost Cipher’s shields. A fortress of steel blotted out the sea of stars ahead, nearly thrice the size of their own vessel. A crest, instantly recognizable, of ivory and crimson, depicting a snarling, vicious watchdog of Hell. One of the Federation’s famed flagship, the Krass Jagdhund. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Wybie moaned. “It’s one blueprint.” 

Onboard, legions upon legions of blind dogs allowed the mechanical marvel of a monstrosity, the floating palace, to perform at optimum, lethal efficiency. A brutal hierarchy ensured that total obedience was the only acceptable paradigm. From the peons, to the rooks and knights, to the bishops and queen, all conformed, in service of the king. At the palace’s peak, inside the vessel’s bridge, stood the leader, commander, king - a despicable soul without a heart. 

“The Hündchen and the Ferkel received more damage than our predictions expected, but both ships are still operational.” 

“The pirate ship’s shields have been successfully weakened. What is your next order, General?”

The despicable soul raised a hand. The tyrant shall enforce his decree.

“Deploy the warp jammer.”  

From the stern of the Krass Jagdhund, hundreds of metal cylinders were jettisoned into the sea of stars. The cylinders broke into pieces, forming a net of neon green lines that covered massive swaths of the cosmos, before the lines vanished from sight. A cold sweat broke upon each member of the Mystery Kids. Escaping was no longer an option.

“They’re throwing up a net! We can’t warp out!” Raz’s grip on the wheel tightened, fingers growing cold.

“I knew it.” Coraline’s defiant glare never faltered, even in the face of certain doom. “This was all a trap.” 

The Mystery Kids must beware, for commanding the mobile palace of metal threatening them, was none other than the wicked, immoral, General Hugh Leonard Estarossa.

“Checkmate, filthy pirates,” the tyrant boasted. “You will pay dearly for the murder of my son.”  

Quite the dilemma. Ahead, a flying fortress, one of the most feared flagship of the Federation, and behind, a pair of destroyers, damaged, but still operational, itching for vengeance. Truly, a rock and a hard place.

Coraline bit her lip. The good captain could feel it. The unease, growing more palpable with each passing second. The eyes of her friends, her comrades, upon her, silently imploring on their next course of action. She had already decided, and it brought her no joy to choose this path.

“Everyone lie down and play it cool,” the good captain ordered. Every syllable tasted like bile. “We’ve broken out of prisons before. We’ll do it again.”

Their frustration was immense, their anger justifiably rising, but even more was their faith in the good captain, and in each other. Lili depowered the automated weaponry. Mabel and Winnie took their hands off of the turret’s controls. Dipper, begrudgingly, prepared to open a channel to the Jagdhund, to negotiate their surrender.

Unfortunately for our heroes, the wicked general had other ideas. 

“Send this message to all units,” decreed the degenerate. “Fire at will. Take no prisoners.”

The crew sensed it. More than that, they saw it. The destroyers moving into position. The swarm of jets advancing in formation. The cannons emerging from their ports and taking aim. The energy spike coming from all directions. A stranglehold of unfeeling steel, primed, ready to kill.

“Captain,” Raz spoke, heavy and grim. “I don’t think they’re planning on locking us up.” 

Not a word was spoken. Not a word was heard. The dark vacuum of space turned green, filled with the deafening roar of photon cannon fire. 

The entire ship trembled. The impact was enough to knock the crew to their knees. Miraculously, the little ship with the shield that could stood strong, but under this barrage, no one had any illusion of how this story would end. The good captain, always the one to shoulder burdens, made the difficult decision - their survival was paramount.

“Neil, grab our emergency gear! Wybie, put everything into the shields!” Coraline shouted, barely heard above the violent cacophony. “Then get your ass to the hangar and fire up your bike!”

The order has been given. Like it or not, the order must be carried out. Neil sprinted as fast as he could to the cargo room. Wybie and Eggs adjusted the power as per the captain’s words. Mabel and Winnie unbuckled themselves from the turret seats. Coraline and the others present on the bridge got their feet under them and slowly made their way to the door, as the ship continued to rumble and weaken under the Federation’s brutal, relentless barrage. The unfortunate retreat seemed to be proceeding favorably, until Raz noticed a troubling sight from the corner of his eyes. 

“Dipper, what are you doing?!”

Three heads swiveled at the same time, to see that the intel officer had returned to his rightful seat, with his cyber warfare suite open and running, and his hands dancing furiously at the keyboard. 

“No! We are not abandoning this ship!” The look on Dipper’s face was one of stubborn, fearsome, unshakeable determination. The look of an iron will.

Coraline had seen that look before, many times. She had to choose her words carefully. “Dipper, I get that studying this ship is important to you, but you have to be alive to do it.” 

“That’s the Watchdog of Hell! They don’t stop until their prey is nothing but scrap metal!” Dipper pointed a finger at the window, at the crest of ivory and crimson beyond. “If this ship goes down, I’m going down with it!”

“No friend of mine is dying a death this stupid!” The good captain meant every word, every syllable of that sentence. She couldn’t bear to have it happen. Not again. “Get your ass out of that chair before I make you!”

Dipper opened his mouth, and was preemptively silenced by a beep, a notification, from the navigation module.

Norman stumbled back to his station, and gaped. “Something just entered sensor range.”

“Reinforcements?” Lili muttered. Her mind was already running a mile a second, of the various ways this scenario could get worse.

From the bowels of the Lost Cipher, Wybie’s voice could be heard, shrieking, “One! Blueprint!”

“I don’t think so. This signature is too small to be a ship, or even a jet.” Norman leaned closer to the screen. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was small enough to be humanoid. Wink. 

Dipper, ever the curious mind, opened a map of the area. “The unknown has entered the battlefield. Range 6. No, range 2!”

“That fast?!” Raz gasped, shocked beyond belief.

