#i left so much out this was extremely difficult to narrow down

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[whiskeynwriting]

Recovery

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones” 

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Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Trauma, physical therapy, some reader descriptions (strong/muscles), dirty talk, size kink, grinding/dry humping, mentions of male masturbation, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking, tattoos.

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A/N: Hope y’all aren’t getting sick of Ghost x Bones because they’re not leaving anytime soon lol. Also this gif has my HEART, baby has some makeup in his eye lol

ALSO also, thank you to @thesleepingmusicneek for honestly just being an amazing fucking friend but for helping me SO much with my writing 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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Nothing but scribbles stumble across the page, now disfigured with angry wrinkles. And the writer, no more frustrated than he is stubborn, sitting with the pencil’s tip just at the paper’s edge. What’s worse than watching him struggle, is knowing there’s little to nothing you can do about it. This journey is up to him; his progress, his growth, his recovery, it’s all in his hands. 

“This is bullocks.” Finally, he tosses the pencil down with an aggressive huff. “Never even was a lefty.”

“That’s not the point.”

Looking away with a frown, he mumbles, “I know.”

Simon’s physical therapist tries his best, he really does, but his patient is stubborn, and these injuries are unforgiving. Having you here is the main thing that keeps Simon going, out of both pride and general encouragement. In the therapist’s eyes, your open sass doesn’t help. But hey, it’s how the two of you bond. 

“Try it this way, Ghost.” He then offers, speaking into the growing silence. 

“I’ve already tried it that way. Fuckin’ hurts!” His left hand wasn’t ever his strongest or most favored out of the two, but practicing his writing skills is a step in the right direction in regard to his healing. 

Sometimes, this was embarrassing for him, having you watch him struggle. But even through the bad days, and the really bad days, he insisted that you come. Your support meant more to him than anything, and you were glad to tag along. He found great offense in the mere offer of you leaving, which was suggested many times by his therapist. They claimed he’d focus better without you there. A fucking distraction. 

“She’s my doctor,” He’d state firmly, eyes burning holes into his PT. “Not you.”

And this was true. Price had allowed you to be Simon’s main physician, figuring there really wasn’t anyone better. You had both personal and professional reason to be here. So, Simon’s physical therapist can suck it. 

“Perhaps if we had some privacy, maybe -”

“This again?!” Ghost shouts, and you try your best to hide your chuckle. He should’ve known better than to bring this up now, when Simon is most frustrated. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Hey,” Laying a hand on his forearm, you request gently, “Take a breath.”

Regardless of his deep inhale, Simon’s dark eyes continue to glare at the physician. Though, as irritated as he may seem now, Ghost truly has come a long way. He’s gotten a lot of feeling back in his feet and legs, and can even wiggle his toes and feel pain. On this area of his body, the therapist has moved onto moving his entire foot. 

“Why don’t we try the lower extremities?” 

“‘S difficult, too.” Glancing away, Simon focuses on the view past the windowpane. It’s a sunny day, soon to rain but nice enough now. 

The soft rub of your thumb on his forearm is what pulls him back, nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine.”

Redirecting his focus to his feet, Simon concentrates, determined to do… something. He’s been instructed to wiggle his toes, which he does successfully. And the gentle squeeze you give him offers the slightest bit of encouragement. 

“Alright, now let’s try your ankle. Start with the right one.” 

“Rotate it fully?” Scoffing, he raises a brow.

His therapist shrugs. “Any movement at all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Simon zones in on his right foot, doing anything he can to make it move. A twitch, a wiggle, anything. But by his quick yet shallow breaths, his small grunts, you can tell he’s becoming agitated again. 

“Be patient with your body.”

“My body can do so much more than this.” He spits out in return. 

“Yeah?” You return, not one to take his sass. “Then show me.” 

There was nothing more motivating than your snarky remarks, always ready to challenge the man you love. And wouldn't you know it, a small shudder runs through his ankle. The way Simon’s head immediately snaps up toward you makes you grin, his eyes wide with little crinkles on the side, evidence of his eager smile. It's like he himself was surprised by it, and to say you’re proud of him would be an understatement. 

“Way to go, big boy.” With the widest grin, you congratulate him. “You’re making progress.”

And even though he doesn’t respond, he keeps his smile. He’s proud of himself, too.

*

*

*

Subtle glances, small brushes or touches, cheeky grins and flirtatious laughs, that’s what accounts for your interactions. And while your exchanges have been sweet, they’ve also been dulled, in a way. The fire doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Your love still grows, is still everlasting, but the desire you had for one another, it’s faded.

Or at least, it seems that way. 

The first few months of Simon’s recovery were the most difficult. Getting him stable was more important than anything, and you were by his side through it all. You weren’t thinking sexually, those thoughts weren’t anywhere near your headspace, not when you were so worried. But the more Simon healed, the more touchy he should be, right? It makes sense in your head. Going so long without so much as kissing or even hugging you, you’d assumed he’d want to put his hands on you as soon as he got the chance. 

The injuries on Ghost’s face and head have healed, externally, at least. So, he’s been lifting his mask more around you, but only to the tip of his nose. And you wonder if he regrets showing himself to you. But even with that thought lingering heavily in your head, you also wonder, why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Why hasn’t he initiated anything? A small hug? A peck on the lips? Anything? Honestly, it feels like you’re losing him all over again.

Simon has shown his love for you through his actions and words. The two of you don’t often say it, but it comes up every now and then. His physical intentions, though, those were much more prominent. They came in the form of voicing his requests for you to stay, whether it be at his therapy sessions or just throughout the day. He wasn’t shy about that. Occasionally, he’d compliment you, call you smart and sweet, call you his doctor, his girl. But nothing more, nothing even remotely sexual. And it’s strange because Simon used to be so sexual. Even when he couldn't do much with you, couldn't he have said something to express his physical interest? 

On the other end, Ghost’s worrying about this topic just as much as you. While you’ve been waiting for him to make a move, he’s been waiting on you. His body has always been scarred, mutilated with cuts that ran deep and marred with burns over his flesh. But he wasn’t insecure about any of that, not until these recent injuries. He knows he looks different, especially on his left arm and legs, even his face a little bit. Simon hasn’t felt truly insecure in decades, but that rotten feeling has now been clawing at the insides of his chest, breaking free and wreaking havoc on his mind. 

Simon wanted to give you space, give you the option of turning away. He wouldn’t blame you, this wasn’t exactly part of the package. Besides, you can’t help it if you’re not attracted to him anymore because of these injuries. He’d understand it. It’d crush his entire being, but he’d understand. 

And so, he waits, wondering if the day will come where you’ll make a move, where you’ll show him that you’re still attracted to him. But he refuses to bring it up to you, he doesn’t want to push. 

“‘M sorry,” Simon grumbles quietly, somberly. 

“You don’t have to be.” His regret is obvious, and you appreciate the gesture of him apologizing. But you’re used to his attitude during those sessions, and you honestly don’t blame him one bit. You can’t imagine how frustrating this situation would be if it were you personally. 

Moving about the room, you clean up your station, sorting notes into files and wiping down the desk. And Simon watches you with thoughtful eyes, hoping for a chance to reconnect. You’re the most precious and special thing he’s ever had the pleasure of possessing. But not possess in a way of dominance, possess in a way like his own soul possesses his body. Natural, connected, at peace. 

“How was your day?” He asks, voice low and muddled by the rain tapping against the windowpane. 

Without turning, you respond with, “Normal. Nothing too crazy.” 

“What was your favorite part?” Simon pries gently, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now, you do turn. Leaning back against the edge of your desk, you grin. “Spending it with you.”

And it’s true. Regardless of the worries slowly but surely consuming you, it was nice to be with him. 

Swallowing, his pulse becomes thunderous in his ears, heart beating against his chest. He wants you, wants to feel you next to him. So, with great hesitancy, he requests, “C’mere.”

Excitement shoots through your limbs as you all too quickly prance over to him, ecstatic that he’s even asked. And your eagerness makes him smirk beneath the mask. Sitting yourself down on one of those round, swiveling chairs, you rest beside his left arm. Out of curiosity, you look down, eyeing his decorated forearm. His tattoos no longer look the same, some of them having changed with the healing of his stitches. 

“Bunch of bullshit.” Ghost murmurs, glancing down, too. “Paid good money for those.”

Laughing, you give your head a single shake. “They still look hot as hell.”

Eyes widening, he speaks before he can stop himself. “Really?”

With you being so close to him again, and now complimenting him, he feels like he’s soaring. 

“Fuck yeah.” You respond, as if it were obvious. To you, it is.

Impulsively, you lay a hand over his forearm, fingers brushing the black and white ink. And for a split second, it feels electric on his skin. But you’re quick to flinch away, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m so sorry, did that hurt?”

But all he does is shrug. “Not at all. Stitches are healed, love.” 

Love. You swoon. 

“So, I can touch you?” It obviously isn’t meant to come off dirty, but Ghost’s brain registers it as that, anyway. 

“Of course you can.” He nearly blurts out, his tone hopeful and welcoming. And immediately, you’re wrapping both hands around his sleeve. The small hum he exudes prompts you to glance up, grinning at the sight. Ghost has closed his eyes, chest releasing a relaxing breath. 

“Feels nice.”

“Just this?” Humored doubt laces your tone. 

“Feels like ages since you’ve touched me.” 

His words twist the thoughts collecting in your head into something new. Has he… he’s wanted me to touch him?

“I know…” The way you say it expresses your sadness, your regret. “Just need you to heal, ya know?”

Because of what he’s now said, you feel the need to explain yourself, explain why you haven’t fulfilled his expectations. Throughout this entire healing process, you focused mostly on his physical health. You never once thought to tend to his emotional wellbeing. It’s a failure, on your end. 

“Does it,” Inhaling a motivating breath, he finishes with, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he gestures to himself. “These stitches, the injuries.” 

Twisting your face in confusion, you lean back a bit. “Um… no? Why would they?”

“Just… missed your touch, is all.” He’s mumbling, quiet and very obviously insecure. “Missed you.”

“Baby… I’m so sorry.” All at once, regret hits you like a truck. He’s been suffering, and you’ve done nothing. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you.”

“You’ve done everything you needed to.”

“No, I haven’t. How could I let you feel this way?” 

An abrupt knock on the door dissipates your conversation into seemingly nothing. Instantly, you pull your hands away from him, turning in your chair to greet whoever’s about to approach. And to your delight, it’s Johnny.

“Hey Lt.” He grins, walking in and giving you a nod. “Lovely Bones.”

There’s that flirtatious nature again. As always, Ghost knew it meant nothing, not really. But now that he feels like you’re falling through his fingers, he wants to tighten his grasp now more than ever, wants to pull you back into his chest and never let you go, whisper all the sweet things he’s been dying to tell you. Especially when another man compliments you.

“How’ve ya been?” Striding forward, Johnny takes a seat opposite of Ghost’s bed. Spreading his legs and leaning in on his knees, he flashes that cheeky smile, giving Simon his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Johnny. Nothing new.” Simon answers simply, almost in a kind of brain fog. Switching conversations so quickly is difficult for him, still trying to regain his focus from the incident. 

“See your scars are healin’ up nicely.” Pointing to his forearm, he nods. “That’s good to see.”

“Yeah, messed up my bloody ink, though.”

“Ah,” Soap waves a hand, “Looks better that way.” 

The team visited Simon fairly frequently. And since you’re by his side for ninety-five percent of the day, you get to see the guys every time they come by. Oftentimes, they’d bring him little treats, a snack from the cafeteria or his favorite energy drink. And while Ghost knew they had the best intentions, their pity disgusted him. Sometimes he wished they would just leave him alone. Especially now, considering the two of you were in the middle of a rather important discussion. 

“Oh!” Johnny then says, startling you. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves a small package. Tossing it Simon’s way, Soap says, “Know you like these.”

Catching it easily, Simon reads the wrapping. A Snickers, he can’t remember the last time he had one of these. And that was mainly due to his brain injury. 

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I know all this can’t be easy, Si. I’m for you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ghost sighs, staring down at the candy bar. Johnny rarely called him Si, and it tugs at his heartstrings. 

Soap can feel something is off in the room, the energy is just weird. He’s been wanting to ask about your relationship, but hasn’t had the balls to. He doesn’t want to make either of you uncomfortable and hasn’t had the chance to be alone with Simon or you. 

“Well, I’ll let you lovebirds be.” Smiling cheekily, he stands. “I’ll visit again soon, yeah, Lt.?”

“‘Course, Johnny.” 

Before Johnny leaves, he offers you a hug, strong arms embracing you fully. And you rest against him, leaning into his sturdy frame. He’s been a great part of your support system since all of this happened; Simon’s injuries have only brought you and Johnny closer together. 

“It’ll be alright, yeah, sweetheart?” He sighs quietly against your head. Nodding, you take in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright.” 

Another knock, another groan from your end. “Come in.”

Opening the door is the other half of the medical team assigned to Ghost, making their way in so they can clean. Their tasks were to change the sheets, wash Simon and his clothes, wipe down surfaces and mop the floor, the list goes on. And while you were more than happy to do these things, Simon wouldn't allow it. Ghost’s recovery prompted new boundaries to arise in your relationship, lines that he was firm on setting. The first regarding this exact circumstance; you already cared for him medically and he refused for you to do anymore, he didn’t want you to be his full time caregiver. He would never want to burden you with that, and he knows it would cause nothing but strife in your relationship. Besides, the mere thought of you changing his bedpan and regularly washing his sheets was humiliating. So, whenever it was time for those types of tasks, you left, fulfilling other duties. 

But why did they have to come now? 

“I’ll, um…” Turning back to Simon, you see he’s already looking toward you with a pleading gaze. Stay. 

All you want to do is stay. 

But at the same time, Simon doesn’t want you to see him this way. 

“I’ll… see you later, Si.”

Swallowing, Simon’s rough voice then appears. “Babe,”

Immediately, your eyes widen, if only ever so slightly. For him to call you that in the presence of others speaks volumes. Sure, Price had you sign those HR papers about workplace relationships, but you hadn’t exactly made it known to others after that. The two of you favored your privacy. But right now, that simple word is speaking louder than anything else he could’ve said.

“C’mere for a sec.” Grunting, he does his best to reach out to you, using his left arm. And as soon as he does it, Johnny is letting you go, wanting you to meet Simon’s gentle plea.

Leaving the sergeant’s arms, you do just that, stepping over to Simon’s bedside. Placing both of your hands in his left, you grin, looking into those deep, warm eyes of his. 

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly, your team beginning to work around him.

“Of course, I will.”

“Eh, won’t be long.” Johnny chimes in, “She can come hangout with me and the boys, get a game of pool in.”

“Sounds lovely.” You return with a murmur, eyes not leaving Simon’s. “I’ll be back later, baby.” And that, coupled with the kiss you give his palm, is shocking to your team. Though it sends waves of butterflies through Simon’s stomach. 

These public displays of affection are entirely foreign to your relationship, but you’re both basking in the sweetness of it. And maybe this is the perfect time for you to explore it, for you to outwardly show your love and attraction for him just when he needs it most. 

On your way out, Johnny doesn’t mention the way every single person’s eyes widen in the room when your affectionate nicknames are exchanged, or the way a few heads turn. He chooses to stay silent, smiling to himself while leading you out of the room. 

*

*

*

Returning to a sleeping Simon is bittersweet. You’re glad he’s resting, but you’d do anything to finish your earlier conversation. But it’s late, and you figure at this point, you’ll have to wait until morning.

The rainfall makes you tired, too, yawning as you walk further in. It was only three days into Simon’s recovery that you started sleeping in his room, bringing a small, foldable cot for you to curl up on. His bed wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and besides, you’re pretty sure Price would light a fire up both your asses if he caught you snoozing next to him. 

As quietly as you can, you unfold your small bed and bring it to the side of his. It sits lower, but Simon often made up for that by dropping his arm, letting you hold onto his hand throughout the night. But with him asleep, you don’t think you’ll get that luxury tonight. Nevertheless, you curl up in your blanket, resting only in your underclothes as you doze off beside him. 

“Miss you.”

That rumbling voice almost scares you in the near silence, your body jolting ever so slightly. When did he wake up? Still, those two simple words make your insides burn bright. 

Lips curling happily, you mutter, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Quietly, you then ask, “Want me to come up there?” It’s happened once or twice before, but only for some cuddles. Simon’s grown quite accustomed to your touch. 

With a heavy sigh, he gives in. “You know I do.”

Absolutely thrilled with his request, you pop right up, situating yourself on the right side of his bed. Simon likes it best when you curl up on this side, allowing him to wrap his good arm around you. Cuddling into him, you revel in the closeness - you haven’t done this in weeks. He’s resting on his back, the same position he always sleeps in. And with you by his side, he turns his head in your direction, releasing a contented breath. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” He says to you sweetly, fondly, covered lips pressing to the top of your head. 

“Hm…” Sighing happily, you twine your legs between his much bulkier appendages, draping an arm across his abdomen. You’re so happy he still wants this, wants you and this relationship. 

“Cozy?” He chuckles, eyes closed as he grins. 

“Mhm,” Snuggling further into him, he can feel your smile press against his bare skin. Ghost usually slept nearly naked, only black boxers hugging his body. And you liked it best this way, for multiple reasons. One being that you’re able to see more of his tattoos. He has some on his chest, one reaching up to his collarbones and neck. And you just love them, found them incredibly interesting and undeniably sexy.

“Love this…” Tracing a particularly larger tat, your smile becomes brighter than ever. “Love the way you feel.” 

“Yeah? Even when I’m like this?” His tone expresses the dry humor he’s far too familiar with, the same dry humor that covers up his emotions. 

“Big teddy bear.” And that makes him fully laugh. “Strong.”

“Don’t feel too strong.”

Simon was never one to be insecure of his body, of the multitude of scars on it. Cuts that dug deep, burns that marred his skin, none of it bothered him, not even when he showed himself to you like this. What did bother him, though, was the fact that he looked weak. He couldn't stand it, and to say his ego was taking a hit would be an understatement. 

“Baby,” With a heavy breath, you shake your head lightly beneath him. “You’re so fucking hard on yourself.”

All he does is grunt in response, becoming quite pensive. Though, he tries not to be. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t something Simon liked doing. Lucky for him, your hand serves as a distraction. Running your palm down his torso, you take this opportunity to feel the muscles along his stomach and ribs, the v-line leading down to his pelvis. And it makes him shiver with anticipation. 

You’re not sure how to start this conversation again, mainly because of how distracted you’ve become. Feeling Simon’s naked body always made you feel excited inside, always made you feel eager and lustful. But you want to care for him emotionally, too. 

“I hope you know how much I still love you.” Continuing to lower your hand, you suddenly feel Simon’s chest dip, releasing a heated breath. “How much I love your body…”

“Hm…” The further you get, the more interested he becomes. The fact that you still find him appealing, even like this, it’s repairing his ego bit by bit. Truthfully, it’s everything he’s needed. “Miss you touchin’ me…” 

“Do you miss this, too?” Lightly, ever so lightly, you cup him over his clothes. And the gentle stimulation is more than enough to arouse him.

The intimacy you share with Simon is addicting, and the withdrawal has been a bitch. But just like that, as soon as you get the tiniest taste, you’re hooked all over again. 

“Fuck, yes.” Groaning in frustration, he forces out a breath. And fuck you’ve missed that, hearing the eager roughness to his tone. “Been so long since I’ve had you.” 

Feeling your hand on his crotch like that, it lights a fire inside him. All over again, he wants you, wants to throw you down on this bed and take you. Shove himself inside until you’re fluttering, spurting with cum before he releases his own. Hold you down and make you take it, for however long he likes. Rub his face over your chest, down the valley between your breasts, sucking on their soft flesh. Haul your leg up over his waist and grab a fistful of your ass, spanking it until the pain turns into something irresistibly sweet. 

But he can’t. He physically can’t. 

The arm holding you tightens against your body, against your own strong muscles. Irritation courses through his veins, knowing he can’t do much but god damn if he won’t try to do what he can. Turning his head, he ducks down, pressing his covered lips to your own with a forceful breath. Easily, wholeheartedly, you embrace him, hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your mouth presses to the shape of his lips, the covered kiss far too teasing for the current moment. 

“Baby, can we? Please?” Sliding down ever so slightly, your fingertips graze the edge of his mask, wanting desperately to see him; any part of him.

“I… I want to, B.” The hesitancy in his voice is worrying. “But it just… it won’t be the same.” 

Even through the mask, you can feel his breath, experiencing the humid touch of it against your face. 

“I don’t care how it is, I just want it. I want you, Simon. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Impatiently, you tug on his mask, leaning up against to press your mouth to his skull covering. It’s needy, it’s wanting, so openly throwing yourself at him he honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t seen you like this in far too long, and he’d be an idiot to let this opportunity go, especially when it’s all he’s fucking thought about.

The way your tongue slides out, pressing against the white and black fabric, it makes him growl with passion. Quickly, yet shakily, his left hand rises, flipping the edge of his mask up before grabbing onto your jaw. Squishing your cheeks a bit he brings you in, bare lips crashing into your own. Open mouths press together, wet and warm and familiar. And those thick fingers dig into the fabric along your hip, wishing it were bare skin. 

“Baby,” With your fingernails scraping down his chest, you have to stop yourself from digging in too deeply. But it’s difficult when he’s kissing you like this, when he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth so he can map it out all over again. “How could you ever think I’m not attracted to you?” 

The air leaving your chest is instantly sucked back in, your chest rising and falling as you feel Simon’s hand glide down your waist. He’s bringing you in even closer, pressing your body to his, feeling your warmth. 

“Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are, Simon?”

“Get up here,” That gruff voice suddenly demands, “On my lap, B.” 

He doesn’t have to ask you twice, your eager movements are evidence of that. Slipping your shorts and panties down your legs, you leave them on the cot as you slide easily on top of him. Your thighs encase his hips as you make yourself comfortable on him, center lowered right onto his. And your lips don’t even leave, he wouldn’t allow it.

“That’s so good…” Both of Simon’s hands now fall to your hips, holding onto you firmly. 

The way his teeth nip at your lips makes you sigh, little whines spilling from your mouth when they turn into bites. And all at once, his hands are roaming your body, sliding up beneath your shirt to feel your bare stomach, the skin of your hips and sides. The way you’re embracing each other is so lustful, so impassioned and fervent. It’s like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His words make you laugh, but he’s insistent. “Every goddamn day, whether you’re working or not, even on that bloody mission, you’re stunning, B.” 

“Simon,” You begin to protest, but he continues, mouthing at your lips as he bursts with praise for you. 

“Such a pretty girl for me,” Your lover says, hips beginning to grind up against you. “Always so pretty…” 

“Ugh, I fucking missed you. I need you, Si. I need this.” Holding his face with both hands, you lean in, resting your forehead over his own as you begin to meet his gentle thrusts. “I don’t give a shit how many scars you have, how many injuries I have to see through. I’m here, Simon. I’m here and I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurts out, as if he’d been dying to say it this entire time. “I can’t lose you, B. Never opened myself up to anyone but you.” 

“I know, baby. I know… and I love everything you’ve given me. Everything you are.”

“Not everything.” Giving his head a quick shake, hands guiding the sway of your hips over him. 

“Everything.” 

Your correction prompts Simon’s direct eye contact, a small pause in this heated moment. Flickering between your irises, Ghost’s own pupils widen, filled with something akin to adoration, something made of lust and absolute devotion. 

“Simon,” Whining quietly, you resume your subtle shifts over his lap, his own hips easily resuming their pace, too. “Please, I need you again, baby.” 

“I, I just… it won’t be the same, Bones.” But he’s still kissing you, still grinding up against your sensitive core and breathing the air puffing past your lips. And you can feel him, having fully hardened and sitting firm between your legs. 

“I don’t fucking care, Simon. If you want this, tell me. And I’ll make it happen.”

“Yeah? And what’ll you do?” He asks, grinning while lifting his good hand to the back of your head.

“Ride you,” Panting, you grind yourself over the thickness of the erection rising steadily in his briefs. “Just like I used to.”

