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transformers-spike · 2 days ago

Note

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding.

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #valveplug #maccadam #tfp breakdown #tfp breakdown x reader #heatverse

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yandins-beleagured-historian · 2 days ago

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OKAY SO,

because the Iron Fists are a (semi) homebrew chapter and therefore by definition a whole CHAPTER of OCs, let's limit the scale of this to five particularly prominent members of the chapter.

Cosrau Yandin

One-time sergeant of the sixth squad (tactical), Second Company, now captain of the Seventh, this boy is our PoV character. He's a lovable little control freak who's read everything in the Chapter's tactical, technical and historical archives because no-one told him not to. As an initiate, his mentor imbued him with a particularly noble view of how a company is supposed to work and what the relationships between ranks are supposed to look like. Cosrau is perpetually disappointed and frustrated by those that don’t honour that picture, least of all himself. He's currently trying to speedrun the Astartes-equivalent of burnout and shake off the feeling that everything that happens to his subordinates is his fault. Career highlight - charging a Chaos Terminator lord with nothing but a combat knife and a meltagun, and not dying. Favourite question: “What do you need from me in order to do your job?”

Samas Tenebra

Cosrau's direct superior during his time in the Second, Captain Samas Tenebra is everything you'd want in a mythologised superior. He's a dyed-in-the-wool assault marine with a flair for the dramatic, an overdeveloped sense of vengeance, and a nothing-but-cheese approach to strategy. He's lead the Second to a number of successes over his seventy-year tenure, which can largely be attributed to two factors. One: he's cultivated a highly competent pool of subordinate leaders, and two: he keeps throwing himself at the highest value objective in the battlespace - often from several miles up. By the time of Cosrau's own captaincy, Samas Tenebra would be raised to First Captain, fail to save both his predecessor and his successor, and would die trying to fight a Chaos Titan as Imperial forces pull back across the Stygius sector. Cosrau's favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time he killed nine terminators atop Eidolon's ruined command bunker on the day the Indomitus Crusade arrived at Taralus. Tenebra's least favourite Tenebra-Legend: That time a Thousand Sons Sorceror prophesied his death, amongst other things Oh, the gates swing wide for Him, do they not? Varl hungers for your sixth, o shadow. Pray to your corpse-god for his sake that it is only the empyrean that comes to swallow him up!

Harcast

Oho, now here's the spooky lad. Sixth Captain Harcast is, on paper, somewhat of a kindred soul to Yandin. While records are hazy, it is known for sure that before his current posting, he was a Sternguard veteran of the ninth squad, First Company, and one of the most experienced kill-team operatives in the Chapter before his promotion. It was a sensible pick - the Sixth have been infiltration and recon specialists since the days of Haya Merojan, and it's rumoured that Harcast had an in with Captain Llameharr, the previous incumbent But even for a black ops afficionado, Harcast is...weird. A scant few, Yandin included, claim him to be good-humoured, level-headed and an excellent teacher, there are many in both the First and Sixth who swear dead-to-rights that they have never seen him out of his armour, or even heard him speak. This is probably fine and normal and has absolutely nothing to do with whatever the fuck the "Legan Schola Incident" was, of which Harcast is the only listed survivor in records so buried and so redacted that ++REMOVED FOR SENSITIVITY++ Favourite/only sentimental attachment: A bespoke bolt rifle of hiiighly questionable origins that, according to legend, was boring holes through skulls a full century before anyone had so much as heard the word 'Primaris.' Leads to interview for more information: Lieutenant Trimer (missing), Ascendant Trazis (asleep), Epistoliary Tyvus (I am not going anywhere near that, and I emphasise, Senile Terminator Psyker, stop trying to get me killed Hester.)

Kastal Verchen

That's CHAPTER MASTER Kastal Verchen, thank you very much. Fifty-Second Lord Commander of the Iron Fists, High Castellan of Taralus, The Arcan Herald, the Silent Hero of Blakkspanna's Bay, etcetera etcetera. Having said all that, as far as Chapter Masters go in general, Verchen is a touch underwhelming. His most glorious accomplishment is a tie between not getting killed by Eidolon and not getting killed by an avatar of Ynnead. But not dying is perhaps Verchen's greatest skill, and one that he's somehow managed to promulgate amongst his subordinates. Granted, there's been rough spots in his relatively short tenure as Chapter Master, but he's brought a mauled chapter of less than three hundred up to more than a thousand in twenty short years. Beneath the tempered, diplomatic pragmatism is a fierce compassion that's somehow escaped the attention of other Iron Hands successors. This comes as no surprise to those with access to Verchen's full history - before his induction into the Arcan Temple, he was the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia, and he manages the chapter like a patient, rather than an engine of war. Favourite metalore tidbit: Kastal Verchen is one of only two named characters in the breathlessly-few scraps of canon lore on the Iron Fists - he's referenced in passing in the Battlefleet Gothic Armada rulebook "To Cleanse the Stars" as backsassing the Imperial Navy about pirates interfering with the Dudzus landings.

Mokuba Tyros

Mokuba Goddamned Tyros. Also known as "the scariest bastard ever to wear the golden gauntlet", the fifty-first Lord Commander of the Iron Fists has been terrorizing the galaxy for the last seven hundred years. He was at the Feast of a Hundred Duels when the World Eaters attacked, and came back a century later to win the Feast of Blades for the Iron Fists. Tyros led the Fifth Company over the ocean world of Poseidius VIII and personally turned Waaagh! Izdakka away from the borders of Segmentum Solar. He conducted a thousand diplomatic missions to raise support for the reclamation of Taralus, and orchestrated the subsequent campaign down to the slightest detail. When the Noctis Aeternia rolled in, Tyros drew fire away from the chapter's more vulnerable ships and gave more than a million men and women the chance to reach the homeworld's service. And when three thousand unnumbered sons dropped into Taralus' atmosphere to liberate it for good, Mokuba Tyros was the iron point of the spear. Mokuba Tyros is less of a tangible character, more of a living standard for the chapter to aspire to. He is to the common marine what the Iron Hands are to the chapter at large, and so distanced from the line troops that he might as well be a legend, glimpsed only fleetingly at the grandest of events. Even a captain might only experience two or three one-on-one encounters with him during their career, and none have ever gotten a successful read on him. All they've been able to report on the man behind the blades is that "He has given much of himself to the Chapter" - whatever the heck that means.

There was only ever one man who truly knew Mokuba Tyros - a bodyguard of the Arcan Temple, spoken in whispers of as the best Savant-Apothecary the Iron Fists had seen in millenia.

Reblog and tell me about your Warhammer OCs!!!

(seriously, I see so many cool fanart and fanfiction, I want to learn about everyone!!)

#And jesus christ there's so many more across the chapter and across its history too #Ask me about manic fix-ie transmasc Haymer Paramete #Or the historical (b)romance between Second Captain Shandar and Fifth Captain Kerrekos #Or what Niko Azotikon and the 43rd Harrow - Alpha Legion have to do with any of this.#PLEASE ASK ME MORE QUESTIONS GOD #iron fists #taralus #Cosrau Yandin #warhammer 40000 #space marines

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saebyeokbliss · 2 days ago

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ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU— PART IX.

synopsis: on a cold january day, you were worrying about the reason your girlfriend wasn’t texting back. when she finally does and asks to meet at your apartment, you’re met with heartbreak as she ends your relationship. no explanation. two years later, you run into her at a cafe with someone new. what are you to do?

warnings: angst, death, swearing, yelling, more stress HAHA

pairing: sae-byeok x fem!reader

The hospital always felt colder than it should. The sterile white walls and the faint smell of antiseptic clung to you like a second skin every time you walked through those doors. It was the kind of place that drained the warmth out of you, leaving only a gnawing sense of dread in its wake.

You hated being there. But you hated what it meant to not be there even more.

When you entered Veda’s room, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor greeted you, a sound you had come to associate with her continued survival. She was propped up in the hospital bed, her small frame swallowed by the too-big sheets. Her face was pale, and the bruises from the accident had faded to a sickly yellow, but when her eyes met yours, she gave you a tired smile.

“Hey, Vee,” you said softly, setting your bag down on the chair by the bed.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice weak but steady.

You pulled up a chair beside her, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers were cold, and they trembled slightly as she squeezed your hand back. You’d been careful to hide your own exhaustion from her—she didn’t need to know about the sleepless nights, the eviction notice, or the constant weight of your parents’ demands. She had enough to deal with without worrying about you.

“How are you feeling today?” you asked, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead.

“Better,” she said, though the effort it took her to speak made it clear she was lying. “The nurses said I might be able to start walking again soon. Isn’t that good?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That’s great.”

She studied your face for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “You look tired.”

You laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just busy, you know? Work, school, all that fun stuff.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press you. Instead, she leaned back against the pillows, her gaze drifting to the window. “Do you think I’ll ever get out of here?” she asked quietly.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Of course you will,” you said finally, your voice firm. “You’re going to get better, Vee. I promise.”

She didn’t say anything, but the way her lips curved into a faint smile told you that she wanted to believe you.

The two of you talked for a while, about nothing and everything all at once. You told her about the diner, about your coworkers, about the funny things customers said that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. She told you about the books she’d been reading, about the nurses who were kind to her, and about the dreams she had of being anywhere but there.

For a little while, it felt almost normal. Like the hospital walls weren’t closing in, and the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on your shoulders. But then, without warning, everything changed.

“Vee?” you said, noticing how her eyelids started to droop and her grip on your hand loosened. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond.

“Vee,” you said again, your voice rising slightly as panic began to creep in.

Her head lolled to the side, and the faint smile that had been on her lips was gone. The beeping of the heart monitor that had been your constant companion suddenly turned sharp and erratic, the sound cutting through the air like a knife.

“Veda!” you shouted, standing up so fast that the chair toppled over behind you. Her chest wasn’t moving. Her lips were turning blue.

The room dissolved into chaos as alarms blared and nurses rushed in, pushing you back as they surrounded her bed. Someone was shouting something—maybe it was you—but you couldn’t hear it over the deafening roar in your ears.

You watched helplessly as they worked on her, their movements frantic and precise. The minutes stretched on forever, each one more agonizing than the last. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The heart monitor flatlined, the steady drone filling the room like a death knell. One of the nurses looked up at the clock, her expression grim. “Time of death: 3:47 PM.”

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

Veda was gone.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, numb and shaking, before your parents arrived. The moment your mother stepped into the room, her eyes went straight to you. Her face twisted in grief, but beneath it, there was something else—something sharp and accusatory.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “What did you do?”

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the words. “I—I didn’t—”

“She was fine this morning!” your mother shouted, tears streaming down her face. “She was fine, and now she’s—she’s—” She broke off, sobbing, as your father stepped forward, his expression hard.

“This is your fault,” he said, his voice cold and final. “You should’ve been watching her. You should’ve done something.”

Something inside you snapped.

“My fault?” you said, your voice rising as you stood up, fury coursing through you like wildfire. “You’re blaming me for this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Don't curse at your parents! Who else is there to blame?” your father shot back. “You were here! You were supposed to be taking care of her!”

“I have been taking care of her!” you shouted, your hands trembling as you gestured wildly. “I’ve been taking care of everything! While you sit at home doing nothing, I’ve been working myself to death to pay for her medical bills, to keep a roof over your heads, to make sure she had a chance! And now you’re going to stand there and blame me?”

Your mother’s sobs grew louder, but she didn’t say anything. Your father opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“I’ve lost everything because of you!” you yelled, tears streaming down your face. “My house, my money, my future—everything! And for what? So you could sit there and tell me I’m not doing enough? I’ve been breaking myself apart for you, and it’s still not enough, is it? It’s never enough!”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the anger and grief swirling inside you like a storm.

Your father didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, while your mother cried into her hands. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t care what they thought. You didn’t care about their guilt trips or their accusations. You were done.

The walk back to your apartment felt endless, each step heavier than the last. The cold night air bit at your skin, but you hardly noticed. Your mind was a storm of emotions—grief, anger, guilt—each one pulling you in a different direction until you felt like you were going to burst. Veda was gone. The words echoed in your head, hollow and cruel. She was gone, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

By the time you reached your building, your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. You climbed the stairs slowly, every breath a struggle, until you reached your door. The eviction notice was gone—it was stuffed in your bag, forgotten for now—but the weight of it still lingered, a constant reminder that tomorrow would be your last day here.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the quiet of the apartment almost deafening. The single-room space, small and cluttered as it was, had never felt emptier. The air was cold, stagnant, and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn on the lights. You dropped your bag on the floor and sank into the sofa, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

For a long time, you just sat there, the sobs wracking your body as the events of the day crashed over you like a wave. You cried for Veda, for the life she’d never get to live. You cried for yourself, for the weight you’d been carrying for so long. And you cried for the anger you felt toward your parents, for the guilt that came with it, and for the fact that, deep down, you still wanted to make them proud.

When the tears finally slowed, leaving you hollow and shaking, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to get some water. That’s when you saw it.

An envelope sat on the counter, stark white against the dark surface. Your brow furrowed as you approached it, your heart skipping a beat when you saw your name scrawled on the front in hurried, slanted handwriting. You recognized it instantly.

Sae-byeok.

Your hands trembled as you picked up the envelope, dread and confusion swirling in your chest. You tore it open carefully, your breath catching when you saw the contents.

Money. More money than you’d ever seen in your life.

You dumped the stack of bills onto the counter, your chest tightening as you tried to process what you were seeing. It couldn’t be real—there was no way—but the weight of the cash in your hands told you otherwise. And then, tucked beneath the last stack of bills, you found the note.

“You need it more than me.”

That was all it said. Short, simple, and so Sae-byeok that it made your head spin.

Your emotions swung wildly from confusion to disbelief to anger, the grief you’d been drowning in now replaced by a white-hot rage. You stared at the money, your hands curling into fists as the words of the note burned into your mind.

You didn’t want her pity. You didn’t want this.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the envelope, stuffed the money back inside, and stormed out the door.

The diner was quiet when you arrived, the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of dishes the only sounds. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed open the door, your steps quick and purposeful as you made your way to the break room. You didn’t care that your shift wasn’t for hours or that barging in like this was bound to cause a scene. You needed to see her.

Sae-byeok was sitting at the small table in the break room, unbothered as she sipped from a mug of coffee. She looked up when you entered, her expression unreadable as her dark eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded, your voice trembling with anger as you slammed the envelope onto the table.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she set her mug down and leaned back in her chair, her gaze steady. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to buy me off,” you snapped, your voice rising. “Do you think this fixes anything? Do you think throwing money at me is going to make everything better?”

“It’s not about fixing anything,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “It’s about helping.”

“I don’t need your help!” you shouted, your hands trembling as you gestured wildly. “I don’t need your money, I don’t need your pity, and I sure as hell don’t need you swooping in like some savior to save me from my own damn life!”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of anger beneath her calm exterior. “You’re so full of shit,” she said, her voice cold.

Your breath caught in your throat, but she didn’t give you a chance to respond.

“You’re drowning, and you know it,” she continued, her voice rising as she stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re working yourself to death, losing your home, grieving your sister, and still trying to act like you’ve got it all under control. Well, guess what? You don’t. And there’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to struggle?” she said, her voice sharp and cutting. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything, to feel like the world is crushing you under its weight? I’ve been there. I’ve lived that. And I’m still living it.”

Her voice softened slightly, but the intensity in her eyes didn’t waver. “This isn’t about pity. It’s about survival. And whether you want to admit it or not, you need this money more than I do.”

You stared at her, your chest heaving as her words sank in. The anger that had been fueling you began to waver, replaced by something else—something raw and vulnerable that you didn’t want to face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “But you need it.”

The room fell silent, the tension between you thick and suffocating. You didn’t know what to say, your emotions a tangled mess as you stared down at the envelope on the table.

Finally, you shook your head, grabbing the envelope and shoving it back into your bag. “I don’t… I can’t…”

Sae-byeok didn’t respond, her expression unreadable as she watched you turn and leave the break room.

You didn’t stop walking until you were outside, the cold night air biting at your skin as you leaned against the side of the building. Your hands shook as you clutched the strap of your bag, the weight of the money inside pressing down on you like a physical thing.