A bang. Another tremor rocked the ship. Red light bathed the bridge. They were distracted, and missed the signs. The scene out the window was a nightmare made real. A shower of shield shrapnels vanishing into the dark.

“They cracked our shield! A ship got through!” 

Indeed. A Federation ship had dove into the shower. Its thrusters were set at maximum power, its nose aimed at the Lost Cipher’s bridge. Its intention couldn’t be clearer. 

The distance closed. Not a single crew member looked away. Defiance, to the very end. 

A blur of black and red. A flash of steel. A burst of fire and smoke, erupting only inches away from the glass. 

Coraline and the others raised their arms to shield their faces, by instinct, from the blinding explosion. As they lowered their arms, as the smoke dispersed, a lone figure emerged. 

“Senchou,” he spoke. “our paths cross once more.”

Coraline could only laugh, incredulous, relieved.

A solitary being clad in blackened robes stained with red. An enigmatic soul who had hidden his eyes behind a dark blindfold. A fearsome warrior wielding a deadly blade that never left its sheath. The one, the only, the lone swordsman of the astral sea.

“Kubo.”

“I assume you are in need of aid?” he asked, ever humble and cordial in tone.

Another burst of laughter. “Big time.” 

Raz cleared his throat, a finger raised. “Uh, by the way, the Federation is a pretty nasty-”

“I am well aware of the Federation’s crimes.” Kubo’s voice dropped, much like the chills down everyone’s spine. “No convincing is necessary this time.” 

“Oh, yes, please.” Dipper opened a new window on his display. The amount of data that he would gain of the elusive figure was simply mouthwatering. 

A polite chuckle left Kubo’s lips. “I see the passage of time has not quelled Dipper’s fascination with me.”

“You’re his type.” Lili smirked. She got to live another day and they now have one of their most powerful allies present. Hell of a turnaround. 

“You really are,” added Norman, much as he’d hate to admit. 

The reunion was quaint, but the battle never ceased to rage. From the distance, through the field of shield shrapnels, a guided missile sped past. Its target: Kubo. The crew saw it approaching. No one in the crew was fast enough to warn him. The blast consumed him in a blanket of fire and ash.

The smoke cleared. Kubo remained. Unflinching. Not a hair, fold, or wrinkle out of place. He didn’t even look upset. Or at least, far as the crew could tell. He’s a difficult one to read, even without the blindfold. 

“In return, I have one request, senchou.”

Kubo spun in place. The battlefield before him was fierce, and he faced it head on without a hint of fear. He shifted his grip on his blade. His blackened robes waved like the wings of freedom in the nonexistent wind. 

“If you must blink, do it now.”

The lone swordsman launched into the fray. The crew could feel the entire ship being pushed backwards. A power to rend the cosmos. 

A swarm of twenty jets were first in line, come to meet their maker. Kubo was damn eager to start. Twenty swings, faster than a hurricane. Twenty jets, gone down in one glorious explosion. His sword never left its sheath.

And the swordsman has only just begun. The fighters swarmed around the Lost Cipher like flies around a corpse. The Jagdhund was still scrambling jets by the dozen. The two destroyers were ready with another salvo of cannon fire. Hundreds more fools await. Hundreds more fools shall meet the same fate. 

Aboard the Jagdhund, unrest was spreading in the bridge, due to the presence of a hostile unknown on the battlefield. 

“The unknown just took out the 66th squadron!” one dog barked in panic. 

“What is that…?” another whined as he leaned forward in curiosity. 

“It’s an alien!” The despicable despot rose from his throne. “New orders, men! Shoot that thing down!” 

A crooked finger hidden underneath an iron fist marked the fallen hero. 

“Show that filthy beast the supremacy of humankind!” 

Kubo sensed the change. The Federation forces have shifted their focus away from the Lost Cipher - good - and were now targeting him - better. All the easier for him to purge their existence from the universe. Hell, he had cut down twenty more fighters by the time this train of thought reached its end. 

Meanwhile, the crew of the Lost Cipher has found themselves in quite the unusual position - that of a spectator. Indeed, all they could do was watch as, beyond the glass, Kubo flew across the astral sea like the wind itself, leaving a trail of flames, scrap, and bodies in his wake. When was the last time such glorious carnage occurred and they were not the culprits? 

The door to the bridge slid open and the rest of the crew came barreling through. Clearly, they did not wish to miss the show.

“Did I hear that right?! He’s here?!” Wybie screeched, grinning. 

Raz gestured towards the spectacle. “See for yourself.”

A thousand photon rounds turned the stars green, aimed towards Kubo. Pathetic. They cannot hope to match even a tenth of his speed. He dodged them all, moving at speeds impossible to follow by the human eye. Following the pointless onslaught, came an even more pointless swarm of a hundred jets. Kubo decided, he had wasted enough time. A fraction more of his power was needed.  

Kubo stared down the swarm. Even hidden behind black cloth, each foolish pilot still felt the power of his gaze. The power of his blade. The power of a hurricane. 

He breathed. Reared back. Breathed. Roared. And swung. One swing. One decisive arc. The dark sea turned blinding, merciless white. And the swarm was no more. Slashed to pieces, consumed by fire, reduced to atoms. 

“Oh…” It was a miracle Wybie’s legs were still strong enough to stand, as he sighed, swooning, falling. “I’m in love.” 

“Who in the bloody hell is that?” Winnie wondered in reverence, stepping closer to the front window. Violence has always intrigued her. 

“That’s Kubo,” answered Lili. 

“Who?” Eggs turned his head. His crewmates were being unnecessarily vague. 

Coraline met his eyes with an amused glint. “Exactly.” 

Kubo breathed once more. The battlefield had been cleared. Only stragglers remain, and the pilots within has learned. They have shown their true, cowardly colors, orders be damned. Most would consider such circumstance a victory, but Kubo didn’t allow himself to grin, or smirk, or smile. There was no pleasure to be gained from this. No peace. No going back. Not for him. 