Betraying his rotten inner emotions, the ones that had convinced him you no longer saw him with the same desire in your eyes, a smirk forms on those smooth lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Devouring him, your tongue slides into his mouth, swallowing his moan while dragging the wet muscle over his own. But he quickly takes the lead, using the hand on your head to move you how he likes. He takes great pleasure in this, in having some semblance of control while you’re like this. 

“Fuck, do it.” He finally decides, his entire body shuddering with desire. “Fucking do it.”

Instantly, you’re dropping one hand from his face and reaching for his boxers. You find him easily, pulling aside the fabric and watching as he practically jumps into your hand. 

“Christ,” Red and leaking, throbbing, Simon’s cock weighs heavy in your hand.

“Excited?” Grinning wildly, you lean in, running the tip of your nose over his cheek. 

“Very.” Evidenced by the liquid warmth drooling from his cockhead, he’s correct. 

Running your thumb over his slit, you take great pride in watching him twitch. “Don - Don’t tease. Just put it in.”

It’s too damn easy for you to listen to him, to follow his every command. Lifting yourself, your eyes fall to the sight you’ve so dearly missed. And with both of you watching, you line him up with your entrance, licking your lower lip with anticipation. 

“C’mon, come down now…” His hands are pulling on your hips, becoming impatient. “Put the tip of my cock against that pretty little hole.”

Fuck, you missed this, the way he talked to you during times like this. He was always so good with it.

“Mm…” Slowly, you sink down, inch by thick inch. The whine that slips past your lips is shrill, feeling his head spread you open. But Simon is quick to hush you, bringing you in for a bruising kiss. 

“You can do it, just like before.” He says to you through sweet, wet kisses. 

“Simon…”

“Just like that, just like that, princess.” His hands continue to urge you on, pulling you down onto him. “What happened, huh? Get a little tighter without me around?”

“F-Fuck,” Dropping your head onto his shoulder boosts his confidence incredibly; your submissive side is coming out again, and it’s making him feel dominant. 

“Oh, just look at the way it stretches for me, Christ…” Feeling your velvety inside envelope his tip, it’s almost too much for him. “Such a good pussy.”

“Baby…” Turning your head, you press a flurry of fervent kisses to his mask. “I’ve needed you for so long, you don’t know how bad I’ve missed this.” 

“I know, trust me.” Releasing a dry laugh, Simon’s eyes raise with awareness. 

Clinging to his shoulders, you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside you, sitting entirely over his pelvis. And with your ass flush against his lap, he throbs violently against your walls, every thick vein pulsing beneath your core’s hot squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” Taking in a lungful of air, he says, “You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Thought about fuckin’ you again? Thought about this sweet ass on my lap, about the way this pretty pussy grips me…” 

 “Tell me,” Clinging to his shoulders, your nails dig into him once again, lips pressing to his neck. “Please tell me.”

Wrapping his right arm around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest. The sudden movement knocks you away from his neck, with Simon’s lips returning to yours all over again. The embrace is sweet and smooth, his talented lips captivating your attention. 

“Whenever you weren’t here… I took every goddamn opportunity. Fucked my fist to the thought of you, B. But, ngh…” Feeling you wiggle over his lap, he grunts. “It’s never the same. Not even bloody close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Using those broad shoulders as leverage, you lift yourself, setting a steady pace over him. 

“Christ,” Head lolling back, his eyes follow. “Didn’t, fuck… didn’t want to pressure you.”

“I like when you do that to me. Make me feel small, and needed.” 

The stride you continue with over Simon’s lap is baffling to him, riddling his body with overstimulation. Every time you meet his pelvis, you grind down onto him, onto the grown-out hairs surrounding his base. 

“You’re always needed.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek as it rests beside him. “Fucking hell, princess, I can feel you dripping down my shaft.” 

The sound your wetness creates resonates throughout the room, prompting a bashfulness to rise hotly in your cheeks. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you moan openly into his ear, feeling both of those broad hands lower to your cheeks. Summoning every ounce of strength he has, he bounces you down onto his lap, punching himself into your depths. And every thrust he gives shoves him even deeper inside, his tip nudging your most sensitive skin. 

“No,” He then seethes, moving his head in your direction. “Don’t hide yourself from me, not now. Not when I finally have you again.”

But when he turns his head to the side, his mask shifts, a bout of frustration rising within him. “Fucking, ngh.”

It’s a quick decision, one he makes out of genuine love for you. 

Reaching up, Simon tears his mask from his head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing your face again. Before you can get a good look at him, his mouth is on you, the hand he used on his mask now pawing at your breasts. 

“Take it off, love. Take this off for me.” 

But you’re still processing the fact that he just took off his mask, and you want to see him. He doesn’t let you, though, he’s too busy tugging at the ends of your shirt. So, you oblige him, leaning back to lift it from your torso. Just as it leaves your head, Simon is lifting his chin up to your chest, mouth enveloping your left nipple. 

“Baby, let me,” Hands holding his head, your own tips back, mouth falling agape with a graceful moan. 

Ghost’s mouth sucks on you fervently, tongue flicking over the delicate peak before biting at it ever so gently. 

“Please let me see you.”

Insecurity overtakes him then, now that you’ve fully asked. And you can tell - he practically curls in on himself. 

“You don’t want me to?” And with that gentle inquiry, he’s taking in a steadying breath, eyes beginning to lift. 

From beneath his brow, those dark eyes lift to yours, chin following soon after. And for the first time since this horrid incident, you’re seeing him, fully seeing him. 

“No,” Giving his head a light shake, he stares into your dazzling orbs. “Don’t stop, babe. Please, don’t.” 

And you want to listen, want to give him what he wants but it’s hard when you’re witnessing the beauty of Simon’s face. The scars, the cuts and curves, his nose and jawline, all of his features coming together as one, once again. The memory of his face was once a painful thought, but now… it can be replaced. 

“It’s so nice to see you again, baby.” 

The strength of his arms and hands continues your movement, pushing you forward onto his chest. Here, he nuzzles into you, arms securing themselves around your midsection. Simon’s nose rubs against your neck, committing your scent, your feel, to memory. 

“Only for you.” He murmurs, placing a tender kiss. “Can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” 

“You’re everything I need.” Grinding up into your center, he forces a gasp from your chest, spreading your cheeks until slight pain begins to bloom. “Christ, I’m not going to last long like this, not with these gorgeous fucking tits pressed against me like this.”

“Baby, we need this more… can we please? Please?”

“Every chance we get.” Nipping at your ear, the low groan he exudes sends a shiver right through you. 

The pleasurable waves flowing through your hips are nothing compared to the sharp jolts of ecstasy every thrust of his hips gives. At times, you think about how foolish he is to think that his strength has left him, what with the way his muscles bend and ripple with every firm grab, every harsh slap he now delivers. 

“Look at me.” Ghost demands in that deep, rough tone. “Look at me, and listen well.”

Lifting your head, you do just that, memorizing every feature of his face. Subconsciously, your hand lifts, cupping his clean jawline with your thumb stroking his cheek. 

“You’re mine, understand? Mine to fucking keep. And there’ll be no more misunderstandings between us.”

“No more,” Shaking your head, you hold his gaze, lips parting from his continued movements. “F-Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me, huh? Just like you used to? Back when you first cared for me, back when we’d smoke in the Jeep…”

“Yes,” You don’t want to look away from him, but your head drops regardless. The pleasure flowing through your thighs turns every muscle you have to jelly, the wetness growing beneath you evidence of this. “I miss it.”

“Then give it to me, before I give mine to you.” 

The way he phrases it has you falling apart in his arms, still strong enough to keep you together on his chest. His body, thick and bulky, holds you tightly against him, feeling your limbs quiver above him. His fingers continue to dig into the softness of your cheeks before landing another harsh smack, listening to your shrill cry while you shake on his lap. It’s all-consuming, blinding, the euphoria bursting inside your body. 

“Goddamn,” Simon huffs out, his voice tense and strained. 

The grip he has on you turns bruising, his body curling around you as he releases. And his teeth bite into your shoulder as he does, the muscles in his abdomen flinching with every milky rope that leaves him. 

You can feel it, the evidence of his pleasure washing your insides white. The way he throbs against your walls, swollen and pulsing, his entire body releasing. Every ounce of worry and stress, any bit of anxiety, it’s flushed away with the help of your reassurance, of your devotion and unwavering passion. 

Fully wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest flush against him, mouth pressing to his stubbled cheek over and over again. And the next sound to delight your ears is Simon’s laugh. 

“Mm…” His groan sounds… content, relaxed. “You make me happy, B. Happier than I’ve been in… a long time.” 

“Happier than you’ve ever been,” You correct him cheekily, shuddering slightly as you come down from the pleasure he so wonderfully brings. “You can say it, baby.” 

Rolling his eyes, he gives your backside a light tap. “Don’t get cocky with it, now.” 

“Simon,” Inhaling a deep breath, you allow yourself to be fully vulnerable with him. “I don’t ever want to be that far from you again.”

And he knows what you mean. Ghost was never known as an emotional man, and likely never will be. But with you, it’s a different story. 

“You won’t be.” He reassures you quietly, calmly. “We’re here, everything’s just like it should be.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you keep your arms around him, not wanting to let go. 

“It’s just you and me, B.” 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Absolutely Dripping [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A very wet towel-clad god interrupts your prank. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smutty. Extreme Loki Thirst. Language. Based on my Hot Gif Drabble: The Towel (w/c 2.9k)

You bit your lip, nerves of excitement flushing through your blood as you rounded the corner toward the men’s locker room. Revenge sat snug in the pocket of your jeans; the small bag of powder nestled against your hip. The plan was perfect. That smug bastard wasn’t going to know what hit him. You’d been planning this all week, waiting until he predictably spent Saturday morning in the Tower gym with Wilson. This’ll teach him to mess with me, you thought; grimacing at the memory of your most unflattering underwear decorating the Avengers common room like goddam bunting.

You looked around, registering the patter of a shower in use down the hall. I’ll be in and out, you thought; frantically scanning the benches. A few kit bags lay dotted around. You squinted, reading the names embroidered into their fabric; Wilson, Barton...Barnes. You smirked, tiptoeing like a cartoonish villain across the tiles, incandescent with silent glee. You unzipped Bucky’s kit bag, rummaging for the prize you sought. Why does he need so much shit for the gym, he lives upstairs; you thought, while one hand fumbled inside the pocket at your hip. Your eyes widened with excitement as they fell on the item in question. His trousers. “Reduced to indulging yourself with the stolen scent of Barnes’ raggedy sweatpants, Agent?” You froze, eyes flickering back and forth against the lockers as you stood hunched with the offending article in your hands. “You really must work on your clandestine techniques, darling. I could hear your elephantine footsteps from the shower-room.”

You spun around, clutching the black sweatpants to your chest. “Loki. Hi.”

Laufeyson leant against the open doorway, a fist holding a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. Clearly, he had been in a hurry. A dark trail of fine hair bordered the towel's edge over his Adonis belt, skin still glistening with fresh droplets of water. You swallowed.

He was soaking. Absolutely dripping, in fact. The dents in his chiselled torso glimmered with a mirrored sheen, flicking his sodden hair back from his face. Water ran down his biceps, catching in the crook of his elbow before pattering to the floor. He crossed his ankles, the jaunty confidence of his stance making it difficult to retain even a nugget of dignity. You felt your cheeks begin to burn under his amused stare.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” you chuckled awkwardly. Loki shrugged, inspecting his fingernails. “Not really. There is a degree of inevitability within this scenario that cannot be denied.” You frowned, glancing back at the benches. “Do you...do you need your kit bag? Sorry, I’ll get out the way-”

“I do not require a kit bag.” he snapped haughtily, pacing forward across the tiles. He ran his hands through his sodden black hair, dripping tendrils pasted against his long neck. Fuck, he looked good naked. Well, almost naked. Fuck me, you thought; feeling heat rising in your cheeks. He's even hotter without the leather. He's fucking hotter. If you’d known there was even the possibility he’d be here to catch you, you’d have worn something a bit less...tragic. “You also ‘do not require’ a towel.” you sniffed, trying to sound clever and immediately regretting it. An amused smirk flickered at the god’s lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “Is that so, Agent? Perhaps I should divest myself of it, then.” he purred, careful footsteps edging closer as you shuffled, knees hitting the back of the bench. “I mean, I meant- I didn’t mean now, I meant... because you can dry yourself...you’re always saying you can just dry yourself...oh-never mind.” you spluttered, throwing the sweatpants back on top of Bucky’s bag.

The small plastic square filled with powder fell to the tiles, landing perfectly beside Loki’s left foot. The two of you stared at it, eyes rising in tandem. Loki was brimming with mischief, his wide pupils glimmering with interest in the unexpected drama in which he had become immersed.

“And what, pray tell, is that?” he said, tilting his head as you wished the ground would swallow you whole. “It’s uh...itching powder.” you muttered, pulling at the sleeve of your baggy sweatshirt. Loki couldn’t be standing more than a foot away. You could feel the heat from his shower-fresh skin wafting across the space between you. Clean, fresh musk hung in the air; like warm pine and wet leaves and sandalwood and bergamot. The scent of him. You'd always assumed it was cologne. Christ, you thought; feeling your chest tighten under a roll of feral desire. Keep it together. Trickles ran from his hair to his glistening collarbone, gathering in the hollow. Some made paths over waves of abdominal muscle, soaking into the rich cotton hanging dangerously on his hips. You swallowed, unable to draw your eyes away. "I was under the impression that on Midgard it is considered rude to stare." Loki hummed, rolling his shoulders back and readjusting the fingers toying with the tuck of the towel. "Is that not so?" Your eyes snapped upward, lips opening and closing as you searched your empty brain for a sentence that wouldn’t make you sound like a pervert.

"Mmmm..." he murmured thoughtfully, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he marinated in the awkward silence. "So, are you going to get that?" The side of his foot nudged at the baggie lying abandoned on the tiles below. Even his toes are sexy, you thought with an internal whine; noticing your breaths quickening as you lowered on your haunches reaching for the bag. You wobbled, hands flying to the nearest surface to steady yourself. His thighs. Oh god, no. You grimaced, feeling Loki rock into your pathetic grip above his knees. “Sorry.” you mumbled, looking up. His pointed chin was cast down to his chest, the symmetry of his face heartbreakingly perfect. You let out a light whimper.

How many times you’d fantasised about kneeling in front of him just like this, worshipping him with aching slowness. You would trap every growl of pleasure from his throat in your memory as you sucked him dry. Relishing every desperate rut of his hips further into your mouth, fingertips sinking into his bare, godly ass. You could feel wetness sliding in your panties as you bounced weakly on your calves, trying to gain purchase to come back up. They were jelly. His long thighs bulged against your hands through the towel. Imagine how he can fuck with legs like these, you thought; feeling another tide of arousal seep from your pussy. The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched, making his cheekbones sharpen in the bright overhead lights as he observed you through half-lidded eyes. The angle of his jaw highlighted his flawless bone structure as he leant forward, the sharp edges making you dizzy. His patient stare filled your head with absolute filth as you hovered with your mouth level to his crotch, rendered mute. Drops of water from his dripping locks spattered your upturned face. A solitary drip rolled down the side of your nose, catching on the edge of your upper lip. Without thinking, your tongue flicked out, drawing it in. “Are you alright, Agent?” Loki murmured with faux concern, enunciating every word as his keen eyes searched your face. Your thighs began to quiver as you balanced weakly on the balls of your feet. Loki pursed his lips, his voice as richly seductive as it was in the darkness when your fingers crept between your spread legs, alone in your bed. “Do you require some...assistance?” he purred knowingly, the slant of his eyebrows making you feel faint.

“Yes.” you said quickly, the solitary word catching in your throat. Loki smirked, his open palm appearing by your shoulder. “All you had to do was ask, darling.” He raised you slowly as pangs of discomfort shot up your legs. How long had you been down there? It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, surely, you thought; as his warm breath skated over your lips. You realised you didn’t want to know.

“Since you are so brazenly flirting with failure in this prank of yours, perhaps it’s time to enlist the professional?” he hummed, his thumb wiping trails of moisture from your temple before resting on your cheekbone. Loki’s gaze hovered on your lips, his wide fingertip rubbing the angle of your jaw twice, before releasing you. You nodded, dazed. What the hell is wrong with me, you thought, holding up the baggie of itching powder beneath his sceptical gaze. He pinched it from your grasp, observing it with mild interest. “Well for one thing, Agent...it’s white. Even a simpleton like Barnes will notice a dusting of suspicious powder adorning his black sweatpants, wouldn’t you agree?” Your face fell, realising he was right. “But never fear, darling. Your saviour is here.” Loki winked, shaking the bag as you watched the white powder turn dark. A sly smile spread across your face, mirroring the devilish glint in Loki’s eye. He nodded, an unspoken understanding as you took the bag and opened it carefully. You spread the waist of Bucky’s sweatpants holding the legs in a tight fist and sprinkling the powder liberally in the crotch. “Give them a shake.” Loki whispered gleefully, lips stretching in a broad smile as he relished the mischief afoot. You shook the trousers, scraping the sides together to mesh the powder deeper into the thick fabric. “Good girl.” Loki murmured, folding his arms approvingly. The sound of raised voices echoed in the corridor. “Shit” you gasped, dropping the sweatpants on the floor. Loki’s hands clasped your shoulders, his broad chest inches from your face as you stared up at him, wide-eyed. His features were set in determination, fair skin and emerald eyes accentuated by wet, slicked back hair. God, he was so fucking hot. “If you are to evade discovery, drastic action is required.” he grumbled, ushering you to the side as he snapped his fingers. The sweatpants flew neatly folded into the kit bag, contents re-arranging of their own accord.

“Drastic ac-action?” you stammered, wondering what the hell was happening as your shoulders bumped against the tiled wall in the corner of the room.

Loki had manoeuvred you to a tight L shape space, a row of lockers to the side blocking your view of the door. Panic rose in your stomach, “They’ll see me, Loki, when they come across for the bags...” you hissed, craning around the corner before he pushed you back against the wall. “I think you’ve had enough opportunity to prove your skills in the art of mischief, pet.” he whispered, his forearm pressed against the wall above you, “And sadly lacking, I’m afraid.” The mockery was palpable. You grimaced, making Loki chuckle. Fat strands of sodden hair brushed your cheeks as he towered over you, encased by his semi-naked form against the cold wall. You felt yourself clench, the mess in your panties becoming untenable as he lowered covertly to your ear, lips grazing the skin. You let out a light gasp, a shudder making your knees buckle. “Just stay quiet.” he murmured, as the voices drew closer. “I have a plan.” Your eyes hovered on his twitching pectorals, an impossibly firm bicep flexing as he fiddled with the side of the towel. Moisture glistened against the veins protruding against tight skin, endless drips still caressing down the side of his stomach through deep grooves of muscle. Loki turned, the expanse of his triangular back close enough to bite. Fuck, you thought; as he raised one arm to rest on the side of the lockers, his thick trunk concealing you. You devoured the sight of his shoulder-blades adjusting, the rear of his arms even more toned than the front. Not a fingernail scratch in sight, you thought with interest, before your eyes flew wide; lips pressed tight to conceal a gasp.

He had dropped the towel. You stifled a whimper, unbidden delirious laughter building in your belly as you heard the owners of the voices fumble with the door. “Jesus Christ, Laufeyson...what the hell, man?” Wilson yelled, coupled with a low yowl of surprise from Bucky beside him. "Is it not enough you’re swingin’ that thing around in those tight leather pants 24/7? Fuck, man...puh-lease.” You bit your lip hard, the sharp pain settling rising giggles as you flattened against the tiles. Loki turned to the side, extending his arm to its full length against the wall of lockers. Wilson’s shoes were all you could see of him, the toes shuffling back and forth as he clearly tried to avert his eyes. “Apologies, gentleman. I wasn’t expecting company.” Loki purred, his ass clenching. You sucked your lips between your teeth, a silent girlish scream ringing in your brain as blood thundered in your ears. His rear was an absolute monument to marbled masculinity; it was all you could do not to sink to your knees. Imagine what he looks like from the front, you thought; cupping your mouth with your hands. A silent scream puffing out your cheeks. “Expecting?! Can you believe this guy? Dude, havin’ your dick out is cool, fine...but don’t stand there like one of your brother’s fangirls in the lobby with their ya-ya’s out, c’mon man; this is a public locker room not an Amsterdam shop-window.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about Wilson. This is perfectly normal on Asgard. A little post-workout self-care, if you know what I mean." he said knowingly, a sly twinge in his voice. "Which you just interrupted, actually.”

This was met by a humph of disapproval from the men, low tsks peppering the air as Loki re-adjusted his stance, spreading his legs wider. Wilson’s hand appeared beyond the lockers, a finger waggling toward the belligerent god. “Laufeyson. Do not stand there with your schlong in my face and tell me you were about to masturbate in the same room as my stuff. Please. Tell me that is not what I’m hearing right now.”

Loki chuckled, running a hand through his hair as you slid further down the wall; squeezed as far into the corner as you could get. From this angle, you could see the profile of his cock bobbing adjacent to one muscular thigh, semi-hard. A violent shiver rolled down your spine, brow furrowing with utter, disgraceful need. Bucky piped up. “Go wack it in the showers like a normal dude. Haven’t you just been in there?” From the direction of his voice, you guessed he was facing the door. “Whatever gave you the impression I was one of these...‘normal dudes’ of which you speak, Barnes?” the god hummed, leaning seductively against the lockers. The shoulder closest to your face tightened, his hand shifting across his hips, brushing his growing manhood. “You got that right.” Wilson spat, the squeak of trainers on the tile signalling the stand-off was over. “You got five minutes. And don’t go near my bag. I’ll know, ass-hole.” The door slammed shut, raised voices sounding from the hallway growing fainter as silence reigned in the locker room once more. Loki’s back rose and fell, the scent of his skin hanging in your nostrils like incense. How easy it would be, you thought, just to lean forward and bite him. Right there between his shoulder-blades. Loki cleared his throat. “I’m going to bend down now, Agent” he murmured, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder at your contorted body pressed feverishly against the wall. You nodded; eyes glazed. This is a dream, you thought; watching Loki’s long, lean body squat and gracefully scoop his discarded towel from the floor. This isn’t happening. Not really.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, darling. I’m sure you’d agree.” he purred, rising and spinning on his heels, the loose towel clutched to his groin. You traced the twin valleys of definition with wandering eyes, on the thin wires of pubic hair creeping beyond the cotton’s reach. The long drape of towel swayed gently between his spread legs; the fist he was using to hold it aloft probably unnecessary.

You took a sharp breath, words forming on your tongue that choked behind your teeth. Loki stepped forward; the fine trail of darkness ghosting his lower stomach becoming a shadow.

The scent of his clean musk was overwhelming, the soaking mess in your underwear sliding against your clit as you squirmed. His bare chest pressed lightly against your sweatshirt, trapping you in the corner under his smouldering stare. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyes wide in faux-innocence. “You were desperate... weren’t you, Agent?” “Yes. Thank you, Loki…” you whispered, not knowing what else to say. He hummed approvingly, stepping back to let you pass. “Forget you saw anything with the powder” you said hastily, “and I’ll um, do the same. I never saw...anything.” You waved your hands in front of your eyes for effect, casting them downward as you made your way quickly to the door. Loki’s velvet chuckle sent shivers down your spine as your fingers gripped the doorknob, his palm sliding around your waist from behind; the other flat against the door; holding it shut. He wasn’t holding the towel. Loki pulled you back against his chest, a wall of stomach muscle straightening your spine. You could feel his cock hardening furiously against your ass, rubbing upward as he thrust gently against the soft flesh. His wetted lips grazed the edge of your jaw, making your head tilt to the side. You exposed your neck with a soft moan as more droplets from his hair rolled against your skin. “Don’t you dare forget, Agent.” he purred darkly, messy kisses melting into your heated skin. “We both know that I was not the only one absolutely dripping in this locker room today.”

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[agarthanguide]

Very much love your take on the new looks for Orym and Ashton! I saw a bit of your post about how Liam and Tal give feedback... would you be willing to share any information about how the back-and-forth process works between you and the actors as you work on their stuff? (I just love hearing HOW the awesome happens, not just the end results.)