You hated her for doing this. You hated her for making you feel small and weak and exposed. But more than that, you hated the part of you that was grateful—grateful for the money, for the gesture, for the fact that, even in her cold and unrelenting way, she cared.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

taglist: @monroesturnns@everly-summers-solace@holyshtimgay@knfthxv@delfinadolphin@madebysae@jetaimeeeee@m0rtifiedg0th@katieschry1@erika-mon2-blog@tcvazq not taking anymore taglist additions!! sorry!!

#angst #fanfic #saebyeok x reader #sae byeok #wlw fiction #kang sae byeok x reader #squidgameseasonone #squid game #wuh luh wuh

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oh-phoenixx · 2 days ago

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"Setback" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 625 words

He was fine. He was going to be fine. He was breathing normally and the party wasn’t too loud and his clothes weren’t suffocating him.

Forcing himself to think these things did not, unfortunately, manipulate Regulus to actually believe any of it. Standing in the kitchen of his and James’s flat with about thirty other people in the house was not fine, he was not breathing normally, and his collar was strangling him.

The food was supposed to be ready by now. It was James’s birthday party and Regulus had promised that he didn’t need help with setting anything up. But as he had been busy decorating, he had started cooking too late, and now the food wasn’t ready on time. Regulus was not fine. All he wanted was to disappear into his and James’s bedroom and avoid everyone for the rest of the night, but he didn’t want to ruin James’s birthday more than he already had.

“Reggie? You alright?” Sirius asked cautiously from behind him.

Turning around quickly to snap at his brother for even insinuating that he wasn’t okay, Regulus found himself unable to make any noise come out of his mouth at all. Instead, he looked at him, pleading with Sirius. Pleading for what, Regulus didn’t know. He just needed to be out of here.

“Breathe, Reg. It’s okay. What’s happened?” Sirius approached him, but didn’t reach out to touch him.

“I’ve ruined everything,” Regulus gasped out, momentarily forgetting how to breathe, “The food isn’t ready, and I’m having a panic attack in the kitchen instead of being with James on his birthday, and the decorations look awful, and none of this would have happened if I had just let James help.”

Sirius gave Regulus a moment to catch his breath before pulling his younger brother into a hug. He knew that nothing he said would actually comfort Regulus, so he wrapped his arms around him tightly, as the pressure usually grounded Regulus.

“He’s going to hate me,” Regulus mumbled into Sirius’s shoulder.

“I think you could forget his birthday entirely and he would forgive you as long as you smiled at him,” Sirius scoffed.

While this didn’t do much to make Regulus feel better, it distracted him momentarily from the guilt that was gnawing at him. His breathing slowly evened out and his grip on Sirius’s t-shirt loosened considerably.

“Regulus?” James’s voice called from the entrance to the kitchen.

Regulus let go of Sirius with a shaky breath and looked to his boyfriend, biting his lip nervously. Sirius gave him a reassuring look before walking out to give them some privacy. James looked between them in confusion, a small frown forming on his handsome face.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus mumbled. “I- I should have asked for your help. The food isn’t ready and- and I know the decorations aren’t great, and-”

Before Regulus could continue, James had his arms wrapped around the younger boy’s waist, resting their foreheads against one another. He rubbed comforting circles on Regulus’s hips and kissed him softly.

“It doesn’t matter, love. First of all, the flat looks great, I love the decorations,” James assured him. “And second of all, the food doesn’t have to be ready by exactly 8pm. It’s just a setback, it’s okay. It really doesn’t matter, Reg.”

Regulus melted into James’s arms, wrapping his own around his boyfriend’s neck and nuzzling his face into James’s like a cat. James pressed a gentle kiss to Regulus’s hair, still rubbing his back in circular motions.

“I didn’t ruin your birthday?” Regulus checked.

“Not even close, love.”

Regulus nodded and buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck. He was fine. His breathing was even and he no longer felt smothered in his clothes. Everything was fine.

#i wrote this awhile ago but i haven't written anything in a few days so i'm posting it #regulus was raised to be punctual and taught that any small detail going wrong warranted punishment #ugh i love him #sirius is so right tho james does NOT care #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james fleamont potter #regulus arcturus black #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #marauders microfic #microfic #phoe writes #sirius black #black brothers #marauders #marauders era

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haveihitanerve · 2 days ago

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youtube

BUS! I know I came back to land for a reason…

Also- for-word: um. Be prepared? Its not innocent. At all. Not about a bus. Um. yeah. Don't watch around people. Yeah. thats all the advice i can offer. Now go off into the world Penelope Jemima B. D. And show the world who you are 😭

(the amount of distress i had while watching this is insane) anyway:

Idk what AJ and Tom were saying at the very beginning but cuteness

“You're gonna fucking love it.” Tom is an iconic king but also AJ and Sam laughing at his dumb little jokey intro will always be the cutest thing to me

“Hopefully in that order…” yes please lol

“BUS!” AJ really enjoyed that- gorgeous cackle, 10/10. Sam doesn't know what to do with that and Tom has just reverted to repeating it bc… wow

“First murder.” “last murder” goodness gracious what lmaooo

Toms little pat on AJ’s back as they started the scene 😭

AJ awkwardly scooting away as Sam comes closer but also moving closer because he needs to at all times be touching them 😭

“You don't see young people reading anymore.” Ok idk if its intentional or not but every time we get a scene like this in any way sam always starts insulting young people for being on their “tablets and iphones” and etc etc, and i don't know if its an actual grievance that he has at this point lmao(even tho we as fans connect to them thru this but wtv lol) or if hes mocking old people for their grievances and either one works for me really lol i just wanna knowww

Sam: Good book? AJ: *every book ever created ever in the history of ever leaves his mind* yeah yeah, uh u-yeah uh its the-the the- the sexbook. Yeah thats such a good book AJ, i agree

“Quite a coincidence.” AJ: *blinks, not sure what to do with that information just casually dropped with nothing else* wha-what Sam: *smirks* Tom: *offstage* :D

Sam: I wrote the sexbook Tom: *oh did you??* *legs crossed, hand over mouth, classic tom pose that slays every. single. time.*

“Arthur big dick” Tom shaking with silent laughter, AJ almost caving with a laugh, Sam laughing as he says it. Idk shared laughter means a lot to me

“Name five of them.” No thats foul- because AJ couldn't even think of one and now you’re making him come up with fivvveee titles sam??? Thats loowwww XD

“Big Dick 1, 2, 3 ,4 and 5.” The groan of the crowd lmaooo- they really wanted to hear AJ come up with creative titles lol

Tom’s disappointed nose pinch in the corner XD

“Im just gonna fangirl here real quick-” yes AJ! Yes! Finally we are represented!!

Sam: You're a girl? *slowly removes his hand from Aj’s shoulders* AJ: *did not think that far ahead, nor that it’d be commented on* ye-yes? Sam: ah.*contemplates* this is much creepier than I thought it was LMAOOOOO (Toms little grin shaky laugh in the corner 🫠)

“I just feel like your writing- it just really gets to the heart of- of the sexual experience.” truly, inspirational work Sam

“Didn't like it.” Silence as AJ just stares at him. :| yes. Do continue. 👀

Tom and AJ’s laugh as Sam just doesn't answer XD

“He-hello?” AJ sounded genuinely concerned for Sam lol

“Where did you go?” “the sea.” regrets it before the words are even out- XD

The way they both broke, shook for a few seconds, and then straightened in sync is insane

Its like a fricking switch was flipped holy shit- laughing- then suddenly sitting upright and focused again lol wow

Toms little giggling in the corner omfg-

“Are you getting off? Whe-where are you getting off?” He heard the joke and immediately corrected lmaooo

“Well, turn to page seven!” “Ahhh!” “Ahhh!!” the whole finger pointing and like “hahahaha i knew you'd say it you shit” is amazing and i adore it

“How old are you?” Has to clarify for the scene, i appreciate it sam lol

“32. How-how-” “okay.” “okay.” yeah maybe its better not to clarify sam’s age- seeing as hes been at sea for 60 years yet was clearly an adult when he wrote the book and- lets not get into it

“Im actually getting off at the next stop-” “mhumhmh” AJ and Tom’s little smiles at his dumbass joke ahhhh i love

Also- side note- his book gets off already at page seven??? Thats pretty early right? Or am i tweaking? Actually its a book about sex called Sexbook so nevermind, ignore me

“Im actually a writer myself.” “oh really? What have you written?” “big vagina 1, 2, 3.” Sam completely folds at that, and Tom’s little smile as AJ smirks, proud of himself ahhh such dorks :)

“But i haven't- *breaks* i haven't released any yet because *voice shakes with laughter* im too afraid. *sam casually dying in the background trying not to laugh* Im too afraid of showing my work *breaks again* cause i will be judged.” The hand to the heart is truly my favorite thing XD

“Jemima.” Sam: *shit what was my name again* AJ: Arthur B. D. Sam: *thats right thank you* Arthur B. D. WOW!!! AJ remembered a name!!! Brilliant.

Brilliant stagecraft of leaving the bus AJ, adore

Tom gets to be in a scene now! Yay!

“Boys…” Sam thought he could sit down and relax- nope! AJ is trying, but, yep he has to stand again too lol

Tom unbuttoning his shirt just to reveal a shirt underneath is a power move holy shit-

“As the united kingdom communist part we just cant take that.” Tom squints at him: mmmhmmm. *shakes head because he does not like that* Sam: *does it back equally as passive aggressive* mmmmmhhhmmm

“Us fine upstanding, british *lacking a very substantial british accent* communists that we are.”

I see Tom is trying to revive Xavier???? Or smth…

“Oh what did you just stutter to me?” His strut-

AJ’s tongue in cheek smile as he approaches-

That chin tilt???????? Oh ma my my-

“How did you get my name so wrong?” ahh how quickly the mighty fall😔

“Magnus o. Puss.” AJ’s almost break at the name lmaooo

“Cause i have a full magnus full of o puss.” Sam’s breaking of character so completely that he just covers his face in shame lmaooo XD

“You just wiped your nose.” “Sorry.” “you're wearing a jumper.” wow tom- just insult everything about him i guess XD AJ: 😔sorry…

Aj trying to escape the scene. Tom: don't just sit down and cry! No mercy…XD

“Flatmate.” “oh!” AJ’s relief lmaooo

Tom: I’m the other flatmate. :/ keep trying buddy, one day you'll join the scene again lmaooo

“Get on the couch.” “how was your day?” “how was your day?” “how was your daaaay?” the way theyre actually sitting really close together with Tom almost leaning against Sam’s shoulder 🫠

“You know, my writing,” “We’re big fans.” Tom casually interrupts to clarify and support- and like- i know its for the scene and they’re building a really quick relationship- but AJ actually is a writer/director and they do actually watch his stuff-😭- anyway-

Sam and Tom’s continuous looks at each other “Oooooooh!”

“Its from your time.” THERE WE GO!!! SOME OLD JOKES!!!! “Oh yeah, just us two 65 year old women with our 32 year old flatmate!” lmaoooo they're all women and not one of them originally meant to be XD

“Well we were five.” “At first it didn't do much for us.” I would hope not Tom, but thanks for clarifying…

“As we matured-” “as we matured-” “Like our bible-” “like our bible-” im loving this casual repetition they have going on, wonderful

“It was spiritual but also exciting.” “like cocaine.” “like cocaine.” Sam would know… and still with the repetitions XD

“That would be convenient to the plot.” I love how Sam feels the need to say this aloud and not just subtly hint at it- because knowing the two idiots he’s on stage with- sorry, chaos demons- they would totally let him try to build it up like that, and then never actually get the plot going in that direction lmaooo

“Oh my gosh.” Sam and Tom both cracking at his gasp- now drum roll, will Aj stick to the plot or is he throwing in a curveball???

“Is it convenient to the plot?” Tom looks like he doesn't want it to be- just to annoy Sam lmaooo

“And i looked out the window temporarily-” *almost breaks* Aj- i love you, but there are more casual ways to let this further the plot, you know that right XD

“Well this sounds perfectly plausible.” After he and Tom just destroyed any way it could be plausible

“You've cracked my code did you?” we get a snippet of Aj’s delightful laughter, beautiful

“Pass the torch up. There you go.” AJ: *finger point of “clever”* lol

“You cant go off again back to sea.” “..okay.” AJ’s break at the easy agreement lol-

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW i did not expect a cute hug scene!!!!!! Yay!!!! 🫠💗

Ok- i will be honest- i really though Aj was going in for a kiss at first- and i kind of believe Sam thought so too with the whole “i always wanted a daughter” to solidify its purely sweet and not romantic just in case aj gets any more ideas lol

Sam’s “oh!” and hunch drop into Big Dick because he thought he was Tom’s assistant??? And not big dick, but here he is again lmaooo

Tom’s little vibrating act made AJ fold and i think its wonderful XD

Tom climbing on a chair because he needs to be taller ofc, classic

“You could look, im not wearing underwear.” Sam, not only looking, but doing the appreciate, yeah head nod is crazy

“Im everything you fear.” AJ interrupting his build up to monologue to snort is priceless

“You were just a lowly intern-” Hang on a fucking minute sam- Tom is how old???? That was 60 years ago- i don't care how young and lowly he was- he was at least a teenager which makes him a seventy something yead old man- y'know what its better not to ask

“Even you couldn't… open it.” Tom freezing in place in an effort not to laugh, Sam’s head hanging in disappointment, and AJ just having the time of his life

THEM GENUINELY JUST LETTING/MAKING AJ WRITE THE ENDING OF HIS SEX BOOK ON STAGE IS THE BEST AND CRAZIEST THING EVER WHAAAAAAAT

Tom’s little head drop forward like “what are you saying aj? Oh you're doing this? Okaaay…”

“Penelope.” sam. Sam. sammy. Samuel. Its Jemima.

“Im trapped in a vagina.” Tom, AJ, and Sam all cracking at the perfectly set up joke, classic

“How is he doing this?” Sam not helping at all and making AJ come up with it XD

“He says it just- hes a ghost.” AJ has given up lmaooo

“Astral penetration.” AJ BREAKING FULLY, FOLD ON STAGE, MID STAGE!!!!

“Magnum o, full stop, puss.” Sam checking his watch to see how much he has to speed this up lmaoooo

“Hell die inside of that vagina.” *both break* XD

“Im in my office on another floor…” Tom really wanted to be in the scene and they keep forcing him out XD

“Hes astral penetrated me-” Sam fully folds on stage too- he knew, he just knew AJ would make it weird- specifically made it so that they were established as daughter-dad relationship- and yet AJ still found a way LMAOOOO

“Don't make me call security.” “Call security! I don't care!” “Security.” “JA. I am secure.” Tom baby im just not sure thats what he meant XD

“Im just going to put this out there: we have several copies.” lmaooo Aj come on!

“But then your friend would die inside wouldn't he?” AJ: *HAHAH FUCK YOU!!!* “ahh fuck.” Sam is impressed lol

WHERE DID HE GET THE SWORD?????

[drenched exit] sam: awww come on! *disappointed as though he didn't help set it up*

[door closes with a moist SMACK] Tom: *smiles because hes proud of himself*

“You've been meditating inside a big member!” why do they keep making it worse better

[juicy splash] Sam: *makes sound of disgust and disappointment*

“Its perfectly natural!” You tell ‘em king!

Physic powers?????

“You-you've pinned it to the wall.” … aj… theres no emoji or anything to convey my expression rn, but i assume its the same as yours so… yeah…

“You must challenge him.” AJ: *breaks fully because he did not expect sam to just appear behind him while hes being tortured?? by a man rubbing his own nipples*

“Feel the tension!” i feel the tension alright😭

Aj having to laugh mid battle (real) because w h a ha t???

What is going on😭😭😭

OH MY GOD WHAT???? SAM ESCAPED THE VAGINA????

pleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasedontkisspleasekisspleasekiss

“That vagina was so acidic.” Sam please don't say things like that while you're dying in AJ’s arms- XD

“Im so happy i met you on the bus that day.” You mean literally that morning?? Or did i miss a time jump?

“The big vagina 4. *moans*” Death.

aj helping tom up from the floor😭🫠

AND, SCENE!!! wow. That was… wow. Ok. Um. So. If you couldn't tell, i got very distressed towards the end. Like very. It was very good though, kinda what i expected. I’m sad Luke isn't there but glad he wasn't because it would have been so much worse 😭 but uh. Yeah. that was fun! So… hope you enjoyed???

@snek-of-eden you were so right, the chaos is unmatched and wow. Thank you!!