Kubo looked over his shoulder. His hidden eye pierced the impregnable hulls of the floating fortress. Every soul onboard in their right mind should be very, very afraid. How unfortunate then, that the one soul the others look to as a leader, wasn’t. 

“Why have we stopped firing?! Why aren’t we sending out more fighters?!” he barked to the whelps scurrying around the bridge. “That filthy alien is still alive!”

One bridge lackey meekly raised a finger. “B-but, General, the alien has… that was nearly all of our ships…”

“We still have the Hündchen and the Ferkel. Order them to fire!” The general glared ahead through the glass. Pure hatred delivered without a word. “This battle isn’t over!”

Indeed, the two destroyers still remain. They have moved to flank either side of the Lost Cipher, to gain a better line of sight of Kubo. Really, all they did was move closer to their own demise. Kubo knew of their approach. He knew what must be done. 

Kubo adjusted his grip on his blade. He held it close to his chest, both hands on the grip, the blade dividing his visage into two equal halves. His grip tightened, the lumber beneath splintering just a bit more. Upon his call, more and more fragments of his power surfaced. He felt the winds licking at the edges of his robes. Felt them welcoming him to their secrets, to the eye at the center of the chaos. All who support him, rejoice, and all who oppose him, despair, for now all shall witness the true power of a hurricane.

Kubo raised his blade to the heavens. And released.

Everyone saw. Everyone heard. Everyone felt. The explosion of energy, invisible yet tangible. The wind surging, spiraling around him, growing faster, stronger, angrier with every cycle. The impossible cyclone forming in the vacuum of starlight, dwarfing even the steel fortress. The act of divine right - a glimpse of the power possessed by beings above mere mortals. 

Eggs’ jaw hit the floor at the speed of light. “That’s a tornado. In space.” 

“Dude’s been chopping ships in half with a sheathed sword.” Wybie’s grin stretched to split his face. “Just enjoy the show.”

Kubo’s first target: the Hündchen. 

Coraline’s honed instincts screamed. “Raz! Gravity anchors!”

Raz rushed to the wheel and pulled a lever. The gravity anchors were set in place. A smart move by the good captain. This will get extremely bumpy. 

Kubo roared. The blade swung in a wide, downward slash. The violent vortex had no choice but to follow its will. The Lost Cipher began to rumble as the colossal tornado loomed ever closer, but the gravity anchors held firm, and the ship stayed in place. It could weather a passing glance from the whirlwind. Such a blessing was not given to the Hündchen. 

It tried to escape. The crew onboard finally valued their own lives more than the order of their superiors, unfortunately, a tad too late. They could only flail like fools and beg in vain as their vessel was struck with the full brunt of the hurricane. The puny thing didn’t stand a chance. The wind swept it into the maddening torrent as if it was nothing but a plastic toy. 

Next: the Ferkel.

A wide, upward slash. The tornado, and the Hündchen with it, came for the Ferkel from below. It too attempted an escape. The crew too was reduced to whimpering whelps. The result was all too predictable. Another toy swept away by the hurricane. And as both ships tossed and turned and twisted in the terrible torrent, impact between them was inevitable. Metal crashed against metal. Steel was bent, ruptured, torn apart. Sections of both ships were either breached or broke apart entirely. The helpless crewmembers within were sucked out by the vortex, and left to freeze and die in the dark vacuum. A terrifying, breathtaking spectacle.

Kubo glared over his shoulder.

Last: the Watchdog of Hell itself, the Krass Jagdhund. 

“Stand your ground, men!” the tyrant screeched. Panic was settling. His grip was slipping. “If I see even a hint of cowardice on this vessel, I’ll cut you all down myself!”

And the worst of him surfaces. Threatening insubordination with death. There was no love between this captain and his crew. No respect. Only fear. And only weak men rule through fear. 

Kubo has no time for men like him.

He spun in place. His blade sliced the dark sea in a perfect arc. The tornado, and the burning carcass of two Euclid-class destroyers, followed his will. 

Hugh Leonard Estarossa, captain of the Krass Jadghund, feared general of the mighty Federation, let his iron fists fall slack to his sides, as he bore witness to a looming storm of steel. 

Upon noticing their captain’s distress, the entire crew ceased their panic, got their act together, and successfully repelled the incoming debris field. 

Hah.

“Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” 

“Fuck this! Fuck everything!”

“I’m taking the escape pod, assholes!”

“You take it, you’re dead!”

“Every man for himself!”

Let this be a lesson to all who hears of this tale: Fear never prevails.

There was a certain sense of hilarity to be had, witnessing the once orderly officers of the Federation degenerate into frantic, backstabbing savages in order to ensure their own selfish survival. The hilarity only reached its zenith, because all the dogs onboard seemed to think surviving was a possibility. 

The first impact was the tornado. The sheer force of it pushed the entire vessel back. Fierce winds reaching incalculable speeds flayed the steel off of the ship’s frame. Cannons were bent and broken, rendered inoperable. Even if the crew hadn’t run off like headless chickens, the ship was practically defenseless.

The second impact was the two destroyer carcasses. Not even the shield of a Keter-class cruiser was able to withstand two destroyers ramming it at full speed. The metal behind it fared no better. The highest quality space-grade steel reduced to cheap scrap in mere seconds. One explosion triggered another, then another, then another. Entire sections were set aflame, all hands lost. How far the Watchdog of Hell has fallen.

Now. The final strike.

Kubo laid a hand on the sheath, and with a flourish, finally, freed the blade beneath, letting the sheath disappear into the starlit sea. The steel was black, as dark as his robes, his hair, his blindfold. Sometimes, it would reflect the light from nearby stars, like a moon.

Within the burning bridge of the Krass Jagdhund, a bloodied tyrant rose from the wreckage, struggling to his feet. He gazed ahead, through the cracking window of his post, at the swordsman in black who had dealt his doom, his eyes filled with rage, denial, and fear.