Yeah okay. Lemme think, here. Alright let's so this as a numbered list-

1- Actor sends description of character. This is pretty broadly interpreted, in my experience. It's something between a brief paragraph, an annotated pdf, and multiple pinterest boards.

2- I send back a Pitch. This has taken multiple forms in the past, but it's generally settled into a few pages, that kinda go- a- Poses and Vibe Sketches- This includes little portraits, attitude poses, a couple sketches showing extreme dynamism or movement. I try to suggest outfits and weapons or accessories, here, but I don't spend a lot of time fleshing it out. b- Outfit Poses- usually on a turnaround or one fairly lowkey pose. I try to include 3 or 4 serious attempts at outfits and maybe a couple of backs, if it's important. c- Color- I usually just pick an outfit at random and try to give it a few different palettes. If the actor is absolutely sure what the palette is, or if it's a character I've worked with before, I might just make one palette and briefly color each of the outfit sketches from b in that palette d- Accessories, Weapons, Other Important Stuff- if the character is carrying around like a book or a bird or a really specific weapon, I try to address that in its own space, though sketches for all of those things may exist on other pages. This has been known to be very pretty or a bit boring.

3- There is some form of back and forth between me and the actors (and a producer, who are all lovely and don't step in on creative things but are always working against a schedule and need to know how things are going. I just want to be clear that every producer at CR is a secret angel who eats deadlines and shits magic and every one of them totally Gets It. They are all One Of Us). The back and forth is always individual and based on the actor but it can be- a- Actor picks from menu, usually via complex "circling" system (also all sketches are numbered, so they can just ref numbers). b- Actor sort of picks from menu, while moderating and adding further references. c- Actor just sends a bunch more shit and I narrow stuff down based upon what they seem to be getting at.

4- There's this bit of finding what the pose is gonna be, marking in all the necessary accessories, getting that last email about adding a scar, can we add a necklace? etc. What you are left with is something that the Producers call "pre-final." If it hasn't already been with the modelers and painters this whole time, this is when the modelers and painters get the design and start their magic.

5- I go away into a cave for a time period of quiet reflection with my Gods. I refer to this period as "rendering." I cannot be reached by the reason of man and spend a lot of time bitching to my friends while I try to figure out why shading a cape is suddenly the most difficult thing I've ever dealt with in my life.

6- Done!

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 3 - An Unwelcomed Guest

— — — — — — —

Bill’s head hurt.

A searing ache throbbed at the back of his skull while consciousness returned to him once again. No pain in recent memory compared to something like this; even getting his eye ripped out of its socket had been more of an inconvenience at worst. It took forever to regenerate those things!

The closest thing he could compare such intense pain to was his outright death, which sent a jolt of panic through his mind that only furthered his headache. He wasn’t dead again, was he—

“Why would I go through all this effort to bring you back, only to deceive you about what I have to offer?”

Oh. Right.

Any concerns were washed away in an instant as the feathery face of the shelduck drifted to the front of his mind. Not just their face, but the conversation the two of them had shared in the mindscape. The game they had wanted him to play, their contract, the destruction of the barrier as a prize—

—something was wrong.

Even with his eyelid still closed, Bill could physically feel a disconnect with his body. 

It was difficult to verbalize properly—his eye felt too distant from his limbs, and his usual shape felt noticeably altered. As if he’d slipped into a costume with lots of awkward parts, ones that stuck out in ways that forced him to be aware of their existence as he tried to descend down a narrow passageway.

Almost exactly how he’d felt whenever he possessed someone in the past. 

But the way the body suited itself around his existence, it didn’t feel like it would belong to a talking, anthropomorphic shelduck. Even with his eye closed, Bill could still feel a lack of any feathers pinpricking their way through his skin, or a beak protruding from his face—

“When did I ever say you were going to possess me in this game?”

…Ah.

Alright, even he couldn’t ignore a good loophole dodge when he saw it. Point to Tangy for their oh-so-clever little trick; he’d be sure to give them kudos for it later. 

Kudos in the form of soaking their tacky windbreaker in a gallon of rotten tuna fish for a month. Good luck getting the smell out after that one, Birdbrain!

“—what if he’s not even in there anymore?”

“Yeah, he could’ve jumped out after Wendy clunked him on the back of the head!”

“Are we even sure it’s him in the first place? Just sayin’, some random kid cackling maniacally in the middle of the woods isn’t the weirdest thing to happen around here.”

“Everyone just hold on a second, I’m trying to think—”

The sound of frantic, hushed voices stirred him further awake, and he fluttered his eyelid—no, wait, eyelids plural—open the tiniest amount to investigate. 

It didn’t seem like Birdbrain had taken any extreme measures with his vision; he still possessed a functioning eyeball. But rather than being set in the center of his face, his vision had taken a hard shift to the left and weakened to a noticeable degree. And while his vision hadn’t carried over to the right side of his face, he could feel another eyeball rotating around in its socket.

Almost as much as he could feel a set of teeth and tongue in a separate cavity much lower on his face—oh, eugh, he’d forgotten how bizarre it felt to have his face parts separated like this, and not even the fun kind of bizarre!—or a protruding nose right smack dab between his new pair of eyes.

Alright, so Birdbrain had gone humanoid for his vessel. Bit cliché, but nothing he wasn’t used to by this point. And if his mouth and eye placement weren’t enough to confirm this fact, peering open his eyelids further revealed his head to be slumped forwards, gaze fixed on a pair of black-panted human legs that were clearly attached to his body.

Yep, there was no denying that he’d been slapped back into a meatsuit mecha.

An even-riskier peek around him revealed he was currently tied up in some sort of bedroom. One clearly owned by the word’s most generic older woman of all time; creme-colored floral wallpaper decorated the walls, a shelf lined with creepy, porcelain dolls was situated near the door, and a comfortable old recliner had been set up near the fireplace—

—hang on, wasn’t this just the parlor room in the Shack?

“He’s awake!”

Shoot. Guess he’d made it a bit too obvious that he’d regained consciousness.

Bill’s head snapped up to full height at the sudden exclamation, only find himself on the receiving end of a number of different intimidation methods—all to various degrees of effectiveness.

Mabel’s weapon of choice was her beloved grappling hook. One of the better options of the bunch; metal was strong enough to shatter a fragile human skull if aimed at just the right spot and applied with just enough power and force. Terrible for his current vessel, but Bill could appreciate a healthy level of bloodlust.

Stan’s brass-knuckled fists were—admittedly—also an inspired choice, given how effective his fists had been in the past. A fact that Bill was happy to ignore and brush to the side as he shifted his attention over to—

—the random plank of wood in Dipper’s hands, one he was gripping tightly with all the intimidation of a mildly-inconvenienced kitten. Yeesh, had he even tried?

Of course, Pine Tree’s embarrassing incompetence was compensated in full by the gun in Ford’s hand, both the barrel and his own violent gaze locked onto Bill like his life depended on it.

Hmm, that was annoying.

And here Bill had hoped he could keep his return discreet for at least a short while before these suckers caught wind. Maybe strike some fear and uncertainty in their naive minds by staring ominously at them through their windows, only to vanish from sight when they came over to investigate. 

Were their minds playing tricks on them now that they were back in town? Were they simply paranoid as a result of what happened the year before? Or was there really someone watching them beyond the shadows of the trees? 

Maybe if his methods were effective enough, Ford would even start shooting at the woods in a blind panic. Heck, maybe one of the kids would even get caught in the crossfire!

Y’know, fun stuff like that.

But unfortunately for Bill, it seemed like he’d dropped right into the belly of the beast and Ford had gained the upper hand while he’d been unconscious. 

Any attempts to move his new human limbs revealed them to be restrained to the chair he was seated upon; arms tucked behind the back and bound at the wrists, torso tied in place—what, had there been a sale on rope or something? It was a miracle they’d left his legs alone—or maybe they’d just run out of rope by that point?

Nope, an abandoned piece near the far wall rendered that guess incorrect. Maybe they just hadn’t had enough time to restrain his legs, then?

Moving the focus back to his captors, Bill’s gaze bounced from person to person as he took a quick stock of their expressions. Unanimous hatred and fury trying so desperately to mask the uncertainty and fear behind their expressions. The clear desire to come across as intimidating, despite the trembling hands around their weapons.

So much fear, despite having the upper hand over him. Bill was tied to a chair and barely conscious, yet he could get a reaction like this outta them?

Good.

Because otherwise, he had no idea how he would be able to spin this situation to his advantage. With the element of surprise and mobility no longer an option for him, tapping into those fears and insecurities was the only weapon that Bill had left at his disposal.

Speaking of which—

The silence in the room stretched on as the Pines continued to stare at him, to the point where Bill was starting to grow bored. Sure, leaving them forever entrenched in uncertainty might be fun in theory, but that also required him to remain quiet for just as long.

And while that wasn’t an impossible order, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter.

He needed just the right comment to break the ice. A perfect reintroduction to his presence in their lives, one that would only strengthen that fear behind their eyes.

“I gotta ask, what didja think a gun was gonna do against me?” he asked with a grin at Ford. “I mean, do you really think regular old bullets are going to be enough to get the job done?”

His pupil flicked over to Dipper. “Guess it’s better than whatever Junior’s got going on over there, though,” he said. “Seriously, Pine Tree, a piece of wood? I guess you might have a chance at beating me in a game of interdimensional rock-paper-scissors, but outside of that, I don’t like your odds.”

Just for good measure, he punctuated everything with his loud, trademark cackle—one that shook the room and everyone in it.

Oh yeah, that’d do the trick nicely.

Sure enough, everyone’s grip on their weapons tensed, the fear in their faces now completely tangible as the worst scenario they could possibly imagine was confirmed.

“Bill.”

It was Ford who spoke first, tone marinaded in venom as he stared Bill down. Such vitriol sent another cackle throughout Bill, his body wiggling with delight against the bonds that held him to the chair. “Aww, it’s good to see you too, Sixer~!” he said sweetly. “What’s it been, about nine months now? Nice beard, by the way. Really brings your face together in a way that those sideburns didn’t, know what I mean?”

His amusement fell with a vindictiveness he made no attempt to mask. “Although if you ask me, I’d suggest taking up that old face-burning habit of yours to clear everything up and start fresh,” he said, narrowing his eye—eyes. “I mean, you’re clearly the expert in burning things around here. Facial hair, bridges, minds with me in them—”

Bill was cut off by the cold, threatening steel of the gun barrel being pressed against his cheek, pupil flitting up to Ford’s own cold, threatening gaze. “Stop talking.”

Oh, he was real mad. 

Of course, not even Ford’s ire was enough to silence Bill completely, and he managed a smug grin despite the distortion of his cheek against the weapon’s tip. “Again I ask: just a regular gun? No Quantum Destabilizer? No memory-erasing device or fancy-schmancy magical weapon from your precious journals? You must really getting dull in your old age if you're busting out the repeat performances, Fordsy.”

He tilted his head, half in thought and half to give himself some breathing room. “Although I have to wonder why you didn’t just try to kill me while I was knocked out, if you’re this trigger-happy?”

The answer to that one was pretty obvious. Given their initial reactions, they hadn’t been certain if he had actually been possessing someone—and they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human on the off-chance they were wrong. And now that he was awake and his presence confirmed, they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human while he was possessing them.

And if that was truly the case, it probably meant he was free to run his mouth as much as he wanted.

Probably. 

Maybe?

“Ooh, lemme guess: you wanted me to be awake before you pumped me full of lead?”

…Aw, heck with it; he couldn’t resist a chance to press a few more of Ford’s buttons! To really test the waters on what he could get away with saying or doing. “Well, I’d love to see you take your best shot at it~!” he continued with a wide grin, one that show far too much of his gums. Guess that was one benefit to having a humanoid vessel again. “I know it’ll probably get a real laugh outta the poor sucker I’m puppeting around now—”

There was a click of the hammer as the tip was pressed further into his cheek, to the point where not even leaning away from it would pull Bill out of its line of fire.

Alright, limit reached for the time being. “Okay, okay, geez, I get the picture,” he said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Can I at least ask for a mirror or something? I wanna see what I’m working with over here.”

Okay, maybe one more. “I’d fetch one myself, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment~!”

Ha. Hilarious.

Luckily for him, his clever little risk seemed to pay off in the unexpected way of making Ford lower his weapon, with an added bonus of painting a look of confusion across his face. And judging by the looks being exchanged between the other family members, it was clear that his little joke had been far more effective in causing confusion than he’d originally intended.

After a few more minutes of perplexed silence between them, it was Mabel who eventually—and hesitantly—spoke up with a: “You…don’t know what you look like?”

Hmm, an unexpected question to follow the unexpected responses. And a stupid one at that; did she really expect him to give her the honest, unfiltered truth when prompted? If she did, the answer to that question would be a resounding “It’s funny how dumb you are, Shooting Star~!”, followed by a bout of condescending laughter to drive the point home. 

And the answer to her former question would probably be that same reply and condescending laughter. There was no chance across the entire multiverse that he would tell them about his little deal with Tangy. Birdbrain had said it themselves back in their mindscape: the second they found out that he was playing a game where the prize was the destruction of the barrier, the second Ford would do everything in his power to keep him restrained until the end of the game.

Or, well—more restrained than he was already.

Still, as good as his clever little joke had been, he had unintentionally dropped a small hint to them about his situation. 

Guess it was time to do what he did best; scramble their mushy little brains more than he’d done already and throw them completely off the right track. 

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy,” he said casually, leaning back in the chair as far as he could. “Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me—hey, come on—”

The barrel of the gun was at his cheek again as Ford gave him another warning look. “Don’t listen to a single word he says,” he said, directing the statement at the others. “We have no reason to believe that what he’s telling us is the truth, so don’t take any stock in anything he’s saying.”

Bill narrowed his eyes up at him. Spoilsport. Spoilsport and a hypocrite, to boot! “Oh, yeah, that’s rich, Sixer,” he said bitterly. “But I guess you would know what it’s like to give people a reason not to trust you, wouldn’t you?”

His functional pupil bounced over to Stan, the corners of his mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. “I’m just saying: the last time we saw each other, you were promising to finally give me that equation,” he said, with a look back to Ford. “But then when I ended up making the deal, it wasn’t your brain I ended up in, was it—OW!”

The tip of the gun was jammed so hard against his cheek that the skin would likely be bruised in the shape of a triangle later. “Stop talking—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before Ford could respond, Stan’s hand was back on his shoulder and gently goading him towards the door. “Ford, come on, let’s just—”

“Stan—”

“He’s tied up, Soos says the rope’s got the unicorn stuff woven into it,” Stan kept trying. “Let’s just step outside for a sec. Kids, why don’t you go with him? I’ll be with you in a few minutes, just—”

“We’re on it.”

Ford opened his mouth to protest further, but Mabel had already taken one of his hands in her own while Dipper claimed the other. “Come on, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, giving his hand an encouraging tug. “Let’s go wait in the hallway.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and leave, Sixer~?” Bill teased with a kick of his feet. “I’m sure I won’t go anywhere while you’re gone!”

A risky taunt, for sure. Ford had turned the gun on him enough times to prove that he was only a few more pokes away from throwing caution to the wind and sticking a bullet between his eyes, regardless of the consequences. Besides, the sooner Bill got the chance to be alone and collect his thoughts, the better. 

But at the same time, any opportunity to get under Ford’s skin was just too good to resist—nor did he have any desire to try resisting in the first place!

It seemed to be a lucky day for him in terms of taunt-rope balancing, because Ford pulled his hands from the kids’ embraces and trudged out of the room with calm, restrained steps. Steps clearly powered by every last ounce of self-control he could possibly muster, ones that suppressed a deep, brooding storm that swelled just beneath the surface.

Good. Seethe harder, Stanford.

Eventually the door shut behind him, leaving Stan and the kids—their own hands now void of any that possessed six fingers—behind. Although it was only a second later when the door cracked open again, and one six-fingered hand reentered their line of sight. 

A hand that Mabel immediately took hold of again before both her and Dipper hurried out into the hallway after him. Leaving only Bill, Stan, and a deafening silence left in the room.

A deafening silence that Bill was quick to break with a casual: “Gotta say, the beard look is waaaay more natural on you than it is on Sixer. Covers your ugly mug way better than his does.”

Apparently Ford had kept all of the restraint for himself because Stan was back to him before he could blink, and Bill had no time to brace himself as the older man grasped a rugged hand around his throat. “Listen to me, and listen good, Wise Guy,” he growled. “I don’t know how you got back here, and I don’t really care how.”

The hand around Bill’s neck tightened while he balled the other into a fist. “But I punched your lights out once, and I can do it again. As many times as it takes for you to stay down for good.”

He moved the first near Bill’s blinded eye, his good pupil following despite himself. “You try anything with my family again, you’re gonna know what it feels like to get punched to death twice. ¿Comprende?”

It was a threat Bill knew that Stan would hold himself to if necessary. One that Bill couldn’t help but feel a twinge of genuine fear towards as those final memories inside Stan’s head came rushing back to him. 

And for a split second, Bill could almost feel the terrifying heat of the flames around them, creeping nearer and nearer as they swallowed every last bit of the room in their destructive wake—

One fatal mistake…

—only for a brief moment, before he flashed Stan another toothy grin. “Seriously though, you should keep that beard. Maybe try and convince Sixer to shave his, I don’t know who I was kidding when I told him it looked good, that was such a bad idea on his part!”

His grin spread wider, once again revealing far too much of the inside of his mouth. “But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

Stan punched him. Hard.

And when Bill crumbled with a shout, pain enveloping the area around his right eye that was sure to be bruised within minutes, Stan turned and stormed out of the room.

Yep—flew too close to the sun with that one.

— — — — — — —

Ford had barely made it out of the room before the stress of the situation brought him to his knees, and Stan entered the hallway to the sight of almost everyone else circled around him in an attempt to bring comfort.

Seeing him, Soos lifted his head. “So, is it really him?”

“Sure looks, sounds, and acts like it,” Stan said. “Alright, so the guy who tried to take over the universe and who we thought was dead is now tied up in the next room, very much the opposite of dead.”

He pressed a weary hand to his temple as he glanced around at the rest of the group. “...Does anybody have a game plan?”

From beside Ford on the floor, Mabel perked up. “What about that zodiac prophecy thingy Grunkle Ford tried to do during Weirdmageddon?” she asked. “Didn’t he say that was supposed to stop Bill?”

“Hey, yeah!” Stan snapped his fingers with an inspired look. “Great idea, Pumpkin, we could try that!”

“But don’t we need all of the symbol-things for it to work?” Soos pointed out. “And out of the original ten, we only have, like—” He paused to count heads. “—six of the people here that we’d need.”

From the spot near the wall where Wendy had seated herself, she lifted her head to join in on the conversation. “Well, then why don’t we just get the other four?” she asked. “I doubt it’d be hard to convince Robbie, Pacifica or the others to help us out. They probably hate Bill as much as we do.”

“We could also try the Quantum Destabilizer,” Dipper added thoughtfully, pressing a hand to his chin. “Grunkle Ford said it could blast Bill back into the Nightmare Realm, but I wonder if that would actually work without a rift to—you know, blast him back through.”

“What do you think, Dr. Pines?” Melody asked, directing the question at Ford.

And suddenly all eyes were back on Ford again, who had yet to move from the spot where he had collapsed after leaving the bedroom—too enveloped in his own overwhelming, smothering thoughts to take any notice to the others’ suggestions.

Bill was alive.

A scenario he had only envisioned in the worst of the nightmares that plagued his head on a nightly basis. A fear that lingered over him like the shadow of a starving predator, waiting to strike its unsuspecting prey when they least expected.

He had wanted to hope so dearly that he’d been dreaming when that child between the birch trees began to laugh in that horrific, familiar way. The bone-chilling laughter that often echoed through the deepest recesses of his mindscape, nothing more than a mere shadow of the one who had once produced it.

But this was no dream, no nightmare, nor a bad memory he could simply banish to the back of his mind—

Bill was alive.

“Dr. Pines?”

“The Zodiac Prophecy is a no-go,” he said, his words forming on their own as he returned to his feet. “The entire town believes that Bill is dead, and letting too many people know that he’s returned could ignite a panic.” 

He cast a tense look around at everyone else. “One would argue that too many people know about his return already.”

“Hey, come on, I don’t think anyone here’s in a hurry to go blabbing about him,” Wendy pointed out. 

“Regardless, it’s not a liable option at the moment,” Ford continued. “And unfortunately, neither is the Quantum Destabilizer. The only power source stable enough to power the device was only obtainable in another dimension, with the assistance of another another dimension’s Fiddleford McGucket—”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be tough to get, then,” Melody spoke up. ��Fiddleford's out of town for a few weeks with his family.”

“We had to put our weekly anime club meetings on hiatus until he got back,” Soos added sadly. “But, that gives all of us plenty of time to catch up on our latest show and discuss our thoughts once he’s back!”

Ford raised his hands. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Well, what about when he does get back?” Wendy asked. “I mean—like I said before, I doubt he’d be in a hurry to go blabbing to anyone else. Plus he’s probably smart enough to build anything we’d need to get rid of Bill.”

“Wait, I—”

“Yeah, yeah, good point, Wendy!” Stan said, waggling a finger at her. “The guy turned this place into a giant, robotic, triangle-punching whatchamacallit. He could definitely build some fancy-schmancy power source—”

“You’re missing the point!”

Ford’s fist hit the wall before he could even process his action, and suddenly the hallway was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. His frustration lingered for only a second, before he took a look at the concerned expressions around him—

—and the guilt swiftly drowned any other emotions that had been building inside his chest. “Sorry, that was—sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Several pairs of shoulders unclenched as his arm fell back to his side, and Stan moved to him again. “Woah, woah, hey, come on, no one here’s about to judge you for swingin’ a fist,” he assured him. “Feel like outta anyone here, you deserve to do it the most.”

He flicked a thumb back at the bedroom door. “‘Sides, at least you held out as long as you could. I may have given the little jerk a—let’s call it a ‘welcome back gift’.” 

A pause. “I…I gave him a black eye, that’s the joke I was trying to make.”

“Non-refundable gift,” Wendy said with a proud nod. “Nice.”

“Stan’s got a point,” Dipper added from Ford’s side. “It’s Bill Cipher. I feel like if anyone deserves to be angry right now, it’s you.”

“Yeah, sorry for uh—sorry if we sounded like we weren’t taking this seriously,” Soos added. “I know how dangerous he is, and Wendy and I even told Melody everything about him ahead of time. Just in case something like this ever happened, of course. A big bad returning during a moment of peace is a common trope in sequels, after all.”

He rolled his hands together. “And since this is the summer after he died…you know, sequel summer? Just…just sayin’, it wasn’t outta the realm of possibilities.”

“I wasn’t sure how much of it was actually true,” Melody admitted. “But also I’ve seen way weirder stuff in this town. So if you all say that kid in there’s actually an evil triangle demon bent on destroying the universe, then I’d believe it.”

“There, you see?” Stan added. “Ain’t nobody here to judge. You be as angry as you want, punch another wall or two if you really gotta.”

“Although if it helps you swing at them less, clearly we’re all on the ball when it comes to thinking of ways to put Cipher back under the ground where he belongs,” Wendy pointed out. “Maybe the stuff we already suggested won’t work, but putting our heads together like this will probably get us somewhere a lot quicker than when you were just doing this by yourself, y’know?”

“Once again, Wendy knows what’s what,” Stan agreed, and gave her a thumbs up. “If I were still your boss, I’d give you a raise.”

“...No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

He reached over to clasp a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Point we’re tryin’ to make is that you’ve got your family here for you this time. You don’t have to deal with this alone again.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel agreed, casting him a weak smile as she once again tucked a hand into his own. “We’ll do everything we can to help you kick Bill’s butt again!”

Ford’s gaze fell to her face, sweet eyes wide with concern and small hands once again gripping his own tightly. He could feel them trembling, clearly masking just as much fear as he was harboring inside him—

—the same way his had trembled as he pulled the trigger on the memory gun, wiping every little trace of what made his brother himself from his mind. 

He forced his gaze to the man at his right, eyes moving up to the face that mirrored his own to a near-identical degree.