@dawn-speckled

#sfth #shoot from the hip #sam russell #tom mayo #alexander jeremy #this was fabulous #i recommend #but also dont #mixed feelings #very complicated #very chaotic #be warned #anyway #i enjoyed it :)#besties #platonic soulmates #they made it weird #and i loved it #Youtube

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nameless-jamie · 3 days ago

Note

I love the PA series!! So so good! The dynamic between them <3 if you ever write more of them, I’d love to see your take on a role reversal type of situation where Jamie has to help his PA (maybe she’s having a bad day or something like that).

Thank you for all your writing <3 and hope your week is going okay!

Tissues and Tea

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, flirting

A/N: Hello! Thank you for this great request. I hope you like what I made out of it. I'm doing fine, I hope you have a great rest of the week and enjoy your reading. <3

Y/N should’ve stayed home. She knows that.

But the thought of leaving Jamie Tartt to his own devices for a full day? Unsupervised? With a match coming up and at least three emails that need responses before noon? Absolutely not.

So here she is, standing outside his house, sniffling, a little wobbly on her feet, but determined. Her usual pencil skirt and blouse combo were exchanged for some jeans and a loose hoodie. She rings the doorbell and barely has time to brace herself before Jamie swings the door open, wearing—of course—nothing but gray sweatpants and a cocky grin.

"Ew, you look like death."

"Good morning to you too," she grumbles, brushing past him into the warmth of his house.

Jamie shuts the door behind her, frowning. "Nah, for real. Why d’you sound like a ninety-year-old chain-smoker?"

She ignores him, heading straight to the kitchen counter where she usually sets up her laptop. "I’m fine. Just a little cold."

Jamie narrows his eyes, watching as she unpacks her work things with shaky hands. "Right," he drawls. "And I’m fuckin’ Cristiano Ronaldo."

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her head was throbbing and she could not take any banter today. "Jamie, I’m fine."

"You’re not fine," he counters, stepping closer. "You look like you’re gonna pass out. Actually—" He pokes her arm and she loses her balance a little. "—yeah, that’s definitely wobbly behavior, love."

She swats his hand away. "I just need to get through the day, then I’ll rest."

Jamie scoffs. "Yeah, not happening." Before she can argue, he grabs her laptop and walks off with it.

"Jamie—what the hell?!" she croaks, chasing after him.

"Oi, don’t strain yourself," he teases, holding it above his head like a schoolboy dodging a playground fight. "You’re sick. Ya need to rest. And lucky for you, I’m a proper gentleman, so I’m gonna look after ya today. Call me your personal assistant."

She blinks. "You? Taking care of me?"

Jamie gasps, mock-offended. "What, ya don’t trust me?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Rude," he mutters, placing her laptop high up on a shelf, far out of her reach. He puts his hands on her shoulders and shoves her towards the living room "Now, let’s get ya on the couch, yeah?"

She knows she should fight this, but honestly? Standing for this long is exhausting. And Jamie's 50.000-pound-couch looked comfy ass hell. So, reluctantly, she lets him guide her to the couch, where he throws a ridiculously big fluffy blanket over her.

"There," he says, hands on his hips. "All cozy. Like a little babeh."

"I can’t move," she deadpans, buried under the weight of the blanket.

"Exactly." he pulls the finger-guns at her.

She glares at him, but Jamie just grins.

A beat of silence, then—

"Want some tea?"

She exhales. "That would be nice, actually."

Jamie beams, disappearing into the kitchen. A minute later, she hears cabinets slamming, the sink running, and Jamie muttering "fuckin’ hell, where’s the sugar?" under his breath.

"It's in the second cupboard on the left," Y/N shouted as loud as her croaky voice let her.

"Got it!"

When he returns, he hands her a mug with the smuggest expression. "There ya go, love. My specialty."

She takes a sip—and immediately grimaces. "Jamie."

"What?"

"This is just hot sugar water."

He frowns. "Nah, it’s tea."

"The teabag is what makes it tea..." she narrows his eyes at him. "Let me guess, you don't know where the teabags are?"

"I could put some leaves from my kitchen plant in there. Same thing, innit?" he scratches his neck embarrassed.

She sighs, setting it down. "You’re lucky I’m too weak to fight you right now."

Jamie plops down next to her, looking way too pleased with himself. "You are lucky, actually. Not everyone gets personal Jamie Tartt care."

She gives him a tired, but teasing look. "Oh, so this is an exclusive service? Where do I complain? Is there like a hotline or..."

"Hey don't get sassy with me, you booked the VIP package. Special treatment. No refunds." He smirks, then leans in a little. "Want me to tuck ya in?"

"Jamie."

"I’ll do it proper, promise. Maybe even sing ya a lullaby."

"Jamie."

His smirk widens. "Or, if ya prefer, I could be your personal hot water bottle. Y’know, for extra warmth."

"Jamie."

"What? No cuddlin' ?"

She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch—because despite everything, he is making her feel better.

He watches her for a moment, his teasing expression softening just a little. Then, without thinking, he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Y’know," he says quietly, thumb brushing against her temple, "you spend so much time lookin’ after me. Someone’s gotta return the favor, yeah?"

Her breath catches.

It’s the kind of moment she’s always tried to ignore—the kind where Jamie isn’t just the flirty, cocky footballer she works for, but something more. Someone who cares about her. Someone who, if she let herself believe it, might actually love her.

But she’s too tired to overthink it today.

So instead of pushing him away, she just leans into his already open arms, lets herself relax under the ridiculous blanket, and mutters, "Fine. But if you try to feed me soup, I’m leaving."

Jamie grins. "Nah, love. I’m terrible at soup."

And with that, he settles in beside her, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Y/n's silent snores fill the room and Jamie sighs satisfied. Yep, he's refusing to move from this position—ever again.

#jamie tartt x y/n #roy kent #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso #sam obisanya #jamie tartt #afc richmond

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paingoes · 2 days ago

Text

Rubies - Encounter

the thing i just said i would write >:)

set later into rubies

(Content: living weapon whumpee, whumpee-turned-caretaker?, bad caretaker, multiple whumpees, verbal abuse, conditioning, blood, past trauma, comfort)

LEVON: I wish you’d told me you were tagging along! I would have given you a heads-up. DELTA: thats okay DELTA: it doesnt really bother me DELTA: its nothing i havent seen before LEVON: Yes I’m sure. LEVON: Nevertheless I thought you would appreciate the warning. DELTA: eh

LEVON: I notice this is becoming a bit of a pet project of yours. LEVON: I would have passed more information along to you if I’d known you were interested. In fact I considered doing so in the beginning. LEVON: I was worried you would feel tokenized by it. LEVON: Also to be perfectly honest with you I would prefer that you stay out of imperial territory. DELTA: i think i actually would have felt a bit tokenized by it in the beginning tbh that was probably a good call DELTA: its different if im doing it on my own time DELTA: im sorry i hope you dont think im ignoring your orders by coming here LEVON: They weren’t formal orders. DELTA: i know but still i dont want to come off as disrespectful for it DELTA: i do value your advice i dont mean to blow you off LEVON: Delta, it’s fine. DELTA: okay cool LEVON: It’s going well, then? DELTA: yeah there was only one of them and no one was expecting her to be here clearly DELTA: im not with her right now though im with kitty we are in the server room LEVON: Okay. I’m getting word that there are a few patrollers already orbiting close by, so I’d suggest you wrap it up quick. DELTA: yeah we are finishing up now LEVON: Be careful. DELTA: yessir LEVON: Goodbye. DELTA: bye captain

Kitty looped up another loose cable, one more fire hazard. Delta slipped the phone back into the pocket of his pants. His other hand extended to her to help her up to her feet.

From below, another loud crash.

“Sounds like it’s working.” Kitty’s eyes lit up.

They walk down the bloodstained steps. Most of the place had already been cleared out by the time they arrived. The two of them are almost never at any active sight. Third wave, maybe second wave, if anything. Kitty was IT. Delta did a little bit of everything now, but was too valuable as a psychic to ever endanger with capture.

He was only the second psychic to enter the manor. The first was downstairs, doing everything she could to destroy what was around her. As they descended back to the first floor, they saw the mess she had made of things.

“Get away,” she said, “Get away. Get away.”

The silver collar glistened around her neck. The same light shone just by her eyes, reflected from the tears that were forming there.

Infantry was the one to deal with her — they were being surprisingly gentle about it.

“Easy. Easy, I know you’re scared,” a sniper of all people promised her, both hands raised in a placating surrender. “Let’s all slow down. We won’t hurt you.”

“No!” she shouted back. She was crying in earnest now.

“We’re going to get you help, okay? But we need to go now.”

“I don’t want to go! I can’t!”

In that exact instant, Delta noticed that her collar was broken in places. It was malfunctioning. Her powers were slipping through the cracks.

“Get away from me!” Her voice was shrill, pitched with panic. “Stay back or I’ll - I’ll-“

As she said it, a little halo of crystals was forming in a blaze right by her head. It was a crown of glass. In the space above her, the shards appeared out of thin air.

Kitty stepped forwardly slightly. It did something to him then, to hear her slip back into sweetness. The words had the same gentle tone that she’d used for him when they’d first dredged him up out of the water. When he was scared.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. We want to help, okay? Just wanna help.”

“Leave me alone!” the girl yelled back. In the same instant, her right hand cut an arc through the air.

The glass flew like shrapnel. They were small pieces, but hard and razor sharp. She managed to pierce quite a few of them. But what Delta saw most precisely was the shard that flew only inches from Kitty’s face. Just barely missing her.

It was mostly adrenaline that moved him then; his heart was beating too quickly for him to make sense of it. But in the next second, he’d zeroed in on the psychic.

The pulse knocked her back into the wall. It didn’t hurt — he knew exactly how to make it hurt and he didn’t — but it had shocked her. He caught her wrist, pinning it there. The hands were conduits. Though it was still possible to use their powers without moving an inch, the immobility gave the impression of helplessness. That’d be enough for now.

“Stop.”

She went still, but there was tension rigged in every inch of her body.

“You do not use your powers without permission.” His voice was low, more venomous than he meant it to be. “That is the first thing they teach you and there is no excuse for having forgotten it.”

She shrank away from that. They were sensitive to scolding — every single one of them.

“Sorry,” she whispered. She flexed her fingers where they were held. Little shards of glass were still raining softly from the ceiling.

“Listen to me. We are leaving. It doesn’t matter if you want to or not. You’re not going to fight them. And you’re going to do as they ask. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You do? You’re going to behave yourself? Because you can just as easily leave here in chains if you don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” she swallowed. She refused to look at him.

It was an acceptable surrender. He released her wrist, but not before wrenching it in the same direction that the others were waiting. He pointed.

“Go.”

She went obediently. One of the medics hovered their hands by her shoulder, not quite touching, but guiding her over to the exit.

There were little indentations in her skin where his claws had been.

He’d cowed her. Delta sat there for a second, alight in the afterglow of cruelty. It hadn’t felt good, but alarmingly enough, it had felt natural. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d learned from the best, after all.

The thought made him sick.

Kitty was staring at him. A couple of them were. He knew before he even turned around.

Sorry you had to see that, he almost said. But that seemed a bit inadequate, all things considered. He said nothing instead. Already, he felt a blush rising to his cheeks.

He moved to her, side-stepping carefully around the littered glass. Kitty still looped her arm in through his own. She didn’t hate him for it, which would have been about the worst thing he could imagine.

“That was kinda fucked up,” she whispered to him as soon as they’d climbed onto the carrier.

“Fucked up of me?” he asked.

“Yeah, a little fucked up of you!”

Delta nodded. He’d assumed that was what she meant.

“She’ll be fine,” he exhaled. “Believe me, she’s more than used to it.”

“They really talked to you like that?” Kitty frowned.

Ungrateful. Disrespectful. Brat. Don’t you ever-

Delta bit his lip, nodding. Used to it. He traced the skin around his collar with the tips of his fingers.

“I don’t care if she hates me,” he decided. “As long as she’s out. Of all the things she has to get over, she’ll barely remember this one.”

Something about that didn’t sit right, though.

Worse than cruelty was unpredictability. He worried about playing the same games that Simon had — pulling rank one second and coddling the next. It was a mean thing to do. He thought it’d be better if he just never saw her again. The ones looking out for her now could teach her in their own time. He wouldn’t further disrupt their signals.

This resolution, once he came to it, barely lasted the length of an hour.

“Can I see her?” he peeked into the quarters where they kept her.

The girl sat idly on the edge of the bed, both hands folded in her lap just the way she’d been trained to. Her hair had come undone — and now furled into spirals at the base of her neck. She’d gone dead-eyed. That was exactly how they wanted them.

She still startled when he entered.

“Sorry,” she said without hesitation, with no conscious effort. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He used to think he was good at apologizing, after a lifetime spent groveling for forgiveness. It had been such a difficult day when he first realized that that wasn’t what anyone wanted from him anymore.

“Easy. Hey.” He raised both hands up slightly in surrender. “Not gonna hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re okay.”

The look she gave him in return suggested she did not — could not — believe him. Fair. She was less than one day out, after all. He didn’t even bother to correct her on the honorific. If she was anything like him, it would take years to undo the habit.

Her chest rose and fell without her eyes ever leaving him, like an animal backed into a corner. He moved slowly for her sake, lowering himself until he sat cross-legged on the Persian carpet.

He thought he was good at apologies once, before he knew what they were supposed to be. By now, he was good in earnest. He’d been a fast learner all his life — and pride was something he’d never been afforded.

“I’m sorry for speaking to you like that. It won’t happen again. No one here will ever speak to you like that. I only did it because we were short on time and we wanted to get you somewhere safe. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

His hands moved nervously against his sleeves. He almost stopped them, before remembering he didn’t have to. When he looked up, she was still staring unblinking. Her jaw has loosened a bit.

No one had apologized to her in a very long time. She had no script to follow for it. So when she said something completely unrelated, it came as no real surprise:

“What are you going to do with me, sir?”

There was something like betrayal in her voice. That hurt most of all.

“You’re like me,” she realized.

For some reason, this almost embarrassed him. In Galatea, his abilities are mostly rumors. Even the ones who knew for certain still assumed he was low-level. There were only a handful who knew the full extent of it. But for the most part, psychics recognized their own.

“I came the same way,” he said softly. “This was a rescue. You haven’t been stolen. It’s okay if you don’t believe that right now. But you’re free. Only rule is that you can’t hurt anyone while you’re here — everyone follows that one, not just you.”

“I wouldn’t-“ she said hurriedly. “I wouldn’t, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, sir. Please.”

“It’s okay. You’re not going to be punished for it,” he said. “I’m not mad at you. No one is.”

Just scared, for a second. Scared of her, just like they’d been of him. The fear is what drove people crazy, what made them decide it was right to keep them in chains all his life. She was scared out of her mind, too. But no one ever cared about that.

“You’re safe,” he promised. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel like it as first either — and I know I just made you feel unsafe. But it won’t happen again. No one will ever treat you like that again.”

“…Yes, sir,” she agreed, looking down at her own shoes.

It wasn’t sinking in all the way. He didn’t sigh, even though he wanted to. He couldn’t believe how patient Kitty and Apollo had been with him in those early days. He’d never be grateful enough. He’d never be good like them, not really. All he could do was try.

“Tell them if you need anything,” he suggested. “It’s not a trick question. They’ll get it for you if they can. And they won’t punish you for asking.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

Poor kid, he thought dimly. The thought surprised him. He’d never thought anything of it before, when he’d been in her position. It all just felt normal. The way he was meant to behave. It was only after years of living outside of it that he could see it for what it was.

He stood up wearily from his spot on the ground. She flinched a bit as he did, but he knew he shouldn’t take it personally.

“You can sleep too, by the way,” he reminded her. “You don’t need to ask permission.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. There was actual relief in her voice when she answered that time. She’d been waiting to hear it.

The first thing he did after closing the door was go to find Kitty. She’d been curled up by the bay windows when he finally spotted her. He climbed onto the cushion next to her. She was peering at him from over the edge of her laptop screen.

“All good?” she purred.

“She’ll be fine.” He nodded. As fine as any of them could be. He really did think that his own cruelty towards her would only scrape the surface of all that she would have to recover from. But that wasn’t an excuse.

“Thank you for being kind to me,” he said softly. It sounded almost childlike now. But it was far from the first time he’d said it. “Even when I was being difficult. You were always nice.”

“You were never difficult!” Kitty gasped. “What are you talking about? You’re my favorite.”

