#i hope everyone gets to at least watch a bootleg of it it really is a great show

[cpyclopse]

Latest doodle!!!🪲📷

The inside of my house is already almost finished with Halloween decorations so I've been thinking about Beetlejuice:)

[azure-daybreak]

So I went to Miku Expo 2024 last night (the Vancouver show) and I wanted to talk about it while it's top of mind.

TL;DR I had a lot of fun, while there were some things I wish were different (mostly the screen), it wasn't a bad first Miku concert IMO (But I do wanna see more shows). More under the cut!

First of all, it was super cool to see all the different people there to see Miku and the other Vocaloids. Like, I've been to conventions before and it's always cool to see a horde of people dressed as various anime characters or animals, but to see everyone dressed specifically as Voicaloids and Project Sekai characters was new for me.

About the merch on sale at the concert, I was surprised that they were doing most of it outside and that the inside merch stand had barely anything- at least when I got in. That could just be bad timing on my end. If you're reading this and you wanna buy merch at one of the upcoming shows (especially a glowstick), make sure to get there early. For Vancouver, they did send out an email the day before saying that they were selling merch outside starting at 2pm, but I wasn't able to get there before then.

I did get the VIP package merch but it's kinda.... well it's not bad or anything, and I'm glad to have it but some of it feels a little cheap. For example, the hand fan is cute but feels flimsy, and the tote bag has a really nice design but the heat pressing makes me not wanna use it because I'm worried about cracking the art. On the other hand, I really like the lanyard that came with the package; The art was done by Socky and I liked it so much that I bought the backpack that also has that art.

Onto the show. You may have already heard this but yes, It wasn't the usual hologram, where they have a sheet of glass with the visual projected onto it, it was just a normal screen where they played the visual. It did feel like I was watching one of those hologram-ready videos on my phone but on a giant TV, but it was still cool to see.

Here's also a side-by-side of how the hologram looks vs the display using on the rocks from Magical Mirai 2021 and last night's show. While it's not fair to use a pro-shot vs what looks like a musical theater bootleg sime tutorial to show this, I hope it gets the point across. (Miku Expo 2024 on the left and Magical Mirai 2021 on the right)

I liked the setlist also, it can be found at this link here, but some standouts to me were, Miku by Anamanaguchi, The Vampire, Unknown Mother Goose, Childish War, On the Rocks, Sore ga Anata no Shiawase to Shite mo, Gimmie x Gimmie (Love this song so much), World is Mine (everyone screamed at the first "Sekai de" (including me)), the band introduction, Tell Your World (It's not my favorite or anything, but they shot out confetti at one point and that was cool.), and Intergalactic Bond.

I want to expand a bit on the band introduction and them as a whole, I loved that the band got attention and their names were shown. I watched some Magical Mirai videos and I see that this practice might be from that, so I'm glad that was carried over. They all were stellar and watching them was really exciting, the drummer- Dylan was always so cool to look at, Tobias the keyboardist was dancing near the beginning of Gimmie x Gimmie and that was a vibe, the bassist and guitarist- Leanne and Vixen's Diary respectively were fun to watch when they would get into the song and headbang and bounce around.

Lastly, I was surprised that Luka only got 2 songs (one of them was a duet with Miku). I (very sadly) expect MEIKO and KAITO to get shafted when it comes to songs, but not Luka!

Quick shout-outs to some specific concert goers; Shieonn, who made stickers and was handing them out before the show (Here's her Twitter!),

The person near me who shouted either "I LOVE YOU JERMA!" or "I LOVE YOU DRUMMER!" at the end of one of the songs (I think it was World is Mine), the girl near me who was trying to get pictures and video of the show using her 3DS, and this one person I saw outside the venue entrance as the show was letting out who was dressed up as Sonic Miku, I wanted to say that I loved the fit, but I didn't wanna just walk up to you randomly at almost 10PM and possibly freak you out.

Overall, I'd go again but please for the love of god, don't just have a screen for the Vocaloids!

[notebookmusical]

Hi! Okay this is part 2. Sorry it's a few days late lol. I also wanted to mention how cool the new Playbill styles for the anniversary are! I've seen a few of them and it's awesome that they're all mostly different and creative. I'm not always a fan of the old just black and white style but when it works..it works and sometimes it's pretty cool or matches the vibes haha. I am excited for Gypsy and Sunset Boulevard is getting pretty good reviews too..or at least Nicole. I'm also interested in Maybe Happy Ending with Darren Criss. Anyway yes everyone in the show and the Notebook is soo talented and I hope they have long careers. I could totally see John Cardoza in any of the roles you mentioned. Also I heard some people say that Solea makes a great Satine too.

Oh okay. Did you listen to Urinetown yet? What have you been listening to? I think I have maybe heard a few songs but that's all. But I am familiar with Spelling Bee that they are doing performances of and that also seemed like a great cast. If you haven't listened, I would recommend it.

Omg what did you think of the Death Becomes Her movie? I liked How do you imagine the musical and the songs? It's weird cuz the music in the movie seemed suspenseful but the movie itself didn't have that vibe so I just wonder .how it will be. .especially with the stunts and what the songs will sound like. But I think it has potential and definitely more of a fun show with a good cast so I hope the songs are good. It was fun to imagine where the songs would be.

I'm sorry you didn't like Lempicka. It seems we have some of the same thoughts. It just didn't stick with me for some reason but I know others liked it. What did your friend like about it so much? and why. But I also watched three bootlegs this week and I'm excited to tell you. That was also part of the reason I was replying late. I think I will have to send another ask though and idk when cuz my phone is so glitchy right now and I don't want stuff to not send again. I promise I will send another one sooner though!

replying under the cut 🤍

i really like the new playbill styles! do you have a ranking of your favorites? i posted this a while ago but i can't remember which ones i ranked at the top, oops! i am so so so excited for gypsy; my best friend and i keep joking that this is a sondheim/gypsy revival family and not a sunset boulevard one (even though i've heard nicole is incredible). i was reading the sunset reviews, and everyone universally seems to love nicole. i just personally am not a fan of jamie lloyd's ... staging ... or the gimmick (i think it's just stupidly arrogant to do in new york). i'm intrigued by maybe happy ending too!! i can't wait to hear more about it. have you seen the reviews for r+j? i was a little shocked at how mixed it was, but also not.

i did listen to urinetown! and it was very easy to picture jordan fisher and stephanie styles as the respective roles they're cast in! i have been listening to a lot of the secret of us deluxe by gracie abrams, and halsey's the great impersonator as of late, but also still listening to a lot of the notebook... and the notebook... and the notebook. i'm going to try to listen to an audio boot of ken cen spelling bee this week, and the new sunset cast recording!

i really liked death becomes her, and i cannot wait to see how things are done on stage! i have so many questions and it just seems SO cool and so fun. ugh i wish i was going to new york again soon so i could see it. i've heard it did pretty well in chicago so i wonder how things will go for them in new york — it looks like megan is sick right now though, poor thing :(

my friend loveees eden! and so it was unsurprising that she loves lempicka as much as she does haha! i was just kind of ~ whatever ~ about it. but i'm happy it resonated with her and she loves the show! will reply to the next part in a bit!!

[ophelliate]

rambling about bootleg and the domino au because i can

Omfg I have so much to say about the bootleg fic that I can barely put into words.

Like I'm gonna put this in the notes for next chapter/episode but these comments are literally giving me life. I have a bad habit of not commenting on much myself but seeing all the love is so invigorating. This is my first ever fic; I've only been in the fandom for like two months, and people like it this much? Mind-blowing really. I'm forever grateful for those who stick around.

I'd also like to shout-out my friends who witnessed me entering into mania after finding out and learning how to code html just so I could get this silly fic up on ao3. I was laughing hysterically every time it was mentioned.

Speaking of bootleg episodes though, I got about two (2) things:

1.) I'm literally so excited for the first half of the season. It seems like I'm very much motivated by what makes me laugh when it comes to screenwriting and the season 1a episodes is basically just all goofs; they make me giggle every time I think about them. As of right now, episode 2 is finished with only coding needed to be done, and I've just gotten started on episode 3.

And I also whipped this up last night to share here.

Plot synopsis'! For the rest of the season's first half at least. Each episode has something special to them, at least in my eyes, so I hope they're a treat for everyone else as well. I'm looking to release episodes on late night Thursdays since it was nice to see comments appear throughout the weekend, so look forward to SPORTS! Any% this Thursday at around 10/11pm EST!

2.) Uhhh yeah y'all are getting 14 episodes now.

The added episode will be in the back half of the season. At first I thought it'd be too boring of an episode for kids until friends told me it'd be hilarious and I was also reminded of similar episodes I rewatched a lot as a kid myself. The main goal of this fic after all is to make this like something I'd see in my childhood memories.

I don't want to give too much away for the second half of the season, but be ready for cats, guidance counselors, and a possible Twilight parody.

But okay okay, time to talk about the Domino AU:

This project really came to me on a whim just last week, like I felt a little inspired after watching Mutant Mayhem for what I think was the fourth time. Soon will be five times.

While I said I focus on comedy for my screenwriting, I can very confidently say it's rather the opposite with my prose. A lot of original fiction novels I wrote in high school focused on tragedy and angst, and the domino au definitely matches that previous catalogue. It won't be as angsty, I'll promise you that much, but it's definitely the yin to bootleg's yang.

I'll probably post an actual infodump/proper summary of the AU next week, and release a one-shot around Halloween time. But any main fic will likely be coming out after I finish season one of bootleg.

Unless I impulsively start a season two–

But anyways as you can see, mm has giving me so much inspiration. Honestly, if it didn't come out, I don't think I would've survived the summer, so I'm immensely thankful for its existence.

And if anyone read this far, have a nice day ^^

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

[nightlight-firelight]

Hi everyone, I’m really hoping you guys like this one! I’m hoping to continue this story, if you all like this. I’m not used to writing for other people, so please give me some feedback on how I could make this more enjoyable.

“Small Things Come With a Awkward Price”

Chapter 1

Getting home was a nightmare and getting back into your room is the top priority in your mind. The trip from Walmart had you exhausted due to the unexpected heat. Looking at your phone, you swear that today was only supposed to be in the seventies. You drop off your grocery bag onto your bed and pull out the item you have been waiting to open up. The Sonic Boom season one DVD set came with Sonic and Dr.Eggman figures. Even though the box was banged up, you bought the set anyway. The thought crossed your mind that a kid tried to open the box to get the figures but luckily didn’t succeed. You opened the banged-up box and pulled the figures out and set them on the bed. Then, taking out the two DVD cases, you set those on the bed and take a walk to the kitchen with the busted box and the excess plastic.

On the way to the kitchen, your thoughts began to wonder why you had picked up the box set to begin with. It was a good price and with the addition of the figures, you thought yourself lucky to get the last one they carried. Looking back, however, you did remember that this box was just under one of the shelving units next to the videogame isle, not even covered by a speck of dust. You had only seen the box when you went to look closer at a price tag, seeing the corner of the disheveled box and its contents. Pacing your dominant foot on the small peddle of the garbage can, the lid lifts from its closed positions and you gently toss the trash into the bin, only seeing a slip of paper glide out of the now trashed box.

You groan in annoyance that you have to take care of the fallen slip and pick up the small piece of paper after a try or two keeping it slightly stick to the floor. You take a closer look at the paper and see that it had some writing to it.

‘Hope you like my surprise!’

Staring at it puzzled you. Who was this for? I wasn’t meant for you to find, at least that what you believe. Was this put in here as a joke or an accident or-,

‘Clack!’

You jump ever so slightly from the odd noise that had pulled you away from your thoughts. The noise appears to come from your room, from the way the sound was only slightly distant and lightly muffled by the walls. You take more of a pep in your step and get to your room to investigate the noise. Taking a look around your room, you find after a minute of looking to see your Sonic figure on the floor. Picking him back up you take a look at him and see that his paint job was really impressive for a small action figure. You rolled him around in your hand and were impressed that the figure, all around, was correctly put together and made. No chip marks, no lack of paint, or extra paint where it shouldn’t be. No mistakes. You smile a bit at the thought and set Sonic on your small table next to your bed. You see that the Dr.Eggman figure, however, was almost to the edge of the bed, laying on his tummy, and had his arms pushed out in front of him. ‘Looks like he pushed Sonic off.’ You laughed at that thought of the plastic toy throwing its plastic arch-nemesis over the edge of the bed.

You pick the doctor up and examine him as well. He just like Sonic with the most impeccable paint job you’ve seen. You blush a bit and hold him more gently. You won’t lie and say that you may have had a crush on the doctor for a while now, not trying to deny it anymore. The first time that you had seen him on screen when watching the cartoon, you had butterflies swarming inside of you. The way he spoke was like music to your ears, and the way that he got when he thought he was about to win was so cute to you. You wished that they had made a third season to keep going with the cute doctor, but alas, good things must come to an end.

Taking the doctor and placing him onto your mountain of pillows you take a new pair of clothing into your bathroom and get cleaned up again, remembering that the heat had not been kind to you earlier. Once done, you put your old outfit into your laundry hamper and grabbed your portable DVD payer from the corner of your room. You had gotten this for the holidays and once you had gotten it, you never put it down for more than a few hours. You open up the player and take the first DVD case and open up the side of it up to show you the contents inside.

Your mood changed to a sour one when you saw the DVD itself. A plain disk with the words ‘Sonic Boom Season One, First Disk.’ repaced what would have been the official disk. You were upset that this was a false product and went to look at the second case. When you opened that one you were greeted by the bootleg copy of the second disk. You set both cases down and head to the kitchen you grab your favorite drink.

‘Really should have grabbed this earlier when I went to throw out the box.’ thinking bitterly as you swing open the fridge door and grab a bottle of your elixir that would of relax the current mood you were in. Opening the cap and dowing a few gulps of the drink, you realized that maybe you might have had gotten a copy that may have been a gift to someone or a factory error. You put the cap back on and take a deep breath. You had wanted to watch the show and still hope that the disks were holding the content you crave.

You made your way back to your room again to find your DVD player’s disk tray opened with the first seasons stuck in the correct spot. You freaked. You KNEW that you did not put the disk is the try, not even taking it out of its case, what is it ended DOING out of the case? You panic for a second and take a look around your home to make sure no one was in the house with you. After a check of the windows, rooms, closets, and even checking under furniture, you concluded that no one could have been in your house. You take a calming breath and sit down on the edge of your bed. You try and come up with some sort of explanation. Mabey you had put the disk in your DVD player and forgot about it. You were a bit sleep-deprived due to the last week of finals, so maybe you may have forgotten? You try and relax and after a few minutes you calm down enough to stop thinking of making scenarios of how this could have happened. After getting a grip, you push the lid down of the DVD player and start up the system. Sitting on your bed, you get to the main menu and sigh of relief that it was a copy of the show and not a knock-off. “So this must be a prototype or an unreleased version, cool.” Speaking to no one in particular. You press play on the first episode, ‘The Sidekick.’ and lean back the ride.

At first, the episode appeared normal. That ended when it got to the scene where Dr.Eggman got the poster for the sidekick tryouts and when the fourth wall gag kicked in and dropped the camera away from the doctor’s face, when he picked it up, however.

“Lousy security camer-.” he had stopped and looked dead into the ‘camera’. His eyes widened and he gave off a soft gasp, and you swore he was looking dead into your eyes, however, the scene quickly changed into the next stop before he could react. You pause the clip there and lean back.

NO WAY that happened. Your brain at the moment was fried and you KNEW he looked at you. Your heart was pounding a mile a minute and you had to take a few deep breathes to make sure you didn’t hyperventilate. ‘Breath,’ You keep telling yourself. ‘Breath!’ After few minutes of reconciliation, you looked back to the paused screen and ponder on what you should do. This has to be edited or who knows what. You were too far into this to give up now. First, the way the box was hidden was now becoming way too suspicious, second the way the figure looked way too good to be sold in a box set like that, and now this? You realized that this might be bigger than what you anticipated. Your eyes connect with the figure on your bed. You wanted to see where this goes. You had to see where this leads. You press play again.

You kept watching and when it got to when the doctor was introduced it was normal until it got to the Doctor entering the try-outs. He would keep going with the same dialog but kept taking glances over to you. The episode kept playing. The ending was different, however. Once BurnBot was destroyed via growing in the ice lake, Sonic and Tails didn’t kick the doctor away from the area. Instead, they did kick the Egg-Mobile out into the distance, but the doctor jumped out, landing in the area around the lake, letting Sonic and Tails leaving the scene. The camera focused on Eggman again as he lifted himself from off the ground and into the camera’s range. This time there was absolutely no way that the Docter did not see you as his expression look of that of confusion and worry. You decided to test out to see if you were going insane or if this was just an amazing edit. You wave to him. He hesitates for a moment. “Who-” But before he could finish that sentence, a very large light appears from the screen, blinding you. You cover your eyes and try to maneuver your body away from the small screen, only forgetting that you were seated in your bed and had just flung yourself off of it. You yelp out of fright and waited to hit the floor. You felt something grab you by the waist and pull you back up on the bed slowly. Uncovering your eyes you were met with something that happens only in fanfiction. A, very real, Dr. Eggman holding you in his hands, keeping you from falling off the bed.

“Hello.” His voice wavers from either the awkwardness of the situation or the fact that he just showed up into your room.

This is awkward.

[fbfh]

dear baby; strawberry milkshakes - leo x reader parents au

words: 1.8k

summary: You and Leo are getting used to adulting together, when Chiron asks for your help. Next thing you know, there’s a little demigod for you two to take care of - and you’re not going to let her down.

warnings: almost boning but getting interrupted, shit is said twice, one use of fucking I think, mentions of orphanages and the foster care system, mentions of CPS, being at a CPS building, adopting a child, leo has trauma, leo and reader take in a child when you’re both 19, technically teen parents but not really, the kid has some trauma too, everyone has trauma but literally what’s new

au: sort of college + parents au

song recs: raining in new york mix - the bootleg boy (tw for some sort of sad dialogue samples), falling in love with love - bernadette peters in cinderella (1997)

a/n:  I saw a kids book called Sophia Valdez Future Prez and I know nothing about it but immediately knew I had to do a parents au where you and Leo have a daughter named sophia???????? also I accidentally gave myself baby fever whoopsie

also I was barely able to proof read this and had no brain while writing half of it so if the beginning feels rushed at all that’s why teehee

Straddling his lap, you start to take off Leo’s shirt. He tilts his head to the side as you nip at the skin gently. He moans softly, then tenses. 

"Shit!" He hisses, sitting up and pulling your shorts back up. You look at him bewildered, and he nods his head to the side, and you see a shimmery cloud that says that you have an incoming iris message from Chiron.  

"Oh shit," you echo, moving to a reasonable distance away from him, a thick throw blanket tossed gracefully across your legs and pulled up to cover your chest, and you're grateful your shirt hadn't been thrown across the room already. 

He pulls his shirt down and you toss him a throw pillow to cover his very obvious excitement. You give each other a ready as we'll ever be look and accept the call. 

"Hey Chiron… what's up?" Leo asks nonchalantly. 

"You must pardon my intrusion, dear children, I hope I'm not - er - interrupting anything.” “No, no, not at all,” you answer, hoping what you had been doing wasn’t too obvious in spite of how both of you are looking particularly flushed and deschevled, “we were just watching a movie.” 

Leo nods in agreement, and you list two different movies at the exact same time, the dark knight rises and moonstruck.

A beat passes, and you continue, “Double feature. Just finished Batman and we’re about to start Moonstruck.” 

Leo agrees. You can’t tell if Chiron is buying it, but he seems to move on relatively quickly. 

“Right. I’m afraid I must ask for your help with a rather time sensitive situation.” your brows furrow in unicen as he continues. 

He tells you about a young demigod a satyr found, not even four years old yet, but they haven’t been able to get her to camp. Apparently there were some complications, and CPS was called, now they’re looking for her parents to see if she’s going to a foster home or orphanage. If they can’t get to her before the CPS finishes processing her, she’ll be lost in the system. He’s asking older demigods and demigod families in New York, since processing time will go the fastest if the family or guardians are in-state. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please consider taking her in, at least temporarily.” You and Leo share a look, hearts already hurting that life has gotten to this kid so soon. 

“I’ll give you some time to discuss this, please call me back as soon as you have an answer.” 

You agree, and the shimmery image of Chiron dissipates.

“... Oh my god,” you breathe. 

