#he knows all this shit because he has a little brother

[syrma-sensei]

→ A Devil's Judgement

gif credit.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!reader.

Summary: Sam Winchester can be very convincing, just like the Devil.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, aggressive behaviour, rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), praise kink...

A/N: I'm making my Sam Winchester taglist, hit the comments if you wanna be added!

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?!” Dean's angry voice booms through the old bunker, “You could've gotten yourself and us killed!”

Splattered by Vampire's blood, your head whips towards the eldest Winchester. Eyes glaring through sweat-dewed lashes.

You're a woman who doesn't take shit from anyone; Dean Winchester is no exception.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would you have preferred I let that bloodsucker rip your throat out?”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer, chest heaving with adrenaline and fury. “You had no business jumping in like that! Sam and I had it handled!”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, sure, Dean. You and Sam, the all-knowing hunters. Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t see that second vamp coming. I did. And I handled it.”

Dean’s nostrils flare. “You ‘handled it’ by nearly getting your damn arm ripped off! You’re reckless!”

Before you can throw another barb his way, a hand lands gently on your arm. “Hey,” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm. “Let’s just take a breath.”

You glance at Sam, the rational one as always, his hazel eyes scanning you for injury. His touch is grounding, a stark contrast to Dean’s firestorm of anger.

Dean runs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “You keep pulling stunts like that, and one day, you won’t be so lucky.”

You cross your arms, jaw tightening. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Dean.”

He opens his mouth, ready to fire back, but Sam steps between you both. “Enough. We’re all exhausted. Let’s clean up and grab some grub.”

Dean glares at you for a second longer before shaking his head and storming off. The door of his room slams shut behind him, rattling the walls.

A heavy silence settles between you and Sam. He studies you, his expression softer than his brother’s, but still filled with concern. “You okay?”

You exhale, shoulders slumping slightly now that the fight is over. “I’m fine, baby. Really.”

His eyes flicker down to your arm, where a deep scratch bleeds sluggishly. Without a word, he pulls you into the kitchen and tends to your wound on the island. You hiss as he dabs a cotton cloth soaked in alcohol on your injury. When it is sterilised enough, he reaches out for the band-aid, and starts wrapping it around the wound.

“You scared him,” Sam murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “That’s why he’s pissed.”

You know that. You look up to Dean as a big brother. You understand his concerns, but sometimes you need to remind him that you can take of business too. He and Sam are your family. You couldn't let that vampire kill Dean just because he thought it was reckless of you, and chastise you like you were his little sister for saving his ass.

“Don’t defend him,” You huff, looking away. “He has a shitty way of showing it.”

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… that’s Dean.”

You groan, “Fuck him.”

Yeah, you're pissed at him too.

You both sit there in silence for a moment before Sam speaks again, voice quieter this time. “You had me scared too.”

Your breath catches slightly. You meet his gaze, and for the first time tonight, the fight drains from your body. “I’ll be more careful,” you say, just for him.

He kisses your temple, “That’s my good girl.” The way he said it makes your core throb in need.

Sam nods, satisfied, leaning to your neck and pressing his soft lips against your skin. You moan at his touch, it's soothing and calming. “Thank you, (Y/N)…” Another kiss, “For saving my brother today.” You shiver as he trails a line of ghost kisses from your neck to your collarbone.

Holy shit, you know he's aware of the effect of his praise on you. You crave for it, you need it. In other time, you'd tell him to stop and take this to your shared room. But the little—no, the big bastard knows what he's doing. He's making you cede in his devilish seduction, as if he can magically absorb all of your fury and turn it into pleasure. That utter devil. No wonder he is Satan's vessel, you think, amused.

“Hmm, you want me to forgive him for what he said after I saved his ass?” You try to shake the haze he put you in off your head. But nope, its mojo is doing its work.

“Yes,” He answers, voice hoarse.

You quiver as he unclasps your sport bra after he takes your flannel off, cautious not to touch your wound. In a moment, your tender nipple is in his mouth, his hands are working on the zipper of your jeans.

“Don't you think that'll take more than just that?”

His mouth inveigles another moan, his foreigner’s fingertip presses to your swollen clit over your panties. At this moment, you wish you weren't wearing one. But it easily can be fixed. Sam slides them down, and his fingertip is on your hot pearl. Your mind thaws out at the delectable pressure.

“How about this, hmm?” He lowers himself until his mouth is on your nether lips.

“Oh, God, Sam, I need you!” You cry out, voice imploring as his tongue laps your wet folds.

Your hand travels down to his hair, tugging and pulling as he relentlessly grinds his tongue against your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Sam!” You groan.

Sam pulls away just so, gazing up at you with a grin. “How about now?”

Mighty Chuck, is he serious? He stopped mid-tongue-fucking you to ask you if you can forgive his big brother for his assholeness?

“Fuck, he's forgiven!” You hiss, “Now, can you please fuck me?”

“With pleasure, darlin’” He winks, and his tongue is inside of you again. After moments of deliberate work you become undone.

You don't even recover from your orgasm when you grab the collar of his flannel as he stands up, and hauls him in between your knees. His lips crush on yours and you moan at the instant voracity in the kiss. It's always like this with Sam Winchester, strong desire, raw need. And the scent of you on his face drives you mad.

Within the ravenousness of the kiss, your hands shoves his flannel off his broad shoulders. They grope his refined, wet chest after he takes his shirt off and you kiss again. His plump lips smooching and meshing against yours, his body dwarfing yours, dominating. His large hands cupping your ass, pulling you further into his hold. His engorged cock is straining in his jeans in need for you. He flips you on your stomach, your hot skin on the cool island.

“Holy fuck, (Y/N)!” He growls, sheathing his cock inside of your hot, soppy cunt, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Sam's thrusts are rough, cruel, brutal. His length and girth fill you up. Your knuckles turn white as you grip on the island's edges.

You lose yourselves in him and he loses himself in you, and you become undone. Sam pulls out just a moment before he comes on your back.

“Good job, baby.”

You smile at his praise, quivering.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, your skin flushed and tangled in a mixture of post-pleasure exhaustion and glow. Your body tenses up when you hear Dean's voice.

“Jesus, really?!”

His gaze darts between you both, his lips parting like he’s unsure whether to speak or just walk away. Then, as if the horror of the situation fully sinks in, his cheeks flush, and he quickly looks away. “And on my pie spot?!”

You and Sam freeze, both turning to look at Dean, who stands in the doorway looking about three seconds away from scrubbing his eyes out with holy water. His nose scrunches in pure disgust as he gestures vaguely toward the table.

"Come on! That’s where I put my pie!"

You, still catching your breath, pull the closest thing—Sam’s flannel—over yourself, face burning. Sam, on the other hand, just sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Dean—"

"Nope! No, I don’t wanna hear it," Dean cuts in, waving a hand as he backs out of the room. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this, but just know—I’m never eating at that table again."

With that, he turns on his heel and storms off, muttering about needing bleach, holy fire, and possibly therapy. But knowing Dean, you're sure he'd suffice with the first two.

A beat of silence passes before you glance at Sam, who lets out a deep chuckle.

You say biting back a laugh, "Guess we’ll be hearing about this for the rest of our lives," you mumble, half amused, half mortified.

Sam groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Yeah. And I’m pretty sure he’s gonna salt and burn that table.”

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[uluvjay]

Risky Business-K. Guhle

Kaiden Guhle x Fem! Xhekaj reader

In which you calling Kaiden to pick you when your friends ditch you turns into more then you could’ve ever expected..

Warnings?; SMUT, protected sex, pretty much public sex, bar scene, kissing, cursing, reader has shit friends, brothers best friend!, mentions of anxiety and getting caught, sorry if I missed any errors!!

Kaiden wasn’t to surprised to see your name pop up on his screen, you two were friends because of your brother but you didn’t text all that often.

But when he saw what you were asking he truly had no surprise in his body as he read the words that your friends had left you and you were drunk and alone at the bar.

He already had your location from the last time he had to pick you up from the club when your friends abandoned you so he sent a quick ‘Omw’ and was out the door.

Pulling up to the bar fifteen minutes he was lucky to find a close parking spot before hopping out and making his way inside.

His eyes instantly found your body sitting at the bar your hair curled just the way he liked with that little dress hugging your body.

Hearing the stool next to you pull out your head shot up a look of relief filling your face at the sight of Kaiden.

“What happened birthday girl? Where are all your friends.” He asked softly.

You took a moment to look over his appearance, it was clear he’d been lounging around his apartment by the hoodie and joggers he sported, he didn’t have a hat on for once letting his blonde hair fall freely over his forehead.

he looked so pretty

“They left me..again” you mumbled staring down at your drink pitifully.

You heard him order a glass of whiskey before he replied, “Where’d they go this time?”

Sadly this wasn’t the first time your so called friends had left you on a night out only this time it happened to be your birthday celebration.

Typically they’d find hot guys and it wouldn’t take long for them to be dishing you a goodbye and following them out the door and into the back of an Uber.

The first few times it happened you called your older brother to come and get you but after the third time and a scolding you knew it was better not to.

So that’s where Kaiden came in, he was close to Arber so he was close to you. He always seemed to be around and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have a crush on the defenseman.

So when your brother said if he had to rescue you from an abandoned night one more time then he’d take your phone and block your so called friends you started calling Kaiden and he always came.

“Same as always, some guys were flirting with them and they went home with them.” You shrugged finally giving him your eyes.

“But it’s your birthday, they left just like that?” He questioned.

“Their excuse was that my actual birthday isn’t till tomorrow and they’d make sure to make it up to me.” You laughed at their pathetic excuse.

Kaiden shook his head at your words, he hated how they treated you but it wasn’t his place to tell you what to do or who to be friends with.

Only thing he could do was try to make the rest of the night fun for you and that’s what he planned on doing.

Checking his watch he saw it was 11pm on the dot, meaning he had an hour to make sure you started your birthday off right.

“Come on, let’s go play a round of pool” he spoke as he stood up holding a hand out for you.

“I don’t know how to play.” You laughed.

“I’ll teach you.” He shrugged before downing the rest of his drink and ordering a beer for himself and a Shirley temple for you.

Twenty minutes later Kaiden found out you weren’t lying when you said you were bad, the table was scratched from your endless misses and he could see the frustration growing on your face.

No matter how many tips or tricks he offered they weren’t helping, you still couldn’t get a good grip on the pool stick and your aim was awful.

“Here, let me show you.” He laughed setting his drink down and moving behind you.

His hand stilled as he reached for the stick, should he get this close? Were you okay with him getting this close?

“If you don’t mind.” He added nervously.

“I don’t mind, I need all the help I get. I’m embarrassing myself here.” You huffed in reply looking around the somewhat filled bar.

Kaiden took a step closer, chest pressed up against your back as he instructed you to grab the pool stick.

“Okay you need to bend yourself at an angle, wanna be able to see the ball and where you’re aiming.” He spoke softly.

You did as he said bending over so you were closer to the table but from the soft laugh behind you something told you that you were still wrong.

“No, like this.”

Kaiden didn’t think about it when his hands pulled at your hips, pulling you back slightly before pressing your lower back so you weren’t as stiff.

Your breath hitched at the touch, this felt very intimate and you hated how your body tingled from his touch.

What you weren’t ready for was his body to bend with yours, his face inches from your ear as his hand moved up to cup yours on the pool stick.

“Still okay?” He questioned.

“Mhm”

Your brain was jumping at the contact of his calloused hands, his warm body pressed against yours in a way that would send your brother into shock.

“And then you wanna pull ba-Are you even listening?” He chuckled, the sound sending a wave of heat through your body.

He could see the apples of your cheeks tint red at his words, he wasn’t dumb he felt the way your body reacted to his, the little sounds that left your mouth when he pressed up against you.

“Yeah, of course I am” you scoffed but he could hear the nerves in your voice.

“You sure?”

He was closer this time, much closer. Your eyes meeting his as he moved his body up more this time positioning himself next to you.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes traveled from his eyes to his lips, they were temping, light pink and plump begging to be tinted red from your lipstick.

Kaiden caught your eyes and he’d be lying if he said the same thoughts weren’t running through his mind. He was itching to see how you looked with swollen lips and blown out eyes, his hand around your throat as he kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

“Fuck it” he mumbled.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before his lips were on yours, his hands pulling you up and pressing your chest to his. The kiss was filthy, you wasted no time to respond to his desperate movements.

He groaned softly as your fingers tangled into his hair at the nape of his neck, his large hands tight against your waist as your lips moved in tandem.

He finally pulled away when he needed air, both of you panting as your eyes locked and you thought about your actions.

“My brother-“

“Doesn’t have to know.” He finished for you.

Arber not know you just kissed his best friend? Not know that you had feelings for the blonde? The man you lived with who happened to live the floor below Kaiden.

“But-“

“No buts, you always put everyone before yourself and I’m tired of standing back and watching it. Let me show you how important you are, how much you deserve to be loved and taken care of..please.” He cut you off, blue eyes pleading with you to give him a chance.

“Okay..but if he finds out you’re the one that’s dealing with him.” You spoke.

“Deal.” He laughed bringing you in for another kiss this one much hotter then the first, his hands roaming this time running under the hem of your dress cupping your ass.

“We can’t do this here” you shuddered the feeling of his hands had the throb between your thighs growing.

Kaiden knew he wasn’t going to make it home, and while he wasn’t one for public sex he knew he had to have you now.

“Come with me.” He pulled you behind him.

You followed him silently as he walked you two towards the restaurant part of the bar which was now closed at the late hour.

He looked around not seeing a soul in sight he was quick to pull you behind a tall wall, pinning you against the host stand you stood at only a few hours earlier.

“Kaiden! What if someone sees.” You panicked looking around for anyone that could see.

“Baby the restaurant has been closed for hours, nobody is over here anymore we’re okay.” He reassured you, his lips moving to your neck.

“You sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded lips working over your sensitive skin kissing down to the top of your breasts that showed through the top.

You whimpered when he found your sweet spot his mouth sucking on the skin as one of his skilled hands trailed down your body and under your dress.

Your body shuddered at the feeling of his touch, his middle finger running over the lace of your panties before pulling them down.

You stepped out of the material whimpering as he stuffed them into his back pocket, he shot you a cocky wink before he was rolling your dress up giving him a view of your dripping cunt.

“So wet for me baby.” He cooed, fingers running through your folds as he prepped you to take his cock.

“Kaiden” you panted, hands gripping his hoodie for stability as pleasure spread through your body. A hot fire began burning your skin as his continued to work you open.

His lips swallowed yours when he slipped one inside of you, careful to mask your noises so nobody caught on to what was happening if they did happen to overhear.

You shook against him as he pumped his finger in and out, adding a second when he felt you were ready for more of him.

“Please..” you weren’t sure what exactly you were even begging for, you just knew you needed more-more of him.

“Please what baby?”

“Fuck me, please Kaiden. I need it.” You begged him hands reaching for the drawstring of his joggers.

“It is my birthday after all.” You added with a pleading look.

Kaiden picked up his free hand to look at his wrist, the heavy metal read 11:35 meaning you had 25 more minutes before it was really your birthday.

“Still got 25 minutes baby, but you’ve had a bad night so I’ll be nice.” He smirked.

You hated how empty and cold you felt when he removed his fingers and stepped back to grab his wallet from his pocket.

You watched as he pulled out the little gold packet before pulling his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him, his mushroom head cock red and glistening with precum, you couldn’t help yourself as you reached out to stroke him softly spreading the cum down his shaft.

“Oh fuck” he gulped at the feeling your soft hand wrapping around him.

You took the condom from him stretching the latex over his thick cock watching with need as it hugged him perfectly.

“Turn around pretty girl.” He said, his tone commanding.

You did as he said bracing yourself against the wooden stand waiting for him as he spread your legs and positioned himself.

He didn’t waste anytime, his hips pressing forward as he slid his cock inside you. His strong hands gripping your hips as he got his pace steady.

Fuck he was big

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as he pulled back and pushed himself into you again, this time bottoming out as his cock hit that sweet spot inside you.