The face of the man Ford had cried over for a week straight while he worked so tirelessly, so desperately to restore those lost memories. For whom he had dug out every last movie reel, scrapbook—even old postcards that Stan had sent during his travels across the country, and with whom he had spent several long night poring over the contents. 

The man whose confused expression shifted to bright realization as the kids read out the jokes from his favorite joke book, jokes he would follow up with every terrible punchline with perfect recollection. The man who suddenly remembered his and Ford’s brush with the Jersey Devil mid-story, only to go on and tell the back half as if the two of them had only experienced it yesterday.

The man who had risked sacrificing all those precious memories, all of who he was for the sake of the world’s safety. For the sake of his family’s safety.

And now Bill was back, leaving that precious sacrifice nothing more than a pointless suffering for Stanley to have endured.

“I’ll figure out a way to stop Bill by myself,” he said suddenly, pulling his hand out of Mabel’s before turning to the others. “Someone’s going to need to stay up and keep an eye on him tonight anyway. I’ll use that time to come up with a plan, and we can reconvene tomorrow.”

He reached for the doorknob. “As for the rest of you, it’s late and you should be getting to bed.”

Everyone exchanged a series of unsure looks, which Stan vocalized with a: “Do you really expect the rest of us to just sleep while you deal with some all-powerful demon all night?”

“Also, do you really expect us to sleep at all with someone like that in the house?” Wendy added. “I mean, I know he’s kindaaaa—” She made a shrinking motion with her fingers. “—now, but this is the same guy that crawls through people’s heads like a sugar-laced kid in a Hoo-Ha Owl’s playplace, right?”

Ford looked to her, then the other adults with a raised eyebrow. “You said the rope had unicorn hair weaved into it?”

“Well, yeah,” Soos confirmed. “Plus we set up those moonstones, got you that mercury you needed—”

“We have a whole stash of everything in the storage room, too,” Melody added. “If you need any more of anything.”

“Then it should be enough to hold Bill in place for the night,” Ford said matter-of-factly. “And if it’s not—well, I’ll be enough to hold him in place for the night.”

Before anyone could question him further, the bedroom door was opened and shut behind him. Leaving the rest of them out in the hallway, the shrill and barely-muffled greeting of “Welcome back, Fordsy~!” in the bedroom only adding to the unsure aura surrounding them.

Despite the door being closed, Soos held up a hand to the side of his mouth. “Uh, okay! Good night, Dr. Pines!” he called. “Also if you’ve gotta shoot him, please aim the bullets away from Abuelita’s porcelain doll collection!”

Mabel finally let her arm—the one that she had kept outstretched even after Ford let go of her hand—fall back to her side with a dejected sigh. A look that Dipper immediately spotted and moved to her side to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he said reassuringly. “Ford’s just worried about Bill, that’s all. And he probably just wants us to stay safe.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to go around makin’ himself unsafe to do that,” Stan said, pressing a hand to his head with an annoyed huff. “Is he out of his mind? What’s he thinking, dealing with all of this by himself?”

Everyone else exchanged a look. “Well, if he doesn’t want our help then…what should we do now?” Melody asked.

With a sigh, Wendy took a wide step away from the wall. “Guess we do what the doc said and try to get some sleep. Dibs on the couch as usual, by the way.”

With that, the shuffled on down the hallway, while the rest of the group silently watched her take her leave. Once she disappeared around the corner, Soos pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the hallway. “Uh, I dunno if it’ll help at all, but Melody and I sleep in the room next to Abuelita’s,” he said to Stan. “If you want, we can sleep in shifts and check in on Dr. Pines for you.”

“And if anything actually happens, one of us can come get you,” Melody added. “Leaving the other person down here to help him if he needs it.”

“Yeah!” Soos said, nodding in agreement. “If anything happens, we’ll come get you, okay?”

Stan hesitated to respond—as if the idea was anything but okay to him—but eventually he gave them a tired nod in return. “Alright, you two. Just keep an ear out for him.” 

He leaned over and placed a hand on Soos’s shoulder. “And—should I not get here quick enough to do it myself—I give you my blessing to punch the pointy little jerk in my place.”

With a look of honor, Soos pressed a hand to his forehead in a salute. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Pines! I’ll even knock out a few of his teeth if I’ve gotta!”

“Good man, Soos,” Stan said, giving his shoulder a pat. “Now get.”

With Stan’s approval, Soos gestured for Melody to follow him to their bedroom. “I’ll be the one to come get you if we need to, then,” she assured Stan as they walked. “That’ll leave Soos open for—well, that.”

And soon their bedroom door closed behind them, leaving nobody but the remaining Pines in the hallway. And with a gruff sigh and the realization that they were the only ones left, Stan turned to face the kids.

Despite the reassurances from everyone else—and even each other—they had shuffled close to one another with their attention firmly locked on to the door of Abuelita’s bedroom. As if they expected Bill to come bursting out of it at any second.

Yep, that was about what he expected.

Another sigh brought Stan to their level, and he gave both of them a weak smile. “Well, you two knuckleheads heard everyone. Let’s head upstairs.”

The two exchanged an uncertain look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah,” Mabel added. “I mean…it’s Bill.”

“If Ford’s so insistent on dealing with this by himself, then he’s probably got a couple of tricks up his sleeve to solve it by himself,” Stan pointed out, and reached over to lightly bap the top of Dipper’s hat. “It’s like you said, he probably just wants us to stay safe. And if he does need our help, then—well, he knows where to find us...”

Even he couldn’t bring himself to try and sound convincing by the end of his reassurances, but he gave both of them a nudge to move forwards before returning to full height. “In the meantime, let’s not give that demon the satisfaction of knowing he’s freaking all of us out and go get some rest, okay?”

After another look to each other, the younger twins eventually let themselves be lead down the hallway. Despite this, Stan counted at least three times where one of them would pause to look back towards the bedroom door, before they finally rounded the hallway corner and the room was barred from their line of sight.

The interior of the Mystery Shack had fallen silent by that point, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath their steps as they headed for and—after grabbing the bags they had dropped upon arrival—up the staircases that eventually brought them to the topmost floor of the shack.

Mere hours ago, the sight of the old attic would’ve been a nostalgic welcome back, like greeting an old friend after spending so long apart. And approaching the room at the far end would’ve been the equivalent of bringing that old friend into a warm hug.

Warm, friendly, welcoming—

But the air around the trio just felt so miserable as they slowed to a gradual stop outside the bedroom door, and Stan reached a hand to the doorknob. Rather than turn it immediately, he instead chose to direct his attention back at the kids. 

Silent attention—as if he wanted to say something, but struggled to find the proper words.

After a few, long seconds, he spoke with an uneasy: “Hey, uh, if you kids need to—you know…” The hand on the doorknob moved to the back of his head. “You gonna be alright by yourselves up here? You know you can always join Wendy in the living room, or come bunk down with me if you really need to, or something—”

The younger twins looked to each other in silent consideration, until Dipper finally spoke up: “I…think we’ll be okay,” he said, although his shaky tone implied otherwise. “If we’re really that scared, we can always sleep in shifts.”

“Yeah,” Mabel added with a bit more optimism. “And—and we’ll lock our door and window—”

An oink at the staircase drew a pointed finger from her, aimed at the pig who had ambled up the stairs after them. “—and we also have Waddles as an attack hog if we really need him! We’ll be okay!”

Her shoulders fell. “Right?”

Dipper folded his arms with a feeble nod, hands tightly gripping the sides as if he were attempting to keep himself grounded with such an action. “Yeah, we’ll…we’ll be okay.”

Stan didn’t miss this, and knelt down in front of them. “Hey, you two listen to me, alright?” he said, moving a hand to each of their shoulders. “I may not know how the little demon got back or why he’s back at all.”

The hands moved to ruffle their heads. “But what I do know is that I ain’t gonna let him lay a hand on either of you or Ford,” he reassured them. “And I don’t care how long it takes or how many times we gotta kill him before he stays dead. We’ll squash him for good if it’s the last thing we do—”

He was suddenly cut off by Mabel flinging herself at him in a tight hug, with Dipper quickly following suit. Stan remained still for a few seconds, before he wrapped an arm around each of them to complete the hug. “Alright…we’re gonna be okay, okay?”

He forced a smile as the two of them broke the hug. “And hey, look on the bright side,” he continued. “With the puny size he is now, we could probably just step on the little jerk and actually squash him to death!”

Sure enough, his weak attempt to lighten the mood brought a small pair of smiles to their faces. “We could get a pair of really big shoes,” Mabel added, smile widening further as she made a stomping motion with her foot. “Just go squish, like he’s a gross cockroach under a boot!”

“Are you implying that he’s not a gross cockroach already?” Dipper asked with a weak laugh.

“Touché, but I like painting a clear, visual picture of my words,” Mabel explained. “It’s almost as fun as painting an actual picture! Ooh, I wonder if I should paint an actual picture of Bill with a cockroach body—?”

“Save that for tomorrow,” Stan said. “Right now, you two need to get some rest. You’ve got a whole summer to look forward to, and I ain’t gonna let you kids miss a second of it.”

He gave them a wink. “Even with a sudden triangle-shaped cockroach thrown into the mix.”

Both gave him a smile—much wider than before—in return before finally shuffling to the door and pulled it open, revealing the waiting bedroom on the other side.

Aside from a lack of almost any dust on the furniture—had that been Soos and Melody’s doing?—the bedroom had remained mostly untouched since the previous summer. A few scattered googly eyes rested on the floor beside a forgotten food bowl for Waddles on Mabel’s side of the room, while several crumpled pieces of paper still filled Dipper’s old wastebasket.

And while uncertainty and fear still lingered in the air as the kids stepped inside, a bit of that old, nostalgic warmth did seem to be sneaking its way around them in a reassuring embrace. A reassurance that despite the evening’s stress, this was still a place they could call a home away from home.

After one last little smile at Stan—one he returned in full—Mabel shut the door behind them. Stan continued to wordlessly stare at the door for a few minutes, attention focused on the clicking of the lock, then the creaking of the wooden floor on the other side. When he was sure the sound had reached their beds, he finally turned and shuffled back towards—then down—the staircase, continuing onwards down the hall on the second floor until he reached the door to his own bedroom.

It was only once his hand touched the doorknob that his entire posture sank from exhaustion.

He once again lingered for a moment as he looked back towards the staircase that lead downstairs—before he shook his head and trudged on forward into the bedroom.

— — — — — — — — 

It was barely an hour later when Stan firmly concluded that he was not falling asleep anytime soon.

How in the heck was he supposed to sleep at a time like this? Bill was back! The evil triangle demon that had tried to take over the town—town? Universe? Dimension? Eh, all of the above.—and had haunted his brother’s mind for literal decades!

Ford had always downplayed how much weight Bill truly held over his mind, always reassuring Stan that he was fine whenever the topic came up in conversation and was always quick to change the subject to something unrelated. 

But if Ford really thought the guy who slept in the same cabin as him for months on end wouldn’t notice him crying out in his sleep—the names Bill, Cipher or both being shouted into his pillow with so much hatred and fear more times than Stan could count—then Stan had a bridge to sell him.

And if he really thought that he hadn’t picked up on the subtle little ways Ford would flinch or the way his mood would shift on occasion—probably due to some unearthed memories about Bill, ones that Stan so desperately wished he could just punch as hard as the guy who had burned them into his brother’s mind—then Stan had two bridges to sell him.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

With a grunt, Stan rolled over onto his back and squinted blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t trust the pointy little jerk as far as he could throw him but he’d raised a good point. What right did he have to stand—lie around and call Ford an idiot for not wanting to talk about Bill, especially when he’d been the one in charge of getting rid of Bill in the first place?

He felt his thoughts drift to the earlier events of the day, before all the Bill stuff had started. Soos’s wedding announcement, the tour of the new exhibits—

“The very weird point they’re to make is that none of this would’ve happened without you building the shack to begin with, Grunkle Ford. So in a way, a lot of this is because of you!”

“Well, we kinda have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines. You and the kids, of course.”

It didn’t bother him. 

Really, it didn’t.

So what if Soos wanted to give Ford the credit for tying the knot with the girl he liked, or for giving them the smart-guy science methods to make the exhibits more exciting? Even if Ford was terrible at hiding his Bill feelings, at the very least he’d seemed pretty flattered by all the praise. 

He’d felt appreciated, nostalgic over the new, science-y ways that Soos and Melody were bringing in customers. The kids were excited to be spending time with him this year.

Ford felt like he belonged.

What kind of jerk would Stan be to take that happiness away from him, especially after all the years that had been taken from him already?

At at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if people slapped Ford’s name over every single one of his own accomplishments. Honestly, after stealing his identity for three decades, Stan would willingly give up a few of his own accord if it made Ford happy.

If Soos wanted to give Ford credit for building the place that inevitably lead him to his fiancé—even if Stan had been the one running the place when Soos started working here—then fine. If him and the kids wanted to give Ford credit for the exhibit ideas—exhibits that were wildly improved from the two-bit slop Stan had been pushing for the past few decades—then fine.

It was fine.

But if there was one accomplishment that Stan thought nobody could take away from him, it was the ability to keep his family safe. Not just them, but Soos, Wendy—the entire town. They had all called him a hero, finally saw him as someone worth a darn—

At the end of the day, he had finally proven he was worth something to someone.

And then Bill came back, alive and unharmed. Stan had failed to kill him good and proper, and now he was back. Now he was back, and now Ford and the kids had to spend their summer in fear.

Now he was back, and Stan was truly worthless again.

After staring at the ceiling for about ten more minutes—and waiting another ten minutes for his nightly body aches to settle—he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. And with the groan of a man whose bones were older than he was, he pulled himself to his feet, trudged out of the room and headed down to the first floor of the shack. 

The light of the TV stopped him at the living room doorway, and a quick peek into the room revealed that he wasn’t the only resident of the house who was still awake.

Despite the TV running some early morning infomercial for a cheap and useless product—one worth more than its share of that hyper-specific brand of scorn and mockery that only a snarky teenager could provide—Wendy’s attention was firmly glued to her phone as she tapped away at the keys.

At the sight of Stan in the doorway, however, she lifted her head with a curious look. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Whaddaya mean? Clearly I’m sleepwalkin’.”

“Haha,” she said, snapping her phone shut. “Gonna try again with Dr. Pines?”

“You know it,” Stan said, and placed a hand on the doorway frame. “You, uh—you holdin’ up okay out here?”

“Psh, don’t even start,” Wendy said, waving him away. “I mean, sure, I’ve got my share of worries about that little megalomaniac being back—”

She flashed him a grin. “—buuuut I think a lot of ‘em were pretty evened out by the fact that I got to clunk him in the back of the head with a bat!”

“Oh yeah, that was great,” Stan agreed with a smirk of his own, before pressing his hands together in a squishing motion. “Isn’t it soooo satisfying? The little jerk talks suuuuuuch a big game, but you hit him once and he crunches like a soda can.”

Wendy cackled at that, although her expression fell again as she cast a glance upwards. “How’re the squirts handling it?”

Stan followed her gaze up to the ceiling. “Well, they’ve stayed in their room so far, so my money’s on ‘probably as well as they can with somethin’ like this.’”

“Mmm…”

She flipped her phone back open, fingers once again tapping at the keys. “At least they’ve got each other through all this,” she mused. “The two of them combined are some of the toughest and strongest kids I’ve ever met. No matter what happens, they’ll get through it so long as they stick together.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, with a glance back towards the hallway. “At least they’ve got that goin’ for them…”

Both fell silent for a moment, before Stan turned to leave. “If you hear any yellin’ going on down the hall, it’s because I’m trying to convince Ford to go to bed,” he told her. “If I succeed, make sure he actually goes up to bed, okay?”

“You got it, boss.”

— — — — — — — —

The room was silent, save for the scratching of pencil to paper as Ford continued to write. 

Not for a lack of trying on Bill’s part; he had made several attempts to strike up a conversation with Ford already, but all had been shot down by either a menacing glare or the flash of the gun he kept within reaching distance.

And while neither were enough to completely shut Bill up, he did fall silent after the dozenth-or-so attempt to take advantage of the chance to gather his thoughts.

He’d agreed to play a game with that stupid duck and they’d plunked him back down in front of the shack. He assumed it had been right in front of the shack, at least; he did recall being greeted by the concerned faces of Mabel and Ford, along with some faint, blurry remarks about how he’d potentially fallen out of a tree—

—thank you, Birdbrain—

—but there was always a chance that they had stumbled across his body somewhere else and simply brought him to the shack to keep a closer eye on him. 

Regardless of how it had happened or wherever those suckers had originally found him, he was back in town as Tangy had promised. Sure, it had been a sneaky drop off with several details of what that drop off entailed omitted. But at the same time, they had still kept their word.

And while Bill still had plans to dunk that silly little windbreaker of theirs in tuna fish—perhaps with the added flair of tossing in a bottle of itching powder, Melt-Your-Skin-Clean-Off-Your-Bones-Juice, and maybe a splash of lime for taste—he could at least respect how much effort they had put into getting him here at all.

Planned retribution aside…eh, game could recognize game.

And speaking of game—

His thoughts shifted to the deal they had agreed upon, sealed with both a handshake and a signature. Three months, they’d said. He had exactly three months to play. Three months to find all the pieces of their dumb trinket and put it all back together again, Humpty-Dumpty style.

He briefly considered the idea of not playing their game at all—out of sheer spite for their deviousness in getting him here—but the idea was discarded as quickly as it formed. Despite their underhanded methods to get him back to town, they had been very clear about how strictly they had to stick to their contract. And even if they’d been lying about the legitimacy of said contract, they had still foolishly locked themselves into a deal with Bill himself.

Whether or not they truly planned on upholding themselves to their side of their deal didn’t matter—if he won their little game, Bill would either have a destroyed barrier or a duck subjected to an eternity of slow-roasting over an over fire in the Nightmare Realm. Maybe in the case of the second option, such torture directed at another being would be enough to get his buddies off his back when he returned. Heck, maybe he’d even get a spiffy new jacket out of the deal!

And that was simply the worst case scenario. Best case scenario, the barrier would be gone and no one would be able to stand in his way ever again.

And a prize that valuable was enough for him to humor the tacky idiot and romp around an annoyingly-familiar hick town in a meatsuit for a summer.

Even with his current situation, escaping wouldn’t be a difficult task to accomplish. Sure, he was tied so tightly to a chair that it would make Harry Houdini blush—he would know, he dabbled in a bit of dealmaking with the famous magician back during the height of his career—and the ropes apparently contained some of that fancy-schmancy unicorn magic that the household had used to protect the shack last year. A fact that soured Bill’s expression for a brief moment, but at the end of the day, even a magically-laced rope was still just a rope. And any rope could be cut with the right tool, or by the right sucker.

The sound of paper being ripped from a notebook distracted Bill from his thoughts, and a mischievous grin poked at the corners of his mouth as he cast a look in the direction of his six-fingered warden—just as the discarded page was crumpled into a ball and tossed it into the unlit fireplace.

Well, a sucker by any other year was just as gullible—or whatever.

Sure, Bill knew Stanford Pines would rather chew off his own extra fingers than be unpromptedly helpful to him in any way, shape or form. But even if a few details about the bigger picture had to be omitted—it wouldn’t be the first time when it came to Stanford—there were always ways for Bill to get people to do what he wanted.

The scratching of pencil to paper began again, and Bill lightly tugged against the binds that held his wrists. Well, while there were always ways to get people to do what he wanted, even he knew it was highly unlikely that he’d manage to trick Ford into freeing him tonight. And the near-silence of the room was starting to become agonizingly dull. 

To reiterate an earlier point, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter. Even if Ford was attempting to keep a lid on things now, there was always a way to annoy him into tossing out a few bits and pieces of information he had gathered in Bill’s absence. Perhaps some of that information would be of use to him.

Or maybe he would only succeed in getting the gun shoved in his cheek again.

Either way, the fifteenth attempt at starting a conversation was always the charm~!

“You know,” he began with a light kick of his feet. “I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with questions about how I got back yet.”

He saw Ford’s hand twitch in the direction of the gun, keeping his attention still firmly focused on his writing. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to, Fordsy!” Bill continued. “You and I both know for a fact that you’re a man beckoned by the call of the strange and bizarre.”

He winked at him with his good eye. “And let’s not kid ourselves; I’m the strangest and bizarre-est guy you know~!”

Another kick of his feet, his feet bouncing against the chair legs. “Even if I no longer have access to your mind, I can tell you’ve got a billion questions about me buzzing around in that lump of wet meat you call a brain,” he continued. “Questions like ‘How did he get back?’ ‘Why is he human now?’ ‘Why, oh, why did I think that a simple memory gun would be enough to defeat someone as powerful, as amazing, as unstoppable as Bill Cipher?’”

Ford’s hand inched closer to the gun as Bill kept talking: “You must’ve felt so proud of yourself for that memory gun trick, by the way,” he went on. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, it was a smart move that only a brainiac like you could’ve drummed up in the short time you had.”

A wink. “Well, lucky for you I’m not the kinda triangle to hold a grudge,” he continued. “In fact, I’d even be willing to answer a couple of those hypothetical questions for you! And to call us even, you can always just answer a couple of mine in return. Like what you’ve been up to in the past nine months~! Come on, I’ll bet you’re just dying to tell me all about how you grew that beard of yours!”

The hand wrapped around the grip, and Bill settled lower in the chair with a sigh. “Fine, I guess it was too much to hope for a chance to catch up with an old friend,” he said with a dramatic flair to his tone—

—one that immediately shifted into something far more malevolent. “But then again, I guess I wouldn’t find any of those around here, now would I?”

Bill paused, giving Ford him a few seconds to chime in—only to roll his eyes when he heard a click from the gun as Ford turned off the safety catch: “Oh, come on, Stanford, are you really telling me that you’d rather spend the entire night alone with your thoughts than to spend five minutes holding a conversation with me?”

“Yes.”

It was the first word, sans any threats, he’d managed to get out of Ford all night, and it was annoying enough for Bill to sink further against his restraints with a huff.

Not a defeated huff; if a stubborn, old fool not giving him what he wanted was enough to stop Bill Cipher, then he wouldn’t be Bill Cipher. If he’d possessed enough patience to wait eons for a functioning portal, then he could certainly possess enough to get a few words outta Ford over the course of a single evening.

And as soon as Ford stopped being so difficult—you couldn’t avoid talking all night, Sixer—he'd be in business.

The distant sound of floorboards creaking somewhere on the other side of the shack perked Bill up again with a look towards the ceiling. Guess the rest of the household was fighting back the urge to sleep with a stick.

The sudden lack of pencil to paper also caught his attention, gaze bouncing back to where Ford was seated. He hadn’t moved, but Bill could still see the pupils of his sunken-in eyes shift towards the door with mild curiosity.

Mild curiosity that vanished the second he realized Bill was watching him, and his focus immediately returning to his notes after clicking the safety back and leaving the gun where it rested.

Hmm.

“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about what you’ve been up to for the past few months?” he tried again. “Fair enough, I really didn’t wanna hear about it. Why don’t we talk about about something else, then? Like the kids, perhaps?”

The hand was back at the gun without pause. 

“They’re looking well, older even. Or do they?—I’m still fuzzy on the details of the aging process of you mortals,” Bill continued. “Or if you don’t wanna talk about them, we could always talk about your brother. Can’t believe he’s still wildly swinging those fists around like a wild animal, especially when that didn’t even work the first time—”

The gun was ignored completely as Ford crossed the room in an instant, the vitriol behind his eyes hot enough to burn straight through Bill’s skin, blood, skull—everything, until it bore a hole right through to the other side of his head. A motion that made Bill jump against his better judgment—his blackened eye instinctively twitching as he remembered Stan’s earlier show of force—and for a fleeting moment, he expected another hand around his throat in seconds.

Before Ford could react proper, however, a loud knock pulled both of their attention to the bedroom door. After a silent breath of relief, Bill shot Ford a cheeky grin. “Sounds like you’ve got company~! Unless they’re here to see me, which—I mean, who could blame them if they were?”

Ford glared at him before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”

“Jersey Devil. Who d’you think it is?”

“...Come on in.”