You turn to each other again, the same thing mirrored in each other's eyes. An immediate, unspoken conformation that there’s no way you can’t help this kid out passes between you. You know Leo, especially, will do whatever needs to be done to keep another orphaned demigod out of the foster system. The scope of the impact you could have on this kid’s life starts to dawn on you, and you lock eyes with Leo again, his face set in determination. 

“Estrella,” he starts, and you know what he’s going to say. 

“I know,” you confirm in agreement.

His leg is bouncing, and you lean over, grabbing a notepad and pen from the coffee table. Your mind is already racing, and you begin scribbling down a list of everything you’d need to do; get her a bed and clothes, research where she is in her developmental stages, put together a meal plan or at least some foods she’ll like - what do toddlers even eat? He starts pacing around the coffee table. 

“We gotta help this kid, we-” he cuts himself off, overwhelmed with determination. 

“We will.” you confirm, equally determined. You grab your laptop and start copying your list digitally so you can get everything organized. You stare at your reflection in the black screen while you wait for your computer to boot up. Once again, the reality of your situation hits you.

“We’re 19…” you state, in disbelief. Your mind is racing with doubts. What if you somehow make everything worse, what if you can’t handle it? He crouches next to you, placing his hand on your cheek.

“And we have a lot of love to give.” The smile in your eyes tells him that you know he’s right. You transcribe your writing, surprised that you’re okay with how fast this is all moving, and you let out another breathy laugh of disbelief. 

You go through your hastily made checklist, switching between tabs about child psychology, parenting advice, and kid’s furniture and clothes websites, strategizing with Leo on how you can pull this off, and a plan gradually comes together.

“I mean, this is a two bedroom,” he says as you look through pages of bed frames and mattresses, “we can clear out our studio and turn it into her room.” 

“And…” you add, checking yet another tab, “there’s a building nearby that rents out studio spaces and workshop areas. Ooh, and free parking.” you read on the website. It’s already late, but you send them an email anyway. Hopefully they’ll get back to you tomorrow. But for now… 

“We can get a bed tonight, but we’d have to hurry. We can probably get some pjs and maybe a stuffed animal while we’re there- toothbrush!” You exclaim, adding it to your list, “I knew I was forgetting something…”

 Leo stops pacing, and looks at you. “So… we’re doing this?” You can’t fight the smile on your face, and he already has his answer. 

“We’d better call Chiron back,” you say, excitedly bubbling out. You both enter the bathroom, and iris message chiron with mist from the shower. He answers almost immediately.

“We thought it over and…” you trail off, letting him finish.

“We want to help.” 

After changing into some presentable clothes and swinging by the store for a car seat and some other essentials (you almost forgot tooth paste this time), you’re driving with Leo to meet Chiron at the CPS office where they had Sophia - the girl Chiron told you about. You call the Ikea store not too far from your apartment, thankful you’re able to reach them before they close. You arrange to have them deliver a toddler bed to the spare bedroom in your apartment, your neighbor agreeing to let them in. Luckily, you had the presence of mind to get most of your and Leo’s stuff out of there, the corner of the living room now holding your desk and his drafting table. 

You’re still a little blurry on the details of how you’re going to get custody of this kid when you’re barely legal and have no ties to her or her family, but Chiron said he could work everything out. You assume the Mist will come in very handy. You and Leo discuss this on the way over. 

You can tell he’s worried. Knowing the horrors he went through in the foster system would be bad enough without all the demigod bullshit on top of everything. You take another deep breath. 

“This is what’s best for her,” he says matter of factly, “she needs to be with people who understand her.” You agree, and he continues, very fired up.

“She needs to be in an environment where she’s not going to be ignored and ostracized; she needs to be part of a family, not a fucking meal ticket.” 

You squeeze his leg supportively, and he takes another breath. 

“You’re right. And she’s going to get all of that.” He scoffs in agreement.

“There’s not a better place for someone like her than-”

“With someone like her.” you finish. He pulls into the parking lot and you enter, meeting Chiron in the building. Your hand holds Leo’s tightly, unsure of who’s shaking more. Chiron explains that he already had a discussion (wink wink) with the social worker, and knows that he has the perfect couple to take little Sophia in, and all you have to do is meet with her and sign some papers. 

So that brings you here, waiting outside the office door, holding each other’s trembling hands before finally entering. She doesn’t look up at you at first, until the social worker introduces you. Leo squeezes your hand, and she finally looks up, her eyes speaking a language you and Leo know. You know there is absolutely no going back from here, and you both sit down across from her. 

“Hi, you’re Sophia, right?” She looks away, clearly and understandably overwhelmed. 

“Don’t be rude, Sophia-” the social worker starts, but you cut her off. 

 “It’s okay, she didn’t do anything wrong.” you turn back to her, “You know, me and Leo have an extra bedroom at our apartment, and a kitten that I think would really like you. Do you want to come stay with us?” 

She doesn’t look back up right away, but she turns her head towards you. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asks softly. How is she so precious already?

“A girl,” you reply, “named Jackhammer, because she purrs so loud.” 

She giggles, and you and Leo squeeze each other’s hands in unison.

“Really?” she asks. 

“Oh yeah,” you reply, “I’m sure she’d love to play catch the mouse with you.” She considers for a moment, then looks over at the social worker, who gives her an encouraging nod. After a moment of consideration, she replies quietly, “...Okay.” 

She hops down from her chair, and you both follow suit. The social worker hands you some papers, and you both sign. You guide her to the lobby, let Chiron know it went well and promise to update him soon, and bring her to the car. You pull out of the parking lot. 

Not long after leaving, you see a fast food place. 

“Are you guys hungry?” you ask, nudging Leo gently. 

“Yeah, I could definitely go for some fries. How bout you Sophia?” 

She nods, then asks quietly, “Can I get a milkshake?” 

Her expression is hesitant, and you get the sense she’s expecting a no. 

“Of course kiddo,” you say.

“What flavor do you want?” Leo finishes, turning to look at her. Her eyes are bright with hesitant excitement. 

“Strawberry, please.” 

After leaving the drive through, you have Leo search through your phone for any kid friendly music, and discover the only thing you have saved that’s appropriate for present company is the soundtrack to the Cinderella musical from 1997.

That’s how your little family started; driving late at night, singing along to Bernadette Peters, and drinking strawberry milkshakes.

[butwhatifidothis]

At this point I’m getting kind of defensive about Edelgard but like, from her stans. Because I really like that she’s an ideologically motivated female villain, those are pretty rare. I like her being this badass cool girl with a dorky side and some of those moments work for me. The more I dig into it the more I love the theming of her becoming what she claims to fight, a false goddess. Stop taking her agency away assholes, enjoy watching a girlboss winning.

(There was another ask about Edelstans hating Edelgard that Tumblr fucked up and erased, mentionin' it here cuz these two are similar)

It's like her stans don't realize why she makes for a (potentially) compelling character. Villains are celebrated because of the idea of chasing after what you want at the expense of those around you being something people want to vicariously experience in lieu of doing the shitty things themselves, or they wanna see how a character can devolve so far from their beginnings and ideals, or how they can roundabout back around to becoming the thing they said they wouldn't like you said - there's so much more I'm not even mentioning for why a villain like Edelgard can be exciting to watch!

Like, the best example of a villain who's evil as shit that I can respect as a villain is Medusa from Soul Eater, specifically her manga rendition. To not spoil anything, that woman goes to such far reaching, morally reprehensible lengths to achieve her goals, up to and including fucking herself over to have a better chance of realizing her ambition, and damn does it make her a sight to watch! Even my sis, who haaaates her, can respect her as a villain, because she makes a damn good villain.

Edelgard can (again, potentially) inspire similar feelings (specifically her AM rendition does this particularly well), but the way her stans speak of her she's just this wet blanket who's pushed around by everyone around her to make her do just about any of what she does, and that's so boring. They tote her as this strong woman while simultaneously dragging her down to poor lass that needs to be ~softened~ by the player character to see her true potential, when that's not true. Edelgard with Byleth is Edelgard at her worst as a character, specifically because Byleth is used as an outlet to woobify Edelgard into this baby back bitch who needs Teacher around to fight, when she's perfectly capable of fighting without Byleth by her side.

It'd be one thing if the ~softening~ of Edelgard was an arc of her going "Being with you has made me realize that my methods and decisions were too self-centered, I was being too self-important with my dreams, I was uncaring of those under me, and I hope that you will stay with me as I try to make amends of my actions". Who fucking cares if it'd be "too similar" to Dimitri's arc, there's an inherent difference between the two in that Edelgard does infinitely worse shit with a far clearer mind than Dimitri does, which gives it an entirely different feel. But no, her ~softening~ is her being scared of rats and dwawing Teacher uwu no look!! It's so superficial and fake, especially when you compare it to (in descending order) Dimitri's, Claude's, and even Rhea's (the one with the least screentime by far) arcs where you can genuinely feel them change and grow in their characters.

When you look at Edelgard's route as something positive like stans want to, when you try to fit it into this "no she's not a villain at all" suit, there's a clear difference in quality when it comes to the character arcs of the four of them, and Edelgard is the cheap bootleg you bought from a sus site that came in a ziplock bag and had a funny scent when you opened it.

[activatingaggro]

you-you-you're just my type (oh, you got a pulse and you are breathing)

CALICO KUANFU

10.15 SWEEPS / 22 YEARS OLD

wasateg station, near-alternia orbit

(11,991 words)

SUMMARY: Calico Kuanfu only planned on going to Wasateg to watch his bootleg Ah! My Moirail, but he hadn't really planned on getting a moirail from it. Serendipidity, right?

CW: Blood, general canon compliant violence.

+++

If you ever tried to count how many times you've been stabbed, you'd run out of blood way before you ran out of digits.

Right now, that wouldn't be hard. You're pretty sure that the awful flesh keg of your body is just about out of blood, anyway.

"Honestly," you rasp out, "it's kind of surprising, really? Like, I would've thought - I mean, like, if you'd ever asked me, personally speaking, I wouldn't have thought I'd need to count! Count stabbings, I mean. Because, like - stabbing! Stabbing is one of those things that just seems like you'd remember? I mean, spiritually. Not physically. We're all bluebloods here, after all, and what's a little stabbing between friends?"

"Not that we're friends." Your ass hits something hard behind you. Oh, right. The counter. This is a place with counter! Everything's been a haze, since the knife first slid into your side. But adrenaline's pushing you through the blue fog, one ragged breath at a time. "I'd never be that presumptuous, obviously! Like, whatever deep, dark, special relationship that we're building here - these real, like, fresh community vibes -"

When you'd walked into the tea house, you hadn't expected anyone to start a fucking fight. All you'd wanted to do was grab a table, get an infinite refilled cup of boba, and settle down with the full OAV of Ah! My Moirail! for the rest of the day. It'd taken you four different shore leaves to hunt down the vids, while your roomie had derided you the entire time for chasing after a fool's errand. Everyone had said the OAV's uncensored disks had been shattered, the shards fed to one mother grub or another, but you'd held out hope. And now that you had your contraband in hand, there was no way in hell you were going to let him watch it with you.

At least, not until you'd seen the whole thing over twice.

You hadn't wanted a fight, but even tucked up in space, you're still a Rickshaw troll. Old habits had died hard. Sure, Quali-Tea had infinite refills on their boba.. but it'd been the only shop on the station with furniture durable enough to survive a navyblood's tantrum. The tables were big, heavy things, bolted tight enough into the floor that even a blueblood couldn't tip them.

And the counters were thick. Thick enough that when the clown lunges forward, and you twist back, the knife doesn't skitter when it hits the wood. It doesn't splinter.

It just sinks right the fuck in.

"- well, maybe we could be friends, after all," you offer up, glib. Mostly glib. Maybe it's a little faint, too, because - you're half on your back on the table, splinters digging in through the thin weave of your uniform. The adrenaline has cut through the fog in your vision, but it's fading, just as quick as it'd come. You're not sure how long it takes to die! You've never been worried enough to wonder.

There's blood pooling under you, though, more and more pushed out with every unsteady pulse of your heart. You've never thought about what it'd feel like to die, either, but right now.. you wouldn't be surprised if it was a little something like this.

At least the clown's not paying you any attention. Nah: all of his focus is on freeing the knife dug into the table. When you manage to roll, the wet squelch makes him look up. But then he kisses his teeth, annoyed, and turns his attention back down. "I think we could totally be friends," you rasp out, letting your words shake just a little. Your mouth tastes like iron, but that's fine. It just gives a little splash of authenticity to this whole thing, as your hand fumbles down, shaky, towards your belt.

In a way, you're lucky. As soon as the clown had pulled out a knife, the rest of the customers had started streaming out of the tea house, jostling and shoving in an attempt to get the fuck away. Even the cashier had taken one look at the two of you, and headed right out into the back of the shop with a sharp click of the door. Nobody likes when the clowns get rowdy! And, sure, you're not a clown, you’re a blueblood? But when it comes to the nobility, that sort of distinction never matters much.

A landdweller is a landdweller, after all. Navies don't pop out with frills and gills, and in a place like Watateg, that kind of distinction is what really matters.

It's never been a concern for you before! Watateg Station is one of the best watering holes for the newly Ascended, close enough to the bases to fly over for shore leave and be back again before the first bell. The prices are cheap, the trolls are easy, and every third resident is some flavour of sparkplug, with glowing eyes and pans as fragile as they are bright. In all the times you've visited, you've always been one of the only bluebloods on the whole rig. People have always ducked their horns and gotten the fuck out of your way. Maybe it's made you a little arrogant.

Or maybe clowns are just the fucking worst, you think, as the clown lets out what you're pretty sure must be a honk of frustration.

The knive’s still in your side, but that's fine. Everything's fine! Sure, there's blue smudged right across the corner of your vision, floating along the inner edges like scum on the water's surface. But you can still see. And if every breath feels like you're sucking in glass, it'salso  fine. You're still breathing, and that means you can work with that. You’ve gotten through raids with way more injuries than this.

And so, if when you lift your arm, the skin pulls enough that you think you might just fucking die - who cares? You just have to push through it! Sure, your shirt is so wet, you might as well be at sea again. But if you were at sea, you wouldn’t be paying attention to anything like that. Blood loss doesn’t count until the adrenaline turns off. The only trolls who think otherwise are the ones that get culled.

You’re not going to get culled here! There just wouldn’t be a point to it, not up in space. The clown’s long-limbed and scrawny, with skin so thin that you can see the press of their bones through it. They’ve got hollows in their cheeks, and blood-bright eyes. If they kill you, what’re they going to do with your body? Paint with it?

Mainlanders have always been wasteful, and clowns are the worst of ‘em all.

So you ignore the way that your skin tugs as you reach back. Each movement leaves you blinking back spots, but the clown’s big. You can see them even through the haze, and that’s all that matters, as you take a deep breath, grab your gun and carefully, painfully, take aim.

When the Ascension ships came down to the Rickshaws, after the jade matrons had lined all of you up neatly and nicely with the rest of your caste, the very first thing the drones did was take your guns. The little ones. The big ones! Even the heirlooms like you'd used to own, made out of troll horn and what must've amounted to a whole bucket of ash; they’d plucked it from your hands like it was nothing but a toy, with none of the reverence and awe that your weapons’ had deserved.

The smaller of the two drones had shifted, mandibles flaring, wider than you’d known they could go - wide enough that the keratin cracked, a noise loud enough that Eun-Woo had clapped both of her hands over her ears. The shell had peeled back, layer after layer, like so much glass shattering.

And there hadn’t been blood and wire inside, like you would’ve thought. Instead, it was just heat, strong enough you could feel it from several feet back, and the stinging stench of iron. They’d tossed the lot of your guns into that hole, one after another, as easily as if they were melting plastics. Explosives weren't allowed in space, they'd informed the lot of you over your cauterwailing, because no matter how cold your blood ran, it'd never be cold enough to survive a vacuum break in orbit.

So the little rinky-dink pistol you carry, all things considered, shouldn't be called a gun at all.

It doesn’t fire like one, either. When you pull the trigger, there's no recoil, or flash of light, or even the familiar iron sting of gunpowder igniting. There isn't even the familiar burst of heat you always associate with gunfire, because everything in the Carnaci 48 is meant to dissolve flesh, not steel.

If you weren't watching, you might've wondered if you'd even pulled the trigger. Then there's the familiar hiss and then the splash as the laser slips right through the clowns shoulder -

- and the gun splutters as the hiss dies, quickly as it had come. Something nearby clicks, a sound sharp enough to cut through your fog. Is it the gun? As quickly as it came, it's gone, and the only sound in the room is the sizzle of polyester curling into the red-hot circle of the clown's wound, and the sound of your ragged, wet rasps for air.

"I think we should be great friends," you say, all at once, in a rush. There's iron in your mouth, heady and painful, sharp enough on your tongue that it might as well be spirits. Every breath feels like you're pulling fire down your lungs, painful and bright and almost too much to bear.

You think: you need to get off of the counter. Behind it, maybe?

"I mean, yeah, I just shot you, but you - you stabbed me! You stabbed me first, dude." Your body shrieks as you jostle back. Your ass slides on the wooden surface, as your knees hook on the far edge. The knife keeps moving every time you do, lightning flashes of pain almost impossible to ignore. So you don't. You keep moving, and you keep talking. "But what's a few extra inches of steel between friends, right?"

The clown isn't paying any attention to the knife now. He looks down at his shoulder, his eyes wide enough that you can count the veins in them. Seven ripples of indigo, right through the yellow of his sclera. They're already being crowded out by orange, the warm warning of a blood rage blooming even as you watch. "I'm willing to forgive and forget," you tell him, earnest, wetting your lips. But you'd forgotten the iron in your mouth. "If you're down for it. What d'you say we put this all behind you?"

The clown looks up. He pulls his lips back from his teeth in what could be a snarl. His fangs are white and sharp, and a hysterical part of your brain notes that he must be great at his flossing regimen.

Then he smiles.

"Oh," you say, distressed, "oh, dude, I hate that, stop that?" He's stepping forward. You hadn't managed to get as far back as you planned, but it's fine: with each step, you're sliding back, the pain in your side smothered almost entirely under your sheer panic. The clown is between you and the teahouse's exit. But it's fine, because there's a door behind you.

All you have to do is get to the door behind you.

You swing your legs right over the edge of the counter, pivot, and -

- you fall right into the arms of a troll.

The cashier frowns down at you.

She's holding you like a carcass, fingers spread like she's afraid of a disease, nose wrinkled like she's certain you've got one. You could be offended, you think. She doesn't look old enough to judge you! There's no wrinkles, or gray hairs, or any of the little hints of a highblood's age. And her eyes aren't gray.

Her eyes are indigo, far cooler than the navy you're spilling all over her shirt, and unlike the knife fetishist in the corner, she doesn't have paint on her face at all.

You make a decision in an instance.

"He~llo," you sing, or try. Had rolling been a bad idea? There's a wet sound fucking up your words, dragging on the vowels like something sticky. Right, you'd never taken out the knife. "God, we just met, but - but would you believe that - well, I think I love you?"

The girl wrinkles her nose.

Does she even understand what you're saying? Probably not. No one on the station speaks Seacant, and your translation worm had died, right when the clown had first cuffed you on the ear. But she might! She's got the sort of features that look coastal. Not Hanhai, not with round little ears like hers, but Preuskan, maybe.

Definitely Preuskan, you decide, when she says something that just feels indescribably foreign. It's soft-edged and drawling, much more delicate than anything you'd expect out of a troll with jowls hanging like sacks of flour. It's kind of cute. But more importantly, it's friendly. It doesn't sound threatening, at least, and you can work with that.

Because the clown must have noticed her eyes, the same as you. He's pulled up short, his gaze flicking from you to her and back again. It's amazing. If your breathing wasn't so loud, you think, you might've heard gears clicking in his head.

"I am so sorry that I ruined your tea-shop. Tea-party? Tea festival? Whatever," you say, all in a rush, because - yeah, your words do sound wet, and now that you're being cradled in the not-so-metaphorical bosom of safety, you've got a little more attention to pay towards that. He hadn't struck you high enough for an organ, you'd thought. And it doesn't feel like he's punctured anything.

But would you be able to tell? Right now, you don't think so. Maybe you should've removed the knife. Maybe..

.. you should pay attention to your saviour, because she's looking at the clown, now.

"I am sorry, regardless, like, of whatever this is, or whoever's it is?" you say. "Like, for a lot of reasons! Because the destruction of other people's property is wrong, obviously, but -"

Her grip on your shifts. "But because - because -"

Then she drops you.