He couldn’t help letting out a quiet moan himself when your body locked up around him, his grip on your hips tightening as he gave both of you a second.

That didn’t last very long before he pulled out again this time setting a fast pace his cock splitting you open as you hung onto the stand for dear life.

You did your absolute best to remain quiet, eyes clenched shut as you put all your focus on not letting the entire place hear how good he was making you feel.

“That’s it baby.” He muttered to himself, “taking it so fucking good.”

Your pussy fluttered at his words, each stroke of his cock was hitting you just right never failing to miss your sweet spot. Every nerve in your body on fire from the way he was fucking you, it was addictive, you were desperate for anything he was willing to give you.

You gasped when one of his arms hooked around you middle, pulling you flush against his chest as his thrusts somehow went even faster.

“Feel good baby?” He hummed in your ear, lips moving down your body in hot wet kisses, teeth nipping your skin in all the right places.

Feel good? It felt fucking amazing, your whole body felt like it was going to explode by the way he fucked you.

“Yes!, god yes. Feels so fucking good.” You whimpered voice barely there your nails dug into the cotton covering his arm as you held on for support.

Kaiden could feel your walls hugging him with each thrust, your orgasm no doubt closing in but he never let up. His thrusts were strong, each stroke more precise than the last.

His pace was punishing as he held you pinned to him, one of his large hands gripping your throat as he turned your face to pull you into a hot kiss.

It was all teeth and tongue, hot and sloppy as he fought you for dominance that you quickly gave up.

Your body was clenching him so tight as the pressure in your lower stomach built, it was all consuming, clouding your brain to the point it was all you could think about.

Him, it was all Kaiden, the way he touched you, kissed you, held you, fucked you.

This was an addiction you’d never come back from and you didn’t mind, not one bit.

“Go ahead baby, come for me. Show me what the birthday girl has been keeping from me.”

And with that your whole body tensed, the band in your lower stomach bursting as you came all over the condom. His hand shot from your throat to cover your mouth as you moaned into the skin at the overwhelming feeling.

His arm around your body tightening to help keep you standing as your legs shook, almost to the point of giving out as he continued to pound into you.

It wasn’t to long after your climax that Kaiden came himself, a deep guttural groan coming from him as he fucked you through his high.

You both panted breathlessly as you came back down to earth, both of your minds clouded with a post sex haze.

He rested you against the host stand as he pulled out of your dripping cunt, pulling the condom off and tying it he was quick to pull his pants up and your dress back down.

He couldn’t help himself when he smirked at your dazed expression when you turned to face him, eyes glossy, cheeks rosy, mascara slightly smeared from the tear tracks that stained your face.

He pulled you in for a kiss, this one much sweeter then any of the other ones you shared so far tonight, his hand cupping your cheek softly.

“Happy birthday pretty girl.” He smiled when he pulled back.

“Best birthday ever.” You cheesed back.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.” You nodded in confirmation.

Kaiden was happy that he could end your awful night on a good note, happy that you were giving him a chance to show you a love you deserved.

“Wanna go back to mine?” He asked.

“Yes, I need out of these heels.” You groaned.

“Come on, let’s go get you into bed.” He smiled picking you up off your feet and carrying you to his car.

You knew you’d have to tell Arber eventually but right now that wasn’t on your mind, right now the only thing you were thinking about was how lucky you were to have Kaiden in your life.

-

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Out of the weasley brothers who do you think is the biggest fool when in love

impossible question they're all idiots

just kidding here's the order I think they'd fall into from least to most foolish (they are so close that I went back and forth on the order multiple times 😂)

1. Bill - he's a grown man. he knows how to handle himself in almost all circumstances and it takes a lot to get him flustered. he's also not a cheesy sort of romantic, he's more intense. he's tends to be more serious and knows exactly what he wants (and how to get it). he's going to outright tell you how he feels, no games, no bullshit. he can be possessive and jealous, though, a little rough around the edges, so mind his teeth.

2. Fred - is he foolish or insane? no telling. but he's giving 10000% into getting and keeping the person he loves. Rules and societal norms be damned. And he's not giving up until the fat lady sings, and he'll duct tape her mouth shut if he has to. single-minded, blind determination is the name of the game, and once he has you, you would not believe the ego on this boy. he'll be smug for a year. careful not to let his ego scare you off. he may talk like it's all about him, but at the end of the day, you're his entire universe.

3. Percy - Percy is the "I like you so I'm ignoring you" type, which is foolish. He sees romance as a frivolous distraction, and it would take some time for him to let that go and accept that he's in love. 9 times out of 10, the person gives up or loses interest before Percy figures out his shit. if Percy does manage to get you, he'll be a giddy, nervous wreck for six months because he never thought he'd get this far. he's eternally grateful that you gave him enough water and sunshine to finally grow.

4. George - the rizzler. charm on 10000. you fell in love with him first (but he fell in love harder). but as soon as he has you, all the suave and charm goes out the window. he's an absolute lovesick puppy, the biggest simp. anyone and everyone knows that he's in love and who with because his brain turns off when they're around. he just can't help himself when it comes to the person he loves, and he will walk face backwards off a cliff if you asked him to. please don't ask him to.

5. Charlie - Mr. One Night Stand. Mr. Fast and Loose. but when he actually falls in love, he's goner. done for. someone call a minister because Charlie is halfway down the aisle. he's 100000% committed from the start. saying I love you on the second date. he's all in, so buckle up buttercup because Charlie is a wild animal with a sweet tooth, and you're the prettiest dessert he's ever seen.

6. Ron - Ron is a lot like Percy in this way, he's in denial that he has feelings. But instead of ignoring you, he's going to pick on you, pull your hair, drive you up the wall because he thinks it's hot when you tell him off. he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so he's going to be very dumb and very clumsy in the process of sorting out his feelings, and make a lot of mistakes in the process. but he will be the fiercest protector and most loyal friend you could ask for, just have patience.

[leafbowl]

You know that thing bikers do when they see a police car? The tap on their helmets? Yeah so Arsenal, Red Hood, Red Robin and Spoiler (who are the only ones who ride motorbikes outside of their vigilante personalities) do it whenever they see Nightwing. And you better believe it makes others so fucking confused.

Nightwing: *Drops down into the fight.*

Red Hood: *Stops everything he's doing to tap the top of his helmet.*

Spoiler: *Sees it and then does stops to do it too.*

Red Robin: *Gets a giddy little grin and starts tapping the top of his head.*

Thugs: *All collectively very confused.*

Thug #1: Wha... What 're they doin'?

Thug #2: Uhh I dunno.

Thug #3: Hey, isn't that what bikers do when they see a cop?

Thug #2: Nah. Nightwing's not a cop, dumbass.

Thug #1: Yeah, he's a vigilante. Wha's he need with bein' a cop?

Thug #3: But he's the type to snitch tho.

Thug #1: Well... I guess. Maybe that's why they do it, cuz he's such a snitch.

Thug #2: *shrugs* Maybe.

Thugs #3: Uh, guys...

Thug #2: What?

Thug #3: Ya 'ere that?

Thug #1: *Pauses but doesn't hear anything.* Uh nah.

Thug #3: Exactly. Where'd the fightin' sounds go?

Thug #2: Shit.

The fighting stopped because everyone else had been taken care of. The batfam had just been waiting for them to finish their conversation like Alfred taught them to. He would be proud. Probably of the broken and fractured bones that followed. Well, he'd be proud of their technique, they reckoned. (To be honest, Alfred would be proud no matter what.)

Arsenal: So he just... told you all to stop?

Red Hood: *Shrugs.* Pretty much.

Red Robin: I don't get why B wants us to stop using 'dick' as a term of endeerment. It's a compliment!

Red Hood: And that has nothing to do with the fact the Baby Wonder finds it enfurieating?

Red Robin, grinning: Cassie hating it is an upside, I won't lie.

Nightwing: *Drops down next to where they're all gathered on a roof.* Hey guys, sorry I'm late, I-

Red Hood:

Arsenal:

Spoiler:

Red Robin:

Robin:

Orphan:

Nightwing: Uh guys? *Starts sweating because there's something wrong with the way they're all blankly staring at him.* How- how's everyone?

Red Hood: *Starts tapping helmet.*

Nightwing: *So concerned that something's wrong he doesn't clock it right away so he just stares, a crease forming between his eyebrows.*

Red Robin: *Taps against his hair.*

Nightwing: Wait a sceond-

Arsenal, Spoiler: *Taps their heads.*

Robin and Orphan: *Looks at each other. Holds eye contact and then starts tapping their heads to fuck with Nightwing.*

The next day a photo of Nightwing standing with his head bowed in defeat whilst being surrounded by Red Hood, Arsenal, Red Robin, Robin, Spoiler and Orphan who are all patting their heads is trending. People think they're in some kind of cult and that they were either sacraficing Nightwing or they were summoning something. The fact that Nightwing isn't spotted for the next week makes everyone lean towards the sacraficing.

(Jason made him promise he would play into the bit by not going out and letting his friends and/or his siblings patrol his city. Dick has never been good at saying not to his little brother. And, come on, Dick fucking loved the idea of people thinking he was being sacraficed. Also, he doesn't mind the head patting. Batman was the only one who thought it might reveal his identity. Dick was with Stephanie on it all, really. There was no way people would connect him to Nightwing and if they did, it's not like anyone else would believe them.)

It gets to the point that it's not even to fuck with Batman anymore. It becomes a normal greeting, something that bleeds into their civillian lives. People understand it more when it's directed at Dick Grayson but it's very endeering to see it. It all fuels all the Bruceman shippers when Tim Drake-Wayne is caught doing it to Nightwing.

[sup38008]

Y’all know what pmo? When I see a spn edit on tt and the Winchesters childhood and John comes up and surprisingly, so does Adam. Cuz y’all forget him most of the time, and only remember him to hate on the KID, at the time. To make Sam and Dean more idk, traumatized-y by john. Like come onnn 😩

We get it, Sam and Dean are meow meows and John is an asshole. But you ain’t got to drag Adam in to the whole, “Sam and Dean had it worse cuz John was an ass, and Adam had it better cuz John tried to be an actual dad to Adam. Therefore, Adam got the childhood that Sam and dean never got. And Adam deserved to be left in hell”

???

That’s a kid man.

Also what? Like did we watch the same show? All the happy little things that Adam said in “jump the shark” (I think that’s what the episode was) wasn’t really true because it wasn’t Adam saying it, it was the ghoul that ate him AND his mom. And the ghoul was trying to manipulate Sam and Dean, so who know whatever it said wasn’t a total lie? Or Yk, a lie with a tenth of truth.

Like our actual Adam Milligan (I also hate when people use the Winchesters last name when talking about Adam. And saying he’s a Winchesters. Cuz he’s not, and that’s okay, he can be both. More Milligan tho. Like bro would never willingly give up his Milligan last name, it’s the only thing he has left of his mother to hold on to) was johns number one hater.

Adam literally called John a stranger who visited once a year for his birthdays after he turned 12. A stranger people! One that showed up once a year to play house and made shit awkward and depressing after he left, again and again.

Also, take this from Adam’s prospective. He didn’t know Sam and Dean existed, or marry. That his mom was a kinda replacement for her. And John had a whole ass secret life they didn’t know about. He thought bro was a mechanic for fucks sake. Imagine dying (being eaten alive) to wake up to being fed bullshit by angels (who are logically more trustworthy than a bunch of suspicious men saying they are your brothers) and then used as a pawn to get his half brother to say yes. That’s sucks ass.

Anyways, what y’all think? Am I too aggressive?

[oacest]

On the one hand, he acknowledges that the mad-for-it melodrama helps people feel a connection with the band. On the other hand, he refuses to indulge his little brother. "I'm the only person who'll tell it like it is. He has a lot of people who pussyfoot around him and say, 'He does this because of that'. Fuck him. He's 27. He's a millionaire. I'm not having it that his life is any worse than someone who's living in fuckin' Leicester, who's got two kids and no fuckin' job. I'm not having any of that shit." Liam doesn't always like hearing that, or reading it in print; it seems demeaning to him. "But if it wasn't for me," says his brother, "he'd think it was all right to go on a bender for three days and not see his kid. He'd think that was fine. He sees me and I'm, like, 'You're a disgrace.' It's for his own good. There's two sides to Liam: when he's pissed, he's fuckin' horrible, and I hate him, and I really mean that. I fuckin' hate him. It's just psychotic alcohol bullshit and I've got no time for him. When he's sober, he's a top geezer and you can have a rational conversation with him about anything." Rather sweetly, he adds, in his brother's defence, that it's a tall order to juggle the balls of rock-stardom and fatherhood, and that every so often Liam drops one of those balls, and that's when he goes on drinking binges. There's a track on the album written by Liam called Little James, about his stepson (Patsy's son by the singer Jim Kerr). "It's a good song," says Noel. "I wouldn't have let it be on the album otherwise." Noel asked his brother recently which Liam would be coming on tour with them this year. He told him that if it was the same Liam who came on tour in 1997 - "with a beard and a stupid hat, blowing a stupid trumpet into his microphone" - then it would be the last tour on which Noel would be joining him. If, however, it was the Liam that he knows and likes, then that would be fine. "I just wanted to know what weapons to pack." Noel's worst nightmare is that somewhere in the middle of Texas, Liam will get drunk, start arguing, and the two new members of the band will bale out.

quote taken four and/or six months before disaster (The Guardian, Jan 2000)

[sillysealll]

Pls publish more hcs abour dickroy they drive me insane

Well if you insist anon…😊

Teen Titans days HCs :

- Dick became the first sidekick but Roy was pretty close behind and for some time, it was only the two of them and the JL. They barely interacted during that time so Dick always admired Roy from a distance because he thought Speedy was so cool with all his trick arrows (this one is directly taken from the Teen Titans 2003 TV show where Dick is a huge fan of Roy)

- Roy, on the other hand, wanted to get to know him but he was too scared of Batman to dare to approach Robin, who was always glued to the man

- Both of their perspectives changed when Robin, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl and Aqualad formed the Teen Titans and Speedy would drop by. Dick began to find Roy too arrogant and Roy found Dick insufferable

- But they eventually warmed up to each other when Roy officially joined. Though, they kept on bickering even after they started to actually appreciate the other, both too prideful to admit otherwise until wayyyy later

- Another thing that set a gap between them early on was their difference maturity level. Not to say that Roy was childish but he actually knew how to act his age when he could, while Dick was pretty psychorigid. He was acting so beyond his age all the time that it was uncanny for Roy (and most of the team)

- Roy took it upon himself to make Dick act his age and thanks to him and the team, Dick eventually loosen up a more and more around them

- I find the fact that Wally used to be a conservative hilarious (but also sad bc he got it from his parents) and in my mind Dickroy were his exposure therapy

- Even when Speedy was supposed to not like Robin, he couldn’t help but be amazed by Dick’s acrobatics

Outsiders time HCs :

- Roy and Dick shared a place for a little while after Donna’s death because Roy was scared Dick would let himself die while Dick was scared Roy would relapse

- Grace and Anissa used to gossip on Dickroy and at some point the whole team joined them (except for the two aformentioned)

- Unknowingly, Roy stopped Dick from ending his life more times than the latter cares to admit (When he would visit him as Dick was about to grab his gun or call when Dick was about to step off the highest building he could find) Dick never told anyone

- Roy and Dick coddled Lian for weeks after she was rescued from the human trafficking ring and Roy had a hard time bath her without feeling sick to his stomach because of the scar she had kept from that time

Civilians (teen) Dickroy HCs :

- As civilians, Roy and Dick were somehow always put against each other by the media’s and all the comparisons they were making made Roy despise Dick before he even properly met him

- Then they met as civilians in a Gala and they surprisingly clicked together immediately.