The knob turned and Stan slowly entered the room, casting a silent look between the two of them before settling his gaze on Ford. “Just checkin’ in. How’s, uh—” he began, then paused. “—how’s everything going?”

He was clearly talking to Ford, and making an obvious effort to ignore the triangle-shaped elephant in the room. So naturally, Bill had to do everything in his power to make his presence as loud and obvious as possible.

“Everything’s peachy~!” he piped up, with another wiggle against his binds. “Ol’ Fordsy and I are having the time of our lives catching up on things! In fact, I think he was just about to tell me about what the kids have been up to for the past few months?”

He flashed Ford a wide grin. “Come on, Ford, I’ll bet they’ve shared a ton of stories with you~!”

Stan pointed a finger at him. “Hey, you’d better watch that mouth of yours, before I come over there and make it match your eyeball.”

“What, you’re gonna punch it?” Bill asked. “Go right ahead, I was just lamenting the fact that my mouth and eyeball are separated in this body.”

He giggled mischievously and flashed him a wide grin. “Your fist’s about the size of a mouth-sized eyeball, right? Just asking, because the second you swing it at these puppies—” He gave a warning snap of his teeth. “—I can’t promise that you’ll get it back.”

“Everything’s fine, Stanley. Go get some sleep.”

Ford’s tone was so scripted and hollow, like the words he actually wanted to say were being held back by a metric ton of steel. More than just the physical steel plate installed in his head, a whole dam of metaphorical steel was keeping the flood of Ford’s true thoughts at bay. And judging by the way Stan’s features twisted with uncertainty at his brother’s words—only until he spotted Bill eyeing him and promptly shifted his expression into a look of disdain—there was clearly something keeping his own thoughts hidden as well.

Oh, it killed Bill to not know what they were thinking. To lack the ability to act as the metaphorical wrecking ball that could smash through all that steel in an instant, leaving him free to pry open every last little thought, rivet by rivet, bolt by bolt.

Well, at least he still possessed the ability to verbally taunt them~! “You heard the big guy, Goldfish~! Why don’t you run on back to bed while the adults talk?”

“Why you little—” Stan began, then paused with a look of confusion. “Goldfish, what—”

“Your sign in the Zodiac Wheel,” Bill elaborated. “You know—that little goldfish thing on your hat! Although I guess it could also be a reference to your constant desperation for fortune and fame, combined with your childish dream of dragging Sixer off on some ridiculous, insignificant boat adventure. You know, first part’s the gold, second part’s the fish?”

He tilted his head. “Of course, I could always call you Fez instead, but that just sounds silly. It’d be like calling Question Mark Shirt or Pine Tree…I dunno, Other Hat? Hmm, kinda like that, actually.”

“...Welp, that one’s on me for asking,” Stan said, and promptly turned his attention back to Ford. “I did need you for something, though. Apparently Soos found a few more moonstones that he said we should lay out in the hall—”

“Well, feel free to lay them there,” Ford said, making his way back to his chair. “One at each corner, evenly spaced…Probably a smart idea to stick one at the end of the hallway for good measure—”

“I really think we need your help with it,” Stan urged.

“Not if you follow my instructions.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot as far up his forehead as they could get, expression lighting up with sadistic glee. Oh, oh—they were fighting~! “Aww, I’m back for five minutes and you two are already at each other’s throats again!” he said with a mirthy twinkle in his eye. “Man, even after all this time, you Pines Twins still can’t get along!”

He began to rock back and forth in the chair with delight. “Come on, punch each other in the face!” he demanded excitedly. “Give Sixer a black eye that looks worse than mine!”

He stopped rocking for a moment, and cast a look down at the chair. “Hmm, I forgot that you mortals haven���t evolved to the point where you can hear the voices of inanimate objects,” he said. “Such a shame that I can’t hear how much this chair is screaming while I rock around on it!”

With a cackle, he proceeded to rock back and forth even harder. “Hehe, I’ll bet the four-legged jerk's absolutely livid right now—ACK!”

The chair suddenly tipped over and crashed—Bill and all—to the floor with a loud clatter. With his limbs too restrained to catch himself in any dignified fashion, Bill quickly found himself with his face squished into the lavender rug near Abuelita’s bed. 

Both Ford and Stan stared at him for a moment, their disagreement temporarily forgotten at Bill’s misfortune. However, Stan snapped back to reality first and took advantage of the other two being distracted long enough to pull Ford towards the door and out into the hallway.

Bill barely had time to bark out an irritated: “Hey, get back here and pick me up!” before the door was pulled shut behind them. With a irritable huff, he attempted to rock the chair again in the hopes of adjusting to a more comfortable angle.

And after a moment of struggling, he finally succeeded in rolling the chair onto its—and by extension, his—back. Leaving him completely flat on the floor with his gaze pointed upwards at the ceiling.

Well, at least this angle was more familiar.

— — — — — — —

“Stanley, I said—”

“I know what you said,” Stan replied, closing the door shut behind them. “But you know I’m gonna try and make you sleep tonight, right?”

“And you know I’m not going to do that, right?”

“Ford—”

“How on Earth am I supposed to sleep with Bill still alive?!” 

It was like something had finally crashed right on through whatever wall Ford had built up in his mind, the stress he had tried desperately to repress all evening spilling out of him in an instant. “The memory gun should’ve worked,” he muttered in a panicked tone. “It…it destroyed everything in your mind, right?”

“Well, yeah, everything—” Stan began. “But—”

“There had to have been something he did, something that protected him,” Ford rambled on, mostly to himself. “Was it a spell? Some kind of failsafe? Did he catch onto our plan—”

“Woah, woah, hey, just breathe for a sec,” Stan interrupted. “Yeah, this is exactly why you’ve gotta let someone else babysit the little jerk while you get some sleep. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re too tired to think straight.”

And maybe if Ford got some sleep, he could shift some of the burden to Stan’s shoulders where it belonged. Yeesh, the poor guy had really been holding back earlier. Had he really been this stressed all evening?

…As if Stan needed to ask.

“You’d be surprised at what I can accomplish during an all-nighter,” Ford assured him. “Back in my college days, I once started a twenty-thousand-word essay at ten in the evening, and had it on the professor’s desk by six the next morning.”

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “And when you first arrived here to help me hide the journals, I was starting my fourth consecutive day of staying awake.”

“Fourth?!” Stan sputtered in disbelief, before he shook his head. “No, no, just gonna ignore that for now—it’s not like I got any room to talk when it comes to bad sleep schedules. But also you are not staying up four days to deal with this by yourself.”

He reached over to place a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Come on, Stanford, let me help you,” he urged. “At least go get an hour of sleep. I’ll stay down here, keep him quiet—heck, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut if he gets too mouthy with me.”

He balled his free hand into a fist and thumped it against his own chest. “Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

Ford’s eyes fell to the hand on his shoulder and followed it up to the desperation in his brother’s features.

An expression near identical to the one he had worn after being blasted by the memory gun. Confusion mixed with a desire to understand…

It was like they were back in that clearing in the woods, the natural warmth of the sun draping itself back over the town, after the blood-red skies of Weirdmageddon had barred it from sight for so long. Stanley kneeling in front of him and the kids in a dazed trance, no recollection of whom he was or the sacrifices he had just made.

All of which he had assured Ford was worth the risk while they swapped clothes back in the Fearamid, beneath the wretched tapestries of the remaining Zodiac members, an ear perked on both ends for Bill’s thundering footsteps reapproaching the main room.

But had it been? Had it been worth the risk?

Up until Mabel’s scrapbook method, they had no way of knowing that Stanley would’ve been able to return to his usual self. And as far as they knew, that cure only worked when presented with the memory gun’s effects. What if Stanley got involved again, only for something worse to happen to him than lost memories? What if he couldn’t simply be scrapbooked and home movie’d back to his usual self again this time around?

What if—

“Yeah, well, if they keep on bein’ that thrilled, you’re gonna have to bust out that necromancy spell to talk to me.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Stanley,” Ford said, and turned back to the door. “You go get some sleep.”

“Wh—Ford!”

His brother’s name fell on deaf ears as Ford promptly open and shut the door behind him. Stan continued to stare at the closed door, too dumbfounded to properly react. 

Ford really didn’t want his help with Bill? He could understand sending everyone off to bed earlier, but he was still turning down his help when it was just the two of them?

He raised a hand to the doorknob, the temptation to try and properly sway Ford into letting him help rising in his chest—

“Mr. Pines?”

Stan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice from the other bedroom in the hallway, and he turned to see Soos standing in the doorway. “Everything alright? …I don’t have to punch anyone yet, do I?”

With an exhale, Stan forced his hand back to his side again. “Yeesh, Soos, don’t sneak up on me like that or I’m gonna be the one who starts swinging. But nah, everything’s fine. Just thought I check in on Ford, is all.”

“Alright,” Soos said with a small smile as he held up a fist of his own. “But I swear, I will throw a punch if I need to! I made a promise, after all.”

He paused, and switched the fist to another hand. “Although maybe I should use this hand,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t wanna accidentally break my Shack-Brochure-and-Fanfic-Writing hand on his face, you know what I mean?”

He swapped back to the first. “Although it’s probably better to use your dominant hand to punch—”

“Go to bed, Soos.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines!”

He shut the door, leaving Stan once again by himself in the quiet hallway.

Stan cast a look back to the door in front of him, his hand moving towards the doorknob again.

The same way it had when Ford had called him to the shack all those years ago, eyes bloodshot and features sunken from a lack of sleep—four days, Ford?!—and he’d showed up without a second thought to help.

Despite all the time they had spent apart, Ford had relied on him enough to seek out his help. Despite everything, Stan had still held some worth in his brother’s eyes.

And how had Stan proven that worth to his brother?

By tossing him through some massive, otherworldly portal for thirty years, stealing his identity, and ruining his life.

By getting huffy over a simple thank you and nearly dooming the entire universe.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

By not doing the one thing that had actually granted him worth, and killing that stupid demon proper.

He slammed his hand back down to his side again in a balled fist, and headed back down the hallway.

Forget it, he’d try again tomorrow.

— — — — — — —

“So, how’d the fight go~?”

Not even Bill’s shrill tauntings could pull Ford out of his determined state as he returned to his chair and notebook, the tip of his pencil once again dancing across the paper with incredible speed.

From the floor where he’d fallen earlier, Bill cast him a sour look. “Oh, real mature, Sixer. You’re really not going to pick me up?”

Ford’s hand clenched tighter around the pencil as he went to scratch out his latest idea—one that joined the dozen other scribbled-out ideas above it—before moving down to the next empty row on the paper and starting again—

“Uh, hello? Stanford? I’m talking to you!”

Talk then, you vile little demon.

The tip of the pencil snapped and Ford was unable to bite back his frustrated grunt of surprise. Right on cue, a cackle started from the floor as he reached for a pencil sharpener. “Hehe, I heard that~!” Bill chimed in a singsong voice. “Guess we know who lost the fight, eh, Grumpypants~?”

Ford paid him no mind as he quickly sharpened the pencil back into a point and returned to his work with that fierce determination from before.

No matter how many scribbled-out ideas he had to toss into the fireplace, he was going to find a solution to this problem.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much he had to verbally endure at Bill’s hand again—

—he would make certain that his brother’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain.

“...Okay, seriously, are you going to leave me down here all night?”

— — — — — — — —

Mabel couldn’t sleep.

Ever since she’d settled into bed—a snoozing Waddles curled up at her side—her eyes had stayed glued to the ceiling. At first she’d tried distracting herself by holding mental conversations with the mold spots permanently stained into the old wood, but not even Daryl could lift her spirits at a time like this.

Every few minutes, her gaze would move to the bed across the room, a question lingering on her tongue for a moment before she returned her attention to the ceiling.

It was around midnight before she finally vocalized her lingering question with a quiet: “You awake, Dipper?”

Her answer immediately came in the form of blankets shuffling as Dipper rolled over to face her. “Of course I am.”

She rolled over to face him proper as well, both pairs of eyes shifting to the triangular window of their room. The moon hung high in the night sky, its beams of light shining through the glass and illuminating the floor in a way that would normally be comforting.

Tonight, however, the sight of an eye-shaped object through the triangular frame was just a painful reminder of what waited for them just a few rooms below.

“I can’t believe he’s back…”

Dipper turned his gaze from the moonlight and back to his sister at the sound of her voice. “Did you see Grunkle Ford?” she asked quietly. “He was so scared…”

“I don’t blame him,” Dipper admitted, placing a hand to his forehead. “We went through all of that trouble to kill Bill, and it didn’t even work.”

He slid the hand down to cover his eyes, but immediately lifted it again to peek over at her. “Hey, you saw it, right? How much he looked like me…”

There was more shuffling—this time on Mabel’s end—as she sat up in bed completely. “It was like when I saw him during the puppet show,” she said, pulling her legs to her chest. “Except the hair and eyes were different this time around. His left eye wasn’t all—”

She covered her own left eye with one hand. “His hair color’s different this time, too. I wonder why?”

“Who knows?” Dipper said with a shrug. “Although I guess meeting—or re-meeting a guy who looks like me isn’t the weirdest thing to happen in this town, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mabel agreed. “Still…why’d it have to be that guy? Why does he have to ruin everything?”

A sad hum escaped her as she hugged her knees close. “So much for getting to spend more time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

Dipper let his arm fall before he sat up in bed. “Hey, come on, you really think it’s gonna take all summer for Grunkle Ford to get rid of Bill?” he asked. “He’s spent the last thirty years traversing the Multiverse! He’s explored more dimensions than we could probably even think of on our own—dimensions where everyone lives underwater, dimensions ruled by talking robotic octopi—”

When Mabel plopped sadly back against her pillow again, Dipper paused for a moment to think. “—dimension where the air is made of cotton candy instead of oxygen?”

As he’d expected, the concept twitched the corners of her mouth with mild amusement. “Ugh, I’ll bet that dimension is soooo tasty,” she said. “I wonder what they do when it rains, though? All the cotton candy would just melt and then they’d have no air—ooh, I’ll bet they have like, a ga-ZILLION of those cotton candy-making machines ready for when that happens!”

“Anything’s possible in the Multiverse,” Dipper said with a nod. “My point is that Grunkle Ford’s been around, and he’s probably picked up a lot of different ways to get rid of Bill! Even if the methods he’s tried already didn’t work—and even if we can’t use stuff like the Zodiac or his Quantum Destabilizer—I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And if none of those work, we could always come up with some ideas for him! Like—like—”

She flumped her arms across her blanket with an exasperated huff. “Well, I’m too tired to think of anything now, but I’m sure we could think of something!” she said, scrunching her face in concentration. “What if we…I dunno—”

“Oooh!” Dipper snapped his fingers with inspiration. “What if we got one of those time travel devices, strapped one to Bill, and then rocketed him to a date so far into the future that he’d never be able to get back to our time?”

Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, but her amusement faded almost immediately. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. He could always trick and possess someone super far in the future, and they could help him get back here,” she pointed out. “Like what he did with that Blendin guy, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

The two fell silent again, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle summer wind rustling the forest outside their window. “We should probably sleep for real,” Dipper finally said. “We can just…do what we told Grunkle Stan we were going to do and take shifts, right?”

“Well then, you sleep first,” Mabel said, once again in an upright position as she reached over to pull Waddles close to her. “And like I said I was gonna do, I’ll let Waddles stay on your side and be your guard hog while you sleep.”

Waddles followed up her remark with a groggy little oink of reassurance, and Dipper let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and what’s he gonna do if Bill pops up in my dream?”

“I mean, you can always dream up a dream Waddles to eat him,” Mabel suggested. “He looks like a corn chip, right? I’ll bet dream corn chips taste just as good as real ones!”

She plapped a hand against the top of Waddles’ head. “Plus then when you wake up, you’ll have the real Waddles right there to comfort you!”

This got a full-on laugh out of Dipper. “Alright, alright, point made. Send him over.”

Mabel leaned over the side of the bed and gently set Waddles to the floor, giving his little rump an encouraging pat. “Go on, boy! Go protect Dipper from the dream nacho!”

With another tired little oink, he ambled on over to Dipper’s side of the bedroom and oinked up at him for assistance. “Go ahead and set an alarm on your phone, Mabel,” Dipper said, and reached down to pull him up onto his bed. “What should we set it to? An hour? Hour-and-a-half?”

“An hour works for me,” Mabel said. “But if you don’t actually sleep for that hour, I will not hesitate to stay up longer out of spite!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping…”

Dipper settled back down under the covers while Waddles snuggled up next to him, and it wasn’t until Mabel heard Dipper’s light snoring that she finally dared to tear her gaze from him and reach for her phone.

That was good. At the very least, he’d be getting some sleep tonight.

She looked to the window again—the moonlight still faintly illuminating the darkened room—and crawled out of bed to stare outside properly. Despite the tall trees that surrounded the shack on all sides, there was little to block the ocean of stars that painted the night sky.

After staring for a bit, she turned and crawled back into her bed. With another look at her brother to make sure he was still asleep, she dug her hand between the mattress and wall, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips in determination as she fumbled around for the unseen object she sought so desperately.

She knew it was a longshot that it would’ve remained in the same place for nine months—given the dustless state of their room, Soos would’ve been the most likely candidate to find it if he searched-slash-cleaned hard enough—but eventually her fingers brushed against something and she pulled it out to investigate.

It was an old, dusty piece of paper, the same one she had crumpled and tucked in its hiding spot almost a full year ago. The edges were frayed and torn and the tint of the paper was a sicklier yellow than she remembered—but the jagged writing on the front was still just as legible as the day she’d found it in Stan’s car:

“Note to self: Possessing people is hilarious! To think of all the sensations I’ve been missing out on—burning, stabbing, drowning. It’s like a buffet tray of fun! Once I destroy that journal, I’ll enjoy giving this body its grand finale—by throwing it off the water tower! Best of all, people will just think Pine Tree lost his mind, and his mental form will wander in the mindscape forever. Want to join him, Shooting Star?”

Mabel stared hard at the paper for what felt like an hour—although in reality, it was probably no longer than a few minutes. She read and reread several times over, every cruel word like a knife to her vision and gut, before finally crumpling the paper in an angry fist and shoving it back down between the wall and her mattress where it belonged.

She settled back against her pillow again, and turned back to Dipper’s bed. Still fast asleep, with nothing more than the occasional twitch or shift in place.

He was sleeping, supposedly without nightmares. That was all that mattered.

She continued to stare at him until the sight made her drowsy, before turning her attention back to the various mold spots on the ceiling.

Daryl was going to have to work overtime tonight if he really wanted to lift her spirits.

[estelofrivendell]

A Change of Heart (Aragorn x Female Reader)

At first, Aragorn thought you to be the most despicable woman he’d ever come across. In his eyes you were the embodiment of everything wrong with the race of Men. You were in a notorious group of sellswords roaming around the North and you were the worst of them. Rumor had it that you were a rogue as much as you were a sellsword; doing the bidding of others ranging from thieving to killing for the sole purpose of money. Seeing you embrace your lifestyle made him seethe. Actually, seeing you made him seethe.

Men of Bree had enough sense in them to fear you. Being the ignorant people they are, their fear was not limited to mercenaries and extended to the Rangers. Everyone in town knew who Strider was: long legged, creepy and out to come and get you. He had a reputation, a negative one much to his dismay.

One day, a new threat in the region was so large it left Aragorn with no other choice but to contact the very person he hoped he would never have to interact with. As much as he despised everything about you, with your high prices and lack of hesitation to do almost any task, you had a reputation of getting everything done. With a sigh, he lifted his hood and left for the Prancing Pony, bracing for what was to come. 

It is an understatement to say he did not expect how everything turned out in the end for the both of you.

-

“Well? What do you need? I never fancied a visit from you, Strider, so speak. I want to hear it all.”

He explained everything he needed as he watched you smoke your pipeweed, leaning back on your chair to be more comfortable. He didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to see everyone watching you two carefully. His ears were not sharp enough to hear what exactly they were talking about but even the most dense of people can determine it was about them. Each time Barliman Butterbur passed by your table, he picked up his pace as if he had a bounty on his head.

“You’re right, that’s not easy work at all, but I’ve done many jobs that make this one child’s play.”

Grabbing the stash of coins in his pocket and placing it down on the table, you took one look at it and already decided it was a task you can live with. Your decisiveness did not make Aragorn respect you. It did the opposite.

-

One of his biggest philosophies in life is to treat others the way they want to be treated. In his life he has encountered many people that made him want to reject it and punch them in the face for his own good. You were one of those people. He’s known since the beginning that getting on your bad side would do him no good if he got what he needed done and he knew you held him in contempt. Not as much as I hold her in contempt, he thought.

Just as he heard, you were extremely effective in case anyone needed something done. Cover up a murder another person committed? You’ll remove the evidence. Steal something they need? No problem, as long as they tell you where it is. Kidnap someone for questioning? A little difficult, but you’ve done it before. How you never got arrested for everything you did Aragorn cannot tell.

He believed nothing could ever bring him to lose his temper, but everyone has their limits and he reached his breaking point. 

“Tell me, why do you do this? Does it make you feel better when you look back and think about how you live your life?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you have to ask? I do it for the money. Nothing else. I don’t care one bit about anyone’s beliefs or who’s going to war against whom or anything else in the world. I don’t ask you why you keep being a Ranger when everyone insults you, both in your face and behind your back. Do you know what that fat man in the Prancing Pony, whatever his name is, says about you?”

Aragorn clenched his jaw. “If you’re doing the right thing, then what people say shouldn’t matter one bit. Even the most unenthusiastic ‘thank you’ would have sufficed but people would rather thank you than me and I don’t get paid for protecting Bree.”

“By all means, join us. If that’s what you think, you would be happier this way. Your skill is unmatched.”

Nothing offended him more. “I would not kill even if it meant I would become the richest man alive. Would you rip a newborn out of its mother’s arms and kill it in front of her if it would give you so much money you would never have to work a day in your life ever again?”

Now it was your turn to become enraged that he was sure you were on the verge of leaving him right there and never do the bidding while keeping all the money you got. He was too mad to care and he thought your angry silence told him what he needed to know.

Until you answered, “If you must know, Strider, I do not take joy in murdering people. This is the only way I make a living. If I could have it my way then I would do something else completely different. I feel nothing but pity when I look into a man’s eyes unless there is good reason for them to be dead. But I have made my word and I stick to it.

You left him there as he processed your words, leaving him stunned. You did come back in the morning; all you did was steal some food and clothes.

-

He still didn’t like you a lot, but he was beginning to be more considerate since that night you told him the truth. Somehow, he never considered that some people have no choice and in this he apologised to you. Still, nothing can bring back all the innocent lives lost from your hand. 

“I think it’s my turn to ask you. Why are you a ranger?” You asked, resting your chin on your knuckles as you leaned forward.

Aragorn took a sip of his wine. “I was born into a family of rangers. This is all I ever know. I cannot decide how I was born nor can anyone else.”

“That explains it then. Have you ever thought of… simply leaving? Not that I’m suggesting you do it, but you always seemed miserable.”

“And where would I go?”

You shrugged. “Like I know the answer to that? I don’t know, anywhere you want. You’re a man, you’ll find a place in no time.”

If he could do things his own way, he would have taken the throne of Gondor a long time ago. He’d waited too long yet it was not the right time to do so.

He thought about how you liked to talk. Silence was not your friend and every time he did not answer you (which happened many times) you switched the topic. Not even Sauron himself can get it out of him but he enjoyed your company because he had someone to talk to. His fellow Dunedain were respectable but they lacked the charm you possessed.

“Am I right in assuming no one has won your heart?” You asked. “You are too pleasant looking for me to ignore.”

For the first time, Aragorn gave you a smile that was neither a sneer or a sarcastic one. “Since you are curious to know, no. What are you suggesting?”

You didn’t need to answer him. The gleam in your eyes told him all. 

-

There were many negative adjectives Aragorn would use for you. He thinks every negative word in the Common Tongue and Sindarin were not enough to describe how terrible you were.

Now, he saw you as a friend. That was an appropriate term. You were beginning to soften up around him and his hatred for you was dissolving. He decided you weren’t so bad after all and had the capability of acting out of pure kindness. After the adventure you went through together, you two kept in touch and indirectly hinted to him you would do him any favor he needed free of charge.