You've got just enough time to feel your old friend, the counter, once more under your ass. It's uncomfortable, but it's fine. Right now, it doesn't have a knife, so it's as good a friend as any in the teahouse. Better, really, because the troll is reaching out towards you, her lips pursed, and you're not sure what she's doing, exactly, until her fingers wrap around the handle of the knife.

Then you don't care what she's doing, because someone's screaming. Your lungs had been burning. Now everything is, every possible facet of your attention narrowed down to this one white hot point on your side. You've never died. It's a feat you've always been proud of! But this, you think, is what dying might feel like.

It lasts a minute. Or maybe it lasts seven hundred fucking sweeps, all packed into that minute like a thousand sardines, and you feel every single moment of it ticking away. When your vision clears, your ass isn't on the counter anymore. Now your entire back is. Your side hurts, so much more than you could ever imagine a wound hurting. It's enough that you feel like you're drowning in it, almost, and it's enough that you almost lose track of your new friend.

Almost, because she's got the knife in her hand, and she's looking down at you.

"Oh," you manage, swallowing hard. Your lips taste like blood. It's fine! "Oh, hey -" Why hadn't you ever learned much of Standard? It hadn't seemed important, when you'd had your translation worm. A lot of the Rickshaw trolls learned it, when they ascended, but most of them weren't leaders of their community. You had to set an example that trolls didn't need to submit fully to the filth of the Empire. The Empire owned a trolls' body, but that didn't mean they had to own their minds.

You're almost regretting that moral stance now, but it’ll be fine, you think. "Hey," you try again, but you can't think of what to say next. The troll's head tilts to the side, like she's a seal on the beach. She definitely, absolutely does not understand you.

When the clown speaks, though, a rattle of sounds that sounds like Standard if you’d had your bulge in a motorboat, she looks up immediately.

Maybe this isn’t fine, after all. You sit up all at once. Your side is screaming, and you - well, you’re not screaming, because this isn’t exactly the first stabbing you’ve gone through. Once you’d gotten an entire sword through the gut on a raid, and you hadn’t screamed then. Sure, it was because of the shock, and the jaw that’d turned out to be broken, but the point remained. You’d taken it like a Rickshaw troll was supposed to. So you aren’t screaming.

Whining, though - whining is perfectly acceptable, and you can hear the air whistling through your clenched teeth as you try to force yourself to stay upright. It’s harder than it ought to be, because your coat’s gone and tried to mold itself to the counter. Why was the counter wood? You were never going to a shop with a wooden counter again. You try to tug it off, but -

- oh, wow, the troll can make expressions, because she says something again, then drops her entire hand on you.

It is, as far as things go, a really fucking big hand.

It is striking you, suddenly, that this is a very big troll.

“Please don’t kill me,” you tell her, earnest. You can’t move. She’s already got the knife in her hand. She’s not looking at you again, though. Maybe that’s a good sign? If you die, stabbed to death by a clown and a mainlander, the next Calico is going to change their name to Tabbie. “This actually really fucking hurts a lot, and personally, like, I think, just between the two of us, I’ve been through enough, you know? It’s been a very long night! I didn’t mean to stab anyone! I don’t deserve this!”

“I did mean to stab someone,” you admit, because she’s - saying something, you think? But it’s not to you. Are they planning on parting out your body? “My organs are terrible, by the way. Spots all the way down. Like, all the way down, in every sense of the word, you absolutely deserve better. Unless you’re into that? You’re probably not into that. Anyway, I - I can admit! I probably do deserve this. The broken eye socket, the knife stab to the side, the frankly obscene number of teeth they knocked out..”

Oh. Oh. You hadn’t thought of it, but - right, that was why your mouth was bleeding.

Why your mouth is bleeding, and the rest of you is, too.

“I kind of deserved it all? That wasn’t very smart, and my entire lineage is absolutely ashamed of me. But -” You’re absolutely not going to die here, you think, but that’s not really your choice right now, is it? “Mostly, I just hope you aren’t ashamed of me,” you tell her, and you’re trying for earnest, but mostly, you think, you just sound congested. Maybe she’s into that, though. Because the clown’s talking, but the way she’s holding the knife doesn’t seem like it’s the right angle to stab it into you. “Because I love you, dude. I totally do. Did I say please don’t kill me? Because, like, super please -”

She lifts the knife.

“Please,”  you add.

She tosses it right into the clown's face.

Or at least, you assume that’s what happens. There’s a wet pushing kind of sound, like a sharp end of a blade sliding into jello, and then there’s a thump. More importantly, even a full thirty seconds after she loses the knife, no one comes over. She cranes her neck, her mouth a thin slash, but the room’s entirely still, save for her.

And for you.

“Did I say I love you?” you tell her, and she looks down at you.

She’s still frowning. That’s fine! That’s perfectly fine, because you can lay your bloody hand on her cheek. You could’ve, really, but then she looks at your hand, and her lip curls.

You place it on her neck instead.

“Never mind,” you say, earnest, “you know.”

---

You’re not exactly sure when, but at some point, you must’ve passed out.

Because one moment, you’ve got a hand on your saviour’s neck, and the next..

“It’s a nice bed,” you say, conversational, to the lusus staring at you. It’s one of the mainlander types: big, broad, and covered in so much fucking fur, you’re not actually sure what you’re looking at. It’s a primate, maybe, but not a decent one, like your lusus.

It turns its head to the side. With one oversized hand, it delicately plucks a leaf off of the potted plant in front of it, and then resumes chewing slowly, pendulously, its jowls shaking with every bite. It doesn’t react to you. If it wasn’t staring at you with those big black eyes, you wouldn’t be sure if it knew you were in the room at all.

“Like, on a scale of one to ten, it’s pretty much a fantastic bed? Very.. beddy.” The room you’re in isn’t the sort of place you’re used to! For one, the mattress is on the ground, and it’s making the lusus look way bigger than you’re sure it is. For two, there’s cloth on all of the walls, and when you reach to the side, fumbling along the edge of the mattress..

It’s just more cloth. It’s rug, actually, and.. who has rug in their room on a spaceship? “This,” you complain, “this is how you get allergies, dude. You know? It’s just - it’s unhygienic! You’re getting all sorts of fibers in it, all sorts of dust.. man, I bet it’s full of your fur, you know? You probably shed all over this shit, and now it’s packed in, and..”

The room’s a little barren apart from that, though. Oh, there’s a dresser by the door, but it’s the kind of stark white keratin that means it came straight from the manufacturer. There’s no pictures on it. There’s plants, sure, but you’ve never been good at plants. They’re very green.

“Probably not going to be green after you’re done with them,” you tell the lusus, pushing yourself up. Something in your face twinges. Maybe it’s your eye socket, you think, and when you blink ,experimental.. yeh, it definitely is. Had the clown actually gone and broken your face? You’d cull him, if your saviour hadn’t already gone and done it for you.

“Wish there was a mirror in here, y’know?” How long have you been here? Impossible to tell, when there’s not even a clock on the wall. You have one in your pocket, normally, but when you tug the blanket, reaching down towards your hip, your pocket’s empty. Oh, sure, you’re wearing pants, but your belt and harness are both missing.

And so is your shirt, you realise, because as soon as the blanket shifts -

There’s a reason midbloods are the only ones allowed to handle a thermostat.

To say that it hurts to stand is like saying it hurts to drown. The pain’s just sharp enough that you can’t even acknowledge it right: it’s just discomfort, sinking into every corner of your awareness, pushing at the seams like it can wash out everything around it. There’s bile at the back of your throat. There’s iron on your tongue, brittle sweet.

You’ve dealt with worse, you remind yourself. It might feel like you’re going to die, as every rip and tear in your unset body tries to pull open, but it’s fine. You’re a navyblood. All you have to do is push through it. And if something rips..

You’re a navyblood. It’ll knit itself back together.

The wall’s cool under your hand, even through the cloth. The chill is settling, almost soothing. It’s a reminder that you aren’t on planet, where a situation like this might get you killed. Instead, you’re up on Watateg, one of the only places defanged enough that nobody had just gutted you for a bounty when you were down.

One of the only places that an indigo would demean herself to go and help you out. “Super sweet of her to help me out there,” you tell the lusus, who’s shifted to watch you. It’s positioned by the door, but you don’t think it’ll stop you. You can’t read primate faces well, but you’re pretty sure that disinterest looks the same in every species. “Tell her I said thanks, okay? Next time I’m up, I’ll totally buy her a drink, but for now - I think our time here is done.”

“Return to bed,” the lusus tells you.

You scream.

“Stop,” the thing tells you, and it’s absolutely horrible. The lips move slowly, trepeditiously, but the sound coming out of them isn’t - the whoops and squeaks of your guardian, back on the rickshaw. When your lusus makes sounds, it’s like they’re being ripped out of him, inch by bloody inch, deep enough that you can feel it in your bones.

The lusus’s sounds are like it’s popping out, one after another, like a fish with a mouth full of bubbles. The vowels are all wrong. Everything’s all wrong, all the moreso in that it’s very nearly Seacant, because you’ve never heard a troll hit a tone like that. In fact, you’ve never really heard an animal talk in front of you at all?

Well. Not in person! You’ve seen it on the screen, sure. Once, the night before the lot of you had headed off to be assessed by the Empire, Bon-Hwa had downloaded an entire twenty four hours worth of movies. You’d cleared your schedule of raids, and of appointments, and of Min-Jin’s worried prep sessions, and the lot of you had gotten together into your hiveblock with jerky and enough booze that you’d had to go off-rig to buy it.

Then you’d sat, and you’d watched them all. It hadn’t been fun! It hadn’t been about having fun, really: if you’re honest, it was mostly just about figuring out a way to numb yourself to the traumas of Ascension, so when the moons rose again, you wouldn’t have the energy for fear.. and if you did, well, you wouldn’t remember it later. You sure don’t.

All that you really remember is one of the films, right as the first third ended, where you all found out that someone had taken the “Monkey” of “The Monkey King” entirely too literal. You’d scrambled for the remote, but Min-Jin’s demands had won out. The movie had stayed on.

The giant ape had talked there, sure. But now that you’re remembering it, the primate had done a lot of things, honestly, and..

“I have worked for the past half-sweep really, really fucking hard,” you tell the lusus, voice reedy, “to absolutely and totally repress that entire film, and you know what? I would like to go back to that right now, thanks. I think it’s just - very selfish, and inconsiderate of you to even make me remember anything about that film, honestly, so if you could just leave, that would be great. It’s not really you! I mean, it is? But it’s not you you, it’s just that your entire species is a freaky abomination, so, like, if you think about it, it’s not personal.”

Carefully, meticulously, the lusus reaches out and plucks another leaf from the potted plant.

“Or maybe it is personal, because, like, dude - what the fuck?” If you had your gun, you think, forlorn, you could shoot it. Would it probably do anything, other than get you ripped apart? Probably not! But it might make you feel better as you drag yourself all the way to your feet. Everything hurts. Bluebloods heal quick, but not really in a night kind of quick, as it turns out. “Why are you even here? Like, I don’t know you, you don’t know me, I’d like to go ahead and go -”

When you take a step forward, it shifts and turns those big black eyes on you. “Stop,” it tells you again, still popping off each sound like it has a mouth full of fish eggs. “Return to bed.”

Scratch that: shooting it would absolutely make you feel better.

You’ve got on pants, sure, but you don’t have a gun here: your belt’s empty, and even your tail and harness are missing. Could you fight this lusus, one on one? Sure, probably. It’s pretty big, but it’s not that big, you think. You’ve fought lusii before. All you have to do is straighten up, roll back your shoulders. Suck in your stomach! Push on your stomach, maybe, if it doesn’t want to suck in all the way, and -

Your hands come back damp.

There’s navy blue dripping from your fingers, fresh enough still that it hasn’t even gone tacky. “Oh,” you say, a little breathy. “Okay, shit, maybe I’m not going to fight you -”

The lusus starts whooping, and you make a quick decision.

You’ve got a solid corner of the far wall’s panel peeling back by the time the door snatches open.

It’s the same troll as before. The same indigo girl, with just about the same exasperated expression as she turns those stark purple eyes from you, to her lusus, to back to you. With a deep inhale, she says something to her lusus. There’s the same bubble-pop sound of words as it says something back.

Then she steps forward, out of the doorway, and her lusus stands up.

You’d thought he was big before. You hadn’t realised, exactly, how scrunched up he was in his post by the doorway. He unfolds like some vast, great, matted rug, or one of the older deep sea rickshaw’s regalia, brought over from the mainland and long-harried over time. Every time you think he’s revealed every inch of skin, he shifts, and another two feet seems to appear. He’s easily a head over his ward.

No, you realise, sinking: he’s two heads over her. Or is it three?

Luckily, you don’t need to find out. There comes a point that his oversized skull is brushing the ceiling, and he’s straightened himself up as much as he needs to. He pulls himself past his girl, each move delicate as a water-spider, and once he’s out..

“I know that a troll is basically an extension of their lusus, in some areas? Like, spiritually,” you tell her, earnest, as she steps forward. “But I have to say, out of the two of you, you are way better than your lusus. Like, physically, obviously? That’s not hard. Nobody likes a primate. I mean, I have a primate lusus, and he’s pretty great, but no one would ever compare us. I mean, we have the same markings, but his hands -”

You hadn’t realised you were still holding the curved steel of the panel until she reaches up, and carefully takes your hand in hers.

“His hands are way longer,” you inform her, puzzled, as she turns yours over. You’re injured. You really shouldn’t let her into your space like this! But if she’d wanted to kill you, she would’ve had more than enough opportunities by now. And besides, you’d said you loved her, you’re pretty sure.

How could someone cull someone that had given them such a passionate, overwrought profession of love? It’d just be fucked up.

As fucked up as the way she’s peering at your skin, nose wrinkled. She says something, but it isn’t to you, you’re pretty sure! Her lusus, at least, had spoken Seacant, for all that it sounded like it’d ground it up first and was spitting it out one piece at a time. Whatever she’s speaking.. well, you can tell it’s a language, at least? Some of the words almost sound like words that a troll could use to communicate.

But it’s not Standard, which you can understand to some extent. The basics, at least - enough that you’ve never gotten spaced when your worm blew out, even if people were really, really tempted. It’s not one of the island tongues, either. Seacant’s got a cousin in the coastal islands that’s stolen just enough from the Rickshaws that it can.. not quite allow communication, but it can do something, at least. You can tell they’re speaking!

Points to her: you can tell she’s speaking, too, even if it is gibberish.

“But it’s very eloquent gibberish,” you tell her, because she’s stopped talking and she’s looking at you now, expectant. It’s obviously your turn to respond! It’s just a shame she can’t actually speak proper Troll, but you’ve always tried to be a gracious guest. You’re not going to snub her over that. “I mean, like - are you looking at my hands? They’re pretty great hands, dude, but if you have some kind of a weird hand fetish, I have to say, that’s not really a thing I can support, morally speaking -”

She taps you on one of your finger stubs.

Because, oh, right, you realise: maybe she wasn’t looking at your hands after all! You hadn’t noticed your prosthetics were gone, but when you look down.. those sure are some stubs on display. You’d lost the first finger and your middle during a particularly ill-advised raid, back when you were young enough to think metal gauntlets would protect you more than leather. It had been a sound theory! But you hadn’t known much about psionics at that point, and no one on the Rickshaw had enough experience to warn you away.

It’d worked out in the end. You’d taken your prosthetics from the horns of the troll that had killed you, and it’d become a funny kind of joke, really, over the next few sweeps. Whenever you showed them off, you had a story! Folks loved stories.

“They must’ve come off in the shop,” you say, mystified, tilting your hand to the side. You don’t really look at them that much on average! You’ve certainly never paid them much mind when your prosthetics weren’t on. There’s callouses that you hadn’t noticed, nestled neatly between your fingers, marks of where your gear usually sits. The skin’s a little scarred on the knuckles. They are, as far as hands go, pretty average. “Wild. I guess I’ll have to make new ones - hey!”

Her palm is bigger than yours. She’s bigger, in every sense of the word. Navies grow tall, the saying went, tall enough to reach the heavens. Indigoes grew wide, wide enough to block out the sky and everything in it. Almost all trolls were destined to go to space, but the royalty had always been the exception. They were as solid as the planet, because they were made like it - they were made for it, really, because hadn’t the first trolls to leave the caverns been gilled?

Your saviour doesn’t have gills. Her cheeks are smooth, and her ears are round. There’s nothing interrupting the soft plane of her throat, or the curve of her neck.

But she’s still steady, sure as the feel of boards under your feet, as she turns takes your hand back in hers, and flips it over. She touches the callous of where your prosthetic rests, runs a finger feather-light across the mottled blue scar tissue, the swollen knub where you’d had to cut the bone loose. This is kind of weird, you think, but there’s a line between her brows as she murmurs something under her breath.

Then she looks up at you, and slowly, precisely, says: “-- have fixed?”

If she wasn’t holding your hands, you’d clap.

As is, you just beam. “Sure, yeah, absolutely,” you say, warm, and you should stop there, maybe? You are still just standing here, bleeding all over her room, but - she speaks an actual language. You can communicate! Finally. Maybe? “I mean, wait, is that present tense, or past tense? D’you mean, like, do I need to get it fixed, or that I should get it fixed, or, like - wait, fuck. Are you going to fix it?” You pause, wetting your lips. “Wait, is it presumptuous to assume you’re going to get it fi - hey!”

When she lets go of your hands, you’re not expecting her to immediately grab you again. “Hey, hey, don’t damage the goods,” you complain. She’s got her arms on your shoulders, and she’s trying to be gentle, but she’s a big troll. If she keeps pushing, she might break something! Because, really, you’ll stand a lot of things, but being shoved around, even by an indigo, just isn’t one of them. You’re going to just stand here, and stand your ground. After all, you’re a navyblood. And, sure, you’re only a midblood, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have pride.

She shoves you, a little less than gentle, and your ass hits the pillows.

“I chose to do that,” you tell her, and sure, she can’t understand you, but that apparently won’t stop her from rolling her eyes. “For the record! I am choosing to sit back down, and I am choosing to rest, okay? Like, this is absolutely -”

“Stop,” she says, just like her lusus, a little pop of a word, and she turns on her heel.

“I am choosing to stop,” you call after her, as the door slides shut. “Choosing! Remember that!”

---

The next time you open your eyes, there is no monkey in the room.

“Oh, thank the Empress,” you say, heaving a sigh. Sitting up is easier than it was yesterday! Was it yesterday? Maybe it was yesterday, or maybe it was two days - that’s one of the problems with being up in space, there’s no timescale. Watateg is a cheap station, and like all of the little atmospheric slums riding off of Alternia’s gravity well, it doesn’t bother to simulate night-time versus the day.

Good thing you’d stored up shoreleave all sweep. You’d planned on using it to take a long, refreshing vacation back on your rickshaw, and check up on things beyond the little visits that the Fleet allowed.. but you can do that later. Right now, you’re just happy you don’t have to move.

That happiness lasts approximately ten minutes. It ends once you’ve wandered through the entire room, located your shirt and your tail harness, and discovered your phone isn’t with either.

There’s a lot of things that a troll can handle! You’ve had fingers removed, fangs knocked out. The trials you’ve faced are numerous, and most of them are the type of things that would make a lower caste wilt. And some of them have been physical, sure, but some of them have been psychological. You’ve been tortured, practically speaking.

Literally speaking, after Bon-Hwa made you watch that film.

“Right now,” you say, morose, to the empty room, “I’d even take watching the Monkey King all over again, if it meant I had my phone. Like, shit, how do people live like this?” The bandages on your sides are freshly wrapped, with only the faintest smear of blood streaked across them. It’d been brought on by your bending, and moving, and walking. And putting the harness back on.

But the weight of it on your hips is comforting, even as the metal presses against your side. You’re not in danger at this teahouse, obviously! Your savior’s been taking way better care of you than anyone rightfully should, so if she was going to cull you, she would’ve done it already. If it was you, you’re not going to lie: sure, culling an indigo might’ve got you dragged through all nine rings of clown hell, but there’s a lot of meat on her, and there’s always a tons of grubs on your rickshaw.

It’d just have made sense?

But she’s a mainlander through and through, without a single spot to grace her face. Her skin’s too pale to have ever faced the moonlight of the sea. Her hands are a little darker, you think, but.. well, so are a lot of trolls. That’s what comes from using them to work all night long, and if you weren’t sure that this was absolutely serendipitous before, you’d be convinced now.