- Dick already knew who Speedy was behind the mask and he had to remind himself that Roy had no idea so he wouldn’t be surprise by how different he was treated by Roy whether he had the mask on or not

- On interviews they kept on shitting on each other just to make the media’s gossip about their non-existent rivalry because they thought the headlines were hilarious

- When Roy learned about Dick’s identity he felt so humiliated for not having figured it out that he didn’t speak to Dick for the next three galas they had together (the media’s loved it)

Random HCs :

- Roy and Starfire took Jason under his wing because he has the little brother privilege thanks to Dick (and the fact Roy and Starfire were/used to be helplessly in love with Dick has nothing to do with it, not at all)

- Roy genuinely grows fond of Jason (platonically) but he always has an after-thought about Dick whenever he looks at him

- While Roy is tolerated by most of the batfam, Dick is somehow an honorary member of the Arrow family (it’s because of Lian (and Roy))

(Dick is an honorary member of most families in the DC universe)

- Whenever Dick or Roy doesn’t finish his plate, he pushes it to the other who always finish it

- Roy likes most movies he watches and after coming out of a cinema he loves to talk about the movie to analyse it and compliment it. While Dick is a tad more difficult, he also just want to annoys Roy and every time they watch a movie together, Dick ends up saying he didn’t like it just to see Roy go on a rant for the next fifteen minutes

- Dick pretends he’s bad at cooking just to escape the choir and leave it to Roy, who falls for it every time

- Roy braids hair automatically when he’s doing nothing and has someone beside him. Dick is often seen with small braids in his hair

- Roy is never cold while Dick supports heat pretty well. In winter, Roy is Dick’s heater while Roy just hates Dick in summer because the guy always looks good (both figuratively and literally)

Mmmh okay I think I’m done ?

Hope you enjoyed those silly HCs as much as you enjoyed the previous ones 🤗

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton is watching TV downstairs when the ceiling randomly collapses and their brother falls from the sky right in front of them. What happened is that there was a crack for a long time, they didn't notice, and it just fell apart when their brother walked upstairs on it. Skeleton's brother is fine, just got scared.

Undertale Sans - He teleported several meters away as soon as he heard loud noises about his head and watched in disbelief as Papyrus fell from the ceiling. He immediately comes to check on his brother of course, but once he notices he's fine, he has a nervous laugh. Not because the situation is funny, well, maybe a little, but because man, he doesn't have the money to fix this shit. He's sweating in extra hours of work right now.

Undertale Papyrus - He screams as everything falls above him, and then Sans randomly fell on his lap, looking completely shocked. He's not even that surprised if he has to be honest. Sans does these things all the time. It's like a special talent at this point. Ok, that's probably not Sans' fault the ceiling fell apart, but the fact that he was there is suspicious. Papyrus sighs and calls Undyne so she can help him to clean this mess and finds an idea of what to do about the giant hole above his head.

Underswap Sans - He jumps behind the couch to protect himself. Honey obviously passed out as soon as everything fell under his feet, so Blue has a small moment of panic about if he's badly hurt or not. Honey just wakes up a few minutes later, completely confused, then he dares to scream at Blue for the mess. What the hell! The audacity! He's not the one who broke the ceiling, he is! They immediately start to argue lol.

Underswap Papyrus - He can't say he's surprised. Honey just sighs, tired. He doesn't want to deal with that. He doesn't even want to know what just happened. As soon as he sees Blue is fine, he stands up, tells his brother that he's alone on this to clean that mess and teleports to the movie theater or something so he can relax for a few hours far, far from home.

Underfell Sans - Of course, Edge immediately starts to scream at him even though he's the one who fell from the ceiling and broke everything. Red keeps watching TV, completely ignoring him lol. He's not going to pay for his brother's mistake. Deal with it by yourself. He even yawns at some point, which pissed off Edge really good. Edge picks up Red by the hood of his coat and throws him outside completely gratuitous. Red is offended, but, well, it also means he doesn't have to clean and that's fine by him.

Underfell Papyrus - Of course, Edge immediately starts to scream at him lol. Red is pretty much dying right now (no, but he's a drama queen) and whining in pain while his brother keeps talking shit to him. So, uh, Red asks him to please shut the hell up. Edge growls, grabs him by his hood... And throws him outside lmao. Red feels so loved right now. He's so glad he has family (no).

Horrortale Sans - He gasps and immediately runs to check on his brother. Willow is in pain, obviously, because his back took most of the shock. Oak immediately calls Toriel for help, and the two of them manage to put him back on his feet, using Toriel's healing magic and Oak's blue magic. He got out of there pretty fine despite everything. None of them is really worried about the ceiling for now, it's not really important and they can still take care of it later.

Horrortale Papyrus - Oak just blinks in confusion, sitting at the top of the rumbles. Uh. Willow sighs, not too surprised. He already noticed the crack, actually, but he had been so busy he forgot to check it. Well, the crack is not a problem anymore, he guesses. He notes to ask for someone to check it on his to-do list for later.

Swapfell Sans - Nox facepalms as his brother faceplants at his feet. As Rus whines like a baby, saying he swears he didn't do anything wrong, Nox answers that it's just years of karma coming to bite his ass for all the bad things he got away with. Also, he's not helping. The broom is in the kitchen. Deal with your own shit.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus takes out a 10/10 sign out of nowhere with recorded claps from a crowd. Nox growls, staring at him. What? He's not the one who fell from the sky. Oh, and he's not helping. "the broom is in the kitchen, bro." Nox jumps at his face to strangle him lol.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Coffee's entire closet falls at his feet, with a terrified and traumatized Coffee curled up inside. He immediately screams that he swears he did nothing wrong, and Wine shakes it off. That's fine, it's just a hole in his brother's room. He calls someone an hour later to fix this. He has money, it's not a problem. He's just glad his brother is fine.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee gasps, but holds back any comment he could have said. Wine stands up like nothing happened, dusts his clothes and stares through his soul, daring him to say something. Coffee just let him go, trying to not offend him more lol. Wine passive-aggressively calls someone to fix his ceiling a few minutes later.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

takin’ what’s not yours (ford x reader x stan)

chapter 2 | chapter 1

someone please whack me with a rolled-up newspaper like a misbehaving dog so i actually finish my fics on time. also i think this chapter is mega boring but i have no more brain cells to fix it because im very tired

tags for this chapter: death mention (i mean a dog’s death, and this is a little self-indulgent, but i just wanted to write it exactly like that), gore (not so much), panic attacks, child abuse, alcohol, flashbacks, unreliable narrator

Stanley, who has never met a terrible situation he couldn’t defuse with a joke, lets out a breath. “hey, bro, you planning on hunting something tonight or just ready to, i dunno, take out some deer in the backyard ”

Ford blinks once, but doesn’t lower the crossbow. “Already did,” he answers calm as you please. “for an experiment.”

You and Stanley go silent at the same time. The crackling of the old lightbulb above you fills the space where words should be. Somewhere outside, a tree branch scrapes against the roof, snapping you out of trance.

“. . . What,” you say finally, because someone has to.

“I needed to analyze the cellular structure post-mortem, it’s relevant to my research.”

Stan lets out a laugh, which sounds a little too loud in that awkward silence. “Oh, sure. Yeah. Right. Because that makes total sense, totally normal thing to do. Real brother-of-the-year shit.”

“Science isn’t about sentimentality, Stanley. Besides, it was already injured when i found it. I only expedited the process.”

Expedited the process. Jesus Christ.

You glance at Stanley, who is staring at Ford with such confused face, seeing something he doesn’t recognize , doesn’t have name for, which is funny, because you’re pretty sure he’s seen a lot of versions of Ford by now. Except this this one, who’s holding conversations with himself in his own head, this one with the dark circles and the too-quick explanations.

However, you were Ford’s assistant, his best friend too, so you know how his brain works, although even right now you can’t find explanation for. . . whatever this is.

You take a careful step forward. “Ford, why do you need dead animals for your research?”

“That’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He exhales through his nose, apparently annoyed. “ Certain anomalies leave biological imprints even after death and I hypothesise that these imprints could be harnessed. Imagine, for example, an organism imbued with interdimensional properties—“

“Okay, okay, no. Stop.” Stan holds up both hands. “literally no idea what you just said, but it sounded fucked up. Also, you're still pointing that thing at us, genius, mind putting it down before i start thinking you’re planning on adding people to your little science fair project?”

Ford blinks again, then looks at his own hands as if he just now realized what he was holding. Carefully, he sets the crossbow aside.

“It’s not like that,” he mutters, pushing his glasses up, looking away.

“Great,” his twin says. “good talk. Totally reassuring.”

There’s another silence, because Ford doesn't answer that. You dont know what to say too. And the shack gets colder with every minute. Ford’s back is turned now, and you don’t know if he’s done talking or if he just doesn’t care if you’re still standing here.

You glance at Stanley again, silently telling him to say something, to do something, that's his own brother after all, damn it! But he ignores your request and folds his arms over his chest. What a moron. . . And because you hate this kind of silence, you try again. “Ford,” but much softer this time. “seriously, are you okay?”

Ford doesn't answer right away and that's the part that worries you the most. “It’s not as morbid as you’re making it sound. I needed to study the decomposition process in controlled conditions. It’s for science.”

Which is possibly the worst possible answer he could have given.

Stan scoffs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, nervous, but trying to hide it. “Yeah, that clears it right up. Real normal hobby you got there, Poindexter.”

Stanford just ignores that.

Then, out of nowhere, as if to shake the whole tension, Stan shivers, “Oh man. Do we have any tea or something? I’m freezing.” he says it offhand obviously, but it’s the perfect excuse for you.

So you seize it immediately. “Yeah , i’ll— i’ll go make some,” you say, already turning toward the kitchen.

Ford barely acknowledges you leaving, but Stan does. You notice the way his brown eyes flick toward you, the silent thanks he tells you. You both need a second to breathe.

The kitchen is cold when you light the stove, set the kettle on, press your hands to the counter and think. Ford is weird, you knew that, but this is different. The last time you saw him, he wasn’t like this, his skin wasn’t so pale, his eyes weren’t so dark.

He was paranoid. . . Maybe, okay, he sure was, but there used to be some kind of. . . purpose, excitement behind that paranoia. Now, it just looks like wild fear.

A deep, sinking feeling twists in your gut.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Stan’s stomach growls and the sound is too loud, making Ford glance at him. “You should eat something.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “thanks for the life advice, doctor sixer.”

“It’s just an observation.”

“Yeah? Well, what are you, taking a role of an older brother now?” Stan mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Ford doesn't answer, just stares, not knowing what to say to that. In the kitchen, the kettle starts to whistle as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. Pulling out some old mugs andgrabbing the first container of tea you can find, you turn your head to the cookies are on the counter and without even thinking about it, just grab a handful and pile them onto a plate.

When you walk back in, Stan’s sitting stiffly, arms crossed, visibly uncomfortable, while Ford is in exactly the same position as before, hasn’t moved an inch.

You set the tray down with a little too much force. “Ford, i hope you don’t mind i stole your cookies to feed your brother.”

But he barely reacts. Stan, though, eyes the plate, two seconds away from breaking down in gratitude.

“You are actually a lifesaver,” he says, grabbing one immediately.

You pass Ford his tea, but he doesn’t drink right away. Stan, on the other hand, takes a sip, exhales long and slow. “ God , finally, something warm.”

The moment almost feels normal until Ford lifts his mug, opens his mouth and spills the entire thing down his front . You freeze , feeling the cookie stuck in your throat . Just. All of it. No attempt to sip or at least to adjust , looks like a full-body failure of basic motor skills.

The room goes dead silent as Stanley and you stare again.

Ford doesn’t react, just sits there, drenched in tea, holding the empty mug like nothing happened.

“. . . Bro,” Stan says finally. “what the fuck was that.”

You’re gripping your own mug tightly, nervous. “Ford?”

Ford blinks, looking down at his soaked clothes, he slowly touches the fabric, not understanding what went wrong. “I guess I miscalculated.”

Stan throws his hands in the air. “Miscalculated? Miscalculated what, basic human function?”

Ignoring his twin again, Stanford doesn’t answer, still staring at the tea, clenching his fingers. You bite your lip. yeah. Something is wrong. Something’s really, really wrong.

Stan makes a strangled, baffled noise, shoving a hand through his hair, trying to process what he just saw. “Sweet Moses, Sixer, you just malfunctioned. You just— what the hell was that? You need a reboot? A software update?”

Ford, to his credit, keeps his fa c e expression calm as possible. Only brushes a hand over his soaked clothes with a blank face. “It’s nothing, Stanley, a minor lapse in coordination.”

“A minor lapse?” Stan repeats, looking to you for backup. “ Are you one year old?”

You want to laugh, because this is fucking ridiculous because Stan is damn right, but the feeling that’s been pooling in your stomach since you stepped foot back in the shack only deepens.

Ford isn’t acting normal. Not weird normal. Not his usual ‘I’m smarter than everyone and i know it’ normal.

“Ford,” you say quietly. “are you sure you’re okay? This is getting weird.”

Stanford turns to you like he just now remembered you were here and the second your eyes meet, you immediately want to look away as if your body is trying to tell you something your brain hasn’t caught up with yet. Get out.

“Of course i am, why wouldn’t i be?” you're not sure if you imagined it, but the intonation sounds rather sarcastic.

You don’t get to answer as you hear something crashing outside. Stan nearly chokes on his tea while you jolt so hard your own mug sloshes in your hands.

Ford is the only one who doesn’t react.

“Shit,” Stan hisses, immediately craning his head toward the window. “what the fuck was that?”

Your heart beats faster. You don’t know why, but suddenly the only thought in your head is—

“What if it’s a yeti,” you whisper, deadly serious.

Stan whips his head toward you. “Why the hell would it be a yeti?”

You glare at him. “Ford literally just admitted to performing illegal backwoods taxidermy. Why wouldn’t it be a yeti?”

Stan thinks about your words and his expression changes. “ Yeah , okay, fair point.”

Suddenly you hear another noise, but this time it’s a sharp rattle against the window.

Stan nearly jumps out of his skin. “oh fuck, it’s the cops.”

Ford finally sighs, tilting his head to glance toward the front door. “It’s not the police, it’s the wind.”

You and Stan exchange a look. Ford is right, the storm outside has picked up hard as the wind is howling through the trees, snow slamming against the shack in heavy sheets.

Stan exhales, realizing that he probably doesn't have a chance to get out of here in his car, the roads are so damn clogged. He runs a hand over his tired face. “Great, just fucking great.”

You glance toward the door, slumping your shoulders. “Yeah. Looks like i’m staying the night.”

Ford doesn’t even hesitate, happy with your words. “You can take the spare room.”

Stan raises an eyebrow, surprised at how fast his brother offered. You are too, honestly. Does that mean . . . you don’t get to finish your thought when Ford turns to Stan. “You can stay too, Stanley.”

At first, Stan doesn't react at all, thinking that he misheard, but then his brother's words gradually sink in. He's wary when he clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neckawkwardly, obviously not used to that. “Uh. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

Ford steps past him, when he passes his twin, though, he stops and leans in. “don’t worry , im not dad, i won’t throw you out.” just like that, he keeps walking, leaving Stan standing here wide eyed and frozen.

You stare after Ford, then back at Stan .

“Oh, um,” you say. “what the hell.”

Stan looks down. “yeah, no shit.”

***

The shack at night is a different thing, you knew this already, but knowing it and feeling it are two different things. You’ve stayed the night here before, back when things were normal, back when Ford was normal and the silence always calmed you, unlike right now. When you hear your own heart beating and the whole house is listening.

Stanley is asleep, dead asleep. Sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs and blankets, snoring faintly through the storm’s howl. Good for him, it's the first time in years he hasn’t had to sleep in the backseat of a car, curled up around himself like a stray dog in a storm drain. It doesn’t matter that the couch is stiff, that the room is freezing, this is the best sleep he’s had in years.

***

Summer, 1960-something. Kids. Kids with scabby-kneed, sunburned noses and wild hair.

The harbour always smelled like salt and fish.

Ford’s hands shake when he sees the bruise. So deep, ugly, purpling against Stan’s cheekbone, swelling beneath his eye.

“What happened?”

His brother was sitting on the curb, resting his arms over his knees, staring at a crack in the pavement.