That alone would’ve been enough to make him cry last year. Even now, he got close.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris

#whump #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump writing #living weapon whumpee #whump community #whumpee-turned-caretaker #bad caretaker #multiple whumpees #verbal abuse #conditioning #blood #past trauma #comfort #feel like delta being mean needs its own warning omg so jarring #also sorry some of the formatting on the color text is weird idgaf

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r4fe-cam3ron · 18 hours ago

Text

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SECOND; side a — for you - rita ora (ft. liam payne | s. reid x reader

w; nothing!!! besides it being a tad bit short. an; i had no idea what to write for this </3 i apologize 😔😔😔

mixtape here!

Valentine’s day — an excuse to wear something pretty, or to go out, or to simply just exchange and receive gifts before slipping into come cozy clothes and watching some cheesy comedy while eating pizza and eating yourself into a cookie coma.

Though, yours is looking a bit…lonely. Even if you had dressed up, bought a new outfit and makeup, and did your hair, you’re at home.

Waiting for Spencer. He had yet to call you to let you know if he was going to be late — so, at this moment, it feels as if he’d just dipped altogether.

Although a better part of your mind knows that he would never — could never — forget about your plans, some distant part of your mind sets up that doubt and it starts to slowly bubble until you're in tears.

It was late now — midnight — and you’re just now wiping off the makeup you’d taken your time with, and slip out of the new outfit you’d bought, to only slip into some pajamas and step into your kitchen to pour you a glass of white wine and grab the box of chocolates you’d gotten for both Spencer and yourself to share.

Pressing play for ‘How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days’, you sit back and pull the covers over your legs as you take the first bite of chocolate just as your door quickly swings open.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer startles you, causing you to look over at him. He’s flushed, one of his cheeks is a bit more red than the other, yet still flushed. You look away then, remaining silent. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t forget, I just couldn’t make it,”

You think that makes you feel a bit worse than what he intended. You hear the door shut and the locks click before he walks over quickly, kneeling in front of you.

“Try to understand, please. I was…I was dealing with Mom,” This catches your attention, your eyes drifting away from the television and landing on the man in front of you instead with heavy, tired eyes. “I couldn’t leave her in that kind of panicked state and I couldn’t get to my phone right away. I wanted to call you so bad, but—”

Moving the chocolates away from your lap, your hands immediately cup his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” You shake your head. You’d never truly stay mad at Spencer for long, and this time, you knew you really couldn’t blame him. “Breathe. I promise it’s okay.” You feel his head nod a bit in your grasp, his eyes slowly closing as he presses his own hand on top of your left one.

You watch with a bit of worry, feeling your heart skip a beat when his lips press into your palm, lingering there. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone softly before leaning close and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He pulls away slowly, yet staying close, allowing his nose to brush against yours as his eyes slowly open and looks into yours. You can see the beginning of when he starts to tear up, your heart clenching.

“I’ll make up for it. I promise.”

“Spence,” You shake your head, a small smile forming on your lips to reassure him. “I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t upset about it—”

“Because I would be able to tell.” He quickly adds.

Your smile grows a bit as you nod. “Because you’d be able to tell,” You add. “But, I knew that there had to be something wrong for you not to call or anything. I also knew that you’d explain everything to me, even though you could just…not explain anything to me.”

“But that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Believe it or not, some guys don’t feel the need to explain why they never called or showed up. But you’re not some guy,” You tilt your head slightly. “You’re…you,”

Before, that statement would feel Spencer with a sense of dread. He would never know if someone meant that in a good or bad way. But now, when you say it, he knows it’s something good.

“You’re Spencer Reid. The kindest guy to ever exist,” You lean in close and feel his face heat between your palms, a smile spreading over your lips as they slightly brush his own. “And I’m the luckiest.”

Sealing your lips against his finally, he lets out a small hum of content, eyes closing as his hand slips to your wrist instead. It’s a soft, sweet kiss that as him following after you when you pull away.

“I love you.” You whisper.

His eyes open and he looks at you. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You shake your head.

“Okay. Sor—” Cutting his apology off with another kiss, you feel as his lips grow into a small smile against yours, his hands now moving to cup your face. Pulling away, he stares at you before pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Want me to stay?”

“Would you?”

“Of course,” He nods. Instead of squatting in front of you, he places himself next to you. He pulls you close, his fingers wrapped gently around your bicep.

A small sigh leaves your lips when your head lays against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest and the moment he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, allowing them to linger there as his fingers drag up and down slowly along the side of your neck.

“Spencer,” You whisper. He lets out a small noise to let you know he’s listening. “I hope you know you never have to explain anything you don’t want to,” His fingers stop their path.

“Not until you’re ready, that is. You help a lot of people in a lot of ways — more than you know,” You nod. “That’s when I knew.”

It remains silent, all besides the television playing slowly in the background.

“Knew what?” Spencer finally whispers.

“That I was in love with you.”

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @dearestjune — @sstar-ggirl

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, and feedback are welcomed and greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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theocddiaries · 12 hours ago

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[Minutes later, Ivo is still locked in the bathroom, crying inconsolably and loudly. Rouge and Shadow are on the couch, lounging and staring at the ceiling, she with her back against the couch, and he with his head in his hands] Robotnik: FORSAKEN! I'VE BEEN FORSAKEN! I AM LOVELEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESS! Shadow [through gritted teeth]: Rouge, tell him to shut up already. Rouge: Eggman, stop being so annoying! Robotnik [through sobs and hiccups]: Oh, sure! Ignore the drama! I’ll put duct tape over my mouth so I don’t bother you two with my broken heart’s laments! Shadow: The duct tape’s in the second drawer, thank you. [The front door opens abruptly, and both of them sit up tense. Abraham enters the house like a basilisk, followed by Knuckles and Sonic, trying to stop him] Abraham: What’s this about you going to a party!? Robotnik: God, the last one I needed: the tin soldier. Knuckles: Sorry, Rouge, I thought he knew! Shadow [to Rouge]: Didn’t you take away his keys?! You all come in like this is a free-for-all! Abraham: Rouge, I thought you were going to come have dinner with me so I wouldn't spend the night alone! Shadow: When was that decided?! Robotnik: Well, too bad, 'cause they’re going to a party and leaving me alone! Sonic: Why is that man yelling in the bathroom??? Shadow: Why do you think? Rouge, because of these messes, I’ve been telling you, you need to get a planner! Rouge: Stop with the planner! Are you getting commission for recommending them?! Knuckles: But, who are we going to have dinner with? I’m getting confused. Robotnik: You’re having dinner with everyone except me! Sonic: Don't you think there's a reason why? Shadow: Don’t destabilize him even more! Sonic: Has he ever been stable? Rouge: People, calm down, it's okay! Robotnik: No, it’s not okay! Abraham: I’ve got the turkey ready to go! How could you do this? Shadow: Abraham, don’t start with the victim act. Robotnik [sniffs]: I feel so alone… Shadow: YOU STOP IT , TOO! Rouge: Look, we’re all adults here. Our plan is to go to Amy’s party. Yours can be whatever you want. Period! [Everyone goes silent except for Eggman, who continues sobbing from the bathroom] Abraham: Well, hm, I’ll go buy a quail because the turkey is too much for me alone… Happy New Year, guys. Robotnik: Happy New Year, Abraham, darling. [Abraham leaves the house. The couples exchange a look. Knuckles rubs Rouge's arm] Sonic [goes to hug Shadow by the shoulders]: Thank goodness, it was about time you two stood your ground. They always do whatever they want with you. Rouge: I actually feel sorry for them… Shadow: I mean, we can always go to Amy’s party after twelve-- [As on cue, Eggman comes out of the bathroom and Abraham re-enters the house] Robotnik: Of course! Abraham: We’ll have dinner together and then you can do whatever you want! Sonic [to Shadow]: Softie, you're nothing but a softie. Robotnik: I’ll cook! I’ll make my coq au vin for you! Abraham: No, no, I’ll cook. I already have the turkey. Robotnik: You can choke on that stupid turkey for all I care. Abraham: Hey, don't you dare insult my family’s turkey! [pulls his mustache] Robotnik: Not the mustache, not the mustache! [grabs his hair] [They fight and fall to the floor, continuing there] Knuckles [sighs]: This reminds me of the holidays I used to spend with my tribe.

Part 1

#incorrect quotes #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #abraham tower #commander tower #knuckles the echidna #sonic #sonic fandom #ivo robotnik #dr robotnik #dr eggman #knuxouge #sonadow

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annafayeink · 1 day ago

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Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Read on ao3

Chapter Four

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was softening and slanting through the trees. Lu and I strolled side by side down a quiet park path, close enough for our arms to brush occasionally. I’d insisted we take a detour past the fountain because it was my favourite place around here and, as usual, Lu hadn’t argued.

The backs of our hands touched, just for a moment, before his fingers threaded through mine. I knew exactly how Lu’s hand felt in mine, but now I couldn’t stop noticing things I’d never paid attention to before—the slight roughness of his palm, the way his fingers curled so naturally around mine. How had I never noticed that before?

It wasn’t the first time we’d held hands; we’d done it a million times before, like when we were crossing a busy street, when we wanted to keep track of each other at concerts or even when I needed a tug to keep up with his long strides. But this time, it felt different. Intentional. Like it meant something. Like it was staged.

I squeezed his hand and glanced down at our intertwined fingers. “Does this feel weird to you?”

“What? Holding your hand?” He raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “Not really. I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, but not like this.” I gestured vaguely with my free hand, already feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Not to make it look like we’re... you know.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Like we’re a couple?”

“Exactly.” I sighed. “It’s just holding hands. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, right? But now it kinda does.”

Lu didn’t let go of my hand, but his thumb ran absently over mine. “Okay, maybe it feels a little weird when you put it that way. But it’s really no big deal. We’re overthinking it.”

For a second, I thought I caught something in his expression—something unreadable. But then he smirked like always, and I told myself I was imagining things.

“Maybe.” I let out a breath, glancing down at our linked fingers. The shape of his hand felt familiar in mine, but now I couldn’t stop wondering if this looked right.

Lu tugged me to an empty bench and we sat down. He stretched his legs out in front of him, and pulled his hand away to let his arm rest along the back of the bench. I leaned into it without hesitation, like I always did—the motion was so automatic I didn’t even realise it happened until I was already pressed against his side.

I glanced at his arm behind me and he caught me doing it. “What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“We’ve always been like this. Kind of… all over each other. Why does it feel different now that we’re trying to make it look like we’re dating?”

“Does it feel different?”

“It does to me. We always sit like this, it’s nothing. But now I’m wondering if someone’s watching us and thinking, ‘Wow, what a cute couple.’ And that thought feels... weird.”

He chuckled, his fingers brushing my shoulder lightly as he leaned back. “You are overthinking it. People can’t tell the difference between natural and staged anyway. If we’re comfortable, it’ll look real.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I said. “We’ve always been comfortable like this. What does that say about us?”

Lu didn’t answer right away. Instead, he squinted at the sun, as if it would help him pinpoint the answer to all of my questions. “That’s why people have always assumed we were… more,” he said, after a while. His voice was light, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something that made my stomach twist.

“I guess that’s why I’m overthinking all of this. Before it was just us being us. But now that we’re supposed to actually look like a couple, I’m suddenly aware of every single move we make.”

“Yeah, I understand that.” With the hand over my shoulder, he picked up a small strand of my hair and twirled it absently around his fingers.

I reached for his hand again. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers curling around mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, the noise of the park faded, and it was just us on the bench, the world holding its breath. It wasn’t staged. It wasn’t strange. It just was.

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching as a dog sprinted past, chasing a red ball. A little boy squealed with delight as his kite finally caught the breeze, its tail dancing in the air. I followed its path, my mind wandering.

“You know what’s funny? I keep thinking people are watching us, but I haven’t actually looked at anyone else. What if nobody even cares?”

Lu chuckled, low and warm. “They probably don’t. Most people are too caught up in their own lives to notice stuff like this.” He gestured toward the small crowd milling about the park. “But if it makes you feel better, we can give them something to look at.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that be?”

He leaned closer, mischief lighting up his face. “A grand romantic gesture. I could sweep you into my arms, dip you back, maybe even twirl you around a little. Really sell the whole ‘madly in love’ thing.”

I laughed, shoving his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He leaned back, grinning like he’d just won something. “I think I’d be pretty convincing.”

“I swear,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, “if you ever try that, I’ll trip you before you even get to the twirl.”

“Noted.” His grin didn’t falter, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“You know,” I started, unable to keep a more serious tone away from my voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever done this with anyone else. Just... sit and be comfortable, like this.”

Lu’s gaze shifted to me, thoughtful. “Not even with Eric?”

I shook my head. “No. With him, everything always felt... I don’t know. Performative. Like there was a script. Like I had to try.”

I paused, considering my own words. Maybe that was the difference. With Lu, I didn’t have to try at all. I never had to think about what to do or how to act—I just was.

I cleared my throat. “He’d say something flirty and I’d laugh and touch his arm because that was expected or something. I guess that’s why it didn’t work out.”

He nodded, quiet for a beat before saying, “Yeah. I get that.” His voice was softer than usual, like the words carried a weight he didn’t want to drop on me. “I never really had that kind of comfort with anyone else either.”

That made me glance up at him, surprised. “Really? I thought you were always the smooth, cutesy boyfriend type.”

“I mean, sure, I played the part.” His lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes were distant, looking somewhere else entirely. “But it was always surface-level. Never... this.”

There was something about the sincerity in his voice that made my chest tighten. I brushed it off, focusing on the comfort of the moment instead. “Guess we’re pretty lucky, huh? Being this comfortable with each other.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful, and in his smile there was a hint of sadness. “Lucky.”

The hum of the park filled the quiet between us, the occasional laughter of strangers drifting on the breeze. A couple passed by, arms linked, smiling like they were in their own little world. I watched them, their natural closeness, the way they moved together without thinking. It made me wonder why this, sitting here with Lu, felt so comfortable.

“Do you think it’s weird that we’ve always been like this?” I asked suddenly.

Lu tilted his head. “Like what?”

“This.” I gestured between us. “The touching, the leaning, the casual... everything. Most people don’t have this with their friends, right? So why is it so normal for us?”

He considered the question, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the back of my hand. “I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s just... us. Some people are wired for that kind of closeness, and some aren’t. We just happen to be the kind of people who don’t need all those boundaries.”

“Maybe.” I sighed. “But now that we’re trying to make it look romantic, it’s like I can’t stop analysing it. Like, what if all those little things we’ve always done have been toeing the line this whole time, and we just didn’t realize it?”

Lu turned to face me, his expression softer than I expected. “Cate, if anyone else ever thought we were something more…” He hesitated, just for a second, then shook his head slightly. “That’s on them. We’ve always known what we are. And just because we’re pretending now doesn’t change any of that.”

His words sank in, and I nodded slowly, even as my mind lingered on the question. “Yeah. You’re right.”

His arm shifted from the back of the bench to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close. It was a gesture I’d felt a hundred times before, but today, it made my stomach flutter. I told myself it was just the new context—the whole fake-dating thing—but the feeling didn’t go away.

“You okay?” Lu asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah.” I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how convincing we are,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “I mean, if I didn’t know us, I’d totally buy it.”

Lu smirked. “Well, we are a pretty great team.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “We are, aren’t we?”

Our eyes met, and for a split second, the world seemed to tilt—not dramatically, but enough to make my breath catch. It was just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken that I had to force back down into hiding.

I was just starting to relax, the rhythm of Lu’s thumb brushing against my shoulder soothing in a way I didn’t want to think too hard about, when a voice cut through the quiet behind us.

“Cate? Luigi?”

My head snapped up, my heart lurching as I spotted Emma and her boyfriend, Alex, walking toward us. Emma—an old friend from college I still texted occasionally but hadn’t seen in months—was waving enthusiastically, dragging Alex along like she’d just found treasure.

Lu straightened beside me, his arm still draped casually around my shoulders, and shot me a quick glance. His raised eyebrow said it all: Well, here we go.

“Emma! Hey!” I forced a cheerful smile, sitting up a little straighter but not moving out of Lu’s hold. I couldn’t, not without making it more awkward. “It’s been a while!”

“I know!” Emma practically beamed as she reached us, pulling me into a quick hug before taking a step back.

“I didn’t even know you were back in town!” I said.

