#fancy bird town

[twilitlegend]

Things I'm craving: reva/link, and long-fic gen-fic about totk ganondorf 😔

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: consultant groups can be used to outsource problems for companies so why not monarchies?

Danny is listening to the various eyeballs and ghosts chatter on about all the issues that he now has to oversee and advise and make so many freaking decisions on. It’s annoying that it all has to come down to his call because he was a dumb 14 year old who didn’t want his town to permanently live in the ghost zone.

Now 17, King of the Infinite, and a bit wiser to the world, Danny is doing his best to balance his teenage ambitions to not give a shit and his protective obsession to very much give a shit.

Sams parents are making her learn the family business and Tucker is trying to make this internship he’s got with a fancy tech company out of New Jersey into a career without college… so while they’re commiserating with Danny the idea comes up.

Earth has a shit ton of heroes. Like, ever since the Justice League *poofed* the GIW out of existence with the Meta human acts- more and more caped crusaders seemed to be coming out of the wood work. More villains too but still, more people who seemed wise to their abilities and morals. Danny has literally never taken an ethics class.

But rn, Eye-mothy and Eye-Bert are arguing over how Danny as King Phantom is supposed to tackle the problem of some fucking pool acting as a weird trade route with a cult and… ugh it’s just so boring but like also such a fucking problem. But… maybe it can be someone else’s issue.

Opening a portal, Danny escapes into space and gets to work finding the base of operations- Tucker had told him there was a new satellite after all and there’s no way it wasn’t connected to the hero orgs- and boom he flies into the Watchtower.

“Hey- are any of you guys willing to consult on some weird pools of ectoplasm in Pakistan? Green and glowing little lakes of bullshit and magic?” Danny asks into the meeting room of the JL regardless of their startled and alarmed exclamations.

“… I could consult on that.” A voice comes from the corner, and Danny recognizes him as one of the bat people. Or bird? The guy is in a lot of red and clearly wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting based on the way he’s propped in the corner. The room erupts in protest but Danny barely hears them through his excitement and focus on the dude.

“Great! I’ll have him back before the end of the day! Lets go Bird boy!” And with that, Danny grabbed the Bird, chucked them both through a portal back into his thrown room and begins to explain the way these eyeballs are totally trying to trap him into doing more work than he needs to do.

“What do I call you by the way? I’m Danny but you’ll probably hear them call me King Phantom.”

“I go by Red Robin, and honestly, I’ve been trying to get this shit taken care of for years.”

From there Tim becomes a regular consultant for King Phantom- the Bat Family is losing their minds with him constantly going to the land of the dead but also Constantine said not to piss off the king at all costs.

Danny is just thrilled that this dude has a shit ton of insight as well as business sense- like he could legit run the monarchy way better than him despite the fact that they’re the same age.

They end up working together for years, and even when there’s not an active issue at hand, Danny will meet up with the bird just to talk.

Sam and Tucker think they’re hilarious each time they ask if Danny’s proposed yet.

Tim has already planned their wedding but all of that information is in a folder more secured than the nuclear codes- Danny needs to ask him on a date first.

[sigmasemen]

WHEN YOU GO ON A DATE WITH THEM. (1/2)

multiple blue lock characters x reader

tags: romance, cute relationships, established relationships, fluff.

taglist: n/a currently

characters: alexis ness, akira endoji, ryusei shidou, nijiro nanase, ranze kurona, michael kaiser, bachira meguru, rin itoshi, chigiri hyoma.

word count: 2668

extra notes: i originally had sae in this but he didn’t make it into the 9 character count i usually do.

ALEXIS NESS:

- Ness is very strategic about dates and things of the sort. He always thinks about the best ways to make you feel special, how to plan things out for you to enjoy yourself, he's particular.

- Though he tends to stick to romantic dinners in a nice restaurant, private to just you and him, sometimes you suggest something a bit more daring. Like, "Let's go to a yoga class!" or "Let's head over to the local water park!"

- But, arguably, his favorite non-romantic-dinner-date is definitely when you two went out shopping. Not to a mall or anything, just a town square, traditionally built with intricate patterns in the rocks.

- Ness, at first, was just window shopping and letting you pick everything. Whenever you looked at something for a prolonged second, he grabs it, buys it, and gives it to you. Especially if it's matching.

- He's a bit touchy on dates. Mostly wrapping his hands around your waist, occasionally glaring at people who stare at you for too long then pressing a firm kiss onto your lips, face, wherever he can reach.

- Ness enjoys taking you to fancy wine and dine restaurants, though gets confused if you order something more normal. He always gets you extra food just in case. (On most dates though, he's cooking for you.)

- At the end of the date, he walks you home and has his usual V-shaped smile plastered on his face while he waits for you to tell him bye. He then leans down, presses a kiss on your hand, then trails kisses up to your cheek and smiles.

- "I will see you soon, my love." He then walks off, leaving you dazed (with, of course, a soft smile on your face.)

AKIRA ENDOJI:

- Akira blushes bright red whenever you do literally anything slightly cute on the date. If you give a small giggle, he'll grip the table with a huge grin and bright blush on his face.

- He holds open every door for you, pulls out your chair, adjusts your outfit when people are looking. He'll do anything for you and your praise.

- He loves his first date with you. He remembers you went to a garden, and as he was chasing you around in there, he somehow stumbled into the fountain. He looked sad that he had ruined his appearance, so you jumped in right with him.

- He adores going on as many dates as he possibly can with you. You're practically going on one every other day.

- Akira, whenever you're going up an elevator or doing something before a ride, will bounce on his heels and smile as he's excited.

- Each date is extremely eventful though. You cannot say you've ever had a bland one. Whether the idea is skydiving or Akira just accidentally does something dumb, it's a 50/50 chance.

- One time, you went to a zoo and stepped on a bug. You didn't really care, however your (lovely) boyfriend's arms and legs were wrapped tightly around you as he stared at the guts of it. Then proceeded to act cool until he saw another one.

- He enjoys when you touch the tuff of orange hair in front of others because he practically chirps like a bird.

- Always buys souvenirs after every. Single. Date.

- He also loves going on coffee or hot chocolate dates in the winter because you always shiver and he gets to give you his coat. He's very proud of himself after that.

- At the end of each eventful date, you lean on his shoulder while listening to music with him. He fools with your hand until you both fall asleep.

RYUSEI SHIDOU:

- Oh expect the most eventful dates to the point your legs are trembling after from running around with him.

- He adores to pamper you and give you all his attention on dates. And grab your ass. Also a very important part.

- Most dates include going to parks and beating kids on the jungle gym, going to a carnival and competing to see who's better (if he wins, he gives you the stuffed animal regardless), going to rave concerts, or staying home and fucking. Whatever he wants that day.

- He actually took you to see A Clockwork Orange. You didn't understand what he saw in it, especially considering the foulness of it... However, he explained how he fucking loved the gore. Weird, but you had learned to accept it after seeing that kick to the face Rin got...

- Shidou adores randomly slapping your ass on dates and making you yell. He finds it hilarious and will press kisses all over your face as a thank you for letting him.

- He sometimes invites you on sudden notice to feed strays with him, which then spirals into a long and loving date.

- You teach him how to slow dance. He does it to impress you, but beyond that he'd suck.

- Always asking you to wear revealing outfits but accepts it when you don't. He enjoys how you gawk at his muscles when he flexes though.

- He also finds it fun to take you to cat cafes and to place all the cats on you, then take a picture and run.

- He buys you a lot of small trinkets, especially clips and plushies. He even gets a custom plush of him to put on your phone. (He has one of you on his too.)

- All dates end back at his place after a few rounds, having you curled up against his chest. For once, even though he feels empty as usual, he enjoys the sight of you on his chest. His breath and your face made you both drift to sleep.

NANASE NIJIRO:

- Nanase is over the moon when you ask him out on a date. He's a bit scared to ask you out on dates but he appreciates when you ask him. The only time he ever asked you to take him out on a date was when he asked you to prom. (His mother was dolling him all up while he looked a bit embarrassed.)

- Most dates have you two holding hands or interlocked arms.

- Also getting dirty.

- Nanase sometimes takes you on remote dates to picnics so you can remain distant from everyone as it's nice to have just your company around.

- He loves dates where you two get to go on adventures together to try new things. Like rock climbing! (You found out he had a fear of heights with that.)

- A few times on your dates, he'd say a metaphor wrong to a snow cone vendor and you'd just giggle and kiss his cheek.

- He's very much a gentleman and will hold open doors for you constantly.

- Tried to slow dance with you when it was getting dark and it was raining, except he slipped and you both fell. It took a while for you to stop laughing.

- Usually you buy large drinks early on in the date to quench your thirst for the entire date.

- Whenever the date ends, you walk him home and shake hands with whatever parent is there at the time. You then wave and walk home. (He's texting you the entire way home to make sure you get home safely.)

RANZE KURONA:

- He practically rushes to ask you out as he doesn't want any other guy to come sweep you up and take you away. 

- Dates usually are random, he'll go anywhere you want to go. The aquarium is the main spot. Not because he picked it, but because you did. You'll stare at the sharks for a few prolonged moments, then look at you and trail your fingers along his teeth.

- You always wear lipstick to your dates so you can press a kiss onto his cheek.

- He usually dresses pretty casual for dates. Shorts and a tank top. You always go all out and it's cute to see your contrasting styles.

- Sometimes you'll bring a Nintendo switch and show games to him that he enjoys.

- Most dates are actually at either of your houses as you two like having alone time together. Sitting in bed together, sharing his jacket as you lean against his shoulder and keenly watch the movie you had put on.

- He enjoys playing music in the background when you two do work out dates. By the end, Kurona is still going while you're face first on the ground.

- Kurona hates going to restaurants and instead picks up fast food for you two. He's always trying new things at places. Though he especially likes snowcones from a certain corner store.

- Dates ends with silent walks late at night, content with each other's company and nothing more. Though, not much more is needed for you to be satisfied.

MICHAEL KAISER:

- Oh how he loves to spoil you rotten and pamper you. He sometimes runs his hands down your back and tells you how good you look. Asks you to wear outfits he specifically buys for you.

- He constantly takes you slow dancing and tells you that he has to show you off to the town. You're used to a lot of attention but it's even worse when Kaiser is flaunting you. Kisses you for the paparazzi.

- He pampers you a lot. Mostly dates on the town where he can show you off. Or he takes you in a helicopter and flies you around, taking you across buildings sight seeing.

- He loves how the cities reflect in your eyes and will randomly kiss you because of it.

- Always takes you to big, nice musicals and plays after renting out the entire theatre. He enjoys comparing you and his relationship to one of the relationships in the show.

- He adores feeding you German cuisine, says he made it but he most definitely did not.

- Most dates are very formal, however he doesn't mind any sort of date with you. He adores the look you get in your face after you've been pampered silly. 

- You have at least 50 different pieces of jewelry encrusted with a blue diamond or sapphire that he bought for you.

- Kaiser sometimes randomly reaches around your waist and presses firm kisses onto your neck, mumbling how beautiful your body looks in the outfit you have on. He just chuckles when you get embarrassed.