“Dunno, pa just gets mad.”

The words felt like someone had dropped a rock right into Ford's chest, as it just sank to the bottom of his stomach, too heavy to breathe around.

Stan must’ve noticed, because he grinned. He actually hated that look, hated seeing his own twin with that kind of expression, because that made Stan know exactly how he looked when their old man had really lost it.

“But hey, hey, least now i look tough, huh? Bet all those bullies are gonna be real scared now,” he grinned, nudging Ford with his elbow.

Ford’s hands curled into fists. “thats not,” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “that's not gonna help, Stanley!”

“Eh, maybe,” he shrugged. “but it sure looks cool, huh?”

It didn’t. It looked awful.

Ford's chest was too tight. He looked at his brothers bruised eye, at the careless shrug in his posture, and suddenly the words burst out before he can stop them.

“We should run away.”

Stan opened his mouth, surprised, Ford, sixer, being this bold? And a second, he almost looked serious, considering it.

Then he laughed loudly. “and go where, genius?”

“Anywhere! Somewhere better. We could, we go up north, where it’s colder, where nobody knows us.”

Stan squinted at him. “but what about ma?” Ford hesitated, looking down. Stanley's smile faded as he rubbed his bruise. “look, Sixer, i appreciate the whole dramatic rescue thing, but we’re kids. Where’re we even gonna sleep? In a box?”

“We’d figure it out, you'll never be homeless, we'll never he homeless,” Ford insisted. “we’re smart—“

“You’re smart,” Stan corrected, no bitterness, just a fact. “im just a guy who can throw a good punch.”

Ford hated that he said that, so he didn’t give up.

“We could take a boat,” he tried again. “work at a dock, make some money—“

“You’d get seasick in five minutes.”

Ford scowled. “i would not.”

“Yeah, you would,” Stan teased, nudging him again.

Ford didn’t answer, because he hated the way Stanley took it all as some kind of joke. He was serious. He meant it.

But Stan just sighed again, stretching his arms over his head. “nah. don’t worry about it, Poindexter. Ain’t no big deal.”

It was a big deal. But Ford didn’t say anything else. Just sat down next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees, staring at the same crack in the pavement.

They were kids, they thought like kids. Ford just wished they’d stayed kids. Stanley wished the same.

***

Ford is in his bed, but he's not sleeping. Or maybe he does, technically.

He shifts, twists, rolls to his side, then to his back, then to his stomach, then repeats the cycle, stuck in a loop. His body doesn’t want to be still, doesn’t know how to be still.

He can't really control it, can’t open his eyes no matter how much he wants to.

It’s the same dream every time. Ford and him, sitting across from each other, playing chess, if Ford could call it that because every move Ford makes is a lie, and every move Bill makes is a trap.

Ford can’t win no matter what he does, no matter how many times he tries. Bill moves a piece. Ford counters. Bill moves another. Ford moves in response.

And when Stanford blinks, they’re already back at the start, the pieces damn reset and the game begins again.

“What do you say, Sixer? another round?”

Ford clenches his jaw, it’s not like he has any other choice. He just moves the first piece.

Every time their game ends with same, when Ford sees the door to his childhood home. It's already happening, every night.

He sees his brother standing there, staring in at their father with hope in his eyes, waiting for him to change his mind.

Ford sees his father’s mouth moving and even though can't clearly hear the words, he doesn't even need to hear them. He knows what happens next.

It’s already happened.

It’s always happening.

You aren’t asleep, either. Your head is too full, your body is too restless . Your thoughts won’t quiet. Ford, you cant get him out of your head. What you saw hours ago is sitting heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe properly. Something is wrong with him and the whole shack, it doesn’t feel like it should.

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does. Ford has always been intense, sure, his brain works faster than everyone else's, you've always known that.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. No use going in circles. You have to talk to him tomorrow, ask him. And let him deny your questions as much as he likes and look at you like you're crazy, you'll get your way.

As soon as you close your eyes, finally sinking into sleep, the lights go out, and the whole room plunges into an all-consuming darkness. Fuck.

You immediately sit up, gripping the blanket. It can't be that bad.

It's fine, this is fine. You know where you are, you're in the shack, the storm outside is brutal, but that's normal. The generator will probably kick in any second now.

. . . Any second now.

. . . Any damn second.

The darkness does not change. You swallow. No use waiting, there should be candles somewhere in here, just to keep you sane and. . . would word safe fit here? Honestly, you just want to make this place feel like somewhere, instead of nothing at all.

Pushing the blanket off, you slip out of bed, feeling the cold floor beneath your feet.

Ford keeps candles somewhere, you know he does because it was a Christmas gift from you, years ago. So it should be easy to find them.

You put your hands out to feel for the walls as you move slow, trying not to bang your shin into anything, listening to the creaks of the house around you and footsteps. Wait.

Footsteps, exactly. Your whole body goes rigid.

Someone else is awake. Your heart pounds as you pause, listening hard.

Okay, they're not rushed, you take a note of that. Not stumbling or uncertain. Not. . . What was his name? Stanley? Yeah, probably not Stanley's, he would be louder, sloppier.

Meanwhile these sounds too slow, intentional.

Your fingers shake as you reach out, feeling along the shelves. Goddamn, you need a candle. Just one. Just enough light to fucking see.

Seems like luck is not on your side because just when you take another step, you damn trip, your hands shoot out, grabbing wildly for balance, but before you can fall and hit the ground hands catch you.

And they're not yours. Your breath stops. Someone else’s. You barely have time to react before you feel them close around your waist, digging into your stomach, your hips, moving fast, searching, checking. So strong. Coming from behind.

They trace higher, gripping as they move up to your chest. The air rushing from your lungs, your body tenses as a jolt of shock slams through you. The hands don't let go, not letting you pull away as they hold you in place. You try to yell, but before you can, you hear someone's voice right in your ear.

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Your blood runs ice fucking cold, but hands don’t let go.

If anything, they tighten. Painfully gripping you, grasping keeping you there, locked in place. A rush of panic clouding your senses before you even have time to think.

And it doesn't help th at the darkness is so thick, so you can't see who's behind you, can't even get a glimpse

Long fingers trailing slow over the curve of your sides, the dip of your waist, the softness of you beneath them. They follow the shape of your hips, press into the plush of your thighs.

You gasp when you feel your back pressing against someone’s broad chest. But your thoughts don’t fully settle on who or what it can be because your body is screaming louder than your mind. Sharp panic coils in your gut.

Your mind is too scattered, clouded with adrenaline. You thrash. Or at least you try to. Your muscles tense to push, to shove, but the hands don’t budge.

Panic overrides everything, making it impossible to think and breathe. Your body tells you one thing: get away .

But the fear floods your veins like ice, so much so that you can’t even count the fingers on the hands holding you.

Five. Six. Which is it? You should know. But sadly, your mind is too frantic, your skin burning too hot where those fingers press, where they curl. You don’t even realize you’re shaking.

And when they let go, all at once, the air rushes back into your lungs as your body stumbles forward, and you don’t wait or look back, letting your feet carry you .

You don’t remember running back to bed.

You don’t remember pulling the blankets over yourself, heart hammering, breath coming too fast, too shallow.

All you remember is pressing yourself into the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut and whispering the first prayer you've ever said in years. Not that it helps

So instead, you think. You force yourself to think.

Because fear is useless to a scientist, it is irrational, fear clouds judgment, fear lies.

And if you let it win, it will consume you.

You feel. . . violated. That’s the word, isn’t it? Or was it something that could be explained away as a trick of the mind?

Was it someone? Yes. Someone grabbed you. Someone touched you.

Your stomach lurches and you swallow it down, gripping at the blankets while your brain tries to work through it. To think. To rationalize.

This can’t be. Logic has to win, but the feeling is still there.

The ghost of hands on your body.

And you don’t sleep.

***

There's dirt under your fingernails, packed tight in the creases, clinging to the skin of your palms. Your hands hurt a little. Dug too deep. Pressed too hard. The grave was small, no headstone, although you wish you could, just a little wooden marker Ford helped you to carve.

Somewhere in the trees, hidden in the thick summer-green leaves, cicadas chirped. It was so warm, the grass beneath you was soft, a little overgrown, tickling against your arms.

Your throat still felt tight, and your hands, fisted in your lap, felt hollow.

Your voice came out rough. “it’s stupid to cry over a dog, right?”

Ford turned his head toward you, furrowing his brows, not sure if you were joking.

“What?”

“I mean,“ sniff. “its just a dog.” you rubbed at your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until all you saw was red behind your lids.

He stared at you, and you could feel it. His gaze rested on you, assessing, he was trying to figure out if you meant it or if you were just saying it to make yourself stop feeling.

Ford was not good with emotions too. You knew this. Logic, facts and equations neatly filed thoughts.

“You loved him, why wouldn’t you cry?”

You let out something between a laugh and a breath. It shook a little. “yeah,” you wrapped your arms around your knees. “yeah, i did.”

A scientist, you were a scientist, scientists weren't supposed to get that emotional over things that had clear, defined ends. Things that had lifespans. It was biology. Living things died. It was just how it worked.

But god, he was your dog. He'd slept at your feet when you stayed up too late, followed you through the woods, knew exactly when to curl up against you when you were sad.

“He was a really good dog.” Ford said eventually.

“He was so stupid,” you stared at the dirt. “always running into things. Remember that time he stole your sandwich?”

“He didn’t steal it,” Ford corrected. “you gave it to him.”

“After he tried to rip it out of my hands.”

“He was very persistent,” he admitted.

“You were so mad, i think that’s the first time i ever heard you swear.”

“I did not swear,” Ford said, scandalized.

“You did. I remember. And remember that time when he came back covered in mud?”

Ford smiled. “mud and skunk pray. You had to him, what, three baths?”

“Four,” you smiled back. “and he still smelled. I had to sleep with all the windows open.”

“You let him on your bed anyway,” Ford pointed out.

You huffed. “of course i did.”

Silence again. You leaned to the side, lettingyour head rest against his shoulder.

He didn't pull away. Only stiffened for half a second, like he always did, because he still wasn't sure what to do with touch. And then his hand came up and rested lightly against the back of your head.

The sun dipped lower, turning the sky honey-thick, melting into the trees.

“I’m gonna miss him,” you whispered.

Ford’s fingers curled slightly against your hair. “i know. Me too.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes, feeling the tears again.

Ford's hand stayed in your hair.

***

Morning comes slow, at least the storm has settled. The sky outside the window is still covered with a gray haze, the snow is still falling, but the howling of the wind has subsided.

You don’t feel rested, but you’re awake and you need answers. You hate to admit it, but you're scared. And your thoughts don't paint the best picture for you.

You move careful, quiet, slipping out of the spare room into the main part of the shack.

And the first thing you hear is loud, unrestrained ridiculous snoring, coming right from the couch.

You blink, glancing towards it.

Stanley. Sprawled across it in the most undignified position possible. On his side, curled slightly inward, arms tucked close against his chest. Just a little, but poor guy is shivering. Like some pathetic, scrappy little street dog curled up against the cold. The blanket barely stays wrapped around him, but he clutches at it, seeking warmth in a place where he’s used to none.

For a brief moment, he looks. . . well, he looks cute. But you shake the thought away. You have bigger things to deal with. You need to find Ford.

The lab is quiet, but inside his head, it isn’t.

Ford is slumped in the corner, collapsed into himself with his knees drawn up, his hands tangled deep in his own hair, like he's trying to keep something from leaking out, all six fingers curled so tight against his scalp that his knuckles are bloodless. Moving his heavy head in small, restless jerks, shaking side to side, wanting to shake it out, but it’s not working, it never works, IQ, you fucking idiot.

Sixer's body tense with horrible, restless energy as if he’s still trying to wake up even though he never truly slept.

Dark, bruising exhaustion hollows out his eyes, pulling his features tight with sleepless strain. His glasses have slipped low on his nose, the bridge smeared with fingerprints, hes been pushing at them, rubbing at his own skin, trying to wake himself up.

Bill was always there.

The same dream. The same game. The same endless, maddening chess match. And the same loss.

Over. And over. And over.

No matter what move Ford made. no matter how many times he tried to outthink the demon, Bill always won.

And at the end it was always the same. Stanley, who's looking at his brother standing in the window, framed by the curtains

Stanley's eyes

Ford never forgot his eyes. The way they looked at him.

The way his brother had searched his face for some answer, at least some kind of explanation, begging. Stan's eyes so big, so damn wide, the pupils blown dark with confusion, desperation, with a hurt that had no words.

And his voice so small, so weak.

“Sixer?”

Ford shudders. Vomit rises in his throat. His hands tighten in his hair.

Gosh, he feels sick.

His stomach twists, coils, knots so tight it feels like it might rupture.

The sticky notes around him are everywhere, scattered across the floor, plastered against the walls, some even stuck to the sleeves of his shirt.

MISS ME, NERD? 
FEELIN’ RESTED? 
DOESN’T MATTER! I’LL SEE YA TONIGHT ;)

DON’T WORRY, POINDEXTER!

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU! HAHAHA!

HOW’S STAN, BY THE WAY?

HE’S STILL MAD ABOUT, Y’KNOW. THE WHOLE… THING

REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE? YIKES.

He wants to rip them down, burn them, but they've dug their way into his skin.

But his body won’t move because his mind is somewhere else now.

Ford remembers the deer. Or what was left of it.

Half dead in the snow. Legs moving, jerking in agony. The crack of stiff joints.

Something that shouldn’t be alive rose from the ground, black tar pooling from its mouth. The ground beneath Ford's boots was damp, the scent of rot curling sharp in his nostrils.

Patches of fur are missing, peeled away, exposing the raw, rotting flesh beneath. Its ribs jut out in jagged angles, parts of it look eaten.

But the worst part is the eyes. Empty sockets, gaping holes where its eyes should be.

Ford ran, but forest was too big. Too many trees, too many shadows and sounds.

His feet slipped on something wet and Ford knew he shouldn't have looked down

Bones scattered across the ground, half-buried in the damp earth. And awfully glistening organs strewn across the ground. Dark red. Raw. Rotting.

A smell so thick, so rancid it shoves itself down his throat, makes him gag. His shaking hands flew to his mouth to stop the ill-fated piece of vomit that threatened to burst out.

You did this.

You did this.

You did this.

Ford screamed, falling to his knees, dirt and blood staining his clothes.

The sound that ripped from his throat didn’t sound human.

His throat closed, air wouldn’t go in, wouldn’t stay.

Ford opens his eyes. His body jerks , thrashing against the floor, his hands shaking, fingers clawing at his own skin, trying to tear something out of himself.

He can’t breathe. His throat is tight, closing, closing, his lungs burning, his vision swimming.

His stomach twists, nausea rising fast, his head spinning so violently he doesn’t know which way is up.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Ford is dying

His hands claw at his own chest, digging his fingers into fabric, into skin.

He barely registers the sound of someone entering the room, running to him, moving, hands grabbing his arms, gripping, holding.

“Ford, Ford. Hey—”

The deer.

The deer, the deer, the deer—

“ Ford!”

A voice he barely hears, hands on his shoulders, hands on his face, hands gripping him.

Not his.

Not Bill’s.

Yours

But Ford can't move, his body feels tight, contorted as if something is twisting him from the inside out. The color of his face is wrong. He’s so pale, every shadow and hollow stark under the overhead lab lights. His lips are parted, his mouth trembling, and his eyes, so wide, bulging, glassy with tears, but not focused.

Not seeing you.

He makes a noise between a choke and a gasp, his fingers digging harder into his own arms, his whole body starting to shudder .

You're on your knees in front of him.

“Ford,” you grab at his arms. “it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s me, i’m right here—”

Ford jerks, his hands flying out, shoving at you with a sudden burst of fear and he screams. “Go away!”

You stumble back, watching him wrapping his arms around himself, his whole body curling inward

“Go away,” he gasps again , “go away, you— you monster —”

“Ford, it’s me, i swear it’s me, look at me.”

But he won’t. His lips are moving, forming broken, faltering words, but nothing comes out.