Because the thought actually makes you want to go and buy her gloves.

That’d be weird, you think, probably. She doesn’t even speak your language! Not really. But it’s fine. She’s been taking care of you for practically nights, now, for no real reason. That’s probably pale, you figure. And you did say you loved her, right at the start of things.

Sure, you’d thought it was pretty much a lie, but that was then. You could call it a lie, if you wanted to be an actual bulge about it, but.. no, you decide, it wasn’t. It was just a proactive kind of truth. So maybe you will buy her gloves to cover up her weird, dark hands, so they can match the rest of her properly. Sure, it’d be a little forward, but it isn’t like you haven’t already been. This whole thing is basically one stop short of a handfasting, if you think about it.

And when you think about it, you find that you’re pretty much down with the idea.

“Hey, lady,” you say, cheerful.

Your saviour turns to look at you.

The troll at the counter and the gun against her head shift to match.

“Uh,” you say, and the troll squints at you. One hand is on his gun, which - okay, yeah, you kind of want to laser-focus in on that, but it’s not helpful. That’s how you get anxious, and how you make poor decisions, because you’ve already got a wound seeping on your side, and a gunshot, even to the head, isn’t going to cull an indigo.. but you don’t want her wounded.

You absolutely do not want her wounded, at any costs, and that’s why you force yourself to pay attention to his other hand, instead. Play it safe! Play it casual, because the moment that you show fear is the moment that this fucker will make the wrong kind of decision. Right now, he’s leery, watching you, his movements hesitant as he lifts his hand to his visor.

It’s a model H.O.O.F. 45, the sort that every troll can find forty of on any local scrap shop. They’re basic, and outdated, but they’re still standardised enough to be useful. They can connect to the web. Pull up all sorts of information! Most bounty hunters have ‘em. Hell, you have one, back in your quarters on your ship.

You just can’t imagine what he’s looking for on it, or why -

“Why are you holding up a teashop?”  you demand, pausing in the doorway. If it was a mainlander, you would’ve just stepped up right into his face. Even with the bandages on your side, your rickshaw markings are intensive enough that they can’t be hidden. Black swathes your shoulders, your neck, the entirety of your arm, and curls up around the corners of your face. There’s white in your hair and on your fingers. Usually, just the sight of this much squid ink is enough to make mainlanders balk.

After all, the deeper into the ocean you get, the more the markings increase. And everyone knows that nothing good has ever come from the ocean’s core.

But this troll has spots on his face. At this distance, you can’t quite see them! You don’t usually haul your glasses out with you on shoreleave. It ruins your whole look, and so his face is just kind of a multicoloured blur. You can see his symbol, though. That’s cerulean, bright as the shallow seas, and between that and the spots..

You’re only one caste above him. Sure, you’re better, but it’s only luck alone, and the both of you know it.

“Because,” he drawls, in the tangled up shallow sea Seacant, “teashops, breweries, ramen shops.. that’s where all the bounties go, first thing, when they park. That, or brothels. Checked those first! But guess you wanted to try something different, huh, Sun-sin?”

You look at him, and then at your saviour. She rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling, and sure, she’s not talking, but you can read her message clear all the same.

“Are you going to believe me, if I say I’m not Sun-sin?” you ask him.

“Absolutely not,” he says, cheerful. “That’s what they all say! And c’mon, man. You’re a navyblood from the Rickshaws up here. Right age, right height, right build.. and obviously..” He’s lowered his hand as he speaks, flashes his teeth at you. They’re perfectly sharpened, pointed slices of red, and.. yeah, he has to be from the shallow seas, you think.

Which is great, because you can work with that.

“D’you think all deep sea trolls look the same?” You take a step forward, keeping your prosthetic tail pointed down. He’s barely looked at the harness. Can you blame him? You do have a lot of skin on display, here, even if you know his eyes are tracing the black of your skin for all the wrong reasons. “That’s bigoted,” you say, disapproving. “Like, c’mon, do these look like they’re even this Sun-fuck’s markings?” You stretch out your arm. Right now, you’re not near enough to grab the gun and disable him, but if he doesn’t move.. “These are pretty distinct -”

“You can stop right there,” he says, and his free hand - goddamnit, why weren’t you watching his free hand? - is now pointing right at you, a second gun on display.

You should be afraid. The thought strikes you, briefly, like a flicker of light in the darkness - and then it’s swallowed up entirely by a new, infinitely more pressing thought.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, leaning forward on the counter, “how the fuck did you get that in space?”

Every Rickshaw has its own technology. The previous Calico had told you it was because each troll had their own skills, their own thoughts, and their own inspirations, which formed each Rickshaw’s culture, cohort after cohort. But you know better! That’s just superstitious swill.

The truth of the matter was: every Rickshaw had its own heap of trash and filth that had built up upon it, and the trolls who stayed and survived on its shores were the ones who learned from their forefathers. Each cohort cycle, grubs were taught by the previous ones, and by the time contributions came, they would have begun putting their own spin on it. II-J’s technology has your fingerprints on every corner, and your handprints on every slab, even though you’ve only been in charge for less than six sweeps.

It’s the same on every Rickshaw. Every Rickshaw has their own technology, and you’d thought you knew it all by sight. But the gun is all smooth, impossibly organic angles married to what must be stainless steel. It’s got the body of an MA-JL, but the style of an old A-BO. It’s fantastic. It’s gorgeous.

It’s new.

And it’s almost enough to distract you off of the way this troll has it pressed to your indigo’s head.

“Wrong question,” the cerulean drawls. Now, you’re close enough now that you can actually see his face. And the gun is new, but the spotting isn’t. There’s white mottling across his cheeks and eyes like moldsbright on a ship’s hull. Common enough on a lot of the shallow sea Rickshaws, but the black stripes along their cheeks aren’t. Most places take grubs wherever they can find them! It’s hard to stay picky when you’re always in need of replacements.

Your Rickshaw was one of the few that got picky. You’d been plucked up from the jadeblood’s ship because of the stark black of your markings, unusual enough to be noteworthy, and the only sort of markings that your lusus would abide. The guardian lusii liked their wards spots to be vivid, all the easier to see when their children would forever be so very small. And FF-K’s major guardian spurned grubs, mothering the whole lot of its rickshaw in their stead, but their lesser guardian wasn’t nearly as social. It had always liked to keep a child nearby, and it only ever cared for those who matched.

For them to be in space, their lusus must have found a new ward. You hadn’t heard of news of a transition, but why would you have? FF-K had always avoided your rickshaws circuits. And you’d always figured it was funny in the past, but now..

You hadn’t realised they’d been hiding things from you. You’d seen the jewelry and components they’d made, beautiful little masterpieces that shone like embers in the moon’s light. But FF-K had never sold weapons. One of their leaders had chosen stealth over violence, hundreds and hundreds of sweeps ago, and they’d never changed from it. FF-K trolls were always so docile. The only weapon they’d ever needed was their silver tongues.

“Is that organic?” you demand, enthralled. There’s no bolts, or screws, or the smooth, transitionary lines where one piece of steel was welded to the next. The shift in direction where the metal curves is so perfect that it might have come out of a cocoon. But cocoons are expensive. Cocoons require water, and food, and an energy intake that no rickshaw can manage for something as complicated as a gun.

Except, it seems, for FF-K.

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Sunnyboy,” the troll tells you, dry. He tilts his wrist. The end of the gun shifts, pressing flat against the soft skin of your saviour’s face. “So let’s catch back up, okay? I have a gun to your girl’s head right now. You have a bounty out on your ass. Now, we can do it the nice way, where you agree like a good little papper to come on back to my ship, or else we can do it the hard way, where I shoot your rail and you just get dragged onto my ship instead. What d’you say?”

“Did you just call me a papper?” you demand, more curious than outraged. Because - yeah, okay, you can admit that’s fair. Your saviour is indigo, through and through. You’ve always been used to being the highest troll in the room, traditionally, but that’s not the case in the fleet. It hasn’t been the case for a few sweeps, honestly, and by now..

Well, you can’t really get offended that he’d assume you’re the papper, right? You’re a lot of things, but you’ve always respected tradition.

Unlike him, cerulean and threatening to shoot the head off of the literal nobility beside him. He clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. “Yeah, you’re definitely not taking this seriously, huh? Well, alright. If you want to go the second route -”

“No, no, no,” you say, quick. Getting shot isn’t going to kill an indigo, even if the gun is pressed against the curve of her jaw, hard enough that it must be braced against bone. Still, it’s not going to be pleasant, for her or you. You’ve done triage before. Picking bone out of someone’s sinuses has always been where you’ve drawn the line. Oh, you’d do it, because it’s her, but you just don’t think there’s a need.

Because for all of his bravado, the cerulean’s gun is loose and relaxed in his grip. Sure, he’s got a finger on the trigger, but he’s not anxious. He’s not going to pull it on accident, not when he can see the bandages wrapped tight around your chest, and when you’ve got one eye entirely swollen shut. Indigoes can survive a lot, from a gunshot wound to the face to even getting down and dirty with fuchsias. But you’re not indigo, and when so much of your torso is just one mottled bruise, the both of you know it

Sure, he’s cerulean, and you’re navy. But that’s only one caste above him, and even if it was a fair fight, you couldn’t necessarily guarantee that you’d win.

Luckily enough, you’ve never been interested in a fair fight at all.

“There’s no need to shoot anyone, dude,” you assure him, holding up your hands in front of you. You hadn’t found your prosthetic fingers again in the room, but it’s fine. It’s helpful, actually, because you can see the way the cerulean’s gaze drops towards the missing nub of your ring and forefinger. Injuries aren’t rare on the Rickshaws. Seeing a troll without his prosthetics, though.. that’s enough to throw someone off. “I mean, like, yeah, of course I’ll come, duh? Can’t have you shooting my moirail. ‘cause, like, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s kind of indigo, and I may be a lot of things, but I’m not an idiot? I know my place.”

“Even if you don’t know yours.” You click your tongue at him, dismissive, and there’s a line between his brows now as he tears his hands away from your fingers.It’s the first crack in the foundation.

You might be injured, but like that’s ever mattered. Trolls look at your brawn, and they forget what really matters is the basket of brainmeat that pilots it.

“If you’re trying something, Sunny --”

“Not my name,” you tell him, as sweet and patient as if you’re talking to one of the shaw’s pupas, “but no, don’t worry! If you want to take me in, you can do it right now. Just, like, break out the cuffs and slap ‘em on, but be gentle, okay? Like, it’s not my first time, obviously, physically? I’ve absolutely been in this scenario before. But emotionally! Spiritually! Like, as an action, between the two of us --”

“Stop talking,” he says, pained. But your saviour’s smirking in the corner, and that’s all that matters.

So you say: “Let me get back on track. Back to what we were talking about it! Yeah, you can absolutely just slap the cuffs on me, I don’t mind. I mean, sure, they’re going to laugh you out of the police station when they realise you’ve got the wrong troll? Not too bad, though, so don’t get anxious about it, or anything.”

“I mean,” you say, warm, watching his face, “you’re FF-K.” The key here is that it isn’t a question. He’s got a good poker face! So there’s no tell, like the slight opening of his eyes, or the flare of his nostrils. There’s just that line, deepening ever so slightly, and the way his lips part to protest.

So you stick the knife in. “They didn’t really expect better. I mean..” You click your teeth. “It’s not really your fault,” you say, sympathetic, “right? You’re cerulean. And you had the lesser guardian, up until he went and got a better version. They usually go for navies, don’t they? How long did you even have your lusus, before the jades came around and dropped off your replacement? Makes sense you’re out here, trying to chase down some famous -” You can’t say tail. Your tail is coiled behind you, loose, with slow, gentle movements to make sure it doesn’t enter into his line of sight. “- ass,” you say instead. “Flesh. Prove you’re worth something, even if your lusus doesn’t care anymore.”

He swallows hard. “Bold talk,” he says, and it’s almost a little impressive, the way his voice doesn’t crack. “Good psychobabble! Tell you what, if I shoot you in the face, do you think they���ll still accept the body?”

“Absolutely not. Because the face’s the confusing bit, you know? See, FF-K - it’s fucking unfortunate that you guys are so reclusive. You don’t let people in. You’re as bad as the islanders, sometimes. Always dodging, and weaving, and -”

“We don’t want deep sea fucks on our shaw,” he says, dry. “Never asked, but I think it’s the cannibalism.”

“The cannibalism’s overrated, dude.” You take a step forward, just to see. The way he jerks, the gun pulling up from its half-slouch, isn’t entirely unexpected. He snaps: “- keep back, keep back, you’re not getting over here. Did you forget your girl?”

Your girl in question’s watching the two of you, eyebrows raised.

“Not at all,” you say, and you spread your hands out in front of you, wiggling your fingers. “Dude, calm down, what am I going to do to you? I don’t have a gun. I don’t have fingers. Like, sure, you’re a cerulean, but - we’re both midbloods, here. We’re basically the same! We’re midbloods, we’re fresh-faced to the fleet, we’ve got guardian lusii -”

When you look sideways, just to see your girl’s expression, she doesn’t look impressed. It’s fine! She’s probably a mainlander. She’ll absolutely be impressed later, you’re pretty sure.

In the meanwhile, the bounty hunter is giving you the reaction you want. “You don’t have a guardian lusus,” he snaps, raking his eyes up and down, like you might have your lusus tattooed onto your skin. “The bounty said you have a tigerfish.”

“Do my markings look like I’m a fucking tigerfish, dude?”

Something shifts on his face. “Markings don’t have to match the lusus,” he says. “That’s only a thing on some rickshaws. Maybe yours doesn’t do it. Maybe you went and got your lusus killed --”

“

“You’re standing in the presence of the seven hundredth Calico.” When you smile, for the first time, you bare all of your teeth. “Congratulations, dude. Maybe I’ll make you an award. You went fishing, and you got the wrong kind of catfish, but shit - happens to everyone, once or twice, right?”

“Oh shit,” he breathes, then bites his lip, like he never meant for that to come out at all.

It would’ve been great if he’d just turned tail then and there! It would’ve worked out so very well, because there’s a ripping feeling in your side, worsening with every moment you’re still upright. But he isn’t. There’s that flicker of awareness in his eyes, the sight of those red fangs digging into his lip - then he squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath like he’s steadying himself.

It’d be admirable, if it wasn’t so inconvenient. You need to wrap this up, you think, before your body tries to wrap it up for you.

“You know what? Sometimes you get the wrong kind of catfish,” he says, “but I know there’s a bounty out on you, too. A Calico, huh? What Rickshaw’s that, again?”

“You know the number,” you tell him. “Everyone knows the number.”

His smile’s a thin slash across his face. His grip’s tightened on both of his guns, just enough that you can see white blossoming on his knuckles. It’s a shame that he’s a shallow sea troll, in a way, because he’s got the sort of spine you admire. 

“But that’s fine. Play brave! I get it, I really do. I mean, like - gods, you’ve got a hard life going on. The mainland doesn’t want you. The ocean doesn’t want you. The deep-sea rickshaws - sure, we want you, but you don’t want us. We’ve got blood in our teeth and salt in our veins. All the big bad tigersharks. You can admire ‘em, but you don’t want to be near ‘em. And you don’t want to see them.”

“Because when you see them, it just reminds you of all the things you aren’t. Too wet for the ground, too dry for the deep. You’re always scrapping, and scraping, and fighting for anything, from anyone  - acknowledgement, wealth, enough clean water to keep your rigs running. Respect! And you can’t get it. How could any of you get it? Maybe the midbloods, but the lowbloods..”

“You people can’t even keep your fucking lusii,” you say, and his exhale is almost as loud as a gunshot.

Almost. “They’ll take you, and they’ll love you, and they’ll keep you - until they see a grub that’s better, same as everyone else. Did you try to win your lusus back?” Intimidation’s easy to use on the rickshaws. But the problem with that is that it’s so common! The smack of a fist is more common than the wag of a tongue on the rickshaws. People expect it. They crave it, in a way, because it’s what their used to.

No one’s used to sympathy. No one’s used to kindness on the rickshaws, except for you, and that’s what’s always made it the best weapon of all. Isn’t your saviour just proof of that? She rescued you, when you were bleeding and wounded and weak, and now..

Well, you’re not dying for her tonight. But there is a gun pointed at you. You might’ve paid it more attention, if you couldn’t stop thinking about the gun pointed at her.

“You did try,” you say, firm, and he doesn’t object.

You take a step forward.

And this time, the bounty hunter takes a step back.

“All you poor shallow sea fucks,” you say, and the sympathy in your voice’s real, this time around, because how could it not be? Alternia’s full of drowned souls, lost in waters deep enough they’ve never seen the sky. One night, you’re going to fish them all out. Trolls might’ve come from the sea, but only the nobility stayed in it. The rest of you were born to leave. You were meant for the stars, and the breeze, and the whole ocean spread out in front of you, waiting for you to take advantage.

The deep-sea rickshaws embraced it. You knew what was in the depths, and you knew what was in the sky, and you took the best from both. You prayed to the deep, and you lived in the light. The ocean took from you, but in the end, it’d always give back.

“It’s not your fault you’re all so desperate. You were hatched with salt in your lungs, but you chose dirt under your nails. You’ve gone and grounded yourselves, tied yourself to the chalk and silt, and what’s it ever given you? You don’t know what’s under the waters. And you’re all too scared to even try. It’s fine,” you say, warm, reaching out. You rest a hand on his shoulder, and, yeah, sure, there’s a gun pressed to your chest.

His finger’s on the trigger. You remember that, but it’s fine, because he doesn’t. He’s looking up at you, doe-eyed, and.. he’s not that young. He’s your age, you think, and his eyes are cerulean. It makes you feel better about all of this.

“All the deep sea rickshaws were like that, once. But Dominion forgives. Because he told us, when we still from the shallow seas, that in the soul of each troll is a seed,” you tell him, “and in Dominion’s garden, they will always grow.”

Then you snap his neck.

“You could at least look grateful,” you complain, as your saviour steps back, delicately, away from the body crumpling at her feet. How many people have died on her floor this week? You’re going to have to ask, once the two of you can actually tal.k “I mean - look at that! That was a quality fucking performance. I should get paid. Maybe I’ll just go get a checkbook and pay myself, how’s about that?”

She looks at you.

And then she laughs, and slaps a hand on your shoulder. She still has very big hands! It turns out she’s got very heavy hands, too, because you can’t even pretend the slap doesn’t nearly send you to the floor. It’s fine, though. Because she tightens her grip on your shoulder, steps over, and begins steering you, taking your weight as easily as if you were a grub. “No pay,” she says, all bubble pops of language, and pulls you back towards the room.

+++

The next time you wake up, you actually feel like a troll.

You look like one, too, because -

“Oh, thank god, I have a shirt on,” you say.

Your saviour is off sitting by the door, where her lusus once sat. The two of them don’t look that similar, all things considered. Some trolls look just like their guardians. Your markings are a near dead match to your guardians, but maybe it’s not a thing, on the mainland.

“You do,” she says, but it’s not the bubble pop of her foreign words. Instead, it’s a familiar baritone, whispered right into your ear. It’s not just your shirt that’s back, then. Your translator worm is finally back, too.

“Found it while I was cleaning. Do you want it?”

“I understood everything.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. She looks so dignified like this. You’ve made a point of never going too far in-land, but you’re certain that you’ve seen Preuskan statues just like that in one of the makeshift clown temples someone had set up in the lockers. “I have voodoos, boy,” she says, dry. “I can hear every little songbird chirp of your brain. Do you ever stop thinking?”

“No,” you tell her, and then pause. “Oh, wait, you can hear - everything?”

“Everything,” she says, watching you. “That a problem? Don’t lie. I’ll hear it.”

You’d like to say you consider it. It would be interesting, you think, to be the sort of troll that’d be bothered by that sort of thing. You’re pretty sure it’s a part of the whole thing of being a midblood? “I don’t care,” you decide. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, honestly, it just makes everything easier. So you totally did know I said I love you, right?”

She snorts. “What time?”

“Any of them! They’re all true,” you tell her, earnest. “It’s all one hundred, completely true. I mean, but, you totally heard that, right?”

“I heard you thinking you could divide me up for meat,” she says, dry. “Is that what the cannibalism is? Are you going to try to cook me?”