- All dates end with him dropping you off at home in some extra way, then telling your parents how great you were. He always has to make a grand gesture towards them as well.

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[twola]

Cartography

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You bite your bottom lip to stop the moan bubbling from your chest out into the room - with the broken windows and rotting walls of the old plantation house, there was little doubt of noise carrying. You shudder at the stimulation occurring in your core, stretched delightfully around several inches of hot, hard flesh.

Arthur grunts in appreciation of your tightening around him, “Look at you-” he half whispers in the bright light pouring in from Lemoyne outside.

The quiet of the morning is serene, interspersed by the lazy chirping of birds outside - but within the room, it’s heralded by deep breaths and choked-off moans, the wet slapping of skin on skin.

You arch your back, pressing down on your forearms on the table, sighing in bliss as it changes the angle of where your lover spears into your body ever so slightly. You’re rewarded by a groan and the tightening of his warm hands around your bare hips, the only part of your skin bared to the world.

It was supposed to be an early morning, and indeed, the two of you had gotten out of bed, dressed, ready to get on with the day. Until you leaned over the table on one elbow, scrutinizing the map of several states spread out on it. Evidently was far too much for Arthur, and before you knew it, he was upon you, nibbling at your earlobe as he worked your pants and bloomers down your thighs, pushing them down just enough to access your dampening cunt.

With one hand pressing against your core, the other worked at his own pants, fishing his cock out of his union suit and pressing the swollen head against you with a speed and necessity akin to breathing.

“Wer- ahh- weren’t we supposed to be goin’ somewhere?” You stutter as his hips bounce against yours, your forearms spread over the Kamassa valley, and your fingers draw into your palms to make fists just south of the Ambarino line.

“Later. ‘M fine right here.” Arthur puffs, continuing to thrust into you, his cock ramrod hard and covered in your wetness. He breathes out loudly from his nose, like a beast, and one of his hands creeps around your hip to pat at the little nub of your pleasure, fingers tangling in your dark pubic hair.

Your mouth hangs open, eyes wide as he continues to rock into you, the head of his cock pressing so deep into your body you swear you feel it in your guts.

Trying not to scream, your eyes flit to that old map spread beneath you, and your hands splayed out on the table again.

Your pinky brushes against the far north reaches of the Lanaheechee.

“A-Annesburg?” You groan out, the text of the town’s name underneath your wrist.

He grunts out in the negative, “Naw, too dirty - mmph, all that coal dust.”

“No Van Horn neither then-” You breathe out before gasping as he thrusts his hips into yours with a little more force.

“No Van Horn.”

You glance down again, knowing how much he hated the large city on the map hidden by your breasts - Saint Denis was out of the question.

“R-Rhodes,” underneath your elbow.

“Not after that shootout - oh darlin’-” Arthur grunts out, panting as he spreads his legs a little further to ground himself as he rocks into you.

The mountains past your pinky finger, “Strawberry? Gonna, mmph, go to that fancy hotel finally?”

“Not this time-”

Closer to your wrist, “Not back to Val-”

He cuts you off with a punishing thrust, and you drop your question and can simply mewl in response.

Arthur grunts, folding himself over you completely, smothering you against the table, framing his forearms on either side of yours, his breath in your ear as his thrusting slows into a full, slow rocking, the table squealing underneath the movement of your bodies.

“H-here,” he taps empty space north of Wallace Station with his forefinger. 

“Wha- oh god - what’s there?” You whine as he presses completely into you, his hips pressing hard into yours, pinning you to the table completely.

“A cabin ‘m gonna lock us in for the next week.” He grunts out beneath gritted teeth, and you moan at the thought, loudly before his other hand moves to your chin and tilts it to the side to give himself access to shove his lips against yours.

His hips stop their languid rolling, and a grunt charges up from his chest into your mouth as his cock spurts his release into you, the warmth blooming in your cunt sending you over the edge, clenching around him, making him gasp as your body milks his for all he’s worth.

You shudder, taken by your orgasm and the feeling of him buried so deep inside you, stretching you to the dual threshold of pain and pleasure.  The room’s spinning slows as you and he both catch your breath.

Arthur hisses as he pulls out, and you wince slightly at the dribble of him that starts to trek down your thighs before he yanks his neckerchief off and presses it against your cunt, stymying the flow of his spend from between your legs.

As you catch your breath and lean back up on your forearms, you glance down at the map where he said the two of you were going. 

“That really what we’re doin’?”

Arthur pats the fabric against the rim of your cunt again, blotting against your wet skin. Tossing the dirtied fabric to the floor, he leans over you again, pressing his lips against your temple as his arms frame yours once again.

“Reckon we can take the scenic route there too.”

[the-bofurin-digest]

Jo Togame Casual Headcanons

Casual Headcanons

~ His legs are hairy in the sexiest way possible. ~ another one I like to toss into the "raised by his grandparents" basket. Probably had a terrible relationship with his father, who was ultra hard on him growing up. timid mother. ~ jeans are a sensory no no for him. they are tight, constricting, and too heavy on his body ~ attracts stray cats like the old lady in your neighborhood who feeds them. But he does it on accident. Doesn't know how he has become the local cat dad. ~ master at sudoku ~ would also probably own a few pair of Crocs for "fancy nights" ~ collects little keychain of cute characters he's won at festivals, which he's a master at doing naturally. ~isn't a big movie guy, but likes old 1950s America westerns (reminds him of his grandpa) ~He loves early spring, especially when the flowers bloom and the birds are chirping around town. ~ Loves the smell of Eucalyptus, cherry wood, and peppermint. ~ afraid of mice. I like to think he squeals like a little girl and jumps on a chair while Choji saves him by capturing the little friend and taking it outside.

Dating Headcanons

~oh sweet baby boy picks you up while he's working a booth at a festival, no doubt about it. He promises you a free snack or something every hour if you come by. And at the end of the night gives you his number. He is completely smitten and playing it cool on the outside, but on the inside he is screaming like a little girl in excitement when he gets that first text from you. -likes to keep the relationship between his partner and Shishitoren separate for awhile. He's tending to your relationship like a kindling flame and when that line gets crossed where the two worlds collide (you and his group) that flame is either going to turn into a burning love, or fizzle out into smoke and he's just not ready to face that just yet. ~ love language when receiving: physical touch. Please, run your fingers through his hair, pinch his nose when you tease him, hug him from behind when you spot him waiting for you in a crowd, hold his hand when walking, ANYTHING. He's touch starved and needs the seratonin. ~ Love language when giving: quality time. He enjoys doing anything and everything with you. Will always be there to walk you home after class or work with an extra ramune in hand for you, ready to hear about your day as you ramble on in an animated manner. He could spend every moment with you and it wouldn't be enough. ~ you aren't allowed to push the shopping cart or carry the basket when grocery shopping. That is his job thank you very much. He will also kindly remind you multiple times that he will get the heavy/ high things off the shelf. You shouldn't even be lifting a finger. Actually you know what just sit in the cart. ~ Starts using your soap or body wash sporadically. Will also leave a slightly worn but clean sweater out for you to wear because it smells like him and he knows you like that. ~ A favorite date night of his is just a quiet evening at home with some music in the background while the two of you just cook and talk about your day. He loves just doing simple domestic things with you, and standing over the stove together while you laugh and tell him the latest silly gossip is when he is happiest. ~ knows some of the best places in town to watch fireworks where no one else goes. He pulls you close, and watches you while you watch the bursts of colors in the sky.

[beardedhandstoadshark]

TP Link really is the guy ever.

My man‘s a goofy horse girl who loves goats, sumo wrestles gorons, makes soup for Yetis, collects insects for a girl roleplaying princess parties and holds dogs and cats like puppies, yet almost the entire fandom makes him a brooding edgelord because the color palette of the game is kinda muted and he‘s technically a werewolf.

You can howl songs in this game and he always does a little spin at the end. He plays hide and seek with a town full of cats. He lives in a treehouse and has pictures of goats framed on the walls. You can pet the goats and play fetch with the castle town doggies. He‘s so happy over a cave full of pots to break that they placed the "Happy Link“ Miiverse stamp in said cave. He loves to go shopping in Castle Town. He sticks lit bombs onto arrows to shoot them, and somehow makes it work. He carried a whole barrel of water across half the country with his hands because a Goron was sweating. He sumo wrestles goats, too. He’s a bit of a show-off. If you do any of the sick sword moves he learnt from his dead skeleton gramps and press a, he does a fancy sword sheathing move with a smirk because he feels so cool. He likes to scare the castle town guards as a wolf. He befriends a chicken lady and her flying head son via dungeoncrawling. He set a building full of bombs on fire because of a bug inside. He’s got literal puppy eyes. He let himself get shot off a canon, twice. And got carried away by a giant monster bird, also twice. One of those times was for a minigame where you collect fruit. He eats bee larvae and jello from the ground. He goes snowboarding with the Yetis on a frozen leaf. That he obtains by rolling headfirst into a tree. He shows kindness to strangers as helps out his companion way past what she asked of him even when she was pretty mean because he knows it’s the right thing to do. He defeats the personification of a dead gods‘ anger with a fishing rod he got from his adoptive little bro who wants to be just like him.

TP Link is the guy ever.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

I’m Hot, Sticky Sweet

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (after series end)

Warnings: Poorly written smut, food and sex, p in v, cunnilingus

Summary: You and Daryl haven’t been able to spend much time together. With only a certain amount of time available, you’re able to make the best of it by killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: I have no idea what I’m doing as a fanfic writer. Please forgive me for this insanity.

*gif is not mine

“What’s goin’ on here?” Daryl could smell the delicious scent of spices the moment he opened the door. He knew you could cook, but there really had never been enough resources or time for anything fancy. He was salivating by the time he reached the dining room, taking in the spread on the four person table. 

The archer was always up before the sun and home long after it had set, helping around the Commonwealth in any way he could. Some days, Mercer would have him beyond the walls, pushing back herds. Other days, he’d be part of the labor responsible for reinforcing those walls. He did what he could, rarely turning down a request for his assistance. Runs were still necessary in order to maintain the life to which you all had grown accustomed. Daryl would be gone for hours, sometimes even days. 

He was always so tired. He was sore. He missed his family. 

Once Pamela had been imprisoned and Ezekiel eventually took over the position as governor, Daryl was given a larger house. The two of you had turned it down, though. There was a quaint little home, still bigger than the apartment, away from the town center. It was your idea of perfect for your little family. Its four bedrooms were small but none of you had very many belongings anyway.

You settled in quickly. Daryl didn’t worry about Judith and RJ. They were safe in your capable hands. While you fit the role of the stay at home mom, you wouldn’t hesitate to pick up your knives and bring them down on anyone that threatened the safety of those kids. 

“Hey, you.” You were beaming at him, a bowl of steamed vegetables in your hand, when Daryl shook himself out of his thoughts. 

“S’all this? Where the kids?”