He’s not here.

His mind is somewhere deep, somewhere dark, somewhere you can’t reach him.

“Ford,” you say again, softer this time, but firmer, shifting closer on your knees, “you’re having a panic attack, okay? you need to breathe, you’re safe.”

His scared eyes snap up to you, still wide and glassy and it doesn't take long for him to cry. Ford gasps so hard he thinks his lungs might collapse.

Your arms are around him, pulling him against you, pressing his face into your chest, holding him, feeling the way he trembles while he clutches at your arms in return, his hands fisting in your shirt, clinging to you.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, “I promise, i’ve got you.”

“thirty-two point eight megahertz— quadrants , electron spin—”

What?

At first, it’s so soft you can barely hear it.

Your brow furrows . “Ford?”

“Event horizon c-collapse, field equations— metric tensor—”

You tilt your head to see him, but he just hunches further into you

“Warp theory— symmetry breakdown — proton decay—“

You squeeze him. “Ford, hey—“

He shudders and his muttering falters. Closing his puffy eyes, he buries his face deeper into your chest.

His mind registered it last, but his body recognized you first.

And you hold him, stroking slow, careful circles between his shoulder blades, your fingers weaving up into his hair, carding through the brown strands.

You try to breathe together with him. Slowly, letting him hear it. Letting him match it.

“I’m here, Ford, im right here, i swear you are okay.” you feel how his hands clench, then loosen, then tighten again.

His body still shakes, but the sharp edges of it start to dull, the tremors turning softer, his breathing slowing.

But his face stays hidden.

“Ford , i—” you swallow. “i’m worried about you.”

His shoulders stiffen. You keep going.

“This isn’ t. . . isn’t normal. You’re not okay, Ford. I think maybe,” your fingers twitch in his hair. “i think maybe you should talk to someone, to professional?”

The moment Stanley bursts through the door, his eyes widen at the scene before him. His brother, still trembling, lost in the fog of his panic attack, and you, crouched on the floor with your arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close

Stan’s face immediately changes into that familiar, protective mask, although it's even more concerned now

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You turn your head to meet his worried gaze, your own heart still racing in the aftermath of what you just witnessed. “He just had a panic attack, Stan.”

“A panic attack?” Stan repeats, raising an eyebrow, clearly not sure how to process it, “jesus christ.”

You don’t say anything.

Your hand is still on Ford’s arm as you still feel the tremors running through him.

Stan huffs a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Then, with a deep breath, he squats down next to his twin, trying to make himself appear less intimidating. “Hey, sixer,” he says, making his voice a little gentler, “what’s goin’ on? you . . . you talkin’ to anyone about this? is there somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me? why the panic attack?”

Ford is still silent, his breath still ragged, as if he can’t find a way back to normalcy. He lifts his head, peering up at his brother, but it’s clear that whatever’s plaguing his mind, he’s not ready to share it.

“C’mon, Sixer, you can tell me. what’s really goin’ on, huh?”

Ford doesn’t answer. Stan looks at you, his gaze is questioning, but you don’t know what to say either. How do you explain something you don’t even understand?

Ford is not going to talk too, whatever it is that has him this scared, he wont say it aloud. He better keep it to himself, this deep-rooted and unspoken truth has to stay buried, even if it tears him apart to keep it locked in.

“Ford, it’s okay,” you murmur, squeezing your fingers lightly at his sleeve, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Stan lets out a long, deep sigh, rubbing at his jaw, his eyes still on Ford. And, of course, because he can’t help himself, because he’s Stanley, because it’s how he deals with things, he tries to joke. Tries to break the tension the only way he knows how

“Shit, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

Ford stiffens.

Stan notices. And he . . . does that thing he always does, when things get too serious, when he doesn’t know what to say

He deflects.

Leans back, shakes his head, lets out a short chuckle.

“Or damn, maybe even worse. Like. . . i dunno. Like you just realized the government’s been spying on you through your radio or somethin’.”

Ford’s whole face twitches.

“Stanley,” you glare, warning him, and he immediately holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“What? What’d i say?” but his face betrays him. He knows what he said. He knows it was a bad joke. But he also doesn’t take it back, because that’s how he deals with things, isn’t it? Laughing when he’s scared. Pretending he isn’t worried when it’s clear as day that he is. And you don’t have time to unpack that, not when Ford is still sitting there, unresponsive.

“Just not now, okay?”

Stan grumbles, but doesn’t argue.

Ford hasn’t moved, at least his breathing sounds a little better, less sharp, a little more even, but he still looks. . . tired, so damn tired.

You soften your voice again.

“Ford, hey. . . i know you’re exhausted. I know you’re not feeling good, but maybe a shower would help? Get you cleaned up, get some of that tension out of your muscles.”

His eyes blink at you slowly, dazed you'd day, trying to process the words, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

“C’mon,” you coax, “you’ve got those bags under your eyes. You need some rest.”

There’s a long pause before Ford gives the faintest nod. And so you help him up, carefully, and he lets you, barely meeting your eyes, ashamed that you saw him like that but following your lead, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom.

You exhale when you hear the water running.

Your body slumps just slightly, hands still tingling fro m holding onto him for so long. But you push through it, stretching out your stiff legs, then step toward the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder as you go, noticing Stan following you. Not that you're not used to it, after all, back home, you've got a little shadow on your own.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you open the fridge, moving through the motions of finding something quick to make that Ford will actually eat without you having to argue with him over it.

Stan watches you like a cat staring at a fish tank. Or maybe more like a dog staring at a steak.

“I can hear you drooling,” you say without looking.

“I am not drooling.” you turn and yeah, no, he’s definitely eyeing the food with his whole damn soul.

“Uh-huh.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I see food, I want food. You gotta get used to it if you’re cookin’ around me, sweetheart.”

“Noted.”

You keep working, stirring something in a pan, and Stan shifts against the counter, watching you for a second before glancing toward the hallway.

“Well, i gotta say,” he grumbles, back at eyeing the kitchen counter like a starving animal, “you really know how to make a guy’s day.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, rolling your eyes as you pull out the ingredients for a quick meal. “yeah, yeah, i don’t cook much, but i figured he needs something. Gotta take care of him.”

Actually you’re not much of a cook, but right now, it feels like the only thing you can do. You’re not a doctor. You’re not a therapist. You can’t fix Ford. But you can make him something to eat.

“So, what’s the deal with you two, huh?”

You pause mid-stir, glancing at Stan. “what?”

“You and Sixer. What are you? Couple? Friends? Lab partners? Secret government spies?”

You clear your throat. “we studied together.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “just studied, huh?”

“Yes, Stanley,” you say, exasperated, turning back to the pan. “just studied.”

He watches you for a beat longer before humming, noncommittal. “Huh. That’s funny.”

You glance at him again. “what is?”

“That Sixer never mentioned me. I mean, you two were clearly close. Close enough that you’re still here, takin’ care of him. So why the hell didn’t he ever tell you about his own damn brother?”

You shake your head. “he doesn’t talk much about his past or his family. Especially after one situation where i saw a photo of his dad and said he looked just like him. Ford didn’t take it well.”

Stan chuckles. “Yeah, that’d do it, he doesn’t like the family thing much. None of us do.”

You glance up at him, raising your eyebrow, but before you can ask, Stan shrugs, not going to explain any further. “Sixer’s got his own baggage. We all do. Just gotta leave it at that.”

“He really doesn’t like talking about it. About his family or his past, i mean, i get it, but—“

“Hell yeah, sweetheart, family’s a hell of a thing.”

At end, Ford did eat what you cooked. Barely spoke, though. Sat at the table, moving food around with his fork, his own goddamn thoughts were so heavy he couldn't lift his hand right. You weren’t sure how much he actually tasted of what he was eating, but at least he got it down. You had to remind him to drink some water, push the glass a little closer when he forgot it was there.

Stan, on the other hand, jesus, the way he looked at the food, you almost felt guilty. Like some starving dog watching through a window. And yeah, he made a joke about it, about you running a charity kitchen or something, but you told him to just eat already. No need to act like a starving orphan from a dickens novel. He didn’t argue, eating fast, as if he might lose it if he didn’t.

It was easy to forget about what happened this night, the power cutting out and that moment of frozen, breathless fear in the dark. All of that got buried under your worry for Ford, who looked like he was about to pass out.

Ford was still pale, what made you want to press a hand to his forehead, check if he had a fever. You tried to ask, tried to get him to talk about it, but. . .

“You sure you’re alright?”

And of course, he just waved you off, mumbled something vague.

“It’s nothing.“

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

Stan chuckled, muttered something under his breath what made you shoot him a look before he could say something worse.

Ford didn’t want to talk, that was obvious. But that was the thing about him, right? Always acting like he was fine, even when he was so clearly not.

Stan had been quiet, chewing and incredulously looking around the house like it might spit him back out. He didn’t belong here, wasn’t supposed to be here, and was just waiting for the moment Ford would make it clear.

So, he cracked a joke instead. About how he should probably leave before Sixer turned into an even bigger grump, about how he “wouldn’t wanna overstay his welcome.”

“Soo yeah, guess I better be hittin’ the road.”

You frowned at him. “why?”

Stan gestured loosely. “i dunno, i just figure, y’know. Not exactly mr. Welcome here. ‘sides, your guy here looks like he needs his beauty sleep.”

“He’s not my guy.” you answered, but that didn’t stop the way your stomach twisted. Damn, you didn’t wanna leave Ford alone. Not after everything you’d seen. But . . . your dog. You had to get back. Had to feed her, take her out, make sure she wasn’t tearing up your furniture.

Ford didn’t respond. Just kept looking at his plate, barely eating anymore.

You hesitated. The thing was, you didn’t wanna leave. Not when Ford still looked like this and you knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t saying.

But you had a dog waiting for you.

Ford told you it was fine. That you could go. That he “preferred being alone right now. ”

And you hated that. Hated the way he always did this, how he always thought he had to go through everything alone, even when it was clear he needed help.

You promised him you’d be back tomorrow.

“I'll come back tomorrow. i’ll come back, and we’ll talk, okay?”

Ford didn’t answer right away, j ust stared at his plate. “okay.”

You didn’t like how he said it, like it was better if he was alone. Like he wanted to be alone even when he clearly shouldn’t be. And it made you sick, the way you left. Like abandoning a ship you knew was sinking, stepping away from a person you knew needed help. You hated it. Hated the way Ford always pushed everyone away, even when he was fucking drowning.

You and Stan stepped out into the cold, your breath coming out in little clouds into the biting winter air. It was getting dark already, sky looked gray and heavy, as always. Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. You pulled your jacket tighter as you shivered, rubbing your arms.

“Cold?” he glanced over at you.

“Genius observation.”

The streets of Gravity Falls were quiet. Before long, you were near your place, the porch light shone warmly in the early twilight. You turned to Stan, about to say goodbye, but then you got a good look at him.

The dirt on his jacket, he probably hadn’t had a chance to properly wash it. The exhaustion on his face. And you remembered th e way he’d been staring at food all day, watching Ford eat, practically salivating.

“So uh, you have a place to stay?”

Stan blinked at you. Then scoffed. “‘Course i do.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I do!”

“ Oh, okay. Where ?”

“Uh, y ’know. The— uh. The, uh . . . ‘lakeview inn.’”

You stared at him. “Well. . . okay.” and Stan seemed relieved that you weren’t pushing.

He coughed into his fist. “yep, great place, real fancy.”

You sighed. You didn’t have it in you to argue. Not right now. You just exhaled, gave him one last look as you told him to take care and stepped inside.

Your dog was waiting for you, so excited, wagging her tail. You knelt down, ran your fingers through her fur, whispered, “missed you too, girl.” Fed her, sat with her on the floor, talked to her, absentmindedly, about Ford. About his brother. About the way Stan was kinda . . . cute.

Meanwhile, across town, Stan climbed into the front seat of his car. He was cold. He curled his jacket around himself, stuffed his hands under his arms, tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d last had a real bed.

Or a real meal.

He should’ve expected this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. Sleeping in cars, parking lots, the occasional cheap motel when he could swing it. But somehow, after that meal, after you, this felt worse.

He stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about Ford. About how he looked tonight, half a breath away from collapsing. What kind of shit his brother had gotten himself into?

And then Stanley thought about you. You, who offered him food, just like that, like it wasn't some big deal. You, who told him to eat and watched him at the dinner table.

He exhaled, breath fogging up the air.

Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

***

The dorm is a disaster zone, but it always is when the three of you get together for all-nighters. Coffee cups, half-empty energy drinks, a plate of toast that no one’s touched in hours, and papers. . . so many fucking papers covered in chicken scratch equations and half-finished blueprints.

It was past three a.m. now. The window was cracked open a little, letting in the fresh night air, but none of you noticed the cold, too deep into the work.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Fiddleford said, running a hand through his hair, “if we don’t take quantum decoherence into account, this whole thing’s gonna be about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

“Decoherence isn’t the issue,” Ford shot back sharply and impatiently . “if anything, it’s the entanglement equation that needs work. if we—“

“Oh my god, would you two shut up and let me think?” you groaned, gripping your hair. “you're both wrong. so wrong. like. fundamentally flawed.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ford pushed up his glasses, squinting at you. “care to elaborate?”

“Not really,” you muttered, blinking slow, yawning.

Fiddleford chuckled. “looks like we’re losin’ you.”

“Honestly, i think i’m about to collapse on myself. I need something stronger than coffee. Anyone got any adderall?”

“University rules strictly forbid unauthorized stimulants—“

“Fidds has moonshine in his bag,” you cut Ford off, grinning. “saw it an hour ago. Was wondering when he was gonna crack it open.”

Fiddleford looked deeply offended for all of two seconds before sighing. “Knew i shouldn’t have let you rifle through my things. . .”

You flashed him a grin before reaching for your tea, now stone cold and bitter as hell.

Fiddleford nudged his glasses up his nose and look ed over at Ford’s notebook, squinting at the formula again. “Alright , maybe you got a point there, buddy.”

Ford let out a smug little noise, proud of himself, but before he could open his mouth and gloat, you yawned again, barely muffling the sound with your sleeve. “Shit, i’m crashing.”

You tried to keep up, you really did, but god, your eyes were so heavy. That's why you took the right decision, somewhere between staring at Ford’s notes and trying to comprehend whatever the hell he was writing, you leaned, without even thinking.

Your head found his warm shoulder and that made him stiffen as if he’d been electrocuted.

Fiddleford went completely silent, stopping drumming his fingers against the table.

It was funny, really. You’d spent the whole night laughing with him, throwing paper balls, joking and teasing Stanford. Now, the moment your breathing evened out, everything got real quiet.

Ford. . . didn't move. Didn’t push you away, even though his shoulders were tense, his pencil hesitated, but then he just kept writing, like nothing happened. Just let you stay there, pressed against him, breathing softly in sleep.

Fiddleford didn’t stop staring, observing Ford's reaction, not in the way he expected.

He looked at you first, your face half-buried in Ford’s sweater as you sighed in your sleep, how easy it was for you to just fall into him like that.

And then he looked at Stanford. At his handsome face, which somehow seemed even better in the lamplight. The furrow in his brow, the six fingers wrapped around his pencil, so concentrated.

Fiddleford looked at all of it. Ford was a genius. A goddamn once-a-generation mind, sharper than a blade, but completely fucking useless at anything to do with feelings. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see things the way other people do, the way Fiddleford does.

Ford must’ve felt the stare, because after a while, he sighed and glanced up. “what?”

Fiddleford shook his head, smiling slightly. “nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“About?”

Fiddle ford took a sip from his flask and it definitely wasnt coffee. Something stronger. He swirled it, watching the liquid catch the light. “love, i guess.”

Ford scoffed, going back to his notes.“love? shouldn’t you be thinking about our project?”

“Oh, c’mon, ain’t you ever thought about it? bein’ in love? how it feels? ”

Ford didn’t answer at first, just kept writing. “love is. . .” he started, trying to find the right words. “it’s complicated. Distracting, even.”

