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kcthelazyartist · 8 months ago

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Fiddauthor may be canon, let’s discuss

At first glance this relationship appears to be completely fanon, but when you dig into it there's actually a lot more to Stanford and Fiddleford’s relationship than meets the eye.

This is a compilation of evidence [And slight analysis] so if I have missed anything or if anything is wrong, please let me know.

Warning: Long post ahead

Setting

-As @ratsbanes mentions during Stanford and Fiddleford’s college years the aids crisis was going on, during this time there was a lot of misinformation and fear mongering as it was falsely thought that only queer men could be affected. This event is very significant in queer history and needs to be considered when looking at their relationship.

-Fiddleford came from a hog farm in Tennessee, a deeply religious state, and as he is told to be superstitious, crossing himself when walking over graves, it can be assumed he too is religious

Religions in the same circle as Christianity tend to hold homophobic views as was common during this time

This creates religious guilt for queer people

-Queer politics were becoming a hot topic and most of society was homophobic during this period, there is a chance it was still illegal to be queer whilst they were in college, depending on where they were

This led to a lot of violence against queer people and a very real fear of being outed as it could have dire consequences

There was even programs in the military dedicated to having ‘gay spies’ to act queer and attract gay men in the military so they could be punished or discharged

There was also the Vietnam war going on, causing political unrest and many protests, america being very unstable during this period

-Lavender marriages [Marriages between heterosexuals and homosexuals, often to conceal the latters sexuality] were still common

-Putting this altogether into Fiddleford’s character it could create a very real feeling of religious guilt and fear of being outed that could of led to him entering a lavender marriage instead of staying with Stanford. Fiddleford would have had to worry about violence against himself and his family’s view of him, which he would likely worry about as he has shown signs of anxiety [But this may just be because of trauma]

It appears Fiddleford and his wife got married quickly when he left college which makes it all the more suspicious, whilst it could be they were high school sweethearts or an out of wedlock situation, it is more likely it's his fear of being outed that led to such a quick decision. [I will talk for about him and Emma-May later]

-Stanford was also in a position not to pursue anything as it can be assumed Filbrick was not the best father due to him throwing a 17-year old Stanley onto the street with almost nothing, leaving him to the wolves after refusing to hear his side of the story, and not coming to Stanley’s funeral. Filbrick instead views Stanford as something to make him money with his talents which is why he's so angry at Stanley for ruining their chances.

This would put stress on Stanford as to not disappoint his father and be the perfect child and it can be assumed that Flibrick was homophobic as many were back then.

Deep bond

-They are close enough Stanford has a measuring system for Fiddleford’s restless legs, knee bounce per second, AKA KBPS

-Stanford knows Fiddleford’s favourite can of beans, and stocks them in the bunker

-Stanford calls Fiddleford his ‘friend’, ‘assistant’, ‘partner’, and ‘buddy’, putting him on the same level as himself, not putting him down until Bill manipulates him.

-Fiddleford could tell that something was wrong with Stanford, even the slightest movement when meditating clued him in as shown in one of the flashbacks.

This itself is further evidence of their bond as Stanford trusts him enough to let him into the worship room and meditates around him, which leaves Ford vulnerable to attacks

Even parallel Fiddleford knows this isn't his own, though that can be explained through an age difference.

-Fiddleford loves his banjos, having multiple collections of them such as the one in the Gideon Bot blueprint, but he uses them as a weapon to protect others, willing to break his most prized possession to help others. He does this twice for Stanford, once during Weirdmageddon and another time to save him directly from Krampus.

During this Krampus attack Fidds had just gotten back when he saved Stanford who was about to basically be murdered, all whilst Bill was nowhere to be found

-Fiddleford only really violates Stanford’s boundaries and trust after the memory gun and neglect of his mental health have come into the picture, he does this when he steals the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and when he used the memory gun on him [More on this later]

-Alex Hirsch refers to them as the kind of friends with the same kind of interests and humour

-After 30 years away there is a thought shown on the mind reading machine that just says ‘I’m sorry Fiddleford’, completely unprompted

-The ‘Sorry’ photo in general

-When they first met Ford saved Fiddleford from dropping out due to embarrassment

He stayed up 9 hours with a stranger to help him prove a theory

-Ford takes notice of Fiddleford’s reaction to the cubics cube and takes joy in messing with him, knowing he wont get angry at him

-Both recognize each other at weirdmageddon despite how long they have spent apart [Ford may have seen him in Dipper’s part of the journal, but Fidds, with brain damage, had no reason to recognize him]

-Despite disliking Fiddleford’s tobacco chewing habit Ford allows him to continue with it

-Fiddleford can read Stanley, who has similar mannerisms to Ford, like a book

This is after he has lost his memories, such as when he calls out Stan’s suspicious laughter

-When Fiddleford first arrives at Fords house he mentions being ‘overcome with emotion’ and is overjoyed to see him, going out of his way to buy him banjo strings and microchips

Despite having Bill he is very lonely and is very happy to see Fiddleford again, saying ‘the past few days have been the most energising I’ve had since I first came to this town!’

-Ford originally doesn't tell Fiddleford of Bill because he doesn't want Fiddleford to think he's insane or badly of him, as he knows his friend is superstitious

-Ford teaches Fiddleford to meditate to help with his anxiety

-Fiddleford chastises Ford for staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, to which Stanford is comfortable enough with him to make a retort

-Ford appears to look for Fiddleford after coming to his senses and is immediately remorseful

-Ford keeps comparing parallel Fiddleford to his own, showing how much he misses him

Obsessions

-Ford has an obsession with Bill and Work, worshipping both like gods

Despite this he takes time from work or Bill to spend with Fiddleford instead;

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair, he throws a christmas party for Fiddleford and when the shapeshifter attacks and ties up Fiddleford he immediately shuts all work he was doing with the shapeshifter down despite his obsession of learning about creatures [This could be because he nearly got his hands on the journals but he appears to have tried to get them before and this event was the catalyst]

-Fiddleford appears to be obsessed with Stanford and later the memory gun due to it

Fiddleford leaves his family very quickly to join someone he hasn't seen in over 6 years, which is the first sign, then he stays after being traumatised and put in near death situations.

This devotion is made obvious when he stays to help with the portal even after his thesis and ideas have been blown off and his safety ignored, only leaving after seeing the horrors beyond the portal. This leads into the memory gun.

Fiddleford creates this as a way to cope and be able to stay alongside Stanford and help him, because he starts using the memory gun instead of leaving this toxic situation after seeing the gremloblin he becomes addicted

The memory gun is symbolism for addiction and self-harm when it comes to Fiddleford, he is aware it might be doing damage later on but he cant stop using it, its implied he even used it after noticing he wasn't wearing a piece of clothing right, which may have been a side effect of the memory gun.

Unlike Stanford Fiddleford does not have anyone to help him realise how obsessed he is or stop him, so he only continues to spiral, making his anxiety and self-harm worse [His hair pulling is also self-harm, though less obvious]

His obsession with Stanford is what led to this sadly.

His obsessions lead to him stealing the book to create a thesis to try and help Ford, and using the memory gun on Stanford [He uses it on him for both unknown reasons and to stop him from remembering construction workers, as well as maybe witnessing him in the red cape using the gun on himself or others. Even then you have to remember Fiddleford had been using it on himself and was not in the right state of mind due to Ford’s neglect, as Fiddleford was repeatedly shown to be kind and have a big heart but as his mental state declined so did his morals] This is sad as it shows that Fiddleford knows its bad but is already showing signs of addiction when he first makes it.

This ultimately ends up with him breaking his own mind to a point where it scares and hurts BILL CIPHER, hurts him in a way he doesnt think is hilarious

Bill Cipher

-Both Bill and Fiddleford are obsessed with Stanford, though they go about it differently

Bill’s obsession destroys Stanford, Stanford’s obsession destroys Fiddleford and Fiddleford’s obsession destroys himself

Bill manipulates and guilt trips Ford into getting what he wants, often using flattery or a twisted form of it, feeding into Fords insecurities

Meanwhile at first Fiddleford is just doing whatever he can to help Stanford, only hurting him after the gremloblin incident that destroys his psyche

-Before Bill came along Ford admired Fiddleford for his ‘brilliant mind’, heart and trustworthiness, but Bill manipulated him into thinking lesser of those qualities of his, even then during the portal incident he calls Fiddleford ‘buddy’.

-Bill repeatedly tries to get rid of anything Fiddleford gets Ford

-Bill and Fiddleford have some similarities

For Stanford’s birthday Bill possessed a bunch of rats and used them to spell out his name [This is interesting due to both Ford and Bill having a tendency to mix up both love and fear, Ford not reacting properly to monsters when he should fear them but instead being fascinated], he then insists on taking Ford out for a drink, when Ford was not the most willing to [Contrasting to him willingly and even suggesting getting drunk with Fiddleford on Christmas after he saved him, drinking eggnog, despite not celebrating Christmas]

Meanwhile Fiddleford handmakes two gifts for Christmas for Ford, despite knowing Ford doesn't celebrate, which makes Ford very happy and makes him want to spend time with Fiddleford [Did Bill have this gift giving tradition beforehand or did he see a memory or dream of Fiddleford’s gift giving tendencies and copy it like he did with Ford’s love language of experiences? Or are they just that similar?]

Both are obsessed with Stanford; Bill using manipulation, flattery and guilt tripping to get what he wants from him, feeding into Ford’s insecurities and ego. Meanwhile Fiddleford is devoted to helping Stanford achieve his goals instead of his own like Bill is. Even when he uses the memory gun it's to help Stanford so he can continue working and so the construction workers can help the portal be built quicker.

Emma-May

-Emma-May and Fiddleford’s relationship appears to already be rocky when Ford calls him

Fiddleford is seen working out of the cluttered garage, instead of a building, this might show he isn't making much money which could cause strain as she would need to work more to help provide for her son

He is isolated from her in the garage and is seen playing his banjo in the garage instead of with his family around, he also appears to have made himself at home in the garage instead of inside his house

This could be seen as a mancave, which was often used by men who didn't love their wives and ‘needed time away from them’, this could be explained through Fiddleford just being neurodivergent though as he shows signs of being on the spectrum- and not every man with a mancave dislikes their wives

She was also rather quick to get divorced for the time when her husband is away getting money for them.

-There is also signs he might not have any romantic interest in Emma-May or women in general, and if he does it is far less than the feelings he has towards Stanford

He rather quickly leaves his wife to go after Stanford

He makes Stanford TWO Christmas gifts [One of which required 5 prototypes], but forgot to even buy her one [This could be because of the memory gun but as its not mentioned that he forgot to get his son anything it can be assumed he remembered his- and we know he loves Tate]

He makes a continued effort to get his son [and somewhat Stanford] back, the gobblewonker is implied to not be the only way he has tried to get Tate back as Tate seems very done with him, and Stanford and him reconnect as he easily forgives him despite everything. Yet he only seems to have tried to get his wife back once with the pterodactyl, the same amount of effort he gave his friend when he didn't come to his retirement party. In the end he isn't even shown trying to reconnect with her even in a friend or co-parent way after he’s regained his sanity.

The robot and raccoon wife can be explained through the same reason; Heteronormativity. In this context it could be seen as Fiddleford wanting to have a nuclear family and be ‘normal’ [AKA, not queer] or feeling pressured to, which might be why he married and had a child so young, seemingly right out of college. Raccoon wife and the robot could be seen as him trying to be ‘normal’ and disliking that its been taken from him, trying to get some semblance of his old life back.

Love language

-Someone on tumblr pointed out both Ford and Fiddleford’s love languages [I cannot find their post…]

-Ford’s love language is experiences

He invited Fiddleford to help him with portal in the first place

After the gremloblin incident Ford takes Fiddleford to a fair

The duo go hiking together to the spaceship

And the biggest one is the Christmas incident, he wants to spend time with Fiddleford after he gave him gifts but is unable to at the time and Bill tries to cheer him up with another experience… Only for Ford to be attacked by Krampus and saved by Fiddleford, he then decorates the portal room for a holiday he doesn't even celebrate and builds snowmen that resemble each other with him.

-Fiddleford’s love language is gift giving

He gives him a homemade snow globe [Which Ford accidentally breaks thanks to Bill]

He handmakes six-fingered gloves that required 5 prototypes [They later give Ford comfort]

He buys him a squash that looks like a face because it reminds him of Ford [Of which Ford wrote an entire page about before throwing out]

He gifts him an axolotl because it reminded him of his sideburns [Bill later manipulates him into getting rid of it after a lot of struggle from Ford]

Downright Suspicious

-When Fiddleford is called by Stanford he very quickly leaves his wife and son behind to travel to Gravity Falls and live alone with him in the woods without anyone living nearby for miles, somewhere nobody can see them work… Or interact

-Fiddleford designed the bunker with only one bed, one small bed for him and Ford to share

Several people have mentioned that they would have to be practically on top of eachother to fit on said bed

Fiddleford would not be aware that Stanford doesn't sleep, meaning they were planning on sleeping in the same bed together. This is furthered by the supplies for years into the future and having both of their belongings littered throughout the space, such as the shmez dispenser.

Stanford in the journal mentions losing Fiddleford’s shmez dispenser, this implies either he was moving stuff around or they were sharing it. And Fiddleford does not like people messing with his stuff, as shown with the cubics cube.

-In journal 3 at the end when Ford goes to see Fiddleford they sit by a furnace and Fiddleford plays on his banjo, Ford says he can practically see ‘the age lift off his face’.

A common thing in romance stories is thinking back on when the duo was younger together, this mimics that plot device.

-Ford draws Fiddleford more than once in journal 3

He usually only draws people once in the journal, but Fiddleford and his family get drawn more than once. This may mean he considers him as close as family

He also draws him from behind, obscuring his face as if Fiddleford doesnt know he is drawing him or if he feels guilty about doing so [Another common romance plot; drawing your crush without them knowing]

-Ford says Fiddleford has one of the biggest hearts he's ever seen, and says he used to hold him so dear

-Bill hates polyamory and calls Fiddleford a ‘third wheel’

Despite the Ford’s knowing each other longer

-Ford lets Fiddleford hug him during weirdmageddon and reciprocates despite disliking touch and only really being shown giving side hugs

Whether this is because he isnt used to Fiddleford full on hugging him or wasn't expecting to be forgiven and trusted so easily is up to debate, as the position leaves the back vulnerable to attack, showing how much Fiddleford trusts him.

They also shown in the ‘sorry’ photo in a side hug, hanging onto each other

-When Fiddleford brings up marriage Ford immediately shifts to him being thankful that Fiddleford is helping him.

-They stargazed together, one again a common romantic plot point

-In journal three there is a quote from when talking about the bunker's security system, ‘Sometimes I think how fortunate I am to be friends with F… because if this room is any indication, it would be terrifying to be his enemy’. This format is suspicious as the wording can make it seem joking, or make it seem like he is making an excuse for thinking this- and why would he feel weird for thinking this if there wasn't some sort of romantic undertones between them.

-In a livestream [‘Alex & Dana Charity Draw-A-Thon’ on TheMysteryofGF on youtube, at 45:48] When asked whether McGucket loves Ford, Alex says yes before expanding on that and calling them friends

At first I thought this was a way to get around Disney’s censors but later he confirms the deputy’s relationship

Story Importance

-Fiddleford is the only reason why Bill was able to be defeated

It took Ford around 30 years to build something able to destroy Bill, and it was a parallel Fiddleford that got him the final component to finish it, just looking at the weapon and knowing what it needed. Then the weapon that actually killed him was the memory gun, something that took Fiddleford under a year to create. [Maybe even in a couple of days whilst he wasn't in his right mind due to the gremloblin]

This combined with him and Ford's bond means Fiddleford is a real threat to Bill, as he keeps Ford grounded in reality and is smart enough to know something is wrong about what they are doing with the portal before anything happens, he even warns Ford, which makes him even more of a threat.

Bill attempts to manipulate Ford into distancing himself and thinking lowly of Fiddleford, and it works, for a period of time. It really shows how strong their bond is because while he is angry at Fiddleford leaving the event planted the seeds of doubt in his brain. Instead of continuing to trust Bill when he starts hearing things after years of being manipulated [Bill would even injure him! And Ford did not react like a person not being abused typically would in that situation], he realises Fiddleford was right and confronts Bill who likely realised that he could no longer manipulate him, as if he thought he could continue he would have, it would have been easier to reach his goal that way.

Fiddleford leaving is what caused Stanford to unravel as Fiddleford was the only one grounding him.

Stanford brushing off Fiddleford’s thesis and fears was the turning point as the ring the witch gave him turned black after this altercation

-Stanford has presumably been carrying the guilt of how he treated fiddleford for 30 years, this likely contributed to Stanford pushing others away and acting how he did towards his brother and family after leaving the portal, as he didn't have that someone that helped him trust others anymore, he's been alone for 30 years.

-Fiddleford was Ford’s first ever real friend outside his family

When he met Fiddleford he helped prove his theory and they finished it together and put both their names on it, this is important to the story as the reason Ford doesn't accept his thesis is because he is paranoid of somebody else stealing his theory. [Parallel Fiddleford and Ford even share a company together]

Furthering the previous point Ford was considering telling Fiddleford of his muse before finding out Fiddleford had created a thesis for him, a thesis where Fiddleford only credited Ford and based it off his work. Ford instead of taking this as Fiddleford wanting to help instead took it the wrong way due to his paranoia

Fiddleford didn't even notice Ford’s polydactyl when they first met and seems completely unbothered by it, basically brushing over it. Bill on the other hand makes a big deal of it, basically saying its why he can become one of Bill’s ‘freaks’, something he was called as a child.

Bill acts as if he is the only one to understand Ford and as if he is Ford’s first and only friend to manipulate him, despite Fiddleford understanding him so well he can tell something is wrong from the smallest movement when Mabel couldn't tell something was wrong with Dipper.

It takes Bill a long time to drive the duo apart and change Ford’s views of Fiddleford into ‘he wouldnt understand’ as he knows Fiddleford could ruin his plans [Bill had been with Ford since the 2nd journal and had time to manipulate him before Fiddleford arrived, even with this considered his view of his friend is still positive once he sees him again. He may say he has no choice but to ask for help before seeing Fiddleford, yet he is very very happy upon Fiddleford arriving- this hints that Bill has already started manipulating his views]

Ford wants to be famous and Bill feeds into his ego on this, knowing Ford wants to prove himself. Fiddleford can't seem to understand this as he already sees Ford as normal, but he wants him to be happy, which is why he helps because if money makes him happy so be it. Fiddleford does not question it and reserves judgement.

-Thank you to @jellied-beans in the comments for pointing out something I missed! That being without Fiddleford they would not have been able to get in and rescue Ford and all the other civilians.

Jellied-beans points out that Stan did not want to go through with the plan to rescue Ford, but it was Fiddleford who took the lead despite only recently regaining and reliving the trauma Ford had put him through, and even after he and Ford's last interaction was cruel.

Fiddleford is also the only reason the Shack-A-Tron became a thing, as it was his engineering and planning that saw it become a reality. Without him it would have taken much longer to rescue Ford and everyone else

This situation also goes to prove Fiddleford does in fact have a big heart and is empathetic as he not only rescues the man whos hurt him and easily forgives him, but Stan mentions that he led a bunch refugees to the shack with him.

End note; I attempted to keep in any points I have found and tried not to leave any information out, as well as leaving in anything nuanced [Such as the Christmas gift situation maybe being caused by the memory gun]. I find this important as I’ve seen people arguing against the ship and calling it generally toxic, whilst leaving out crucial details such as Bill's manipulation, as well as people calling Fiddleford a bad person due to the whole memory gun thing and completely ignoring why he did it.

[As a side note Fiddauthor definitely toxic during the Bill era, but overall it's not, and unlike Billford they are able to mend their relationship as its built on understanding and genuine feelings, as shown by the parallel world where they were able to trust each other and repair their relationship]

I have not read the Book of Bill yet so this might be updated later, any BoB content on this is just what I have seen circulating around.