Her eyes darted to Lu, and then back to me. “And I definitely didn’t know this was happening.”

My stomach flipped, the weight of her curiosity pressing down on me. I laughed—too quickly—and gestured between Lu and me. “Oh, yeah. It’s, uh...a recent development.”

A recent development. That was one way to put it. Another way would be a complete and utter lie that had just become significantly harder to manage.

Emma’s eyes widened like she’d just stumbled onto the juiciest gossip of the year. “I thought you’d still be attached at the hip but not this!”

She turned to Alex and he elbowed her lightly. “Didn’t I tell you? I always said they were too close to not end up together eventually!”

“You did,” she agreed, chuckling. “I think I owe you ten bucks.”

I could feel my cheeks heating up, the flush creeping all the way to my ears. Beside me, Lu’s lips twitched in amusement, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“We were just taking a walk,” I said quickly, desperate to steer the conversation anywhere else.

But Emma wasn’t letting it go. “You know, at first I thought you two had some kind of unspoken thing going on. And then you told me—what was it you said?” She tapped her chin dramatically, as if trying to jog her memory. “Oh! Right. ‘He’s like my soulmate but strictly platonic’, wasn’t it?”

Lu let out a laugh, low and warm, and I shot him a warning glare. That, of course, only encouraged him. I couldn’t tell if the glint in his eyes was just amusement or something else but I didn’t have time to analyse it.

“Well,” he said smoothly, leaning back with that infuriating smirk of his, “she wasn’t wrong about the soulmate part.”

Emma clasped her hands together, grinning like she’d just read the happy ending of a romance novel. “See? I knew it! I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, Emma. It’s, uh...been nice,” I said, my smile stretched so tight it might have cracked.

“We should catch up soon. I want all the details,” Emma added, her enthusiasm bubbling over.

“Of course!” I chirped, already mentally plotting how to avoid that conversation.

Emma finally let herself be pulled along by Alex, her smile radiant as she waved over her shoulder. “It was so good to see you two! You look amazing together!”

I managed to smile, but something about her words clung to me. Did we?

As soon as they were out of earshot, I slumped back against the bench, groaning softly. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

Lu’s laugh rang out beside me, his arm slipping from my shoulders as he stretched out along the back of the bench. “I think it went pretty well.”

I turned to glare at him, though I knew there was no real bite to it. “I cannot believe you called yourself my soulmate.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into that smug grin I both hated and couldn’t help but find endearing. “Technically, it was you who called me your soulmate. I’m just going along with it.”

I groaned again, burying my face in my hands. “Remind me to never tell Emma anything ever again.”

Lu nudged me with his shoulder. “Oh, come on. Admit it—it was kind of funny.”

Peeking at him through my fingers, I sighed heavily. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, grinning, “you insist on keeping me around.”

As Emma and Alex disappeared into the distance, Lu turned to me, his smirk firmly in place. I knew that look, and I knew nothing good ever followed it.

“So,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief, “what else have you been telling people about me? Should I be worried?”

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. “Please don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” he said, shifting on the bench to face me fully. “Come on, soulmate. Spill. Do you go around telling people I’m secretly in love with you too? Or maybe that I cry during rom-coms?”

“You do cry during rom-coms.”

“Excuse you, but people who don’t cry during Notting Hill are soulless.”

I laughed. “I don’t know, it’s not like I go around making speeches about you.”

“People have always been curious about us. If you’ve been calling me your soulmate—strictly platonic, of course—I can only imagine what other gems you’ve been dropping.”

My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t really talk about you like that.” I glanced at him, my expression softening. “But... I have told people you’re the person I trust most. Like, if I need to hide a body at 3am you’ll show up with a shovel no questions asked. That you’re always there for me no matter what.”

Lu blinked, the teasing fading from his face as something quieter, almost vulnerable, took its place. When he spoke, his voice had lost its usual lightness, and became softer. “Oh.”

“When I’m having the worst days you always know how to make everything better without me having to ask. I tell them you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“That’s… actually really nice to hear.”

I smiled, nudging his knee with mine. “Your turn. What do you tell people about me?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. I tell them you’re my arch-nemesis and that I only keep you around to plot your eventual downfall.”

I laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. His gaze softened as he looked at me, his smile less mischievous now. “I tell people you’re brilliant. And stubborn. And probably the funniest person I know.” He paused, his voice dropping just a little. “I also tell them you’re the only person who really gets me. Like, in a way no one else does.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I knew Lu and I understood each other deeply. That wasn’t new. But hearing him say it—out loud, like it was something undeniable—made my chest feel too tight.

I stared at him, the usual playfulness between us fading into something... deeper. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, I reached over and laced my fingers through his again, giving his hand a small squeeze.

Lu looked down at our hands, then back up at me, his smile returning, this time softer, more genuine. “See? It’s not so bad, being my soulmate.”

I groaned, the warmth in my cheeks betraying me. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” he said, kissing my hair. That gesture was so brief and familiar it should have meant nothing. But it did. It did, and I wasn’t quite ready to think about why.

I shook my head to pretend I was annoyed at him, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. As we sat there, fingers intertwined and the sounds of the park fading into the background, it felt... easy. Maybe too easy.

“Hey, Lu?” I said softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, his focus still on his thumb brushing my skin.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyebrows raised as he gave me a curious look. “So we're really leaning into that, huh?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I didn’t look away. “I’m serious. Do you?”

He leaned back, letting my hand rest in his lap as he considered it. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I think... If soulmates are real, it’s not just about love. Not about romance or some magical ‘meant to be’ thing. It’s more about finding someone who just... fits. Someone who makes everything feel a little less complicated.”

I nodded slowly, his words settling somewhere deep in my soul. “That makes sense.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “What about you? Do you believe in that?”

I hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I used to,” I admitted quietly. “I thought I’d found mine once.”

His brows furrowed, concern flickering in his expression. “Really?”

“You remember Mike, the guy I was dating when we met? You know, before Eric?”

“Vaguely,” he nodded. “I only met him a few times.”

“Yeah. I thought he was it.” I shrugged. “He made me laugh, he made me feel special... and then it all fell apart.” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “I really thought I was going to spend my life with him. But looking back, I don’t think he ever really... knew me. Not the way you do.”

Lu’s grip on my hand tightened just slightly, his voice softer now. “I remember how much it hurt when it ended. But I never realized it was that deep for you.”

I gave him a small, sad smile. “I didn’t let you see how bad it was. You already did so much just being there for me—I didn’t want to dump everything on you.”

“You could’ve,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “I would’ve been okay with that.”

“I know.” I paused, exhaling slowly. “That’s the thing, though. You’re the one person I don’t want to burden. You’re... different.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable than I’d ever heard it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

I blinked, startled. “Never?”

Lu shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Nope. I’ve dated, sure, but... it’s never felt like something I couldn’t live without. It’s like, the closer I get to someone, the more scared I get of giving them too much of me. Love... it always seems to end with someone getting hurt. And I’ve never been ready to take that risk.”

I looked at him again, this time with something closer to understanding. “Do you think you’ll ever be ready?”

“Maybe.” His expression was unreadable. “If I find the right person.”

Something painful tightened in my chest. “Well, when you do, let me know. I’ll have to approve of them, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agreed, his smile widening. And then, quietly, he added, “There’s only one person I’ve ever even considered spending my life with.”

He tilted his head, almost as if to search my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat. I didn’t need to ask who he meant. The way he was looking at me said it all.

“Not in a romantic way, necessarily, but just... someone I know I can trust. Someone I know will never break my heart.”

“Oh Lu...” I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

He cut me off with a soft smile. “Don’t. It’s not a big deal. It’s just the way things are. You’re... safe, Cate. You always have been.”

My chest stung, emotions swirling inside me too fast to untangle. I didn’t really know what to say, so I settled for squeezing his hand, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe for me too, you know.”

The weight of the moment hung between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to move closer, but I did. I lifted my hand, pausing only for a heartbeat before reaching up to slip my fingers into his hair. It was soft, a little messy from the breeze, and the familiar gesture grounded me in a way nothing else could.

Lu closed his eyes briefly, leaning ever so slightly into my touch. Then I let my hand slide down to rest on his shoulder, just below his neck. I shifted closer until our sides were pressed together, and without thinking, I brushed my nose against his cheek. His breath hitched—just barely, just enough for me to notice.

The warmth of his skin sent a shiver through me, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his breathing. “You’re safe,” I repeated, my voice barely audible.

He turned his head just enough to look at me, his expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “Cate…” he started, his voice low and reverent, but whatever he was about to say faded.

Instead, we just sat there, my arm draped over him and my head leaning against his. His hand came to rest just above my knee, with his thumb stroking lazy patterns as always. The noise of the park seemed to fade, the rest of the world falling away until it was just us.

And for a moment, it didn’t matter that this was supposed to be an act. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

Because this? This was real.

I let my eyes close for a second, breathing him in—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of him. It was effortless, the kind of comfort that didn’t ask for permission because it didn’t need to.

“See?” he murmured. “This is why we don’t have to overthink it.”

I tilted my head up slightly, my temple still resting against his cheek. “What?”

“This,” he said, giving my leg the lightest squeeze. “Being close. Acting like a couple. If we just don’t overthink it, it’ll come naturally.”

I exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re saying we just have to keep doing what we’re already doing?”

“Basically.”

I hummed, considering that. He had a point. No one would question a thing if we just carried ourselves like this—like we belonged close, like we fit.

A new thought wormed its way into my head, and before I could talk myself out of it, I asked, “Do you think there’ll be a moment at the party where we’ll have to kiss?”

Lu went still for half a second. Then I felt the slow rise of his chest as he inhaled.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “I mean, it might be expected at some point. Depends on the circumstances, I guess.”

I shifted just enough to glance up at him. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on me hadn’t loosened.

“Would it be weird?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

He was quiet for a moment, like he was turning the idea over in his mind. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Would it bother you? To kiss me?”

I let out a soft laugh, leaning my head fully against his shoulder again. “I don't think so. Would it bother you?”

His thumb moved absentmindedly against my thigh, a barely-there gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “Not really.”

My fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt for a while, my gaze distant as my mind worked through something I couldn’t quite name.

Finally, I broke the silence, my tone deliberately casual. “You know... maybe we should just get it over with.”

Lu turned to me, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Get what over with?”

I looked at him like the answer was obvious. “The kiss.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at me. “The kiss?”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up straighter, my arms crossing over my chest as if to bolster my argument. “I mean, think about it. It’ll probably happen tomorrow, right? And if we just... do it now, it won’t be weird when it does. We’ll already know what to expect.”

Lu stared at me, his lips parting as though he was about to protest, but no words came out. Finally, he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’re serious?”

“Of course,” I replied, fixing him with a challenging look. “You’re the one who wanted to rehearse everything. This is just... another part of the act. Right?”

He leaned back against the bench, brushing a hand through his hair. “Cate, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my kisses have been described as addictive. If you end up hooked, that’s on you.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “Addictive, huh? Well, just so you know, I kissed a guy once, and he was so overwhelmed his knees nearly buckled. So honestly, this is just as dangerous for you.”

Lu barked out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, and shook his head. “Oh, really? Are we comparing stats now?”

I smirked, leaning in slightly. “All I’m saying is, if one of us ends up regretting this, it’s not gonna be me.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he realized I wasn’t backing down. He exhaled, his smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he said finally, shifting to face me. “If you’re so sure about this, let’s do it. But just so we’re clear—when you fall in love with me after this, I’m still going to blame you.”

My heart was suddenly pounding in my chest, but I kept my voice steady. “Deal.”

We moved closer, our legs pressed together, and the playful atmosphere gave way to something quieter, heavier. My gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back again, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat.

“Okay,” I said softly, my voice more breathless than I intended.

“Okay,” he echoed. His tone was easy, but his eyes flicked down to my lips.

I knew this was probably a terrible idea. But instead of pulling back, I leaned in. I didn’t want to second-guess myself any more than I already had.

He met me halfway and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

His lips were warm and soft, the kiss unhurried and careful. Not exactly tentative, just thoughtful. Like he was as aware as I was of how this could change things.

It lasted a few seconds, long enough for my hand to find its way back to his shoulder, for his thumb to brush absently against my shin. It was enough to make my stomach flip and my pulse race, like every inch of my skin was crackling with electricity.

We pulled back, almost at the same time. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed. He inhaled slowly, like he needed a second to ground himself before facing me again.

“Well?” I asked. I tried to sound casual even though my heart was racing. I failed.

He tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Not bad. I can see how someone’s knees might buckle.”

I laughed, swatting his arm. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “You might be dangerous after all.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. “Well, now you know what to expect. No excuses if you mess it up tomorrow.”

“Mess it up?” Lu scoffed, leaning back with a confident grin. “Cate, if anything, I’m going to steal the show.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. Then I leaned against him again, settling my head back on his shoulder. His warmth was a steady presence, grounding me. My hand rested on his chest, fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of his shirt.

And then I felt it.

His heartbeat. Fast, unsteady, thumping against my palm.

I didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. I just let the feeling sink in, the thrum of him beneath my hand, trying to make sense of everything.

But the longer I stayed there, the more I noticed. The more I felt. His breath, shallow but even. The way his muscles tensed slightly under my hand. How he didn’t seem to notice that his heart was racing.

And how, despite the way it made me feel—like I might be on the edge of something huge—I couldn’t bring myself to mention it. I didn’t want to overthink.

We just sat there, quiet and still, as if the world hadn’t quite caught up with what had just happened. We both pretended it was just another rehearsal, a necessary part of the act. But as the silence settled around us and the moment stretched out, I couldn’t deny that something had shifted between us. I couldn’t quite shake the way my lips still tingled from his.

And the way he looked at me—like he was thinking the exact same thing—only made it harder to ignore. He didn't say anything either. He didn't have to.

Click here if you'd like to be added to the tag list ✨

@mrsmangione286 @instanteagledonut @r6yven @nosebeers

#luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #col

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grayskies2525 · 2 days ago

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Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion) | Part 4/4

Here's the conclusion to Evan's story! I'm glad to see so many people enjoying my gross fantasies!

Part one Part two Part three

Word count: 2,700

CW: mess, contagion

* * *

Evan walks to and from work every day. He doesn’t live far and everyone in this city walks most places. It’s that or take a bus, or the subway — neither of which are options for him in his current state even if he wants nothing more than to just sit down. He simply can’t endure any more potential opportunities for nose-related disasters.

No, what Evan needs is to walk home as quickly as he can while trying to mitigate — to the best of his ability — the effects from the disaster that is his nose.

He’s doing a great job, if he does say so himself. Yes, he’s sneezing. Yes, he’s a snotty mess. But, he’s also equipped with an entire box of tissues that he stole from the store’s break room — considering his paychecks versus the amount of money the corporation takes in, Evan feels they owe him a box of tissues at the very least — and has captured each drip and sneeze deftly into the little white squares.

The sneezes are hard, fast, and relentless. As he walks, to distract himself, he begins a kind of game. If he were to title the game, Evan imagines it being something akin to “How many seconds can Evan go without a sneeze before he makes it home?”

So far, his record is twenty-eight seconds. He recognizes the absurdity of this. He doubts anyone else in any universe has ever sneezed this much in just half a day. He almost feels a sense of pride at the knowledge that he must be setting some kind of record, but then he also recognizes how absurd that is, so he brushes it away.

“HEH eh’TshUUHHH!”

Another sneeze perfectly captured into a tissue.

He smiles — literally smiles — at the accomplishment. This is what his life has become. He can not wait to finally get his degree so he can feel proud of something that holds a little more weight than “managed not to sneeze on everyone in sight.”

He mentally resets the timer in his head. As odd as the game is, it certainly does help pass the time. He only has a few more minutes until he reaches the sanctuary of his nice, warm bed.

Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three….

Evan wonders if he can make it a whole minute. He doubts it. He already feels another budding tickle. But he’s going to try.

“HEH!”

No, no, no! He WILL make it a minute without a sneeze. He doesn’t care how arbitrary of a goal it is. It’s still a goal — something he has alarmingly few of these days — and he’s going to meet it.

“HEH HHH HEHhhhHHHH!”

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five….

“Heehh Ehhh Eh HHhhH!”

Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two….

“Excuse me sir, I hate to bother you, but could you tell me where —”

“EDT’SHHuuuuHHHH!”

And just like that, the pretty stranger’s pale skin is covered in a plethora of droplets, glistening in the sunlight.