He realised he did not like the idea of you dead the night you stumbled to his place, nearly dead. You fell forward in his arms, feeling blood soaking on his clothes and he saw blood dripping on the floor in the corner of his eye. Immediately gathering that you needed his attention and whatever happened was undoubtedly urgent, he placed you on his bed, giving no thought to his sheets turning red in an instant. You look like you just got beaten in the face with bruises and a black eye but that was no worse than the wound on your abdomen, though you at least applied pressure to it.

“What have you been doing?” Aragorn shook his head. You tried to answer but he shushed you. “No, no, rest. Now is not the right time to scold you.”

You never protested, quickly entering a deep slumber as he tended to you, humming to himself.

-

As he waited for you to wake, he gained an interest in your hair. Combing it to take the tangles out was a tiresome task, but after that, he was mesmerised with your hair and he ran his fingers through it. It was long, fluffy and soft and he thought how he never imagined you with such beautiful hair.

He started braiding your hair while singing a song in Elvish, half because he was curious to see how you look with braids and half because the act comforted him. He couldn’t explain it, but perhaps braiding your hair was his unique way of letting out his stress and worry from keeping you alive.

No words were spoken and no conversation can be held if only one person is conscious, yet Aragorn felt he got closer to you this way.

-

When you awoke approximately five days later, Aragorn was sitting on a chair by the bed. You were showing signs of consciousness and he spent the time reading a book. He put it down as you sat up on the bed.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “Thank you, Strider. I never underestimated you but I never knew you had a skilled hand in healing either.”

Calling him Strider no longer felt right and he thought about it for a second before saying, “Aragorn. My name is Aragorn.”

“Aragorn,” you repeated. “Aragorn. That is a lovely name. Fits you. It sounds… kingly.”

That is a story to be told at a later time, Aragorn thought.

“I cheated someone out of money,” you explained as you looked down your wounds. “There was a man who paid me a hefty sum to kill one of his enemies. I couldn’t turn it down, I needed the money-”

“Of course,” said Aragorn, unsurprised.

“Don’t interrupt me. Anyway, when I found who I was looking for, I couldn’t kill him. He was begging for his life, he’s far from the first to do that. But I couldn’t do it and I lowered my knife. He started crying and fell to his knees, saying that he would do anything.”

“I told him to run away. Take on a different name, live a new life. He thanked me over and over again, and when I left, that I was the last I saw of him. I don’t know if he did actually run away, but I like to think he did. But the man that paid me, found out I let him go, and, well, let’s say he was not happy I took his money for nothing.”

“He gave me one hit as you can see and got me in the gut.” You pointed at your black eye then at your abdominal wound. “But if I were to die, I wanted to make sure I would kill the one who did it so I can take them with me, and I did. I cut his throat and he was dead instantly.”

“To tell you the truth, Aragorn, I’m not sure how I lived. Maybe the gods decided it’s not my time to go just yet, or maybe not.” You shrugged. “I’m not even sure why I thought of coming to your place. I guess I thought I wanted to see you one last time. Well, it doesn’t matter, coming here turned out to be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

Aragorn smiled. “I’m glad you came to me, for multiple reasons. Do you know what I think? You’re starting to see the beauty in sparing others.”

“There was no point in killing him. I don’t think he did anything wrong. The one that wanted him dead? I can name a lot of things he did that would frighten the most brutal of orcs.”

 That wasn’t the point and Aragorn could believe it flew over your head completely, but he knew there was some kindness in you that was not yet lost.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you tell me, and maybe you’re right. It’s not worth killing people over money. Sometimes, I see the families of lost loved ones and it does make me feel a lot of guilt. That’s why I started to cheat people out instead. Obviously, that comes with a lot of uncertainty.”

Nothing you ever did had any certainty in it.

You brought up your hand to presumably push back your hair, but found your hair neatly braided.

“I think the idea of you braiding hair is silly. But I guess I underestimated how little I really know you. You should open up more. Believe me, it helps.”

-

“Me? Aragorn, you want me as your queen? You’re not doing this to make me feel better, are you?”

Assuming you said yes, Aragorn understood he would spend the rest of his life explaining why he chose you over any other woman. Having a better life was your motivation for everything you did, yet when you are faced with the option of becoming a queen, you try to turn it down and avoid it like it was the plague. True, the people of Minas Tirith would most likely revolt if they found out their queen was a once scandalous rogue with bounties placed on her head and was a subject that struck fear in the Northmen’s hearts.

But Aragorn would not want to marry anyone that isn’t you, and if they had a problem with you as his wife, then they had him to deal with.

It was the council at Rivendell where you found out who Aragorn really was and you were upset that he never told you before that. He never thought of an appropriate time to disclose it, however.

“There is no other I love more than you,” said Aragorn. “I wish to marry you and I will give you the security and stability you sought for in life. But if you prefer simplicity in the North and to be away from me, then I shall respect that and ensure you are accompanied by Legolas and Gimli for a safe ride back home.”

“But why me?” You repeated. “I’m not fit to be a queen, I am no queen, Aragorn. Nor do I deserve to be one. Oh, Aragorn, I do love you and I always have! I will marry you, for it is what my heart has desired for years.”

 -

Years have passed and life in Gondor goes on. Frodo has sailed west with the Elves and Gandalf and Legolas and Gimli are enjoying their lives in the country. Recently, they asked Aragorn to give them leave to travel around the realms of Middle-Earth. The remaining Fellowship had left and it was just the two of you.

It took you a while to adjust to this new lifestyle. It even intimidated you a lot. At the end of each day, Aragorn would come to your shared chamber and take care of your hair and braid it, an action that was special to the both of you and makes you think of the past. You did not miss your old lifestyle and you were glad to give it up, but you missed the friends you made in the journey.

“If you were old and dying and could not move, would you let me braid your hair in return? I’m afraid doing hair is not my forte, but I had this sudden thought and I believe you would enjoy it,” you asked, looking up at him.

“I would indeed,” said Aragorn, smiling as he ran his fingers through your hair. “You can braid my hair anytime you want. Practice makes perfect. Who knows, you might be better at it than me one day.”

“No chance of that, if you were braiding since you were a small child.”

The tale of the king and his queen ended the same as any other tale with a happy ending. True, it did not start off as happy if they were initially foes, but they would not change a single thing and they only appreciated each other more for their change of hearts.

[meganlpie]

A Riddle in Pastries

Based on this request: Could you do a s1 Edward x shy reader, where the reader is new assistant for Kristen and has a crush on Ed and secretly leaves small presents on his desk (like coffee or pastries).

Here you are, my lovely! *I do not own ANY Gotham characters. They belong to the writers/creators of the show as well as the creators of the comics.*

Warnings: Fluff-ish?? Brief mentions of workplace bullying. It's a little short

Pairings: Edward Nygma x reader

From the moment you'd met him, you had developed an unexpected crush on Edward Nygma. Your boss, Kristen, called him strange and creepy. But you didn't see it that way. Edward simply didn't understand social cues sometimes. It wasn't his fault. Despite that, the man was an absolute genius that no one else seemed to appreciate. Not the captain, not the detectives, not the other officers, and certainly not Kristen.

          "I don't know what you see in him, Y/N," Kristen remarked one afternoon, "But maybe, if the two of you got together, I wouldn't have to be around him so much." You rolled your eyes at her as you went back to your work. You hated how Kristen had everything organized, but this was her space first and she was in charge so you muddled through. But her comment had sparked an idea in you. There was no way in hell you'd be able to tell Edward how you felt. You were far too shy. But maybe there was another way. One that spoke to Edward's more eccentric side.

*time skip Ed's POV*

          Ed cocked his head to the side when he noticed the pastry on his desk that morning. He would have thought it was mistakenly left there if not for the note with his name neatly written on top. As far as he knew, no one in the precinct liked him or even tolerated him enough to leave him a gift. He was wary as he set down his belongings and sat in his chair. Ed debated opening the note for a moment since he was often the butt of office pranks but something told him this was different. So he donned a pair of gloves(can't be too careful) and opened the note.

          Much to Ed's surprise, there was riddle written in green ink on the note. He read the card and a smile crept onto his face. Someone actually left him a riddle. It wasn't difficult for him to solve, but he was touched that someone had taken the time to do this for him. But who? His first thought, of course, was Ms. Kringle. But then he shook his head. She would never. Ed had no more time to ponder as he needed to get to work, but the question remained in his mind for the rest of the day. Who?

          The rest of the week, Ed came in to find a pastry and a riddle. Every day, it brought a smile to Ed's face. And every day, he continued to wonder who it was. He was smart and had narrowed it down to a couple of people. One of the officers that liked to poke fun at him. Maybe it was an elaborate prank. Or you. You were shy and quiet, but always smiled at him when he came into the records room. You seemed nice. Or at least, you tolerated him.

          Once that idea was planted in his mind, it wouldn't leave. Ed spent the weekend and much of the next Monday contemplating. He paid extra attention whenever you were in his line of sight. He often found your gaze straying to him, but you quickly looked away whenever you saw him looking. As the day went on, Ed was almost certain it was you leaving the riddles and pastries. The only way to know for sure though would be to catch you in the act.

          The next day, Ed came into work extremely early so he could hopefully learn whether his hunch was right or not. He waited out of sight around the corner from his workspace. Sure enough, he managed to catch sight of you entering the room, pastry box and note in hand. Ed rounded the corner and stood in the doorway as you turned around.

          You jumped and let out a little cry of surprise. "It was you," Ed stated. You looked like you might cry a little. "I'm sorry!" You moved to push passed Ed, but he gently touched your arm. "Why? Why would you do this for me? The food? The riddles? I figure out it was you leaving them, but I couldn't figure out why." You tilted your head in confusion.

          "Really? Ed, you're a genius. If you think about it for a moment, I'm sure you can make the connection." Ed nodded as his brows furrowed over his glasses. "The only reasons I could think were that you were just like the rest of them. Making fun of me." You shook your head immediately and Ed continued, "The other is that you have…feelings for me." Ed felt his face heat up as you bit your lip and looked down at your shoes. "Is it weird? It's weird isn't it? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Ed. Really." Once more, you tried to leave.

          "Please stop doing that," he said. You looked at him again. "Stop leaving before I get the chance to say anything." You sniffled a little bit. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough."          

"Would you-that is-would you like to go out? With me? I could cook for us," was Ed's only reply. Your eyes widened. "Really?" He smiled as a little chuckle left him. "Yes." The frown on your lips turned up into a brilliant smile as you agreed.

(a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for! I am working on the second part of "Dating is Hard (When a Hitman Loves You)" as well!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @sirkekselord @aikibriarrose @lady-of-lies @motleymoose @stories-by-shanna-p @dark-angel-is-back @esoltis280 @supernatural4life2022 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[divinekangaroo]

Hello! Occasionally, when on Tumblr, I'll come across arguments about how Lizzie was manipulating Tommy after Grace died/not taking the responsibility for Angel Changretta, which I don't really agree with, but it still got me thinking:

Since I'm pretty sure that Lizzie has always sought more (or different? the desire to fuck in a bed instead of over a desk?) intimacy from Tommy than he's tended to give her, and assuming that Lizzie is sort of the 'female reflection' of Tommy (which I also don't know if is valid), to what extent do you think Lizzie mightve strategized in order to be with Tommy?

Reworded questions:

Do you think that Lizzie has ever purposefully manipulated Tommy in order to get closer to him? Or was it really all/mostly Tommy giving her job/money/house?!?! Or something different? How like-minded is she to him?

Final/main question:

Do you think that Lizzie has ever strategized in a fashion similar to how Tommy uses strategies to get closer to certain people?

Sorry if that was a lot. :)

@coffeeatnight23

oh mannnnnnn this one is difficult.

First thoughts: there's such a knee-jerk reaction in me to go, 'of course she didn't ~strategise~' because my brain goes strategise=machavellian=perjorative/"bad". But then I recoil from that first thought and go, 'strategising in and of itself isn't BAD or EVIL, you could be strategising for your future, your career path, a 3 year road trip, etc, why the kneejerk reaction??' but I just spin my wheels trying to get out of this rut of preconditioned thinking: that of course women AREN'T allowed to strategise in any way when it comes to a man because that's so horribly typical, isn't it, so don't dare think it---

Trying to set all that emotional reaction aside...

Generally/broadly, I think Lizzie *does* strategise, but with a much shorter term horizon and more selfishly than Tommy. I get a sense that a huge part of Lizzie's upbringing, poverty, past trauma narrows her perspectives and views, almost to the extent she kneejerk-makes self-centred decisions because that's how she ensures that *her decision* is centred and she can benefit from the decision being made; if she lets other people sway her or take centre stage, then she will be the one hurt because of how the whole world would otherwise look down on her, discount/ignore her, or use her. She has none of the status, family support, leverage that Tommy ever did, and I think a certain 'do it for myself' stubbornness had to be developed in response to be able to push herself forward *alone* in a world that has no room for women without the usual power structures around her. Tommy, by contrast, is *mostly* making his decisions in the context of carrying forward larger family group rather than entirely selfishly. (If it were Lizzie/Grace, Lizzie would've took off with Grace in a delighted beat. With Tommy/Grace, of *course* Tommy stays for the family.)

The short term horizon, I think, tugs at me as both a similarity but also point of difference. Tommy has a long term vision, even if it's as grey and nebulous as "rich, wealthy, safe, accepted, no more humiliation, end the war, my children are safe, our children will never have to suffer this..." But he makes his shorter term decisions targeting the most gain in favour of this long term vision. (While this happens in every season, I feel like S6 shows this at its most ultimate/extreme broken end: he's making all these shorter-term decisions that hurt the people around him and hurt humself, that morally wound left right and centre, in favour of that vision.)

Lizzie, I feel like she has a similar sort of nebulousness about the future, but it's even greyer than Tommy. Her choice to take up prostitution to meet a short term immediate need without thinking of repercussions in that day and age, then the difficulty of trying to build a life detached from that decision; she recognises she needs to start a course and build some skills to be employable, but it seems a quite abstract and *young* thought, a sense of "all right, Liz, you got yourself into this, now get yourself out of it, no one else is gonna do it" without a specific line of thought as to where it might lead her. Possibly a strategy that as a secretary she might meet a husband? (Even in my day at uni, the numbers of women who still said they really only studied so they'd meet a whitecollar man instead of bluecollar...is that strategising? *shrugs* It probably is. So she probably did think something like that??)

And when confronted with an unexpected pregnancy, Lizzie makes the decision she won't terminate no matter what and that it's not Tommy's decision in any way (she reacted very interestingly when he raised this, almost an emotional lashout at him 'if you think that, you don't know me (and i don't know you if you intend to push this)'). She had to know that meant she was *probably* going to be a single mother, that she might get some sort of financial support from Tommy, but reputationally that would still be tough. I don't feel like there was any heavy *conscious* strategy beyond her emotional reaction that yes, she will be having this baby even with all that fuzzy uncertainty. She had to know by then Tommy would care for family, and probably wouldn't shun her/the baby or cut them off, but financial wellbeing doesn't solve all the other problems she'd be carrying as a single mother.

Compared to Tommy, I don't think Lizzie would ever consciously strategise to hurt someone else, or even strategise to put someone else down or knock them down. I feel like if she knew one of her decisions/plans would hurt someone that badly she'd probably change that plan or be very uncomfortable with it. I don't get much sense of maliciousness in her, even when she actively dislikes people like Diana and Mosley, she doesn't....do or say all that much, she just wants to be away from them. Now, Tommy doesn't go out of his way to cause collateral damage, but he accepts that damage is a likely or sometimes even certain consequence, including to his own, and proceeds anyway. (Even though that *also* hurts him)

So that's sort of...my thoughts on how 'like minded' they are in terms of how, structurally, they think about planning. Lizzie methinks is far more emotionally and selfishly motivated, with less of a long term horizon to her thinking. (I think there's something else likeminded about them, too, which is that I think they both wear some pretty fucking big sets of blinkers/filtered glasses, including with each other - they are quite blind about certain things and decisions.)

Then to the part of the question on...did Lizzie strategise to get closer to Tommy, I think on that emotional/self-centred level she probably did? I don't think she ever sat down and plotted a detailed twenty step seven year plan to marry Thomas Shelby, but every time she had a confrontational decision or pivotal decision point in her life, she always made a decision in a way that would keep her close to Tommy, to move more and more into his inner circle rather than out. Several times I think she also made these decisions at a point where it probably conflicted with her own moral/ethic set, but she pushed through because 'being there for/with Tommy' was more important to her than how she felt about it. So Tommy almost presents this interesting juxtaposition of the selfish/non-selfish decisionmaking: Lizzie acts to please one part of herself by making decisions that get her closer to Tommy, but she frequently makes those decisions with his wellbeing and needs above her own to her own detriment and hurt. Like at Epsom, for example, she absolutely could have walked away, but she did what he asked despite that it humiliated her, put her at threat of rape, and that she had to know it would end up with someone being hurt (that also wasn't her).

I think a huge part of her always making decisions to move closer to Tommy was motivated by genuinely liking Tommy and because he *does* reciprocate this liking *and* he is the one who offers those opportunities to move closer to him. All Lizzie does is a job, staying close, doing her job, staying close: *he's* the one who always offers more. She returned to him after the S1 humiliation; but he's the one who offered the secretary job, he's the one who gave her the numbers to the safe, he's the one who took her to the bridge, he's the one who would have had to offer marriage. Now, of course Lizzie's conscious that he also offers power, money, status, protection atop the liking. And as a woman on her own, why *wouldn't* Lizzie make those decisions to move closer to him? Even if nothing happened sexually or relationship wise she'd still benefit more than she would trying to do it alone?

But I do think, apart from 'stay close to this man I like and who seems to like me (and who's cool and interesting and upwards climbing and compelling and getting *really rich!*) ', Lizzie's 'strategising' is far more like a string of decisions made at points in time around opportunities that Tommy offers, rather than some long term targetted strategy on Lizzie's part. The S5 'my property' scene is an interesting one for Lizzie's words, too; she weighs her decision at a point in time to stay.

((It's interesting thinking about how many of Tommy's decisions were probably 'point in time' type decisions as well. Every time there's a fork in the road, does he take what appears to be the most likely path to get him to that nebulous ultimate aim? Or does he contrive a long pathway to get there? I mean, we see him strategise probably the most heavily and with the longest forward plan in S3 and even then he fucks it up with a bunch of hasty 'point in time' decisions. Even in S4 there's no super-long term strategy, it's a bunch of tactical desperate decisions made one after the other. Honestly, the gin distillery is the longest term strategic decision he made in S4: creation of a product line *for* export instead of just exporting for others! Everything else we see Tommy do on screen is pretty short term, a lot of high stakes short term decisions, rolling the dice, on the principle that it might leapfrog him closer to that end aim. (I imagine any movie will reframe the S6 decisions to show a much longer term play against Mosley, too, disrupted by the false terminal diagnosis...) So maybe Tommy is also not quite as machiavelian or a long term planner as it seems, either? It's just that Lizzie is motivated by staying close to Tommy and hence makes her point in time decisions by what appears to keep her close to Tommy; Tommy is motivated by that ambigious end-game and makes his point in time decisions in favour of that.))

[cottoncandyswirl828]

Zuma Appreciation Week: Day 2 - Favorite Friendship

I was super excited for this one because it gives me an excuse to talk about a friendship that is seriously underrated: Zuma and Coral! I get it, they don’t really have any scenes together, but come on, they’re the water pups! You cannot tell me these two aren’t besties. So, I’m going to take this opportunity to give these two the underwater adventure they deserve!

Zuma’s tail wagged in excitement as he looked over the railing of the Flounder into the deep blue waters of the bay, searching for any sign of his fish-tailed friend and teammate.

A splash in the water drew him to the other end of the boat, where he was met with a large splash that left him drenched in water.

“Hahaha, Coral!”

“What? I thought you liked getting wet.” The mer-pup giggled, kicking up more water with her tail.

“At least warn a pup next time.”

Zuma didn’t bother to shake off the water. Instead, he went ahead and jumped over the edge of the boat, diving into the water to join Coral.

“You ready for a nice mer-moon swim under the stars?” Coral asked.

“You know it!”

With a boop of their noses and a flash of light, Zuma was transformed into a mer-pup and dived beneath the waves to explore the underwater world Coral was lucky enough to call home.

Zuma laughed and cheered as he swam through the water, weaving around rocks and boulders like an impromptu obstacle course and admiring the colorful coral reefs and the sea life surrounding them.

“Ahh, there’s nothing better than spending a mer-moon night under the sea. There’s just so much to explore! I mean, the earth is 70% water, and only about 5% of it has been explored. It’s crazy how much we still don’t know about the ocean.”

“Only 5 percent?”

“Yeah, between the water pressure, extreme temperatures, and total darkness, it’s pretty difficult for the people on land to explore the deeper parts of the ocean. It’s no wonder most people thought mer-pups were just a legend.”

“Wow, I had no idea people on land knew so little about the ocean.” Coral looked to the surface of the water, where the Flounder was waiting to bring Zuma back to shore once he was finished with his underwater playdate.

“Wait here for a second.”

Coral quickly swam up to the surface and returned a moment later with two underwater cameras, handing one of them to Zuma.

“Come on! Let’s see for ourselves what’s out there in the deep sea. I bet the people on land would love to get some pictures of whatever is down there.”

Zuma’s face lit up with excitement, “That’s a great idea Coral! There’s a ravine not too far from here that Cap’n Turbot’s been trying to explore, but it’s too narrow for the diving bell. We can start there.”

Zuma led Coral further out to see where Cap’n Turbot had shown him the ravine. The dark crack in the ocean floor seemed to lead to an endless abyss of darkness, and as much as Zuma hated to admit it, it did scare him a little.

“Maybe we should’ve brought a flashlight.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” Coral assured. She swam to the sea floor and used a long stick to pick up a large reddish starfish with eight long, spiny arms.

“Hey, that’s a Novodinia Americana!” Zuma exclaimed.

“A what?”

“That’s the name for that species of starfish. And they can glow in the dark! Great idea, Coral.”

“Oh. I always just called him Jeff.”

The two shared a hearty laugh before venturing into the ravine, with Jeff lighting the way.

The deep sea trench seemed to transport them to a whole other world. The animals within were unlike any that Zuma had ever seen, and even the ones he was able to recognize from his deep sea books still felt alien to him. Clearly his books had failed to do the marine life justice.

“Woah. This is incredible.” Zuma breathed, watching a small school of Lanternfish swim by, snapping a few pictures before they swam off.

Coral took a photo of herself with Jeff alongside some deep-sea coral, “I know. I had no idea coral could grow this deep.”

“Really? I figured you’d know all about coral, Coral.” Zuma had to swerve to dodge the playfully thrown stone Coral had used as a response to his joke, “Hey! Don’t disturb the ecosystem!”

“Last I checked, you weren’t a part of this ecosystem. If anything, you’re an invasive species.”

“Said the pot to the kettle.”

“Touché.”

Suddenly, a strange rumble began to vibrate through the ravine, scaring off the wildlife and causing a few loose rocks to break away from the walls.

“What’s that?” Coral asked, her fur standing on end as she felt the ripples in the water.

“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound good. I think we should get out of here.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

As they began to make their way out of the depths, the rumbling and shaking seemed to get stronger, with bigger rocks beginning to come down.

“We better hurry, Zuma. I’ve got a bad feeling whatever’s making that sound is- AAHH!”

A long tentacle reached out from the darkness below and grabbed Coral by her tail, dragging her down along with Jeff.

“CORAL!” Zuma cried, racing back down after her. The ravine was almost pitch black without Jeff’s light, but Zuma could still see the faint glow and followed it down to the very bottom.

Jeff and his stick were resting on the sandy floor of the dark pit, but Coral was nowhere in sight.

“Coral! Coral, where are you?” Zuma called. He tried to use his pup-tag to call her, but they were too deep underwater for any signal to reach.

“Oh no… Coral! Can you hear me?”

There was no answer. Just as Zuma was considering returning to the surface to call for backup, the rumbling started again. Maybe it was just the dark ravine and his fear-filled mind playing tricks on him, but Zuma thought he saw strange shapes moving around in the darkness.