“I’d never try to cook you. Look -” You stumble to your feet. In a moment, she’s sitting upright, holding up a hand like she’s going to push you back down. But you shake your head, and she settles back down. “That was a sign of my deep and everlasting affection,” you tell her. For a moment, you wonder why this feels like the most important moment of your life. But maybe --

“It probably is the blood loss,” she says, mild.

“It’s blood loss brought on by how deeply my heart is throbbing with pity for you,” you tell her, earnest. “Like, sure, it might be the blood loss, but it’s blood loss and pity, dude. Like, if you can read my thoughts - that’s great! Then you absolutely know. Like, hell, you probably knew how completely, one hundred percent sincere I was, even before I knew I was sincere.”

“That’s not really how that works.”

“If you think about it,” you barrel on, “you’ve been in my head for like, what, six days now? Seven? Probably an entire week. At least forty eight hours. That’s better than okay. Honestly, all things considered, it practically means we’re hand-fasted, right? Trolls have to work for sweeps to get to that sort of honesty, and it’s, like, shit, you were just here all along, already frogstepping us up to it.”

She doesn’t laugh. She has the face that would work well with laughing, but that’s fine - the way she tilts her head to the side, lip curling up, is almost better than anything else you could’ve pictured. “We are absolutely not handfasted,” she says. “Slow down.”

“It practically means we’ll be hand-fasted in three sweeps,” you amend. “At the latest. It’s just like - the meat thing! I’d never try to cook you. I just think it’s very admirable, and charming, that I could? You could feed an entire rickshaw, if you wanted to. Like, that’s a meal for days. That’s the real community spirit -”

She doesn’t laugh, but the sound she makes almost sounds like it.

That, or she’s choking.

“Anyway! Let’s move on from that.” It hurts to stand up, but whatever. You manage it all the same. It’s been at least forty eight hours. Your side twinges, but there’s no blossom of blood on the bandages this time. “My name is Calico Kuanfu,” you say, letting you voice drop back to the sort of brisk, formal tone you use with your superiors. “Leader of Rickshaw II-J. Keeper of the hai-hai. And, like, if you’ll have me - your pale?”

She looks at you.

You’ve never really had a moment of doubt in your life.  You’ve had brief, fleeting impressions of them, the split-second awareness of a path that you could venture down. But it’s like standing at the edge of a hivestem, and realising you could jump. It’s enough to make you pause, but it’s not something that you’ve ever really considered.

It’s not something that’s ever been an option in your life, and it isn’t now. You don’t believe in serendipity, really. But when she looks at you, indigo eyes half-lidded, that lopsided smile still on her face..

You already know what she’s going to say. You can’t imagine there’s a world that she wouldn’t.

When she stands up, it’s like watching her lusus. She doesn’t stand so much as she seems to unfold, each fraction of a movement revealing more and more of her at a time. When she’s on her feet, you have to look up at her. She’s tall enough to make you look small. She’s broad enough to make you feel young.

“My name is Ognais,” she says. “And sure. We’ll try it out.”

“Great,” you say, and flop back into the bed. “I’m going to sleep for a week now, if that’s cool? Like, love the murder fest we’ve been having, but - sleep! Sleep is great, too.” You worm underneath the blankets like a wharfrat, dragging them as high as you can manage. The bed’s softer than the one in your quarters on your ship, and it smells better, too. Not that it’s hard, all things considered. “Man, if you’re always in my head, then that’s great. D’you know how much time I waste trying to cut things down for people? Keep it quick and easy, everyone says, but, like, nobody ever thinks about how hard that is for me. But you’re right here! You can just hear everything, so it’s fine. And if you hear everything, that means -”

The blanket is nearly over your head. You pause.

Ognais, slightly muffled, says: “- no.”

“Oh, god,” you breathe. “Oh, god, you heard everything. Even about the Monkey King porn? No. Not about that. Unless -”

“We’re not talking about that,” she says.

“I didn’t finish watching it,” you say, tossing the blanket aside. Your side hurts when you jerk upright, but you really need to look her in the eyes while you say it, so she knows it’s genuine. Unfortunately, she’s turned her back, and is already half-out the door. So you call after her, instead: “- I didn’t finish watching it! You hear that? I totally didn’t. I covered my eyes! I didn’t have the emotional strength for it, even with Bon-Hwa right there! Totally not lying! Remember, I said, like, day one - I would absolutely never lie to you again - so -”

“Good morning,” she says, and clicks the door shut.

You exhale, then collapse back onto the bed.

Well, you decide, it has to be serendipity. Because if she didn’t dump you after that, you think, that has to be fate.

[fallen-gravity]

awaken the stars, ‘cause they’re all around you

Stanford Pines never really believed in soulmates.

He can't imagine the idea that there's one person out there for him in the multiverse who would stop at nothing to love him for who he is, despite everything he is and everything he's done. He can't imagine that someone out there is meant for him, someone who will stand by his side until the end of time.

Or maybe he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

Notes: 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @stariousfalls!!!!! I can't believe we've been friends for upwards of five years now?? You've been a huge inspiration of mine from my first day in the gravity falls fandom back in late 2014, and now you're one of my closest friends. I've been spending the last week and a half working on this behind your back, because I wanted to surprise you with a gift I thought you'd love!!

7.5k words of fluff was....not my original plan, but fluff brain wanted to go feral for you, I guess.

Huge, huge shoutout to @ariasofelegance  for helping me keep my mouth shut about this, I absolutely would've internally combusted without your help & support

AO3

Ford never saw the appeal of romantic relationships.

One night when he and Stan were kids, they snuck downstairs in the middle of the night after their parents were asleep to dig through Pa’s “Secret stash” of movies he thought he was good at keeping a secret. They’d thought for sure they’d be coming across bootleg cuts of action movies that were still playing in theaters, or documentaries about how all of the politicians in power were secretly aliens. 

What they actually found was much more…sensual. They were both horrified, to say the least, but each time Ford had to turn away to prevent himself from gagging, he’d hear Stan beside him struggling not to laugh. 

For years, Ford was convinced coming across those tapes before he was old enough to fully comprehend what was happening in them is what had turned him off to relationships altogether. It certainly didn’t help that he was never able to experience romantic relationships firsthand, as every time he tried asking someone out in high school he’d just be laughed at or called a freak.

Though college was another story entirely, his feelings towards romantic relationships never seemed to change. He went out with a girl from his dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons club for a few weeks, a guy from his advanced physics class for almost two months, and even tried going out with Fiddleford for upwards of nine months, but he never felt that deeper connection with any of them, no matter how much he wanted to feel that connection. 

It’d be forty more years before he learned the term aromantic, but when he was still in college he would brush off his parents’ questions about his relationship status by telling them he was too busy working on his thesis, which technically wasn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

Still, the faint sense of yearning never seemed to leave him be. Whenever he found gaps in his schedule, he would spend hours in his university library reading up on the science of relationships and their place in society. Though he no longer remembers most of the papers he read, one scientific study that’s always stuck with him was a dissertation written entirely on the concept of soulmates.

Everyone has a soulmate, the paper claimed. Though it may be decades until you properly meet, your path always leads to the moment that you and your soulmate are finally united. Once finally together, not a single force on earth can tear you apart. Even if you are apart physically, the stars will always align to bring you together. Weirdest of all, the paper mentioned soulmarks, which were described as “the phenomenon that a person’s very soul is marked with a piece that belongs to their soulmate, which may appear as a physical anomaly on a person’s body, such as an oddly-shaped birthmark”. 

Ford had thought for sure that somebody must’ve moved a romance novel into the sociology section of the library as a joke. The only sort of anomaly he had going for him was his polydactyly, and thinking too much about how that could connect him to a single person who was destined to love him gave him a headache. 

Nowadays, though, Ford tries not to give it much thought. He’s perfectly happy right where he is, watching the sunrise from the deck of the Stan O’ War II through the steam visibly rising from his coffee mug. 

He sighs contently. 

“Mornin’” Stan’s voice sounds beside him, gruff with sleep. When Ford turns to look at him, he’s rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he holds a steaming cup of coffee in his other. He’s already donning one of the sweaters Mabel mailed to him, a deep blue with a tropical island and a treasure chest stitched across the chest.

Ford smirks. “You’re up early” 

Stan cocks an eyebrow as he sips from his coffee. “A’course I am. I always get up early when we’re docking to see the kids”

Ford blinks, the teasing smirk on his face melting into a gentle smile. “That’s today?” 

“Haven’t you checked the calendar lately?” Stan tosses a second handmade sweater at Ford. This one’s the same shade of maroon as his journal covers, and pictures an angry cycloptopus squirting ink towards the bottom left corner of the sweater. “The kids are on spring break. They talked to their parents about letting us have ‘em all week” 

Ford is quick to pull the warm sweater over his head. “All week?” 

He can’t help sounding like a broken record, but it’s been months since the last time he saw the kids face to face. Sure, they talk over video at least once a week, but nothing beats seeing their smiling faces and having them nearly tackle him to the ground in a hug in-person. 

“Heh, you miss em too, Sixer?” 

As little as two years ago, Ford would’ve flinched at the nickname. But Bill is gone for good, and Ford knows that Bill is gone for good, and Stan made a promise to do anything in his power to help him reclaim the nickname. He brings his mug close to his face without taking a sip, allowing himself to take in the warmth in his hands and the steam in his face.

“Not as much as you, clearly” Ford smirks, and Stan crosses his arms over his chest.

“You bet I missed them more than you. I’d been taking care of them all summer before you showed up and fell in love with them in half that time”

Ford smirks as he finishes up his coffee and heads into the navigation room to set their course. “By that logic, wouldn’t that mean that I miss them more, since I had less time with them?”

“Hey!” Stan groans as he follows him into the room. “It does not. It means that you don’t know them like I know them, genius. Everyone knows that it’s all about how much time you’ve spent with a person that determines how close you are with them” 

Ford laughs as he enters the coordinates they need to get to the seaport they were meeting the young twins at. From the looks of it, it’d be three hours before they arrived. 

“Mm, and who put that study together? Was it you?” 

Stan doesn’t reply with words, just a noise that sounds halfway between disgruntled and baffled. It makes Ford laugh even harder, and he wipes at his eyes with a wrist. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Stan’s overdramatic pout melt away until he’s laughing too. 

The sight of it makes the smile on Ford’s face widen. It’d been decades since the two of them were able to just be like this. It’d been so long since the last time Ford heard Stan’s genuine laugh that he’d gone and forgotten what it sounded like altogether. When he was still traveling the multiverse, he searched far and wide for a shred of hope, something to keep his anxieties and nightmares from catching up to him.

What a fool he’d been to ignore his childhood memories of home. 

The trip is a quiet but familiar one. Ford can’t talk much when he’s steering because he needs to be on constant lookout, but Stan remains in the room to talk at him and keep him company anyway. The sun is well over the horizon by the time they reach the seaport, and call it instincts, intuition, or something else entirely, because Ford spots the kids sitting on a bench in the near distance the moment he and Stan step foot onto the dock. 

They’re squished closely together, watching a video on Mabel’s phone. Whether they’re aware of it or not, they’re swaying their legs back and forth underneath the bench in perfect unison. On the ground beside them are their backpacks, overstuffed with so many things that both of them are popping open. 

Most importantly, neither of them have noticed that Ford and Stan are approaching them. 

Ford exchanges an amused glance with Stan, and clears his throat to catch their attention. 

The phone nearly stumbles out of their hands in shock when they look up and meet their eyes.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel squeals, standing to sprint past Ford to knock Stan off of his feet. Ford chuckles at the sight, but not quickly enough to hear Dipper’s “Great Uncle Ford!”, and before he knows it he’s hitting the floor too. The young twins are laughing messes, and stumble over each other as they try to stand to their feet and help their Grunkles up. 

Mabel spits out the hair that stuck to her mouth, and pulls a hair tie seemingly out of thin air to tie her hair up into a ponytail. It’s only now that Ford realizes that she and Dipper are also both wearing sweaters, and if Ford had to guess, it looks like Mabel made both of these sweaters as well. Mabel’s is a galaxy print with actual twinkling stars, and Ford makes a mental note to ask her later what she did to make it glow like that. Dipper’s is also space themed, though his pictures the big dipper splotched across a black night sky with a bright orange meteor shooting through the center.

“You have to tell us about everything you’ve encountered”, Dipper beams, once Stan finishes brushing himself off. 

Stan cocks an eyebrow. “Two years’ worth is a lot to get through, kiddo”

“Exactly!” Mabel beams, turning to pick up her backpack and put it on. “Which is exactly why you can tell us on the way to the hotel!” 

“Hotel?” Ford and Stan ask in unison.

“Surprise?” Dipper giggles. “Our parents rented us a hotel room for the week cause they figured you’d appreciate some time away from the boat” 

“It’ll be like our summer in Gravity Falls all over again!” Mabel grins. “But in reverse! You’re in our territory now” 

Stan laughs. “You’re the boss, kiddo”

“You bet I am!” She beams, and hands Dipper his backpack. “Now c’mon! If you tell us all of the horrors you’ve encountered out at sea, we’ll tell you about all the horrors we’ve encountered in high school!”

“I...think I remember those horrors pretty well already, thank you” Ford smiles sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. “But we’d be more than glad to tell you some of our own stories”

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, but Ford honestly wouldn’t mind if they walked all the way to the hotel on foot if it meant an extra half an hour with the kids. They’re just as eccentric as he remembers, attached at the hip but still wildly different people all on their own. Dipper’s still hanging on to every word he’s saying, and Mabel’s still skipping along like she’s in her own world. 

Once they reach the hotel and check in, Dipper collapses face first onto one of the beds the moment he steps into the room, groaning. 

Stan smiles. “Something bothering you, kiddo?” 

He turns on his side to look Stan in the eye, his face smushing into the pillow. “Mabel didn’t let me get any sleep last night. She insisted on getting to the seaport three whole hours early because she insisted that she had this gut feeling that you guys would have the same idea and we’d magically show up at the same time” 

Mabel pouts, and sits on the bed besides him. “Well it’s not my fault you stayed up late reading that dumb book of yours. Plus, would you rather have kept them waiting for three hours?” 

Dipper removes his hat and places it on the table beside him, exposing just enough of his forehead through his hair to reveal his birthmark. It has the same faint glow to it as Mabel’s sweater, and Ford wonders how the two could possibly reflect off of each other. 

“Their boat has beds and a fully stocked kitchen, Mabel. They can afford to wait. All we had were those strawberry pop tarts that you ate five minutes after we got there”

Ford can’t help but smile softly at their banter. He missed them so, so, much more than he could’ve ever imagined. He’s got half a mind to stow them away on the boat at the end of the week and homeschool them both himself so he never has to be apart from them again.

Apart. The word still feels like a knife twisted into his chest. There’s nothing he regrets more than trying to separate the young twins from each other two summers ago because he’d been so caught up in projecting his own fears onto the pair. He’d tried apologizing to Mabel over the whole ordeal, but she stopped him before he could even start to tell him he had nothing to worry about.

He only wishes he could learn to forgive himself as easily as she did.

“...Can we, Grunkle Ford?”

He blushes. Had he just said all of that out loud?

“Can we...what?” 

“Take the boat out! Not right now, since Dips is being a grumpy-grump and insists on wasting precious time with a nap, but we’ve been talking about it all week”

From across the room, Stan snorts. “Let me get this straight,” he takes his jacket off and hangs it up in the closet. At this point Ford swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because Stan’s old burn scar is glowing just as Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s birthmark are. “All the time you spent groaning and complaining about fishing every time I took you in Gravity Falls, and now you’re asking to go fishing?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a joy ride,” Dipper yawns from under the covers. “But if agreeing to go fishing is what gets you to say yes, then sure” 

He’s smirking under the covers, Ford can tell, because he inherited that expression from Stan.

Stan’s about to bite back, but Dipper must not have been exaggerating about how long he and Mabel were waiting for them at the dock, because he’s already out cold. Stan smiles at him, gently ruffling up his hair before he takes a seat on the adjacent bed, kicking his shoes off so he can kick his feet up on the bed and relax. Ford sits beside Stan, and Stan slings his arms behind him to support his head in his hands as he glances over at Ford. 

“They make you wanna retire the whole ‘treasure hunting’ thing and move into the city to be closer to ‘em too?”

Ford chuckles. “I’ve already considered hiding them away on the boat twice today already.” He taps at his chin. “Though I suppose that moving in with them would go over better with their parents then taking them away to live on a boat” 

“Hmm…” Stan taps at his chin as well. “Being stuck in the same stuffy high school for four years, or living on a boat traveling all over the world whenever they feel like it? I dunno about you, Sixer, but I have a pretty good idea on what the kids would prefer”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford?” Mabel’s voice suddenly chimes in, and Ford blushes, wondering how much of that she just heard. 

“What’s on your mind, pumpkin?” Stan asks. 

“Well, uh, Dipper was right about us only eating once really early this morning, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh” She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Cook something for us? For old time’s sake?”

Okay, it’s settled, Ford’s never letting these kids go again. 

“Sure, kiddo. Soon as your brother’s up we’ll head right back up, okay?” 

“Okay!” she beams, and crawls back into her side of the bed, staring at Dipper like she can will him into waking up on command. 

Though Ford would’ve been okay if they’d had to wait hours for him, it’s really only about twenty minutes before Dipper opens his eyes again and nearly shrieks in surprise at Mabel’s face hovering three inches from his own. He smacks his hand into her face to shove her away, and she giggles as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor. 

Beside Ford, Stan smirks. “Better get up before we leave without you and all our food goes to Mabel, kiddo. You’ve got plenty of time to crash in Ford’s bed on the ship, since he never seems to use it anyway”

Dipper yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he kicks the covers off. “I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep”

“I didn’t realize you were even capable of sleep, bro-bro” Mabel punches him in the shoulder as she walks past him to put her shoes on. He glares at her wordlessly, and Ford has to cover up his snicker with a fake cough. 

This time, the bus ride and the walk back to the ship are a quiet one. Ford never really lets himself let his guard down and relax for an extended period of the time, so he cherishes any moment he can get where he finally feels like he doesn’t constantly feel the need to check over his shoulder for signs of danger. Most of the time, if you asked him about his heightened senses, he’d call them a curse. But on days like these, when he can hear the birds chirping and the waves smacking gently against the boats in the seaport, he’d almost go as far as calling it a blessing. 

The kids take a seat at the dining table as soon as they enter the kitchen, and Stan grins at them from over his shoulder as he clicks the stove on. “Whaddya say, Stancakes?” 

Dipper and Mabel grimace in unison. “Ewwww, Grunkle Stan, you promised lunch!” Mabel scrunches her nose, and Stan’s grin only widens. 

“Ah, ah, you said like old times. That means I get to decide what to make, and you have to eat it because I’m your legal guardian”.

“Well I wasn’t even awake when you were talking about old times, so I’d say that cancels out” Dipper crosses his arms over his chest, and Ford can’t help but smile warmly at the three of them as he reaches into the cupboard for his favorite coffee mug. The younger twins clearly had just gotten two copies of the same mug, but crossed both of them out so they’d say #1 GRUNKLES on them instead of #1 UNCLE. Stan has the other one, of course, but he keeps it on his bedside to hold small treasures and keepsakes because it’s, in his own words, “Too special to waste on something as ordinary as coffee”.

Ford sits himself in the seat between the younger twins at their okay, and after some back and forth banter between the four of them, they end up settling for burgers. Truth be told, this is the first time Ford’s eaten a meal in a group larger than two since the last time he and Stan visited the young twins in the winter, and he can’t help but smile into his food at the thought. The closest he’d come even remotely close to eating with others in his research years was his very, very brief time at the truck stop diner, and the experience had soured his view of...well, other people for near decades.

Now, though, he’d burn his own research dozens of times over before he’d even consider eating alone.

Stan’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands pops Ford out of his bubble of serenity. 

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Stan cracks his knuckles, smiling mischievously at Dipper and Mabel. “I think I remember a couple of kiddos finally promising their Grunkle Stan he could take them fishing”

“Promise is a strong word-” Dipper starts as he stands to place his plate in the sink, but Stan’s already placing a fishing hat on his head before he can finish his sentence. 

“Course you did! You wanna take our baby for a joyride, you gotta earn it first”

Dipper turns to Ford, like he’s expecting him to back him up.

Ford chuckles. “I don’t know, Dipper. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me”.

Dipper scoffs, sitting back down at the table. Mabel laughs. 

“Aww, C’mon, Dipper! Aren’t you all about the supernatural? For all we know, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford could be harboring magical glowing bait that only attracts, like, magical talking fish men, or something!” 