“Well,” you began, wiping your hands in the apron you had just removed. “We haven’t had a lot of time for ourselves lately. Carol took Jude, RJ, and Dog for the evening and I grabbed some extra venison from the market.” When he simply stared at you, doubt eased in slowly and then all at once. You knew you could afford the extra meat. Daryl was paid well for all the hours he put in for the community. The leftovers could be used for his lunch tomorrow and dinner for you and the kids. Still, you twisted your hands in the soft fabric of your sundress and avoided his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if—”

“Whoa, slow down. I ain’t upset or nothin’.” He had his hands up placatingly, a ghost of a smile adorning his lips. “Just didn’t know if I fucked up an’ forgot somethin’ impor’ant like our anniversary.”

Your self doubt ebbed away into amused adoration. “You remember our anniversary?” 

He was taking off his vest and gloves, glancing over at you with a sarcastic smirk. “Yep, s’that one day that looks just like ev’ry other day.” You laughed and gave his shoulder a playful shove. He didn’t let you push him too far and wound his arm around your side to pull you into him. “If we had a way to keep up with that shit, I’d mark that day up with a lil’ heart an’ blame Jude.” He nuzzled his nose against your jaw. 

“Daryl, that’s mean.” You chuckled, letting him press a quick kiss to your mouth. He hummed, continuing with his quick kisses while guiding you backward. 

“Pretty sure I told ya from the start that I’m a asshole.” He mumbled against your lips, pulling your bottom one in between his teeth. There was no stopping the small whimper that managed to escape your throat, earning a pleasant growl from deep in his chest. You let your arms wind around his neck and tugged at the wavy hair you found there. 

“Mmm, Daryl—food—table.” You managed between his increasing assault on your mouth. 

“Mhmm.”

He shifted in front of you but kept you close, the legs of one of the chairs scraping across the floor. Soon, the small of your back met the edge of the table but you were already too far gone to care. Your head was thrown back with his lips attached to the front of your neck when his large hands squeezed the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up. 

Your ass had barely met the cool surface when he was reaching underneath your dress and dragging your panties down your legs. You could hear the shifting of the dinnerware behind you but couldn’t entertain why that should be concerning. The damp heat between your legs was demanding your focus, and you let yourself be consumed. 

“Shirt.” You panted, crossing your ankles behind his back to pull his groin against yours while he removed the offensive garment, tossing it into the void of ‘I’ll find that later.’ Your mouths crashed together again, your hands working open his belt and fly while he shoved your dress up and out of the way. 

Tenderness was not on the table tonight, so to speak. Daryl grabbed your hips and pulled you down, wasting no time in entering you. Your mouths separated, your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip while his jaw went slack, satisfied breaths and quiet moans mingling somewhere in the air between you. 

“Fuck.” His fingers flexed against your hips, his hold damn near bruising your soft skin. You couldn’t suppress the drawn out moan you offered him as he pulled his hips back, dragging each and every inch of him against your fluttering walls until only the tip remained. He was just as slow pushing back in, swallowing your little sounds of pleasure. 

The next few thrusts were faster. The ones after that, faster still. Soon enough, his pelvis was slamming against you. Your small hands gripped his shoulders but couldn’t seem to remain there. You needed to feel more of his skin. Your hands slid down his back and grabbed the waistband of his pants, pushing them down past his hips. Daryl chuckled against your mouth when you grabbed handfuls of his ass and dug your nails in to leave crescent moons indented in the skin. 

“I’ve missed you.” You whispered, bowing your head to suck on the skin where you could feel his pulse hammering away. The archer rewarded you with a hard snap of his hips before reaching behind him to pull your hands away. He pressed you down against the table and quickly pulled out, leaving your cunt empty and clenching. “Daryl.” You whined, but before you could sit up, his face was buried between your thighs, tongue lapping and lavishing your clit until it was swollen and throbbing.

“Cum for me.” You heard him growl, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive nub while a finger prodded at your entrance. Daryl slid his middle finger past your opening and began pumping hard and fast, desperately seeking to pull your orgasm from you. He curled that finger slightly, finding that soft spot inside you that had you near screaming and grasping for anything that you could hold onto. Plates and silverware crashed to the floor. You thought one may have shattered. “Did ya not hear me, woman? I said cum.” 

Your chest heaved for the breath you couldn’t seem to catch, all cognitive function absent as the coil in your belly began to pull taunt. “Daryl—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good girl. Give it to me.” He went back to flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. You were clenching around his finger in waves now. He knew you were seconds from climaxing. Wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves, he gently took it between his teeth and started to suck. 

“Fuck!” Your back arched off the table, your body vibrating through the throes of pleasure. It started in your stomach and spiderwebbed out through your limbs. Your hands found his hair and pulled, soliciting a deep grunt against your flesh. 

When you began to come down, your cunt was suddenly empty. But not for long. 

Daryl entered you again, roughly thrusting into your body at a punishing pace that shook the table beneath you. His right hand creeped around the back of your neck and pulled you up to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss that was all spit and tongues and teeth. 

He never slowed down, bringing your second orgasm on quickly while he slipped the spaghetti straps of your dress down your shoulders. You let his attentions fall to your neck while you pulled your arms from the straps and pushed both the dress and your bra down, giving the man access to your breasts. He wasted no time in placing his lips around a pert nipple. 

“Fuck, Daryl!” Your fingers found their way into his hair once again, urging him toward your mouth. He allowed himself to be led away from your breast but not without replacing his mouth with his hand. “Just—just like that. I’m so close!”

“Yeah,” he panted against your mouth, “me too.” 

Neither of you lasted long after, the room filled with your cries of his name and his drawn out moans. You fell back onto the table, still pulsing around him as he softened inside you. Daryl leaned forward to rest his forehead against your upper stomach while you ran your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. 

“That was incredible.” You breathed, staring up at the ceiling with a beaming smile. 

“Yeah. I missed ya, sunshine.” He said into the wadded up fabric of your dress. You hummed and gave his hair a gentle tug, encouraging him to look at you. When he did, you caught the gleam in his pretty blue eyes. 

“What?” You asked cautiously. 

“I ain’t nowhere near done with ya yet.” He went for your nipple but your hands quickly left his hair and caught each side of his face. 

“We need to eat before we spill something.” Somehow the food had indeed survived. 

“Can wait.” He muttered, shaking your hands off. When he tried a second time, you caught him again. This time he huffed in annoyance. 

“It’ll be cold. Well—colder.” You pouted. The archer watched you for a moment, ready to pull out and reset the table when he got the most brilliant idea. You saw the spark in his eyes and drew in your brows, feeling a little concerned. “I know that look. What scheme is rattling around in that head of yours, Daryl Dixon?”

With a Cheshire grin, he rose slightly and stretched an arm behind the top of your head, pulling back with a dollop of mashed potatoes on the tip of his finger. “We can both get what we want.” Without giving you time to consider his meaning, the bowman smeared the side dish across one of your nipples, dragging his tongue over it to clean up the mess. Your eyes sparkled. 

“You, sir, are a genius.”

More than an hour and a half later, half empty serving dishes still littered the table, but you and Daryl were on the floor, the area around you a complete disaster. Daryl sat next to you, propped up on the wall with his legs stretched out. His pants were up but not buttoned. The left side of his face was dripping brown gravy, a portion of his hair wet with it. Remnants of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese were smeared from his neck all the down to disappear past his waistband. 

You looked no better. Shavings and juices of venison were stuck to the swell of your breasts and side of your neck, anything between that and the lower part of your dress— pulled up to cover you by now— was hidden by the fabric itself. Your hair was a mess, with a half of a baby carrot dangling from a thin strand. What could be seen of your inner thighs was sticky with apple pie filling. 

You were both panting and even Daryl mirrored your small smile and chuckled when you looked at one another. He had been absolutely right. You were sated and full. 

But you probably wouldn’t serve the leftovers to the kids after all, though you were almost certain Daryl wouldn’t mind taking some for lunch. 

You were just about to suggest getting cleaned up when you heard a key enter and then turn in the front door lock. When you heard Carol call “hello,” you snapped your attention back to Daryl. 

“You gave her a key?!” You whisper-yelled. 

“Why wouldn’t I!?” He returned at the same volume. You gestured broadly at the two of you, and Daryl relented with a nod. “I see your point.”

“What happened?!” 

You both turned to the doorway, finding RJ and Judith staring at you with wide eyes. 

“What do you mean what— oh.” Carol hurried into the room and her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. Dog bounded around her leg and immediately began to sniff the floor, licking up any scraps he found dropped or smeared there. Daryl couldn’t even bring himself to correct the canine. “So,” Carol began, crossing her arms, “what did happen, you two?” From the knowing smile plastered on the woman’s face, you knew you needn’t explain to her. 

But shit, the kids. 

“There, uh—there was a, um, a spider!” You shrugged a shoulder when Daryl gave you a look that blatantly said ‘really, Y/N?’ 

“A spider.” Carol repeated, licking her lips to wipe away the grin. 

“Was huge.” Daryl nodded, carefully avoiding any of the eyes that were on him. “An’ mean.”

“Ew. Did you kill it?” RJ asked with a small cringe. 

“Sure did.” The archer lied. 

“How big?” Judith queried, crossing her arms like Carol. 

“Like—real big.” You supplied, covering your thighs a little more with your dress when you caught Carol looking at the mess there.

“Cool! Can we see?” RJ, who had seemed afraid just moments before was now very interested in this make believe monster arachnid that had slathered both you and Daryl as well as half the dining room in tonight’s dinner before meeting its untimely demise at the bowman’s hand. 

“No!” Daryl barked. RJ froze midstep. “S’ uh—s’in the gravy.”

“Gross. I’m not eating that, aunt Y/N.” The young boy curled his lip. 

“Of course not, baby.” You soothed, relieved that you two had seemingly gotten away with this. 

“Not to mention your bra.” Judith smirked. Your eyes widened. “Your bra is in the gravy too, aunt Y/N.”

Your eyes slid slowly toward where the gravy boat sat, a few feet from Daryl’s leg. The man was already hooking a finger under a strap and lifting the article, staring almost blankly ahead as he passed the dripping thing across his lap and let it dangle for you to grab it. 

“Damn huge spider.”

“Bra removing spiders in gravy boats.” Carol nodded, chuckling when Daryl put his red face in his hands and you rubbed the back of your neck. “Right. Well, don’t worry. These guys and that guy,” she pointed to Dog, who was gnawing on a piece of broccoli, “have already eaten. I’ll just go get them settled.” 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, looking defeated. Footsteps disappeared up the stairs before you and Daryl looked at one another. 

“She ain’t never gonna let this go.” He commented sourly. “Just feed me ta the walkers, sunshine. M’beggin’ ya.”

“If I have to hear it, then you do too.” You chuckled, leaning over against him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“She won’t pick on ya too bad.”

“She saves it all for you cause I’ll cry.”

“Guess I need to start cryin’ then.” You giggled and tilted your head back just in time for him to press a kiss between your eyes. “Was fun, huh?”

“Yeah, you make a nice buffet, Dixon.”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against your upper arm. “I wouldn’t mind s’more pie.” 

“How about a plate this time?”