A tremendous shake sent large boulders tumbling down around him, and a large, looming shape emerged from the shadows. Zuma had half a mind to run away, or swim away in this case, but a few tentacles emerged from the darkness, just like the one that grabbed Coral.

Whatever this thing was, it took Coral, and he wasn’t about to leave her with it.

“Get back! Get back and let Coral go!” Zuma shouted, swinging Jeff wildly to try and scare the creature away.

“It’s okay, Zuma.” Zuma froze. That was Coral’s voice.

Coral emerged calmly from the darkness with the creature behind her.

“Coral! You’re okay!”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m fine. Sherman gave me quite the scare, though.”

The large creature came closer, close enough for Jeff’s light to reveal it as a giant squid.

“Zuma, this is Sherman. He lives here in the ravine. He only grabbed me because he was curious about us and Jeff’s light.”

“Oh. Uh, hi, Sherman.” Zuma waved his paw nervously, and Sherman gave a friendly tentacle wave in response. “I, uh, guess you’ve never seen light before since you live so deep underwater.”

Sherman nodded, moving closer to get a better look at Jeff.

“Well, next time you get curious, maybe just ask instead of grabbing my friend out of nowhere and dragging her into the darkness like some kind of horror movie monster.”

Coral laughed, “Hey, let’s take a picture with Sherman before we go. I’m sure Cap’n Turbot would love to see this.”

After taking a few shots of Sherman, and a group photo with Sherman and Jeff, the two mer-pups waved goodbye and made their way back up to the surface, emerging from the water near where the Flounder was stationed.

“I think we’ve done enough exploring for one night.” Zuma concluded, “But we should do that again some time; maybe we can find a shipwreck or an underwater cave to explore.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Coral handed Zuma her camera to give to Cap’n Turbot. “Guess I’ll see you next mer-moon. Tell Skye I said hi.”

“Will do. So long Coral, see you in the sea!”

“See you in the sea!”

[f1nalgirlz]

Omg can you do wjere like they hate each other yk and they're arguing and they end up making out and stuff? (Preferably with Euro but anyone you pick is good)

Yesss I love this in fics/books everytime i read itttt. I’m so excited to write this!!

DISCLAIMER: This is literally only about Rory’s portrayal of Euronymous.

Less aggressive disclaimer: this was not proofread! In the future I’ll go back and fix anything but yeahh..

˗ˏˋwarnings´ˎ˗ fighting, enemies to lovers (kinda), nsfw, swearing, public sex, aggressive sex

˗ˏˋcontents´ˎ˗ fem reader, nsfw, dom Euro, creampie, oral sex/blowjob (m receiving)

It had already been a long fucking day to say the least and it was still morning. The start had been rough on you, spilling a coffee on yourself, having to turn around and go all the way home to change. You’d had to change into a different shirt, leaving on the skirt and fishnets you’d had on before. Catching a ride proved difficult, so you had to walk to work, your bike & car alike both out of commission in one way or the other. By the time you finally made it to work, you were late. You absolutely dreaded days you were even a minute late to work, but a whole two hours late? You knew your boss would have a fit. You hated your boss as it was and you knew very well the feeling was mutual. You couldn’t place why he hadn’t fired you yet, his hatred of you was so blatant and the only reason you hadn’t quit is because you really needed this job.

As you finally made it to the doors of the record shop you worked at, a breath left your lips. You entered, face a little sweaty from the part walk part jog you took to get here. Your hair stuck to your face. As the bell on the door rang with your movements, your boss looked up at you from behind the counter. He was just reading a magazine, typical. His long black hair looked messy. “Two hours. New record.” He said sourly, causing you to roll your eyes. When you made it to the desk, you tossed your bag down behind it. “Y’know I’m not even gonna bother explaining why I’m late because I know you don’t care the trouble I’ve been through.” You said with a huff, walking off to start unpacking the new record shipments. “No, I obviously don’t give a fuck what ‘troubles’ you went through to get to work, but I’m your boss you owe me an explanation about why you can never fucking be here on time.” He said, a mocking tone crossing his voice when he repeated your words. You basically felt your skin burn as anger washed over you, you basically stomped to the side of the counter he was sat behind. Usually his bad attitude wouldn’t have set you off like this, but you were fed up with his treatment of you. “Shit happened, okay? At this point I don’t even care, you’re such a dick all the time just fire me! I’ll find a job somewhere else you’re so insufferable!” You yelled at him, extremely close to him now, causing him to narrow his eyes at you. You instantly regretted your words, it was just heat of the moment, you new you needed this job. “I didn’t mean that- I-” you started but faltered due to nerves. You were fully expecting to be fired on the spot, but you were utterly shocked when you felt a rough hand on the back of your head.

Euro was gripping your hair aggressively, pulling you to close the space between you two. His chapped lips moved harshly against yours and you couldn’t help but kiss him back. As much as you hated him, you couldn’t shake how much you were enjoying this, it made your brain swarm with a million thoughts. Your hands found their way around his neck, shoving yourself closer to him. The feeling of his body against your own made your mind go numb, any thoughts from before dissipating. As he pulled away from your, now red, lips a string of saliva connected the two of you. You barely had time to meet his gaze before he dove into your neck, kissing at first but quickly it turned to biting. You felt embarrassed at the wetness that seeped into your panties in response to how rough he was with you, the embarrassment extended to the way you moaned for him as he marked your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he slipped from his seat and pushed your back against the counter, finally looking at you. Your lips parted, you wanted to say something but what? You couldn’t even think of what to say. As you scanned his body, you noticed a bulge in his jeans, it seemed he was just as turned on as you were. “You wanna keep your job?” He asked, weirdly nonchalant. All you could do was nod as you felt his hand on the top of your head, pushing you down to your knees. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching as he undid his heavy belt. As his pants were undone and his underwear were pushed down, his cock sprang from them. You didn’t miss a beat, licking a strip from the base to tip. Your hands made their way to his thighs as you took his tip into your mouth, taking him in further until you felt the head on the back of your throat. Tears pricked your eyes as you bobbed your head, moving one hand to pump him occasionally. The uncomfortable feeling of your fishnets digging into your knees was long forgotten as you continued. Moans and curses from the man above you just encouraged you to keep going, tears from gagging making your eye makeup smudge and your own drool covering your chin making you feel dirty. The thought of what was going on right now made your cunt get even wetter.

Soon you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head, your mouth being pulled off his dick with a pop. Euro had pulled you off, as he began dragging you to stand up by your hair. He used his thumb to wipe your chin before turning you around, he shoved you down, bending you over the counter. Your cheeks burned as your hands clutched the edge of the counter. Your eyes drifted to the ‘open’ sign on the door as you felt him aggressively ripping open your fishnets. Embarrassment once again crept into you, yet the thought of someone walking by, or walking in, and seeing you taking your boss’s cock made your cunt drip. When Euro felt he’d sufficiently ruined your tights, he pulled your black panties to the side, using his knee to spread your legs more. “You’re such a slut you know that?” He whispered into your ear, sounding as grouchy as usual. Before you could get out a reply, a surprised moan slipped from your lips. He’d slammed his entire cock into you, not giving you any time to adjust to his size. You choked on another moan as he fucked you roughly, his hands holding onto your hips so tight you thought you’d have bruises by the end. In a way you were disappointed in yourself for sinking low enough to do this with the man you hate, but on the other hand, he was fucking you so well you couldn’t be bothered to care about your feelings about him. He groaned into your ear, sounds of your wet pussy and his hips hammering into you filled the store. It felt so good, your brain went numb, not being able to speak, just letting out moans as your eyes watered. You saw a few people walking by the tall glass walls of the store, had you been in the right mind, you would’ve felt absolutely humiliated, but at the moment you couldn’t feel anything except the pleasure your boss was giving you. As you felt one of his hands leaving your hip, you soon felt it rubbing tight circles on your clit. Completely giving in, you let your eyes roll back a series of lustful moans leaving your mouth as your hands gripped at the counter top. “You’re such a whore for me, taking my cock so greedily.” he groaned out. You couldn’t even form any words, it was like he’d fucked you completely dumb. Your body was on fire as you felt a familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach, soon a loud choked moan ripped through the air. Your body shook as your orgasm washed over you, Euro was quick to follow, not even bothering to pull out as he came deep inside your pulsating hole. When he pulled out, you couldn’t even stand up, leaning on the counter for support. Your body felt like it was throbbing, as you were coming down from your high the bell on the door was ringing, signaling that someone had just walked in, your heart sank. When you looked up and saw Faust looking at you with a somewhat awestruck expression, you wanted to sink to the floor and hide. Euro laughing pulled you out if your thoughts, as you turned your head and watched him finishing up bucking his belt.

This is so humiliating.

R: I hope you enjoyed! Sorry it’s a little all over the place I will go back and fix it later!! I’m also super sorry this took so long for me to get around to >~< tbh this is kinda ass but I’m willing to own up to being lazy & sick 🫡

[underforeversgrace]

by your grave (the monster we made)

title: by your grave (the monster we made)

Words: 4453

Chapter 1 of 5

Warnings: None!

Summary: Maddie knew Danny kept secrets, it was a topic they didn’t discuss. But when she sees scars she knows he couldn’t have, she knows she can’t keep pretending. She just needs to figure out those scars.

AO3

It’s strange, how small things, minor choices, a single brush can collapse your entire world. One action taken that changes your entire life. If another option had been chosen or something small missed, the outcome entirely different. Singular actions that fracture time into various streams, each with wildly varying results.

A normal day. It had been a completely normal day for Maddie Fenton. But isn’t that how most great tragedies start, too? A normal day before hell crashes directly into it?

“Danny, honey?” Maddie asked, knocking on her son’s door. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was there - he sometimes managed to completely disappear when his parents could’ve sworn he’d come home and never left.

“Yeah?” He called from his room, voice muffled by the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Maddie pushed open the door, grinning at her son as she did so, the room dim. He had grown so much in the last year, far more than Maddie had ever thought possible. Sure, teenagers tended to hit growth spurts, but whatever had changed with Danny hadn’t been entirely physical. She couldn’t quite place it but some instinct told her he had changed, had grown into himself.

“Do you still have any spare light bulbs up here? Apparently your father forgot to get them the last three times he went to the grocery store.” Maddie said, rolling her eyes playfully.

Danny laughed. “Maybe stop sending him to the store by himself?” He mused. “Anyway, I do think I have some up here.” He clicked on his desk lamp, so sudden and bright against the dimness that Maddie’s eyes narrowed. Impressively, Danny’s didn’t. He stood, reaching up over his head and opening one of the upper cabinets of his desk. A moment passed before he withdrew, half-full box of light bulbs in his left hand. He sat back down, propping his elbow up on the desk, under the desk lamp.

“Ta-da!” He said.

“Thanks, Sweetie!” Maddie said, standing beside him to ruffle his hair with one hand, leaning over to grab just one of the bulbs from the box. She nearly shivered at the nearness to her son, he always seemed so cold. There, leaned forward, with his arm directly beneath the bright light, a discoloration on his skin became clear. She jerked back away from him, though now that she had seen the discoloration - the scar - wrapping around his wrists and going all the way up his arm, dipping under the sleeve of his shirt, she didn’t know how she had never seen it before. It was absolutely massive in how far it branched, even if the lines were thin. It was like one of those optical illusions - extremely difficult to find at first but once you finally find it, you can never unsee it.

“Mom?” Danny asked beside her, looking at her in confusion. “You good?”

“Oops, sorry, dear, you’re not the only one who stays up too late at night sometimes!” In that moment, Maddie didn’t know why she lied, why she didn’t ask about the scar.

Apparently, he bought it, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, mom, I’m sure Amity can survive if you build your next weapon a day later than planned.”

That drew a laugh from her. “Better done early than late! We’ve gotten close to catching several ghosts - especially Phantom - so we’ve got to make sure the lab is ready for adequate containment!”

A look of fear shot across his face for just a moment, his face almost immediately smoothing into a mask of indifference. If Maddie hadn’t been so studiously studying him all of the sudden, she wouldn’t have even noticed it. Since when did talking about catching ghosts cause that look? “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms across his chest as he yawned. “Evil ghosts, destruction, blah, blah.”

This reaction to ghosts was familiar - disinterested and indifferent - at least. Maybe she’d just been seeing things when she saw fear, so focused on seeing if there was anything else she’d missed that she’d made things up to miss.

“I know, I know, our research bores you,” Maddie said, falling back to the familiar, friendly bicker. “Try not to stay up too late, alright?” She asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, more aware of the slight chill than she’d ever been before.

“What can I say? Not sleeping is apparently a familial trait. I get it from you.” He joked.

“Good night, Danny,” she said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her, her son giving an amused snort at the dismissal.

Her feet took her down to the kitchen, where Jack awaited, but her mind buzzed. Why did this interaction - normal and benign as it was - have her in such twists? Why had her instinct been to avoid mentioning her concerns to Danny? Why hadn’t she just asked about the scar? And why - when was used to his lower temperature - did it make her shiver to think about?

“Did he have one, Mads?” Jack asked, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked at the bulb in her hand, she had entirely forgotten about it, why she’d even gone to his room in the first place.

“Oh, uh, yeah, he had a few,” Maddie answered, holding the bulb out.

“That’s my boy, always prepared!” Jack said, grabbing the bulb from her and inserting it into the light fixture above them, the previous one already removed. She smiled as he did so, tall enough to not need a step stool like she would’ve. Sometimes the little domestic moments like this were the best - her and Jack doing something absolutely normal, her kids safe and sound on the floor above them.

That last thought made the smile slip from her face, dropping into a frown. “Jack, are we good parents?” She asked suddenly.

Jack, done with the bulb, looked at her in confusion. “Sure we are, Mads!”

She was looking at the floor as she said “Are you sure?”

“I mean,” Jack started, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. “I guess they get embarrassed by us sometimes? And Jazz says we can be oblivious. She’d call us out in a heartbeat if she thought we were being neglectful - she’s done it before when we would get too deep in our work and forget to make dinner.”

There was no ignoring the shame in her heart at that last comment. Their child shouldn’t have to remind her adult parents to feed them. “Jack, does Danny have a scar on his left hand?”

“Not that I know of. Except maybe the little knick from when fell on gravel when he was really young? Why? Maddie, is everything okay?”

Again, she held back her true thoughts. Maybe it really was just something else, a trick of the light while she’s tired? She really hadn’t slept much last night - they’d been putting the finishing touches on the new dissection table until pretty late. Still, there was an itch at the back of her brain.

“Everything’s fine, dear,” Maddie lied. “I guess I just realized how much Danny and Jazz have grown and felt like I had missed it.” Especially Danny. The whole family had skirted around his issues, never willing to bring it up, after the first few times they asked and he continued to refuse. His grades, his attendance, his curfew. It was an elephant they all refused to further acknowledge, choosing to chase the ghostly ferret instead.

Jack pulled her into a crushing hug - thankfully, her ribs had long since gotten used to being squeezed too hard - and kissed the top of her head, auburn hair loose. “We’ve made some fine kids, Mads. This is the reward, painful as it is - we raise them well so they can thrive even once they leave here.”

Maddie rested her head against Jack’s chest, inhaling the comfortable scent of him - the rubbery scent of the hazmat suit mixed with his earthy cologne. “I suppose you’re right. I guess if I wasn’t worried if I was doing it right, then I wouldn’t be doing it right.”

He ran a hand through her hair, though the crush of his hug did not decrease as he held her with one arm instead. “This is the best we can hope for. Strong, smart kids, kind to a fault. We succeeded in raising them ready to face the world beyond us - and at least we didn’t make monsters of them.”

“Monsters?” Maddie asked, her breath temporarily hitching.

“Y’know - selfish, rude people. People who harm others for fun. That kind of monster.”