Fidds hummed. “but good, no?” he grinned, taking another sip. “s’pose you think it’s all just chemical reactions, huh?”

“Well, technically, it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, dopamine, oxytocin, blah blah blah,” Fiddleford waved a hand. ”but it’s more than that.”

They were talking quietly so as not to wake you up. Ford didn’t answer as he shook his head, returning to his work.

So Fiddleford kept going. “i guess it feels nice, y’know? havin’ someone who understands ya, c ares ‘bout ya. Even when you’re difficult.”

Ford stopped writing again, listening intently to his friend's words.

“It’s when you’d do anythin’ for someone, even if it doesn’t make sense. When seein’ ‘em happy makes you happy. When you’d give up everythin’ just to keep ‘em safe. ”

Ford gave him a tiny smile. “you’re being sentimental,”

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe i just get it.”

Stanford finally turned to him, frowning. “get what? ”

“Doesn’t matter.” Fiddleford leaned back, stretching. “s’pose it don’t make much sense for a guy like me to be talkin’ ‘bout love anyway.”

Ford frowned deeper. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Fiddleford shrugged, suddenly looking a little too interested in his flask.

“Are you saying you don’t think anyone will love you?”

“Oh, i know i ain't exactly a prize catch, Stanford.”

Ford settled his pen down. “that’s not true.”

and that made Fiddleford's eyes fill with hope “yeah?” he quirked a brow.

Ford hesitated, surprised at his own words and initiative, but then, because he was a good friend, because he meant it, he nodded, “You’re smart. Funny. Resourceful. You’re one of the most brilliant people i know and you're—“

“Handsome?”

That made Ford smile. “sure, yes! handsome, even.” Fidds thought he had imagined it. Did Ford really find him so? “so, im sure you'llfind someone. You’ll probably settle down, have a family. A kid, even.”

Oh. . . oh, okay.

And that’s when Fiddleford knew .

His smile did not drop, but he took another s ip of alcohol, letting the warmth burn his throat .

Ford kept writing, pleased he managed to lift his friend's spirit, while you doze quietly against his shoulder. He doesn't even notice Fiddleford getting up, leaning in close enough that Ford finally glances up from his notes.

“Yer my best friend, Ford, guess i’ll just love ya forever.”

Ford stopped writing. The pencil slipped from his fingers

But before he could ask, Fiddleford pushed himself up from the chair, stretched and yawned deeply.

He patted Ford on the shoulder, then grabbed his jacket.

“Whew! man, i need a walk. i’ll be back.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving Ford alone with the papers, the cold coffee and with the equations that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

Alone with you, asleep on his shoulder.

Ford didn’t move for a long time.

***

The morning air was cold enough to wake you up, even though you were still in the fog of sleep. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly bustling this early, just a few cars passing, an old man walking his dog, the slow shuffle of someone dragging a garbage bin to the curb.

You pulled your coat tighter, holding your grocery bag. You'd only meant to grab something quick for yourself, but somehow, without even thinking, you'd ended up picking up something for Ford, too. Something that wasn’t just instant noodles and coffee.

He wouldn’t eat properly if left alone. You knew that, you knew him too well. You sighed, adjusting your grip on the bag.

Stanley Pines woke up in hell. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

His entire body ached, joints were too stiff from sleeping in one uncomfortable pose whole night, cold burrowed so deep in his bones that even curling tighter into his jacket wasn’t helping anymore.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, just a few more minutes, ma, please, but the cold gnawed at him, dug under his skin, made every breath feel like ice in his lungs.

He was so fucking tired.

But sleep wouldn’t come back so he lazily cracked one eye open. Fucking hell.

Still the car. Still parked in the same damn spot he’d been in since last night. The windshield was fogged up from his own breath, the windows covered in a thin layer of frost.

“Mmmgh,” he groaned, trying to stretch, but back screamed in protest. God, sleeping in the driver’s seat was not good for his spine.

Cold. Everything was so fucking cold. His toes were numb in his boots, fingers barely flexible enough to work as he rubbed warmth into them.

“Good morning, Stanley,” he muttered to himself. ”what wonderful luxury awaits you today?”

He yawned, running a hand through his brown hair. His mullet was a mess, so tangle d, flattened weird on one side.

First things first, he fumbled for the glove compartment, rummaging through loose receipts and absolute trash until he found the old bottle of cologne. He sniffed it once, it was not fresh. But hey, better than nothing. He rolled it over his wrists, rubbed it against his neck.

Second, he grabbed an old comb, barely dragging it through his tangled mullet before giving up and stuffing it back into the glovebox.

Third, he adjusted the rearview mirror, squinting at his reflection, and groaned again.

“Oof.“

Looked like absolute shit. Dark circles, unshaven, face puffy from sleep. But whatever. Not like he had anyone to impress.

He reached down, adjusting his coat, when—

THUMP.

A hand. A fucking hand slapping against the driver’s side window.

“GAH!” Stan jolted so hard he smacked his knee on the dashboard. He panicked instantly, his hands flew to the wheel. “no, no, no, por el amor de dios, madre santa, no me lleves!” he spat out in rapid-fire spanish, already prepared to beg for his miserable life. “lo juro, no tengo nada, no me arresten, por favor, dios, maria, nadie, por favor!” his mind was a blur of oh shit oh shit oh shit, picturing cops and maybesome pissed-off local ready to drag him out, picturing—

Someone was writing on the window, through the fogged-up glass, a finger traced out two slow words:

It’s me.

That made him froze as he squinted suspiciously, still gripping the wheel tight. Hesitated. then, slowly, he rolled the window down.

You stared at him.

“So,” you said flatly, flicking your gaze between him and the car. “this is the lakeview inn?”

Stanley looked around, hoping a better answer would suddenly appear.

You crossed your arms.

“Technically,” he started, “i do live here. You ever heard of a little thing called, uh, mobile homes? Very trendy and, um, modern.”

”Uh-huh.” your eyes narrowed.

“Alright, alright, fine, ya caught me. I’m actually a millionaire, this is just my vacation home. My actual mansion’s up in the hills, but y’know, i like to stay humble”

“Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“You lied to me.”

“No, listen,” he started, already preparing some dumbass joke to get him out of this.

“You fucking lied to me.”

Stan threw up his hands. “hey, now, let’s not throw around ugly words like—”

“You told me you had a place , Stan.”

He stopped talking, and there was silence between you.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you look horrible.”

Stan bristled. “hey!”

“And you smell horrible.” not like you were lying though.

“Hey now, hold on!”

“Do you wanna take a shower at my place?”

Stan’s brain short-circuited. “what?”

“Then we’ll get you something to eat,” you continued, ignoring his slack-jawed expression.

He stared at you like you’d just spoken an entirely different language.

You. . . you were offering? Just like that?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

His brows drawing together, mouth pulling into a frown, jaw working as he was trying to find the right words. But it it didn't take long as he smoothed it all over in a blink, replacing it with serious face. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“What, you pity me now?”

“No,” you said simply.

“Pfft, i dont need you takin care of me, alright? Go waste your charity on someone else.”

“Yeah?” you tilted your head. “so if Stanford was sitting in this car right now looking like this, you'd just walk away?”

Stan stared at you, surprised. You restrained yourself from laughing at how fast the smug confidence drained from his face.

“Thats different.” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh wait, wait, wait, i see how it is,” he grumbled. “you got tired of dealin’ with sixer, huh? figured you’d switch to fixin’ me instead?”

“What does this have to do here? Take the offer, dumbass.”

“Nah, i the natural scent.”

“You literally smell like a dumpster.”

“Okay, rude.” Stan putted a hand to his chest, feigning resentment.

But you only waited, waited and waited and that silence made him clench his teeth, grumbling under his breath. So when he finally let out a sharp sigh, dragging a hand down his face, you knew he’d given in. “you got hot water?”

That made you raise an eyebrow and smile. “Of course i have hot water.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “but only ‘cause i got nothin’ better to do and you begged.”

“Right,” you said, unimpressed. He shot you a glare, but you were already walking away, expecting him to follow. And, grumbling all the way, he did.

***

Early autumn. The bus stop bench is cold beneath you and you wish you’d worn something thicker. Clouds rolling lazily in the bright sky, October sun spilling through trees, gold colour caught in Ford's brown hair. He sits beside you, one knee bouncing, a habit of his, nervous tick, always. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets, and his breath fogs in the air when he exhales.

You bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale, one leg over the other, foot bouncing absently, meanwhile the tip glows warm for a moment, ember-orange in the afternoon light.

“It’s just a cigarette,” you say, watching the smoke curling from your mouth, but Ford, who's stiff like he's resisting the urge to snatch the cigarette out of your fingers, doesn't seem satisfied with that.

“Yeah and it hurts your pretty lungs.”

Oh. That tone. That damn tone, which means he’s about to start. Again.

He pulls his coat tighter. “Do you know how many carcinogens are in that? the tar alone is—“

You groan, tipping your head back. “oh my god Ford.”

“No, i’m serious. You don’t even understand what that’s doing to your body.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, cutting him off, waving him away. “you’re acting like i’m chugging cyanide.”

“You might as well be,” his glasses slip down his nose, and he shoves them back up in agitation.

You've heard it all before, the lecturers, the statistics so you roll your eyes, amused, flicking the ash into the pavement. “When i wanna stop, i can.”

Ford scoffs. “that’s what they all say. . . I don't know if you know this, but cigarettes contain over seven thousand chemicals, many of which are—“

You blow smoke into his worried, but serious face and he immediately recoils coughing, waving his hand to dispel the haze. You laugh, reaching over to run a hand through his beautiful golden colored hair to smooth away his frustration.

“Honey,” you barely get time to say before Ford scoffs of. Oh here we go, petnames are back in circulation. You're using the secret weapon, you know exactly what they do to him. “Cant you trust me? when i want to stop, i can.”

Suddenly Ford is twelve years old again and Stanley smells like smoke.

He swears he can hear their dad in the other room, muttering at the evening news.

His brother leans against the windowsill, awkwardly rolling a cigarette between his fingers which he bummed off the older kids at school. There’s a hole in his sleeve. A bruise on his jaw.

“You know dad will smell it! He's gonna know. He's gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah, he'll tan my hide, blah blah.” Stan rolls his eyes, sliding the cigarette between his lips , lighting it with exaggerated flick of the lighter. The first puff is taken in a deep, inexperienced breath before he exhales through his nose. “seriously, Poindexter , would you stop being paranoid? when i wanna stop, i can.”

But he doesn’t, he lies, because Ford hears him cough at night sometimes. Watches him light another in the schoolyard.

He knows it’s bad. But Stan doesn’t listen.

Why does his brother do these things? Why does he always push the limits, cross the lines? Why does he always seem so desperate to do the things he knows he shouldn't?

That day, when they returned from school with large backpacks at the ready, Stanford glanced towards their house. “seriously, Stan, put it out. If da smells it—“

“What, you're scared he'll ground me?” Stanley smirked. “big whoop.”

“Stanley!”

Stan rolled his eyes at his twin's dramatic behavior, but stubbed it out on the pavement, flicking the butt into the bushes what made Ford exhale, relieved.

But the relief didnt last long.

Because week later, their dad does find out.

And Ford watches as his own twin, for all his bravado, gets actually scared. Ford hates that look. He hates it almost as much as he hates the sharp crack that follows.

Ford doesn’t like thinking about what happened next, doesn't like remembering the way Stan screamed. Doesn't like remembering how loud their father’s voice got, making the walls sh ake, how the belt cracked sharp as thunder, how Stan tried to act like it didnt carve its place into his skin.

But Ford remembers. He remembers the way Stan didn’t fight back, how he flinched at sudden movements for weeks. How he hissed through his teeth when he sat down too fast, and how he lit another cigarette anyway.

Ford opens his eyes. He's back in present now, back at the bus stop with you watching him with frustration in your eyes.

“Ford?”

He swallows, shakes his head, forces his thoughts back into place. He doesn't tell you any of that. “just. . . promise me you'll think about it.”

You groan again. “jesus, you sound like my dad.”

Ford flinches and wonders, distantly, if you notice. If you know what that comparison does to him.

“I told you, darling, when i want to stop i can,” you add, caressing his cheek.

He doesn't argue anymore, because he already knows that line. Heard it before. Millions of times. And he knows it's a lie.

***

Stanley Pines doesn't know what to do with kindness. Not the real kind, anyway, where someone takes him out, sits him down and actually pays for his meal as if some random knucklehead like him is worth the damn trouble.

He can't help it; he feels awkward because he is not used to people being nice to him. He's not used to much of anything, except scraping by, finding the next scam and eating cheap food out of plastic wrappers. So when you dragged him to the Gravity Falls diner, promising him a real warm meal, he was suspicious.

The waitress barely had time to finish setting down the menus before Stan barked out an order. “Burger, double. Extra fries. Chocolate milkshake. And gimme some bacon on the side.”

You're an idiot, he thought, the hell are you getting the money for all this?

Your brows shot up, but you didn’t say anything, just smiled and told the waitress to put it on one tab. That’s when Stan’s gaze snap s to you. “One tab? wait, you’re payin’?”

“Yeah, why not?” you answer casually, because it's not a big deal for you, but Stanley frowns.

“You sure about that? ‘cause, uh, i don’t exactly have, you know. . .” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. Just eat, Stan.” and that’s what fucks him up. Because nobody’s ever wanted to spend their money on him before, not unless they were expecting something in return. But you just look at him with those soft, genuine eyes and tell him to shut up when he starts talking about returning money.

When the food arrives, Stanley attacks it like a man starved, which, honestly, he definitely is. The burger disappears in minutes, followed by the fries, then the bacon. Grease smears his chin and he doesn't even bother wiping it off, too busy slurping down his milkshake like his life depends on it. Not a single goddamn cru mb left. You swear he licked it. “Well, shit, if i knew you were gonna feed me like this, id have showed up beggin' at your door ages ago.”

You watch in both amusement and horror at the starved man in front of you, who barely stops to chew, talking with his mouth full .

“Yeah, yeah. You eat like a starving stray dog.”

That makes him choke on his milkshake, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at you while you laugh. “jesus, toots, the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” you wave a vague hand, smirking. “you're scruffy, hungry all the time, you look at people like they might kick you if you get too close.”

“Hey, don't insult dogs like that.” He cuts in, effectively ending the conversation as he goes back to his food, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“Damn, Stan, you wanna slow down before you choke?” you tease, propping your chin on your hand, watching him shoveling food into his mouth with the single-minded desperation of a man just let out if a cage.

Stan grunts, barely acknowledging you. “’s good.” you notice the ketchup on his cheek and chuckle.

“Yeah, i can tell.”

After couple of minutes, he finally pauses, chewing slower, he swallows hard and taps his finger on the table, avoiding eye contact with you. Leaning back with a groan and patting his stomach with one hand, Stan smears a little grease with other. He exhales, heavy. Then, as if realising how fucking feral he just looked, tries to play it off.

“Whew. Almost forgot what real food tastes like. Jail slop, y'know? Not that I've been to jail. Ha, kiddin.” he pauses and grins. “unless?”

Silence.

You stare at him, blinking. He watches your face, waiting for laugh or well, some kind of reaction that doesn't make him feel like a goddamn idiot , but you just look at him like. What. The fuck.

Stanley throws his hands up. “Okay, tough crowd. Coño. . .” he mutters the last word under his breath, shaking his head

“Was it Spanish?” your eyes perk. Stanley tenses , but you squint at him. “how do you know Spanish?”

“Uh, picked it up.”

“Picked it up where?”

“Places.”

“ Uh-huh, ” you lean forward. “cmon, teach me some.”

“Nah, i aint exactly fluent, sweetheart.” Stan laughs forced.

“But you sounded pretty fluent just now.”

“Yeah, well,” he rubs his neck. “i picked up the good words.”

You let it go, for now, because you notice the way his eyes dart and how how tries to make himself look just casual, enough for it to be convincing.

***

The dorm hallway was too bright and loud, full of students shuffling papers, setting up models and diagrams, nervously practicing their presentations to each other.