“What. Are you.”

A soul with a heart. Unlike you.

Kubo squeezed the grip with both hands, and raised the blade to the heavens. The steel changed, glowing as it surged with power, no longer dark. It shined with its own light, like the sun. 

“Tatsumaki! Zankatou!”

The fortress of steel, the snarling crest of ivory and crimson, the cruel captain, the despicable soul; one strike cleaved them all in twain. 

Each half slid out of alignment.

The wind carried the blade’s sheath to Kubo’s hand. 

“There is nothing my sword cannot cut!” 

Kubo slid the sword inside the sheath with one smooth motion.

The universe turned white. The Watchdog of Hell was no more. 

The Mystery Kids shielded their eyes from the blinding blast. The Lost Cipher’s gravity anchors were pushed to its limit, screaming as it struggled to keep the ship in place. When the ship finally stilled, and the sea of stars was dark once more, the crew lowered their arms and their guard. Their eyes searched, a singular question in their thoughts. 

Where is Kubo?

Their answer came when a figure in blackened robes descended from the heavens to land gracefully upon the Lost Cipher’s figurehead. 

“Holy-” Eggs opened his mouth to speak, but found no words matched what he felt better than, “Bloody hell…” 

“Huh.” Winnie discreetly squeezed her thighs together. Still wasn’t clear on who he is, but damn. She knew what she’ll be dreaming tonight. “I’m wet.” 

One step, and Kubo floated like a feather from the figurehead to come to rest before the bridge window. Though his eye was hidden, the crew could still feel his gaze. 

“Did you blink?”

“And miss a second of that show? Hell no.” The good captain smiled. How joyful it was to smile.

Kubo dropped to a polite, practiced bow. “Then I am grateful.”

“Feels like that should be our line,” Raz chuckled, sheepish. 

“Howzabout you step inside so we can show you just how grateful we really are?” Mabel’s grin and waggling eyebrows promised of titillating encounters. 

Lili slapped her shoulder with the back of her hand, like a newspaper to an overzealous pup. “Down, girl.” 

“Please do,” Dipper breathed, his eyes shining with the glint of scientific thirst.

Norman slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand, like a newspaper to an overzealous pup. He said nothing. 

“Well, a proper introduction wouldn’t hurt.” Eggs shrugged. The boy was always excited to meet new friends. 

“An introduction would be lovely.” Winnie leaned forward, and purred. 

Lili could only sigh. “Neil, get the leashes. Again.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kubo raised a hand. The barest hint of an amused smile had broken through. “I cannot stay.”

“Now, whaddya mean by that?” Wybie narrowed his eyes. 

His eye might be hidden, but the crew could’ve sworn he’s trying not to look at them. “I have someplace else to be. My apologies.” 

“Not even for a little bit?” Neil pouted, until a brilliant idea struck him. “Mabel’s got more Mabel Juice…”

“This time, with one hundred percent more sticky nut juice!” Mabel pumped a triumphant arm to the air. The others either snickered or groaned. 

“One day, I’ll get you to stop referring to peanut butter like that.” One could imagine which camp Dipper belonged to.

Kubo twisted his lips. Genuine conflict raged within him. One even fiercer than the battle that had just taken place. “I do enjoy that drink. But I’m afraid I must refuse,” he eventually replied.

“Oh, come on! You can’t just take off already,” Wybie whined. And who could blame him? Everyone is fond of this lone swordsman. 

“You gotta cut yourself some slack, dude!” Raz stretched, as if in demonstration. “Let loose! Have some laughs! Jam to some good music! Eat some Smile Dip! In fact, I think we still got a packet left over.”

Kubo stilled. A sharp intake of breath went unnoticed by the crew. Music. How he longed to create such auditory pleasures again. To hold his beloved instrument in his arms once more. But such a life was behind him. Far, far behind him.

“Crew.” Coraline’s words silenced any other plea they were about to make. “Kubo’s got his own shit to deal with. He just saved our lives. The least we could do is respect that.”

“But,” Coraline stepped closer to the window, stepped closer to Kubo, missing only a literal olive branch, “in my experience, shit is always easier to handle when you’ve got more than two hands.” 

Coraline smiled. The good captain’s always was infectious. The spread was rapid, and acute. They glanced amongst themselves, and at Kubo, offering only their best, brightest smiles. A promise of true and pure companionship. 

“My offer still stands, Kubo.” The power of friendship only emboldened Coraline. She was certain this was what he needed. “Join us and we can help you.”

The good captain’s uncanny intuition served her well once more. Indeed, she was right. The warmth, the bond between the Mystery Kids stirred something deep in his heart. He longed for this, more than anything. And yet… 

“I mean no disrespect, but my answer remains the same, Coraline-senchou.” Kubo turned away and walked to the edge of the deck, his dark robes flowing behind him in the nonexistent wind. “Mine is a path best walked alone.”

Coraline’s smile faltered. They all faltered. But upsetting their savior would be the last thing they wanted.

“I’m not gonna pretend I’m not disappointed,” she said. “But the decision is yours. We can’t force anything on you.” 

Kubo’s stony visage cracked to reveal a smirk. “It would be foolish of you to try.”

A few scattered chuckles came in response. A balm, for the melancholic heart within. Our heroes knew of the unspoken inevitability. This would be farewell. For now. 

“Until we meet again, Mystery Kids,” Kubo said. A promise, and a premonition. “May your tale continue to be in your favor.” 

Kubo turned to face the endless, eternal sea of stars. One step. Two steps. And the lone swordsman was gone, carried by the cosmic wind, vanishing into the dark expanse. 

Coraline moved to the window, to lay a hopeful hand against the glass.

“Hope your tale goes in your favor too.” 

-

Another name for this AU could be Anime Bullshit AU.