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just receive a bottle message from Mermando last week?”

“Exactly!” Mabel flashes a grin. “That must mean that he’s in the area!”

Stan laughs. “You tellin’ me you only agreed to go fishing so you could kiss and make-up with your long-distance fish boyfriend?”

“Grunkle Stan, what kind of person do you take me for?” she gasps. “He’s married! You know I would never want to break apart such a loving couple!”

Ford’s smile only warms. Where else could he partake in such a conversation that doesn’t turn heads and result in judgmental whispers? Where else can he just be like this, surrounded by loved ones who are just as weird, just as out of the ordinary as himself? In his younger years he thought for sure his place would be among the monsters and cryptids everyone in his childhood made him out to be, but even in the weirdness capital of the country he felt more alone than ever. 

“...Don’t think you’re immune, Sixer” Stan’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and before Ford can ask what he means Stan is smacking a homemade fishing cap on his head. “It may ruin your badass image when we’re monster hunting, or whatever, but we’re fishing with the kids.” Stan gestures to them with his thumb. They’re already outside, leaning over the railing to look out at the water in a perfect mirror of each other.  “If they have to embarrass themselves by humoring me for a few hours, so do you” 

Ford waits for Stan to join the kids outside before he takes his hat off to admire the stitch work. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near the fancy embroidery he and Stan have found in various markets across their world travels. But it’s personalized, and Ford knows it comes from a place in Stan’s mind that’s been stuck behind lock and key since he was seventeen.

Ford runs his hands along each individual letter, which reads POINDEXTER, before placing it back on his head to join the others outside. 

Stan has, miraculously, already pulled out his joke book. Stan’s laughing too hard at his own joke for Ford to really make out what the punchline is, but the younger twins’ collective groans is all he needs to know about it. When Mabel notices him stepping out of the doorway, though, her expression shifts entirely. 

“So…” she draws out, stepping towards him. “Is there a trick for attracting merpeople to your boat? I mean, asides from being super cute, obviously” 

Ford chuckles, taking a glance behind her to make sure that Stan is out of earshot. “Stan’ll kill me if I tell you this, but they’re really attracted towards shiny things. If you tied one of his gold necklaces around a fishing pole and dangled it into the water, the boat’ll be surrounded in minutes” 

Mabel offers up her pinkie finger. “I won’t tell him if you won’t”

Ford interlocks his pinkie with hers, smiling. “I think he’ll notice when a whole family of merpeople show up”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin with her free hand, visibly mouthing a plan to herself. “Oh! I know! Come with me,” she beams, and before Ford can even open his mouth to respond she’s already dragging him back into the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor and opens the cupboard below the sink. “Got any empty bottles I can use?”

Ford blinks. “Empty....bottles”

“Yeah!” Mabel pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of her skirt. “If I can send out my response letter the same time we throw Stan’s necklace over, he’ll never be able to tell the difference!”

“Wait, wait” Ford shakes his head. “You really are dating a merperson?”

“Listening skills, Grunkle Ford” she taps at her forehead, folding the letter back into her pocket as she continues to dig through the cupboards. “Used to date. We met at the Gravity Falls Public Pool, where he was stuck, but then I drove him to the lake in a golf cart I stole from the pool grounds because he really missed his family, and then he was my first kiss, and then we were in a long-distance relationship for like, two months, and I kept every single bottle he sent me, but then we had to break up because he was arranged to marry to prevent a big undersea war.” She picks up a bottle, shakes it, and puts it back when it’s too full for her liking. “I know it sounds, like, super complicated, but it’s all okay, because we’re still pen pals!” 

Ford laughs, shaking his head. “No, Mabel, I had to ask because I, uh…” his cheeks warm, and he clears his throat. “Before I...came to term with my orientation, I...dated a merperson too” 

The bottles in the cupboard rattle as Mabel’s head smacks against the doorframe. She’s rubbing the spot where her head hit, but there are stars in her eyes. “Really?” 

Ford’s cheeks burn even hotter. “Yes,” he whispers, and takes a knee so he can get at her eye level. “Technically he was a siren, but yes, we dated for about a month. He promised me he wouldn’t entice anyone else while we were together, but I guess there wasn’t anything...there.” He turns to help her shuffle through the cupboard, and finds a near-empty bottle of olive oil that’s definitely been sitting down there for at least a year. He hands it off to Mabel, smiling. “I’m glad that things worked out with you, though” 

To his surprise, Mabel drops the bottle and throws her arms around him in a hug. “I can’t wait to introduce you! He’s gonna love you”

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, and pulls her close as he winds his arms around her as well. The hug only lasts for a few brief moments, but it feels to Ford in those moments that time itself had stopped. Mabel stands, taking the bottle in one hand and offering to help Ford up in her other. 

Mabel places the bottle in the sink and turns the water on to rinse it out before she turns back towards Ford, stretching her arms up in the air as if she were warming up for an exercise. “Alright, here’s the plan. You tell me where Grunkle Stan keeps all of his jewelry, and I’ll sneak in and take his necklace while you distract him. Got it?”

Ford smiles. “Got it”.

As Mabel splits away for Stan’s bedroom, Ford heads back out to the deck. Dipper’s leaning over the side of the boat pointing at something jumping out of the water, rambling excitedly to Stan beside him. He’s holding his fishing hat in his hand to stop it from blowing into the water, and his hair is bouncing in the breeze. It’s just enough for the edge of his birthmark to poke through his bangs, and even in broad daylight it seems to be emitting a faint glow.

“I found it!” Mabel cheers, bounding up from behind him. She’s wearing the chain around her neck, and for some reason the gold seems much dimmer in contrast to her sweater. She takes it off and hands it to him. “You wanna do the honors while I go and throw this overboard?”

Ford smiles, ruffling her hair. “Sure thing.” He walks over to where Stan and Dipper are chatting and picks up one of the extra fishing rods. Making sure that Stan’s too engrossed with his conversation to notice, Ford starts wrapping the chain along the line, and at the signal from Mabel, he tosses his line as far from the boat as he can manage.

Five minutes pass before Mabel squeals so loud that Ford’s afraid his glasses might shatter. He reaches for the gun he knows he’s got stashed in his pants pocket, but when he turns to run to her aid she’s leaning halfway over the boat wrapping her arms around a young merman in a tight hug.

“...so good to see you again!” She’s beaming. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find us so quickly!”

“Yes, well, you were easy to track down after we figured out the coordinates to the seaport” the young man says in a thick Spanish accent. “It is good to see you too! My family was so excited to meet you”

“Your family?” she gasps. “Did they all come with you?” 

“Of course!” he grins. “We merpeople are very family oriented. Wherever we go, we go together” 

Ford winces at the uncanny familiarity of the statement. Mabel must recognize the statement too, because she responds with “Oh, that reminds me! There’s someone I want you guys to meet! Wait right here,” she says, and comes bouncing back over to Ford. Taking his hand in her own, she starts to drag him back to where she’d just been leaning. “C’mon! He’s the one I was just talking about!”

Three more merpeople emerge from the water when she gently knocks on the side of the boat again. “Grunkle Ford, this is Mermando!” she grins, gesturing to the young merman she’d just been conversing with. “He’s the one I helped reunite with his family after they were separated by tragic circumstances.” She wraps her arms around Ford in a side-hug. “Mermando, this is my Grunkle Ford! He was also separated from his family by tragic circumstances, but I helped with that too!” 

Mermando laughs. “Even when you think it’s the end, family always finds its way, doesn’t it?”

Ford laughs, shaking his hand. “It always seems that way to me”

“Awwww!” Mabel squeals. “I knew you’d get along!” She grins, and turns her attention back towards Mermando. “Before I forget, though, did you see where Grunkle Ford threw that gold necklace? If I don’t get it back my Grunkle Stan’s gonna kill me”

Mermando laughs again. “I was wondering if that belonged to any of you!” He takes off his shell necklace to reveal that he’d put Stan’s necklace on around his neck. He takes that off, too, and offers it to Ford. “I much prefer this one, anyway” he clicks his shell necklace open, revealing it to be a locket with a picture of his family inside.

Ford takes the gold necklace back, and he means to thank him, but a bell ringing from elsewhere in the port interrupts him before he can open his mouth. Mermando turns to Mabel, taking her hands in his own. “We must go. I’m so sorry we have to leave so soon, but we merpeople recognize the sounds of fishing boats very easily. We’ll try to come back later this week” He opens his arms for her once more, and Mabel wraps his arms around him in a quick hug before she watches him and his family swim away. 

“I am so glad that all you were doing was hugging,��� Dipper shudders as he and Stan approach Ford and Mabel. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle witnessing you two kissing a second time” 

“Awww,” Mabel punches him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous that I had a boyfriend before you did!” 

Dipper cringes. “If you having a boyfriend before I do means I didn’t have to be the one dating a fish, then I’m glad you were the one who got stuck with him first” He punches her back, and gestures at Stan over his shoulder with his thumb. “But anyways, I came over here because Grunkle Stan says he wants to get out on the open water before everyone else gets the idea, or something”.

Ford pockets Stan’s necklace and makes a mental note to put it away sometime later tonight when Stan is too distracted to notice. “Tell Stan I’m going to untie the rope from the edge of the dock, and when he sees me back on board we’re all set to go.”

Nodding, Dipper bounds off towards the navigation room where Stan must be waiting, and Ford steps off of the boat to take care of everything else. On the way to the bow, he traces a hand along the white painted STAN O’ WAR II, and a feeling of warmth sprouts in his chest. Once back on board, he waves to Stan as he passes besides the navigation room once more, and takes a seat on one of the beach chairs they liked to keep aboard. 

Most days, Ford prefers to be the one at the wheel. But every once in a while he just wants to be. All he wants to do is lean back in one of their beach chairs and let the sun warm his face. It’s a good kind of warm, the same way spending time with the kids and heavy rain hitting his bedroom window and planning new escapades with Stan feel warm. After so, so long of only knowing unbearable burns, it feels indescribable to have a constant back in his life that heals, rather than hurts. 

“Mind if we join you?” Dipper asks, and Ford glances over to see both of the young twins dragging a chair behind them.

Speaking of healing constants.

“Sure,” Ford says, and can’t help the warmth spilling through his tone. They pull their chairs up on either side of him, and curl up to enjoy the warm breeze. Dipper places his hat on his lap to let the wind blow through his hair, and Mabel stretches her arms out behind her head to act as her own pillow. Ford chuckles silently at the pair, and closes his eyes to let himself relax.

All is quiet when Stan finally finds them a spot out on the open water without a single other boat in sight. The water is nearly still, save for the occasional small wave that gently sways the boat. The sun is at its afternoon high, turning the water beautiful shades of teal and aqua. Fishing is tedious, but it’s careful work, and gives Ford something to put all of his focus into. Two whole hours pass before any of them catch a thing, and Stan laughs himself to tears when it’s Dipper who pulls up a single sardine. 

Typically Ford prefers much more immersive activities, but right now there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The sun is starting to set before they realize they aren’t going to have much luck catching anything, and instead decide to take the boat for another ride around the harbor to look for a better place to eventually watch the stars. 

“...Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper approaches him shyly once they’ve anchored the boat.

“Yes?”

He tugs shyly at the edge of his sweater. “I…” he starts. “I know you’ve told me that the multiverse was dangerous, and all, but...was there ever anything you enjoyed about it?” He pauses. “What were the sunsets like?”

Ford chuckles, patting at the seat beside him, and Dipper’s eyes light up as he sits down.

“You’re right,” Ford starts, folding his hands together. “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on even my worst enemies, Dipper. It was practically impossible to get any decent amount of sleep and even harder to find food digestible by human kind. I lost some of my best years to the multiverse when I could’ve gone on to become the most renowned scientist in the world.” Ford turns his gaze away from the sun setting on the horizon to meet Dipper’s eyes, but he’s frowning, eyes cast downwards towards the deck of the ship.

“But,” Ford adds before the poor kid can get too lost in his own head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It definitely had its perks.” He smiles. “The sun in Dimension 18.2 would emit a sound that mimicked a lullaby every night as it set. Dimension 47’23 had three moons that would shift phases before your very eyes. I haven’t told Mabel because I’m afraid she’ll try activating a portal of her own and run away, but in Dimension 25-12, everyone and everything looks like a watercolor painting. There’s danger in the multiverse, but there’s beauty in equal measure”

“Do you ever miss it?” Dipper fiddles with his hands, like he’s trying real hard not to say the wrong thing. “I mean, I know you don’t miss being lost, or having no idea if you’re ever going to see home again, but...is there any dimension...where you could’ve seen yourself staying, if you thought you couldn’t make it back?” 

Ford shifts in his chair so he doesn’t have to twist his neck so much to look directly at his nephew. “Occasionally,” he muses. “I met the most friendly faces in Dimension 52, so my mind does tend to wander there from time to time” he smiles. “But rest assured, there is something in this dimension that makes it my favorite”

“Oh yeah?” Dipper’s eyes light up. “Over every other dimension you’ve passed through? What is it?”

Ford gently nudges Dipper’s shoulder. “You and your sister”

Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks as though he’s struggling not to bury his face into the collar of his sweater and disappear. “Really?” his voice squeaks.

Ford nods. “Everything I had in those other dimensions were fleeting, Dipper. At a moment’s notice everything I grew to love could disappear in the blink of an eye. The very thing happened to me in Dimension 52. When I fell asleep, I woke up in a new dimension I didn’t recognize. Things may have been more advanced, and there may have been dimensions crafted to give you your greatest desires, but in the end nothing ever lasted.” 

Now it’s Ford’s turn to divert Dipper’s eyes, gaze casting towards the floor. “Stan was cut from my life completely in the dimension that claimed to be a perfect world. I had nobody. Even in dimensions that actively worked towards my happiness, I was all alone” Ford shakes his head, and turns his gaze once more out on the horizon. The sun is still touching the horizon, but it’s dipped just low enough that some of the stars are beginning to show in the sky. 

“But...here, at home, everything is consistent. I don’t have to worry about waking up in the morning to find that everyone I love is gone. I can keep everyone in arm’s lengths, even when Stan and I can only communicate with you and your sister over a video call. I’m…” Ford gently squeezes his hands to reassure himself that this is real and now. “...happy. Happier than I’ve been in decades” 

Beside him, Dipper yawns, and when Ford spares a glance over at him he’s smiling at him sleepily.  “We’re really happy you’re here too, Grunkle Ford” he murmurs, and his eyes slip closed. Ford’s cheeks flush pink, and he has to choke back a laugh because that’s one of the first times Dipper’s felt comfortable enough to call him Grunkle. 

Ford stands, so as not to wake Dipper from his nap. A small glance to his right and he catches a glimpse of Stan and Mabel leaning against the side of the boat watching the sunset just outside of earshot of his current conversation with Dipper.

“You finally bore him to sleep with all your nerdy science talk?” Stan asks as he approaches, sparing a glance behind him at Dipper. “Was starting to think that the poor kid would never get a nap in” 

“Yes, well,” Ford smirks. “I’m sure it helped plenty that you bored him to death by taking him fishing first”

Stan gasps in mock offense, and slugs him in the shoulder. “Hey, at least I’m engaging them in something they can actually interact with, unlike your kooky alien stories, or whatever”

Ford can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Bold statement coming from the man who dedicated thirty years of his life rescuing me from said kooky aliens” he says, returning with a punch of his own. Stan opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing to say, and closes his mouth. The sight of it makes Ford laugh even harder, keeling over and slapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder to support himself. It must be contagious, because it’s not long before Stan is laughing too.

Ford removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and cleans off the lenses with the edge of his sweater. Once his eyes adjust after he puts them back on, his throat nearly catches in his throat when he glances back out towards the water. He’s just able to catch a shooting star before it disappears over the horizon, and the boat’s just far out enough on the water that there isn’t an ounce of light pollution obscuring the rest of the stars in the sky.  He takes a few steps back so he can look up and admire more of them at once, and if he looks close enough he can see them twinkling. 

Before he can ask the others if they’re seeing the same thing, a bright flash of light coming from somewhere on the boat cuts into his thoughts. He turns, to make sure that none of the lights in any of the rooms are on, but no, they’d turned those off when they’d started fishing. Scratching at his head, he turns to Stan and Mabel to ask if they have any idea where the light is coming from, but that question catches in its throat as quickly as it formulated.

They’re the ones emitting light.

Or, rather, Mabel’s sweater and Stan’s shoulder, approximately where his burn scar should be. Those are emitting light. 

...Surely it must just be the reflection of the starlight on the water, right? That same bright light must have woken Dipper from his nap, yes? 

He turns heel to ask Dipper the same question, but freezes in his tracks before he can take a single step forward. Dipper’s forehead is glowing too, the same way it has since he and Stan docked the boat this morning. 

It...It can’t be, can it?

Gripping his forehead, Ford takes a number of steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Maybe...maybe he just needs to call it a night. He’s been awake since sunrise, maybe his vision is just blurring because he needs to lie down? 

He waves his hands in front of his face, but no, those don’t look any different. He squints, to make sure his hands aren’t shaking, but no, they’re perfectly still.

He squints at Stan and Mabel, just to try and see if his eyes are watering, and-

He gasps. 

Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s forehead, Stan’s shoulder; they’re not glowing; they’re twinkling like the stars. It was hard to tell in broad daylight, but now that they’re surrounded by a thousand shining stars, the resemblance is unmistakable. 

But...that’s not possible. If he can see them twinkling, but none of them have said anything about it, that could only be if those were…

...soulmarks. 

Ford suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out. 

He slides to the floor.

Is...Is that even possible? Ford thought for sure that study he read years ago was nothing but a joke. Someone...who does everything in their power to bring you two together, no matter the cost? Someone who, even though you may not meet for decades, will feel as though you’ve known each other their entire lives? Someone who will do anything for you, no matter the personal expense?

Someone...someone like Stan, who spent a painstaking thirty years teaching himself quantum physics to rescue someone that anyone else would assume dead? The man who sacrificed his very mind, his very life, so he could be spared physical torture?

Or...someone like Mabel, the first friendly face he saw after emerging from the portal? The one who forgave him so easily after he tried to separate her from her brother? The one who insists on calling him a good person, despite all of those he knows he hurt? 

Or...Dipper? His kindred spirit in all things supernatural? The one who, alongside his sister, sacrificed himself as bait for the most dangerous being in the entire multiverse? Who saw memories of him at his very worst, and apologized to him for snooping?

After everything he’s been through...could things really work out that well in his favor? To not have one soulmate but three, and the guarantee that they’ll never leave, because they’ve already expressed how they love him so? 

There’s a tear streaming down his cheek at the thought, but he’s too distracted by a fourth light suddenly emitting from...himself to really notice.

He spares a cautious glance downward, and notices a pulsing light emerging from his chest in perfect time with his heartbeat. If he looks closely, he notices that the light travels down his arms and ties itself into a translucent bow around his fingers. If he looks closer still, the light looks as though it’s slinking faintly across the deck of the boat and reaching towards the gentle twinkling of Stan and Mabel’s marks.

Ford places a hand to his forehead, throws his head back, and laughs his throat dry, paying no mind to the tears pouring down his face.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 15 and/or 21 for ot4?

Here you go! I went with 15: I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct. There's no sex scene, but quite a bit of talk about sex.

Duck’s taken a few hits in his life. He’s not expecting one when he steps from the bathroom of Tarkensian’s General Store and Lunch Counter, but that’s what he gets, sharp and hard in the eye.

“Fuck” He yelps, swinging his fist out to keep whoever the fuck is pissed at him from doing it again. He misses, catching sight of a tall government suit as his momentum spins him into the wall.

At the gunshots, he drops to the floor.

“Goddamn it.” His attacker sprints towards the front of the store. Another shot, squealing tires, banging doors. By the time he’s made a cautious journey to the cash register to make sure Leo is okay, the man who punched him is arguing with another suit in front of a Dusenberg with bullet holes in the right front tire.

“I told you to never discharge your weapon unless absolutely necessary.” All six feet of mr quick fists is staring down at his partner.

“They were getting away!”

“Necessary means life or death, Agent Roberts; if we tracked them once, we can track them again, and stopping them today is not worth the life of the civilians in that store. Or anywhere else.”

“Who gives a damn if some hill-billys take a hit, this is government business-”

“That’s enough.” The taller man’s voice sharpens, “Protecting the people down here is why we’re doing this in the first place. If you can’t get that through your skull, you’re asking for a one way ticket back to the tiny police force they pulled you from.”