[mrsjellymunson]

🌸🌼 One Fine Day 🌼🌸

Adapted from this ask from @celestialbat for the @steddiemicrofic June 1-year anniversary prompt, ‘one’. WC: 1,111. Rating: G. CW: tooth-rotting fluff, romance, flirting, mentions of food (no actual eating) and Eddie’s difficult childhood (not detailed).

Before today, Eddie never would’ve believed that one day could mean so much.

He and Steve haven’t been together long, and haven't really even gone on a proper ‘date’. But Eddie’s decided: today's the day.

He’s not usually one for cuteness and grand romantic gestures - he’d usually take someone to The Hideout, or spend time in his van out by Lover’s Lake. Not because he doesn’t want to, more because he doesn’t know how to, and prefers to keep things simple rather than run the risk of embarrassing himself.

But with Steve, everything’s different.

Before Steve, he reckons he wouldn’t’ve known how to be romantic if his life had depended on it. But now, he’s finding he loves to do things to make Steve laugh, to make him blush, even just to make him smile, and he doesn’t even care if he makes himself look like an idiot while he does it.

So today, he’s packed up as much of a romantic picnic as he can manage. He’s borrowed a basket and cooler from Robin, along with some tips on what to pack, after he admitted he was just going to get Twinkies, chips and Mountain Dew from Melvald’s. She’s even let him raid her fridge for a few things.

He’s shaken out the blankets from the back of his van, and has borrowed a few pillows from the trailer, so they’ll both have something comfortable to sit on. He’s brought camping plates and cutlery, usually reserved for Wayne’s fishing trips, so Steve doesn’t have to pick things out of packets like Eddie usually would, and purchased some of Steve’s favourite name-brand soda (rather than the store equivalent). He’s discovered he and Wayne don’t own napkins, so he’s Origami-ed some kitchen paper into bird-like shapes so they stand up on their own - fancy.

Steve assumes Eddie’s just taking the pair of them to the local park, perhaps picking something up from Benny’s on the way, but Eddie surprises him, swinging the van along one of the exit roads to a ‘secret spot’ outside of town.

It’s down a quiet lane, a pretty meadow filled with tall grass and wildflowers. And it’s beautiful.

Eddie doesn’t mention that he used to come here with his mom. It’s not far from the house they used to live in, and she’d bring him here when things got really bad with Al. Sometimes they’d even camp out under the stars. It was one place where Eddie felt safe.

Maybe he’ll tell Steve about it one day.

He grabs Steve’s hand and unnecessarily helps him down from the cab with a gallant, “This way, sweetheart”, and insists on carrying everything himself, even though Steve offers to help. (And, as Steve suspected he would, he almost trips twice.)

Eddie chooses a patch that’s more grass than flowers, explaining to Steve that, “I don’t want to hurt them”, and lays everything out on the well-loved blanket.

Steve can’t believe he’s gone to all this effort. There’s cold meats and cheeses, small tomatoes, carrot batons, berries, nuts, apple slices and a few grapes. And because Eddie can’t forego the snack food, there’s also pretzels, breadsticks and, yes, chips.

Steve thinks it’s wonderful; thinks Eddie’s wonderful. And the two of them spend an idyllic afternoon snacking and chatting and laughing and playing with each other’s fingers and tracing their fingertips up and down each other’s arms.

Steve asks about Eddie’s tattoos, and Eddie enjoys telling Steve the stories behind them. He makes up outrageous tales about the creatures and how they fought for their places on his human canvas, occasionally lifting his shirt and enjoying the way Steve’s eyes glitter as they roam his torso.

Once most of the food is gone, Steve helps Eddie to pack away the leftovers and encourages him to lie down, insisting he deserves a rest after all he’s done today.

Eddie smiles softly at him, and says he will, but,

“Only if I can choose the best pillow in the state.”

Confused, Steve glances around at the worn cushions brought from the trailer, and Eddie smirks as he drops down onto his elbows and wriggles backwards to place his messy mop into Steve’s lap. He moves his head back and forth a couple of times, settling, humming to himself, mumbling,

“Mmmm, definitely the best pillow in the state. Wait, the country! No, I’m so stupid, of course I mean the whole entire world!”

Steve chuckles down at him and the corners of his honeyed eyes crinkle as Eddie peeps up with those coffee coloured pools Steve adores so much.

Steve enjoys the weight and warmth of Eddie resting against him, and runs his fingers through Eddie’s bangs. They talk about everything and nothing, and Eddie begins to doze in the afternoon sun. He stirs a little as Steve periodically leans to one side, but thinks nothing of it.

He rouses as he feels Steve playing with his hair again, and thinks he might just be in paradise. Surely, there’s no earthly reason why the two of them couldn’t stay like this forever?

But then something unfamiliar tickles his cheek, and he opens one eye to see Steve leaning over him, examining a small yellow flower with a long stem before cocking his head sideways and appraising Eddie, squinting a little.

Placing it carefully into Eddie’s hair between an orange and red bloom, and just above a tiny purple one, Eddie sees the tip of Steve’s tongue emerge from between his teeth as he adjusts it before leaning back and admiring his handiwork.

Eddie brings a hand gently up to his hairline, careful not to dislodge anything, and discovers he has quite an array of blooms adorning his waves.

Steve reaches into his bag and pulls out his Polaroid camera, wanting to capture Eddie’s beautiful visage. Taking a couple of snaps, he places them face down on the blanket to develop as Eddie gleefully makes grabby hands, wanting to take one of his own. He hadn’t realised Steve had brought it, and he’s not missing this opportunity.

Steve won’t know it, but the sun that’s dipping low behind him is giving him a glorious golden halo that Eddie thinks makes him look like an ethereal, heavenly being. If he can capture even a tenth of that in a photo, he thinks he’ll keep it close to his heart forever.

Eddie’s convinced this is definitely the best picnic, and possibly the best afternoon, of his life. He wonders whether Steve feels the same.

Before today, Eddie never would’ve believed how much romance he actually had in him, or that one day could mean so much.

Thanks so much for reading!!

My masterlist

Tagging my general list (open): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean

Reblogging divider by @strangergraphics 💚💚

And how could I possibly pass up yet another opportunity to reshare this beautiful and rather gloriously appropriate piece of art by @themultiverseofmars 😉😘 YES I AM OBSESSED, WHAT OF IT HUH? HUH??

[porcelainseashore]

Teenage Headache Dreams (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: This is my first RE / Leon fic, but I wanted to try my hand at writing this little self-indulgent and potentially clichéd series. As you can guess, I love dance and high school dramas. I also created this with a sequel in mind, which will take place post-RE4R and involve more horror and mystery elements.

Title from Teenage Headache Dreams by Mura Masa and Ellie Rowsell / Wolf Alice.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Friendship

It was one of those beautiful late summer days with endless light and clear blue skies overhead. You leaned back against the bleachers, feeling the sun cast a warm glow on your face and the sultry breeze against your skin, sighing in utter bliss. The football field and the running track surrounding it were completely empty, just how you liked it, silent except for the relentless trilling of insects and the occasional bird that flew by. No one in your face, no one judging you or telling you how you should be like, no one you had to put up a front for. Just peace and quiet. A place where you could sit alone with your thoughts - and you had a lot of them - mostly about leaving this goddamn small town with its insular, mind-numbing inhabitants.

A trail of thick smoke wafted from your mouth as you took a drag from the joint you had been nursing for awhile. You weren’t exactly high as a kite, but you were definitely feeling some of its effects. You chuckled and gave a wry smile as the thought of being caught red-handed visualized in your mind. Sure, it was highly illegal what you were doing, much less on school property, but you were always a bit of a rebel. And frankly, you couldn’t give a shit. It was already August, but most students were still away on holiday. Not you though, you had to work on your extracurriculars. That’s what you had put your mind to this summer. No fancy beach getaways like the rest of your cheerleading mates had jetted off to. Just a grueling dance intensive and showcase you had auditioned successfully for in one of the larger cities nearby, as well as a bunch of campus visits. You needed to perfect your performance technique for that arts college application coming up in about a year’s time. You started way earlier than the rest even thought about it, because you knew you only had one chance for a one-way ticket out of this hole and you sure as hell weren’t taking any chances. Well, except with that funky smelling thing in your hand. 

No one would be here anyway, it’s a Sunday for crying out loud! You shook your head in exasperation. Besides, you needed to relax and take the edge off a little.

Just as if you jinxed it with those thoughts, you heard the gate to the field unlocking and creaking open behind you. 

Shit, shit, shit! Your eyes darted around frantically, but your movements were just so slow. Why the fuck would someone be here now?

Before you could drop the joint and stub it out with your shoe, a mop of dirty blonde hair and what you made out as someone dressed in a blue tracksuit with a duffel bag slung over his right shoulder entered your peripheral vision. It was soon accompanied by a sharp twist of his head in your direction, bangs falling over his deep blue eyes and you knew he had found the source of the offending smell, probably even from a mile away. His gaze trailed their way from your startled face to your joint hanging limply at the edge of your fingers and then back to your face again. His expression turned from confusion to a frown and then into a knowing smirk as he crossed his arms and leaned against the bleachers.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you here. You got cheer practice or something?”

God, he was teasing you. At least you hoped that was all it was and not some form of blackmail. Well, no point hiding now.

“I’m off-duty,” you retorted. You tried to jog your memory of the boy standing in front of you. You were social, or at least you had to be with the rest of your girlfriends to keep up appearances, but you never really bothered with the people here beyond superficial conversations. Then you finally found it - a vague recollection of last season’s track and field meet. He had been one of the better sprinters, maybe the best even, you can’t really remember. There was an afterparty, and you congratulated him, but you doubt there was anything more substantive than that.

“Leon, isn’t it?”

His eyes perked up slightly and he smiled. “In the flesh.”

You snorted at his cheesy reply. What was he pulling? 

“They gave you the key?” It almost sounded as if you were jealous.

He uncrossed his arms and placed his duffel bag on one of the benches in front of him, rummaging through its contents. “Yeah, I got a comp in the new term coming up.” Every now and then he glanced up at you, as if he wanted to ask something, but stopped himself.

A sense of boldness surged within you, as you felt like evening the odds a bit. “What? You want some?” You waved the joint in his face.

That certainly caught his attention. He stared for a good moment, before giving another one of his playful smiles and shaking his head. “Maybe after practice.” He unzipped his jacket and put it away. It was warm enough to train in his sports tank and as you admired the lean, muscular structure of his arms and shoulders now bared open, you couldn’t complain.

“So, how did you get in?”

Fuck. You snapped out of your reverie. He got you there, but you didn’t feel like lying. “Jumped the fence. You should try it some time.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he laughed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will I now?” The way it rolled off his tongue felt like a challenge and you secretly enjoyed this banter going on between you, as if you had known each other for years.

Shrugging your shoulders, you took another hit from the joint and let the calmness envelope you. “I never disappoint.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Leon flashed a wide grin that made you feel a knot forming in your stomach, but you didn’t know why. 

He started to move towards the tracks, but stopped short, turning back to meet your eyes again. “Look, you don’t have to worry about all of that.” He gestured to what you were holding and the general surroundings. “I’m not going to tell.” With that, he made a sign that resembled crossing his heart. “It’ll be between you and me.” 