#Who said being an autistic lit student was a bad thing?#btw this is not BillFord hate as long as the abuse isnt romanticed the ship is fine #same goes for the toxic moments of Fiddauthor #gravity falls #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #gf stanford #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #gravity falls fiddleford #fiddauthor

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darlingdaisyfarm · 23 days ago

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Okay, so I do have my own hc about this but if you've had thoughts about this I def wanna know (plus I don't know if you've posted this before). It ties in with milking discussion so it's mainly about Ford, but I welcome Stan too! How would Ford react to being pegged and edged by y/n?

honey?? welcome to my mind because.... you won't believe but i DID write pegging these old men before. but guess what? i never posted it here, i totally forgot!!! i only uploaded it to ao3, AGHHH FUCKK. so waitttt i’m gonna post it here too, my bad. i genuinely blacked out and forgot i wrote it lmao

nsfw!

but about edging, GODDAMN, i love edging. and you know Ford, being the freaky pervert he is, would absolutely be into it too. like, let’s be real, this man didn't exactly have the most active sex life before you, so once you two start sleeping together, he’s not just having sex but running experiments and exploring his preferences, fetishes and kinks....i mean, the man’s a scientist through and through, so of course he’d be open to trying every kink on the periodic table, edging included :)

and ugh, the more you do it, the more he craves it. i can totally see him getting hooked on the feeling. you’ll catch him shifting awkwardly in his chair after long makeout sessions, already half-hard just thinking about the last time you left him dripping, trembling and untouched. i also fully believe he’d get hooked on the “reward“ aspect too. like when you stroke his hair or kiss his temple after you deny him release. because such nurturing praise makes his brain melt worse than the physical part

sometimes you’ll use toys on him too (cock ring.... ?? vibrator...? god), and Ford is so grateful for every second you don’t let him finish too fast. omg... literally right now, while im writing this, my brain just played out a scene where you’re edging him by jerking him off fast and suddenly stopping at the tip, telling him “you don’t cum unless i say, baby” while your other hand is shoved in his mouth, letting him suck on your fingers (because one night, drunk off his ass, he admitted to you that he loves it). AND AND... and that that quiet, hoarse “please” is music to ur ears especially with ur fingers in his needy mouth. he can't speak clearly.

if you make it a rule for a whole day, like no touching himself, no cumming, not until you decide, he’ll follow it religiously because Ford's self-control is terrifying.... he's trying so hard to be a good boy to you :(

and i think Ford is into mutual masturbation. but adding edging here when you let yourself finish, multiple times, making a mess all over yourself, but every time he gets close you stop him. and he has to just watch. and he’s so into it that by the end his cock is swollen and twitching, and he’s too out of it to even form words :(

if you blindfold him??? it multiplies the effect x1000. being unable to see his sweetheart, when you’ll stop or start again drives him half insane. his head tips back against the pillow, mouth open and you're saying “not yet, sweetheart” and that alone could make him spill without permission, which, of course, you don’t let slide

and yeah, at one point this man would straight-up start sobbing, real tears slipping down his face, but he’s so deep in it he doesn’t even want you to stop. my sweet desperate brilliant pervert. + if you combine both, pegging and edging you might just fry his poor genius brain

and once you finally let him finish (or don’t :) depending on your mood), he gets so soft, fuzzy. drunk look in his brown eyes. the high from being so worked up turns him into the most affectionate, lazy, pliant version of himself<3

anyways feel free to share with me ur own headcanons plss, im always glad to hear ur thoughts about this needy old man!! <3

and..i know you didn’t ask bout this but i can’t shut up. i think he’d love ruined orgasms too??, sorry i’m getting carried away. imagine the first time you let him tip over the edge only to cut it short halfway through. he'll whimper so loud... his body convulses but there’s no real release. and once the frustration settles, he realises he liked it. the tension still coiled in his gut. the fact that you can take his pleasure away just like that... yeah, he’s down BAD

#ugh hes such a freak #I WANT to eat this man #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #gravity falls smut #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #stanford pines #answered asks

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darius-shack · 4 months ago

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I haven't seen GF in years but was abruptly reminded a while ago and found your blog and your Pinecest+Stancest posts while looking at the Pinecest tag so I gotta share this plot that's now trapped in my brain. If I got the details about canon wrong, blame the passage of time, not me lol.

Ok I'm sure I'm not the only one who came up with that but: Mutually Unrequited/Pining Stans that both never acted on their feelings and spent the entire separation depressed about it and blaming the way they were hiding their feelings partially for how things went down. Enter Pinecest, only just clocking that this is Not Normal Sibling Feelings.

Stan encourages it when he first realizes it because he never got to even try, but maybe Mabel and Dipper can be happy. So he bullies any boys Mabel brings home, shuts down Dipper's flirt attempts with Wendy & Pacifica - Dipper catches on to his feelings first and wants to prove to himself that he's NORMAL OKAY??? he is, in fact, super not normal, but he'll scream that he is at the top of his lungs - and then Ford returns.

Ford also immediately catches on to Dipper's crush. Because he gets Dipper, and of course, he'd love his twin. He can't see Mabel's feelings as easily because he's insta-transferencing her and Stanley and the idea of her liking Dipper back is unfathomable (read: heartbreaking) because then it means perhaps Stanley could've loved him too.

But he cares about Dipper, so Ford thinks the best he can do is maybe help cut off those feelings at the knees before there's no going back for him, at least Dipper might not totally lose Mabel the way he and Stan thought they had lost each other, might eventually lead a normal non-recluse full of regrets life unlike them. So Ford offers to let Dipper stay without letting on his real reason to do so, and Mabel FLIPS OUT.

The thoughts have been building in the back of her head for a while, and she's suddenly confronted with what she never thought possible. Losing Dipper. And it hurts so so much and then Weirdmageddon comes and things go completely off the rails and now she knows she loves him but he's her brother, the world is ending and maybe he doesn't actually like her at all.

It ends with Dipper admitting to Mabel why he was even contemplating separation and Ford is trying to stop him while Stan has been working for this for months, damnit, and Ford's attempts at shutting the confession down just kill him. Dipper says it anyway, and Mabel thinks she's dreaming, but yeah, dummy, I love you too. How could you even think otherwise?

And seeing their dramatic first kiss totally guts Ford. He's happy for them, clearly, but he wants this oh so much and he can't have it. Stanley is shocked at how much Ford's affected by this development and things just blow up from there, and before either of them know it they're kissing.

Meanwhile Mabel and Dipper finally remember where they are and who they're with and fuck this is going to be difficult to explain - wait wtf GRUNKLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING. Well nothing they weren't right before that.

The rest of summer is an insanely awkward transition period where both couples are trying to work out how to deal with this new dynamic and what it means for their lives, especially for when Dipper and Mabel go back home. But everyone is insanely happy and when Dipper and Mabel come back to GF it's together, to a married couple of Grunkles (in everything except the eyes of the law).

And perhaps someday a - but lbr it'll be two - Pinecest Baby crawls around the Mystery Shack to everyone's delight...

ANON YOU'RE SO CRACKED AAAAAAAAH

such a cute premise of them finding out about each other's budding relationships despite the warnings from Ford and adamant attitude from Stan. SO good. flavor.

also implying that ford and stan were like watching/listening from around the corner or something is peak. honestly? this ask means so much to me.

#pinecest #stancest #longpost #dariusspeaks #dariuswrites

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lamplightideas · 4 months ago

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682 words. Stanford Pines struggling to stay conscious. I don't know why this was written other than for the heck of it. I don't write often so um. Yeah. Trigger warning for vivid descriptions of hallucinating, terror, skin, and other no-fun experiences.

Stanford let out a shaky breath, Forcing his legs to trudge forwards despite the fatigue and growing pain throughout his body. He needed to stay awake, to focus. With exhaustion and fatigue slowly closing in, so came the effects of lacking sleep. It felt darker and the light felt brighter in contrast, the shadows nearly black. Then little pinpricks of light. Light that formed into ovals with pupils staring him down like living beings, more forming as they seemed to pulse with a yellow light. Ford turned away from prying eyes, the blight of yellow forcing terror through his veins like a drug he couldn't get over. He kept pacing, reciting the periodic table over and over, trying to get his mind right. Yet with each step his body faltered, the worse his vision got. The shadows seemed to grow outside of their reserved sections, what he could only assume to be blurry hands reaching into the light. Whenever he turned his head, neck complaining to him, they seemed to vanish within seconds.

Ford let out a shuddering breath, pausing to shut his eyes for a moment. Big mistake. He felt his feet shift as his central balance slipped, and it took everything he had left just to stumble into a wall to keep upright. His back cracked, and he could feel the dull ache from the hit coursing through his nerves. His body was betraying him. Why couldn't it just be loyal for once? He rested against the wall heavily, his legs trembling more than he thought he could handle. His skin felt wet and drippy, as if it may peel off his flesh and bones, leaving him exposed to the eyes observing him from the shadows.

He lifted his head again, just to check. All but one eye has gone out. One eye stares at him. As his eyes adjusted, or maybe they hadn't truly adjusted, he saw the form of something in the shadow. Incomprehensible. Unspeakable, something he felt his mind could never dream up. So his body tensed with fear, his breath choking to a stop as he waited. Waited for it to move, but it didn't. Sounds echoed long before he realized it was there, droning laughter crawling up his spine like an unwanted advance. This kind of terror didn't seem possible until it only seemed to worsen. The laughter was familiar, it was sharp- one he’d heard too many times at too many stages. He couldn't help the quiet, dry sob that poured from his mouth. He didn't truly care. There was no one to witness his fear. No one to witness this horror.

The form remained, and so did the eye. It remained for too long. It remained until Ford’s vision blurred too much, and it seemed to lag behind his movements when he attempted to calm down and move. A step forward. A fight for his consciousness. He won. Another step, another fight. But he would not win the war. It was so hard to breathe, so hard to comprehend what he was observing. His hand rested on the chair, the curl of his fingers sending a sharp and prickly reminder of the wounds that flourished across his knuckles. He felt sick. Sick for so many reasons. Sick because when he looked up, it was gone. The eye was gone, the darkness wasn't so harsh and void like. Sick because he couldn't remember the last time he ate. Sick because his body hurt in ways he knew it shouldn't; because he knew he would always feel this way. For the rest of his sad, sad life.

He pulled out his chair in resignation. He settled back down into his seat, trembling right hand slowly lifting the pen he’d set down moments prior. His left smoothed over the paper and smudged the still wet ink ever so slightly. The side of his hand settled on the page as he braced his mind to form something coherent.

He didn't get a chance, as his battered and bruised head smashed into the desk beneath it in pure, impassible exhaustion.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher #kind of #tw hallucinations #tw vivid descriptions #tw describing feelings of un-fun things #uh #yeah #idk #lum writes #sometimes

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devisopod · 1 year ago

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Levity Creek infodump

It's long, I'm warning you.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

Brave. Let's see if you regret trying to read my ramblings.

Changing some initial things from the first post, but they're minor. I'm doing this entirely based off what my Little Brain That Could absorbed from the show and Journal 3, so don't @ me if something's off, I'm not bothering to use online sources. As much as my mind gremlin'd love to deep dive this shit again, the whole point of an AU is to distort the canon. And while I'm keeping aspects of it, I'm not going out of my way to make it perfect either.

And who knows? Some of it may be subject to a little tweaking come July. We'll start off with what we know.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

1975

Not a super big year in terms of the AU. Ford arrives in Gravity Falls, and nothing is different just yet. He begins his research enthusiastically. For six years, this fella gets to run around carefree! He's learning, exploring, and documenting like the ever-curious researcher he is. Then, he gets whacked with the inevitable question of "why?". Gravity Falls is the way it is, but no matter what he does, he can't determine the reason for it. It's eating him up, and so he's desperate to find answers, he'll ignore his better judgment.

Meanwhile, Stan's already been banned in about 30 states. He's hopped from scam to scam, or as he'd probably put it, "business strategy", and getting himself into trouble. He's missing his brother, missing having true connections, but too prideful to admit it yet. During this time, he's living in his car. This lasts for the majority of the year, and perhaps some months afterward, staying at motels on and off when he gets the cash.

1981

Bill.

Love him or hate him, he's crucial, and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of stepping on his toes at every possible opportunity in this AU. What's fun, and frustrating, is having to get into his mindset. He's a mastermind in his own right, but he's also weak to his—you know it, say it with me—ego!

After Bill convinces Ford that a portal is the most effective way to understand Gravity Falls' weirdness, Fiddleford comes into play. We know that Fiddleford works with, and researches the anomalies of Gravity Falls, alongside Ford for a year before the portal incident.

He's goes through a lot of stress and exhibits signs of anxiety during this period, not only from the work and frightening encounters, but because he misses his family. The fear that's instilled in him results in the creation of the memory gun, and soon to follow, The Society of The Blind Eye (we'll get back to that). Moreover, it has him questioning Ford and the portal project.

1982

Here's where we start to diverge!

That month before the portal incident, Stan seeks out Ford rather than facing everything he's going through alone. He's hit so many walls that even his pride takes a beating. It's a daunting task, showing up on the doorstep of someone you've wronged, looking to make that connection again, but he's got nothing left. Our Stan's a trooper, but even his snark and tough outer shell don't save him from his instinct to care, nor his need to be cared for.

His arrival in Gravity Falls is not exactly welcome, but Ford doesn't turn him away either. I really want to give him the benefit of the doubt here. He's kind of a self-righteous asshole during this period of his life, but he also lets small hints of his sentimentality slip from time to time. He was so excited to have someone to share his research and time with again, expressing gratitude and fondness for Fiddleford, much like I think he would have done with Stan. He misses Stan just as much as Stan misses him, but they process their emotions differently. He buries himself in work and strives for a goal that would make him one of The Greats, or whatever. But when his mind isn't as occupied, I'm sure it's on that beach in New Jersey.

So, showing a shred of decency, Ford agrees to try and patch things up with Stan, but on the terms that he doesn't interfere with his work. Stan sets up in a motel in town, visiting Ford on occasion during the month up until the portal is tested.

The Test

Here's where shit hits the fan, right? Everything starts going downhill, but let's think about it differently.

Fiddleford is arguably the balancing factor here. His character is such a great one, and I think it would have served him much better had he not succumbed to his own fear. He deserved a lot better, and it's not hard to determine that based on the details we have. He has an instinctual need to protect and help people, whether he knows them personally or not. He warns and prompts Ford on multiple occasions to express his doubt, even before the incident with the portal, but Ford is much too prideful to accept any of Fiddleford's concerns.

Ford saw himself as a good friend to Fiddleford, and to an extent I would accept that, but ultimately Ford was simply meeting the minimal efforts required of him to keep his research partner afloat.

After one last attempt at dissuading Ford from testing the portal, Fiddleford doesn't have a choice but to carry on with the initial plan—he's going to see it through because he's come this far. So, what's he do when he gets a glimpse of the catastrophic consequences that could result from the portal's use? He gets the hell outta dodge, and naturally so. He's met his limit, and since Ford doesn't want to listen, he's going to take it upon himself to protect himself and others.

Aftermath

Now, at this point in the canon, Fiddleford has already loosely established The Society of The Blind Eye and it's been building in the background. Though, it won't last long.

He shows a lot of common sense throughout his time researching with Ford, and I'd like to tap into that a little more. Frankly, he's too smart to drive himself into insanity. And while he doesn't know if there are side effects, he knows that if he loses himself, he's putting others at risk. So, after he uses the memory gun to forget what he saw in the portal, he elects to retire it. As much as it could be a help, he realizes it poses its own dangers and temptations based on the ways he's used it so far.

The Society of The Blind Eye is disbanded abruptly here. The members collected so far have their memory wiped of the group's existence, and that's that.

Ford's Dilemma

After the mess with the portal, Ford becomes increasingly more paranoid and unstable. As one does when they've become subject to physical and mental torment by a being they can't control.

Stan is immediately concerned, and arguably pissed off by this development. He's come all this way to fix things, and now Ford's changed on a dime, but he doesn't understand why. So, they fight. When it comes down to it though, Ford knows he can trust Stan. His brother, despite everything, has sought to make things right. So, he spills his guts. Flat out breaks down, and it's needed. While it doesn't solve his immediate problem, he's given another path to take.

Ford already knows about the memory gun, and he believes that one of the best ways to keep Bill out of his head is to eliminate what he wants from it: how to operate the portal. It's a reluctant reunion, and perhaps not a very trusting one, but Fiddleford agrees to wipe Ford's memory regarding the portal's operation on the condition that the pages of the journals are burned and the portal is dismantled.

Ford hates that condition, of course. It causes more strain, as he's already been told once that he should destroy the portal. His life's work. But it isn't, though, is it? The portal wasn't his idea. Hell, he put a lot of effort and time into it, but he knows now that it's a danger. Surely he would take the precaution to preserve life as we know it even if it lands a blow to his self-importance.

And here, he does. It's reluctant, but he does it. He burns the pages (allowing him to keep his journals), wipes his memory of said pages/the portal's operation, and dismantles it. Bill torments him for a little while after this, determined to physically and mentally destroy the pawn he no longer has a use for, but Project Mentem becomes the inevitable solution.

Let's Play Nice

When things finally start to settle down, Ford is determined to get back to work and dead set on finding a way to complete his research. This time, though, he has Stan along. They're really doing their darndest to work things out, but it's rocky at best. Doing fine one minute, then pouting in corners the next. While it's slow going, they're making progress a little a time.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford has gotten back to his dream of becoming an inventor. He even travels a bit on and off, returning home to California for a brief time before he's back to Gravity Falls, his family to follow within the next few months. He's taken on a project regarding the creation of a system (hardware and software) for the county's government facilities.

Daphne

Our little self-insert. There she is! Daphne isn't especially important to begin with. She's an old friend of Fiddleford's from back south who had the same types of interests and hobbies. She took a different route, of course, working odd jobs while in college, but eventually drops it altogether when she's offered a position working as a software engineer. She works this job until she gets in contact with Fiddleford again. When he talks about what he's working on, she's interested in helping out, if only to get away from her current job for a little while. Fiddleford accepts, and Daphne makes a road trip out west.

On the way, taking the scenic route obviously, she swings by and picks up Tate to bring him out to Gravity Falls a little early. The first week or so in Gravity Falls, Daphne hates it. The scenery is great, but the place freaks her out. She's not especially superstitious, but there are some things she just doesn't mess with. Weird creatures are on that list of things. Where she comes from, stuff like that is just what you leave alone and don't talk about, but here that rule doesn't even matter. Something's gonna happen regardless.

It takes about a month to completely finish her part of the project, then she's off again. Eager to get the hell away from Oregon, she says her goodbyes and heads out. Not even an hour into the ride, Tate reveals himself, not able to hold in the fact that he's stowed away any longer. Unamused, but unable to get mad at him, she reluctantly turns right back around to bring him back to Fiddleford. Just inside Gravity Falls, a creature runs face first into her van, effectively totaling it.

Ford, naturally, is in hot pursuit of this creature he's been chasing. When he sees the damage it's caused, he's torn between following the creature and helping out. The only reason he stops is because he recognizes Tate.

From there, Daphne has a few choice words for this lunatic that's wrecked her favorite possession, though she's still pretty rattled by seeing something so bizzare. Fiddleford is the one that has to kind of mediate this situation and also explain Gravity Falls to Daphne. He's not especially glad that she's met Ford; he's still having a little trouble trusting him, so he doesn't want her around him, but won't explain why. Effectively, it makes her more wary of Gravity Falls, but now she's stuck there. At least, for now. Fixing her van and staying at a motel, trying her best to avoid contact with the strangest parts of the town.

And that's where I'm gonna leave the rest to my art!

With that all established, Levity Creek as a whole is going to follow a more comedic route than anything, hence the "levity". Which isn't to say that I'll avoid the touchy subjects or heavier themes, but they'll be sparce.

I also wanna kinda make it clear that my intent with Daphne in this AU isn't super traditional in the sense of a self-insert. A lot of focus is gonna be put specifically into the Stan brothers before Daphne's eventual inclusion. If anything, there's very slow character development to begin with for most of the characters. I wanna give them room for growth personally so that they can grow together!

For funsies, this is the model of the van I drive irl! I don't feel comfortable sharing an actual picture of it for privacy reasons, but you get the gist!