“Uhb, I’b sor— heh— sorry,” Evan says, rubbing his nose with a tissue.

The stranger gives a tight smile before brushing off her face in a futile attempt to clear away the droplets. He’s sure all she does is smear them around. They’re undoubtedly laden with viruses, anyway, so he knows she’s doomed. Just like all the other people who have been unfortunate to come into contact with him today. Just like he, himself, was three days ago in that elevator.

“It’s um… It’s fine,” the stranger says.

“Uhb, you were aski’g about directiods? I bay be able to hehhh —”

The woman is walking so briskly, she’s practically running from Evan. “That’s okay! I remember where it is now. Thanks!” she calls out before somehow walking away even more quickly.

It’s a good thing she does because Evan snaps forward, hands on his thighs, and lets out what must be the most violent sneeze he’s had in his entire life.

“HEH-RRrrreeeEHHHSHuuuHHHHHH!”

It sounds more like a scream than a sneeze, though the resulting heavy spray, thick smell, and the strand of snot dangling precariously from his left nostril are all clear indicators that it was, indeed, a sneeze — a massive one.

It’s like his body is desperately fighting with all it has in it to get this cold out of him. He’d be more than happy to let it, if it weren’t such a violent — and contagious — action. His head is throbbing and his throat is wrecked.

He goes to wipe off the strand from his nose with a tissue, but he’s too late and he watches in resignation as the drop hits the concrete.

At this point, people are giving him a wide berth. He tries not to pay attention to anyone’s expression, but he still can’t miss the scowls and noses scrunched up in disgust. It’s not like he can even blame them.

He hangs his head, clutches his tissue box tightly against himself, and tries to make himself take up the least amount of space possible. He needs to get home without causing any more scenes.

* * *

How could he forget his keys?

Evan’s been an adult for over a decade now, and he’s never done something as senseless as locking himself outside his apartment. He supposes having a cold from the deepest depths of Hell could be to blame for his forgetfulness.

He’s currently slumped against his apartment door, tissue box in his lap. There’s probably a better choice he can make besides this one, but he’s already here and moving his body any more sounds like the worst idea in the entire world. He feebly zips up jacket to ward off the chill, and even that small action wipes out the remaining energy he had.

His phone buzzes and he quickly unlocks it to read the message.

Marcus: 😂 Usually it's me forgetting the keys. i’m on a date w mia but we’re almost finished eating. she’s gotta go to work soon anyway. hang tight. be there in abt 20

Evan breathes out a sigh of relief, then begins typing.

Evan: THANK you. Could you also possibly pick up some cold meds on your way? If you have the money? I’ll pay you back Friday.

A minute or two goes by while Evan waits for the response. He closes his eyes and leans more heavily against the door. He opens his eyes halfway when he hears footsteps. The person is someone he doesn’t recognize — so probably just someone visiting someone on the floor. The stranger gives Evan a quick look before quickening their pace as they walk down the hall.

The phone’s buzz jerks Evan out of the doze he’d slipped into. He groggily takes his phone and glances down at it.

Marcus: stuff’s like ten dollars, man. i mean, if you really need it tho, i can charge it to my credit card.

Evan sighs. He gets it. Money’s incredibly tight for both of them. Between the two of them, they can just barely manage to make rent each month.

Evan: Nvm. I’ll just tough it out.

After hitting “send” on the message, Evan allows his eyes to close, resting his head against the door frame.

* * *

“Evan?”

The way the man says his name, Evan suspects it’s not the first time he’s said it.

Evan groans before beginning the exhausting process of opening his eyes.

“Ahh, so you are alive. I was beginning to wonder,” Marcus says with a smirk.

Evan groans again.

“Are you drunk or something?” Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

Evan tries to glare. “Ndo,” he says indignantly, though he likely diminishes the effect with his subsequent thick snort. “Imb just sigck. A’d cold a’d tired. Just wadda lie dowd,” he says, weakly, before he starts coughing — the sounds heavy and wet.

Marcus scans Evan up and down, likely taking in Evan’s slumped posture, his lap covered in an innumerable amount of used tissues, and however his face looks — something Evan doesn’t even want to think about.

Marcus sighs. “Leave it to you to nearly die from the common cold. Let’s get you inside, then.”

* * *

As much as Evan had wanted to crawl into bed, upon entering the apartment it was as if he’d lost all control of his legs. They’d immediately taken him to the couch where he’d instantly curled up on his side.

He lies on his back, now, clasping a tissue to his nose as he blows and blows. He’s read that you’re not actually supposed to blow your nose — that the pressure causes the germs to blow back into the sinus cavity, which can lead to sinus infections. But he has no doubt that without blowing, he’d literally choke to death on his own snot.

“EDT’shhUUH! ECK’SHUUH!”

The sneezes are hard, sharp, and wet. He feels the moisture sliding down his chin despite the fact he’d had a tissue over his nose. He sighs, then wipes off the mess.

“Okay, Nurse Marcus is here with your first dose of medicine,” Marcus says as he comes toward Evan. He takes a seat on the coffee table across from Evan. Evan notices the small cup of liquid in his hand.

Evan’s brows knit. “But I thought you wered’t goi’ig to buy the medicide.” Evan has given up on being able to pronounce m’s and n’s any time soon.

“In the three years we’ve been roommates, you’ve never asked me to buy you anything, so I figured it must be bad. So yeah, I went ahead and bought it. But, damn, I still wasn’t expecting this,” Marcus says, gesturing to Evan with his free hand. “I didn’t know it was possible for someone’s nose to be that red. I thought that was, like, a cartoon thing. But, no, here you are totally Rodolphing it. It’s almost impressive.”

“Yeah, I kdow, I mbust loogk like shit. Cad I please have the bedicide dow? I bead, thagck you for buyi’g it of course, a’d all that, but really, I thidk I deed it, like dow,” Evan says before proceeding to cough horrendously.

Marcus grimaces, but hands the liquid over to Evan. Evan manages to swallow the substance before he sneezes into the air three times in a row.

“You kdow, it’s probably a good thi’g you bought this because dow we’ll have sombe for when you combe dowd with this,” Evan says.

Marcus snorts in amusement. “Don’t worry about that. I haven’t been sick in years. Just one of the many benefits of a healthy diet and regular exercise,” he says, looking so smug Evan wishes he could throw something at his face.

Instead, Evan glares. “You are so addoyigck for that.”

Marcus leans in closer from his spot on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m so what? It’s hard to understand you because you’re so full of snot.”

Evan glares again, then snorts thickly. “Addoyi’g. You are HH EDTChUUUuuuhhh!”

If Evan hadn’t turned on his side to face Marcus, Marcus may have had a chance. But Evan did turn on his side, so Marcus’s face receives quite the generous amount of spray.

“Sorry,” Evan mumbles. At this rate, he’s apologizing almost as much as he’s sneezing.

Marcus blinks, then wipes off his face with his arm. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. My immune system can handle it.”

Evan doesn’t think anyone’s immune system is equipped for this thing, but he sure hopes Marcus’s is. This feeling only increases as the evening goes on.

Sometimes Evan forgets how nice Marcus can be. They’ve lived together for a few years now, and Evan definitely considers him a friend, but they’re both busy and despite being roommates, their paths don’t always often cross. But Marcus does nice little things for him throughout the rest of the day — covering up his poor pathetic body with blankets, bringing him more medicine, and even cooking ramen for him (since it turns out they didn’t actually have any Campbells). He also makes sure Evan has a hefty supply of toilet paper roll — after he ran out of tissues — and a wastebasket conveniently placed next to him.

Most importantly, he doesn’t complain when Evan launches sneeze after sneeze into the air. Marcus assured him any damage has already been done, and when Evan thinks back to the droplets coating his face from that full on sneeze he’d directed at him — well, Evan figures he’s probably right.

Evan spends the rest of the day nestled in blankets on the couch, dozing in and out of sleep, while Marcus plays movies on the TV and keeps him company.

After the morning he had, he considers the evening to be perfect. Or, relatively perfect, at least. He’s sicker than he’s ever been, but he’s warm and comfortable. Or, mostly comfortable — his congestion, sneezing, and the painfully raw skin around the edges of his nostrils beg for his almost constant attention. But most importantly, he’s no longer drenching people in his germs.

And Evan couldn’t really ask for more.

* * *

Marcus does come down with the cold, of course. Trevor, too. And seemingly everyone Evan knows.

When Evan returns to work five days later — still sniffling and coughing, but mostly functioning — he gives a feeble attempt at defending himself. He mentions it could have been Courtney who got almost their entire team sick. She did, after all, go home sick the same day as Evan. But that argument quickly unravels when someone points out Courtney had a stomach bug. And everyone who’s called off has been hacking up their lungs and sneezing non-stop.

So, Evan reluctantly admits that perhaps there’s a slight possibility he may be responsible for starting a minor cold outbreak in the store.

To make an already embarrassing situation worse, his boss shows him an online survey that makes him blush. In the survey, a customer mentions how the store lets “unhygienic” employees interact with customers and relays how she “came down with the worst cold of her life” after a rude manager “purposefully sneezed all over her just because he didn’t want to do his job.”

After he leaves the store feeling stressed — having only three people to work the registers and the sales floor does not make for a good shift — he heads to school for his evening class.

* * *

As he stands in the elevator, his eyes widen when he sees who steps inside.

It’s him.

The instructor who’s single-handedly responsible for the most humiliating day of Evan’s life.

The man gives Evan a quick, friendly smile before clear recognition settles over his face. Evan tries not to glare as he uses a tissue to quickly wipe at his nose.

It’s awkward for a few seconds until the man speaks. “Listen, um…. Gosh, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just…. Did I get you sick? Be honest.”

Evan blows his nose — perhaps more dramatically than necessary — and this time does glare at the man. “Yeah. You got me sick,” he states, simply. “I’m just now getting over it.”

The man winces. “I am so sorry.”

There is so much genuine sympathy and regret etched into the man’s expression that Evan finds himself softening. “It’s fine. You couldn’t help it,” he finally says.

The elevator dings and the two get off on the same floor, but they both stay stopped outside the doors. “Listen,” the instructor begins. “Was it, like, the most sick you’ve ever been? I’ve never had anything like that in my life.”

Evan gives a wry laugh. “Hands-down the sneeziest and snottiest I’ve ever been.”

“Right?” the man says, emphatically. “Again, I am so sorry. I can’t apologize enough.”

Evan offers a small smile. “It’s okay, really. I don’t think anyone stands a chance at not getting that cold. It really wants to spread. I was doomed the moment I got on that elevator,” he says giving an exaggerated, forlorn look.

The instructor smiles. “For sure. Thank you for being so understanding.”

The two exchange more pleasantries before they walk off to their respective classes.

The guy’s nice and Evan doesn’t have it in him to resent him any longer.

After all, Evan knows now from personal experience that with a cold like that — sneezing all over everyone you come across is simply inevitable.

#snz #snzblr #cw: mess #cw: contagion #snz kink #snz fic

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astro-b-o-y-d · 16 hours ago

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Triangulum - Chapter 8 - Pin The Fist On The Triangle

— — — — — — —

“You sure you know where we’re goin’, Dip?”

“Positive.”

A twig snapped beneath Dipper’s shoes as he hopped onto a nearby log. “Granted, we only went to the bunker, like, once last year,” he explained, shielding his eye with one hand to get a proper look at his surroundings. “But I did read Ford’s journal cover-to-cover a few dozen times, so I at least know what the tree hiding the entrance looks like.”

He flashed Stan a grin. “Plus, you know—found the journal itself near the bunker. And I’m never going to forget that day as long as I live.”

“Heh, yeah, I’ll bet,” Stan added. “Still can’t believe you managed to keep that a secret from me for over half the summer.”

The hand above Dipper’s eyes was slapped flat against his forehead. “I know, right? And I can’t believe you managed to hide all the portal stuff even longer than that! Man, if we’d just…said something to each other sooner, maybe we could’ve gotten Ford back a lot quicker!”

“Preachin’ to the choir with that one, pal—huh, hang on, now I need t’ breathe—”

With a wheeze, Stan propped himself against the nearest tree with one arm. “Can’t help Ford and Mabel out if one of us drops dead from ‘no-air-in-lungs’ disease before we get there.”

Dipper looked down at him and folded his arms in amusement. “You know if Ford was here, he’d probably correct you with the phrase ‘oxygen deprivation’.”

A grin of his own tugged at the corners of Stan’s mouth. “And if Mabel were here, she’d point out how you sound like just as much of a giant nerd as he does for knowing that.”

The two of them shared a laugh, one that petered off into a gruff sigh on Stan’s end as he shifted to a position with his back against the tree. “So, uh—that little birdie from before didn’t really explain why the two of you crafted some kinda plan to run off and help Ford. Or why you were the one to stay behind at the party instead of your sister.”

He winked playfully at him. “No offense, kid, but you ain’t the first person in the family I’d turn to when it comes to bein’ a party expert.”

“None taken, it wasn’t the original plan,” Dipper explained. “I offered to go after Ford myself, but Mabel was pretty set on being the one to go help him. Said she wanted to spend more time with Ford this year. But—”

The rest of his sentence fell with both his expression and body as he hopped back down from the log, and Stan quirked an eyebrow. “But, huh? Feel like sharin’ those thoughts you’ve probably been twistin’ yourself into knots over all day?”

“More than all day,” Dipper admitted. “Mabel’s just been acting kind of off lately. Not even lately, actually—ever since we got home last year. Every time the topic of Weirdmageddon comes up, she just gets so—okay, I know it’s the most obvious way to describe it but weird.”

A shrug. “She didn’t want to talk about it with Mom or Dad, and I didn’t really want to either. They had a lot to deal with last year, and we kinda just…agreed to keep that one to ourselves—”

“Smart call.”

“—but she also just kinda goes out of her way to avoid talking about it at all,” Dipper continued. “Even with me. Which, you know, I get it. I don’t really like thinking about it or talking about it much either. But with her, it just feels…different, you know? Like there’s something I’m missing that’s so obvious, but at the same time, it could just be me overthinking things like I always do.”

He pressed his hands to his face with a drawn-out groan. “Ugh, I kinda hope it’s that second one. I mean, Mabel and I are supposed to be a team, right? I thought after last year, we’d be able to talk to each other about anything that was bothering us. If we can’t do that…”

His words trailed off once again as he cast Stan an uncertain look. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about all this,” he said “You were going on and on about how much of a Pines man I’ve become, and here I am—still getting anxious over stuff that’s probably nothing.”

He let out a weak laugh as his gaze fell to his hands, while Stan kept his own locked on Dipper for a moment of quiet consideration. One that he was quick to break before he could get too lost in it with a light nudge to the boy’s arm. “Hey, come on—you’re just worried about your sister havin’ something that worries her, and thinkin’ she can’t share that worry with you,” he pointed out. “‘Cause when you’ve got a twin, you would think that one of your worries is both of your worries. And then when it’s not, you’re left with your own batch a’ worries about their worries, and whether or not you’re worthy of knowin’ about their worries in the first place—”

He circled a hand in the air. “And now I’m talkin’ in circles and ‘worry’ doesn’t even sound like a real word anymore. Point is, it’s practically a Pines family tradition at this point to get yourself tied up into thought-knots over your twin’s safety and wellbeing.”

Dipper cracked a small smile up at him, one that fell into a knowing look almost immediately after it had formed. “Is that what’s been happening with you and Ford?”

A grunt was Stan’s response, his actual reply going unsaid for a few seconds longer than he would’ve preferred. “We’re talkin’ about you and Mabel right now, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Dipper agreed. “But you did say that ‘no one else was stepping up to help Ford out’ before we headed out here. Is that why you were spending all day on the boat? You wanted to find a way to help Ford?”

“I said we’re talkin’ about you,” Stan insisted, before pressing a hand to his own forehead and peering through a cluster of nearby trees. “So, either keep yappin’ about how worried you are over your sister or go back to pointin’ me in the direction of the bunker.”

BANG!

A loud gunshot echoed through the surrounding wood, snapping their attention towards the direction of the sound. “Huh, I think Ford might’ve just picked an option for me,” Dipper said.

“That, or some random hunter who’s late to the Shack party,” Stan added. “Either way, a gunshot usually means the opposite of anything good.”

He pressed a hand to his chin. “Unless you fired it yourself, but even then it’s only good if you succeed in takin’ out whatever you were firin’ at in the first place. If it was dangerous enough to fire a gun at to begin with, you don’t wanna go and mess that up. Consider that some kinda life lesson or whatever.”