So! That was Kubo. Or, more accurately, that was Edgy Kubo. Sort of. He’s still nice, he’s just had a bucket of black paint dropped on him. Well, a couple other things also got dumped on him. It’ll all be explained, eventually. For now, just live with the mystery.

Also. Holy shit, ya boy actually did it. Ever since I started writing again, my dream has always been to write one of those absolutely BS over the top anime fight scenes. Finally, I came up with a scenario where shit like this can happen. It caused me a bit of trouble, I’ll admit, because I ended up worrying too much about it being good, that it slowed my writing speed down to a crawl. Thank god I got over myself. 

Anyway. Hope you enjoyed reading that. Stay safe out there, folks. And here are your Japanese words for the day.

Senchou = (ship) captain

Tatsumaki = tornado

Zankatou = ship-cleaving sword.

[stars-and-loops]

Behold some Sock Opera but with the Euclid and Scalene au stuff.

————————

Dipper gripped the edges of the computer screen. This can’t be it. This can’t be it! It can’t! He was so close and now he only has one last chance to get the password right or else everything is erased!

In an instant, the world went black and white, startling Dipper from his seat. In a flash, Bill appeared from the shape of the window.

“Well well well! Someone is looking pretty desperate!” said Bill. “I can help ya kid! Ya just need to make a deal!”

Dipper growled. “You again!? I thought I told you to leave me alone!”

“Yeah. And then my parents showed before we even finished our conversation and welp! That was a long night! Lots of conversations and catching up!”

Right. Euclid and Scalene went into Dipper’s dream to tell him to sleep in his room instead of outside. Scalene was actually using her “mom” voice before all three triangles saw each other.

All of them left his dream in that moment, but not before Euclid stared at him until he promised he’ll go inside.

Dipper honestly thought that was the last he would have seen all of them, but then Euclid was back in the kitchen silently judging Grunkle Stan on his cooking skills and Scalene was helping Mabel with her puppet show.

And now Bill is in front of him, talking to him like he didn’t break into his Grunkle’s mind less than a month ago.

“Listen kid,” the Dream Demon continued. “I have no idea how you managed to summon them. I actually am tempted to stop myself from finding out. But let me be clear when I say that I’m impressed and am actually…” The triangle takes in an irritated breath. “…grateful.”

Dipper stared at him.

“Did your parents forced you to say that or…”

“Enough of that!” Interrupted Bills “You have a computer to figure out the password of. Or are ya just going to let that run out and lose the secrets of the universe?”

The boy jumped and look towards the computer and slowly but surely, the computer was still counting down to it’s demise.

Making a deal with Bill is bad but so would be losing all the information the computer had. There’s no telling when they’ll get a break like this again.

“Okay fine!” Exclaimed Dipper. “What crazy thing do you want anyway!? To eat my soul? To rup out my teeth? Are you going to replace my eyes with baby heads or something!?”

Bill put his hands up. “Yeesh kid relax! All I want is a puppet!”

Dipper blinks. “A puppet? Really?”

“Well no not really. I actually want something a bit more substantial than these sock puppets your sister is making but hey!” He flicks a head of one of the socks. “Everyone likes puppets and it looks to me you got surplus!”

Dipper took a sharp breath in. “I don’t know man, Mabel worked really hard on these.”

The triangle leveled a flat stare. “Didn’t my mom tell you that Shooting Star made like, a hundred extra of them?”

Okay that was true. There was way too many puppets and eventually they compromised to have the extras be kept in the attic. But still!

“Why even use puppets as a payment?” Asked Dipper. “What use do you have for these?”

“Absolutely none at all!” Bill exclaimed. “But hey, consider this less of a fair payment and more of a discount. I mean, you did manage to find my parents so it’s the least I can do.”

…Was that really it? Just gratefulness for them finding his parents? 

Dipper glanced at the clock and then back at Bill.

The triangle extended his hand out, having it be surrounded with ominous blue fire. “Tick tock kid! You’re not getting another discount after this!”

He glances at the computer, the clock ticks slowly to zero. “Ugh just one puppet? Fine!”

And with that, Dipper shook Bill’s hand.

…Huh. He was expecting a lot more searing pain and burns when doing this. This just felt awkward now.

“So what puppet are you going to pick anyway?” Asked Dipper.

“Hmmm let’s see. Eeny, meney, miney…YOU.”

Dipper blinked. “What!?”

He felt Bill pull him forward and pull and pull and p u l l before he fell.

Wait no he didn’t fell he floated. Like what Euclid and Scalene did when they followed him and Mabel around. Like what Bill did.

“Huh?” He tried to feel his body but his hand went through. “This can’t be happening! This can’t be happening! What did you do to my body!?”

To his horror, Dipper’s body stands up on his own and opens its eyes, revealing yellow, cat-like pupils. His body grinned. “Sorry kid but you’re my puppet now!” It said- No wait. Bill said. That was Bill’svoice.

He watched as Bill used his body to throw the computer down, smashing and stonping it into millions of pieces, all while laughing mad.

“This can’t be happening,” he says almost hysterically. “Oh man can’t be happening!”

“Oh believe it Pine Tree it’s happening!” His body was swaying back and forth, as if Bill was trying to get used to being in a body in the first place. “Got to say, thought i was going to have to push a bit more there! I mean, didn’t my dear old dad ever told you about not taking deals until it’s all on paper?”

Oh man, Euclid did say that. That was literally one of the first things he told them when they asked about why he was annoyed at Grunkle Stan’s crime methods. Ugh how can he be such an idiot!

“Hey stop!” He exclaimed. “You can’t just go and use my body for whatever you want!”

“Hm actually i can! I asked for a puppet after all! And i chose you! Isn’t that hilarious?” Bill started laughing maniacally, unnerving and wrong, all while he was in Dipper’s body. “You’re lucky though Pine Tree! I am actually going to make good on that discount!”

Dipper blinked. “What- What do you mean?”