TL;DR

I'm a lunatic

#I need text posts to have more options for formatting #text #levity creek #gravity falls au #gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #fiddleford mcgucket #self insert

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sydneyofalltrades · 7 months ago

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even MORE leanne things because she’s all over my thoughts

when she gets mad and she’s using her magic, her hair actually turns blue! because blue fire is hotter than red fire, and her hair is copper

when she concentrates hard enough, she can see into other dimensions. but only briefly and it takes so much energy out of her

ford actually used to love when she used her powers because in a weird twisted way, it brought her closer to bill (as he was her mentor/the reason for her magic) and he thought she could be a tether to him (pre-portal)

bill (for reasons quite explanatory) actually placed a curse on leanne so if she uses her magic too much for extended periods of time, she slowly morphs into a monstrous state. he thinks it’s hilarious, and she thinks it’s sadistic

mabel stumbles across letters leanne and stan exchanged pre-portal and showed one to dipper. he now holds it as blackmail against stan because of how affectionate he sounded in the letter

leanne actually has a lot of money at the start of the show. because she and ford got hitched for her inheritance, most of the money her wealthy parents had went to research. after the portal, it was used to fix it up. so at the beginning of the show, whatever money is under leanne’s name is farrrrr too much for the average working class person

in alternative endings where dipper and mabel die, leanne, consumed with grief, agrees to let bill take her to a prison similar to mabel’s in weirdmaggedon, and she makes it so the twins are alive, stan and ford have reconciled earlier, and summer never ends. eventually, bill kills her inside her own fantasies

she loves dress up games, and mabel loves making her her model. so when mabel has a new outfit idea, she just calls leanne and asks her to “magic out” the outfit she has in mind

she calls stan her “magpie,” and has since they were kids. he calls her “cherry,” and on the silliest of days, “rusty red”

after high school, her parents shipped her to an all-girls university for college, where she studied astrology and other sciences

because her nickname for ford was “six string,” he dared her to commit to guitar lessons when they were little. she did, grudgingly, and actually really learned. she plays it all the time when he’s gone, and on the stan o’ war II

she had a daughter, named savanna, who passed away as an infant. for more information, spam my ask box thanks

her powers sometimes cause internal reactions like fevers and dizzy spells. on the worst of days, stan needs to keep smelling salts near her in case she faints

leanne used to babysit tate on days when fiddleford and ford would work late, and he’s fond of her as an adult because of it

for the longest, leanne was terrified that people wouldn’t think stanley was the person she married, and then she found some really old polaroids and understood why no one batted an eye

when bill used to possess leanne, he’d purposely injure her and oftentimes would succeed. she’d wake up with pains she didn’t want to know how she achieved. he also succeeded in humiliating her by flirting with ford in her body and then making her snap back right before she would’ve crossed the line

leanne and wendy sometime sneak off during shifts so wendy can get some time out of the shack. leanne makes sure she’s safe because if anything happens to any of the kids she interacts with, leanne might break someone’s furnace (or worse)

when dipper has bad dreams about bill’s possession, he often goes to leanne, since she also has similar experiences and is always there to comfort him

leanne took it the hardest when stan lost his memories. she tried to bring them back with magic, forcing herself to push to the farthest her magic could let her, but it didn’t work. so she tried harder to help him regain his memories however she could

after weirdmaggedon, she and ford had a long talk about the future, and what happened during their thirty year split. ford learned of a niece he never met, and leanne found out about the tramp stamp

stan and lea do get married actually. just before the twins’ birthday, and it was spur of the moment they got married right in the middle of town. took them long enough

leanne sometimes makes puzzles or problems for soos to fix, and when he finds them, he loves showing her how he solves them, and she loves hearing about them

#gravity falls #gravity falls oc #leanne wixton #even more rambles bc i ADORE herrrr #bill cipher #ford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #tate mcgucket #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez

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squatch-and-stretch · 2 months ago

Text

Debridement

Chapter 2

< Chapter 1

Fiddleford McGucket & Ford Pines & The Axolotl | 9,193 words | Axolotl’s Acolyte AU

[Ao3 crosspost]

Fic under the cut

Once they’re both all dressed up for a trek through the snow, they get a move on without further ado. Fiddleford decides that snow is only really enjoyable within maybe a 20 foot radius of some place where there isn’t snow, because actually walking through it for an extended period of time is an absolute pain in the rear. Or the legs at large, really, what with him kicking through a foot of snow. The Axolotl seems to agree, as they stay curled up in the back of his head, radiating discomfort. Then again, that might be because they’re on their way to punch some horses so they can kill Bill Cipher.

Yep, the godly paedomorphic salamander living in his head ain’t exactly happy about their plan to brutalize some magical equines so they can get into his best friend’s head to kill the highfalutin triangular demon that lives in there.

Hell. He’s got a wife and kid. This doesn’t have to be his life, but here he is.

“This is the place,” Ford says, carefully stepping over a frozen creek and into a stone-lined clearing. In the space between the stacked and rounded stones, there’s not a trace of snow. “Step back, there’s a chant to summon her grove.”

Fiddleford does as he says, watching as Ford opens his journal, clears his throat, and begins to chant. If there’s any words to it, Fiddleford can’t even begin to make them out. As far as he’s concerned, it’s just deep, throaty groans.

The ground before them starts to shake, and Fiddleford grabs Ford’s arm to steady himself. Ford places one hand over Fiddleford’s, watching the stones rise out of the earth, taking up great walls of ivy-laced earth between them. A golden, jewel-encrusted door settles into place before them, painful to look at even in the dim light filtering through the snow-heavy clouds.

“Huh,” Fiddleford muses. “That’s the place?”

“Indeed,” Ford says unhappily. “Come on, let’s see how this goes.”

He steps forward and pushes open the door, Fiddleford right behind him.

Bright, unrestrained sunlight shines down upon a grove of bright green grass littered with colorful mushrooms and flowers. An honest to god unicorn sits upon a dry patch in the center of a small pond, thin white legs folded pristinely below her. Water flows down a pile of stones behind her, throwing out droplets that catch the light in a rainbow of colors. The walls are lined with sparkling purple ivy, and a large willow drapes itself across one side of the grove.

“Hark! Visitors to my—“ the unicorn’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s you again. Begone! You are not pure of heart!”

“I know, I know,” Ford grumbles, “but I’ve brought Fiddleford this time!”

“Him? He is no maiden!”

Well, that’s surprisingly affirming. Nice to hear.

“Does that really matter?” Ford rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just take a look, will you?”

“Very well,” the unicorn huffs, slowly and carefully unfolding herself and stepping over the water around her to approach. “My name is Celestabellebethabelle, last of my kind. Step forth, thee who believes himself worthy. But take your shoes off first, I won’t have you trailing mud into my enchanted grove!”

Fiddleford glances at Ford, who nods, shrugging one shoulder and sitting down to start unlacing his boots. Fiddleford plops down beside him and starts wrestling his own boots off. Once he’s left in his three layers of socks, he steps towards the unicorn, keeping a hand near the lasso on his hip.

Celestabellebethabelle lowers her head, leveling a sharp, glowing horn with Fiddleford’s chest. A red heart-shaped glow bleeds through his coat, and Fiddleford grimaces.

“A unicorn can see deep into your heart child, and yours has known evil! The depths of depravity within your very soul are sickening!” Celestabellebethabelle stomps her hoof, throwing her head back. She closes her eyes and pins her ears back into an equine grimace.

Depraved. He’s sure heard that one before, thought it about himself a thousand times over, but…

“You can see into my soul?”

“Heart and soul are functionally synonymous when it comes to a human’s moral failings! And you have failed! Morally!”

“But ya didn’t notice anything strange?”

Celestabellebethabelle’s ear twitches and she leans away, muzzle tense. She paws at the ground with one hoof.

“Beyond its utter corruption, no. You are not special!”

Huh. Never thought the tells of an antsy horse would be the same as one who’s lying. He mentally gives the Axolotl the go-ahead.

“Is that so?” The Axolotl says, and Fiddleford can tell they’re really putting on a show. The ends of his scarf float around his shoulders, hair fanning out around him beneath his hat. A faint pink glow lights up his half-lidded eyes, and a challenging smile tugs at his lips.

Celestabellebethabelle rears back, stumbling into the pool behind her. Water splashes around her hooves.

“What are you!?”

“I am the Axolotl, and you have insulted my vessel. We came here with a simple request which you have refused to heed. Reconsider or face the consequences of your insolence.”

“The Axolotl?” Celestabellebethabelle echoes, eyes wide and ears pinned back. “Nay, that’s impossible!”

“Does a unicorn not know to trust its eyes?” The Axolotl presses, taking a step forward. “Clearly your horn has told you nothing.”

“I— I see it now! How ever could I miss it!” she says quickly. “I mistook your presence for a smudge upon your vessel's soul! How foolish! Of course, you may take whatever you need, Great Axolotl!”

She makes no move to step forward, but she lowers her head and points her horn away.

“I see there is some wisdom in you yet,” the Axolotl huffs, and they gesture for Ford to step forward. He’s the one with the scissors, after all.

Ford seems downright dumbfounded, but he cracks a baffled smile and clears the distance between himself and Celestabellebethabelle. He cuts a chunk free of her mane, ignoring her pained whiney as he deposits it into a bag.

“Thank you, Lady Celestabellebethabelle,” the Axolotl says because they just can’t help but be polite. “Know that your good deed has not gone to waste.”

“Of course, Great Axolotl, thank you!” Celestabellebethabelle says, straightening up and shaking out her mane. The cut is ugly and stands out like a sore thumb, Fiddleford notes with amusement. “Is there anything else I can provide you with?”

“Nay, there is much else to do. Farewell.”

“Oh, but I have so many—!” Ford tries. He falls silent the moment the Axolotl places a hand on his shoulder. “Right. Maybe some other time.”

Celestabellebethabelle looks downright pained as she nods.

“Yes, any time at all. Any friend of the Great Axolotl is a friend of mine.”

Fiddleford is so glad the Axolotl is still in control, because if they weren’t he’d be on the floor, just hootin’ and hollerin’. As it is, they get their shoes back on and head out without further fuss.

As soon as the grove disappears back into the ground, the Axolotl relinquishes control and Fiddleford barks out a long, loud cackle that has him slapping his knees in delight. The sound startles Ford at first, until he joins in himself, throwing his head back and laughing louder than he’s heard from him in a long time. The Axolotl is clearly trying to seem above it all, but satisfaction and amusement are radiating off of them in equal parts.

“Her face!” Fiddleford gasps between peels of laughter. “Shoot, never reckoned I’d be able to catch a horse in a lie!”

“You were glorious! Both of you!” Ford lurches forward, grabbing Fiddleford into a tight hug around the waist and spinning him. Fiddleford’s cackling cuts off into breathy giggles as he braces himself against Ford’s shoulders. “That was incredible!”

“Well shucks, it was mostly Ax,” Fiddleford laughs once his feet are back on the ground.

“As I said, not all problems must be solved with violence,” the Axolotl says happily. “Now, I wish to return to our cabin. And perhaps have some more of that ‘hot cocoa’.”

Ford smiles warmly, taking one of their hands in his own.

“Yes, let’s go home,” Ford agrees, lacing their gloved fingers together and tugging them back towards the cabin.

The journey’s easier on the way back, partially because they can just step in the footprints they’ve already made and partially because they're still buzzing from their victory. They return to the cabin just as the sun begins to set, and Fiddleford, at the Axolotl’s request, starts making up some cocoa while Ford sets up the barrier.

He hums to himself as he whisks together milk, sugar, chocolate chips and cocoa powder, swaying his hips to the self-inflicted tune. He knows there’s more to be done and he’ll have to do it soon, but he’ll take his wins where he can get them, and this was one heck of a win.

The Axolotl suddenly shudders in Fiddleford’s head, sending a strange tingle down his spine.

“Ah,” they say distantly. “It is done.”

“The barrier?”

“Mm,” the Axolotl agrees.

“Shoot, I shoulda asked; is it gonna mess with us at all?”

“No, of course not. Unicorn hair specifically wards against beasts of malicious intent. I, of course, have no such intentions.”

Fiddleford nods and resumes his whisking, running that over in his head.

“Y’said Bill wasn’t fundamentally evil, but he’s got enough objective malicious intent for this barrier to work on him?”

He can feel the Axolotl’s glare.

“Just find that interestin’, is all,” Fiddleford says smugly.

He lifts the whisk out of the cocoa, and finds it clean of stray chunks of chocolate. He takes the pot off the stove, splashes in a bit of vanilla, and gives it one more quick stir before pouring it into two mugs. He’s topping both mugs with marshmallows by the time Ford enters the room, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“I finished the barrier,” Ford says uselessly, and Fiddleford presses one mug— the one with more marshmallows, the man has an insatiable sweet tooth— into his hands. His fingers are bright red and coated in dried glue.

“Did ya not wear your gloves?” Fiddleford asks as Ford hisses and adjusts his grip to hold onto the handle. He shakes the pain of sudden heat against frozen fingers from his other hand.

“It was delicate work, I couldn’t afford clumsy gloved fingers,” Ford defends, taking a seat at the table and holding his hands at just the right distance from the mug to keep them warm without burning.

Fiddleford sighs and shakes his head, but it’s about the response he was expecting.

“You won’t have to worry about fingers at all if you get ‘em frostbitten.”

“I know, I know, I don’t need you to lecture me,” Ford grumbles.

Fiddleford takes the seat across from him and wraps his hands around his mug. He only gets a moment of pleasant heat before the sensation suddenly changes; it’s still there, but muted from the Axolotl’s control. He doesn’t know much about axolotl behavioral thermoregulation, but it seems like even a godly one ain’t immune to heat-seeking.

“‘s what I’m here for,” Fiddleford jokes. “Just lecturin’ you and gettin’ your rear out of trouble.”

“And to think I was getting a research assistant,” Ford sighs, but his lips are turned up at the corners in poorly hidden amusement. “Instead I ended up with a nagging mother.”

“Someone’s gotta nag, don’t rightly know how you survived five-odd years without me,” Fiddleford says through laughter. “Lemme see that spell book.”

Ford pushes it across the table, a ribbon marking the correct page. Fiddleford flips it open.

True Possession by Intelligent Metaphysical Entities, the top of the page reads. It details the difference between true possession and biological puppeteering, disputes the reputability of many reported cases of demonic possession, insists upon the unreliability of religious exorcisms, and finally gets to the spell a few pages in, after several warnings that the Mindscape is an exceedingly personal and delicate location and that the following spell allows for direct confrontation with the possessing entity, but does not guarantee its expulsion.

After all that, a few stanzas of Latin, an ingredients list that only includes tallow candles, and instructions to recite the passage while in physical contact with the subject seems fairly underwhelming.

“Y’got tallow candles?” Fiddleford asks, looking up to cock an eyebrow at Ford. He’s holding the mug properly now, and has a mustache of chocolate and melted marshmallow above his mouth.

“Yes! I made them myself!” Ford says with a wide smile. “Well, the Corduroys provided the deer fat, but I did the rest.”

“Huh,” Fiddleford says.

Gone is the city boy who went pale at Fiddleford’s summary of hog butchering. Maybe. Depends on how much processing the Corduroys did themselves, but he’s impressed either way.

“Well, that works for me,” Fiddleford says. “Reckon we’re ready to get a move on as soon as we’re done here.”

“Yes, of course!” Ford says, quickly downing the rest of his cocoa. “I can… feel him. He’s very displeased.”

“Shoot,” Fiddleford says. He frowns down at the cocoa remaining in his mug, and stands to dump it out. He’s not one for wasting food, but it’s still too hot to chug and they need to get a move on. Who knows what Bill is getting up to, unsupervised in Ford’s delicate brain. “Where are we doing this?”

“My… study may be the best location. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep, so I’ll have to meditate to get in touch with him,” Ford says. “Maybe you should keep the rope. If he takes over, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re askin’ me to tie you up?” Fiddleford asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ford flushes, which is stupidly endearing and implies some things that Fiddleford refuses to think about right now. Or maybe ever. Probably ever.

“Yes.” Ford clears his throat, turning away. “For the sake of your own safety, I insist upon it.”

“Alright, get those candles and I’ll see ya there,” Fiddleford instructs.

He hasn’t taken the lasso off his belt, so that’ll do just fine. The rope is rougher than anything he’d (theoretically) use on a person he cared about, but he should be able to bind Ford over his clothes.

“Are you prepared for this?” the Axolotl asks, a bundle of nervous energy beside his own anxieties.

“You ‘n’ Ford don't have any better ideas and I sure as heck don’t either,” Fiddleford says firmly, telling himself as much as anyone else. “Doesn’t matter if I’m prepared, I’m gonna do as I gotta.”

“Perhaps we should delay. There is surely more research to be done.”

“I ain’t leavin’ that demon in his head a second longer than I gotta.”

The Axolotl curls, anxious and uncertain. Fiddleford half heartedly fishes for something reassuring to say, but nothing bites. Fiddleford retrieves the spell book, and they head down to Ford’s so-called study in silence.

He’s always found Ford’s whole triangle thing strange and unnerving, but knowing what he does now, the tapestries glaring down at him fill him with anger and anxiety, the kind of feeling a doe must get when a predator comes too close to her cornered fawn. He wants to tear down the tapestries, rip them apart in his hands and teeth and then burn it all to ash. He wants Bill dead and more than that he wants the fucker to suffer for what he’s done, what he threatens to do. The Axolotl is sure to kill whatever fragment of Bill has taken up residence in his best friend’s head quickly and painlessly, and the thought makes him sick with the injustice of it all. He deserves worse, all of him, he himself deserves to be torn apart and burnt to ash—

The thoughts cut off, anger dying like a suffocated flame.

“Calm yourself,” the Axolotl says sternly. “My role in this plan is pivotal and my agreement to play it is tenuous. It can be revoked.”

This plan won’t work without the Axolotl. All they’d have is a very angry fragment of a demon trapped within Ford’s head, and a Ford trapped within the cabin.

Stupidly, the first thing he worries about is Ford. Not even what would happen to him, what Bill would do to him if they stayed stuck here together, but what he’d think of Fiddleford if he failed here at the eleventh hour. He’d be so angry, so disappointed. He’s already failed Emma-May and Tate, he can’t fail Ford too, not anymore than he already has.

“You can’t do that, you know how important this is!” Fiddleford begs. In the absence of anger, all he feels is anxiety and desperation.

“I do,” the Axolotl says, “That is precisely why I cannot allow you to be compromised by emotion. We are doing what needs to be done for the protection of your dimension, not for the sake of your anger and lust for vengeance; vengeance at least partially motivated by events that have not yet come to pass, I might add.”

“Okay! Okay, I get it, I’m sorry!” Fiddleford pleads.

“Bill Cipher will be dealt with as I see fit,” the Axolotl continues, voice going gentle. “You have no say in the matter.”

As they see fit. What if they don’t kill him at all? Fiddleford is placing a lot of trust into a being he still doesn't really understand.

And yet, the anxiety is draining too. He doesn’t know if it’s the Axolotl or the exhaustion that’s leaving him hollow.

“When we enter the Mindscape of Stanford Pines, you will follow my lead.”

“Yessir,” Fiddleford agrees distantly.

“Good,” the Axolotl says, and their presence settles back into what Fiddleford is used to.

He thinks about what Ford said, about finding a way to get the Axolotl out of his head, and then immediately tries to think about anything else. When all else fails, he starts reciting the digits of pi out loud to himself.

“…two eight four one,” Ford joins in as soon as the elevator doors slide open. He was so caught up in counting loud enough to drown out his own thoughts that he didn’t hear it move.

“Stanford! Hey,” Fiddleford turns to face him, maybe a bit more enthusiastic than this sorta situation calls for. Ford is standing just outside the elevator, arms full of mason jar candles and face full of confusion. Fiddleford ignores the latter. “Here, lemme help.”

He takes some of the more precarious candles off the top and starts setting them around the circular carpet bearing Bill’s face. He hates that he’s out there somewhere, watching all of this. Even once they get rid of him, he’ll still be able to watch.

“Not within the cabin,” the Axolotl reassures. “The barrier will sever the transdimensional optic nerve, as it were.”

I'm gonna burn and smash and destroy every idol bearing his stupid face anyway, once all this is over, Fiddleford thinks before he can stop himself, but the Axolotl has no objections.

“It is a fairly healthy outlet for your aggressions, I suppose.”

Oh, so I’m allowed to have outlets now, am I? Why don’t you just get rid of all that aggression nonsense yourself? Clearly you're capable of it.

Fiddleford can’t stop the thought before it comes. He can feel the surge of something from the Axolotl, but he’s turning back to Ford and talking before they can say anything.

“How ‘bout you set out those candles and take a seat?”

“Fiddleford McGucket, I am doing what is necessary to keep you and Stanford Pines safe while minimizing collateral damage,” the Axolotl says anyway, talking over him.

“Yes, of course, do you have a lighter?” Ford says at the same time.

“I am not suppressing your emotions out of spite, it is done for your own protection,” the Axolotl continues. “I do not mean to compromise your autonomy.”