You would have thought it was a joke if not for the sincere look he gave you, before heading off to train. That, and the fact that he did indeed take up your offer to join you afterwards in sharing what was left of the joint. You didn’t expect someone like him to. He seemed a bit too much of a straight-laced, golden boy for that. But then again, life was filled with surprises and you quietly scolded yourself for playing into stereotypes again - something you despise others doing to you.

It prompted both of you to converse even more until the late evening where you even missed your dinner. The questions and responses just flowed.

It turned out that you would share a number of classes together in the new term, specifically Math, History and Biology. Leon was a real earful when it came to his “insightful” one-liners on the teachers, which made you bury your head in your hands and groan. You never realized he would be such a goofball, but you found it somewhat endearing.

Like you, he was popular at school, but unlike you, he seemed to enjoy the company and appeared to be an open book. He would say it how it is, sometimes to the point of being blunt to a fault. Still, you guessed people found him rather easy-going and likable, in a non-threatening sort of a way. A part you wondered if chance meetings like today were how he made most of his friends.

Leon didn’t really have a plan for college yet. He just knew he wanted to do something good and help other people. You had a word for it - “idealistic”. He just shrugged in response, eyes downcast, until you assured him that it was an admirable quality, and you were the jaded one. He made a toast to your future in some arts college in the big city with his water bottle, remarking with a hint of self-deprecation that he wished he had a clearer idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

In turn, he asked you about your dealer. You had to stifle a laugh at that one. Generally, you weren’t as big into smoking up as he thought, but this time you bummed it off one of the seniors as a favor he owed you for hooking him up with one of your cheerleader friends. It didn’t stop Leon from calling you the “high school’s little pothead” every now and then though. He peered at you intently with his lip curled in amusement, as you rolled your eyes each time.

It had been such a long time since you could joke and speak your mind with someone this way. There wasn’t that suffocating nausea of pretending to be someone else around him and he had been so relaxed with you too. You could finally breathe again, and you’d like to think it wasn’t just the weed talking.

Whatever it was, you guessed this was the beginning of a real friendship - one that happened out of serendipity, but made you feel like you weren’t going to rot away in this small town. Well, not alone anyway.

[cyberwulf]

Jamie is a Shameless Flirt, pt 2

prev

James took a deep breath and let it out slow, then lifted the videophone receiver and slowly punched in Professor Oak’s number.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“James!” The professor greeted him with a smile. “I was hoping you might call.”

“…Professor Oak.”

“I told you, call me Sam, please,” the older man chuckled. Behind him, Meowth leaped gracefully up on the laboratory bench and glowered in James’ direction.

“…Professor,” James replied. He launched into the speech he’d rehearsed after Meowth outlined all the reasons dating the man was a bad idea that guaranteed a bunch of wacky shenanigans everyone could do without. “Listen – I was a teeny bit sloshed, and I was in drag, and Jamie’s just a character I like to have fun with, so –”

“…Oh.” He winced at Professor Oak’s disappointed look. “Well, that’s too bad. I was hoping to get to know you better over dinner…”

James forced a laugh. “Well, there’s only one place in town, and I work there…”

“I was thinking more along the lines of Viridian City,” Professor Oak continued. James straightened at that. Dinner someplace fancy? Behind the professor, Meowth frowned and shook his head furiously at him. “But since you aren’t interested…”

---

“Are you out of your mind?”

Jessie pulled a face at him across the kitchen table. “Professor Twerp? Isn’t he a grandpa?”

“Sam is a gentleman who sees a lady home safely,” James retorted haughtily, taking a sip of coffee. He arched his eyebrow and gave her a sidelong glance. “Unlike certain rude little boys who unceremoniously eject their guests because they can’t control themselves.”

Jessie turned bright red. “You were the one who made her all sexy!” she hissed. She crossed her arms and scowled. “I can’t believe you’re going through with this. You can’t possibly like him.”

“I don’t have to like him,” James shot back. “He’s taking me to dinner, Jess. I’m going somewhere nice to eat a meal I didn’t cook.” He nodded at her girlfriend, currently folding laundry on the countertop. “Delia knows what I mean.”

“Yeah, where’s he taking you, the Early Bird Special?” Jessie asked sarcastically. “I will bet you ten – no, I’ll bet you twenty Pokébucks you’re home by eight with a cup of hot cocoa.”

“I’ll happily take twenty dollars of your student loan money,” James laughed. “Have it ready next Saturday morning.”

“Jessie? Sweetie?”

Both former Team Rocket members looked up. Delia hadn’t turned around, and when she next spoke, her voice was strangely flat.

“Could you take these clean clothes upstairs for me? I’d like to speak to James alone.”

Jessie and James exchanged glances before Jessie rose and took the basket of laundry out of the room. Once she was gone, Delia turned, leaning back against the counter as she crossed her arms.

“I don’t care what Jamie did after a few glasses of wine,” she said quietly. “And we did kick you out so that we could…” She nodded at the ceiling. “…you know. But if this is just a big joke to you, don’t do it. Samuel Oak is a dear friend of mine, and he’s very important to Ash.” She shook her head at him slightly, her expression putting ice in his veins. “Don’t play with his heart.”

“Delia – I –” James swallowed and had another sip of coffee – his mouth had gone dry all of a sudden. “Look, all that with Jessie…” He wilted under her steely gaze. “Look, I was going to tell him I wasn’t interested, but he wants to take me out. No one ever wants to take me out.” He gazed into his mug. “I know the three of us have wine nights, and now and then we all go dancing, but sometimes I feel…”

He risked looking at her. Delia’s expression had softened slightly, and she was nodding.

“I understand,” she answered. “But – I mean it, James. I’d never look at you the same way if you were cruel to him.”

“I won’t, I promise!” James insisted. “He was nice to me. I’m not mean to people who are nice to me.” Getting up, he crossed the room and placed his arms gently on her shoulders. “And you know that I’d never want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship, Delia.”

Delia let out a sigh. Finally, she smiled up at him. “Okay. I trust you.”

James nodded. “You’ll see. By this time next week, I’ll have had a free – but boring – dinner, Jessie’ll have an extra twenty Pokédollars, Professor Oak will be thoroughly disillusioned, and everything will be back to normal.”

---

Meowth scowled as his human housemate tried on various combinations of shirts and pants, fretting over which ones looked best. “Thought you was only doing this for the free dinner?”

James cast him a sour look. “Excuse me for wanting to look nice in front of your boss.” He settled on a pair of chinos and a white shirt.

“Yeah, he is my boss,” Meowth growled, “and I gotta look him in the eye Monday morning, so no funny business.” James rolled his eyes and applied some cologne. Meowth sneezed as it wafted his way. The doorbell rang and James flinched.

“Get that, will you?” he said, a note of panic in his voice. “I haven’t even decided what shoes to wear!”

Grumbling under his breath, Meowth trudged to the front door, jumped up on the end table, and tugged on the handle.

“Hey there, Prof,” he mumbled, moving to let the older man in. He gestured through to the den. “Have a seat. His Majesty’ll be right out.”

“Thank you, Meowth.” The professor settled himself on the couch, laying the bouquet of flowers he’d brought carefully on the coffee table. He plucked a comb from the pocket of his sport coat and ran it through his hair. Meowth slunk into the den and eyed him suspiciously from behind the armchair. He didn’t like the flowers or the sport coat or the black shirt which looked kinda tight on the prof but in a flattering way. And here he’d done everything he could to try and stop any shenanigans from shenaniganing.

His ears twitched at the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall.

“Yoo-hoo.”

Professor Oak stood up, taking the bouquet with him. James stepped into the den, leather jacket slung over one shoulder.

“Well!” The professor looked up at him. “You certainly look handsome.” He looked down at the flowers. “I, er, I wasn’t sure who I’d be taking to dinner…but I suppose these are for you.”

“Ooh.” James giggled and Meowth frowned. “Oh, these are expensive.” He blushed. “Sam, you shouldn’t have.” He turned to the surly Scratch-Cat. “Meowth, be a dear and put these in some water, will you?”

With a growl, Meowth snatched the flowers out of James’ grasp.

“Shall we?” Professor Oak asked, offering James his arm.

“Let’s,” James answered. He petted Meowth roughly on the head. “Don’t wait up now!”

Meowth followed them to the entrance, frowning again as the professor opened James’ door for him. “I ain’t never gonna sleep tonight.”

---

“Thanks for coming, honey.” Delia glanced up anxiously at the clock again. It was almost time to open up, and there was still no sign of James.

“Oh I’m not missing this,” Jessie replied with a smirk. “I want my twenty bucks.”

“If James doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to need you to be a server,” Delia warned. “I’ll have to do all the cooking.”

“I dunno what to tell ya, Delia,” Meowth remarked from the counter. He had another mouthful of milk. “He was at home this morning and he left before I did.”

The back door flew open.

“Sorry I’m late!” James called. He snatched his apron from its peg and put it on. “Let me just get ready –”

As he made for the kitchen, Jessie leaned over and hooked him by the collar. “Hold it right there, mister. We all want to know how your date went.”

A dreamy look came over James’ face.

“Oh it was a magical evening,” he drawled, resting his chin in his hand. “He took me to this swanky Kalosian restaurant, and then we went for a walk in the park. And then we drove down to Route 21, and the moonlight was shining on the water…”

“Aww…”

Delia glanced at Jessie. She was mirroring her former team-mate’s posture, a goofy smile on her face. Note to self – take Jessie to Route 21 after sunset. Dressed as guy(?)

James pushed himself off the counter and began to saunter back and forth. “And we just talked and talked and talked…”

“Yeah, what about?” Meowth asked sourly.

“Poetry,” James retorted good-naturedly. “And Grass-types. And overly affectionate Pokémon. And Ash.” He scratched the cat behind his ears. “And you.” He crossed his arms and shot Jessie a smug look. “And you owe me twenty Pokédollars, because I didn’t get home till after midnight. No hot cocoa involved.”

Jessie looked to Meowth for confirmation. The cat shrugged.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” he declared. “Pay the man, Jess.”

“You know, I’m not even mad,” Jessie chuckled, reaching for her purse. A teasing note entered her voice as she handed over the cash. “You’re sweet on a grandpa.”

James giggled. “You know, I think I am,” he admitted. “Did I tell you he brought me flowers?”

“Midnight’s not so late,” Delia remarked. She arched an eyebrow at James, her smile belying her serious boss act. “So why are you, Mr. Sasaki? Explain yourself.”

“Oh, I had to drop Sam’s jeep back to the corral,” James replied. “I wound up driving him home.” He looked away coyly. “He wasn’t really in any shape to.”

“Really?” Delia asked in surprise. “That’s not like him.” She chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since he had a night out, he probably doesn’t know his limits anymore.”

Delia – as most people would, in her position – assumed that the blank look which appeared on James’ face was just one of his many himbo moments. Jessie and Meowth, on the other hand, understood loud and clear, with the latter just managing not to spit milk across the restaurant.

“Oh – yes,” James laughed nervously. “We brought a bottle of wine with us to Route 21 and he had a few too many. That, that is definitely what happened.” He looked past her at the clock. “Is that the time, I’d better get in that kitchen!”