“Hey, if it was any other person I would have vaulted down the stairs head first. Humans are so fragile and yet for some reason kids can recover from literally anything! Might as well push the limits amiright?”

A high-pitched noise came out of Dipper’s mouth(?).

“You managed to find two dead people and summon them with no repercussions whatsoever! And not only that but somehow you managed to have them be my fucking parents!” Another laugh pops out. “Just for that I’m going to be extra careful with this body. No vaulting down the stairs. Just me pouring soda into my eyes, stabbing forks into my arm, a bit of white lies, and burning that journal of yours!”

Burning the journals!? Oh man oh man. He has to find someone! He has to find Mabel! He has to find Grunkle Stan! He has to-

“Hey Dipper,” Euclid said, passing through the window. “Sorry about me and Scalene leaving you with no explanation last night. You know how it is. One moment you are telling someone to sleep in their room and the next your son is in front of you and you want nothing more than to catch up and are trying not have a breakdown in front of him.” He leans against the window and takes off his hat, looking wistful. “Hah. It’s been so long that I forgot what he was like. Heh I love that kid. Anyways what are you-“

Euclid stops as he sees Dipper and…Dipper in the room. One was floating while the other was standing, staring at him.

“…I take it that I missed something?

Dipper takes a breath in. “Yeah uh…well.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME AND I HATE YOU!” Shouted Bill. He then made his body fall down all the steps of the stairs, screaming the whole way down.

“…Was- Was that Bill?”

“Yeah. I messed up…”

Euclid stared at Dipper, took a deep breath, and then screamed into his hat.

kiwi i am rattling you like a soup can

WHADDAHELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HE PROMISED TO BE CAREFUL!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[lordarsonizzzzt]

(Have the thing I worked on. It didn't take as long as I thought it would.)

The alarms were blaring as the facility was under a heavy containment breach. Camila was looking for doctor Isaac through the chaos that became of the halls. It had been a mostly normal day and she just left to get some paper for the printer. Next thing she knew, some keter and euclid scps had breached containment and the site was now on lockdown. Deep down, she hoped that Isaac had already found a place to hide.

Isaac ran through the halls as fast as his four little legs would allow him. He knew he should have went with Camila or at least got her to be accompanied by a guard. His train of thoughts was stopped once he noticed he was taller than he usually was and he was cold. Would you look at that, I'm human again. Now standing on two feet, Isaac had a better time looking for his assistant despite his state of undress. God I hope no one will look at the security footage and see me like this.

Camila ran as fast as she could, followed really close by an SCP-939 instance. How could she have been so stupid as to think Isaac would be in there? But then again, he did have a habit to enter unusual places to sleep. It wasn't really Camila's fault right? And that agent Mathias guy told her he saw Isaac get in there. Did he lie to her? Now that she thought about it, she never saw him before. She was brought back to reality as her lab coat was caught between the beast's teeth and she was pulled back.

Screaming was heard. I finally managed to find her it would seem. Isaac's relief was cut short when he turned the corner and transformed into a cat again. He looked up. Camila was using both her arms to try and pry herself from SCP-939 without hurting herself. The anomaly didn't seem to be happy about it and tugged Camila towards it's largely open maw, ready to close it on her head.

In a flash of brown fur, SCP-939 was thrown on it's back, doctor Isaac's teeth planted firmly in it's neck and tugging downwards to keep the creature on the ground. Low growling and hissing were exchanged between the two as they both tried to gain power over the other. To hell with the foundation, one missing instance of SCP-939 won't hurt anyone.

Camila got up and looked at the violent scene in front of her. Blood had started dripping onto the floor from the multiple wounds Isaac had inflicted on the scp. Whenever it would try to move, Isaac would scratch it with his hind legs and apply even more pressure to the hold he had on it's neck. Eventually, SCP-939 stopped moving altogether.

Isaac was breathing heavily. He couldn't calm down. How could he? His assistant was almost killed right in front of him. He didn't hear her coming closer. She softly called out to him. He couldn't hear her, his ears were ringing. Camila tentatively approached her hand towards Isaac and caressed his head. Slowly, Isaac was brought back to the situation and turned to Camila, blood still fresh on his face.

"Close your eyes and lend me your lab coat please. And whatever happens, DO NOT open your eyes." Camila obliged. Isaac turned human again and dressed himself with Camila's lab coat. He took her hand and Camila almost opened her eyes in shock. So Isaac IS human after all. Careful not to be seen, Isaac led the way to his office where he barricaded the door once they were inside. They sat on one of the desks in the office and rested their backs against the wall.

"You can open your eyes now if you want." Camila shook her head. "I'd rather keep them closed. Could you... um..." Camila could feel her cheeks heat up. Was she really going to ask this of her superior? "couldyouholdmyhandagainplease?" She was met with silence. God, I knew I shouldn't have said that. Quick! Find something to say! Come on! She opened her mouth again but closed it with an embarrassed yelp when she felt Isaac's hand holding her own.

Camila felt her head slowly falling on what she supposed was Isaac's shoulder. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she couldn't find the strength to stay awake anymore. Isaac let her. Poor girl almost died today, she deserves some rest. Speaking of which... Isaac brought his other hand to his mouth and wiped the blood on the lab coat's sleeve. I'll get her another one. He looked to Camila who was peacefully asleep on his shoulder. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and held her closer.

When the breach was finally over, Camila was still asleep but she was now lying on the table. Isaac had cleaned up the mess he had put in front of his office door and was now writing the incident report about his encounter with SCP-939 and the fate of the scp at his hands... Or rather his paws. Once he was finished, he got back on his feet and made his way to the table where Camila was still sound asleep. Safe. She was safe. Isaac sighed in relief. Then Clef loudly opened the door, waking Camila up and transforming Isaac into his cat form. "You didn't tell me you were so well hung Isaac!"