The two voices collide and all that reaches Fiddleford is a meaningless buzz.

“Perhaps we should discuss our relationship further. I do not often have a vessel. In fact, this is my first time cohabitating a human body.”

“Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford squeezes his eyes shut, like the lack of vision will help him process all the overlapping sounds.

“Does it bother you when I suppress your anxiety?” The Axolotl asks. “I do not understand why you would want to experience such negative emotions. I do not like them.”

Fiddleford whines. He can barely even hear it over—

“Fiddleford!”

Something touches his shoulders. Fiddleford freezes, opening his eyes.

Ford is standing in front of him, his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders. One of his thumbs rubs over Fiddleford’s collar bone. His brows are furrowed.

Angry. He’s angry, Fiddleford thinks, finally able to hear his own thoughts again. The Axolotl is blessedly quiet.

“Are you okay?” Ford asks, tilting his head.

Not angry?

“Huh?” Fiddleford mumbles before he can stop himself.

“You seemed upset,” Ford says, and it must have been bad if he noticed. “I’d prefer if it didn’t, but this can wait if something’s the matter with you.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Fiddleford says, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be better once we get this over with.”

Ford squints at him, the same way he does a particularly troublesome equation.

“Alright. I’m trusting you,” Ford says, releasing his shoulders and sitting down in the center of the circle of candles.

He’s trusting you. Don’t mess this up.

“You will not, and neither shall I,” the Axolotl says, voice soft now. “I will see that you both remain safe.”

Fiddleford takes another breath, shakes his head clear, and unclips the lasso from his belt. He unties the loop, and takes in the way Ford’s sitting. He has his feet pressed together, hands folded in his lap with his thumb and forefingers forming a triangle. Fiddleford has to fight not to roll his eyes.

“Alrighty, tell me if anything hurts,” Fiddleford says, kneeling in front of him.

He lays the rope down beneath his legs, and ties either end three times around his ankles. He wraps the ends of the rope around the bridge between them, and then ties them both around the center. From there, it’s not far to his wrists, which he binds together in a similar manner, all over the cuffs of his sweater. He ties them off, and leans back to survey his handiwork.

Ford does the same, testing the range of movement. He can move his legs and arms around, but can’t draw them more than maybe a foot away from each other. It’s not especially restrictive, but it’s enough to reassure both of them. Ford looks up at Fiddleford with a tight smile.

“This works. You’ll need to light the candles,” he instructs, settling back into place.

Ford had asked about a lighter earlier, Fiddleford suddenly remembers. Good thing he keeps one on him, even if he’s mostly traded cigarettes for chewing tobacco.

He goes around the circle, lighting each candle. Ford turns his head to watch as best he can, and once it’s done, Fiddleford sits in front of him once again.

“If I… if he tries to hurt you, if you even think he might, do whatever you deem necessary to keep yourself safe,” Ford tells him, dead serious.

“I will,” Fiddleford promises, and it’s mostly true. He reckons Ford is fixing for a beat-down, but there’s no real need for that when the Axolotl is with him.

“Okay… okay. Good luck.” Ford says, and he seems to consider saying something more before he lands on, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford breathes. “See you soon, hun.”

Ford closes his eyes, and folds his bound hands in his lap. He takes a measured breath in, then out, and then holds on the exhale. Fiddleford isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for, but he feels the shift like a cold gust of wind rolling through the room.

“Now,” the Axolotl instructs.

Fiddleford nods determinedly, and reaches out to put a hand on Ford’s head. Before he can reach, Ford’s body jerks, and two bright yellow eyes flash open. His arms jerk against the ties.

“Well well well well well! If it isn’t my least favorite hick and his brand new pet!” Bill spits, tugging against the rope.. “Loving this! I didn’t think you had it in you, Specs!”

He continues to struggle, but it doesn’t do much.

Is this gonna work if he’s up and at ‘em like this?

“I shall meet you in the Mindscape. Do not delay.”

Right. That works. Fiddleford’s vision goes pink as the Axolotl pulls itself out of his head. He only catches a glimpse of their finned tail before—

“Wait, no, not again—“

— they disappear into Ford.

Fiddleford feels off-balance for a moment, like a noise he’d long gotten used to tuning out suddenly went quiet. It’s unnerving how hollow he feels, aching around the empty spot the Axolotl used to occupy. He tells himself the absence is a relief, it only hurts because the Axolotl carved out a space for itself.

How long can we be apart? Fiddleford wonders. His hand twitches at his side. If I’m fast, I could get the memory gun and—

And what? Tear himself away from the Axolotl until both of them are torn apart? Maybe the memory gun could sever the link between them, but that’s a baseless assumption and he can’t risk getting it wrong, especially right now with Ford on the line.

Forget about them. No, literally, forget about them! It would be so easy!

Fiddleford grabs the spell book and sets it in his lap.

This is your chance! Bill, Ford, the portal, the Axolotl, you can be free of all of it!

Have his thoughts always been so loud?

They’ll be fine without you, and who even cares if they aren’t? You sure won’t, once you forget all about them! Wouldn’t it be nice not to care for once? Just leave! You’re good at that!

Fiddleford blinks hard and tries to focus on the page.

You already left your wife and child! Why not leave him too? Let him clean up his own mess for once.

His disconnected thoughts aren’t making it any easier. Maybe the Axolotl was doing more for him than he thought.

Fiddleford shakes his head and reaches out to press a hand against Ford’s forehead. His skin is warm beneath his touch. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and once he opens them again, he begins to read.

“Videntus Omnium,” Fiddleford recites, words clunky in his mouth. He’s starting to regret not taking Latin with Ford, but he didn’t exactly see this in his future when he was picking out classes. “Magister Mentium, Magnesium Ad Hominem, Magnum Opus, Habeus Corpus, Inceptus Nolanus Overratus!”

The light from the candles turns to a cold white, before lighting up blue. It's bright enough that Fiddleford has to squint to read the last three lines.

“Magister Mentium, Magister Mentium, Magister Mentium!”

The world shifts yet again, the floor dropping out from under him. When Fiddleford opens his eyes, he finds himself floating in a blue, starlit void. Graphs and equations and diagrams are written in the stars, shifting and swirling and fading in and out of view. There’s a wall of books and loose paper in front of him, spinning and soaring as if caught up in a storm.

“There you are,” the Axolotl says, emerging from the paper storm. An open book lays in their hand (paw?), and he can hear Ford’s voice from the pages.

Unlike Fiddleford, they seem completely at ease with their surreal environment and the lack of gravity. They’re a mosaic of pink nebulas, gills so full of stars they’re hard to look directly at. Bright eyes blink down at him, and their wide mouth curves into a gentle smile. Their face is about the size of his torso, and a long amphibious body curls loosely around him.

“Here I am,” Fiddleford agrees, reaching out to pat their snout. Their skin is cold and smooth and solid beneath his hand, and their eyes squint up happily at the touch. “Whatcha got there?”

“A memory!” the Axolotl says with a toothless grin. “Look at Stanford Pines! He is so small… and there’s two of him!”

Fiddleford can’t resist; he lets the Axolotl pull him into their side to point at the page with a starlit finger.

A tiny Ford— can’t be older than ten— is kneeling in the middle of the sidewalk, one hand braced against the ground. Fiddleford has to squint to see what he’s looking at, but he’s not surprised by what he finds; it’s a caterpillar, something fluffy and orange-brown striped with black.

“Stanley! Stanley, come look!” Ford calls, and a tiny copy of Ford comes running down the sidewalk, draping himself over his brother’s back.

So that’s Stanley, Ford’s mysterious twin. The one he’d only mentioned a handful of times across all the years he’s known the man, and only ever by accident. He was half-expecting devil horns and a little arrow-tipped tail.

“Ew!” Stanley crows, sounding utterly delighted. “Who lost an eyebrow?”

“Who has striped eyebrows like that?” Ford giggles, wiggling to get Stanley off of him, to no avail.

“Someone really cool! Or stupid-looking,” Stanley says. “So, if it’s not an eyebrow, what is it?”

“It’s a wooly bear caterpillar!” Ford says, leaning back and finally forcing Stan off of him.

He cups his hands around the bug until it crawls unwittingly into his palm. As soon as its round little body leaves the sidewalk, Ford picks it up and spins around to show his brother up close. Stanley squeaks with delight, poking at it with his finger.

“It’s not very soft,” Stanley pouts, running his finger gently through the hairs.

“Of course not! It’s covered in, um… setae! Not fur!”

Ford and Stanley continue to talk and poke at the caterpillar, voices high with youth.

“Why have we never met Stanley Pines?” the Axolotl asks, running a finger along the moving face of Ford’s twin on the pages.

“They had a fallin’ out,” Fiddleford explains. “Ford hasn’t talked to him in somethin’ ‘round ten years now.”

The Axolotl frowns, flipping through the book and landing on another page.

Ford and Stanley are only maybe a few months older now, and Ford is perched upon Stanley’s shoulders, tiny six-fingered hands reaching for a jar on top of a shelf above the kitchen counter. Stanley wobbles a little under his brother’s weight, and Ford’s clumsy hands grab onto the jar.

“I got it!” Ford cheers, and as soon as he moves to pull the jar off the shelf, it slips from his hands. “Ah!”

It hits the counter hand, ceramic cracking. Stanley flinches away, and the change in center has both of them losing their balance. The twins hit the floor at the same time as the jar, which shatters across the tiles, revealing sugar-covered bow-shaped cookies.

“Oh no,” they both say at once, sitting up to survey the destruction. They both flinch as they hear heeled footsteps rush into the kitchen.

“Stanley! Stanford, what—!?” Their Ma stops in the doorway, quickly taking in the scene with sharp, dark eyes.

She shifts her weight over one hip and rests her hand on it, sighing deeply.

“… hi, Ma,” Stanley says, faux casual.

“Hi, Ma,” Stanford echoes, sounding like he’s about to start crying.

Ma Pines keeps a hand on her hip, glaring down at her sons.

“It was my idea!” Stanley starts.

“I was the one who dropped it!” Ford says at the same time.

A beat of silence.

“Yeah, it was him!”

“No, it was Stanley!”

“Hey!”

“You started it!”

“Well, it was—“

“Boys,” Ma Pines interrupts, not loud but in that Mom Voice that shuts your mouth anyway.

They both go quiet and stop their tussling.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“No…”

“Good,” she closes the distance between them, and flicks their foreheads with fingers tipped with neat red nails. “Now get some shoes on and clean this up before your Pa comes up.”

“Yes, Ma!” they say together, stumbling over each other to get their shoes.

“I do not understand,” the Axolotl says, starry eyes troubled. “They seemed so… close.”

“Things change,” Fiddleford says, but seeing them together does make his heart ache something awful. He should call his sisters, once they get out of here.

“But…” the Axolotl releases the book— it floats over to the whirling storm beside them— and grabs another. It has the same burgundy cover, but it’s not quite as worn. They open it to a random page.

An older Stanford Pines, high school age if Fiddleford had to guess, sits on the floor of what looks like a storage closet, his back up against the door. There’s a bruise blooming across his baby-fat cheek, visible in the dim light bleeding through the door. He’s holding a pair of glasses in his hands; the bridge is snapped and one of the lenses is cracked. He keeps pressing the broken edges of the bridge together, as if hoping that it’ll stick if he just tries one more time.

Footsteps echo from down the hall, pausing outside the door. Ford tenses.

“Sixer! Hey, you in there?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

“Yea—“ Ford’s voice cracks weakly. He turns around to face the door, rattling the knob uselessly. “Yeah! Stanley, they locked the door! Get me out of here!”

“I gotcha, Six, don’t worry!” the voice replies.

The lock clicks, and the door slams open. Stanley stands on the other side, grinning down at his brother like an acne-ridden angel, lit by the buzzing hallway lights above him. The grin drops as soon as he gets a look at his twin.

“Yeesh! They really got you good, huh?” Stanley holds out a hand, and Ford takes it.

“So they did,” Ford agrees. His voice is nasally from his swollen nose, but it doesn’t look broken.

“Who was it this time?” Stanley asks, and there’s an edge to his voice. As an older brother himself, it’s one Fiddleford recognizes, even though Ford insists Stanley is the younger twin by all of 15 minutes.

“Jackson,” Ford grits out.

“Fuckin’ Jackson,” Stanley agrees. “But hey, you gave as good as you got, right?”

Ford curls in on himself, ears flushing.

“Are you kidding? He wiped the floor with me. Literally, look!”

Ford turns, revealing how dirty the back of his shirt is. Stanley plucks a gum wrapper off his shoulder and returns it to its rightful place on the floor.

“Nah, I mean, you broke your glasses,” Stanley says, gesturing at Ford’s hands. He’s still holding his broken glasses. “Pa’s gonna be pissed. So, you gave as good as you got, right?”

Ford looks down at his glasses, wide-eyed.

“I’m a terrible liar, Stanley,” Ford says like a man walking to his own grave.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re gonna let me do the talkin’, got it?” Stanley jabs a thumb at his own chest with a confident grin. Ford tries to mirror his smile, but it ends up more like a strained grimace.

“You’ll be fine, Poindexter. You’re worth buying new glasses for.”

Stanley pulls Ford into him with an arm around his shoulder, grinding his knuckles into the top of his head to emphasize the point. Ford winces as his hand brushes a bruise, but laughs a little anyway.

The Axolotl frowns, and flips to another page.

A high school Stanley, just a bit older, is sitting on the closed toilet in their bathroom, wincing as Ford dabs blood from a cut over his cheekbone. The cut itself is pretty superficial, far as Fiddleford can tell, but there’s a nasty bruise surrounding it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ford says in that angry way he does when he’s real upset.

“Do what? Walk into a doorway?” Stanley asks, voice tinged with amusement.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Ford snaps, and Stanley yelps as he jabs at the wound with a bit more force than necessary. “I know what Pa’s rings look like.”

Stanley’s eyes widen, then narrow.

“So what?” Stanley grumbles.

Ford looks pained, which is to say he looks angry in a way Fiddleford has learned to read as pained.

“… you shouldn’t provoke him. If you just applied yourself—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Stanley cut in, and he smacks Ford’s hand away and stands up, skulking out of the bathroom.

“… Pa? Stanley’s father did that to him?” the Axolotl breathes, terrified. “I am no expert on human familial dynamics, but the father is supposed to provide, nurture, and protect their young, are they not?”

Fiddleford folds his arms around himself, stomach twisting at the question. Is he doing any of those things for Tate, while he’s here in his best friend’s head, trying to—

“Wait, what the heck are we doing here!? We gotta find Bill!” Fiddleford yelps, smacking the book out of the Axolotl’s paw and turning to face them.

The Axolotl follows the trajectory of the book with their starry eyes, and then doesn’t stop staring at just about anything that ain’t Fiddleford.

“Ax,” Fiddleford says, placing a hand on his hip and glaring down at the massive salamander as best he can as a human of average size.

The Axolotl looks at him, shifting away slightly.

“I see what Stanford Pines meant when he compared you to a mother,” the Axolotl says.

Fiddleford almost laughs as he realizes he’s doing the same thing Ford’s Ma did to put the pressure on her kids, except he’s real unhappy with the Axolotl right now and isn't about to give them the satisfaction. Just as Ma Pines did, he simply raises an eyebrow.

“I just want to understand what happened between Stanford and Stanley Pines! Things seemed more tense in that memory, but they were still looking out for each other!”

“And how is any of that any of our business right now?” Fiddleford shoots back.

“I want to help! You care so deeply for Stanford Pines, surely you understand my desire to do what is best for him—“

“I reckon what’s best for him right now is getting that damned demon outta his head!” Fiddleford interrupts. “Focus, Ax!”

“But—“

“Uh-uh, I see what’s happenin’ here,” Fiddleford continues. “I know y’aint happy with this, but it’s gotta get done. I said I’d follow your lead in here, but I ain’t gonna sit around while that demon does god only knows what!”

“He is simply gathering memories,” the Axolotl says, gesturing over at the swirling storm of books. “It’s harmless.”

“Harmless!? Who knows what he’s doing with ‘em!”

“Ah, so now you are worried about erasing and altering memories?” the Axolotl grumbles, sounding like a petulant kid. Fiddleford nearly gapes at the unexpected combination of tone and words.

“The Axolotl!” Fiddleford scolds, which doesn’t hit quite like a full name, but the Axolotl jolts to attention all the same. He claps his hands together in front of their snout. “Focus! Please, we gotta get this done!”

“I know!” the Axolotl sighs. “I know. I apologize. Come, it shall be done.”

The Axolotl swims beneath him with a fluid flick of their tail, and comes up between his legs. He squawks, tumbling forward to wrap his arms around their neck. As soon as he’s settled, or maybe a bit prematurely, the Axolotl is tucking their arms into their sides and diving into the storm of books. They move a whole lot faster than one would expect from such a big and frankly chubby animal, but Fiddleford reckons they are a god moving through space, so he doesn’t really have much of a frame of reference.

The storm around them is a cacophony of fragments of voices and turning pages. Fiddleford has to hunker down close to the Axolotl’s neck to avoid paper cuts or being knocked clean off the thing by an errant book. Even still, he feels rode hard by the time they enter the eye of the storm.

Fiddleford opens his eyes and adjusts his glasses just in time to watch Bill Cipher turn to face them. Somehow, his single eye gives the impression of a manic grin. He’s sitting on a throne of golden books, ash and cyan cinders floating around him like a hovering swarm of bugs.

“Oh, look who finally showed up!” Bill tosses the book in his hand at Fiddleford, and the Axolotl swats it away before it can reach them. “I’m having a lot of fun looking through some of these! Kinda embarrassing how oblivious poor Sixer is, though!”

“Oblivious to what?” The Axolotl says, looking around with open curiosity.

“Specs over there was all but confessing his undying love for him, and he didn’t even notice!” Bill laughs, pulling another book from the storm. “You could have been so much more obedient if he had! I know all about how to string along someone who’s so utterly head-over-heels obsessed!”

The implications make him sick in a way Fiddleford tells himself has nothing to do with envy.

“Bill Cipher, what exactly are you attempting to accomplish here?” the Axolotl asks, gentle but firm.

A book drifts into Bill’s hand— green, cloth-bound cover, Fiddleford can’t make out the words on the spine— and he snaps the fingers of the other. A bright blue flame lights in his open palm.

“Well, I’m looking for Sixer’s memory of my confession; might have blown it a bit too soon, and now he’s being a real pain in the hypotenuse about it!” Bill brings the flame over towards the book, holding it just below the spine. “But, I figured I’d cause a little chaos along the way! After all, this is all his fault!”

The book lights up with blue flames, destroyed before either of them can stop it.

“Bill Cipher, cease this behavior at once!” the Axolotl scolds, lunging at him.

Bill’s body flushes red as he suddenly doubles, triples, quadruples in size until he’s something large enough to grab the Axolotl out of the air like a child’s toy.

“You need not act this way,” the Axolotl insists, flashing with bright light. The storm scatters around them, and Bill hisses as he pulls his hands back. As Fiddleford’s vision clears, he sees the Axolotl has grown to match Bill’s size, and is coiled loosely around him. “We can negotiate—“

“No way! We are not talking this out, Frills!” Bill snaps, bright blue flames consuming his hands. He aims a punch at the Axolotl’s side, but they easily twist away from the blow. “You trapped me here! This is even worse than that dying dimension the rest of me is stuck in!”

“I understand how it feels to be an isolated fragment of—“

“You don’t understand anything!” Bill shouts, voice piercing. “Everything is falling apart! I need this!”

“I will not allow you to destroy this dimension!” The Axolotl insists, growing larger, coiling tighter. “Please, Bill Cipher, I do not wish to destroy you!”

“Then don’t!” Bill says, and as a punch lands and fizzles uselessly against the Axolotl’s skin, it sounds more like a plea than a threat. “You don’t need this stupid dimension! I’ve destroyed worlds before, what’s one more!?”

The Axolotl flinches at his words more than they had at any of his attacks.

“… I will not allow you to destroy another. I truly am sorry it has to be this way, Bill Cipher.”

The red bricks and blue flames are almost entirely lost among the pink, starlit coils of the Axolotl’s body.

“It doesn’t have to be this way! I can be good! I’ll even help you fix those memories I got rid of! You don’t want Sixer to forget all about your precious meatsack, do you!?” Bill cries, fast and desperate now. “I can fix this! Just let me go and let me in!”