Delia turned to look, jumped a little at the time, and quickly headed to the front door to open up. Behind her, Jessie and Meowth exchanged a wordless glance.

So much for looking the prof in the eye come Monday morning.

We are never telling her.

@yamujiburo

[ckret2]

On chapter 30 of The Writer Uses Misleading Graphics To Trick You Into Looking At This Fic About Human Bill Being The Shack's Prisoner: Summerween part 2! Bill wheedles Mabel into helping him make a costume. Mabel wheedles Bill into spilling some of his preciously-guarded secret backstory. Ford is kind of in awe.

Also there's like 4.5 drawings in this chapter. They're all very silly drawings.

####

Bill wouldn't tell Mabel what his costume was—"I want to see who can guess it"—but all it needed was a brown bedsheet, a long red wig, cardboard (to be drawn upon), and flip-flop sandals.

The bedsheet was the easiest to acquire. Dipper's barely-worn brown sandals were just slightly too big for Bill but Mabel helped tie them on with yarn. the shack's cardboard supplies were still depleted from making Bill's triangle mask, but they could make do with paper and popsicle sticks. Mabel didn't have a red wig but she did have a blonde wig and red markers. Since Bill was, by his own reporting, terrible at drawing, Mabel offered to do the fancy artwork if Bill did the tedious task of recoloring the wig. He claimed he'd feel like a mortician putting makeup on a car wreck victim, but nevertheless accepted the deal, and they settled in around the living room table to get to work.

"So just a bunch of houses, right?" Mabel asked, starting on the first drawing.

"Ancient Greek-looking houses," Bill said. "So, marble and columns. Don't think too hard about the details—this is a 21st century American costume holiday, not a historical reenactment. You can slap columns on anything and call it 'Greek' and every human in town will buy it."

"Do ancient Greek houses have chimneys?"

"No," Bill said. "But adding one would be funny."

Mabel considered that, weighed up the value of historical accuracy against entertainment value, and decided giving one house a chimney would be funny. She gave the whole house a thick black outline in marker, and pulled out crayons in black, white, and whale blue to quickly add some light shading to the marble. 

Mabel didn't think she'd ever seen Bill focus so hard or so quietly on anything the way he did on coloring that old wig red. He was giving it more attention than he did his own hair: while his golden locks were a tangled, uncombed, soggy mass shoved dismissively over his shoulders, he was dying the cheap wig (and his fingertips) strand by plastic strand with the bright-eyed morbid fascination of a third grader studying a pack of ants as they disassembled a bird's corpse.

This was the longest she'd been around Bill without conversation—usually, you couldn't even walk into a room without him immediately chattering at you like the motion-activated animatronics at the Summerween store. It was hard to think around him. Bill didn't give you room to think.

What did Mabel think about Bill?

He was right, she was still mad about the mall. No—mad wasn't the right word—mad was his word—she was scared. She'd never really stopped being scared of him, if she was honest with herself. But everything he'd done that day, from tricking her into trapping herself to reminding her of almost dying, had just reinforced why she should fear him.

But. She thought he felt bad about it. And she didn't think she'd ever seen him feel bad about anything before.

Maybe that meant her experiment was working. Maybe he was changing. Yeah, he was still scary—but he was Bill Cipher, he had a lot of scariness to work through. He was moving in the right direction, and she wanted to encourage that.

He hadn't apologized for the mall; but, since he'd tried to make up for it at the time, and that was a sort of apologetic action, Mabel decided she could tentatively forgive him for that day—provided he continued to improve. Put him on forgiveness probation. And that meant they were on friendly speaking terms again.

Which was good, because the quiet was starting to get uncomfortable. She surveyed her art for something they could talk about.

After a couple of as-historically-accurate-as-she-could-imagine houses, Mabel had started varying up the designs by redesigning houses she could remember off the top of her head with columns and white marble. She'd made a stately marble Mystery Shack, and a columned-covered doppelgänger of the house with the terraced yard across the street at home, and then she'd decided to make a Greek-ish version of her own home. "Hey Bill. Have you ever seen my house?"

"In person? No. But it came up from time to time in you kids' dreams, so whether I've seen it depends on how accurate you think your dreams are," he said. "It has less plants and more windows in your brother's dreams than in yours."

Mildly disturbing answer, but not disturbing in the direction she'd expected. "What! You mean you haven't haunted our neighborhood or anything? I don't believe it."

"Do you think I spend all my time stalking random humans? Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, seeing it in dreams isn't good enough!" Mabel pulled over a blank paper. It was hours until trick-or-treaters showed up, they had a little time to waste. "I'll draw it!"

"Wow, really?" Bill looked up from his wig. "You're not worried about letting the big bad triangle see your house?"

"Come on! You already know where I live, right?"

Bill immediately rattled off, "1337 Fairview Drive, Piedmont, California, on the northeast side of the street where it's less hilly."

"Exactly—you creep. So who cares if you know what it looks like, too?"

A square, sky blue house with two stories and a triangular roof; a big living room window on the left, a covered door on the right, three windows on the second floor, and a chimney. Mabel had drawn her home plenty of times—but doing it for a friend (?) was different from doing it for a teacher or a librarian, and she put extra effort into the rose bushes under the living room window. She added her and Dipper's smiling faces in the upstairs windows and Waddles's face downstairs in the living room.

"Waddles sleeps in the kitchen, but he basically owns half the yard to wallow in. This is my room, and here's Dipper's—I get three windows, but Dipper has the biggest window and a bigger room, so it's fair, no matter what he says—"

"Oh, you two have separate rooms now?" Bill was leaning halfway around the table and craning his neck to see the image right side up.

"Uh, yeah? Since we were ten?"

Loftily, Bill said, "I don't know how you'd expect me to know that. You both still dream about sharing a room."

Mabel paused and tried to remember how often she dreamed about Dipper in his new room. Sometimes she woke and was still disoriented to find her bed in the middle of the room instead of against one wall with Dipper's on the other side. "Huh."

She added a few more details—the front steps, the gate, the shingles. (Bill watched nervously as she pulled out the gray crayon to color the driveway—but she didn't notice how it had been tampered with.) She talked about her home, and in turn Bill told her weird things, like that Dipper often dreamed of monsters coming out of the fridge. When she finished, she autographed her name with a star on the "i" in Pines, offered it over grandly, and said, "Here, you can keep this!"

Bill accepted it without the customary effusive gratitude with which one ought to accept a generously-gifted original artwork from a 13-year-old prodigy. "What am I gonna do with it?"

"That's your problem!"

"Fair enough!" He checked his leggings for pockets and, when he didn't find any, set the page on the table by his elbow. 

Offering accepted. As Bill resumed coloring his wig, Mabel picked up another piece of paper and got to work on the next columned house. "What does your house look like?"

Bill stopped dead, looked straight at her, and said, "My what?"

What was weird about the question? "Your house! Or whatever you lived in before you came here. You came from somewhere before you tried to invade Earth, right? You didn't just pop out of somebody's dream."

Bill laughed. "Yeah I did!"

"Bill."

"4500 years ago the construction workers of Egypt had a shared nightmare about the immense tombs they'd spent the last century building—"

"Biiiill."

"—and when they awoke they found the combined psychic energy of their terror had spawned a sleep paralysis demon more powerful than Ra! So then I ate their souls—"

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being so serious right now."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine! I get it. You're embarrassed." She shook her head and returned to coloring.

She felt the combined spiritual energy of hundreds of imaginary Egyptian construction workers beating down on her face from Bill's eye. Like a laser. "'Embarrassed'?"

"Because you don't have a house," Mabel said. "I think it's okay, you don't need to be embarrassed! I don't think you're a loser or anything. It's just kind of sad—"

Bill snatched up a blank piece of paper. "You want a house? Fine! I'll show you a house." He grabbed up an orange crayon, muttering, "It'll put your stupid overpriced shed in California to shame— Where's the ruler—?" Mabel tried not to grin.

For several minutes, he was perfectly silent. Mabel glanced over to see him coloring with three crayons at once, only for him to shove a hand in her face and snap, "No peeking."

Mabel got through two more drawings before Bill slapped down his paper over Mabel's. "There! How about that?!"

She looked at the drawing, which Bill had helpfully labeled "Party Central!" in red crayon. A great stone pyramid so dark brown it was nearly black, with bricks outlined in brilliant gold and molten orange and fiery red, and a sharp multicolored X hovering above it—

Mabel gave Bill a flat look. "This isn't your house, this is your Torture Temple."

"The what? Hey, is that really what people are calling it?! It's not the Torture Temple, it's the Fearamid!"

Despite herself, Mabel burst out laughing. "You named it the 'Fearamid'?!"

"It's a pyramid and humans fear it! It's genius. Portmanteaus make great names."

"What's a portmanteau."

"It's a word made from the unholy Frankensteinian fusion of two other words. Like getting 'electrocute' from 'electricity' and 'execute'!"

"Or 'romcom'?"

"Yeah, or that."

Mabel considered the drawing. "If you want to scare less people, you could call this your Bill-ding."

"HA! Oh, I'm saving that."

"Anyway, this isn't where you live," Mabel said. "You were there for like a week tops!"

"Yeah, before your great-uncle killed me. I'd still be living there if it weren't for you jerks." He stuck out his tongue.

"Come on, Bill. I showed you my house. Draw where you grew up or something!"

"What's wrong with the Fearamid?"

Mabel crossed her arms. "Why don't you want me to see your real house?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. "Eh, you know what? Why not. If you're gonna be so ridiculous about such a silly thing." He pulled over another piece of paper. "But if I don't have enough time to finish coloring this wig, you have to help me."

"Fiiine." She returned to her own drawings as Bill got back to work.

After a long silence—longer than he'd taken to draw and color the Fearamid—he said, "Okay, done. Here." And he pushed over the paper with one dismissive finger.

She eagerly accepted the drawing—and frowned. There was nothing on the page except for a straight flat black line, interrupted by three line segments of bright blue and a cluster of red and green dashes. "What is this?"

"Where I grew up," Bill said, innocently, already back to coloring the wig. Mabel could see his mischievous smirk. "As seen from the front. Just like your drawing of your house. So we're even now."

Mabel's brows furrowed as she stared at the page in confusion. "What...?"

"You do know I'm from the second dimension, right? A universe that's flat like a piece of paper. I figured Sixer would've told you all about it by now." Bill picked up the drawing and held it between his and Mabel's faces, so that, viewed from the edge, all Mabel could see of the paper was a thin flat line. "What do you think the second dimension looks like to somebody in the second dimension?"

Mabel took the paper back, looked at the underwhelming flat line representing the front of Bill's house, and said, "I hate you." 

"We had the prettiest roses in the park," Bill said, pointing at the red dashes. "Crayon really doesn't do them justice."

"Shut uppp."

Bill laughed at her; but then, to her surprise, he said, "Okay, all right, I guess a big fancy 3D creature like you can't understand the nuances of two-dimensional sight. So, here." He flipped over the page. "Top down view."