-Cat dad anon

Isaac and Camila: *just wnt through a traumatic event, they are tired and wold like to rest*

Clef: ISAAC YOUR DICK IS MASSIV-

[frenchcurious]

Euclid Shook (Americain). Raining Car Wash, American Weekly magazine cover, May 25, 1952  - source Heritage Auctions.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 8

I have spent fucking all day on this fic, mostly thinking up ways to get y/n to Wolf Trap without Will actually kidnapping her. This is what I came up with.

Will takes y/n to Wolf Trap to hide out while the investigation continues. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop @viviace and @dovahdokren 

Trigger warnings: mention of substance abuse, ptsd, sex trafficking

“The first priority is keeping you close and keeping you safe.” Will stood up suddenly and reached for his coat. “Come on.”

“Huh?” you interjected. “What are you talking about?” 

“I have a place near here. Just outside of Quantico, surrounded by farmland.” He explained. “I guarantee you nobody will come looking for you there.”

“Can we at least stop at my apartment first?” You begged. “I should probably get my computer, and like, clothes and stuff.”

“Sure.” Will conceded. “Do you have a phone?” 

“Uh, yeah?” You pulled your phone from your pocket. 

“Turn off location services and shut it off.” He instructed. “We can’t risk anyone finding you.” 

“Am I being kidnapped?” You said, half joking. 

“I’d rather our one lead be kidnapped by an agent then murdered by a sex slave.” Will said, dryly, as he gathered up his things. “Come on.” 

Thoroughly not caring whether you lived or died, you followed him down the hall to the lab where Jack was inspecting a corpse. He knocked on the window, catching Jack and Dr. Katz’s attention. 

“I’m taking her to Wolf Trap for the night.” Will said in an authoritative voice that didn’t match his harmless exterior. “She’ll be safe there.” 

Jack looked at Will and then looked at you. He seemed offended on your behalf that Will was talking about you like you were a box of Fabergé eggs and not a person. “And you’re okay with this?” 

“He raises a good point.” You shrugged. “Unless you think he’s going to kill me.” 

“The alternative is prison protective custody.” Will added. “And we shouldn’t let anyone have the slightest notion that we imprison people who need help. We’re not the ICE.” 

Jack tried to keep his eye roll subtle, but you noticed. This wasn’t the first time Will had done this, and Jack didn’t seem concerned enough to worry you. “Fine.” 

With Jack’s reluctant permission, Will escorted you from the building. Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger’s side door for you before starting the car. You settled into a less-than-comfortable silence that lasted until you reached the main road. 

“What is a borrasca?” He asked, out of nowhere. 

“I’m sorry?” You said. 

“A borrasca.” He repeated. “When you were talking to Jack, you mentioned it and looked at me like you expected me to know what it was.” 

“Oh. Borrasca.” You answered. “It’s a horror story. About a group of kids who live in a small town in the Ozarks. There’s an urban legend around the town about monsters living in abandoned mines, but they investigate and find out it’s a sex trafficking ring run by a rich family and the corrupt local police.” 

“How does it end?” 

You couldn’t tell if he was humoring you or if he was actually interested, but you told him anyway. “The ending is kind of bittersweet. The kids grow up, but they’re traumatized beyond any hope of repair. One is a heroin addict, another suffers from severe PTSD and the other is paralyzed. But they’re together again and the sex trafficking ring was exposed.” 

“So you think it’s sex trafficking?” Will posed, after a moment of pondering what to ask. 

“I’m not sure what else it could be.” You shook your head, keeping your gaze fixed on the road. “Other than a power trip for Chase to stroke his god complex.”

“I’m going to need directions to your apartment.” He said. “So just, let me know where to turn when we’re getting close.” 

“Sure.” You nodded, fairly sure he was asking for directions on purpose as to not use the GPS. “Take a right when you get to Euclid Drive and then it’s a straight shot down Chandler Street. I can tell you when to stop.” 

Will followed your instructions and soon enough you pulled up in front of your apartment complex. 

“Try to be quick, okay?” He said as you opened the door. “Only take what you need.” 

You hurried up the stairs, unlocked your door and found a large enough bag. You tore into your dresser, stuffing handfuls of random clothes into the bag. You moved on to the bathroom and slid everything on top of the sink into the bag. You shoved your laptop and its charger into the bag. That was probably everything. 

After making sure to triple check the locks on your way out, you returned to Will’s car. You shoved the bag in the backseat and pulled yourself into the car like you’d just robbed a bank. 

“Alright, I’m all set.” You slammed the door shut. “Let’s go.” 

He put the car in reverse. “Thank you for being so understanding.” 

You decided to play dumb. “Oh, I usually travel light anyway.” 

“I mean, putting your trust in me.” He specified. “I know you didn’t have much choice, but still. I can’t imagine how scary this must be for you.” 

You doubted that, but you kept it to yourself. “I appreciate you saying that. For the sake of transparency, I think I should tell you that I definitely feel safe around you.” 

“You don’t have to say that.” He shook his head. “You watched me shoot someone dead tonight. I wouldn’t blame you if you were scared-” 

“I’m not lying.” You interrupted. “I can’t explain it, and maybe it’s just because you saved my life, but I... I trust you.” 

“You figured this out from a few hours?” he said, skeptically. 

“In my defense,” You began. “It’s been a very eventful few hours.”

The car came to a stop as the light turned red. Will examined your profile. “You’ve lived more lives in the last six hours than most people live over the course of years.” 

“But my last six hours is your life.” You countered. “So what does that say about you?” 

“That I understand you.” Will fixed his eyes back on the road. “Maybe you’re just a little bit too much like me.” 

You tilted your head onto the window and watched the lights roll by. You felt yourself beginning to doze off when a familiar sound filled the silent car. 

It’s a long story, but one you’ve never heard before. This story is about a place that dwells in the mountain. A place where bad things happen. 

You turned your head and looked at Will with a smile. 