Ford stood off to the side, as always stiff and uneasy, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoulders tight. His fingers fidgeted uselessly, six of them curling and uncurling.

The project was ready. The calculations were perfect. He should’ve felt confident.

Then why did he feel so out of place?

He scanned the room, seeing students, professors, familiar classmates. Goddamn. Ford hated how nervous he was, hated that his mind was half on the project, half on—

“G'mornin’” your lazy voice broke through the noise. “or, well, g’afternoon? god, what time is it?”

Ford turned. Oh, you were a mess with your hair wild, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. A coffee cup dangled from your fingers, mostly empty. You yawned, covering your mouth halfheartedly.

Ford gave you a quick once-over, barely holding back a sigh. “you look— “

“Beautiful?” you grinned.

“like you rolled out of bed five minutes ago.”

“Aww, you noticed,” you laughed , stretching. Then, with absolutely no preamble, “so i fell down the stairs today.”

“What?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

“Yup, just,” you made a vague flailing motion with your hands. “ Wham, right down ‘em. It was very tragic. A true fall from grace. ”

You expected him to at least huff a laugh, maybe shake his head or give you that exasperated, fond sigh. But Ford didn’t. Instead, his brows drew together, and his eyes quickly swept over you, scanning for damage.

“Are you alright? do you need to see the nurse? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“ . . . you’re not laughing, ” you pointed out. “normally you at least try to pretend i’m funny.”

“You fell down the stairs, and you expect me to laugh?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“

“Are you hurt?”

That care, honestly, took you by surprise. “uh,” you looked down at yourself, then shrugged. “probably? i dunno, i was too tired to check. ”

Ford exhaled slowly, clearly trying not to engage, but you just kept going.

“Man, i am not ready for this presentation,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “seriously, i have no idea what i’m gonna say. But hey, i’d do anything for my two lovely nerds. even stand in front of a bunch of judgmental geniuses and pretend i know what i’m talking about. Right, Ford?”

Nothing.

“ . . . Ford?” you waved a hand in front of his blank face. Obviously, he wasn't listening, judging by how distant his gaze was, he was somewhere else entirely.

“Hellooo? Earth to Sixer?”

Ford blinked, snapping back. “What? Oh, sorry.”

You gave him a look. “man, you’re the one who’s supposed to be all focused and sharp. i m the one running on three hours of sleep and caffeine fumes.”

He barely heard you. “have you seen Fiddleford today?” Ford asked abruptly.

“What?” you paused.

“Fiddleford. Have you seen him?”

You frowned, thinking. “um. no? now that you mention it, i don’t think i have. But i just woke up like an hour ago, so last time i saw him was when we were working on the project. Why?”

Ford looked away and pursed his lips guiltily. “he said he was going for a walk. I remember he had a drink, said he’d be back. But he never—“

“You don’t think . . .?”

Ford shook his head quickly, Interrupting your thought. “ No. No, he’s fine. He’s probably just, well, late.”

But you both knew that wasn’t like him. Fiddleford was always there on time, cracking jokes and filling the space with his presence.

And now he wasn’t.

The noise of the hall seemed to fade. Ford exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He said your name, nervously slipping a textbook into your hands. “We should focus, he’ll show up.”

***

The ride to the shack is cool, winter sun setting earlier than youd like, same as always. Your dog is curled at your feet, eyes flicking back to Stan at the wheel. He grumbled about the fur at first but you can see it, he likes your dog, likes her a lot. He's just being difficult, pretending, putting up a front.

Stanley drives slowly, you don’t know if he always does, but right now, you wish he’d go faster. You want to see Ford as soon as possible.

But Stan doesn’t seem nearly as excited as you. There’s a knot of unease sitting somewhere inside him, but mostly, he just isn’t sure what to say when he finally sees his brother again.

“Hey, I’m bothering you again because I’ve got nowhere else to go?”

After a beat of silence, you glance at him. “you ever think about calling Ford before he called you?”

Stan's eyes are fixed on the road as he speaks, “thought about it. But i figured he’d just tell me to drop dead.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” he glances at you now , twisting his mouth. “pretty sure he told me worse when i got here.”

When you reach the shack, you knock. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing

Stan squints. “maybe he’s sleepin’.”

You huff, shifting your grip on the grocery bags. “actually, i lived here sometimes, so i’ll count it as my home too. And if Ford doesn’t wanna open the door for me, i’ll open it myself.”

Stan smirks. “yeah, that tracks.” but then his smirk fades as he narrows his eyes slightly. Lived here before.

You unlock the door, steeping inside and the first thing you notice is quiet the shack is

“Ford?” you call, but you don't get an answer.You exchange a worried glance with Stan. Ford seems nowhere to be seen.

“Should we be worried?”

“Nah,” Stan says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “he's probably just. . .”

You step into his room and you see Ford sprawled out, dead asleep, hair a mess, glasses off. He's curled slightly inward, breathing deep and even, absolutely gone to the world.

Stan smiles. “Told ya he’s fine. Nerd just passed out.”

“I'm still worried, should we wake him? ”

Stan eyes his brother. “Nah, let him sleep. Dude probably hasn't in days.” he tells you, already leaving the room.

You nod slowly, still focused, studying Stanford's face. Okay, yeah, Stanley is right. You should let your poor n erd sleep. You turn, stepping back into the hall.

“You shouldn't have come back.”

And that makes you freeze as you quickly turn your head to the sound to see Ford sitting up. Staring at you, his eyes are open now, fixed on you.

You blink, thrown off, eyes flicking to the person sitting in front of you. Then, before you can think about it, you step forward, reach for his hand and—

Picture passes. Ford is still in bed, asleep.

You swallow. A slow, creeping dread curls in your chest. Who or what did you just see?

….

“Nerd looked bad. Needed sleep.”

That was the verdict. So you let Ford be.

“He always was a bad sleeper,” Stan grumbled, stepping past you, glancing around the shack, still having hard time getting used to it. “musta gotten worse over the years.”

Just let the man sleep. He'd wake up eventually.

You had to do something to keep yourself busy. Giving your dog a quick scratch behind the ears as you walked past, you figured she deserved a proper meal after all the traveling.

Stan, though, stayed behind and damn, it wasn't like he was snooping. Not really.

It was just this place felt weird.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around, taking in the clutter, the books, the walls covered in notes and sketches, and hell, even that weird curtain draped over the entire back wall like Ford is hiding some secret government operation. It's just. . . odd.

“Guess some things never change, huh, Sixer?” Stanley sighs. And that’s when his eyes accidentally land on the lighter what makes him tilt his head.

Since when did his goody-two-shoes, anti-smoking,'your-lungs-are-a-delicate-system-Stanford' brother have a lighter?

Stan picks it up, turning the little thing over in his hand. Metal. Decent weight.

Not some cheap thing, either.

He wants to call out to you, “hey, did you know Ford's got a lighter in here?” but he remembers, at the last second, that Ford is still dead asleep in the other room and screaming that loud would disturb him.

So instead, he just holds it, closing his fingers around it, turning it in his palm, flipping the lid open with a soft metallic click.

Weird.

Stanley's curiosity itches. So he looks around again, just in glance, just to make sure you aren't watching.

Then, his gaze drifts lower to the small pile of books near the armrest.

He chuckles. “Nerd books,” he tells himself, but his hand reaches down anyway.

One of them catches his eye. Heavy thing with a lot of pages.

Gravity's rainbow.

Oh yeah. He’d heard of that one.

Didn't seem like the kinda book Ford would normally read, though.

Stanley carelessly flips it open, barely glancing at the pages. Blah, blah, blah. Too many damn words for someone as impatient as him.

Suddenly, something slips out of page 69.

A bookmark?

Stan makes sure to catch it before it can land, brushing his fingers over the glossy surface before he turns it over.

Huh.

A photo.

It was you and his brother. From college, clearly, you both looked so much younger, holding some kinda trophy.

Some nerd award, Stan assumes.

Ford had that same awkward, stiff stance he always had in photos, but you looked too happy, excited, eyes shining. Laughing, hair a little windblown, standing too close to Ford, who had lipstick mark on his cheek.

What?

Stanley squints, fuck. . . he really needs to buy glasses.

You never really expect to see your nerdy brother like that. Looking. . . well, normal. Young. Happy.

Stan continues to stare. At Ford’s unsure smile. At your beaming one.

He turns the photo in his fingers again and glances toward the hallway where Ford is sleeping.

And then, a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Mierda!” Stanley jumps, nearly throwing the book across the room. He barely had time to shove the polaroid away before he turns, swearing under his breath, “por el amor de dios, you tryna give me a heart attack?”

You, startled, take a step back and raise your hands. “shit, sorry!” then your head tilts, “wait. Was that, was that Spanish again?”

Stan is still catching his breath, clutching at his chest like he just lost ten years off his life. “Si. Yeah.”

“What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Smooth, effortless. Completely unconvincing, but before you could say anything, his face twitches as he makes a sharp inhale through his teeth. “fucking hell.”

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, where your hand had landed.

A burn.

“Stan.” he swears he hears the shift in your tone before he even sees your expression. You reach forward, touching his arm again, but softer this time, brushing your fingers against the fabric of his jacket, near the burn. “You never treated it.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “it’s fine.”

“Bullshit. ”

“ It’s. . . oh, damn, it ain't like it's infected. ”

“That's not the point.” you pull, planting your hands on your hips. “you let it heal like that? No treatment at all?”

“Ain’t like I had a whole damn first-aid kit on me, sweetheart.”

You frown. “you could’ve at least—“

“It’s fine.”

And so it goes, the familiar dance of grumbling and resistance, before he finally gives in with a gruff and let you do your thing.

“Okay, fine. Fine. Do whatever.” he sighs, groaning, rubbing his face.

You mutter something about stupid stubborn men under your breath before reaching for the first aid kit on the nearby shelf.

But before you could even open it you hear your dog growling low what made your head snap toward her. She’s staring at the hallway that leads toward the front of the shack.

“Aww, shit.” you hear Stan say.

“What?”

He gestures toward the hallway. “you got ghosts in here, too?”

You give him a look, but your dog won't stop growling and that's when your eyes widen because you just hear the front door creaking slowly. Next thing you feel is a gust of cold air sweeping through the room.

Stan turns, the door is open what made fresh snow carry inside, dusting the floor in uneven patches.

You and him stare at it, realising that neither of you had opened that door.

After a long pause, Stan walks over and slams it shut, clicking the lock in place.

Then turning back to you with annoyed face, “so, anyway, how the hell is everyone in this town so damn weird?”

“What?” Stan plops back down next to you.

“i mean, you know,” he gestures, winces a little when the motion tugs his injured shoulder. “this place. Gravity falls. It’s weird. Fuckin’ weird. Like,” he tilts his head, looking at you, squinting. “theres so much paranormal weird shit here, and i aint even talking about my brother.”

“Now you sound paranoid.”

“See? That’s what i mean!” he points at you, triumphant. “exactly what i’m talking about! Everyone’s just, like, casually fine with all the weird shit, but if you point it out, suddenly you’re the crazy one. ”

As you work, carefully dabbing at the burn, he hisses through his teeth, every touch of yours is met with some kind of protest or mumbled curse or half-hearted complaint.

“You’re a goddamn baby.”

“And you’re a goddamn sadi—“ he doesn't have time to finish as he gasps dramatically again, throwing his head back like you just putted him through the worst pain imaginable.

“Oh, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Acting like you’re getting tortured.”

“Hey, you don’t know, you could be really bad at this.”

You press the gauze down harder, and Stanley hisses, jerking away.

“Fuck, watch it, would ya?”

“Oh, sorry, am i hurting you?” you deadpan. “maybe if you’d taken care of this in the first place, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem—“

“Oh, no, of course not,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “burns are fine. Totally normal to just leave them alone and hope they magically heal on their own.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy being dumb?”

“Oh, fuck that, really,” he says flatly before he looks away.

You sigh through your nose, gentler this time as you go back to work, cleaning his burn around the edges. Stan's eyes flick to the coffee table and he remembers the lighter he’d found earlier.

“So, since when does Sixer smoke?”

You stop, freezing.

Stanley raises an eyebrow, watching the way your whole body goes rigid. “what?” he drawls. “hit a nerve?”

“Ford doesn’t smoke.”

“Yeah? that his lighter, then?” he gives you a look, nodding toward the thing. Wait. . . The realization hitting you. Fuck. You’d left it here? At Ford’s? “found that lying around. And i know that stick-in-the-mud was always on my ass about it, so unless he suddenly decided to turn into the marlboro man—“

You swallow. “no.”

“Huh.” his smirk widens. “so you’re tellin’ me— “

You scowl. “it’s mine, okay? I used to, but i’m trying to quit.”

After a beat of silence Stanley bursts into shameless laughter.

You glare at him. “what the fuck is so funny?”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, slapping his knee. “holy shit, lemme guess, did Poindexter give you the whole ‘your lungs will rot’ speech? Went full psa mode?”

Your scowl deepens. “so what if he did?”

“No , no—” he’s still laughing, wiping at his eyes. “it’s just, you sound exactly like me when i was like twelve. Swear to god. He gave me the same fuckin’ speech. Like, word for word. Bet he even did the disappointed sigh.”

“He just cared,” you admit, looking away. “cared about my well-being. I used to think the same as yo u, that he was just being a nerd. But, y’know. Some things never change.”

That shuts Stanley up. So you use that moment when he seems to think or remember something, and clear your throat. “anyway, since you’re his brother, i wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Was he always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Paranoid. Weird. Off.”

He gives you a look. “uh, i met the guy for the first time in ten years, like, yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.”

Stanley scratches his chin. “but, i mean, i dunno. When we were kids, he was always kinda anxious. Worried about grades, the future, that kinda shit.”

“Yeah. He was the same in college.” you nod, something clicking into place.

You fall silent, rubbing your chin, thinking. If even Stanley, his own twin brother, has no idea what’s going on with Ford, then who does? Who the hell would know what happened to make him like this?

There had to be someone. Someone who saw him a lot during those years, who knew what changed, who was here when that happened. Who knew what had made him—

Your eyes widen.

“Fiddleford.”

“Who?”

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGucket. Our good friend and Ford’s old lab assistant, he quit before everything went to hell, but if anyone knows what’s up with him now, it’s him.”

Stan stares at you. Then his entire body shook with laughter.

Ignoring that, you snap your fingers as smile appears on your face. “right! he should know!” you look at Stan, pausing. “what?”

“Fiddleford,” he repeats, grinning widely. “holy shit, that’s his real name?”

You cross your arms. “Yeah?”

“That’s fucking hilarious.” he shakes his head. “Ford and fiddle. Jesus.”

You shoot him a glare. “are you done?”

“Nah, nah, i need a second,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Fiddleford. God.”

You ignore that dumbass, grabbing the phone, its rotary dial familiar under your fingers. You dial the number, tapping your fingers against the table, pressing it to your ear as the static hum of the line comes to life.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is unmistakable and it makes you smile, hearing your friend again.

“Fidds , it’s me,” you name yourself.

There’s a pause. Then, carefully, he repeats your name.

“Yeah! listen, i know you said you wanted to forget whatever happened when you were working with Ford, but—”

You don’t get to finish, because across from you, Stanley starts laughing again, shaking his head like he just can’t believe what he’s hearing.

You glare at him.

“Fiddleford,” he says under his breath, wheezing. “holy shit!”

You roll your eyes, bringing the phone back to your ear. “so, anyway— “

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Fiddleford cuts in, confused. “who’s that?”

Stanley, still grinning, leans in toward the receiver and says, loud as hell: “your parents named you what?!”

“Who in the sam hill is laughin’ at my name?!”

You turn away from Stan, pushing him. “ignore him.”

“Who’s laughin’?”

“Nobody.”

“I'm gonna die. Man, your name is awesome. And here i thought my parents had zero imagination.”

“Uh,” Fiddleford sounds even more confused.

“Don’t listen to him.”