The Axolotl says nothing. The muscles of their body flex, stars flashing in blinding brightness. Once his vision clears, the Axolotl is curled around nothing but shattered yellow fragments floating in the empty space Bill once occupied.

Without Bill’s shrill voice or the storm of books, Ford’s Mindscape is chillingly quiet. Bill’s throne of yellow tomes sits empty, and the ashes have settled around it.

The ashes of Ford’s memories of him, Fiddleford realizes. Maybe there’s more books that Bill hadn’t gotten around to destroying yet, but Fiddleford can’t see any that match the green one in his arms.

Backupsmore Univeristy, Freshman Year, Autumn, the title says in Ford’s clean cursive. As Fiddleford opens it up, he sees the early months of their tentative friendship playing out across the pages. If these are the only memories Ford has of him, they’re barely more than acquaintances.

Ford was never mean to him, not really, but he was distant, guarded. Still the same excitable genius underneath it all, but clearly unsure of what to make of the stranger he now lives with. It took him a long while to open up, and even longer for a proper friendship to form.

Fiddleford doesn’t want to start over. He doesn’t know if he can.

“Fiddleford,” the Axolotl says, grabbing his attention.

They’ve shrunken back into a more approachable size; small enough to fit in Fiddleford’s two hands, and looking even smaller with the way they’re curled in on themself. It’s clear to see how upset they are, even if their face isn’t quite made for showing human emotions.

“Ax,” Fiddleford says, pushing his own anxieties aside as he gathers the little axolotl into his hands, pulling them against his chest. “Oh honey, c’mere.”

They curl into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I know that wasn’t easy, but it’s done. Thank you, Ax. You saved us.”

He’s got some words for them later, perhaps, about all the time they killed and how much damage that might have done, but now clearly isn’t the time. For now, Fiddleford coos and holds them tight, even as he starts losing feeling in his hands and toes. As he looks down, he sees them fading away, and nearly panics before the Axolotl reluctantly pulls their head out of his neck and meets his eyes.

“Do not fret. Stanford Pines is waking, so you are as well. Everything shall return to normal soon.”

“Okay,” Fiddleford says, sufficiently reassured, and the last thing he does in the Mindscape is press a gentle kiss against the Axolotl’s forehead.

Returning to his body is a little disorienting, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to make sense of it when Ford suddenly shouts and rears back. He clearly wasn’t expecting to be tied up, so he falls over onto his back and fights against the ropes binding his hands to his legs. When that doesn’t work, he curls up defensively and glares at Fiddleford with a painful lack of recognition.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Ford shouts, hiding panic behind anger, same as he ever did.

Fiddleford reaches for the easy comfort of the Axolotl, but gets nothing in return. He can feel their presence, but they don’t say anything, don’t ease the growing anxiety he feels.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford says weakly. He swallows. “Do you remember me?”

Ford squints at him, and Fiddleford feels a spark of hope when he sees the recognition in his eyes.

“What was it… Mc… McGucket! We were roommates freshman year…” this doesn’t seem to comfort him, as the suspicion on his face only grows. “You won’t be getting anything from me, scoundrel!”

“I don’t want nothin’ for you,” Fiddleford says, reaching out to undo the knots. Ford flinches, so he pulls his hand back.

“Double negative,” Ford grumbles. “I don’t want anything from you, is what you should say. I want nothing from you, perhaps.”

Ouch. Ford had stopped correcting his grammar after a particularly impassioned rant from Fiddleford about people misjudging his intelligence because of his accent. Hearing him do that again hurts just as bad as the distrust in his eyes.

“Right,” Fiddleford says faintly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I… I was…” Ford’s eyes go wide and scared. “Bill! No, release me! Bill, release me at once!”

He starts squirming again, and Fiddleford thanks the Lord that the candles have gone out. Still, as he knocks one over and the mason jar cracks, Fiddleford shoots out to grab him. Ford yelps in fear, and Fiddleford freezes.

“Look, Ford, y’think I’m possessed, right? Look into my eyes! I’m okay, it’s just me.”

Ford looks, and relaxes just a little when he sees the round pupils. Still, the suspicion on his face ain’t going anywhere.

“Just you,” Ford scoffs. “Just the college roommate I haven’t seen in almost 10 years, who now has me tied up in my own home!”

So their first few months together really are all he remembers. Fiddleford closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Despite his best efforts, they’re still a little wet when he opens them.

“Ford, what happened after you talked to Bill?”

“I woke up, and I…” Ford’s brows furrow. “I needed to find a way to protect myself and the portal from Bill.”

“So what did you decide to do?”

Ford is silent for a long, long time.

“I… I must have meant to construct a barrier, but I don’t know how I would procure unicorn hair.”

“Y’didn’t have to. I got it for you, with the help of the Axolotl,” Fiddleford explains gently, holding out his hands.

“What’s an axolotl?”

A pang of hurt. He doesn’t know if it’s his or the Axolotl’s.

“It’s a species of salamander. Neotenic, still fully aquatic as an adult, gills and everything,” Fiddleford says, same as he did when he first brought Frilliam home. “They can regenerate their limbs.”

And this one can regenerate their host after he dies a few times, Fiddleford thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

Ford lights up a bit, same way he always does when he learns something new, but Fiddleford can clearly see him put his guard right back up.

“I don’t see how such a creature helped you gather unicorn hair. They only—“

“They only talk to maidens of pure heart, I know. The thing is, The Axolotl is some sorta god that scared Celestabellebethabelle straight. They helped us out.”

Ford very clearly doesn’t seem to believe him, which Fiddleford supposes is fair enough.

“Look, you can go check the barrier and see for yourself if you let me untie you.”

“Why did you tie me up in the first place? You claim to have the favor of some manner of god, and yet you break into my home in an attempt to steal my inventions?”

“I don’t give a flyin’ fart about your damn inventions, Stanford,” Fiddleford scoffs, and this time when he reaches for Ford, he doesn’t pull away. Fiddleford starts untying the knots as quickly as he can without pulling the loops any tighter.

“Then why…?”

“We got Bill outta your head. You were worried about him possessing you and hurting me again, so you asked me to tie you up.”

“You… you got him out?” Ford rubs his wrists now that his hands are free. “How?”

“The Axolotl killed him,” Fiddleford says. “Now they’re sulking about it, or I’d reintroduce you.”

“Reintroduce?”

“You met ‘em pretty soon after I did,” Fiddleford says, freeing one of Ford’s ankles. “They were possessing me and you all but interviewed them.”

For his journal. He’d have everything about the Axolotl in his journal! He might have even written some stuff about Fiddleford, at least about his involvement in the project! Maybe if he saw what he wrote, he’d remember that they knew each other as more than roommates at least.

“C’mon, let’s go check your journal!” Fiddleford says, tugging Ford to his feet as soon as they’re free.

“My journals!?” Ford snaps. “You’ve seen my journals!?”

“Well, not much of them, but I know you have them. And I’m sure you’ve written about me!”

“Why would I write about you?” Ford scoffs, but he stands up and follows Fiddleford to the elevator. “The only anomalous thing about you is your ridiculous name.”

“I told you about the god possessing me and you— Y’know what, forget it,” Fiddleford huffs. “You’ll see. We’re friends! You called me up here t’help with the portal.”

“You know about the portal!?” Ford yanks his hand out of Fiddleford’s grip.

“I helped make it,” Fiddleford says, rolling his eyes. They both step into the elevator, but Ford presses himself against the opposite wall and keeps on glaring.

“Like I’d need the help of some— some second rate country hick!”

Fiddleford winces. Yep, that’s a bruise that still doesn’t care to be poked at. Hurts a lot worse from Ford than it did from Bill. Ouch.

“I’ll let that one slide b’cause you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Fiddleford permits. “Warnin’ ya now, you’re gonna feel like a real jerk when you remember.”

Ford scoffs, but doesn’t reply.

The elevator chimes as they reach the base floor, and Ford stubbornly waits for Fiddleford to step out first. He rolls his eyes but does so, and starts heading for the kitchen before Ford can stop him.

“I’d like to check the barrier first,” Ford says, and Fiddleford nods.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Fiddleford says, waving him off. Ford sighs sharply.

“Come with me. I don’t know you and I don’t want you unsupervised in my house.”

Ow. Understandable given the circumstances, but ow.

“You do know me, but fair enough I s’pose.”

Fiddleford follows Ford towards the front door. Ford opens it, and once again pauses to let Fiddleford through first. It’s annoying, but he steps through—

Only for the door to slam behind him, followed by the click of the locks. Fiddleford whips around and pounds on the door.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, let me in this instant!” Fiddleford shouts. There’s no response on the other side. “Ford! C’mon! Check your journal! You know me!”

Nothing. The Axolotl stirs.

“C’mon, it’s still snowy! I don’t got shoes on, you jerk! Imma freeze my darn toes off!”

…

“Shoot,” Fiddleford says, leaning his head against the door in defeat.

“He shall see the journal and remember you in due time. For now, we must get somewhere warm,” the Axolotl reassures, their voice just a wind whisper in his head.

“Course, just ignore me until you’re uncomfortable,” Fiddleford grumbles, but he turns away from the house all the same. “Coulda used your support back there.”

No response from the Axolotl. Fiddleford shivers. He won’t be able to go far on socked foot, but his keys are still inside. Besides, it’s always a fight to get his poor old beater up and running in the cold. He could hotwire her, but he’s not sure where he’d go without a wallet or nothing in town.

He sighs sharply, warm breath puffing out in a cloud in front of him, and heads for the bunker.

#axolotls acolyte au #silver scribe (writing tag)

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rinsskies · 2 months ago

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Random GF AU thought.

Bill but he's

1) Neutral but still chaotic (he went to the theraprism before meeting Ford, thanks @fazfuri for that idea, though it wasn't quite when he was a child, and he still gets up to shenanigans... just less world-endy ones and more "Let's see how many times we can flip Dipper's birthmark around before he notices" (he does put it back))

2) Nowhere near his timeline for reasons unknown to most (except ofc those he trusts - which isn't many! He doesn't tend to stay in one place for too long! - or those who figure out he's looking something.)

So what I was thinking is basically, he's looking for something, or someone, that belongs to his timeline but went missing.

Notes

He doesn't really have a name he calls himself, but will answer to whatever name others give him unless he hates it. Yes this means other Bills can give him names. No this does not mean he is 100% going to respond to those names.

If he is in a timeline, he will actively AVOID interfering with it. To the point of correcting anything he does that affects it. This... can sometimes have unintended consequences, like him getting trapped for a period of time, sometimes even needing help to get out of whatever space he's been trapped inside.

Is aware of Deity!Bill. (At least, the Timeline that interacts with the multiverse) Does not want to upset or cause trouble for Deity!Bill. May have met him? Respects him, and any other Morally Good or Neutral Bills.

Respects all Axolotls

Doesn't trust easily, but is aware that he may have tabs kept on him for his travels in case something goes wrong.

Has been traveling long enough that he can tell when something he has done has caused a change in the timeline. Can also tell if a timeline has been tampered with previously or is actively being tampered with. "Is what you're doing really worth it?"

Usually can be spotted inbetween, almost always in a human form. "It's so exhausting to keep that form up, is something wrong with me?"

Often looks exhausted and weary.

No eyeliner or mascara unless someone gives him some.

Minimal power usage. Floating only when necessary. No illusions or mind tricks, those are saved for his timeline.

If another were to gain his trust, they would see the silly side he left in his timeline. Jokes, general bullshittery, and potentially even the chipping triangle form he hides behind a fleshy human facade. It is not easy to do so, however.

Triangle Form (or his original form) is chipping away at the corners, and his exoskeleton is frailer then it should be, thin. He avoids revealing this form when he can, and hides when he can't avoid it. "You know how bad it is when a dream 'demon' has to sleep? When they're so exhausted they pass out?"

There's three main potential paths (with many, many subpaths) this can go for him.

He ends up causing himself to disintegrate, never finding who he's looking for and just "vanishing," at least in the eyes of anyone who's met him. (This could, if he befriends another Bill or Ford who figures out that the crumbling triangle form is directly caused by overuse of his human form, be averted and lead to a recovery and then to the other two options but in proper triangle form.)

Find his way home, but not who he's looking for, and be forced to give up by those in his timeline

Find his timeline's Dipper and get the child back home... though Dipper would be more of a teenager by that point.

Anyway, this was just a little goofy thing I wanted to introduce into the Gravity Falls multiverse because @fazfuri's au has been spinning in my brain since I saw the animatic. No proper organized storyline yet. And I'm. Not good at art. But yeah.

#gravity falls au #gravity falls related #gravity falls #bill cipher #what do I name this version of the triangle bastard #Wanderer?

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ask-spider-punk-13666 · 8 months ago

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Bloodletting

Continued from here Wordcount: ~900 CW: internalized homophobia, references to period-typical homophobia, slurs used for self-identification

⛧ ────── ⟨ ⚛ ⟩ ────── ⛧

Tommy wipes his palms on his pant legs for the fourth time in as many minutes, gritting his teeth in frustration. Why is this so hard? Either she'll take it well, or she won't, but not knowing is worse, and he's never going to know anything if he just keeps sitting here without saying it.

"Gwyn, there's something I need to tell you," he says. He can't look at her, though, so he stares at his shoes instead. The sole is starting to come loose, but he can't afford a new pair.

"Of course, babe. You can tell me anything."

Tommy doesn't wince at the endearment, too used to Gwyn's casual affection, but it chafes at him, somewhere deep below the surface.

"I'm not who you think I am. I've been lying to you, to my Uncle, to everyone, and I'm tired. I can't keep hiding from you, Gwyn. You're my best friend," he says, hating how his voice is getting tight, or how he keeps babbling instead of getting to the fucking point.

"Tommy..." she says gently, mattress sinking when she sits down next to him. "It's okay. I already know."

...what?

Tommy’s blood runs cold. Had he been so obvious, even before he figured it out for himself? His thoughts are racing, wondering if she’d noticed how focused he’d been when they watched John Travolta prance around a Ford De Luxe on movie night, or maybe she’d seen how his eyes had lingered a little too long when Harry Osborn climbed the rope in gym class. Have other people noticed? How long until he stopped knowing even a minute of peace? Until even the adults who tolerated him left him for the wolves? What about his uncle?

"What? What do you mean, 'you know?'"

"The lying, the missed practices, the bruises. You're Spider-Punk. I've known for a while."

Yeah, Tommy definitely missed something.

He gapes, for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times without a sound before he manages to find his words—

"What? No."

—and then they just don't stop.

"I mean, yeah. We can do that too, while we're at it, but that's not— that's not what I meant. Well, I would have told you, right after this, even, but that isn’t what I was trying to say. I am Spider-Punk, but that's— it's not—"

Apparently, his confusion is letting him skip right over the panic of Gwyn somehow knowing his secret identity, but not letting him find the right words to say what he actually wants to. He just keeps babbling.

"Tommy, honey, take a breath. What's this about?"

Fuck it. Who cares whether they're the "right" words?

"I'm gay, Gwyn," he blurts, and everything goes silent, like even the shitty pipes are too scared to break the tension with their usual clanging.

"What?"

"I'm gay," he says again, and it comes out easier, even if it hurts more. "I'm queer. A fairy. A fucking faggot, if you prefer." He spits the words like a curse. It definitely feels like one.

Why me? Isn't my life hard enough!?

His eyes are burning and Gwyn is still just staring at him. She doesn't look disgusted, but maybe she’s just in shock, processing this huge bombshell.

"Say something," he rasps, "please?"

She doesn't respond, not with words, anyway. Instead, she surges forward, wrapping her arms around him and tucking her face into the crook of his neck. It takes him painfully long to reciprocate, movements halting and awkward with surprise. This has to be a good sign. Right?

They stay like that for a long moment, with only the sound of shaky breathing and the background hum of the heater to fill the silence. Eventually, though, Gwyn is the first to pull away. She doesn’t go far, just enough so they're face to face. Her eyes are just as damp as his own.

"Me too," she confesses.

"What?"

"I'm gay. More of a dyke than a fairy, actually. Men? Not really my thing."

Oh.

Tommy doesn't know how to respond to that, other than to pull her back into a hug, burying his own face in her shoulder. It's probably for the best, because he starts to bawl like a baby, choking on the overwhelming mix of emotions that crashes over him. It's almost too much to parse and he feels like he's drowning, pulled under a riptide of relief-joy-trust.

He's mourning a bit, too. Grieving for the normal life he could have had— that they could have had. It’s one thing to admit such things to himself, but admitting it to another person— to Gwyn— makes it all the more real.

And it hurts. Each strangled sob is soothing agony— like the gangrenous decay of fear-shame-isolation being cut from healthy flesh. He hadn’t realized he was suffocating until he could finally breathe again.

He can’t stop crying and Gwyn's not doing much better, if the wetness of Tommy's collar or her shaking shoulders are anything to go by. She’s clutching onto him like a lifeline and Tommy? Tommy is independent. He stands on his own because he’s never had a choice, so it’s… terrifying to rely on others for support, but he’s holding onto her just as fiercely. Sharing the burden instead of stumbling under the weight of everything. It’s indescribable.

Tommy doesn't think he's ever connected with anyone the way he does with Gwyn.

#story post #copper standard #gwyn stacy #identity reveal #coming out #gay #lesbian

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weirdoldstans · 6 months ago

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Okay, but Ford trying to be a baby one day and he just isn’t in the right headspace for it (nothings wrong, he just feels like being an adult for a bit), so he ends up taking off and throwing away his only kinda wet diaper and tells Stan that he’s going to check out some shops at whatever little coastal town they’re at. When he leaves, Stan, who has been taking care of him but who absolutely hasn’t brought up wanting to try things himself, has a bit of time to spare. And the poor guy has wanted to try diapers and playtime for such a long time, but maybe during his biker days (a brief period where he had a bunch of people he was constantly around) he got caught sucking his thumb sleeping with a stuffed animal he secretly had and was tormented by his gang. Like, it got really bad and they even shredded his plushie and he was so embarrassed and hurt that it was ultimately what made him leave so he’s just pushed all those feelings so far down that even now he can’t quite get to them. But with Ford gone he sneaks into his room and he knows that Ford has definitely counted how many diapers he has left so Stan just takes the used one and puts it on and oh my god he instantly falls in love. So he sits down and is playing with some blocks for a bit in just a t shirt and diaper with a binkie and he starts to get that tingly feeling. He starts thinking way to hard about how Ford wet this before him and it’s all warm and squishy against his dick and he just can’t himself but to start rubbing the front of said diaper. Once he’s fully hard Ford just barges in swearing to himself about forgetting his wallet and he just stops and stares and Stan goes beat red. But Ford is immediately so sweet and just smiles asking him why he didn’t tell him that he wanted to try being the baby and Stan’s a stammering mess as Ford’s eye flick to the pack of diapers and Stan can see the gears turning as he looks at the pattern on it and finally asks if that was the one he had been wearing. Stan can’t even speak so Ford just smiles and pushes him back, squeezing the his diaper against him and keeps rubbing him until Stan is moaning behind his binkie as he cums. Ford starts gently pressing on his bladder whispering and telling him it’s okay if he wants to use his diaper too so after a few minutes of Stan squirming and whimpering, he finally lets go while Ford praises him. And then Ford just hoists him up and to the bed and grabs a vibrator and presses it against him again. And Stan is stammering about how he’s not even sure he can get off twice in a row but Ford just gently shushes him and assures him that Ford will help and he does. He coos and praises him the entire time while Stan has to hide his face until he throws his head back when he cums a second time. And Ford is just so proud of him and hums gently as he sets to cleaning him up, powdering him, and taping him up in a nice clean diaper while Stan absentmindedly sucks on the binkie. And Ford curls up next to him afterwards and while Stan is falling asleep clinging tightly to him he quietly admits why he didn’t tell Ford and how his gang treated him as he slowly falls asleep. He wakes up and he’s no longer in Ford’s arms, but he’s sitting at the end of the bed reading and Ford beams at him when he wakes up and tells him he snuck off while Stan was napping and got him something and grabs a new teddy bear out of a bag and hands it to him. And Stan is just so overcome and he’s crying while Ford reassures him and dries his tears before helping him to the floor so he can play some more.

(I really hope you don’t mind getting stuff this long. It feels like I’m talking your head off. Sorry if this is annoying!)