“What?” He laughed softly. “We have a long drive ahead of us.” 

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax in the presence of this familiar stranger and the comforting thriller. You only opened them again when Will gently shook you awake. 

“Hey.” He whispered, watching you struggle against sleep. “We’re here.”

You tried to pull yourself awake but instead found a slightly more comfortable position and shut your eyes again. 

He put his hand on your shoulder and shook a little harder. “I made up the couch for you. I promise it’s more comfortable than the car.” 

This time, you forced your eyes awake. Any flat surface that wasn’t made of thumbtacks sounded inviting to you. You pushed the passenger’s door open and wobbled on your legs. 

“Let me just grab my shit-” You mumbled, feeling around for the handle.

“It’s already taken care of.” Will told you, locking the car. He draped your arm over his shoulders and guided you towards the house. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” 

[creepyalienghost]

Wally at the scp foundation. 🎭

Warming: gore.

Wally opened the door to Janitors closet and stepped in to get his supplies. He began filling a bucket of water for the mess he was about to clean up. It sadly wasn’t at Joey Drew’s studio anymore. It was at this strange foundation. Apparently his old boss and old friends started a cult and tampered with a powerful demon. It got the foundation’s attention and they took over the Studio, splitting the employees up. Some were turned into d-class others had to opportunity to join. He chose to be the janitor for the foundation.

He use to see a few of his friends in the site he was at. Like Sammy and Tom both as a d class but they got transported to other sites for a better opportunity. Last he herd about them was Tom became an engineer and Sammy getting brainwashed by some scp at site 19 and went crazy. The rest he didn’t know what happened to him nor if they were still alive.

He has seen some pretty strange things in his time here ,cleaned up them too. Like that strange statue who can kill you. He cleaned up blood and other stuff inside his cell as well as bodies it had killed. He cleaned up bodies from that storage music sheet to. They had destroyed themselves from it. Once he even had to clean up after a giant lizard who had fed on people after his escape. Today he was told to clean up after one by the number Scp-035. He never seen or heard anything about that one but was told to be quick for it. He didn’t ask questions about it. He had learn it wasn’t his place to understand these things. Only to clean up around here. Plus did he actually want to these answers? Probably not.

Wally got his mop and bucket and began heading to the keter wing. Before entering he had to be checked and cleared to go. He stepped though the doors and immediately noticed the amount of increased guards. He knew they were there to protect the janitors and Researchers but seeing more didn’t make him feel safe. It made him aware of how much more dangerous these scps were. He was more used to safe and Euclid scps and liked them better. Especially the safe ones. Like the cute jelly fellow 999.

As he walked on down the corridor he passed by each cell knowing there was something evil behind there. Something ready to end him and others. He read the numbers on the signs as he continued on down. Scp-939, Scp-106, Scp-090 and on. When he finally found Scp-035, the guard station there pressed a passcode on the number pad then opened it after a beep. The guard gestured to Wally to step inside and Wally, having no other choice slowly does.

Inside the room was only a glass container, and empty one at that. But after scanning the rest of the room he notice a white Theater mask in the middle of a pile of clothes stained with what looks like to be ink. It’s mouth was shaped in a frowning sad face which the goop seemed to be coming from as well as its eyes. Flashes of him cleaning up ink and watching his friends get worst ran across his mind until he shook his head. He needed to focus and do the job quick they said. Besides this wasn’t ink and that demon isn’t here.

Wally sat the bucket of water down beside him and leaned his mop on the wall. He put pon some gloves then approached the pile of goop on the floor, picking up the pile of researcher clothes. As he placed them in the trash he wondered why they were there in the first place and what the stuff really is. That’s when he heard it. The whispering. It was fate at first but it quickly began getting louder and louder, filling up his head. It was calling out to him, telling him to wear it. He wanted -no, needed to put on the mask.

Wally slowly reached down and grabbed the mask as the whispering gets louder and the demand getting stronger. He gazed down the mask in his hand for a few moments, watching the goop dripped down its eyes and mask. Then without any more Delay Wally Frank’s slid on the mask over his face.

Immediately pain shoot though out his entire body. Everything felt like they were dying but his head was worse. His head felt like it was melting off. Yet he couldn’t scream or call for help. Wally dropped down to his knees trying to reach up for the mask to yank off. But he couldn’t. His arms didn’t respond to what he wanted. Though out all the pain he found himself losing his the will of movement. The whispers were still there and louder then ever and he couldn’t do anything about it. He was slowly losing other senses to. He found he no longer could smell nor hear the outside world. Only the whispers and now it was telling him to give up. To let it take control. He had no other option but to let it. He was unable to move or call out. No one knows he was in this pickle and no one would come to save him.

He felt his body jerk once then twice and knew it would soon be the end. The last thing Wally saw, before everything went black, was its reflection on the glass case it was supposed to be in. The frown face he saw before was now switched with a happy evil smile with new fresh goop running down its eyes and mouth.

—-

The guard posted at Scp-035 door was waiting for the janitor to finish up to let him up. He had been waiting for a while now and was ready to go on break. Finally the janitor gave the Signal knock and lowered his weapon, pressing in the code for the door. “It’s about t-“ He was stopped when broken broom stick was shoved though him right as he opened the door.

The guard fell helpless on the floor, coughing up as much blood as what was pouring out of his wounds. “N…he…s-som” the guard couldn’t speak and quickly notice a shadow approaching. He looked up directly into the eyes of the possessive mask. “P-pl…n…” the guard shook his head and held his hands over his face.

“Aww what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” The mask laughed at the frighten guard, right before he stomped on his face hard. He did it once, twice, three times, over and over until it was nothing more then a pile of flesh and bone.

The possessive mask admired his work for a moment before his gaze was on the weapon. He picked it up, checking the bullets in the clip. “We’re going to have some fun.” The possessive mask chuckled as he loaded the weapon back then he proceeded down the corridor, where more guards were station.