But Stan just keeps laughing. “Nah, seriously, what kinda— “

You hear Fiddleford's voice going defensive. “now listen here, i’ll have you know Fiddleford’s a perfectly respectable name—”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. Jesus christ. This was gonna be a long conversation.

Ford sleeps like the dead, the weight of exhaustion so complete that he might as well be a corpse until his chest lurches followed by painful gasp, his whole body jerking upright, pulling him back into the waking world.

His breath is coming too fast and shallow and Ford can't quite catch it. His heart is beating as if it wants to burst out, no longer belonging in his body. Cold sweat clings to his skin, dampening the sheets beneath him.

Another fucking nightmare.

Ford drags a hand down his face, through his hair. Inhales slow, exhales slower and forces himself to move.

The floor is cold when his bare feet touch it, but even that doesn't ground him, reminding him that he’s here, in the Shack, with him watching his every move.

He needs water, so he stumbles towards the door until he steps on something that makes too loud a sound.

Squeak.

Ford looks down.

A dog toy, a bright, rubbery, ridiculous thing, right there beneath his heel.

Oh he knows what it means. Happened quite a lot. You're here. And you brought your dog.

Ford sighs. Deeply. He sets the toy down on his desk and finally steps out into the hallway.

He hears your voice, unmistakable, and Stanley’s.

And then he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

[qoldenskies]

OUGH thank you so much for answering- this fic haunts my mind in the best possible way.. I'm looking forward to the epilogue, no pressure to finish quickly!! I had another thought pop up, since he said he didn't want to lose April too in cc, does that mean he'd never have that app installed to keep April from downloading that app, since he wouldn't want her to be upset?

And you mentioned Donnie only wanting to go to Raph if it's something worth going to him for, what does Donnie consider worthy?

Does Leo ever once think to himself that all of it could have been avoided if they'd just listened to him and not gone to that new place to eat?

This one might seem odd, I apologize for that- Is Donnie sensitive to being yelled at in general, or just from his brothers specifically? Like if an audio is shouting at the screen, is he triggered?

How did the showing of the sheet of Donnie's mistakes go down? I might have missed this somehow- apologies about that. /gen

Okay I have to say this again. I GENUINELY LOVE HOW YOU WRITE I feel exactly like I'm in the story it's crazy... If it were a hardbook I would buy it /pos

YIPPEEEEEE MORE!!! :DDDD

does that mean he'd never have that app installed to keep April from downloading that app, since he wouldn't want her to be upset?

it's already said and done at this point and there's a VERY good chance donnie has forgotten about it lol. i think he'd needed access to april's phone in order to install it so there's a good chance he'd nabbed it and done that when she wasnt looking at some point (the little shit lmao) so he cant go and remove it remotely, and if he ever ends up remembering i think she'd kinda shut him down because its convenient. it WAS right when it went off and im sure they've already had a discussion about it where april thanked him for the sentiment and agreed to keep it because an antivirus was a good thing, but made a point about donnie doing shit like that behind her back lmao. dont touch her stuff without permission!!

donnie definitely wouldn't end up putting trackers in them, though! its mentioned as something he's considering pretty early in CL but it doesnt end up happening, and i think he'd be worried about it being too big an invasion of privacy. he wouldn't want them to be upset if they found out-- although there's a chance they might voluntarily go with the idea if he ever brings it up. ironically, that'd probably be a post-invasion conversation, because i could see the paranoia of them being hurt again spurring him into it.

And you mentioned Donnie only wanting to go to Raph if it's something worth going to him for, what does Donnie consider worthy?

donnie would very rarely approach raph unless its kind of paired with a real "reason", which usually means most talks they have are utilitarian and productive. things about the team, mostly, or something in relation to one of the others. or maybe donnie's bringing up an idea for team support, or offering to fix something for him (the weight rack haunts him, and he doesn't even remember it), or just wanting him to give a gift and needing an idea of what to scope out first. things like that.

he looks for raph's pride and appreciation more than anything. he wants to hear a "good job" and raph is increasingly more reluctant to give it, mostly because he knows donnie is prone to overworking behind their backs and he doesn't want to validate self-destructive behavior like that. its really hard to find the line especially because donnie will freak out if he gets too confrontational. "we dont want you to do good, helpful things if it hurts you to do them" is a concept that is REALLY hard for him to grasp. you know how in coming undone he hears "we dont want you to" and thinks it means "we dont want you"? yeah

raph works around it by being the one to initiate, usually. even if donnie needs something from him he's not going to be the one to come to him, so raph tries his hardest to bridge the gap and seem approachable. it's kind of awkward when they just hang out one by one, doing something together instead of just engaging in parallel play, because its been so long and both of them are so careful about appeasing the other, but they figure it out slowly.

Does Leo ever once think to himself that all of it could have been avoided if they'd just listened to him and not gone to that new place to eat?

to this day they do not know it was because they went there,,, leo mentions the night after where they cuddle up together only because its the last time they ever really do something like that, but they mention a lot that they dont remember exactly when it started (and the weight rack is earlier than their earliest estimate!), with the onset being so slow and with their thought processes being so clouded by all these excuses and rationalizations, its hard to say for sure. what's an extension of how they already acted and what isnt? they'll never really know.

if he learned about it though, oh yeah. this time he would not be reveling in being right, and if he was the only one who learned about it he would NEVER tell mikey, considering he was the one who was so pushy about going there in the first place.

leo thinks the most about how witch town was caused by what he perceives as his own negligence. i think all of them have a tendency to see their old selves as a lot worse than they actually were-- because they cared about donnie a lot and they did take care of him when he needed it. leo's the worst about it, because while raph and mikey will get caught up on the idea of knowing about witch town at all, leo's quicker to cut to the core of the problem-- would have donnie ever lashed out like that if they'd just known, and been able to reassure him, before it ever got to that point? why did leo's stupid younger self have to dismiss all of the signs?? miner's eulogy heavily features this thought process, which is why learning about witch town makes him react so badly in the first place.

Is Donnie sensitive to being yelled at in general, or just from his brothers specifically? Like if an audio is shouting at the screen, is he triggered?

donnie was already bad with yelling even before the Horrors and that's just because he's incredibly sound-sensitive and jumpy. if strangers yell he's bound to fall over like a baby goat regardless, which i think is just kind of intensified in cc!donnie. more likely he'll bolt like a skittish cat if he's shocked by a sudden noise like that. where is he even going? who knows. he just took off LMAO

otherwise i think it just really depends. there's bound to be a lot of shouting in battle so i think after a while he'll become desensitized to it, but i think if he was watching something that hit a little too close to home he'd probably just kind of freeze. i dont think he'd go fully dissociative but his breath would catch and he'd be slow to respond if they talked to him, and they honestly just might mistake it as him being drowsy/falling asleep until they notice him shaking. for some reason my brain went to tangled,, certain parts around the end there might hit a little close to home for obvious reasons.

How did the showing of the sheet of Donnie's mistakes go down? I might have missed this somehow- apologies about that. /gen

it happened specifically away from donnie because raph knew it was going to upset leo and mikey a LOT, especially because both of them would demand details, it's just the type of people they are-- idk i've always just kind of assumed in my head that raph would physically be able to show it to them since he was already given donnie's permission to, dont think about logistics too hard. it was a really rough conversation though, especially tangibly seeing the way that the curse pre-closet fucked him up. it just gets worse the more you think about it.

a wall was probably punched. and it was probably leo (and donnie never sees this, the way that it affected him, because leo keeps such a tight hold on his anger and despair for his sake). and raph knew something like that was going to happen, which is why he kept it away from him. there's multiple times especially early in cw where they do things like this, talk about things that donnie expressed privately (or things they only witnessed, like raph catching donnie sleep on the floor), it's just the only time it's shown in donnie's perspective and he really ruminates on it. it was probably the right choice to make, raph just should've been more clear it was what he meant. mikey the mvp for being so open about things tbh

mwah mwah <33

[whysoblue2]

Honestly, I'm just excited to see the Kallamar and Shamura co-dependant toxic sibling relationship they've got going on, I gotta know just how nasty it got at its different stages and how it likely ended up affecting how they raised their other siblings. I love platonic toxic stuff like this, I would ponder if it could count as Shamura being a bit yandere at some point during it but idk if you're comfortable with that sort of comparison and I don't know much about their relationship besides what you have told. I need the DETAILS, the DRAMA

OOOH yeah, their relationship is juicy and hella toxic in my HC. I'm not going to lie, it's bad, but I wouldn't go so far as being yandere. Travis is 100% yandere. Let's see if I can explain. Long post on my silly headcanon ahead! You have been warned!

Young Shamura god of war, ruthless and merciless. An extremist that has the mission to reshape the Pantheon as they see in their vision, over the blood and bones of other gods. This lil squidling god still didn't unlock the power of his crown and that's perfect because, to Shamura, that is a white canvas, something they can shape the way they want, also the lil shit can heal? A big plus! So they bring said lil shit on the battlefield and train him the way they think is right, following their doctrines and ofc it's really bad. I mean Young Shamura displayed the same empathy of a floor tile, only Kall's influence changed that as I mentioned in a previous post I think. Imagine the Trade meme with Shamura: I receive: The ability to love and care You receive: Trauma and life-long fear But as the squid grows up they realise he does have a personality, he is not a blank slate and he wants to do his own thing, he loves art, music, dancing, and all those meaningless things that won't matter in a war. Also, he wants to go and slay gods (and slay in general💅🏻) his own way! AND THAT'S BAD! Because after so many years fighting together, Kallamar is not just a brother-in-arms but the only family they have! The realisation struck: he was their beloved little brother! Shock ensues. But Shamura doesn't know how to deal with it outside tactics, strategies and warfare so to protect his little brother, they treat him like a war asset with everything that it entails. (I let your imagination run wild here.) Things will happen that will finally make Kall snap and unlock the power of the blue crown, turning him from health to pestilence. From there things will go smoother. Shamura will accept that he has his own personality/cult/followers, but that doesn't mean they like it. They most definitely won't like it when Kall starts dating disciples and mortals. Good luck with that one, Shamura, it's gonna be fun! Of course, this is in the span of centuries while the god slaying and war rages on, not exactly the easiest of times. How will that affect the way they raise the siblings?

As Narinder enters the game, Shamura will find the cat easier to deal with and they focus on raising him, trying not to repeat the same mistakes they made with Kallamar. When Narinder joined, Kallamar would always follow them in their training, terrified that Shamura would use the same extreme methods on the kitten. He is pleasantly surprised to see that while being hard on the kid, they are not nasty and they show care! Yay! (in the meanwhile, it will dawn on him - not true ofc - that he doesn't matter to Shamura anymore and that Narinder has replaced him. The fact he had to endure the bad Shamura for so long and when finally they were good Shamura, they didn't give a damn about him anymore hurts a lot.) Then Kall is responsible for raising both Heket and Leshy singlehandedly. Shamura had very little part in training Heket (she arrived as the war was ending) and none at all in Leshy (who had never seen war at all in his life), so the joys of being a big brother/dad are all on him. But that meant he would do everything possible to not be like Shamura! He could do better, right? Wrong! The backlash of this is that he is way too soft and understanding, to the extent that the young ones don't take him seriously at all, so they grow up basically bullying the shit out of him.

I CANNOT GIVE YOU MORE DETAILS! Cause I'm gonna write them in the fic 😈 Drama&Angst guaranteed. I hope that's a good enough answer!💙 Thank you!

[beef-brisket]

Bee brought over another drink for Lucifer and sat next to him: So~. Charlie has a hotel now, huh? I've heard a little about it but... I couldn't get the gist of it, y'know?

Lucifer laughed: Yeah, I get ya. It's uh... redemption. For sinners.

Bee: Oh shit. Yeah? Is that... even possible?

Lucifer: Believe it or not... yeah. One of her friends got blasted during the failed extermination. He ended up in Heaven.

Bee was amazed: No fucking way! Well, shit. She fucking did it! You must be proud, huh?

Lucifer smiled: Yeah, I'm really proud. She's... an incredible kid, that's for sure.

Bee smiled at Lucifer: And... Adam. He's... your Adam, right? Lilith's brother?

Lucifer stiffened: Uh, yeah.

Bee stared at him for a moment: He's cute~.

Lucifer: Don't tell him that. He's probably the only person who has as much pride as I do.

Bee: Oh, I'm sure. That's just because he knows how hot he is. Like you~.

Lucifer laughed: Alright, you got me there...

Bee: ...What's going on with you, huh? Haven't seen you in years, and then you just show up. You don't come to meetings... barely answer calls... and now, here you are! I'm extremely happy to see you, Lu, don't get me wrong. But... fuck, I've been worried about you. We all have.

Lucifer rubbed the back of his neck: Uh yeah... I've... it's been hard since... look, I'm getting there, you know? I'm slowly getting better... or, I'm trying to. I want to get back into the swing of things, you know? Do better- for Charlie.

Bee: Just for Charlie?

Lucifer: What do you mean?

Bee smiled: Hm? Oh, nothing~. I just... we all know what you're like with the first humans. Saw them likes pets... or, one of them, anyway~.

Lucifer sighed: Bee- there's nothing going on with Adam and I, we're just... we have history. That's all.

Bee scoffed: You make it sound like you dated and broke up. Babe, you've known each other longer than the other Sins, and I have been alive! You understand that, right? This isn't that simple. You and Adam are WAY more complicated than that.

The king glanced over at Adam, who was talking to a few hellhounds: It's... not complicated.

Bee: Lu, everything's complicated when it comes to you.

Lucifer stared for a moment more before turning back to Bee: I think... we need to get going, Bee. We've got Mammon to see.

Bee sighed: Yeah, okay... just... keep in touch, yeah? Maybe... try to come to a meeting? Or two? Go grab your friend, I'll meet you at your car.

Lucifer: Huh? Why?

Bee laughed: Can't let you leave without food for the trip, now can I?

With that, Lucifer watched the sin fly off. Turning back to Adam, he couldn't help but growl. He was sitting WAY too close to the hellhound.

Walking over, Lucifer cleared his throat: Adam. It's time to go.

Adam: Huh? Oh, hey, shorty! Em was just telling me about some sick places to eat in Gluttony. We should go to some before we head out!

Emmett: Mm, and I'd happily show you around personally~.

Destination Redemption!

@beef-brisket

Pride was one of if not the largest ring in all of Hell. So when the population of sinners started to really take a toll from the paused exterminations Lucifer had no choice but to open up the other rings to fan them out.

So for the time being until they got word back from heaven about how to handle all the sinners they were all over Hell's creation. Literally.

Charlie, wanting to redeem more sinners now that it's possible thought it would be a great idea to spread the word to the seven rings of Hell to help all of the sinners reach the pearly gates!

Lucifer: You want me to do that? But sweetie it's your hotel.

Charlie: Yes! Buuut, if you succeed in getting people to come here they'll want to meet the "big boss" of the hotel herself. Pretty good huh?

Lucifer snickered, okay that was cute.

Lucifer: Okay, I guess I can just zap-

Charlie: No! You gotta take your time dad. Do it right, use the Jeep! Please, for me?

She wants him to go on a literal road trip?

Lucifer: ..... Can I bring Adam?

Charlie: Sure! It'll be good to get him out of into the fresh air for a while!

Lucifer nodded, him and Adam have been working on their...... Friendship? Relationship? Situationship more like it but it is what it is.

He went and knocked on Adams door, the fallen angel answered.

Adam: Yeah?

Lucifer: I'm going on a road trip, wanna come with?

Adam thought for a moment: Sure, if it means I get out of here for a while.

Lucifer beamed: Great! Pack a bag and meet me in the lobby in one hour!

[calposting]

made some LBJ postcards

and valentines day aftermath

[asagewitch05]

Broke: Dick Grayson can't cook for shit

Woke: He can cook because he was self sufficient for himself and his teams as a literal child

Bespoke: Dick knows how to cook like a 5-star chef and no one in the Batfam knows because he's a little shit

[otaku553]

Some more spy x family one piece crossover doodles :)

A fic may or may not be in progress…….

Edit: the fic is posted :)

[zehl0w]

I'm having delusions of grandeur yall