The shorter man rips his badge from his pocket, bouncing it off the other’s chest, “Save yourself the fucking trouble, I fucking quit.” With that he stomps down the dusty road towards the only hotel in town.

Duck and Leo, who’ve been watching the exchange like it’s a picture show, pivot to setting knocked cans and scattered boxes right as the remaining agent steps through the door. He stands, waiting for them to look his way and clearing his throat to speed them along.

“I, um, I apologize, Mr. Tarkesian. I only meant to question those two men in a friendly way, but the moment they saw my badge one threw a haymaker. Which leads me to assume they are bootleggers, a conclusion I was deferring until I could speak to them. That’s neither here nor there. Are you alright? Are your customers?”

“All in one piece, sir. Your partner ended a sack of flour, but nothin’ else.” Leo tilts his head at the pile of white dust, “though you gave Duck here a hell of a shiner.”

“Oh my lord.” The man puts a hand over his mouth when he sees Duck’s face, “I’m sorry. You stepped out of the washroom right when I tried to stop the younger brother.”

“S’okay. Not, uh, not the worst thing to ever happen to me at dinner time.” Duck would rather not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here.

“No, it’s not.” The man runs a hand over his slick-backed black hair, “will you let me buy you dinner as an apology? Or at least some ice for your eye?” The chagrin is unusual from a government man in this part of the country, and Duck can think of worse evenings than letting a handsome face pay for his meal.

“You buy me dinner” he tilts his head at the lunch counter, “I won’t be sore about bein’ sore.”

The man smiles, “That seems fair. Mr. Tarkesian, if you’re able to write up a bill for the damaged goods I’ll...well, I’ll do my best to get you paid back for it. Have someone drop it off at Amnesty Lodge for Agent Stern.”

“Will do.” Leo nods, then adds, “Duck, ask Pigeon for some ice on the house for that eye.”

Once their orders are in and Duck’s eye is chilling, the agent sets a thoughtful hand on his hat where it’s resting on the counter.

“I really am sorry.”

“Not the first time someone’s slugged me. Definitely the hardest, though. So, uh, guess that’s somethin.”

“If it’s any consolation, my hand sympathizes with your eye.” He holds up his right hand, bruises blooming on the knuckles. Duck holds out the ice but the agent shakes his head, “it’s my own fault for not opting for a more efficient way of apprehending those men.”

“Take it you’re here tryin to bust some moonshiners?”

“Yes. As you might imagine, it hasn’t led to the best reception.” He tilts his head towards the quartet of men scowling at them from down the counter.

“Doubt your partner helped with that any.”

“You don’t know the half of it. One of those men who wants the respect for his badge but doesn’t give a damn about earning it.” He sighs as Pigeon sets their sandwiches in front of them, “Nevermind. I shouldn’t complain about a fellow agent. Um. What do you do here in Kepler?”

“Arborist for every town in the county. The bigwigs at city hall realized any money they saved lettin me go when things got bad wouldn’t make up for what would happen if trees took out houses or the brush got too high and made it easy for the whole damn town square to burn to the ground.”

“Sounds like they’re lucky to have you.”

“Yep.”

They eat in silence, evening sun searing their backs through the windows.

“I’m, um, well I was going to say I’m usually better at conversation than this. But it’s been so long since I did any talking that wasn’t part of an investigation or government business I’ve forgotten how to be charming. Or even interesting.”

“Buyin a fella dinner is pretty charming.”

“No, it’s just the decent thing to do.”

“Take the compliment city boy.”

The agent raises an eyebrow and Duck prepares to be hit again for disrespect. Then Stern laughs, soft and tired, before sending a Clark Gable caliber smile his way, “It’s nice to be talked to like a person instead of a suit.”

Duck shifts on the stool to more easily enjoy the way blue eyes glint when he says, “Even easier if you told me your name.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Well, Joe, this is me.” Duck gestures to the house that’s been in the Newton family since it was built. He’s the last one left in town, so the faded paint and sturdy foundation are all his.

The agent regards the house with the same cool curiosity he’s applied to everything else they’ve encountered tonight. It’s only when his gaze lands on Duck that it takes on a new dimension, friendly and almost innocent in it’s hope.

“You, uh, feel like joinin’ me for some coffee? Wouldn’t wanna interfere with government business by keepin you.” He teases.

Joe is already joining him on the porch, “Roberts probably reported on our earlier altercation. I’ll have better luck keeping Agent Hayes from shouting my ear off if I give him until tomorrow to cool off.”

Duck gets the lights on as Joe hangs his hat and jacket by the door. He opens the cabinet, searching for clean glasses and mugs, spotting the bottle of bourbon that was there long before prohibition started right when the taller man steps behind him.

“Uh, any chance I can convince you that’s a bottle of vinegar or somethin’?”

“No. It doesn’t matter, though.” Since Duck’s hands are full, Joe closes the cabinet, “I don’t give a damn if people drink. I don’t care if someone wants to brew up moonshine in their yard or run a bar. What I care about is how this whole mess has made it easier for mobs to flourish, for normal people to get caught in the crossfire of a corrupt police force and ruthless criminals.” The sofa creaks as he sits down, “I’m not in Kepler because I think it’s some cesspool; I’m here because I know a major bootlegging ring has a leg here, and that the people who benefit from it won’t be the people who get arrested in my investigation casts to small a net.”

Duck keeps his mouth shut; he could tell Joe just how much Kepler’s changed since a certain family got their hands on it. But he’s not sure what else he’d reveal without even meaning to.

Even exhausted, Joe manages to look handsome when he adds, “All that’s to say, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that bottle in my coffee.”

The longer he sits on the couch with his coffee cup, the more relaxed Joe turns. He also doesn’t move when Duck scoots closer, and soon their legs and hands keep bumping each other.

“Do you know Amnesty Lodge?”

“Yep. Few of my friends work there, it’s full of good folks.”

“I agree. I, um, the only other person in town who’ll talk to me like I’m a human works there. Barclay’s one of the few people who doesn’t seem scared of me. Or, he did at the beginning. Now, well, some days I’m almost convinced he’s happy to see me.” A secretive blush dusts his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I get rambly after ten p.m. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about him.”

Duck happens to be privy to what a man in love with Barclay Cobb looks like. So he keeps some gentleness in his tone when he teases, “City boy likes his men a little country?”

“Barclay is from San Francisco.” Joe looks up from his nails, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Maybe this will.” Joe drops backwards onto the cushions, taking Duck with him courtesy of a kiss and not letting him up until dawn.

-------------------------------------------------

Practically everyone in Kepler has a job on the side, some legal and others not. Duck considers himself lucky that his is all pleasure with a chaser of business.

He let’s himself into what could generously be called a shack, the ragged exterior giving way to walls of beautiful drawings and a floor that’s more paper than wood. Seated in the far corner at a three-legged desk is a tall, skinny man with pale hair and red spectacles. Kepler’s Van Gogh of Vice, Indrid Cold.

At Duck’s footsteps he turns, angular cheeks and sharp nose a bit sunburnt but smile putting that star (and any other) to shame.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite model.” He stands, undershirt and denim pants hanging off him as he gathers Duck into a kiss. Then he pulls back, concerned, “goodness, what happened to your eye?”

“Hey, sugar.” Duck kisses his chin, “Got caught up in some trouble at Leo’s. Nothin to worry about. What am I today?”

“A brush salesman. Go put on that jacket, the rest of your clothing will do just fine.”

It’s the same routine every time; Indrid sketches Duck in some poor replica of a costume (a policeman, a boxer, a salesman), then instructs him to strip down to some level of undress. If it’s a weekend, Indrid will ask if he can sketch Duck for more complex drawings, some nude and some not, rather than the Tijuana Bibles that help line his threadbare pockets.

He always pays Duck for his time, even though Duck points out that, as his boyfriend, he can see him naked and hard any time for free.

They talk about birds and work, about going to the city sometime soon for a real night out, until Indrid instructs him to remove his shirt.

“My, my, what did you get up to last night?” Indrid traces a finger around the hickey on Duck’s lower belly.

Duck tells him, letting Indrid scoldingly nibble his collarbone as punishment for not inviting him to join.

“I’ve given Agent Stern a wide berth, so it is reassuring to know he’s a decent sort. Though someone really ought to inform him that Barclay shares his feelings.”

“Yeah. Barclay.” Duck chuckles, “they’re two grown men, if they can’t figure out they wanna fuck, I ain’t gonna hold their hands and drag ‘em into bed. Uh, wait, fuck-”

“I got both your intended meaning and the double one. Now kindly remove your trousers and lay on the bed.”

“Any specific pose?”

“Whichever one allows me to be in you the quickest.”

“You’re the boss, sugar.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“He did what?” Barclay thunks the last crate into the back of Indrid’s car.

“Dearest, I know you’re attached to Joseph, but Duck did nothing wrong by sleeping with him-”

“That’s not what I meant.” The cook sets the bags atop the clinking crates, “Duck can’t lie. Him fucking around with Joseph could end really badly.”

“Duck doesn’t know about this” Indrid closes the car, fidgets with the key.

“Yeah, which means he doesn’t know what things to hide. Joseph is smart, Duck could say something totally innocent and give him a clue.”

Indrid rubs his forehead, “We can discuss it further when I get back from this run.”

Barclay mumbles, “okay.” Then Indrid is being lovingly crushed in a hug as his boyfriend speaks into his shoulder, “Sorry I snapped. I get so fucking nervous when you do this.”

“That makes two of us. But I didn’t come by my nickname for nothing. I slip by as quietly as a moth in the dark.”

“But what if the cops lay a trap? Or some other family wants in on Leeshon’s territory and decides to hijack you? Or-”

“Leave the what-ifs to me, dearest. I’ll be back in two days. I promise.”

When Indrid is no more than a shadow on the backroad, Barclay trudges back to the Lodge. He hates this, hates the men who put him in this position, hates the feds who sniff around like dogs waiting to bite, hates how one of the two men who can stop his heart with his smile is also one who could throw him in jail.

The instant he sees Joseph in his usual corner seat, that all evaporates. He knows the agent originally used the Lodge restaurant as a place to eavesdrop. When he’s here these days, it’s solely for Barclay’s cooking and attention. Barclay will give him as much of both as he desires, feed him full of it in hopes of delaying the inevitable. So when the chairs are up and it’s only Joseph leaning on the counter asking if Barclay will join him for a slice of pie, the cook sits on the stool beside him, leaning in as close as he dares, and tries not to think of the future.

---------------------------------------------------

“Mr. Cold?”

“I’m on the back porch.” Indrid calls, cleaning up his paints as Joseph rounds the house, his pristine shirt, shoes, and hair making Indrid feel a rare bust of self-consciousness at his dishevelment. He stands, brushing off his pants, “how can I assist you?”

“By letting me take a look inside your home. I’ve heard rumors that you deal in items that are only bought in back rooms and I need to see if they’re true. I don’t have a warrant, and I’ll get one if I have to, but then I’ll have to bring other kinds of law enforcement with me who might, um, might....look, you’re important to Duck; I don’t want this to escalate any more than it has to.”

Indrid grins, waving him inside, “Say no more. I do believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Your mind, on account of your profession, went straight to bootlegging. I deal in something a bit different” He flips open a briefcase and gets the pleasure of watching Joseph Sten blush.

“It’s not the kind of art I’d sell if I had my choice, but I have a talent for rendering all manner of lewd acts on paper. Owners of bowling alleys and hunting clubs pay decently enough for them.”

“I, um, I see.” Joseph picks up one booklet, flipping through it, “I must admit these are more realistic than the ones I've encountered in the past.”

“I use models whenever possible in both these and my other work” he gestures to the non-explicit paintings on the wall, “in fact, you know two of my preferred muses.”

“Duck” Joseph’s thumb runs tenderly over the illustration.

“Indeed. And this one…” he holds up a second book, “is based on Barclay.”

“Good lord.”

“That’s the general consensus on that part of his body.” Indrid places both booklets safely in their spots, “does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes.” Joseph runs a hand over his hair, “very much. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Cold.”

“Of course. And by all means, call me Indrid. Should you ever be interested in modeling...” he let's Stern feel the full force of his appreciative gaze, "do let me know."

The agent leaves in more of a hurry than he arrived. Indrid closes the door, slumps against and says to the dust specks, “that was too close.”

He reiterates this point to Barclay in the evening, who agrees with him that, as much as Joseph means to him and Duck, when Indrid returns from this run they’ll talk with Mama about how to get the agent out of the Lodge and, ideally, the town. They finish their conversation right as three members of the Leeshon family arrive, electing to travel north along with their goods for some “official business.” Apparently, word of the The Moth as a skilled driver is spreading, the implications of which are keeping Indrid up at night.

He stoops and smiles for the men with menacing shapes under their coats, blows a final kiss to Barclay, and speeds off into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is everything alright?” Joseph hovers over Duck’s shoulder, his eyes locked onto Barclay.

“‘Drid does these trips to sell his stuff, and he ain’t back yet. Ain’t called either of us, which is mighty strange. Usually he lets us know when he’s headin home.”

“And I tried the motel where he usually stays on his last night back down. They haven’t seen him.” Barclay wipes the same spot of table for the fiftieth time, “Duck’s truck is busted and Mama’s got the one we use for Lodge business, so we can’t go look for him ourselves.”

“We could take my car.” Joseph offers without hesitation, “if you know his usual route, we can at least rule out a wreck.”

Barclay shudders; he doesn’t want to think about Indrid, caged and lifeless in twisted metal. He wants to think about it so little that he does the most foolish thing possible; he decides to give a federal agent a guided tour of their bootlegging route.

Soon, they’re creeping along the winding backroad, Barclay navigating from the front seat while Duck bounces his leg in the back. The longer they drive, the more somber the expression from the man beside him.

“Indrid’s the Moth, isn’t he?” Joseph murmurs.

“Hate to say it Joe, but you’re so outta bounds you ain’t even in...the...game” he catches Barclay’s eyes in the mirror, “oh you gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“Wish I was” Barclay locks his hands in his lap, “Started about six months ago. Leeshon and his mob decided Kepler was a good spot to stage some of their smuggling. They went to the lodge first; Mama told ‘em hell no, told ‘em to get gone, and they threatened to shoot her then and there to burn the whole place and everyone in it. I stepped in, offered to do it. I was so fucking bad at the driving I almost got caught. Indrid offered to help to keep me safe and keep them from going after the Lodge.” He glances at Joseph, “we’re just trying to protect our family.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you haven’t exactly put me in an easy position. I had a hunch after I was in Indrid’s house; the faint smell of alcohol on certain bags, the regular trips along the exact same route. I just...I was hoping I was wrong.”

“You know damn well ‘Drid ain’t a threat to anyone.”

“He’s aiding the mob”

“To protect us--ohfuck” Barclay’s door is open before Joseph even stops the car. At the crossroads before them are two cars, each riddled with bullet holes. The one on the right, back half full of shattered bottles, is Indrid’s.

“No!” Barclay dodges the other bodies, Duck right behind him, and wrenches the driver-side door open. There’s bullets in the seat, but no body.

“Rival family, I can tell by the rings. They must have ambushed them.” Joseph stares down at one of the bodies by the second car.

“We gotta find him, he might still be, there-” Duck grabs Barclay’s arm, pointing towards the brush, “someone dragged themself that way.”

Duck leads the scramble through the foliage, following signs Barclay can’t see until they reach scuffed shoes on long legs.

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, c’mon sugar talk to me.” Duck is on his knees, guiding the unconscious man into his arms.

“He’s breathing.” Barclay runs his hands over Indrid’s body, looking for broken bones. Finds one on his left leg, making his boyfriend groan in pain.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you home.” There’s a clanking noise from the direction they came, “I like Joe an awful lot, but if we gotta steal his car I will.”

Indrid manages to smile with dry lips, “I tried so hard to get back. Hard to crawl on a broken leg after playing dead for as long as it took everyone who’d been shot to finish dying. I just...can we...I want to go home.”

“You clear a path, I’ll carry him.” Barclay scoops Indrid up, follows Duck back towards the car as he snaps and pushes at brush.

“Thank the lord.” Joseph opens the back door of the car, “here, he can lay down. We’ll take him to the doctor right away.”

Duck stays in the back, Indrid’s head in his lap, petting his hair and whispering to him as Joseph turns the car towards town.

“You realize I have to report the shoot out.”

Barclay never takes his eyes off Indrid, “Do what you have to. Just don’t expect a warm welcome back.”

----------------------------------------------------

“....no, Agent Hayes, there were no survivors of the shoot-out.”

“Any records on the cars?”

“Only one. The other didn’t have plates.” Joseph keeps his breathing even as his boss mulls over his report.

“Alright. I won’t send a second man down, but if this escalates I expect you to alert me at once.”

“Understood, sir.” He hangs up, relieved, and steps into the hall of the Lodge. There’s not much spring in his step, since he doesn’t dare show his face in the restaurant.

Then there’s a lot of spring as he’s yanked through a door. Before he can raise a fist, calloused hands cup his cheeks and a beard prickles his skin as Barclay pins him to the wall in a kiss.

“Did, did you hear the callmmpph” He holds tight to Barclays shoulders as the cook manhandles him towards bed.

“Yep, had Aubrey eavesdrop on you.” Duck grins from his spot on Indrid’s comfy sickbed, “you gonna tell us why you covered our asses?”

“Barclay may have to release him for that.” Indrid pats the space next to Duck and the cook let’s Joseph drop into it.

“Arresting Indrid would have put the whole Lodge in danger and done nothing to stop the mobs vying for power on this bootlegging route. It’s the better call to let people think you’re dead for a time and see if I can catch Leeshon as he’s sniffing around for a new driver. And, um, I, I couldn’t hurt you. Any of you. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in years and I, I just want to help you protect the town.”

“Aww, knew you were soft deep-down, city boy.” Duck kisses his cheek.

“I never did get to thank you for your role in saving my life. Come here.” Indrid crooks his finger and Joseph leans in, expecting a kiss on the cheek. He gets one full on the lips, Indrid humming when he brushes their tongues together. He purrs when they part, “after all, if you’re staying in town, I intend to join my boyfriends in their admiration of you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Wonderful. Iin that case, perhaps you’ll model for me.”

“Only if you buy me dinner.”

“Hey, I had to get punched to get dinner.” Duck teases.

“Let me go get it started.” Barclay winks, “don’t get into too much trouble until I get back.”

[mysteriousxmidnight]

Dear evan hansen for the fandom ask thingy? 😌😌

Yessss, I was hoping someone would ask me for DEH for this :D Here ya go!

the first character i ever fell in love with: Connor (Pretty sure everyone knows this already, heh).

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not: TBH, it’s the reverse for me with DEH. I had characters I didn’t like as much in the beginning and now love (thanks to reading and writing fanfic), like Jared, as one example.

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not: Umm... That’s tough because I multi-ship this fandom. I guess I liked BandTrees more the first time I watched the show, and then I went Trash for TreeBros so :D

my ultimate favorite character™: Connor, obvs

prettiest character: Oof. That depends on who’s playing them. Gonna go with Mike Faist Connor because I adore Mike Faist. But I’m bisexual and I suck at choosing one of anything, so I’m also gonna say Olivia Puckett as either Zoe or Alana because Olivia is gorgeous.

my most hated character: Does Mark Hansen count? I know he’s not technically in the show, but he’s mentioned and I really don’t hate anyone else, so. 

my OTP: TreeBros, obvs

my NOTP: Um.. I’m not a huge fan of Zoe x Jared. I love the potential dynamic between Connor and Jared if Jared’s dating Zoe. I think that would be hilarious. And I don’t mind writing Zoe x Jared, if I get a request for them (which I did and am working on), but I don’t really ship them. Also Evan x Alana. Would totally write it, if requested, but don’t ship it. I’m not out here to ship shame anyone - y’all should know I don’t condone that at all - so please note this is just my opinion and I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad if they ship Zoe x Jared or Evan x Alana, at all. Ship away and enjoy your ship! <3 

favorite episode: I’m gonna alter this since it’s a musical and doesn’t really change, and make the question be “favorite bootleg” and say the bootleg where Will Roland messes up during Sincerely Me and Ben Platt makes fun of him for it. I cackle every time I watch it. Although I’d pay good money to get my hands on video of Alex Boniello tripping and falling while exiting the stage during Michael Park’s birthday show, hahahaha

saddest death: Connor. Duh. Even if there were multiple deaths, it would still be Connor.

favorite season: Again, for the sake of this being a musical, I’ll change this to favorite song? Yeah, favorite song works. So my favorite song is Disappear, to absolutely no ones surprise

least favorite season: So we’ll call this “least favorite song” then. So.. Hmmm... Okay. If I HAD to pick a least favorite song, I’d say To Break in a Glove. BUT... I fully, 100% appreciate the message of the song and the insight into Larry, etc. I’m not knocking it’s importance. Just not my favorite song to jam out to. 