NOT ANNOYING AT ALL I LOVE IT SO MUCH

wahhh i don’t even know where to begin…stan putting on ford’s wet diaper is SO GOOD, and jerking off in it AHHH AND FORD COMING BACK AND ENCOURAGING STAN TO WET THE DIAPER TOO IM GONNA EAT A TRUCK

AND!! ford getting stan a new teddy oh my goddd TOO CUTE THANK U FOR THIS

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see-arcane · 3 years ago

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Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1. There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2. Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3. Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.

#Jonathan Harker is a good boy a lovely young man and he Can and Will Kill for His Wife :) :) :)#seriously there's a whole other essay to go with how gloriously fucked up-passionate this stance is within both the time it was written #and the novel itself which is SATURATED with God Christ and more God #for this fucker to have gone through what he did in the castle on top of all the very clear proofs of divine VS infernal goings-on #this dude is flipping the bird to all of it #the whole mess (be it of God or the Devil or fucking Dracula)#none of it ranks higher than Mina in his mind #my guy is fucked up and I love him #jonathan harker #dracula #mina murray #mina harker #dracula daily #spoilers

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fourseasonsfigs · 2 years ago

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CT Pink Jun

Gong Jun is in his finest pink satin suit, dialing up a certain someone to say, "Hi Darling!"

This is Junjun's Pillow Talk Party Charlotte Tilbury endorsement. It's a complete shame that Tumblr only allows one video per post, since there's a few really good ones. Sadly, I forwent the one where Junjun is dancing for this one:

I was delighted about this endorsement, as I actually love Charlotte Tilbury's makeup. Pillow Talk is a beautiful color and well deserves it's popularity. The lipstick is a very neutral soft nude pink with a lot of richness and depth to it - no hint of that flat and kind of artificial candy pink color. Unfortunately, it's a little too on the nude color spectrum to work with my particular coloring, and it washes me right out. But that's every nude lipstick - this one almost works, which is amazing enough. It's got to be berry-ish colors for me, sadly (which reminds me, I need to do my periodic pilgrimage to the Tom Ford site to see if he's reissued Lark in any formulation anywhere!), on the rare occasion I do wear lipstick.

I do, however love eye makeup. In my beauty blogger days I tried a truly mind-boggling numbers of eye shadows, both domestic US brands and global brands. She actually has my favorite formulation. The older I get, the more issues I have with creasing and wear (despite every single one advertised as non-creasing and long-wearing!), and Charlotte Tilbury eye shadow is now quite literally the only formulation that works for me. I have some very long days at my job, including all-day-conferences that end in dinner events, and it's really, really nice to be able to not look as exhausted as I feel when I go back to my hotel room late at night.

Speaking of someone working really long days, let's have a few more pics of Gong Jun in his beautiful satin suit!

He is rocking that pink satin suit. Not everyone can (I sure couldn't!) but he looks fantastic. By the way I think his hair is A+ in these ads! I love the volume, it's the best look for his hair by far I think.

He arrived securely packed, but unfortunately, his little pink phone must have jostled around in transit!

Oh no! I know almost nobody has landlines anymore, but we can't have the few remaining relics of the past be damaged like this. Well, should be an easy fix, right? I'm old enough to have been around when all we had was landlines, all I need to do is just literally plug that end into the phone.

Or at least theoretically. I got my glue out, and fumbled around for a good long while trying to get the little end to go into the divot on the phone. My fingers were just too big and clumsy, and the cord too small and too interested in spinning around. And then the other end of the cord fell out! What the heck!

I got out my tweezers and after another good long while, finally got the phone end glued into the phone, and then another good long while figuring out how to aim the cord into the base at the right angle while trying not to snap it off, and then holding it in place with my now-tired and shaky fingers while the glue set.

But, we'd never know that now! He's connected and ready to receive some very important phone calls.

As you already can see, the phone is not a removable prop, it's quite firmly part of his hands.

The glossy finish on his pink suit is delightful - most of my figs have a matte finish, so it's always great to have one shimmering away.

He is decently stable on his feet, but I was so overtaxed by the phone situation that I finished taking pictures and immediately put him on a fig stand, then tucked him away into a secure corner of my my display cabinet. I'm not taking any chance on me clumsily bonking up against his phone cord and it snapping loose!

You can see where the fig maker put a little bit of folding in - a little bit on the back of his suit jacket, and there at the sleeve.

The fig maker did a great job angling his arm out to get the extension needed to hold the phone to his ear, without making it look disproportionally too long. Fig arms can look a bit too long sometimes when they're holding things because of the cute chibi proportions.

I wouldn't have minded just a touch more wispiness in the hair, but that's just my own personal preference. He looks good!

I think the phone cord turned out alright after all.

This is a good angle to see how shiny the finish is on his satin suit compared to the matte pink of the phone.

It's a cute phone! When I was a kid I would have loved to have a phone that looked like this.

Speaking of cute, that dog is looking pretty adorable too!

If you've been following this blog for some time, this fig maker's card may look familiar to you. They always do this two-sided card with the art on one side and a paw with three different angles on the back. It's always fun to see fig concept art, I think!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 344

Scene Count: 24

Rating: Pink and perfect!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#gong jun #word of honor cast #shl cast #figthusiast #woh cast

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moonbeamsung · 4 years ago

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Right Side of Town

Will an age-old rivalry stop him from listening to his heart?

for @fruityutas ’s ‘the outsiders’ collab

member: chenle (featuring wayv)

au: soc!chenle x gn!reader, ‘the outsiders’ au, ‘grease’ au, 1950s/60s au

word count: 12.0k

genre: angst, drama, action, romance, suggestive, fluff

warnings: underage drinking and smoking, profanity, unhealthy mindsets regarding status and wealth, mild violence (verbal conflict + mentions & very brief descriptions of weapons/blood/injury), suggestive content (vague allusions to & implications of sex which are neither graphic nor between chenle/reader + kissing/making out), mentions of food, use of slang from the time period, hospitals

author’s note/disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional, and the actions of the characters do not depict their actual personalities in any way. I do not condone this behavior. Also, this is the first ever collab piece I’ve written and I’m very thankful to be participating! Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

taglist: @nakamotocore @navyhyuck @chicksung @mrkcore @mieohmy @rouiyan @sicluvz @kunrengui-reblogs @luvdhl @berrysungie @rousrxxn @m1ss-foodi3 @hyuckefi @angelhee @jisungsmochi

Zhong Chenle has everything, and what he doesn’t have, he gets. From money and a flashy car to a tight circle of friends that will stop at nothing when it comes to defending their high-class clique, what more could he possibly want?

Simple: he wants to make life as miserable as possible for the town’s rivaling gang of greasers.

Miles away from Chenle and this divided community, you’re anxiously awaiting the life that lies ahead of you within it, shifting nervously in the backseat of the family car. With everything you’ve ever known packed up and sealed inside several cardboard boxes, you’re at the mercy of the highway as it rises and falls, twists and turns to take you to the place where a new chapter in your story will begin. In the front seat, your parents are gushing over the flourishing suburbs you’ll be living in, but you’re sick to your stomach.

The uneasiness you feel only grows once you get there. From chain-link to white picket fences, they both look equally uninviting, with razor-sharp edges and rusted locks or pristine latches shut tight, as if they contain something sinister. Every shadow looms like it’s someone’s darkest secret, and there’s a palpable tension lingering in the air when you step outside. You can breathe it in, lungs inundated with something that’s not unlike smoke. You wonder what’s been burning. The ominous stench weighs you down like a ball and chain.

In this town, you have nothing. No past, no reputation, no expectations. Any other person your age might feel free, but you? You feel lost.

Little do you know that moving into a house on the west side will become your one-way ticket to fitting in, to belonging. And when a certain boy takes notice of his new neighbor, you eagerly accept the security he offers.

The ‘sold’ sign has been removed from your freshly cut lawn for a few days now, so Chenle decides that it’s time to scope out the latest additions to the picture-perfect suburban streets. He definitely doesn’t ignore the sleek Ford Thunderbird that’s parked in the driveway, undoubtedly an indication of the kind of people he’s dealing with. But what was he expecting? You live on the west side of town; you’re automatically the most superior of socialites.

Chenle’s smooth strides take him all the way to your front porch, and he rings the doorbell just after putting on the most welcoming expression he can muster.

“Would you get the door, please?” Your mother doesn’t even bother answering it herself, instead calling out your name as soon as she looks out the kitchen window through the patterned curtains and sees a boy around your age. It’s about time you made a friend, anyway.

Timidly, you turn the knob and step back to let the door swing open, meeting the eyes of your visitor.

“Hey,” he purrs out a deep, suave greeting. “You must be the new kid. Welcome to the neighborhood.” When you only smile and give a well-mannered nod, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stuffing balled-up fists into his jean pockets as his mouth opens again.

“My name’s Chenle, by the way. What’s yours?”

You tell him, and he raises a groomed eyebrow at your confirmed ability to speak.

“So that’s what you sound like,” the boy smirks a bit. “You’re a quiet one, huh? Well, don’t be nervous. Nothing to be scared of around here.”

You think otherwise. It seems like there’s plenty to be scared of. And what’s up with him treating you like a pet that just learned a trick?

With a slight frown you ignore his patronizing comment, changing the subject entirely. “I don’t suppose you go to the high school down the road?”

“Yeah, I do. You going there too?”

“Sure am. What’s it like?”

Chenle shrugs dismissively, tapping a foot. “Like any other school, with your typical hierarchy and all. You have us, and then you have the greasers.”

“Hold on,” you cut in. “What do you mean, ‘us?’ Who are you, then?”

“The Socials, or Socs for short. You’re one, too. We all live on this side of town, and all the greasers live on the east side. Don’t even bother associating with them, though. You stick with me and you’re golden. Unless… you don’t want to.” His voice lowers with the last syllables.

Great. There’s always a catch. According to what Chenle’s told you, instead of getting a valuable education at the highly-esteemed school your parents heard about from all the way across the country, you’re being sent into a raging battle between two competing socioeconomic classes. You start picturing corridors full of confrontations, insults and rogue punches flying. A social bloodbath of sorts. And Chenle’s offering to let you join his side.

You consider your options. He’s all you have right now, and the last thing you want to do is get on his bad side by doing the opposite of what he just advised. You’re not exactly sure what he’s capable of, but you don’t want to find out.

“...Okay,” you eventually respond, failing to conceal the fear both in your voice and on your face as well as you had hoped. “As long as I don’t have to fight anyone.”

He snickers at this and at your obviously distressed expression. “Oh, don’t worry about that. No one’s gonna drag you to a rumble or anything.”

Chenle’s shrill laugh, despite being at your expense, contrasts his demeanor and lightens the mood, so you try to smile.

“But I hope you like parties. There’s one almost every weekend.”

“I’m not sure… my parents probably won’t—”

“They don’t have to know,” he waves a hand. “Just tell ’em you’re going to the Nightly Double. They show 4 movies a night on weekends, so you’ll be covered for hours. Speaking of which, we should go.”

“Huh?”

“To the Nightly Double. It’s a drive-in, you’ll like it. How ’bout I pick you up on Friday? You can meet my friends.” He’s talking so fast that your brain struggles to keep up. Is he seriously asking you out?

The front door has been closed for some time now, but it’s at this moment that your mother pokes her head outside to check on you. Upon seeing Chenle’s tall frame leaning against one of the porch’s columns, she asks, “Who’s this?”

“Zhong Chenle. I live a few streets away,” the boy extends his hand and she shakes it, approval in her eyes, before she turns to you for an explanation. “He invited me to go to a drive-in movie with him this Friday. May I?”

“Of course, dear, but we’ll need to discuss a curfew with your father.”

Chenle’s used to hearing this. He suddenly interjects as politely as he can, the confidence in his voice compelling. “If I may, I should tell you that this is a very safe neighborhood, and most everyone here agrees that a curfew isn’t even necessary.”

Her gaze turns inquisitive, though more scrutinous than critical. “Your parents let you stay out late?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And his practiced persuasion works like a charm, because she agrees without any further interrogation.

“That’s fine, then. I’ll leave you two be,” your mother excuses herself with a smile, disappearing into the house just as quickly as she emerged from it a minute ago. “Easy,” Chenle grins. “Now you can get away with just about anything.”

But should that relieve or frighten you?

Before you can decide, Chenle’s already starting down the steps. “I’ll see you on Friday. It’s a date,” he winks.

You retreat back inside once he’s gone, marching upstairs to your room and all the while trying to process whatever the hell just happened.

When that day rolls around, a car you’ve never seen before pulls up in front of your driveway. Even as the twilight sky above begins to fade, you can still identify the model: a Mustang, coated in shiny red paint and seemingly without a scratch anywhere.

For a moment you’ve completely forgotten your commitment, but one glance at the driver’s seat and the memory comes flooding back to you instantly. A halfhearted promise to be back at a reasonable hour is made and directed towards very unconcerned parents before you’re off. Maybe too unconcerned.

Three others are haphazardly piled into the backseat of Chenle’s car, presumably the friends he mentioned a few days ago. The passenger seat has been left empty for you, so you slowly climb in next to the boy behind the wheel.

“Glad you could make it,” he hums. A hand motions to each of them in turn, then shifts the cramped vehicle into gear. “This is Sicheng, Ten, and Yangyang. We’re all tight.”

“Hey.” His friends greet you in something close to unison. You note that they appear to be at least a year or two older than Chenle, but it’s like he reads your mind before you can even open your mouth and ask, informing you that it’s not unusual for students to get held back at least once, or even multiple times.

Deciding it would be rude not to, you briefly return the favor by introducing yourself to them over the top of the seats that separate you, and are met with smiles that seem to mask an underlying intention. Good or bad, you can’t decipher. This is quickly forgotten, however, because a few minutes into the drive they’ve become totally absorbed in their own rowdy discussion. The volume of noise emanating from behind you is deafening, and any conversations that you might try to strike up with the other occupant of the front seat are rendered useless, the sound of the radio only adding to the chaos as it grapples for dominance against their voices.

By the time you reach the drive-in theater, a large amount of the lot’s parking spaces are filled, mostly with cars that look just as expensive as the one you’re in. Chenle isn’t phased by this, taking his time, and he swiftly puts on the brakes when he finally manages to secure a good spot in the middle. As soon as the vehicle rolls to a halt, the rest of his friends scramble to exit, backseat doors flinging open and narrowly missing the side of a Corvette that pulls in next to them.

“Son of a bitch, Yangyang! I give you a ride and you give me a heart attack by almost denting another car? That’s the last time I’m taking you anywhere.”

The boy offers a half-sheepish, half-smug apology, since he knows Chenle doesn’t really mean it.

“We’re getting popcorn,” one of them declares, and the rearview mirror’s placement allows you to see a few more people joining the three as they walk off towards the concession stand.

“Grab two sodas for us!” Chenle shouts hastily, before they’re out of earshot. Ten’s hand raises in acknowledgement of the request.

He digs through his wallet for some money to pay them back, placing it on the car’s dashboard, then leans back and directs his attention towards the supersized screen. The first movie of the night has already started, but there are plenty of kids just milling around the lot and talking, only there for the social scene.

“What do you think?”

“It’s—”

“Well, what do we have here?” A harsh knock on the open passenger windowsill interrupts, startling both of you. “Look at this, boys! Zhong’s got himself a sweetheart.”

The perpetrator looks different than Chenle and his friends. He’s clad in a leather jacket with gelled-up dark hair, wearing a mischievous smile on his face. Something tells you he isn’t a Soc.

Chenle sneers and confirms your assumption. “Beat it, greaser.”

“Aw, you want me to leave so you can neck in the backseat?” He chortles, his booming laughter attracting more attention than either of you would like.

“Cool it, Lucas,” another voice cautions. “You don’t wanna scrap with that one.”

“Actually, Kun,” he hisses, cracking his knuckles. “I’m just trying to have a good time here. He’s the one that’s looking for trouble with us, don’t you think? I’d love to give him a taste of his own medicine.” The second greaser comes into view, frowning and tugging harshly at the taller one’s collar.

Chenle currently sports the most menacing facial expression you’ve ever seen on anyone. “Your friend there’s got a point. Better back off now,” he growls.

Lucas smiles coldly, “What you gonna do, pretty boy?”

His last comment must have struck a nerve, because before you know it Chenle is swinging the driver’s side door open and angling his wrist to throw a punch. “Get lost before I skin you alive, hood!”

With the verbal threat of violence in play, both boys whirl around and run, being joined by two more figures in the distance and disappearing into the eerie darkness of the streets, where only the stars remain to light their way.

“Those bastards,” he seethes through clenched teeth once back inside the car. “Now you’ve seen it for yourself. Greasers are just lousy, good-for-nothing bums, always asking for a fight.”

You say nothing. Though the encounter did make you uncomfortable, you feel like there’s more to this story, more that Chenle isn’t telling you. It’s going to take a lot for you to trust him, and he knows it, too. But for now, you both turn back to watching the flickering film.

At some point he asks if you’re cold. Despite the shake of your head you still feel him reach over to drape his letterman jacket around your shoulders. His hands graze over your skin for a moment, and they’re warmer than you would have expected.

Yangyang and Ten return shortly after, one bearing a soft drink in each hand and the other with a palm outstretched in Chenle’s direction. He hands over the loose change he had gathered earlier while wondering aloud, “Where’s Sicheng?”

“Probably making out with a girl he met in the concessions line. She dragged him to her car and we haven’t seen him since.” Your cheeks suddenly heat up as you remember Lucas’s remark. People really do things like that at a drive-in?

“You’d be surprised by what goes on back there,” Chenle adds, seeming to sense your shock. How does he keep doing that?

Gesturing with a thumb stuck out in said direction, the boy draws your eyes over to the lot’s far end, slightly less illuminated and with the poorest view of the movie screen. Only a few vehicles fill those spaces, but it’s too dark for you to see anything else. You don’t think you want to.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

There’s silence for a while. It’s broken when Ten reaches into his pocket for something, and you instantly recognize the small objects he procures from within the fabric compartment as cigarettes.

“Light me up, will you, Liu?”

“Sure thing.” Yangyang extracts a shiny box from his own pocket and flicks open the cover, a small flame igniting the end of the paper tube. “Want one, Chenle?”

“No, thanks.” He shoots you a glance from the side, asking the same question with an eyebrow quirked.

“I don’t smoke,” you defend quickly.

“You don’t smoke, or you never have? There’s a difference.”

Yangyang’s smart-mouthed reply is nearly enough to make you lose your temper, but Chenle’s abrupt grip on your arm stops you from acting rashly. “Shut your trap and quit bugging them already.”

“I just asked a question! Damn, what’s got you all considerate lately?” He scoffs at the younger boy, indignant.

Ten suggests the two of them roam around to try to find Sicheng, and if they’re lucky, maybe someone with a convertible so they can sit and enjoy the remainder of the second movie. Once again you’re left alone, but thankfully no slick-haired strangers approach you this time.

What encroaches upon you, however, is Chenle himself. He must think he’s being smooth when he reaches across you and into the glove compartment for something, yet you see through every last gesture. It’s almost laughable, how bold he is. But Chenle doesn’t do subtleties, a fact that’s evident in the hand he leaves behind to rest lightly atop your thigh. Not in the slightest.

Even so, it works. You don’t brush his hand away, and neither do you shrug off the arm he tosses over your shoulder in the midst of a highly exaggerated yawn. He knows he’s triumphed when you slump against the back of the seat, head resting against his shoulder and cheek pressing into his thin shirt. You’re relaxed, no longer on edge. And that spurs something within Chenle. He’s always wanted to be feared instead of adored, but you are slowly becoming the lone exception to this golden rule, one that he’s lived by all his life.

The film ends, and it’s only when his friends come into view that you break the physical contact. Sicheng has rejoined them, with hair askew, plaid shirt untucked, and the faintest print of lipstick adorning his jaw. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit flustered, either, which is odd considering you all know exactly what he’s been up to. Actually, he looks rather pleased with himself.

“How was the movie?” Sicheng inquires breathlessly.

“Why don’t you know? You were here too.”

He scoffs, “Um, I was a little busy in case you forgot.” Sicheng punctuates his sentence by pulling his undershirt to the side and revealing more of the crimson marks, smirking at Chenle with mirthful eyes the whole time. Everyone save for you and the latter of the two boys erupts in obnoxious hoots of praise and congratulations.

“You sly dog,” Ten murmurs proudly to him while delivering a firm pat on the back. Yangyang wolf whistles, doing the same. He glances over his shoulder at your indifferent gazes, “Some fun you two are.”

Chenle remains unamused.

“I’ll take that cigarette now.”