“Oh,” she said. “I guess you’re right. There are no monsters we made.”

~~~~~~~

Maddie tossed and turned in her bed for hours when she finally went to lie down, sleep refusing her. Jack slept easily beside her, snoring in a nearly comical way. Her head felt both empty and too full - thoughts she didn’t fully understand evaporating to mist as soon as she tried to concentrate on them. It was already nearly dawn when she managed to fall into that facsimile of sleep - where time slowed and the body relaxed but true rest lingered at the edge of consciousness.

When her alarm sounded, she slammed her hands on it to turn it off, pushing herself into a sitting position. Sunlight flooded through the open curtains, bathing the entire room in a pleasant golden glow. This was her favorite time of day - the world silently awaking as the sun rose. It was a peaceful time to her, it always had been. But the peace she always knew at dawn slipped from her.

Something was going on with her son. Something had been for a long time. Maddie was determined to find out, no longer willing to chase distractions that hurt less. He wouldn’t tell them himself, they’d already hit that roadblock so many times, so there was no point in asking him. It had something to do with that scar, a scar she couldn’t place but seemed familiar.

Ideas spun in her head as she made her way downstairs, plans and theories formulating and dissolving as she thought. Automatically, she began to make breakfast - a much larger one than usual. Ever since Danny had left middle school, Maddie had fallen out of the habit of cooking in the mornings, leaving the kids to fend for themselves, typically with cereal.

Soon, the house began to move, her family drawn by the smell of sizzling bacon. Maddie studied her family, smiling at all of them, their personalities evident even just here. Jazz was fully dressed, hair brushed, proper and ready to go. Jack had a new hazmat suit on, but stubble prickled on his chin, hair still mused sleepily. And then there was Danny. He was still in wrinkled pajamas, hair pointing every which way, much more erratic than his usual controlled chaos of a hairdo.

Again, the joy of simple domesticity surrounded by those who love you and you love in return. Idle chatter was exchanged over breakfast, meaningless nothings that would fade from memory as soon as the topic changed.

Jazz was the first to finish, placing her plate in the sink and leaving, wanting to get to school as early as possible to use the library. Jack followed soon after, heading up the stairs to finish preparing for the day. Throughout it all, Maddie glanced at Danny’s left arm, looking for the scar again, trying to see how far up it went, if it went into the short sleeve of his shirt or stopped below. She couldn’t see it, though. She was confused. Had it really been a trick of the light? Had she seen something that wasn’t there?

Danny pushed his empty plate forward, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Maddie stood, taking both her and his empty plates, setting them in the sink.

“Thanks, mom! That was really good!” Danny said, giving her a lopsided grin.

“No problem, dear.” She said, returning the smile in a way she hoped seemed genuine.

“Oh, shoot, is that really the time?” He asked, frowning at the clock on the wall. “I gotta get ready!” He said, jumping from the seat.

“Wait!” Maddie called, stepping forward and grabbing at his left wrist. He tensed at the sudden contact, only relaxing partially after a few moments, turning to look at her.

“Is everything okay?” He questioned, studying her face, frowning in confusion.

“Uh…” Maddie faltered, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t I thought you had a scar and now I think I’m losing my mind. “I just wanted to give you a hug.” She decided on, pulling his wrist gently to bring him closer.

He complied, letting her wrap her arms around him, hugging her back. “Is everything okay?” He repeated as she partially released him.

Doing her best to make it look like a casual move, Maddie smiled and pulled back from him, holding both of his upper arms, squeezing softly in what she hoped felt like a normal, parental squeeze of reassurance.

“You’re just growing up on me, that’s all. My little baby isn’t a baby.”

Danny rolled his eyes at her, but a smirk did settle on his face and the rest of the tension left his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, lifting his left hand and waving her off absently.

That’s when she saw it again, saw it a little more fully. It seemed to originate on his palm, lightning-like patterns branching up his arm, very thin lines, very barely visible. Some branches did go under his sleeve. No wonder he had been able to hide it for so long, if she had to be this close to see it, had to know the discoloration to look for. She had just gotten lucky last night when the too bright, too white light of Danny’s desk had thrown it into stark relief for that short moment.

“I love you, Danny.” She said, unwilling to risk studying the scar too obviously. This was the key to whatever was wrong, she could feel it in her bones, and she didn’t want him to know she was looking into it. Not yet. Not until she knew.

“I love you too, mom.” She had to strain to hear it, but there was something in his voice that she couldn’t place.

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “I will always love you.”

He smiled, pushing her hands off of him, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, mom. You’ll always love me or whatever.”

Bitterness. It was bitterness she heard in laced undertones. She suddenly felt like cracked glass in too much heat.

She allowed him to push her off, though she did ruffle his hair some. When had he gotten as tall as her?

“And don’t ever forget it, young man. Go on, have a good day at school!”

He waved at her and disappeared up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, the smile slipped off her face and she went down to the lab, needing to hide so he couldn’t see her when he came back down.

Maddie settled carefully into the seat at her desk, trying not to shatter. Bitterness. Why would he be bitter when she said she loved him? Did he think she was lying? Loved him but not enough? She remembered how he’d tensed so hard when she grabbed him. Did he fear her? She knew he was hiding something, that much was obvious, an open secret no one mentioned. 

Was he afraid she wouldn’t accept him if she knew his secret? She’d heard of that with LGBTQ youth, but surely he didn’t think she’d reject him? She didn’t care about that, she just wanted happy children. And if one of them liked the same gender or both or none at all, she’d support them in whatever made them feel right. Did he not feel like a boy? She’d be fine to have two daughters or a child outside of the binary, she’d help them in whatever they wanted if a transition was needed to help their exterior match their interior.

She just wanted her children alive and happy. Jack wanted the same, both of her children knew that. Right?

She tried to remember conversations they’d had about acceptance and love, about living fully so long as you didn’t hurt someone else. There were a few from several years ago, all when Danny was probably less than ten. Danny was awfully close with both Sam and Tucker. Maybe he was bi and they were all dating and were embarrassed?

No, no, it had to be something else. Being LGBTQ didn’t fit everything, though it could still possibly be a facet in a secret he was more afraid of. But the grades, the cutting class, the broken curfews. If it were Sam and Tucker, they would’ve been told by now that those two ditched with Danny. There were a few times they’d both even tried to cover for Danny, Lancer had said.

Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at some tangles. She’d really thought she’d had something there, but it didn’t fit. Didn’t fit his behavior.

Didn’t account for the scar.

When did he get that scar? What kind of injury caused a scar like that? She had a vague recollection of seeing something like that, once, but she couldn’t remember where or why it had come up. She stared at her hands, though they didn’t whisper the answer to her. Her thoughts ran in circles - she needed to figure out the scar, she needed to remember where she’d seen it before so she could get its name, she needed its name to figure out the scar. The cycle continued uselessly, a dull headache building behind her eyes.

Distraction. She needed a distraction. It was a common thing - remembering something you’d forgotten by forgetting you needed to remember it.

Maddie’s eyes scanned the lab, everything cast in the green glow from the portal. Eventually, she settled on a half-finished invention on Jack’s desk. They were hoping that if they programmed their weapons to ignore Danny before they finished building it and powering it up with ectoplasm, the devices would stop pinging him as a ghost. They were running through every half-assed, unproven theory to try to stop Danny from being targeted. Current theory said that ectoplasm had ‘memory,’ so preventative measures had to be loaded in before the ecto-based power source. This invention didn’t even do anything except emit smoke when it detected a ghost within five feet, it was solely for testing this method to exclude Danny from their detection. So, for now, it was powered with a strong battery.

They knew it was probably the ecto-contamination he’d gotten when the portal shocked him when it had suddenly turned on that caused the weapons to target him and there was nothing to be done for that. Ecto-contamination was much like radioactivity - it had a half life and had to fade on its own, and its half life was hundreds of years, as best they could calculate.

Maddie looked at some free wires under the external casing. She popped the casing off, rewiring them to change their connections. A short prick of pressure flashed in one of her right fingers and she swore. Thank heavens for her suit, that kind of feeling was caused by a shock of electricity arcing towards her, which the suit was designed to prevent.

Hours passed as she worked with the Stop Targeting Danny Fentonetron (Jack named it), but the name of that scar continued to elude her. Jack circled in and out of the lab periodically throughout the day, but didn’t interrupt her, just as she wouldn’t have him.

He was down there when she finished the device.

“Okay, Jack,” she said, turning to where he was playing a game on his computer, “I think I’ve got this ready to go, just needs the ecto-battery inserted.”

“That’s great, Mads! It’s almost time for dinner, want to test it there?”

Looking at a clock, Maddie realized Jack was right. She’d been down here nearly twelve hours. Oh well. Wasn’t like it was the first time either of them had done it.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’m going to head upstairs and get dinner started, then.”

“Sounds like a plan to me! Just make sure to keep the ecto-battery far away from the Stop Targeting Danny Fentonetron until it’s time.”

“I know, dear,” she agreed, halfway to the door before she paused and added, “we really need to give this thing an easier name.”

He chuckled, returning to his game, and Maddie started back towards the kitchen. Once there, she sat the device on the table and began whipping up some food. Jack had gone shopping yesterday (thus the forgotten bulb and small avalanche of fudge) so all the food was still ecto free.

When the casserole in the oven had less than five minutes left, Jazz and Danny came through the front door, arguing about something in low voices. As soon as they saw Maddie in the kitchen, however, they both silenced, Danny throwing an irritated glare at Jazz, who pretended not to notice. Ah, at least this will always be normal. Jack, probably hearing the movement, joined them as well.

“Hi, kids!” She called, grabbing plates from the cupboard.

“Hiya!” Jazz said, overly cheerful.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Hey, mom.”

“C’mon, dinner’s almost done.”

The kids moved in their familiar ways - Jazz going for the cups in the cupboard, Danny going to pull the drinks from the fridge. Maddie smiled, though that was quickly wiped away when the anti-ecto blaster defense in the fridge triggered, Danny jumping to the side with a yelp.

“I thought you guys dismantled that!” Jazz yelled.

“We did?” Maddie said, coming out as a question more than a statement.

“Heh. Oops.” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Like father, like son. “I thought it was broken and fixed it today.”

Jazz looked at her father furiously, then kneeling next to her brother. “You okay?”

“’m fine.” Danny said through gritted teeth, hunched over and holding his stomach. “Didn’t dodge fast enough.”

Shame blossomed in her chest painfully. What kind of child should ever have to say that? Would need to dodge weapons within their own homes? How often did Danny need to jump out of the way from surprise weapons? Did he have to live his life in constant anxiety, waiting for the next malfunctioning attack?

“Lemme see, Danno,” Jack said softly, kneeling on the side opposite Jazz.

Danny glanced at Jazz, who gave a barely perceptible nod. At the angle they were at Jack couldn’t see the fear that painted Danny’s face briefly. But Maddie could. Her shame felt like a physical thing in her chest, on her chest, trying to crush her. Another small thing that she should have seen the first time it happened. Was she really that oblivious? Were her and Jack really that horrible of parents?

Danny let go of his stomach, red staining his hand. His shirt was burned through, as was the patch of skin beneath it. Jack looked at it in guilt. Maddie was cursing Danny’s ecto contamination internally - he had a high enough level to make him susceptible to their weapons, thus their desperation to get the inventions to just stop firing at him in the first place.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Jazz said, leaving the kitchen, her footsteps could be heard hurrying up the stairs.

“I am so sorry, Danno, I forgot that we dismantled it,” Jack said, a tear dropping down his face.

“Hey, dad, it’s alright,” Danny said in a soothing voice. “Accidents happen.” He reached out to pat his dad on the shoulder with his not-bloody hand, though he was looking down at his stomach, applying pressure back to the wound. Jack’s eyes widened and Maddie realized it was Danny’s left hand he’d reached out with. He’d noticed the scar she’d mentioned to him the previous night, too. He locked eyes with her and Maddie shook her head.

He nodded. “Thanks, Danny. I really am sorry. I won’t forget again.” Jack said, grinning down at his son.

“Why does it take him getting shot for you to remember, though?” Jazz asked as she stepped back into the kitchen, white first aid kit in hand.

Maddie opened her mouth to answer but just let out a strangled breath. Jack was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.

“Jazz, it’s fine, drop it,” Danny said. “Can you move, dad?”

Jack looked at his son then his daughter then back to his son, but he did move further away.

Jazz knelt down at her brother’s injured side, popping open the kit. “Just because this isn’t the first time doesn’t make it okay, Danny!” Jazz hissed, so low Maddie barely heard her.

“Drop. It.” Danny shot back just as lowly, a hard edge to his tone.

Maddie watched as Jazz pulled out what she needed - burn cream, gauze, adhesive. There was no hesitation in her hands, no moving stuff around to find what she needed. Jazz knew what she was doing, had clearly gone through this before, more than once as Maddie noted that Jazz’s hands didn’t shiver with anxiety.

Danny sat there patiently, occasionally hissing in pain as Jazz patched him up.

That wasn’t a normal reaction. It just wasn’t. There was no way that he’d been struck that many times by the house! And it had to be various wounds fairly often, based on how little he reacted, how quickly Jazz jumped to action. Had the bullying gotten bad again? Danny had said it’d eased up.

It was then the oven beeped, making everyone except Danny jump. Maddie hurriedly pulled on oven gloves and pulled the food out before it had the chance to burn.

“Alright, I’m done,” Jazz said, dumping the unneeded parts into the trash can, a bloody piece of gauze included.

“I’m changing.” Danny said, getting to his feet and quickly retreating to his room.

Jazz went to the sink, cleaning her hands of her brother’s blood. Maddie and Jack seemed frozen, looking at each other. It was then Maddie realized her nor Jack had tried to take over the situation. Jazz had done it and they had allowed her to be in charge.

Jack pointed with his eyes to the lab. Maddie nodded and pointed hers towards the clock. Twenty years of marriage helped you get a pretty good sense of each other’s thought processes. They’d meet in the lab, he’d said. After dinner, she’d said.

[diet-static]

pressure oc that’s been running around in my head :3 kinda a wip but yea

(and suggestions!)

Z-314 - it/its

- Urbanshade human experiment meant to give humans advanced healing.

- Been injected with DNA strands from octopi, jellyfish, sea stars, and crabs. (moreso candidates, this’ll probably get narrowed down)

- When extremely stressed or hurt, limbs similar to any of the creatures combined with its DNA may sprout from random locations on its body.

- After spending so long in Urbanshade’s containment and being so disfigured by the DNA injected into it and that DNA’s effects, Z-314 lost the feeling of being human at all. It sees itself as a horrific monster, but excuses the fact that this is Urbanshade’s doing with the reasoning that Urbanshade only meant to strengthen it and that the scientists working with it give it much more than it deserves.

- Since it feels the food and shelter Urbanshade gives it is much more than it deserves, it often feels the experiments done on it, no matter how painful or cruel, are merely payment for anything Urbanshade gives it. This can also lead to it eating less if it feels it's messed up in some way or if something it did angered a scientist.

- Often keeps to itself, not wanting others to have to see it, let alone deal with any of its problems.

- Goes to any lengths to do what is asked of it, especially if the request comes from someone positively associated with Urbanshade.

- Stayed in its containment a while after the blacksite was destroyed, at first out of fear, but later believing staying put would make it easier to find it. It eventually left in search of food and saw the remains from the many deaths of operatives attempting to recover the crystal, and decided to find a way out on its own after realizing how dangerous and difficult it would be for it to rely on operatives getting it out.

i also have a few quotes i think describe it very well (taken from tiktok, i don’t remember the authors, so lmk if you happen to recognize them)

- “you could give away pieces of your flesh and still be called selfish for wanting to keep your bones”

- “you cannot save me. i was not made for anyone to hold.”

[theyareweird]

Vampire Knight: Senri Shiki's Yandere for Kianna Komori — Aesthetic Part 10 (Requested)

Mysterious Intentions

Maku approached his desk in the classroom. His stride was smooth, but rigid. "Good afternoon, class..." Maku politely greeted in a blunt tone. "Before we begin, I have an announcement". He began. Maku's silver-blue eyes were as dull as Kianna's amber colored eyes.

Since Senri had learned their ethics teacher is Kianna's biological father, he had been analyzing Maku's behavior to compare and contrast him to her. It was clear Kianna is practically a copy of her father. They both come across as cold and emotionless, but Senri was certain Maku had a soft side deep down towards those he cares about... Much like his Sweetheart.

"We have a new transfer student joining us today. Please welcome him". Maku said, gesturing towards the classroom door.

Under the doorframe was a young man dressed in the immaculately clean and neatly pressed school night class uniform. His purple eyes purposely avoided the classroom of unfriendly red eyes staring back at him. "Hi, my name is Azusa Mukami". He timidly greeted. "I was informed by the Headmaster this entire class is formed of Aristocrat Vampires or higher... If that's true, I hope you’ll accept me into your ranks as I do come from a wealthy family despite being a Rank C Vampire". Azusa said in a low voice. Unfortunately, his manner of speech was incredibly slow as he spoke to everyone's dismay.

Although the class was silent, everyone was certainly stunned by this new kid’s lack of a filter. "A commoner"? Ruka hissed under her breath.

Akatsuki frowned at this. He stood by Ruka's desk with his arms crossed. "What's with his guy"? Akatsuki grumbled, turning his attention onto Kaname.

The Pureblood Vampire was sitting in a padded chair off to the side of the room. He was resting his fist onto his cheek with his legs cross. Kaname's mahogany eyes were fixated on the new student. Azusa's extremely pale complexion stood out against the white formal suit-like attire. Kaname narrowed his eyes upon spotting the noticeable scar on the bridge of Azusa's nose along with another scar on the lower bottom of this left cheek. The white vest and black dress shirt the commoner wore couldn’t hide the bandage around his neck.

"Welcome, Mr. Mukami". Kaname greeted with a forced smile. "I do hope you will behave yourself while attending this academy". He warned.

Azusa politely nodded. "I will if it means I get to see my Alice. I found out she's here". He replied.

Rima tilted her head to the side. "There's no one by that name here..."

Ruka rolled her eyes. "He must be referring to someone in the Day Class". She pointed out in an uninterested tone.

Kaname sighed at this. "Mr. Mukami, I do hope you are not implying you plan on breaking a school rule already".

Maku then spoke up and said "Don’t make your first week more difficult by mingling with a Day Class girl. It's prohibited for classes to socialize outside of crossover or school events".

Azusa heavily sighed. "How disappointing". He said softly, making his way up the staircase. Azusa then approached Senri's desk and slid in beside him. "Do you mind if I sit here"? He shyly asked.

"Why bother asking if you're just going to sit"? Senri questioned.

"So rude". Rima added, looking down at Azusa from the desk behind them. The adolescent's blue-green colored hair either fell to his chin, or the curly mess stuck out all over the place. Despite Azusa claiming he has wealth, he certainly didn't look the part to Rima.

"Sorry". Azusa apologetically said. He was purposely avoiding eye contact with everyone, yet he insisted on doing whatever he wanted.

Senri exhaled in an attempt to let the matter go. He then leaned back in his chair and proceeded to steal glances at the new guy. At the corner of his eye, Senri noticed the sleeves from Azusa's white blazer barely concealed the bandages peeking out from his wrists. This guy certainly wasn't mentally stable.

After class, everyone returned to the Moon Dormitory. Some students went straight to their rooms. Others decided to hang outside. Senri instantly zeroed in on Kianna in the lounge area of the grande opulent foyer. She was sitting at the end of a velvet sofa, leaning over a coffee table where her homework was laid out. Normally, Kianna would do homework in her room, but she thought this would be a good change of scenery.

Considering there were many night class students wandering around, Senri instinctively plopped himself beside his girlfriend and protectively drapped an arm over the back of the chair. He liked the idea of silently claiming his territory. With simple actions, the other vampires knew not to mess with his lover. Senri then leaned into Kianna's ear and whispered, "I can help if you want".

Kianna straightened her posture. "I'm good". She flatly replied, flipping over the next math worksheet. Kianna truly meant that. She was actually good at mathematics.

Takuma was sitting close by with a manga in his hands. He flashed the couple a beamming smile and said "Senri, you're so cute with Kianna"!

Senri blushed in response. "Oh, brother"! Hanabusa scuffed, rolling his eyes as he walked by.

Rima was walking in the opposite direction as the blonde vampire. "No one asked you, Aido". She tisked, approaching the group.

Suddenly, Azusa followed in suit until he stood across from Senri and Kianna. "Good afternoon, Alice! It's nice to see you again". He politely greeted with a smile.

"Huh"? Ruma hummed. She then blinked down at Kianna from behind the sofa. She was preoccupied with her homework to acknowledge anyone. To attract her attention, Rima tapped her shoulder and asked, "Do you know each other"?

Kianna then tilted her head up from her worksheet and locked eyes with the vampire across from her. "Azusa..." She gawked. He was the last person she expected to see at Cross Academy. "Good afternoon..." Kianna said in her usual emotionless tone.

Senri stiffened beside his girlfriend. According to Maku, Azusa just recently enrolled. Noting Kianna isn't part of the night class, he was oblivious as to how they knew each other. Especially since this guy was a vampire of all things. Senri remembered everything Kianna told him about her past last night. Keeping all of this in mind, it bothered him how this guy could have bitten his girlfriend.

"Oh! You do know each other". Takuma said with a smile.

Rima then pushed out some poky sticks from their box. The pink coatted biscuits smelt of strawberries. She then held out a stick to Senri and Kianna. Senri threw his head back and bit the poky stick in between his teeth. Kianna simply took the candy from Rima's hand and stuck it between her lips.

"What's with the pet name"? Rima asked, taking a poky stick for herself.

Senri closed his eyes upon hearing Rima's question. He didn't have a problem with her asking this on his behalf. Senri was quite curious himself, but he didn't want to appear like a possessive and jealous boyfriend... Even though he secretly was.

Kianna shrugged. "He started calling me that after he caught me reading, 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'".

Azusa then averted his purple eyes to the floor. He was shyly fidgeting with his hands as he stood. "I thought it was a cute nickname to call my girlfriend". Azusa replied.

"What"? Senri, Rima and Takuma chorused.

Requested: @nunezs-stuff

[icharchivist]

Square really had no faith in this game doing well if they didn't frontload it with popular characters, huh

Honestly that's the feeling i get.

I will forever remember this interview before the Remake came out of one of the main dev of the game (who had gone on record saying he Hated Zack btw -- i still have the magazines with this interview in it!!! bc the guy was the guy focused on Sephiroth and the Zack plotline replaced his initial plot) was talking about "we know fans are looking forward to go back to their favorite, like Cloud, Sephiroth and Zack, and i hope the remake will make them appreciate to see their favs again who have left such an impact on people", and it raised fucking red flags to me because in what circumstances are those the characters you narrow down from ff7, especially THIS GUY. Especially when the game OPENS on Aerith.

Genuinely red flags that they were genuinely worried about how the game would do without those three being there despite the fact Sephiroth and Zack couldn't be there if they followed the plot of the OG

Like i think they were caught in a contradictory set up of, they knew fans liked the setting of Midgar, and would love to see it expended, so they wanted to focus the remake entirely on the first Midgar parts of the OG.

Midgar parts that are *not that long*, so to make it a coherent game, you'd need a lot of padding.

While ALSO the fact the Midgar part plot is extremely tight in term of timing, this is where the game is at its most linear, so it's not like there's a lot of room in the narrative of the OG itself to insert supplementary content.

while ALSO the fact that the most memorable things of the game, (aside perhaps from Wall Market that even people who never played the OG knew about because of all the memes and stuff) are ways later in the game.

Sephiroth is a legendary villain, everyone knows his iconography, if you saw him in KH or Dissidia or like that Smash Bros Trailer, would expect a couple of things about him. But all of those itterations of Sephiroth came from Late Game Sephiroth.

But Sephiroth was legendary because of the frankly unsettling slow burn they do to reveal him, to show you the extend of his power, and showing how slowly he eventually gets to pay attention to the main group. The threat of Sephiroth comes from the unsettling way he's set up, but everyone in pop culture knows bits of Late Game Sephiroth.

And as his whole thing was a slow built, he doesn't appear at all in Midgar. He gets mentioned in some conversations in ways that only makes you think there's a shared past going on, then you see the aftermath of his crimes, and it's only once you leave Midgar that you then get to hear Cloud's flashbacks about Sephiroth, and even much more later that you actually meet him.

And Sephiroth's biggest move is a way he will start to manipulate Cloud slowly but surely in a way that that is difficult to explain but require also the slow built the OG made. I think like. The thing about the beginning of the OG is that lots of Cloud's mental breakdown has nothing to do with Sephiroth (or at least not Sephiroth as he in right now, at best it's from memories). So once the Sephiroth stuff enter the pictures you kinda get to freak out because you dismissed Cloud's mental breakdowns as just this kind of weird thing but it's fine right? into seeing how the line between "mental breakdowns out of memories" and "mental breakdowns because Sephiroth is influencing him" start to blur.

This line never existed in the Remake because almost every single time Cloud has a break down, Sephiroth appear to be ominous. lol. lmao even.

then we also have Zack. Poor Zack. A mystery that is built through the entire OG, passing mentions and seeing Cloud barely flinch, and how it's his existence that ends up used in a way that triggers Cloud so badly it triggers the apocalypse. In a way the player also gets to follow the horror of Cloud losing his mind because you never left Cloud's point of view when Zack is concerned and all the reveals will hit you just as hard.

but Zack is legendary because of what this reveal tells you about his character. He was already beloved before the prequel even came around because of how just what you could connect once you knew what to look for. And then the prequel came out and Zack became one of the most popular character from the whole FF saga. because he's charming and fun and tragic.

But it doesn't happen before the late part of the game. So what do you do now? Square decided to just reveal him from the start instead of realizing people have been obsessed with Zack for years because of the way his absence is built.

One of the most well known scene is also the Major Character Death, considered a death of legend. In the game it is built to it slowly because of what the character it involves grow into the more they learn into this journey. In the remake they already lampshade all of this in a way the character sound a lot more self important than they were at this point.

and all of that for what?? i'm near the end of the game and no matter what it still seems unfinished as hell. I don't get the feeling i got a whole game experience that maybe could have a follow up, i feel like i played an overlong first part of a game with a weirdly stitched on ending.

because they couldn't trust the fans would follow and they had to rewrite a whole main plot to change things.

*bites fist and screams* seems like i'll die mad about it huh. man.

[runicmagitek]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Oh my goodness, this is so sweet, anon 🥺 I've been having a rough weekend and feeling really self-conscious about my ability/worth as a writer, so this was well-timed and genuinely made me smile. Thank you for sending this!

Ho boy, it's tough to narrow down the to my top five favorite fics, because I have a lot of fics. I love all of them for one reason or another, so this is difficult lol. That said, here's my attempt at a top five, in no particular order.

What Leads You Here A post-canon deep dive into Keitaro's and Natsuno's trauma and how they mourn what they lost and learn to heal and move on together. It picks up immediately where the game ends and explores numerous things I love, from worldbuilding to slice-of-life interactions to delicious angst to heavy hurt with equally heavy comfort. I'm really proud of how I was able to write and edit and post a 214k fic within roughly two years. I put a massive amount of research into this along with using a lot of my own personal experiences and am REALLY happy that those who stuck around til the end thoroughly enjoyed the ride. This story will always have a special place in my heart.

The Lies We Tell Ourselves It's very difficult for me to talk about this fic without ruining the entire game. But I came up with this idea and wrote/edited it within roughly four days?? Like it possessed me and I couldn't focus on anything else until I wrote it. BJ and his journey is extremely heartwrenching and just thinking about what he might have come across and how he handled any of that (or didn't) felt like a story worth exploring. It also has some of my favorite lines I've written in recent years, especially the second to last scene.

The Wings That You Burn Holy shit, I cried a lot when I worked on this fic. It's a Celes-centric fic from Sabin's POV during the start of World of Ruin. I love VI, but in retrospect, I wish Celes was given more time to heal after everything that happened at the Solitary Island. And with Sabin being one of the first people she finds, he's the perfect character to remind her she deserves to live, no matter what.

Burning Bright Yet another fic that made me cry while working on it (this is a trend - I love me some angst). I love Steiner and his friendship with Vivi and (much like Celes in VI) I was really sad there wasn't any like, touch base with Vivi after everything that happened with Black Waltz 3 and the South Gate incident. Trauma and healing are core themes that keep cropping up in my stories, which probably says a lot about myself more than anything lolsob but honestly, I really love seeing characters support one another, despite it all. And I'm genuinely thrilled so many readers said this felt like a missing scene straight out of the game, too.

Long Journey Home You guessed it - this fic also tore out my heart while writing it. There's a reason it's tagged as "sad with a happy ending". Kentucky Route Zero is such a profoundly tragic game and exploring the possibilities of Ezra's past in this fic really hit close to home for me. That and weaving in magical realism and devising fantastical situations were such a fun challenge. This also contains my favorite passage I've ever written (and I very clearly remember needing to get up and walk off the feels for at least five minutes after I wrote this damn line):

She patted his head, much like how he patted the dog’s head. When she left, Ezra stayed and listened to the water carry them elsewhere. He thought of the people he met and those who stayed and those who didn’t and if anyone ever cried for the ghosts of who he used to be.

[eric-cartman-my-beloved]

What are some of your favorite episodes?

Well, I wasn't really sure how many episodes I could pick for this ask, so I chose seven. South Park has a lot of great episodes, so it was actually difficult for me to narrow them down.

Let's begin:

No 1:

I'm gonna be very basic and go with the obvious choice:

"Scott Tenorman Must Die"

I think it's pretty self-explanatory why. It has Eric, it has Scott (I love these boys), it has Eric singing about being a piggy, it shows how evil and messed-up he can be, it's very funny - what more could I want from an episode?

No 2: "Cartman Joins Nambla"

This was the first episode of South Park I watched that actually made me cry from laughter as I was watching. While I love Eric being cunning and manipulative, his innocence during the earlier seasons is very precious. It was just so adorable how he wished for mature friends so badly that he couldn't see what those men really wanted to do with him. (Fortunately he realized before it was too late though.)

Also, I'm never getting over that scene in the hotel where the men were chasing the kids across the hallways and the rooms. Simply hilarious.

No 3: "Put It Down"

This is one of those episodes that you can't help but like because it has a little bit of everything. A bit of Heiman, a bit of Creek and a bit of commentary. There's something in it for everyone.

Plus, I believe it's one of the episodes that shows perfectly how toxic Eric and Heidi's relationship is, and as a Heiman fan, that's something I love.

(Besides, have you seen Eric's black little hoodie that he wears in this?? How can anyone not like the episode?)

No 4: "The Death Of Eric Cartman"

There's plenty to love about this episode. Humor? Check. Great plot? Check. Eric? Check. Cartters? Check.

I really love how the kids left Butters out of their plan to ignore Eric, so he immediately believes him when he tells Butters he is a ghost and gives him no choice but to help him. Their friendship/relationship in general in the older seasons was something unique.

(Also, Scott making a small cameo is certifiably in this episode's favor for me.)

No 5: "Ginger Cow"

I know this has to be an unpopular opinion, but I don't hate "Ginger Cow". In fact, I don't even dislike it: I love it.

I can understand Kyle fans not liking it, but as an Eric fan who does not care much about Kyle, I love this. I just love seeing Eric torturing people - no matter who it is - and boy does this episode deliver.

Even if the concept of the torture is admittedly gross, it's their mentality in this that I love. I adore how broken and submissive to Eric Kyle has become by the second half of the episode, and how Eric is taking full advantage of it.

No 6: "The Passion Of The Jew"

I do appreciate a lot of the humor in this, but most importantly it has Eric playing dress-up and being very commited to it. That's it, that's why I love it.

Okay, that, and also because it shows some of his qualities that make him potentially a very talented leader.

Apart from those things, Eric's satisfaction when Kyle came to his house to tell him that he was right just gives me life.

No 7: "Follow That Egg!"

I don't have all that much to say about this episode. I just think it's extremely cute. Style paired together for a school project and trying to take care of their egg-kid? How can I say no?

Also Eric not even lasting three days and breaking the egg? So like him.

Overall a pretty cute and entertaining episode.

+Bonus/Honorary Mention: "201"

You know I just had to mention this. There's plenty of chaos going on in the town, a lot of older characters return, and we learn who Eric's real father is! Again, it's one of these episodes that have a little bit of something for almost everyone.

But if you know me at all, you'll know the main reason why I love it is Scott's return.

(This would have been an official part of this list if Scott had more than four minutes of screetime.)

Thanks a lot for the question, Anon!