The back of the page had what looked like a floorplan. A narrow room on the left, a large L-shaped room, a tiny room nestled into the L's top right corner, and a medium room on the right. Little shapes filled the rooms—furniture of some kind?—but she didn't see anything immediately recognizable like a top-down bed or table and chairs. Green and red spirals dangled off the bottom of the floorplan.

"I'm no Edward Bishop Bishop, but it gets the idea across," Bill said.

She studied all the strange little figures in fascination, looking for anything familiar. She pointed at a few shallow bowls filled with blue sticking out of the wall between the L-shaped room and the tiny room. "Are these sinks?"

"Hey, you're pretty sharp. Sinks and the tub." 

"So the little room's the bathroom."

"Right again." Bill pointed out the rooms on the floor plan. "Master bed's on the right, kitchen and living room in the middle—and you found the bathroom—and second bed's on the left. That was my room! The one with a million books," he pointed at a wall with countless tiny multicolored lines coming off of it. "I was a big reader as a kid. I've always been an intellectual."

"Who was in the other bedroom?"

"I never really went in there, who cares." Bill made a dismissive gesture. "I think there were some desks and stuff in there too, but I didn't bother to draw them since I never used them." He picked up a yellow and a black crayon and added on to the drawing, dexterously turning the crayons in his hand to switch between colors without setting either one down. "I spent most of my time in my room." He'd drawn a little yellow triangle with an eye. He picked up a red crayon to point an arrow at the triangle and label it "Me!" "I didn't even have to leave the room to see the TV. The perks of psychic powers!"

Mabel wondered which of the weird shapes was the TV; but before she could come to a decision, she was distracted by the scale of Bill drawn in his room. Maybe he'd just drawn himself big, but he seemed cramped in that narrow space. And he'd hardly have room to turn around in the bathroom without his corner smacking something. "It looks pretty small. Is that normal on your home world?"

"Ah, I rarely spent time at home—it was just a place to sleep between speaking engagements," Bill said. "I was always on tour. Living the life of the rich and famous! Hotels, jet planes, and tour buses!"

Mabel shot him an irritated look. "You said this is where you grew up."

"This is where I grew up! I got an early start making my fortune. I was already famous by the time I was, uh..." he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Developmentally, I think I would've been about equivalent to your age. Maybe a bit younger."

How much of all this was true? It didn't feel like a lie—and she couldn't see how he'd benefit from lying about any of it, except maybe claiming to be famous. So it probably had to be true. He'd actually made her a drawing of his house. Even after he'd complained about being so bad at art. She beamed at him. "Thanks, Bill. Your weird alien house is neat! I like the squiggly spiral flowers! Are they actually roses?"

"They were the flower that everyone mentions in poetry and that you have to bring home when your wife is mad, so, same basic function as roses," Bill said. "Fun fact, they grow in spirals so that they're pretty on the outside, but—"

####

"—but have more surface area to absorb sunlight on the inside," Mabel said, pointing at the flowers. "Alien biology! And the orange things are couches and the colorful box in front of them is his TV, and Bill says he could watch TV through the wall but he never really liked TV, he preferred live performances—maybe we should take him to a musical! And the little sideways cushions on the walls are their beds because gravity goes to the left because their house faces east—I have no idea why!—so, I guess that's their 'floor'? But if that's the 'floor,' Bill didn't explain why all his books were on the 'ceiling' without them falling off, and..." Mabel trailed off, giving Ford a concerned look. "Grunkle Ford? Are you okay?"

He was gaping at the drawing. "Wh—? Yes. Sorry. I'm just..." He shook his head in amazement. "I never even got that slippery eel to admit he has a calendar system, and you got the blueprints to his childhood home?"

Dipper said, "Yeah, this is amazing. How did you get this out of him?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything special," Mabel said casually. "Just drew our house and then suggested he was too scared to let me see his."

Dipper grimaced. "You showed him our house?"

"Don't worry about it! He already knows where we live."

"Of course," Ford said, taking a quick note in his journal. "Exploiting his ego. He's very proud; undermine that pride and he'll feel compelled to defend his honor." Ford had started goading Bill into giving away more than he meant to the same way. He wished he'd started doing it far earlier; but he'd spent so many years foolishly assuming Bill's pride was objective and justified that he sometimes forgot what an egomaniac Bill really was.

As Mabel had spoken, Ford had filled several pages with bullet-pointed half thoughts: dodges questions about the master bed—his parents' room?; no bed or bedroom for a sibling, he seems like an only child; "speaking engagements" is probably a euphemism, what was he doing to become a child celebrity; were his books his only childhood possessions or just the only thing he valued enough to draw; did he gain his "psychic powers" while amassing the power he needed to "liberate"/destroy his dimension? "Can I borrow this drawing to make a photocopy?"

"Sure! Don't forget the line on the back," Mabel said. "And you can copy the Fearamid, too! Did you know he named it the 'Fearamid'?"

"Oh yeah, I heard him call it that," Dipper said. "I think I recorded it in Journal 3?"

"I should've read that before we threw out all of Grunkle Ford's Bill stuff," Mabel sighed. She slid over the Fearamid drawing to Ford. "Bwop! He drew it tilting all weird to the left? He wasn't kidding when he said he's bad at drawing."

Ford studied the drawing and frowned. He lay his pen on the drawing to use like a makeshift ruler. "It's not 'skewed'—he drew the front face as a perfect equilateral triangle, and then extended a side on the right to turn it into a pyramid. It's poor perspective—there's no point of view from which one side would look like a perfect equilateral triangle and you could see another side, but..." He trailed off again as he made a note to himself about what this might mean about Bill's ability to perceive the third dimension and his artistic sensibilities.

"So he draws like Picasso!" Mabel concluded. "Oh! Bill mentioned a name when he gave me his house, he said he wasn't like Edward Bishop Bishop—and I remembered it because it sounds funny. Bishop-Bishop. Maybe he's another artist Bill likes? Or somebody who makes blueprints?"

"I'm sure I've heard that name. I think he was a mathematician?" Ford frowned. "I can't recall, though." He wrote down another note: Edward Bishop Bishop – mathematician/artist? Something to look up later.

Dipper glanced back and forth between Ford and Mabel as they talked, feeling his stomach sink at how excited they were and how easily they got along. First the mysterious disappearing crystal shop in Portland, now Mabel made this huge discovery about the guy Ford had spent years trying to learn about... Dipper swallowed hard and tried to tell himself he shouldn't feel jealous after he'd gotten Ford to himself for basically the past year. "I can't believe you found out all this."

Mabel immediately looked at him. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Dipper winced. He'd realized a moment too late how he must have sounded. Quickly, he said, "I mean, it's great that you did! Finding out more information about him is great. But, like... investigating the paranormal is my thing. It's what I spent all last summer doing, and it's my dream job, and... and now, the biggest paranormal mystery in human history is in our house, and you're the one getting all the info out of him?"

"Well, yeah," Mabel said. "I'm our official Bill spy, remember? I'm the one who made friends with him."

"I know, I know." He shrugged jerkily. "I'm just... kind of disappointed that I'm not prying eons-old secrets out of an alien demon. You know?"

Ford had paused in his writing to listen to Dipper thoughtfully. "I understand. When you're exceptional at something, it can be... difficult to share the limelight," he said. "Not because you don't think anyone else deserves it. You just don't know if you'll ever get it back."

Dipper's face heated up—he didn't want Ford to think he was bad at sharing, of all things—but he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." Ford patted his shoulder understandingly. 

"Aww," Mabel said. "Didn't you say that if we're running an experiment on being nice to Bill, you want to be in the control group?" She punched his arm. "Welcome to the control, bro!"

"Ow!" Dipper rubbed his arm and laughed weakly. "Yeah, okay, you're right. This is what I get."

Mabel said, "You should try talking to Bill! Maybe he'll tell you stuff too. He's really easy to talk to as long as you don't mind him sometimes saying creepy nightmare things."

"And as long as you're prepared for his mental tricks," Ford said.

"Yeah! Grunkle Ford's got a whole class for that," Mabel said. "He'll teach you about the BITE model! It's how cults sink their teeth into you!"

Dipper chuckled. "Sure. Maybe I will. We're gonna be at home handing out candy for a few hours, maybe I'll find an opportunity to interrogate him."

"You're not going trick-or-treating?" Ford asked.

"No," Mabel said, with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

Dipper elbowed her for her theatrics; they'd already agreed on what they'd do tonight. "We've got plans with friends. But we do get to wear matching costumes again."

"Creepy ghost children!"

"Ah," Ford said. "That explains your..." He gestured at them. They were wearing a suit and a dress, old-fashioned and gray, with tattered hems and dusty black dress shoes.

"Barty helped us put the outfits together," Dipper said.

"We still need to do our makeup," Mabel said. "What about you, Grunkle Ford? What are you doing for Summerween?"

"Ah." He glanced toward the ceiling ruefully, as though he could see The Enemy in the shack through the many layers of dirt above. Summerween had been one of the things he'd missed most about Gravity Falls; even during his years as a reclusive scientist in the woods, he'd usually taken off Summerween and Halloween to hand out candy to the children bold enough to visit his house.

But Bill's eagerness to participate had sucked the fun out of the day. The thought of celebrating Summerween in the same house as Bill felt too much like celebrating with him. "Nothing, I suppose. I was planning to stay down here." He gestured at his desk. "Continue my research."

"What are you working on right now?" Dipper asked.

Ford quickly said, "Nothing. Just—the same research," and was immediately hit with a pang of guilt. Remember what happened last summer when you tried to keep secrets about Bill out of embarrassment? Reluctantly, he said, "I've... split some research duties with Fiddleford. While I'm waiting to hear back from him, I'm looking into—some magical knowledge Bill revealed. To determine how much of it's true."

Dipper looked puzzled. "Revealed when?"

Mabel slammed her hands on Ford's desk. "Grunkle Ford, you can take a break from gathering intel on the enemy for one day! It's Summerween! Promise me you'll do something to celebrate before the day's over."

Ford let out a huff, but smiled. He wanted to do something. Surely he could come up with something that would let him avoid Bill? "All right, I promise. I won't invoke the Trickster's wrath tonight. Could you leave your costume makeup in the bathroom when you're finished? I'll find something to do with it."

"Perfect!" Mabel hugged him; then grabbed Dipper's hand. "C'mon, let's finish getting dressed. The trick-or-treaters will be here any minute!"

"Okay, okay." Dipper waved at Ford as Mabel dragged him to the elevator.

When they were gone, Ford turned back to the papers Mabel had given him. Bill's childhood home... Assuming he wasn't lying, at least. But an entire blueprint seemed like a complicated spur-of-the-moment fabrication even for him. If Bill was lying, it was a lie close to the truth.

It was strange to imagine Bill as a child with a bedroom full of books. Strange to imagine Bill as a child at all. What did a young triangle look like? He couldn't imagine anything different from how Bill always looked.

The floorplan did look small. Smaller even than the apartment over the pawn shop had been. Ford tried to remember what the homes he'd seen in Exwhylia had looked like...

He raised his head as something the kids had said registered. "Barty? Who's Barty?"

####

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill inspected her box of crayons.