“Considered,” Dipper said. “But if it was Ford who fired the gun, that could mean something went wrong in the bunker. Him and Mabel might need our help!”

BANG!

Another shot being fired enveloped the area, and Dipper sped off through the underbrush in a hurry. “Wait, Dip—hold on a sec,” Stan called as he quickly followed after him. “Probably a bad idea to go running after the sound of a gun in the middle of the woods at—”

His warning was cut off as he stepped through a pair of bushes, only to immediately lose sight of Dipper between the dark trees. “ —night.”

He let out another sigh—one that finished just before a third shot was fired, and he took off running again with the faintest, stupidest hope that it really was just a random hunter with a complex for being fashionably late to parties. Those probably existed somewhere, right?

…Even in a town with as much weirdness as Gravity Falls, Stan still wasn’t sure how much of that he could actually buy.

— — — — — —

“Stop running, Bill! You know we’re faster than you!”

Bill peered out from behind the tree he had ducked behind for protection, one hand resting against the trunk while he cupped the other around his mouth: “Question for you, Shooting Star: do you really think that asking politely is gonna make me obey?”

From where her and Ford stood a short distance away, Mabel stomped her foot with a huff. “Well, I’ll never know unless I try!”

Ford remained silent during their banter, gun raised once again as he took aim at Bill. He had already fired several shots, all of which had been targeted at a non-lethal part of Bill’s body; legs, arms, even maybe a shoulder.

Unfortunately for Ford, the number of bullets that landed a hit had been a big, fat, goose-egg of a zero. But now the chance to once again lodge a bullet into Bill’s skull had presented itself to him. A clear and easy shot if he moved quick enough.

Yet here he was—a hesitant finger trembling half an inch above the trigger.

He still hadn’t quite processed what had happened down in the bunker. One second Bill’s lifeless body had been sprawled out across the control panel, and the next he was barreling out the door towards the exit like he had never been shot in the first place—the only evidence to the contrary being the slowly-drying blood that still decorated the control panel.

All of which had taken place outside Mabel’s line of sight, an option that was no longer available due to the jabs and jeers from his right side.

He dared to pull his attention from Bill for a moment to watch her out of the corner of his eye. How did she feel, as she countered Bill’s retorts with her own? Had she concluded that any attempt to kill Bill had merely resulted in failure, and simply not dwelled further on that train of thought? Did she still harbor a grudge towards Ford over a mere attempt—successful or otherwise—to kill someone who so strongly resembled her brother?

“Grunkle Ford, shoot him!”

…Well, clearly the evidence presented to him suggested otherwise.

But despite Mabel’s insistence, Ford’s gun remained unfired. Even if Mabel herself truly held no negative feelings towards the ordeal, there was still plenty of other things to worry about when it came to the option of shooting Bill again.

What exactly did it mean if Bill was able to survive a gunshot to the head? Ford had originally assumed that Bill had been goading him into firing a shot as a means of escaping his vessel, but he had popped back to normal while still inside said vessel. Had a mad dash for freedom while his captor was too stunned to react properly been his real real plan all along?

His gaze returned to Bill. And what did that mean? That Bill simply couldn’t be killed at all, and he wanted Ford to be aware of that fact? Had that been his actual plan? What did it mean if—

“Grunkle Ford, he’s getting away!”

A tug on his sleeve and another outcry from Mabel finally snapped him from his thoughts entirely, just as Bill finally ducked out of sight and took off running again. Biting back a curse, he gestured for Mabel to follow as the two hurried after him—Bill’s devilish laughter trailing behind him and encircling them like snares around the necks of unsuspecting rabbits—

“ACK!”

—only to be completely cut off by a yelp of surprise and the sound of something tumbling to the ground just beyond a set of bushes. As Ford and Mabel finally drew closer and stepped through, they were greeted by the sight of Bill on his knees in the middle of a clearing—hands slapped to his forehead as if he’d collided hard with something at full speed.

And as their gazes travelled further over to the right, they were quick to realize that had been the exact scenario to unfold as someone else came stumbling out of a patch of nearby shrubbery.

“Dipper?”

Sure enough, Dipper now stood before them in the middle of the clearing—clothing a stained mess of dirt and mud and a hand pressed to his own forehead with a pained: “Ugh, did I just run into a wall?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ran into me,” Bill griped. “Seriously, Pine Tree, where’s the fire? What, did you mistake me for another redhead you never had a snowball’s chance of getting with in the first place?”

“Hey, I—”

Rather than acknowledge him, Dipper’s hand trailed all the way up to his hair and patted the top for a moment. “Aw, man, he knocked off my hat,” he muttered in annoyance before his gaze fell to his clothes. “And got dirt on my—ugh, come on, I just washed everything too! How is there this much mud out here, I’m pretty sure it hasn’t rained in a while…”

While he attempted to brush some of the dirt from his clothing, Mabel bounded quickly over to her brother’s side. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out, directing an especially-perturbed scowl at one of the stains on his shirt. “Weren’t you supposed to be down in the bunker?”

“Ugh, tell that to him.”

Mabel followed up her reply with a scowl in Bill’s direction, one he reciprocated before pulling himself back to his feet. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t want to intrude on this touching family reunion, so if you don’t mind—hey, HEY!”

Before he could make a move to start running again, a strong hand grasped the back of his jacket and hoisted him up off the ground with a sharp yank—seconds before something cold and metal was pressed against his cheek.

Well, guess someone did mind after all.

Despite being quite literally caught off guard, however, Bill eyed the end of Ford’s gun with an unimpressed look. Now that he knew about Tangy’s rule of not being able to truly die until the game was over, any threats on Ford’s end were about as threatening as—

—well, honestly as threatening as they would’ve been back in his original form. What’s the worst that Ford could do now, put another bullet in his head?

Just for good measure, Bill cast a sidelong glance at his left wrist for a quick look at his speck. Most of it was hidden by his sleeve, but he could still make out the topmost—bottommost? It didn’t mattermost.—points just barely peeking out from beneath his cuff. Just enough that would be easily missed by anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but still noticeable for those who knew it was there.

He risked letting his gaze linger on it for a millisecond longer before his pupil shifted back to Ford. If he had had no way of knowing about Tangy’s little respawn trick until it mattered, then there was even less of a chance that Ford knew how it worked. Poor Fordsy’s mind had to be racing with possibilities about how he popped back to life down in the bunker—likely with no clear answers about how it happened and a million theories branching off in just as many directions.

The corners of his mouth twitched with devious intent. Well, when the driver already had little control over the wheel, the best thing to do was to grab it with both hands and veer him so off-course that he went carreaning over the side of a cliff!

And sure, Bill might’ve no longer had access to the car dubbed Ford’s Mind, but he still had ways to tamper with the breaks. “So how’re we gonna do this, Sixer? You feel like trying to shoot me again?”

The gun clicked as Ford turned off the safety. “Stop talking.”

“Make me stop talking, then,” Bill goaded further.

From where her and Dipper stood, Mabel’s scowl lowered further for a moment before she turned to her brother with a brighter expression. “You said you lost your hat?”

“Yeah, might’ve landed in the bushes somewhere,” Dipper said, and started fumbling through the leaves. “He ran into me pretty hard—oh, wait, there it is—”

“I think I heard ‘em over here!”

As he rose to his feet with the hat clutched tightly in hand, the sound of footsteps approaching caused both children to take a few steps back—just in time for Stan to step out into the clearing. And upon seeing the group, he called behind him with a: “Yep, they’re h—”

A pause, before he looked back at them with several blinks of confusion. “Hang on a sec.”

“What’s wrong?” a voice called behind him, seconds before another person stepped out into the clearing to reveal—

“Wh—Dipper?”

Sure enough, a second Dipper now stood at Stan’s side, giving his sister a wave as he slowed to a stop. “Hey, Mabel, what’s—”

And suddenly his words were interrupted as well as he also took in the sight before him. “—happening?”

The entire group was silent, befuddled gazes shifting from one Dipper to the other. Even Bill couldn’t help but glance between them with a raised eyebrow of his own. “Well, this night’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?”

“You stay out of this!” Mabel chided him, before giving the identical boys another unsure look. “But…yeah, this is pretty weird.”

“Okay, so what’s goin’ on here?” Stan asked, pointing a finger at the Dipper next to him. “We got one—” He moved the finger to the Dipper who had originally crashed into Bill. “—two—”

And finally, to Bill himself. “Somethin’ ain’t right here. This one of your tricks, pal?”

“First of all, Goldfish, why would I tell you if it was?” Bill asked. “Second of all, what would making two Pine Trees accomplish for me personally?”

He flashed his teeth at the rest of the group. “Heck, it’s bad enough that one of ‘em exists already! Personally I think not bringing another one into the world is just me doing the rest of you a favor!”

He let out a cackle. “Meanwhile the faker’s just performing a microaggression against everyone else’s peace of mind! Haha!”

“Ugh, do you seriously have to lay it on that thick?” The Dipper from Stan’s side piped up in annoyance, before pressing a hand to his forehead. “Nope, no—not focusing on you right now. First we’ve gotta figure out why there’s currently two of me standing here.”

“Who cares why there’s two of me?” The other Dipper added. “I think the actual thing we need to be focusing on is which one’s the real one—”

He looked over at Ford. “Or, you know—getting rid of him, like I’m guessing you were trying to do until now? I just came out here to help you find a solution.”

“Hey, that’s why I came out here, too!” The Dipper beside Stan added, narrowing his eyebrows at the doppelganger. “And I’ve even got Grunkle Stan to back me up for that first thing! We’ve been together the entire time!”

“Darn right we have,” Stan agreed loyally, pointing a finger towards the other. “If anyone here’s some kinda fakey-fakerson, it’s that one!”

“Thank you,” the Dipper beside him said appreciatively.

“...Sure, there were a few seconds where the two of us got separated in the woods, but other than that, the kid hasn’t left my side once!”

The same Dipper cast a flat look up at him in annoyance. “Really?”

“Well, I’m not a fake!” the other Dipper insisted. “Ask Mabel, she’ll back me up! Right, Mabel?”

He cast a hopeful glance to his sister, only to be met with a lukewarm, so-so hand gesture in response. “I meaaaaan, we did just run into you a few seconds ago,” she pointed out. “I want to trust you’re the real Dipper, but you do have a weird trend of ending up with clones that look exactly like you.”

“That’s what being a clone means!” The Dipper beside her insisted. “Of course we’re going to look alike!”

“I don’t want to agree with him,” the other Dipper added. “But he does raise a good point, Mabel. It wouldn’t be a clone if it didn’t look exactly like me.”

“Alright, alright, everyone just calm down for a sec,” Stan ordered, turning his gaze to his brother. “Ford, any input on this whole Seein’ Double ordeal?”

Bill felt the tip of the gun withdraw from his cheek the slightest amount, and he once again cast a glance up at its owner. Ford had remained silent throughout the whole doppelganger reveal, and his expression was studious as he looked between the two of them.

Despite the concentration he put up for the rest of the group, Bill could feel the hand on the back of his jacket trembling just the faintest amount. A fact that once again returned the smile to his own face.

Perhaps Ford was genuinely trying to figure out the correct answer to the issue at hand. Or perhaps the sudden reveal of yet another Pine Tree was only scrambling his brain matter even further than it already was, leaving him open for further scrambling until his thoughts were completely servable with a side of mind bacon and a glass of mind orange juice.

And boy howdy, did Bill need himself a good plate of mind breakfast! The middle of the night was the best time for it, after all!

Yeesh, first a mind car, then a mind breakfast? He was going all over the place with his metaphors. Point was, some higher power was being overly generous with all the opportunities they were granting him to mess with Ford’s head. And with the entire family—plus one—as witnesses, maybe revisiting the events of the bunker would succeed in agitating him further.

Worst case scenario, he got another bullet in his head for a few minutes. But in turn, the rest of the family got some trauma outta the ordeal and he had another opportunity to escape while they were too shocked to react.

“Sounds to me like there’s some pretty damning evidence on both Pine Trees’ sides,” he said aloud with a grin. “Perhaps a classic case of ‘shoot them both in the foot and see which one of ‘em cries harder’ is in order.”

“Absolutely not,” one Dipper replied sharply.

“Not in a million years,” the other added in agreement.

“I’m just saying, it’d probably be an effective method in finding the fake Pine Tree,” Bill pointed out, with a wink up at Ford. “Unless Ford would rather just give them both the same treatment he gave me down in the bunker instead.”

The gun was pressed against his cheek again in an instant. “Stop. Talking.”

He felt the hand on the back of his shirt tense, curling his smile further. “What, Fordsy, not up for a repeat performance now that you have an audience to see what you did?”

His grin widened as the rest of the group’s attention immediately shifted from the dopplegangers to Ford with varying levels of confusion. “Grunkle Ford, what’s he talking about?” one of the Dippers asked.

“Yes, whatever is he talking about~?” Bill asked, batting his eyelashes up at his captor. “Feel like sharing with the rest of the class? Or, I guess, showing the rest of the class? You were sooooo quick to do it when it was just the two of us down there, weren’t you?”

He continued to stare up at Ford with a smug expression, far too pleased by the malice in his own features as he pressed the trip of the gun further into his cheek. Oh, such malice might intimidate a lesser being into behaving properly—but for Bill, it only further confirmed what he’d known since the second he’d regained consciousness the day before.

Ford was terrified. Terrified and confused and desperate to keep control of the situation. And with the new information he’d learned down in the bunker, the cracks in his armor were becoming clearer and clearer—

“Who cares what happened down there?” Stan piped up. “Like we’re gonna listen to anything that’s coming outta that twisted mouth’a yours.”

“Yeah!” Mabel chimed in. “And anyway, why would we even think about shooting either of the Dippers! That’s the dumbest idea ever from the dumbiest, dum-dum ever!”

Momentarily caught off-guard by the interruptions, Bill cast them both a nasty look. One that only fell further when the grip on the back of his jacket relaxed again. Spoilsports. “Well, I don’t hear the rest of you coming up with any solutions.”

“You know, I might have a solution that doesn’t involve listening to him,” the Dipper beside Mabel spoke up. “In fact, that’s why I came out here in the first place. Well, sort of, I was already looking up a way to help you out with him—” A gesture towards Bill. “—but then I spotted something else in the journals that we could probably use to solve this issue, too.”

With a grin, he reached for Mabel’s hand and gave it a tug to pull her along. “So all we have to do is go back to the Shack…and—”

When the hand-pulling ceased to be effective, he looked back to see her giving him a confused stare. “Woah, woah, pop the breaks for a sec, Bro-Bro,” she said, pulling her hand away. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” Dipper asked. “I’m talking about the journals. You know, the ones full of all the weird and wacky creatures and magic stuff? The ones that he wrote?”

He gestured over to Ford for support, only to be met with a look of suspicion in response—all while the smile on Bill’s face returned in full force. “Well? Isn’t anyone going to answer him?”

The Dipper blinked in disbelief, the grip on his hat tightening as he looked over to where Stan and the other Dipper stood. “Come on, back me up here—”

In response, Stan moved to place a protective hand in front of his Dipper. “Think you might’ve just given us the answer we were lookin’ for, pal.”

“What are you TALKING about?” the other Dipper asked, tone rising in anger. “Is this some kind of elaborate joke, or do none of you seriously remember the journals?!”

“Oh, they remember,” Bill chimed in with a smirk as he glanced at his nails. “It’s just that they’re no longer an option for any sort of help.”

The smile twitched wider—revealing most of his teeth—as he pressed the hand to his chest. “Since yours truly set them all on fire last year~! Hahaha!”

“And when they did return to normal,” Mabel added with a suspicious glare at the other Dipper. “Grunkle Ford tossed them down into the Bottomless Pit!”

“They did what?! He did what?!”

Bill’s smile vanished in an instant as his gaze whipped back to Ford. “You did what?! Yeesh, Sixer, way to break your toys so no one else could use ‘em.”

“The point being made here,” Stan spoke up. “Is that the real Dipper would’ve known that by now.”

“And he does!” the Dipper near him chimed in. “He very much does!”

“Yeah, so give it up, you faker!”

Fists raised, Mabel took a step back towards the rest of her family as they all stared at the newly-dubbed fake Dipper with suspicious realization. The fake Dipper who was twisting the hat in his hand with a vice-like grip and blinking an unusually rapid rate.