After celebrating Sicheng’s score for a much longer amount of time than he deemed necessary, the night’s designated chauffeur finally wrangles his three friends back into the car and sets off for each of your houses. Somewhere along the way, in between puffs of tobacco, Chenle misses a turn.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, Zhong? The suburbs are that way.”

“I know, Lee,” he snarls. “You trying to tell me how to drive?”

Ten subsequently quiets down.

But by now, they all know where they are: the east side. You pick up on the change in scenery as well, noting the run-down homes and desolate parks. Sitting there in the front seat and expecting him to turn back around at any moment, you’re puzzled when he only continues on, his speed lessening but foot never leaving the gas pedal.

The truth is, Chenle’s spotted the same gang of greasers from the drive-in, and he’s watching them like a hawk from behind the wheel as they amble down the sidewalk, then turn down a smaller street narrowly separating two buildings.

He makes one more loop around the central grassy area that resides between several blocks of homes, giving them just enough time to disappear between the shadows and lull themselves into a false sense of security, but not too much time. They won’t get far, he’s certain of it. Sure, it may be their territory, but when Zhong Chenle has an idea in mind, nothing and no one dares to stand in his way.

It’s only when he skids to a stop next to this same alleyway that you speak, still partially afraid you’ll be scolded just as Ten was.

“...What are we doing here?”

Chenle doesn’t answer you right away, instead glancing at the passengers in the backseat with an expression that says trust me. They look just as confused as you feel, but they follow him out nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, baby. The boys and I just have to take care of something. We’ll be right back,” he leaves you with a reassuring smile that isn’t very reassuring at all. You suddenly wish this Mustang had actual windows.

The four of them circle up just in front of the hood of the car, where Chenle explains his plan. His back is to you, so you can’t see his eyes darken dangerously, as if they and his words are infected with a fatal poison. All that’s visible to you is the image of them nodding in mutual understanding, vanishing into the gloom shortly after.

You contemplate doing something stupid like running away, but that idea is quickly thrown out the window considering you don’t even know where you are, much less which way is home. The same wave of uneasiness that had settled over you when you first set foot in this town is returning, comes flooding back as you’re abandoned entirely, with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Chirps of crickets and the mechanical hums of flickering streetlights pass through the air, ultimately obscuring a few distant shouts and the sickening thump of fists against skin. Switchblades flip open, high-top sneakers pound against the pavement, and though an even match, the skirmish ends with one party far less fortunate than the other.

There’s something disturbing, something artificial in the smile Chenle flashes at you as they return. It’s too dim in the car for you to see his hands gripping the steering wheel, much less his bloodied knuckles. You aren’t even looking. You just want to get home.

When the following week begins, so does the school year. The main courtyard is buzzing when you reach the campus that bright Monday morning, filled with students milling around and talking to their respective cliques. Once the bell tower produces a resounding chime, all the small friend groups combine to form a horde of teenagers, and you fall in line among the mass of complete strangers as they rush past the doors, swarming the corridors like moths to a flame.

Nothing inside the building appears to be out of the ordinary. Lockers line the walls, the lights overhead glow a harsh, blinding white, and the classrooms are seemingly the only places where Socs and greasers can coexist without being at each other’s throats. Though you suppose it’s not by their own volition, and more due to the threat of a teacher’s punishment.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” are the words that reach your ears just as an arm slings itself around you, and you’re not at all surprised to see that the voice in question belongs to none other than the supreme Soc himself, whom you’ve been avoiding all weekend.

Ever since Chenle brought you home Friday night, you had stayed cooped up inside, trying to make sense of every last encounter the evening had entailed and ceaselessly replaying every moment in your mind like a broken record. The way his demeanor switched from one extreme to the other so quickly was off-putting, as were Lucas’s words about the boy and his mysterious venture to the east side. Top it all off with the vague excuses about his strange disappearance into that ominous alleyway, and you’re thoroughly unnerved.

You never should have doubted your first impression of the place, because somewhere, somehow, it’s not quite right. You’re sure of this. Below the surface something is lurking, and now that your curiosity has been sparked for better or for worse, there’s no backing down.

“Hey, Chenle,” you reply, hoping the reluctance in your voice isn’t too evident. In an instant it seems like all eyes turn towards you, as if your association with him is a coveted rite of passage. Greasers and Socs alike stop to stare at the two of you, gazes sharp and shrewd.

The attention doesn’t faze him whatsoever. “Don’t mind them, it’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”

You shrug, fixing one of your sleeves and opting to regard the tiled floor with excessive interest, thinking solely about how you can’t escape this hallway soon enough.

“Where’s your first class?”

So you tell him, and he walks you there, undoubtedly earning a few looks from those already inside. The teacher is nowhere to be found, and two boys linger by the large window at the back of the classroom, sneaking a few cigarettes. At first you don’t believe you’ve ever seen them in your life, but your opinion changes abruptly upon laying eyes on their non-smoking companions: you recognize them as the same greasers from the drive-in, Kun and Lucas.

They must have gotten into some sort of trouble, because the former of the two has a black eye and a busted lip. The latter clearly didn’t fare much better, attested by the scrapes visible on his exposed arms and littering the sloped curve of his throat, and the unnamed greasers display similar afflictions on the parts of them that aren't concealed by shiny dark leather. That makes four, you conclude, so they’ve got to be the owners of the other two silhouettes that joined Kun’s and Lucas’s as they bolted from the lot.

Resentful scowls are briefly exchanged between the rivals, and Chenle’s hand leaves the small of your back when he turns to go. This leaves you to find an empty desk, but by the time their silent staring contest had ended many more students had filed in, so now you’re stuck in a seat that’s much nearer to the greasers than he would approve of.

You’ve decisively learned their names once the teacher finishes calling roll, Xiaojun and Hendery being the two new additions. All four of their voices sound much gentler than you had anticipated, but maybe it’s just the setting. You can still recall Lucas’s thunderous tone from the other night and its occasional ringing in your ears.

The class itself goes by rather quickly. In what seems like the blink of an eye you’re packing up your things and starting for the door, but the greasers’ formidable figures block your path, preventing your exit.

“You,” the one named Hendery glowers. “You see these bruises?” He rolls up one sleeve to unveil a sickly-colored canvas of black and blue spots, embellishing his flesh like souvenirs of the pain he felt upon their infliction.

Hendery keeps his eyes on you all the while, even when yours lower to glance at his injuries. “Know how we got ’em?”

Chenle’s constant warnings to you about not so much as conversing with what he deemed the inferior social class seem relatively void now, since you suspect you won’t get anywhere without providing a response. You shake your head.

“No?” He shares a look with the rest. Of course you don’t. “I’d love to tell you, but I’m not sure you’d believe me if I did.”

Xiaojun leans over slightly as if to murmur something in Kun’s ear, though his words end up sounding anything but discreet. “He’s probably brainwashed them already.”

Growing impatient with their cryptic statements, you huff, folding your arms across your chest. “Just spit it out, would you?”

“Since you’re dying to know,” Lucas snickers threateningly, “your boyfriend and his little posse did this to us. Surprised?”

“We fought back, of course,” Kun adds. “But it’s not exactly fair when they pull switchblades on us.”

You’re caught in a stunned silence, not even bothering to correct his inaccurate reference to Chenle. They really got out of the car on Friday night just to jump these guys? Surely you could have prevented it somehow, right? Perhaps he would’ve listened if you’d said something. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference.

A sincere “I’m sorry” is about all you can muster, and it dawns on the greasers then that maybe you’re not too far gone. Xiaojun steps forward, gaze suddenly warm, and places a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look like the type, anyway.”

“...What?”

“You don’t have to be like him and all the other Socs, you know. No one’s forcing you,” he imparts, palm lifting and moving towards your face now. “You can be different. Set an example.”

The moment his fingertips make contact with your cheek you jerk away, wide-eyed. He must mean well, but you feel like you’re falling into the hands of the enemy. You notice that his steps forward have created a gap in the broad-shouldered wall that surrounds you, so you don’t hesitate to dart past them all and out the door, seeking the boy in question. The promise of the moment passes; you’re already lost to the current.

To the greasers’ dismay, the dynamic hand of time begins to mold you into someone else. You no longer represent their hopes of ending the bitter rivalry that envelops this small town, a rivalry they don’t even know the origins of in the first place. These hopes are far-fetched, they’re well aware, but who can blame them? You can’t, for you once wanted to do the same.

As days blur into weeks, your grip on Chenle’s hand in the halls gets tighter, your actions grow less good-natured and your attitude sours. If you’re being honest with yourself, Xiaojun’s words never leave your head for one second, although they’re concealed by the public persona you had felt so much pressure to acquire. You gave into it, and you gave into everything that came with being a Soc.

Well, almost everything.

Chenle shows up on a chilly Saturday evening to take you to one of their notorious weekend house parties. It’s been months since school began, and yet you’ve never attended. In a way, you’re holding onto a piece of your former self by way of your abstinence from experiencing such a thing, but you suppose he’s not going to let you make any more excuses tonight. So you leave your true self at the door, slipping into the disguise of malice and conceit you’ve fashioned for yourself ever since you discovered its necessity in your everyday life.

“C’mon, it’s gonna be fun,” he drags out the last syllable childishly, tugging on your arm as he leads you to his car. “Promise I’ll take you home if you don’t like it?” He attempts to compromise, and it seems genuine enough.

“...Fine, but I’m holding you to that, Zhong.” You grumble, shoving his shoulder across the Mustang’s center console. He catches your hand before you can withdraw it and plush pink lips meet knuckles in a spontaneous kiss, the boy’s sly smile never faltering.

The smile reappears when you pull up to the event’s location, and he spots your slack-jawed reflection in his rear-view mirror. You had thought the homes in your neighborhood were nice, sure, but they all pale in comparison to this one. If they’re mansions, then this is a whole damn palace.

Clearly, you’ve still got a lot to learn about this place.

It takes a few minutes for him to park somewhere, seeing as the gigantic driveway is full and the small suburban lane is crowded with cars on either side. He eventually engages the manual brake a few blocks down and offers his hand as you start towards the luxurious residence, sauntering next to the road. This casual pace is quickly interrupted, however, because without warning a car speeds by and startles both of you.

Of course Chenle barrels down two-lane streets at high speeds from time to time, but in an act of blatant hypocrisy he curses out whoever is behind the wheel for nearly running you over. You crash directly into his chest when he yanks you backwards by the hips, and gasp, though it’s more due to his immediate reaction than the peril you had just narrowly avoided. His breathing feels labored against your shoulders, and the fact that he seems more shaken up than you is inappropriately comical, since a near hit-and-run is no laughing matter.

“Asshole,” he rasps, and his eyes flash with contempt as he glares at the retreating tail lights, steadily fading into the distance.

A bit unaccustomed to his touch, you pry Chenle’s hands from their position and shrug, “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

You don’t have the energy to repeat these actions when his wrist slithers around your waist one stretch of sidewalk later, simply allowing him to hold you close. Upon approaching the front yard, you can start to hear the muffled roar of rock and roll blaring inside, but your eardrums are unprepared for the sheer volume of all the improvised guitar riffs and drum solos that flood the night air when the door opens.

The person standing behind it is someone you recognize from your high school’s hallways but nothing more. Despite living here for quite some time now, you’ve never really gotten close to anyone besides Chenle and his friends.

A cold breeze nips at your skin and you’re eager to be let inside as soon as possible, but as your luck would have it this acquaintance decides to strike up a conversation with Chenle, talking about his folks hardly ever being home and how he’s always able to throw these parties. You watch warily as the host takes big swigs of the beer bottle in his hand between each sentence, nose wrinkling at its pungent odor.

It’s like you aren’t even there for a few moments, but his peripheral vision is probably hazy from the alcohol he’s consumed, and finally he steps to the side to let you and Chenle into the foyer.

Solid purple lights glare down at the partygoers from the ceiling, making every figure inside glow a blazing violet. You hear a familiar voice approaching, and Ten appears in front of you just seconds later.

“Hey, guys,” he greets, speech slurred and smile vacant. “Drinks are in the kitchen.”

The older boy begins to lead you two from the entrance and down a hallway, passing dozens of delirious bodies swaying to the deafening music along the way. It’s so loud in here that you can barely hear yourself think.

Someone drags Ten off in another direction mid-escort, but fortunately Chenle doesn’t seem to get lost, only clutching you tighter and continuing to navigate through all the crowded rooms. You reach the liquor cabinet soon after, with its contents raided and doors already ajar.

Glossy flasks of whiskey, wine, and everything in between litter the adjacent counter, along with discarded cups, some still half-full of god knows what. He manages to procure an empty and seemingly unused one from somewhere nearby, and reaches for an undisturbed bottle of vodka.

The liquid bubbles up and he takes a languid sip, letting it slide down his throat with an acidic burn he’s well accustomed to by now. He’s distracted for a moment, a moment in which you decide to snatch a cup for yourself and do just the same. You don’t smoke and you don’t drink, but to hell with that. Everyone’s always telling you to live a little, so tonight you will.

It’s darker in the kitchen than in the rest of the house, meaning that Chenle doesn’t notice you’ve grabbed the vodka until you’re lifting the rim of the cup to your lips and, consequently, coughing once you taste its contents.

“Shit, you know that’s booze, right?” He plants a slap on your back, hard enough for you to regain your breath but not quite enough to hurt.

“Of course I do, wiseass.” The chagrin dripping from your voice nearly makes him flinch, so he doesn’t ask any more questions. All he knows is that you’re bound to get wasted much faster, being a novice drinker. There’s no telling how you’ll act when you’re all boozed-up, and in a twisted sort of way, it thrills him.

You reluctantly digest more of the substance, pinching your nose in order to avoid its pungent flavor as much as possible while dealing with the unpleasant buzz it leaves behind on your tongue. But Chenle remains largely unaffected, appearing much more clear-headed in comparison to you as you begin to stammer and stumble, rapidly losing your grip on sobriety.

The alcohol makes you loosen up, and he can’t help but chuckle when you stagger into another room with him in tow, beginning to twist and shout to the Beatles song that just came on the radio. Everyone around you spins and bounces to the rhythm, crowd pulsing like a heartbeat. There’s a wide smile blooming on your face, and Chenle absolutely loves it.

He loves when you pull him in by the shoulders, loves the blissful elation glimmering in your eyes, loves how you dance like you’re the only two people in the world. This is a side of you he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

A familiar tune by the Beach Boys follows and has everyone shouting along in tipsy delight, then the tempo relaxes. It’s a slow song.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingertips brushing over the soft locks of dark hair at the nape, and it feels euphoric. The way you lean your head on Chenle’s chest makes his inebriated heart race; his hands begin to sweat at the tenderness of your every breath. But no feeling is quite as euphoric as the sensation of your lips, rising to meet his own after delicately departing from their idle place against the elegant curves of his collarbones.

Awestruck, the boy freezes, yet melts at the same time. He’s heard the sayings, heard how drunken words reflect sober thoughts, and by extension he gathers that drunken actions must represent sober desires. If you’ve wanted this all along, why haven’t you said so?

Truthfully, you’ve resented yourself for it from the beginning. Developing a crush on someone so reprehensible in thought, word, and deed was never an aspiration of yours, yet here you are. Perhaps fate knew what your heart wanted before you did, but why him? He’s so…

He’s so him, but you’re you, and you suppose that’s not much better. The vows you made to uncover the secrets and the stories behind this mysterious town were broken, and you relinquished them for a fabricated identity that’s a burden to display. You did just what you said you wouldn’t and fell right into the trap.

In spite of these mistakes, hope still remains, and not just for you.

Most of the time, Chenle appears cruel and uncaring, but no one is truly and completely evil. Not even him, an Elvis-esque devil in disguise who’s polite at first but shows his true colors when he’s around the rest of his preppy, madras-wearing gang. You know this, and you’re reminded of it through his occasional gestures, miniscule but nonetheless meaningful. You remember when he holds the door or lends you the coat off his back that those parts of him are the parts you fell in lov—well, you’ve learned to appreciate. In due time, you feel as though redemption could come within Chenle’s grasp. It’s up to him to accept the invitation.

But redemption isn’t something either of you are looking very worthy of right now.

Not when mouths and hands and eyes are wandering in the middle of this makeshift dance floor. Not when you’re kissing him like this, movements so full of haste and impatience that they might just tear the very fibers of your soul apart.

He doesn’t hesitate to match your pace, easily pressing against your lips with an addictive vigor and wrapping his arms around your body. The lights, the music, and the people all fade away, becoming mere supporting roles in this romantic scene while you two steal the spotlight.

After what seems like an eternity, your lungs begin to yearn for air, so you break away just for a moment to satisfy their demands with a few gasps of oxygen. You’re all too keen to bestow more of your frenetic kisses upon Chenle’s skin, and this time your gaze falls lower than his lips, ravenously eyeing the area beneath. You don’t get very far down his neck, though, because a better idea comes to you, and now you’re all but tripping over your own two feet as you haphazardly guide the boy out of the crowd.

It’s true that Chenle is no stranger to what goes on at Soc parties. He’s seen it all, so he’s quite familiar with the visual of couples coming and going, sneaking in and out of spare bedrooms to fool around. Chenle is also smart enough to know that such a short-lived impulse is far from a good idea, and if his gut feeling is any indication, he has a pretty good idea of where this is going—or where you want it to go, at least.

He lets himself be stolen away and follows your shaky footsteps down one of the house’s many corridors, your grasp on his wrist shockingly firm given your current state of mind. He lets your lips meet his once again, not even two seconds after you fling open a random door and slam it shut behind the both of you. He lets your warm breath fan over him and he lets your hands roam his torso. But the moment he feels you pull on his shirt, as soon as it comes untucked from the waistband of his jeans, he intervenes.

Chenle’s moral compass may be skewed, but at least he knows better than to let that happen.

“Easy, easy,” he cautions, escaping the position of being caught between your figure and the wall. “We both know you’d regret it in the morning.”

You only hum in protest, reaching out a stray palm to tug yourself closer so you can plant more kisses along his jaw, but it’s obvious that you’re fighting a losing battle. He proves resolute, despite it taking nearly all of his strength and self-control for him to push you away a second time. Reluctant as you may be to suppress such newfound and passionate displays of affection, you comply, touch melting into a more innocent one. “Fine…”

Context is crucial, however, and it’s something that Sicheng severely lacks. He happens to be passing through the hallway when he glimpses one of the bedroom doors opening up, and the sight of both of you exiting is enough to make him assume the outrageous.

In a mix of disbelief and amusement, his eyebrows arch beyond his bangs. You look dazed, eyes glassy as you cling to Chenle’s side, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, placing a casual arm at your waist. What else is Sicheng supposed to think?

So he only laughs at the younger boy, dismissing his attempts to explain. “Dude, we didn’t—”

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m not stupid, Chenle, I know that look.”

Realizing the effort is useless, he decides it’s easier to agree than continue to argue. Chenle sighs and returns Sicheng’s insistent remarks with a shrug of resignation, “Yeah, but I’m gonna take them home.”

“You had booze?”

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

It really isn’t that far between this house and yours, plus the roads are virtually empty in the middle of the night. Except for a close call or two in the form of nearly driving up onto the sidewalk or colliding with a street lamp, you both make it back safely, though Chenle isn’t looking forward to your admonishments for being under the influence.

On the bright side, you’ve sobered up slightly by the time you get there, your body having had several minutes to process the alcohol it’s been flooded with. After being brought along on so many late-night escapades by his group of friends, you obtained a spare house key in case of any possible emergencies. With droopy eyelids you manage to recall where said key is located, and though the term ‘emergency’ is ill-defined at the moment, you deem it necessary for the current situation. It’s at least a small stroke of luck in this atypical evening.

He watches you dig through a potted plant on the side of your porch until you remove your hand from the dirt, triumphantly hoisting the small metal object into the air.

Sure enough, the lock turns. So does your companion, but you catch him by the jacket.

“Stay.”

You’ve never been more glad that you come from a family of such heavy sleepers. Even in the darkness of the house you can see Chenle’s eyes, as round as saucers in frightened anticipation of a discovery that never happens. The creak of the stairs makes no difference, and you easily reach the second floor without incident.

All that’s left for him to do is remove his outerwear and crawl underneath these unbelievably soft-looking blankets of yours, so warm and so tempting. The added heat from a second occupant, namely you, doesn’t hurt either. But he stops short, an unfamiliar sentiment clawing at him from the inside.

Is he, the Zhong Chenle, actually nervous?