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: I don’t really think I hate any of the characters, so... Like I said, Mark Hansen. But no one loves him. So. Yeah. Can’t really answer this one, sorry! 

my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: I don’t think any of the characters are trash so I can’t answer this either, sorry!

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Connor. Obvs. He deserves the world. I won’t be convinced otherwise.

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: Errr... Again, I don’t like to ship shame. And I multi-ship DEH. So I really don’t want to name one. And I don’t really think any of them are nasty or wrong, so.

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: Conlana. I love the potential dynamic. And, not trying to sound conceited or whatever, but I love the way I write them, and their banter and tenderness when I write them. It’s not a top ship for me, but I adore them.

Thanks again for requesting this! This www so fun!

[bitchiha]

Imma just send another Shisui - you dont have to write them if you dont want to😅, but what about shisui meeting his S/O ex-boyfriend?👀

A/N: Ofc I’ll write them!! I love you 🥺🥺💓 daddy Shisui 😫 it’s a little short tho, anyways.. enjoy!

✎ Shisui meeting his S/O’s ex

LMFOAOAOO I LOVE THIS IDEA— he probably won’t meet him on purpose cause that’s kinda weird. But I think he’d encounter your ex when the two of you are walking through the Leaf village together.

Like he just got back from a really successful mission and you two are going out for some ramen to celebrate. He’s got his arm around you and he’s just filling you in on his mission, he doesn’t get very fair into it though because you hear someone call your name. You both turn around, Shisui still has his arm around you and watches this guy walk up to you two.

He’ll probably feel you tense up and flick his attention away from the person walking towards you two and focus back on you. He’ll ask if you’re okay and is just overall concerned about you tbh. You’ll look at Shisui with a really embarrassed expression because it’s always weird having an ex meet your boyfriend, he can just read it on your face.

He’s like: ohhh. Yikes.

You’re ex finally makes his way over to you guys through the crowd and once he is standing infront of the two of you he is shaking in his shoes lmfaooo. Like nobody can compete with Shisui. Shisui is the upgrade of a lifetime, there’s no more ups to go. He’s the greatest boyfriend out there. It’s a no brainer, everyone who has at least one braincell in the Leaf village knows that.

So that really gets your ex depressed. To make things worse him and Shisui were just on a mission together. Which makes it 10 times more awkward, especially because they were getting along so well.

Anyway, Shisui will be humble asf about it lol. He’s lowkey being cocky all in his head I mean he is an Uchiha after all there’s no escaping that big ego, but he’ll be nice and pretend he is oblivious for the sake of the poor guy. He doesn’t take his arm off you though, just so the guy can get the message.

“Hey, Tobio... I didn’t know you and y/n knew eachother. I’m y/n’s boyfriend.”

Shisui is definitely holding in a laugh the whole time. Boy was he going to tease you about this later. Not to mention.. Your ex looks like a bootleg version of Shisui and to top it off they’re both Shinobi.

Anyways.. You’ll be super confused about how they know eachother and Shisui looks at you with a sly little grin. “Me and Tobio were actually just on a mission together.”

Tobio will just stand there kinda shook the whole time. He was approaching you in hopes of getting you back, cocky about the success of his mission. However, now that he sees who you’re with he is backing down.

So fucking awkward omg.

Like no matter how hard Shisui tried to make him feel a little better or lighten up the mood, your poor ex was visibly distressed.

He did not know you were dating an Uchiha, let alone the Shisui Uchiha. I mean Shisui did mention having a girlfriend while on the mission, but he never said what their name was. There was a lot of awkward silence, even Shisuis jokes were just sorry attempts to lighten up the mood.

You take the silence as an opportunity to grab Shisui and go. “Well.. Uhm, it was nice seeing you again, Tobio.”

You both speed walk the hell away and probably end up running all the way to the ramen place just to escape the awkwardness. Then the two of you laugh for a good five minutes.

It was not a completely unpleasant experience tbh. He handles that way better than most boyfriends would and definitely a lot better than any of the Konoha 11 ever could.

Like I’ve said before, he’s just such a respectable man 1000/10

[bluefire94]

Why Upgrade's Removal in the Ben 10 Reboot Bothered Me:

Time to get something off my chest more. Hopefully no one thinks I'm pathetic for what I'm about to share.

I will confess that I was hurt by how Upgrade was destroyed at the end of Omni-Tricked in the reboot. He's been my favorite alien since I watched the original series back in the day.

Most people don't seem upset to the extent I was, but it is nothing on them of course. No one is taking it personally like I did.

Why did you, you ask? I feel it's because it felt like a personal attack on me. Upgrade is my favorite not just because of his cool powers and design, but because I honestly see myself in him. I consider myself smart, having graduated college and gotten an IT certification, but I'm not an absolute genius to be like Grey Matter. I have trouble with math problems, and can't program to save my life.

Mechamorphs in general seem like friendly beings by virtue of their soft looking bodies and round eyes. I consider myself kind and helpful to others as I try to help out and support people however I can. 💙

Him being taken out with no remorse by the crew felt like me being told that quirky people like me are left behind in favor of the popular people. Shock Rock was instantly adored by Ben, and of course the rest of the aliens got to have their Omni-Enhaced forms that make them stronger. Meanwhile, Upgrade was gone without a care from Ben. It's not like when Feedback got destroyed in Omniverse and sent Ben into a PTSD bitterness, and ultimately got to return. Of course I know Glitch is technically Upgrade, but to me it's just not the same, neither is Bootleg. In addition, none of the crew on the show seems inclined to bring him back.

I dwelled on the negative thoughts I had through assuming the worst, to the point I couldn't even think of the franchise without bitterness building up inside me. Do people really not like Upgrade anymore? Is he like me and always left behind? These were the thoughts I had.

Deep down, I feel I have issues with abandonment that stemmed from my parents divorce during my childhood, and thus have anxiety about being rejected for not being perfect.

Everything climaxed when I had a nightmare about the feelings I kept bottled up inside. It was vivid and felt like everyone was telling me no one loves me or cares about me. I woke up quite shaken, and knew I had to reach out as the pain was too much to hold.

Thankfully, I soon confided in users here on Tumblr and on a Discord server for the Ben 10 Subreddit. While no one was as bothered as me, they all told me that they still care about Upgrade and wish for him to return too. Much like how I will never be truly alone like anyone else. 💙

However, with season 5 set to premiere, I do fear a relapse if it comes and goes with still no return of Upgrade. Not to mention, I wonder if the reboot will be the last series in the franchise, as MOA is set to work on a new Sonic series and a Generator Rex reboot. Supposedly sequel shows are in the works, but Cartoon Network may decide to pull the plug on them. So if he doesn't come back now, at least as a form to rotate out like the others (example Wildvine), I fear he never will.

Thankfully I am not as bothered about it as I used to be, but I still feel I am not of the woods yet. Of course it's just a TV show, and moreso one I don't actively watch (although I have lurked on it), but I do want Upgrade to be around again for the reboot fans to admire, because he's awesome. 😊

While the deeper problem with abandonment is something I need to work on with a therapist (which I am doing so), I feel this venting is a good step in the right direction. Not to mention, opening up to others is what caused my rediscovery of the franchise and formation with new friends online, which have been awesome. 😃

I share this story as a reminder to not take things personally and that you are always loved. I hope this story helps anyone else in the same boat, even if it's with a different character. 💙

[princess-of-the-corner]

I never watched Winx as a kid, so I really hope I don't sound like an idiot for asking this. What exactly does the Netflix Winx series do wrong besides giving it the "dark and gritty" makeover?

So like. There are a lot of problems here and I’ll try to tackle them. I haven’t finished the reboot because I have difficulty getting through things I like, much less things I hate watch. But anyway, this gets long and is separated into parts. 

Let’s start with it’s issues on it’s own and not as an adaptation: 

It’s still pretty garbage. Not ‘the worst thing ever’. Interesting enough. But it does have problems. Some racist and homophobic and fatphobic writing. The characters range from ‘kind of a jerk’ to ‘straight up assholes who will cause physical harm for petty reasons’. The nicest one so far is Terra, but even she kinda snaps and strangles a guy with her plant powers. 

Now on to things it fails on as an adaptation!

First, the whitewashing!

Of the six main characters, 3/6 were poc-coded in the original cartoon(I say ‘coded’ because they’re not Humans from Earth but still). Aisha is black, Flora is Latina, and Musa is Chinese. 

Aisha is the only one who remains black. I’ve heard varying testimonies on Musa’s actor, but the ‘best’ I’ve heard is that she’s 1/4 Singaporean and white passing. I don’t have the authority to say if that’s in the clear or not so I’m leaving that to other fans. 

Flora gets the worst though. They cast a white woman to play her. Then backtracked and said ‘oh, this isn’t Flora. We replaced her with her white cousin Terra’. Yeah you can see the problem there. 

Characters they got rid of entirely! I’ll only discuss characters that showed up in the first two seasons of the original show since Fate only has one season. (I’d say just the first, but they included Aisha who is from Season 2). 

Let’s see. They got rid of Tecna, one of the main six girls. It’s likely because they’re going for a more ‘bootleg Hogwarts’ vibe, and Tecna’s magic being heavily technology based ruins that. So she’s just tossed altogether. 

The boys! Oh my god my boys! Sky and Riven are the only ones who were kept in, while Brandon, Timmy and Helia got scrapped and replaced as well. The other boys like Dane and Sam? Totally could’ve just given them those names and been done with it. 

Then there’s Icy, Darcy and Stormy! I’m counting them together because that’s exactly what Fate did! The three Witches are villains in the series, and instead of keeping a trio, they combined her into a single character. Beatrix. 

I think Silva was also an amalgamation of the remaining Headmaster/Headmistresses and a few other staff members but considering they condensed it to just one school it kind of makes sense. 

Sometimes there’s just a name change like the Headmistress of Alfea was changed to Farah Dowling instead of Faragonda which is so pointless. 

Overall there’s other minor characters that don’t show up, like the rest of the school staff, Mirta and Lucy, so on and so forth. But I’m less upset about that. Still upset though because I love them. 

Personality changes! And romance drama!

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. 

I already mentioned how they made everyone an asshole in this reboot. In the original show, the only protagonist that was consistently a jerk was Riven, but he was more of the ‘grumpy but still a good guy’ type of asshole. 

Let’s compare just one character and her relationships to others!

Stella in the Original Cartoon: Preppy and sometimes a little vain, could be blunt to the point of insulting, but never malicious. Very sweet and loves her friends. She and Bloom are best friends, Stella having been the one to bring Bloom into the world of Magix and will do everything she can to make sure she’s safe. Stella’s love interest is Brandon, who is bffs with Bloom’s love interest Sky. Stella and Brandon are very cheesy and cute together. They aren’t usually jealous, and can even make a competition out of ‘how many phone numbers can I get?’. 

Stella in Fate: Total bitch to all her roommates. She’s getting the common ‘my mom’s a bitch who puts pressure on me so I’m going to be a bitch’ thing that’s become popular now. Since Brandon was deleted, they put her in a love triangle with Bloom and Sky, Sky being Stella’s ex bf. And despite breaking up with him, Stella sees him just talking to Bloom and decides ‘Hm. Let’s prey on her insecurities that she doesn’t belong here, and manipulate her into leaving!’ Which includes walking through a forest where there was recently a man attacked and viscously killed by some kind of monster, so I’m putting it up to attempted murder. 

Yeah. Everyone’s kind of like that. It’s awful. 

Bloom’s backstory and parents!

Okay, this can kind of fall under both ‘personality changes’ and ‘plot changes’ but it deserves it’s own section. 

In the Original Cartoon, Bloom’s home kingdom was attacked and destroyed by villains searching for something called the Dragon Flame. Bloom was a baby with said power, so her older sister sent her to Earth, a world without Magic, where she would be safe and hidden. Mike and Vanessa find her and adopt her, loving her and raising her very well. They are good parents. Bloom learns she has powers when she meets Stella, and instinctively uses Magic to protect her. 

In Fate, the only thing really the same is that Bloom was sent to Earth. I’m a little unclear on why, but instead of giving her loving adoptive parents, they made her a Changeling with emotionally abusive parents! Let me elaborate a little: Instead of adopting Bloom of their own free will, Mike and Vanessa’s real child died in the hospital and was secretly replaced with Bloom. Her parents are also, as mentioned, emotionally abusive. So much so that Fate!Bloom’s powers first manifested by setting them on fire in the middle of the night.

Fun. Ain’t it? 

Now onto plot points!

Again, pretty much the only thing the same is ‘Bloom discovers she has Magic, goes to another Dimension to learn at a school called Alfea. Gets into adventures with her Roomates while trying to figure out where she’s really from’. 

The whole ‘Burned ones’ were.... not a thing at all. There wasn’t any kind of ‘barrier’ to keep out ‘dangerous creatures’ or anything. 

I’m not going to go over every single subplot but that was just. No. They were easily allowed to go outside the school. 

The whole vibe

This is a big thing to talk about. While the reboot went for ‘dark and gritty’ over the bright colors and sparkles, it also went for ‘bootleg Hogwarts’ instead of anything interesting. 

In the reboot, the merging of Magic and Technloogy is mostly like. ‘Yeah we go to school in this old ass castle and we don’t use guns in weaponry class, but we have smartphones and social media and Harry Potter!”. 

In the Original??? The whole world was very Magitech. It was a combination of Magic and Scifi! Kinda Steven Universe style actually. 

The transformations!!!

Look. LOOK. Winx Club is a Magical Girl show! They have those beautiful transformation sequences that last a solid minute or so of screen time. And they also have like. At least one new Transformation a Season, which comes with an ungodly amount of different cool outfits. 

The reboot? One transformation sequence. And while the effects are nice, Bloom doesn’t even get a new outfit. Just a few flames coming off her that look vaguely like wings. 

SPEAKING OF! They are Faeries!!!! But they don’t have wings????? What????

Look idgaf about your effects budget you could’ve made the cheesiest shit like the live action Sailor Moon stuff and fans would’ve loved it!

Bonus: The fact that they didn’t have to change anything to make it ‘Dark’!

So like. Netflix decided to take all the color out of it, and make it ‘dark’ by having the characters smoke and drink and have sex and say swears. 

But they.... really didn’t have to! The original cartoon was plenty dark, despite it’s colorful aesthetic! If you wanted to do a more serious reboot, you could have easily done it by focusing more on those aspects. 

Hell, there are many fans who have done it. I’m one. I know a couple others as well. 

anyway it’s 2:30 am and this is long af so I’ll leave it at that. 

[nexusconjunx]

@artsy-hobbitses​: LET ME HEAR ABOUT THESE BOOTLEG MEGATRONS

LETTTSSSS GOOOO AAAAAA THIS GOT SUPER LONG I tried to list everyone I can remember and who has some backstory sdjsjdkdj

Disclaimer: I’ve only read MTMTE/LL. My knowledge about any other continuity is based on Fanfic and random tumblr meta I’ve read.

Also, in theory, all of these characters are from different universes and wouldn’t have met, if it weren’t for those meddling Lost Light shenanigans…  There is a very loose background story connecting all the different universes.

(Namely, the LL that hopped universes keeps on hopping, and because unfortunate circumstances, it keeps homing in on Megatron. This is due to their first jump landing them in a SG universe where the Decepticons lost, and the resident Starscream shoved all of his surviving companions into different universes to save them. Of course, the LL wants to help, but Starscream thought it was a VERY good idea to first get his lover leader back and messed with their technology. It stops being funny after the third time they find themselves at the hands of very a pissed and murderous war lord.)

But enough of that! They do find a few Megatrons that are a bit more chill. I wish I had pics of all of them, but alas. One day. All of them get nicknames, because else it would be very confusing.

 TFA Megatron: Codename “Juno”, he/him, far over 17 million y/o. HF age: 60 - 70

He’s from a heavily modified AU where he was constructed as a kind of middle man between the protectobot high command and the warframe army. Even back then the civilian bots didn’t like to be confronted with the people that fought their wars for them, so they build new ones. Juno is at least glad that he got a pretty face out of the deal.

He learned to fight relatively late, had been sent to the battlefield as a last resort in a loosing battle against some organic planet, and Strika saved his life. They have been best buds ever since and go through thick and thin.

After the organic wars there was a short rest period on cybertron, but soon war frames were pushed to the edges of society, the rise of Megazarak, Juno joining him, the great cybertronian war, Junos overthrowal of Megazarak, and eventually Juno lost the war, but all the Decepticons (war frames and civilian alike) retreat to a new home planet.

Juno himself is. Old, worn, but still very much at the top of his game! He never crash lands on earth, but he does end up being captured by Autobot high command, and our Lost Lighters arrive just in time for him to break out.

He, Strika and Lugnut end up hopping universes with them when the LL is attacked by the TFA autobots, and Juno is delighted by how fucking shitty every other Megatron is. He won the fucking moral high ground game by loosing the war! He has bragging rights. He might still have done terrible things, but, shush!! Let him have this.

The subsequent name change comes because he really doesn’t like being shot at. Plus, after 17 million years, its time for a rebranding! His favourite activity is beating up (killing) other Megatrons. Not just because they are assholes, but to prove that he’s still got it! AU optimus primes look at him like “how did u do that” and Juno be like “What, like, is it supposed to be hard?”

He’s also delighted to tell you that, no, he does NOT fucking know who Optimus Prime is.

Besides all that, he’s the “sick cat of the multiverse”. He might be a super soldier, but you can bet that one day he’s gonna have a sparkattack and randomly die. He has a ton of scars and as a HF, a lot of them are visible. His spark is not really the strongest anymore, due to the previous loss of a conjunx, and by honour of being old as balls.

His storyline is basically “Have fun while you still can, and admit that you would really love to be in a polycule with Strika and Lugnut”.

 TFA Megatron: Codename “Junior”, he/him, just scratching 1 million. A baby. HF age: 20

He’s basically Juno from an earlier point in time. Doesn’t yet know Strika, has no battlefield experience. A real baby. Lies about his age to get into bars. Probably shouldn’t do half the stuff he gets up to.

Junior and Juno develop a father-child bond, but both would deny it under torture. Until Junior saves Junos life, that is, but they don’t talk about that.

He hates his nickname and is soon best friends with Rodimus who finds his existence delightful, because they are the same breed of young reckless dumbass.

 G1 Megatron: Codename “Molly”, she/her, only available as human, age: 50

Just an older gal living her best life in some desert. Wears tight leather pants, high heels and white shirts with a deep neckline. Sings Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” very well and very loud at her favourite bars karaoke nights. A delight to be around, if she says so herself. Still yearning for that sweet trucker gal she met on the road years ago.  Might still have ties to gangs. Drives a motorcycle.

This universe is more of a rest stop for the LL, and coincidentally it’s also a Wings!AU. Molly has Californian Condor wings.

 IDW Megatron: Codename “Billy”, he/him, only available as human, age: ~ 200

A right mean bastard. Lives in the Magnus Archives universe, and a Hunter Avatar by nature. Although, he wouldn’t define himself as such. Sure, he’s a hunter, but doesn’t that encapsulate so many more fears? The fear of being Watched in the Dark, and Slaughtered for Meat in the End?

He would say that he has had honest and good intentions. He thought himself so great when he was young and killed his first monster! But then the monsters didn’t stop. And after so many years, well, he paved his road with good intentions, and it’s leading him right down to hell. He might have killed a few more humans than necessary. But oh, it is for the greater good! And he can hardly stop now.

Someday, there will be a new, fresh hunter, with enough determination to finally take him out. He’s made his peace with that. He does hope they will stuff his shaggy hide and display it in a trophy room.

Only Megs so far who wears plaid shirts. Is actually nice to be around, if he isn’t actively after you. Hunts Pigs for sport.

Also the only one I’ve drawn so far. His Hunter form would be a irish wolfhound. With a few more jaws than neseccary.

I think that’s all of the bigger ones so far ssdjsdjsdhshshdlf. Juno really is my favourite (if you cant tell).