The wrapper around the gray crayon was coming loose.

He took the glue stick they'd been using to reinforce the paper houses with popsicle sticks and carefully stuck the wrapper back on.

The house was too quiet without anyone around to talk to. He hated the quiet.

From the corner of the living room behind the table, when Bill leaned on the wall, shut his eyes, and listened closely, he could faintly hear the hidden elevator. He headed upstairs to stow the drawing of Mabel's house somewhere safe, and then went to the downstairs bathroom to finish dressing for Summerween.

####

(Y'all I worked hard on those fake crayon drawings. Anyway I know we're all collectively going insane today over the book news but if you took time out of your day to read this, I'd love to hear what y'all think!)

[vigilskeep]

barring committing to the roleplay and dropping the save after Redcliffe, what will change Asha's opinion on saving Ferelden?

well it’s not as simple as her being able to drop alistair and the rest of these idiots off at redcliffe like she planned, because she just got there and there’s a fucking zombie epidemic. they do that kind of thing up here, apparently. and she could have turned around. but then where’s she going to leave all these people she’s picked up? she was supposed to get alistair (and whoever was fool enough to help him) to this arl of his. that was supposed to be as far as she went, enough to pay off what she owes to duncan, enough to at least give alistair’s stupid suicide mission the best chance it’s going to get. and she was not supposed to have to tell him to his face that she’s leaving.

(and they had kids in that chantry, it got to her, okay, so she’s a sucker for kids’ little faces, so what. she’s still the toughest thing out of dust town, don’t ever let rica tell you different.)

so she’ll stick around and help this village out. fine. just so she can get into that castle and find the arl and make him do whatever it is alistair thinks he can do. and then she’s leaving.

well, there might be another kid’s life in the way of taking the castle. freak of a possessed kid, but still a kid. so she might quickly go to that mage tower and back so it gets done properly. it’s not far. while she’s there, alistair can show them his fancy treaty. two birds with one stone, and all. but then she’s leaving.

... well, then the arl’s still sick when they get back, so he still can’t do the thing alistair wanted. which means there’s that dumb quest the knights were on, and she has to go all the way to denerim to find some scholar about it. the brecilian forest is kinda on the way. might as well see if she can help alistair get those elves he has a treaty with, too, right?

and then she has to actually do that quest if she wants to save the arl, which puts her up in the frostback mountains. not far from home, is it? and she’s not homesick, but, well... she can just visit, see if rica’s really okay, check in on whatever games leske is running these days. and if they get the dwarves to make some promises, that’s... huh, that’s the last of alistair’s treaties. well, she can finish the job, right? before she leaves. she can just get him the last one before she leaves. before she sends him to do the landsmeet, by himself, with that wretched old arl pushing him at everything he doesn’t want.

okay, she’ll just go to the landsmeet with him. and then she’s leaving. slipping away in the night, before anyone can stop her.

aaaaaany minute now.

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

*knocks the door* Hello there! 💙 I hope you're doing great, because an idea came to my head again!)))

I apologize in advance, because my post will be long and it will be about my OC and his city, so the request will only be at the end. And here's the idea...

I was thinking of a story where my OC would finally be able to feel helpless again and learn to appreciate more that Hualian is around, and at the same time learn to ask for help. A old and basic idea came to mind, BUT... I like it. My OC, a demon and the god of Quiet death, manages his city as your OC and Hua Cheng do. Only for me his city at first looks like a large dark forest with lights of blue flame and animals whose fur is highlighted.. You know, like in Avatar, if you've watched it, or in Skyrim, there are such animals in one of the missions (google the "skyrim vale deer" and that's it)). And then the main part of the city is hidden under the arches of a cave in a huge mountain, where plants and tree grow thanks to magic. And plants highlighted too. It looks like an elven town in the Lord of the Rings, only in Chinese style. A very quiet place where demons and souls come to seek peace, a life they might not have had before death.

The main palace in black and blue tones, dark wood, elegance, expensive, but not fancy things around... HUGE collections of fans and poisons...

And of course, a temple for Xie Lian... It is not big, but extremely cozy, quiet, almost personal, as if the person who created the temple did not show how much he is ready to give to his god, but rather is ready to give extremely little, but no less valuable... His own heart...

So, near the city, an unknown creature began to rage in the village and my OC went to deal with it. Alone. Because, why not actually. Nobody wants to put loved ones' lives in danger, even if they are much stronger than you. And he defeated this creature... But he was cursed and turned into a child. Like... A newborn baby... (If you are not comfortable with children, then you can make him a kitten, small, white fur, frightened eyes and trembling from any rustle)

And just imagine, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are worried that their beloved has disappeared, and then snakes come to them (pets of my OC, you can change it to birds if you feel comfortable) and bring them their beloved under a curse...

And I wonder how you see Hualian care and how they will remove the curse from their beloved reader X))

Cursed headcanons

Hua Cheng x M!reader x Xie Lian

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorryyyyyyyy 😭🙏 I was taking a small break from writing so plz don't get impatient with me guys. However he's I love that so much? Like the detail? The settings? The animals? I love it wtf? You are I fear. Anyways I hope you like this and I hope it makes you for the long wait😭

And I really, really, really hope you don't mind that I wrote him as a toddler 🫠🙏🖤

Also you said like, how your OC was giving his heart? So I used ashes instead.

Also I rlly am not liking my writing rn so I'm rlly sorry if the quality is awful

____________________________________

When Hua Cheng and Xie Lian saw you again they did not expect to see you as a toddler. As in a little boy. As in not your normal form. . .

You were all supposed to meet up at Puqi shrine, just to hang out, cuddle. You know normal lover stuff.

It seems you didn't make it peacefully, in fact it doesn't even look like you remember them.

Your snakes had apparently led the way.

They knew it was you because of the snakes of course. Also not just any little boy would be okay with snakes roaming over his arms, and neck

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian take you inside and start doting on you immediately

They've found nothing out. You don't remember them, or what happened

Sigh

Xie Lian is worried, initially he doesn't know how to fix it. They don't know anything so how can they fix it?

Hua Cheng is worried but more so angry. Who did this? Was it a heavenly official or maybe a ghost? Whoever it was he'll track them down and take care of them for you

The important part is getting you back to normal first though

Xie Lian asks Ling Wen about what curses it may be

Hua Cheng is trying to think if this might be like the time he turned into a kid too but they crossed that out

At the end of the day they come up with. . . Nothing. Yet.

Xie Lian decides for the three of you that maybe rest is what you all need

So that night in bed a toddler lies between the two of them.

You look comfortable in their arms so at least you aren't crying from fear

Hua Cheng was very happy when you were not scared of him.

The next day Xie Lian and Hua Cheng decide something different.

They know you were at your abode so maybe the problem happened there?

Soooo that's where they go, of course with your snake's help, seeing as you don't remember anything

The whole time you're either in Xie Lian's arms or clinging to Hua Cheng's legs.

They're actually having fun with this whole, you being a toddler thing. Not forever though.

All of you get to your city with no problems. . .

Except when they get to the "city" it's a cave.

At first Hua Cheng is debating to tie your snakes together by the tails but Xie Lian calms him down.

Then they both panic because suddenly you're missing.

The little you ran into the cave!

They give chase and then suddenly are wowed when they see your city.

It was hiding in the cave the whole time. Huh, no wonder.

They also find you petting some strange deer with highlighted fur, like literally glowing.

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng have never seen something like this before, they've never had the chance to see your city.

You're always too embarrassed to let them in

They quickly pick you up and Hua Cheng keeps you in his arms this time.

After admiring the city they follow the snakes again.

This time they've been led to a temple.

Who knows what's going through those snake's minds but apparently they're giving your lovers a whole tour

Because the next stop was a temple.

It's not gaudy but not out of shape either. It's elegant, definitely meant for a well loved god or goddess

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng find out who it's for when they see Xie Lian's statue in the temple.

They look around a bit, surprised there aren't many offerings at all. But they notice why when they look at statue Xie Lian's hair.

A hair pin

It's the only thing that isn't a part of the statue, it's not the same material or anything. So what is it then?

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian carefully look at it. After a few minutes Hua Cheng confirms that the hair pin is made of ashes.

Your ashes.

A hairpin, in Xie Lian's hair, you gifted, your ashes

Oh my

Xie Lian is flustered and puts it back where it was. Hua Cheng is smiling at toddler you

You don't know what's going on just yet but they know what a hairpin means

Once they're done appreciating all the fine details you've made for Xie Lian they're led away once again.

Finally to the spot where you were cursed

Xie Lian guess by the dead creatures carcass you must have been cursed by it.

This won't be a hard curse to get rid of, just destroy the creatures body and get rid of the ashes. Then you should turn back to normal.

So Xie Lian hopes.

Hua Cheng does all of it though he wouldn't dare let Xie Lian touch something so dirty. He places you in the safety of Xie Lian's arms so he can do so

After that's all gotten rid of, toddler you poofs and turns big again

They catch you up to speed pretty quickly, then you get ganged up on by kisses and teasing.

They want to see more of your city before you guys leave

____________________________________

Bro

I'm so sorry if it's bad

just tell me in the comments I might try writing something better. I love you guys 🥰🖤

[fredmcsm]

Admins refs!

Finally done… only took me all week… feel free to ask questions about them! (please)

Funfacts:

- Xara is based off: the End, dragons, lizards, reptiles etc., bats. The people of the Oasis are fancy but still need to wear outfits suitable for living in a Mesa so it comes around to something like Xara wears.

- Fred is based off: the Overworld, birds, deer, bears, angels. People in Fred’s Keep are all farmers/builders/creatives and from what you see in-game of what they wear, it’s similar to what Fred likes to wear. He likes to be comfy ^_^

- Romeo is based off: the Nether, cats, goats, demons/imps. Romeoburg citizens which are of COURSE called Burgers, they all wear thicker clothing for the colder environment tucked away at the mountains & fjords. There’s a lot of leather and furs, and long hair.

Armour refs

I don’t really like these but the idea is there. I needed their armours to suit their fighting styles and their general aesthetics including the ones of their towns.

Quick weapon refs

- Ending Eye is a longbow and its arrows are the sharpest hit you’ll ever get from a bow, owie

- Hoemeo is Fred’s diamond hoe, named this as a joke and it stuck, Fred couldn’t think of another name. He thought it wasn’t going to ever need to be used as a weapon so it didn’t matter. All I can say is that Romeo is lucky he wasn’t the one who died because that would have been an embarrassing death message.

- Ruby is like minecraft zenith and is very good at killing Freds

The pets

- Bonbon is a smaller-than-average creeper that is diffused and acts like a therapy cat to Romeo. He didn’t get a normal cat because he’s Romeo.

- Jean is THE Ender Dragon and was raised from a baby dragon into fully-grown Jean. She is often badly behaved and will only listen to Xara, if anyone.

- Waffles is Waffles… ya. Silly immortal chicken who also has an immortal need to peck Romeo to death

- Nugget, the old Clydesdale horse who is just happy to be there, happy lad ^_^

OK thats all I think. PLZ ask me questions. I will be joyous OK BYE