It may sound absurd, because of course he’s been nervous before. What makes this particular instance different is that he’s never had the time to actually acknowledge such a feeling’s presence in his own heart like he does right now. He’s nervous to be close to you in more ways than one, and to label you as anything more than a friend to him. He’s nervous, and it’s all because of you.

You. You bring out something new in Chenle, something that’s like fabric snagging on a roughened edge. He’s caught, entangled in you. You’re the best kind of thorn in his side, giving him an aching feeling that perhaps the life he’s always known isn’t the only life to live.

His friends say he’s going soft, which they never do without also casting a pointed glance in your direction. It’s a fact, unavoidable and undeniable, that you’ve rubbed off on him.

Most stunningly of all, Chenle is starting to think that’s not such a bad thing anymore.

But this sort of intoxicated self-reflection is hardly an instantaneous process. More thoughts soon begin to infiltrate his head, pertinent and irrelevant alike, and Chenle finds himself pondering more deeply than he ever has before. He sits there on the edge of your duvet, listening to your breaths level out as you presumably drift off to sleep, still clad in the same clothes you had worn to the party.

Maybe it’s the vodka talking, but if you had asked him to give up everything then and there, he would have listened.

Too bad you’re passed out cold when he’s just reached his most persuadable mentality.

At last the act of contemplation becomes too overwhelming for his dwindling consciousness, so he gives in to the sweet embrace of rest. Tomorrow will bring a headache, for sure, but a part of him hopes it will also bring some recollection of these revelations.

And bring a headache it does. Except it’s not the kind he was expecting.

“Chenle!”

His ears ring and his forehead throbs with the volume of your harsh warning, albeit a whisper, but it’s loud nonetheless. There’s barely any time for the boy to register what the hell is happening, his only explanation coming in the form of a singular, second-long image: his discarded jacket flying across the room and a satin avalanche of pillows drawing near, about to obscure his vision.

The cushions produce a soft thump against Chenle’s figure, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when another voice that definitely doesn’t belong to you sounds throughout the room. Oh.

“How was the party?”

“Fun,” you assure your father with an authentic but strained statement, trying to hide the exhaustion and apprehension in your voice. He seems to buy it, and makes a few offhand comments before resuming his strides down the upstairs hallway.

Realizing that the door’s been left ajar, you move to close it, but out of nowhere he appears in the entryway once more. Your very own surprise sends you tumbling backwards onto your bed in order to hide the suspiciously human-shaped lump covered by the sheets. Chenle winces underneath the abrupt pressure, his sleepy mind and body still adjusting to the jarring surroundings in a way that’s far from desirable.

“I almost forgot, honey. Your mother and I were thinking—are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your words begin to slur as panic builds in your chest, all while you mentally apologize to the boy you’re currently and unwillingly smothering for all the early-morning commotion.

Your father can’t leave the room soon enough, but thankfully he shuts the door this time. Chenle is nearly gasping for air by the time you snatch the blankets away, letting out a sigh that’s just slightly overdramatic.

“Geez, what was that for?”

“I had to! You know my folks would kill me if they knew I brought a boy home from a party, much less saw him in my bed!”

“But they know me,” he counters.

“…Not really.”

Chenle is confused by this. He studies your downcast expression regretfully, the space between you instantly filling up with a thick and brooding tension.

Like most parents of west side kids, yours have remained blissfully ignorant of the Socs’ antics thus far, and you hope it stays that way. They’re quite possibly the only ones who know the true you, for that matter, seeing as you’ve never once altered your demeanor at home. It’s always been an escape from the demands of having a vivacious social life over the course of these past few months.

So they don’t really know Chenle, and when you’re outside their walls they don’t really know you, either. You’re living a lie, an illusion that’s wearing off and wearing you down. Sooner or later, the wool’s bound to be pulled from their eyes, and the eyes of everyone else.

Ultimately the memories of last night that came crashing down as soon as you opened your eyes this morning, however hazy they may be, are more than sufficient to convince you of one thing: your little charade has gone on for far too long. You simply can’t keep it up. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” He breathes out with large, curious eyes, tinted red and the tiniest bit puffy from his hangover. Oh god, you must look far worse. Your dad didn’t notice, did he?

It’s no matter; Chenle commands your attention again as he moves the conversation along with an admission of his own. “Well, I do, too. You first,” the boy insists, in a voice that’s far too cheerful for what you’re about to reveal.

“I don’t want to be a Soc anymore.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, he’s baffled by the initial shock of the sentence, as its words completely oppose his entire perception of you. Or it seems like they should.

But he’s no fool. Chenle has undoubtedly picked up on your reluctance to join his and his friends’ schemes, yet you always give in. You’ve likely undergone the same sort of character transformation he felt like carrying out the night before. Unless…

A fear, irrational and ridiculous as it is, worms its way into his thoughts, injecting an unchecked fury into the response he gives before you even have a second to elaborate. With a start, he pushes himself upwards to stand, towering over your slouching figure that still remains seated on the fluffy mattress.

“What did they say to you?” He seethes, already forming a mental hit list that contains the names of four certain someones. They must have put you up to this. He’ll kill them. He’ll—

“What are you talking about, Chenle? Who?”

“That crowd of hoods!” His tone is assumptive and bitter. You’ve never heard such a sting in his words, even with all the risky confrontations he’s gotten into. “You’re just like them. They put you up to this, right? They’re only using you to use me—”

“Calm down,” you stutter out, not used to dealing with his volatile emotions when they’re directed at you. “No one put me up to anything!”

A breath of relief leaves you when he stops throwing around such accusations, and instead stalks over to one of the windows in your room. It’s silent, and oddly so, while he inspects its view as if he’s anticipating the sight of a few leathery figures beneath, huddled behind some bushes.

“I’m telling you, there’s no one there.”

“Do you swear?”

You fail to suppress a disapproving scoff; you shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. “Yes. I swear.”

He turns around, pacing back towards the bed and reclaiming his spot beside you. The fire in his eyes dissipates.

“This is exactly what I mean,” you admit softly. “I see how you act, and it makes me realize that I’m tired of pretending.”

“What?” His voice is timid now, cautious, as if the indestructible walls he’s built up around himself for so many years have come tumbling down and he’s left powerless, vulnerable.

“It’s like all you want to do is pick a fight or drink and smoke and party. I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with the way you live, and I’m tired of pretending I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone like you. But I need to stop telling myself that you can change because it’s clearly too much to ask.” The conviction in your speech is remarkable, and it makes Chenle wish he was more like you instead of himself.

The question he asks next is probably—no, definitely stupid, but he does it anyway. For peace of mind.

“So… you’re not a greaser?”

“God, no. And I don’t want to be one. All I’m trying to say is that I’m not fond of how you spend your time, and I’d rather not be involved in it.” Gaze meeting his, you return the questioning look on the boy’s face with a sad smile of your own.

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”

Before you can get another word out, you feel two strong arms envelop you in a hug.

The sudden embrace lasts for a few minutes, or perhaps for just a few seconds; you aren’t sure. It feels like heaven either way. Soon you feel a vibration against your shoulder, right where his face is buried. Upon asking him to repeat himself, you finally make out a small “I wanna change,” and you think you might be dreaming.

“Really?” A nod. “How do I know you’re not still drunk?”

“I’ve been sober since I woke up, I swear.” Chenle lifts his head, eyes shining under the light emanating from your ceiling. “I’m starting to see that I’ve done a lot of bad things. You’ve helped me realize that. But I don’t really know how to do good ones. Can you…”

“I’ll help you,” you pledge, arms still wrapped around his middle and hands absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his undershirt. He smiles, warm and true, and your heart is now fluttering for multiple reasons.

Actually, you have a request of your own, and it’s a bit impromptu. You can’t help it. Your feelings for the boy have swelled and reached a new level after hearing him accept some accountability by admitting to such things. To say the least, you’re proud of him.

“Since we’ve gotten that out of the way,” you change the subject almost inappropriately quickly, taking a shaky breath prior to speaking again. “Can I…”

The way you trail off and glance downwards to trace the angles of his face with your vision is enough to reveal your intentions. His lips have never looked more inviting, and this time it’s his turn to approve with a small tip of his head.

“Are you still drunk?” He questions, raising an eyebrow.

You hum and look away, flustered by the suggestion. “No! I really like you, Chenle…”

“Then yes. As long as you don’t try to take my clothes off again,” he teases. Just because he’s willing to give up messing with others doesn’t mean he’ll stop messing with you. You’re too cute and you make it far too easy.

“Don’t remind me," you cringe.

Chenle bursts into laughter at the reaction, but the eagerness of your kiss swiftly cuts off the sound.

It’s somewhat different from when you kissed him last night. Now you’re fully aware, more deliberate in your movements, but the same amount of zeal remains. His hands come to rest gingerly behind your head and yours grip his sides in desperation, the moment in itself a mix of soft and strong. Once again he mirrors your speed and uses just as much force, enough to send you backwards at one point.

The image of you crashing onto your bed urges him to take more drastic action, so he wastes no time in leaning down to pepper light pecks along your skin. Chenle allows you to return the favor some moments later, delighting in every feeling, every sensation, and only stopping when the rhythm between you slows down naturally. You hold him close, lazily nuzzling into his chest as you press kisses wherever you can reach.

With the morning’s sunshine filtering in through the windows and your arms around him, a new day has begun for Chenle. If he’s going to change his tune, it has to be now. He may have everything, but the one thing he can't stand to lose is you.

He just didn’t expect it to be this difficult.

While Chenle’s trying so hard to make a change, everyone else at school isn’t. The dynamic is tense as always, and corridors and classrooms are full of students with glares so piercing they could bore holes into the steel lockers.

Other Socs flock to his side, not even uttering a greeting and instead launching into conversations about their next act of hostility against the greasers to establish some sort of superiority. No matter what they do, it’ll never be enough, they’ll never be satisfied. The closest they could ever get to having a ‘last laugh’ would entail eradicating the east side itself.

If someone had asked Chenle a few months ago, he wouldn’t so much as hesitate to endorse such a plan. But now, he knows better. Much better.

Anytime he feels his long-ingrained social instincts start to kick in, he squeezes your hand, an action that passes under the radar of all except you. Or so you think.

Yangyang notices his uncharacteristic denial of a cigarette. Ten is shocked when he passes up the chance to jump a couple of younger greasers walking home. Sicheng can’t believe his refusal of a party invite. His three closest friends could become your biggest obstacles.

So when they all insist that both of you join them at a local diner after school one day, you know exactly what it’s about.

By the time you arrive they’re already occupying a booth in the corner, each boy holding a cherry-topped milkshake or an ice cream cone. The oldest spots you first and the rest follow suit, gazes as cold as the desserts in their hands.

After ordering treats of your own, Ten waves you over, motioning to the empty side of the table. No one speaks at first, until Yangyang gets impatient enough to slam his chocolate shake down with a huff.

“What the hell is up with you, man?”

Chenle feigns confusion with a clueless expression, but it fails. “Don’t give me that look, Zhong.”

Sicheng echoes the younger’s question. “What’s going on?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk.” He feels your foot nudge his beneath the table, giving him a boost of confidence.

“I just don’t like living this way anymore. It feels wrong and I’m not proud of the person I’ve been, okay?”

The boys stare blankly, dumbfounded.

“...Living as a Soc, you mean?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A chorus of protests erupts, everyone at the table beginning to shout except for you. The other customers look over with contempt, rolling their eyes and trying to return to their private discussions. Kids will be kids.

“You can’t do that!”

“Are you crazy?”

“You’re practically king of the school!”

“I know, I know! I don’t care,” he declares. “I’ve decided I don’t want any part of this. If I’m labeled an outcast, so be it.”

“Oh really?” Ten turns his gaze towards you, and you instantly feel small. “Tell me, Chenle. Did they have something to do with this?”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Yangyang jumps in. “They come along and all of a sudden you have a conscience?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” you argue adamantly. “It was his decision, not mine.”

Confirming your words, the aforementioned boy nods. “I may have gotten a bit of a wake-up call from them, but this is what I want to do.”

The three hum, exchanging glances in the silence that encompasses your five-person group. Distant chatter fills the rest of the room, but it doesn’t interfere. They’re all starting to follow his logic, but whether or not they’ll follow in his footsteps is still up in the air.

“What about us, then?” Sicheng inquires stoically.

Chenle takes a final sip from his milkshake glass. “If you ever come to the same realization that I did, you’re free to join me.”

At his signal, you slide out of the booth and he does the same, displaying his newfound habit of holding your waist shortly after.

“But it’s your call.”

Ten, Yangyang, and Sicheng look on, open-mouthed and astounded, as you both stride out of the doors.

What just happened?

You’re asking yourself the same question weeks later, when you’re sitting in the familiar front seat of Chenle’s car. He’s walking out of the school’s main entrance, beaming from ear to ear.

“You’ll never guess what I just did,” he chatters, settling in behind the wheel and beginning to back out of his parking space.

“Hm?”

“I asked Kun and his gang to meet me downtown this weekend, to talk things out.” Chenle sounds pleased with this arrangement, but your gut twists. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? It’ll be like making a truce; I’ll just say we’re square.”

You explain that you have a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he continues to assure you, saying that it’ll be fine. Eventually you relent, but only after he promises to bring you with him.

“You should ask the other guys to come with you, too. Safety in numbers.”

“Ah, I dunno. They’ve barely spoken to me since that day at the diner.”

Though Chenle’s a happier and much less hostile person now, you see the flicker of hurt in his eyes when he remembers how his friends chose to stay behind, to cling to their old mindsets as they’ve always done. He doesn’t hold it against them, but he wishes things could have been different.

And his altered demeanor hasn’t gone unnoticed by the greasers, either. They find it off-putting, since they’ve never known a Soc to treat them like they’re anything more than an inconvenience. Lucas especially doesn’t like the sound of Chenle’s request. None of them do, really, but he’s the only one that’s able to get his hands on a surefire way to make sure the boy doesn’t try anything.

On the selected day, almost every street is bustling with activity. Every street except the block the two parties agreed to meet on, conveniently. As you near the location, the rate at which your stomach turns begins to increase. You can feel something heavy lingering in the air, and your brain is screaming at you to turn around. You have half a mind to reach over and yank the wheel in the opposite direction, but this will be good for Chenle.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself for the rest of the drive, and the words keep repeating even when you step out of the Mustang. A clock tower tolls nearby, signaling the top of the hour, and just like that, it’s time.

“Just stay here,” Chenle advises. “I didn’t mention that you were coming, so if they see you they might think I’m up to something.”

Pretty sure they already do. That’s what you want to say, anyway, but you remain quiet.

Four figures await at the end of this chosen alleyway, which lets out onto an equally empty road. One of them peeks around a shallow corner between the buildings and alerts the rest as soon as they see Chenle making his approach. Lucas slips a large hand into the pocket of his jeans.

You're anxiously leaning against the side of his car, where he had told you to wait. Once the boy turns down the thin passageway and you become unable to see him, the pounding of your heart grows louder in your ears, now overpowering the buzzing sounds of the town’s center. You can’t help but notice how narrow of a space it is. Surely he wouldn’t have much room to turn around and run? If need be, of course.

But as time goes on, the unlikelihood of that scenario seems to shrink.

This was a bad idea from the start, because how are they supposed to recognize that his intentions are good? After years of only having only bad ones, surely they’re jaded enough to think it’s all a ruse.

You don’t know why you start to run, why your legs begin to carry you faster than they’ve ever carried you before, but a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach guides your accelerating footsteps.

“Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble.” He’s trying his best, but Chenle’s efforts to explain that he’s got nothing to hide, no tricks up his sleeve, are in vain.

“Right.” Hendery deadpans. “What’d you say… you wanna talk, right?”

They have him backed up against a dumpster and facing the street he entered from, meaning that the quartet’s backs are turned to you. Even Lucas’s frame is tall enough to temporarily obscure the sight of a lone figure, your figure, charging down the alley and towards the group. None of them see you coming.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You run faster.

“Yes! Yes, that’s all. Just talk.” He takes a step forward, one stupid step. One too many. “Gimme a chance to—”

Bang.

Several things happen then, all in the span of about half a second. With a strength you weren’t even aware of possessing, you burst through the gang’s barricade-like stance to tug Chenle to the side. Unfortunately, it’s at this moment that your footing decides to fail you, and you end up essentially switching places with him.

The tallest of the five boys looks on in pure horror as the lead bullet punctures not Chenle’s arm, but yours.

What’s most surprising to you, though, is the fact that you don’t fall to your knees or pass out. Not at first. You just stand there, trying not to look down at the place where your shirt’s been torn by the projectile, leaving behind a scarlet wound that smells distinctively of rust.

Movies always made it seem much more dramatic.

Someone’s screaming. Maybe it’s you. Everything is muffled, your vision is fuzzy. Chenle’s next to you and his mouth is moving but you don’t hear any sound come out, feeling only a dull pain in your ear from the presumably high volume.

The pain. It reaches you slowly, like paper absorbing a droplet of ink, flooding your left shoulder and surging all the way down to the ends of your fingers.

So much for managing his hostility. Chenle is spewing obscenities at all the greasers while simultaneously recovering from his own wave of shock, stunned by what he so narrowly avoided and by what you put yourself in imminent danger of.

By now, the gun has clattered to the ground, and Kun turns his attention to his companions. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out who brought the weapon as it’s laying right next to a pair of distinctive shoes, some dirtied high-tops that he knows belong to Lucas. The man’s face is nearly ashen, struck with regret.

“Bringing a heater? Really?” Kun reprimands him. “You didn’t even think to mention that, did you? I know we all had our doubts, but this?” Xiaojun reinforces the admonishments, sticking close to Hendery while they decide whether or not to offer help.

Lucas doesn’t respond, his only movement being when he kneels down next to Chenle as he tends to your now-crumbling form, but the hand he extends is quickly swatted away. Curses are still flying under the youngest’s breath in order to keep his mind and mouth busy, too busy to cry, while he wraps his letterman jacket around your upper arm.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, trying to reassure you and himself at the same time.

You retain no memory of the ambulance ride or of your arrival at the hospital. The next time you open your eyes, you’re told that two days have passed, and you’ve already had surgery on your shoulder.

An off-white ceiling glares down at you, but the presence beside you is far more comforting. Along with a nurse, Chenle’s face is visible in your peripheral vision, and you can see your whole family standing at the foot of your bed as well.

She notices the way your face brightens a bit, some of its normal color returning. “He’s been here holding your hand the whole time. Except during the surgery, of course.” The nurse finishes her thought with a smile, expression warm and kind. Chenle squeezes your palm in his, standing up and stepping outside into the hall to let those you’re closest with have some time with you.

As the door opens, seven sets of eyes snap towards it, only three of which Chenle was expecting.

“What are you doing here?”

Xiaojun, Hendery, Kun, and Lucas appear the most apologetic he’s ever seen. Granted, such an emotion doesn’t make its presence known on their faces very often, but there’s a first time for everything.

“We came to see them.”

“And to say sorry.”

“I don’t think so,” he starts, but Ten catches him by the wrist. “Give ’em a chance. We’ve been talking.” Chenle looks to the others, and Yangyang nods, followed by Sicheng.

So when your family exits the room and your mother waves Chenle back in, all seven of the boys follow him.

It’s a bit overwhelming to see eight faces peering down at you, but even more puzzling to you in your groggy state is their dynamic. No one’s arguing or trying to start a fight, and if it weren’t for the difference in attire, you’d believe they were part of the same friend group.

Apologies are given, though they’re not just from Lucas. Among the rest of the guys, numerous expressions of shame and remorse are exchanged, too. It’s most likely the direness of your situation that’s to blame for their heightened awareness of emotions, but the incident itself seems to have been the incitement of change that they all needed. If it can happen to them, what’s stopping the effects from rippling throughout the whole town?

A contented grin on your lips, you lift your good arm to wave at the boys as they exit. The sun has gone down at this point, and your family just returned with dinner for themselves. Your food rests on a tray that the same nurse from earlier brought a few minutes ago, and Chenle has reclaimed his spot at your side, as faithful as ever. He knows he'd be the one in a hospital bed right now if it wasn’t for you.

The boy gently pecks your cheek, his loving gesture enough to melt away any pain that might have remained.

“Thank you, Chenle.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” You chuckle a bit, “There's no one I’d rather jump in front of a bullet for.”

“Don’t say that!” But he laughs along.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Chenle whispers softly, just like he did some 48 hours prior. And this time, he believes it.

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