But rather than blink the usual way, his eyelids appeared to open and close sideways, similar to some kind of reptile or insect.

In fact, a lot of the faux-Dipper’s mannerisms had grown a lot more insect-like now that he was under suspicion. His arms and legs twitched with jerky spasms, ones that grew too sporadic for him to keep hold of the hat, and it tumbled to the forest floor.

And not even the dirt and grime that had stained it in the earlier collision could mask the familiar pine tree symbol on the front of the hat.

A telltale sign that the group had correctly identified the imposter.

An imposter who’s body suddenly began to morph and shift into a large bug creature—its tendrils waving about widely as it let out a violent, animalistic roar that shook the forest around the Pines. “What the heck is that?!” Stan asked, hands slapped to his ears.

“Shapeshifter.”

Ford’s gun had moved from Bill to the massive being without a second thought, as it slammed one of its front appendage to the forest ground with a menacing thud. “Well, if this isn’t a pleasant reunion,” he spat at them with clear disdain, gaze landing on the adults. “Old Six-Fingers returns after thirty years—”

A quick morph and he now resembled Ford.

“—and a second, just like him!”

Another, this time with Stanley’s appearance as the end result.

“And who could forget the kids~?”

Dipper, then Mabel—before he turned his gaze on Bill, still clutched tightly in Ford’s hand. “And the detested one with the big mouth, of course! Ooh, this one’s new.”

A final morph and the group found themselves face-to-face with a short, blonde boy. Despite every instinct telling him to kick Ford in the ribs and book it while he was distracted, Bill found himself momentarily stunned as he continued to stare as the shapeshifted being before him.

By process of elimination, he was now staring down at the spitting image of his vessel’s appearance.

As initially speculated, the resemblances to Dipper were clear as day—with the hair color and eyes being the main differing factor. But outside of that, it was like he had jumped back about a year—poking and prodding at his new flesh-puppet’s face while he stared into the mirror of the Mystery Shack’s attic while the kid’s spirit watched on in horror.

Overall, highly unimpressive and disappointing. Just the face and body of some twelve-year-old brat.

A final morph and the shapeshifter transformed into a horrific conglomeration of all five of them, one that proceeded to launch itself at Ford for an attack. Unprepared, Ford stumbled back as he raised his gun to fire off a defensive shot to the shoulder—

—only to release his grip on Bill’s jacket in the process, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Despite his appreciation for the incomprehensible horror before him, Bill knew a distraction to take advantage of when he saw it, and that it was definitely time to book it outta there! Which is exactly what he did; scrambling to his feet and taking off like a shot into the woods. An escape attempt that went unmissed by Mabel, who had quickly moved off to the side of the fight with the rest of her family. “Bill’s getting away!”

“Not for long,” Stan said. “You kids go after ‘em, I’ll stay here and help Ford with this oversized caterpillar!”

Despite the attack, Ford managed to get a few bullets on Shifty, causing him to retreat backwards for a moment. “What—no, nobody go after Bill!” he ordered, moments before Shifty leapt at him again. “I’ve just got to—”

Seconds before Shifty could make contact, Stan’s fist collided with the side of his face and sent him crashing against the nearest tree. “Go after Bill!” he repeated to the kids. “I doubt I need to tell you not to let him get away!”

“Stanley, I just said—”

“Yeah, and I said what I said!” Stanley countered. “You’ve got the gun, and that’s gonna be needed to take this bastard down. I stay to help you here, and the kids get Bill.”

“We’re on it, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said, with a gesture to his sister to follow. “Come on, they can handle the shapeshifter on their own!”

“Right!” Mabel agreed. “Don’t worry, Grunkle Ford, we’ll get Bill!”

Before Ford could protest further, the younger twins took off running in the same direction as Bill, leaving the adults to grapple with a furious shapeshifter. One who was quickly shifting between several different forms in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

Eventually he settled on the form of a vicious mole-creature before launching his entire body at Stan, earning himself a brass-knuckled punch to the jaw. “Come on, Ford,” Stan said, fists still clenched as he jumped back in time to avoid a swipe from the being’s claws. “I know I ain’t exactly the best at puttin' that three-sided jerk under by twice as many feet, but you can’t tell me you don’t at least trust the kids to get the job done right.”

Despite Ford’s attention being mostly fixed on unloading a round of shots into Shifty’s body, he managed to cast Stan a look of genuine confusion. “Stanley, what are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about!” Stan protested, taking a fighting stance as Shifty decided to crawl up a nearby tree for an aerial advantage. “That’s why you didn’t want me helpin’ you out today, right? Because you think I’m gonna screw it up like I did last time—”

Stan was cut off as Shifty lunged for him in the form of some giant, wolflike creature, and the two of them disappeared into the dark underbrush of the forest.

“Stanley!”

Ford was hurrying after them without a thought; darting his gaze around for even the tiniest sign of movement against the darkened woods.

Any sign at all—any sign that Stanley was okay—

And suddenly he popped into view again, clearly in some kind of physical battle against whatever was on the other side of the tree that obscured Ford’s line of sight, until it finally ventured out into view to reveal—

—another Stanley.

Oh, no.

— — — — — — —

Despite his exhaustion from once again having to run with legs clearly not built for the task, the temptation to direct mockery at the footsteps behind him was simply too tantalizing for Bill to resist.

And if the sound of footsteps wasn’t enough, a quick look over his shoulder that confirmed Dipper was hot on his trail only set him further in his decision. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree~?” he called with delight. “Can’t run with those short little leg—ACK!”

His smack talk and removal of attention from the path ahead proved to be immediately karmatic—for it was only a second later that his foot snagged on a tree root and he was sent tumbling forward to the ground.

And as he attempted to pull himself to his feet again, a sudden kick to the ribs—one accompanied by a yelp that trailed beyond him and onwards ahead—brought him back down in an instant, face bouncing hard off a nearby boulder.

Despite the pain quickly spreading through his ribcage and lip, Bill forced himself back to his feet just in time to see Dipper slow to a stop just a short distance ahead of him—fists raised as he took on a defensive stance. “Apparently my short legs can still run better than yours.”

At a glance, his pose and smart comeback might’ve implied a sense of control. But the slight wobbling in his legs, uneven footsteps in the dirt, and earlier yelp implied that the kick he had delivered to Bill’s side might’ve been more accidental as opposed to deliberate.

Heh, Pine Tree had absolutely tripped over him when he’d fallen and was trying to play it off like he had the upper hand in this situation. How precious.

The taste of metal brought a hand to Bill’s mouth, crimson staining his pale skin as he scrubbed away the blood. Looks like even with Birdbrain’s little respawn abilities, his body could still bleed.

Even with that kind of power, there were still weaknesses to be found.

His grin returned as he wiped his hand clean on his pant leg. No matter how tough Pine Tree tried to pretend he was now, he was still the weak, pathetic, anxiety-riddled twerp he had always been. All Bill had to do was find the right ways to make him bleed.

Another thoughtful glance down at his hand as the grin twitched with malice. Well, if it had worked on Ford—

“You think you’re soooo tough, don’tcha, Pine Tree?” he jeered. “But now you’re stuck out in the middle of the woods with me~! And you can act as tough as you want, but I know how terrified you really are of me.”

He winked at Dipper with wicked delight. “And I think we both know why, don’t we?”

Despite his attempt to keep his stance firm, even Dipper couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed at that question. A motion that brightened both smile and wickedness further as Bill cupped his chin in one hand. “Nostalgic, isn’t it? Staring directly into your own face and body while someone else is at the wheel?”

Ooh, if that didn’t completely wipe the mask away from Dipper’s expression and display his fear in full force! “Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, come on, kid, I think we both know I do,” Bill taunted, pressing a finger to his cheek. “What, you really thought I didn’t know what was happening here? Thought I just picked this body without knowing full well what I looked like—”

THUNK.

Bill’s mockery was swiftly cut off by something hard smacking firmly against his forehead, and he slapped a hand to the spot with an offended look. “Did you just throw something at me?!”

From where he stood, Dipper tossed another rock up and down in his hand with a proud grin. “Huh, guess even a nightmare demon’s not immune to monologuing long enough for someone to chuck a rock at his head.”

With a furious shout, Bill launched himself at Dipper to try and knock him down. An attempt that seemed to work, with Dipper collapsing to the ground beneath their combined weight and the rock he’d been juggling rolling just out of reach.

With the weight of his body keeping Dipper pinned, Bill quickly fumbled at the nearby ground for his own rock and raised it over Dipper’s head with a manic little giggle. Heh, looks like he’d get a chance to spill some blood outside of his own tonight~!

And just so Pine Tree knew his intent—“Well if I’m not immune to getting my pasty human brains splattered everywhere, then I know for a fact that you’re not immune to it either!”

He reared his arm back to give himself more force, but the attempted impact was thwarted by Dipper’s hand gripping his wrist in defense. Tightly and successfully gripping his wrist, for Dipper apparently possessed enough strength to keep Bill’s arm locked in place.

Weird, Bill could so clearly remember Pine Tree’s body being too weak to race around a stage for more than a few minutes last year. Where the heck was all this new muscle coming from? “I mean, it’s not my go-to method for getting rid of you,” he continued, voice strained as he fought against Dipper’s grasp. “Would’ve preferred a more creative approach, like flinging you off the nearest water tower—”

“Get off of me!” Dipper protested with an attempt to wriggle himself free.

“But hey, when in Rome: bash a kid’s skull in with the nearest heavy object!”

Despite Dipper’s admittedly-successful attempts to keep him at bay, Bill fought just as hard in return to overpower him. To overpower him, to bring the rock clutched so tightly in his hand that his palm was beginning to hurt down on his stupid, pathetic face, to force him to stare directly into his own twisted reflection as it delivered painful blow after painful blow, until the light slowly but inevitably faded from his eyes for good—

“Hey, Bill!”

Before Bill had time to process another voice behind him, a ropelike object was thrown over his head and pulled taut around his throat—his focus snapping away from Dipper long enough for the other boy to knock him off and send the rock scattering out of his reach.

Luckily for Bill, his assailant released the grip on whatever they had used to try and strangle him once Dipper had tossed him aside. And he was quick to his hands and knees again, one pressed against his throat as he cast an irritated look towards whoever had thwarted his little murder attempt. Although he had a pretty good idea of who the culprit was, even before his functioning eye landed on her ridiculous popcorn sweater.

Sure enough, Mabel now stood several feet away from them, a braided rope of streamers in one hand and a fierce expression on her face. “I’ve got something I’ve wanted to say to you all day—”

“Did you seriously just try to choke me out?” Bill asked, rubbing the sore spot with a wince. “Yeesh, Shooting Star, I gotta stop underestimating your bloodlust.”

“Wh—” Mabel started, confident demeanor faltering for a second. “I mean, yes, I did, but—”

“Guess I’ve also gotta stop underestimating your creativity, too,” Bill continued. “I mean, choking a guy out with streamers? Not a bad play, I’ve gotta admit. A lot more creative than Pine Tree just throwing a rock at me.”

“Hey, I’m trying to say something here!” Mabel said, stomping her foot with an indignant pout.

“Yeah, well, I was trying to bash your brother’s head in with a rock,” Bill pointed out in return. “So I guess none of us are getting what we want, are we?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before Bill had time to respond, a pair of arms had wrapped themselves around his legs and yanked backwards, bringing him back down to the forest floor with a hard thud. “I think I’m getting what I want pretty easily!”

While Dipper let out a delighted laugh at his success, Mabel hurried to join them with a proud fist in the air. “Nice one, Bro-Bro!” she cheered. “Can’t believe that actually worked with him, too!”

“Haha, I know, right?!” Dipper agreed excitedly, the lower half of Bill’s legs still clutched tightly in his embrace. “Sorry to interrupt what you were trying to do there—I saw what it was, I just couldn’t resist.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Mabel insisted. “I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the right time or not anyway, so not a huge deal.”

She scowled down at Bill. “Plus he interrupted me first, so the moment was ruined anyway!”

From the ground—face once again smushed into the messy soil—Bill was seething. At this rate, he was going to have to slot ‘being knocked to the ground and forced to consume a mouthful of dirt’ near the top of the list of the most annoying things he’d been forced to endure across the past day. Maybe right above ‘falling to the ground while tied to a chair’ and just beneath ‘people giving him headaches, under several definitions of the word’, given Dipper’s stupid little rock stunt.

As he moved to press a hand to his forehead again in bitter pain, his eye landed on the speck still barely peeking out from beneath his sleeve—the thought to ask Tangy for help bubbling to the front of his mind.

No, he knew the answer to that before he even considered it further. Even without their little cooldown remark in mind, Bill was beginning to question just how resourceful they actually were when it came to helping him out. Sure, he’d had more than his fair share of moments where he unfortunately had to give them credit for thinking ahead, but there were just as many moments where they had conveniently forgotten to tell him something important about their little game.

As for the game itself, Bill was also beginning to question if Birdbrain’s special prize truly was worth all this trouble. Was the destruction of the town barrier really worth racing around in some fleshy little bone suit, being constantly hunted down by Ford and his stupid family? Was it really worth all the secrets on Birdbrain’s end, all the rules they conveniently forgot to tell him ahead of time?

Yeesh, at this rate he was better off finding a way to just torture the information out of Ford again. Sure, that’d be more difficult the second time around, but at least he wouldn’t be caught up in some wild goose chase.

Yes, he’d already used that bird pun before, but it was also the most accurate one for his situation! Not only was he practically being chased from one side of the valley to another by Ford’s stupid family, but he was so busy trying to escape from his stupid captors in general that he had no idea where to start looking for any pieces of Tangy’s stupid charm—

A cawing sound overhead pulled Bill’s gaze upwards, and he narrowed his eyes at a crow that had settled in the tree above him and the kids. Great, just what he needed—another annoying bird.

His irritation earned him another caw before the crow shifted to preen itself, the shifting of its wings revealing something shiny and golden clutched in one of its talons.

Bill’s eyes widened, all previous gripes about the game momentarily forgotten as he squinted closer to try and get a better look. Could that really be the first piece of Birdbrain’s stupid puzzle? It was a longshot for sure; for all he knew, the crow had just snatched some random person’s jewelry. Completely-unrelated-to-the-other-annoying-bird’s-game jewelry.

“—should probably tie him up, huh? Think those streamers of yours will work as a rope?”

“Psh, you know they will! Remember what I told you earlier about using them to scale a tree?”

“Oh, yeah, you did do that, didn’t you? Speaking of which, actually—why didn’t you just use your grappling hook?”

“I haven’t unpacked it yet, and the streamer thing was way cooler anyway!”

Shoot, the brats were starting to wrap up their conversation. Heck with it—even if it wasn’t a part of Tangy’s charm, Bill wasn’t going to be able to find any actual pieces if he ended up restrained again. He needed to get away from them as quickly as possible.

Before Mabel could approach him with her streamers in hand, Bill reared back his left leg and kicked as hard as he could—his efforts rewarding him with a painful yelp on Dipper’s end and the grip around his legs being released. Taking quick advantage of his freedom, he scrambled back to his feet and dashed off once again.

Rather than immediately follow after him, Mabel was at Dipper’s side in an instant to examine his face. “Dipper, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” he insisted, pressing a hand to his sore nose. “Nothing broken, just surprised me more than anything. …Honestly, I think Waddles might’ve had more of a powerful kick than he does.”

A pause. “Not sure what that says about my kicking abilities from last year, though…”

“Let’s keep chasing after him, then,” Mabel said, gripping her streamers tight. “I’m gonna call that triangle a dumbass to his face at the right possible time if it kills me!”

Before Dipper could reply, she took off like a shot into the night—leaving her brother standing alone in the darkness. And with a sigh and shrug, he hurried after her with a: “At least stay close enough to where you can hear me, we already had to deal with one shapeshifting fake-out tonight!”

“Who’s fault is that?” she called back to him.

“...Not mine? I wasn’t even there when he got out!”

— — — — — — —

“Ford, shoot him!”

“I refuse to partake in this nerdy clone trope, just shoot both of us if you’ve really gotta do it!”

The hand around Ford’s gun trembled as he watched the two Stans before him struggle to gain the upper hand over each other. After spending several years raising a shapeshifter and watching him transform into other beings during his research, one would’ve thought that he had picked up the ability to tell Shifty apart from the original being he was imitating.

And yet, here he was. Forced once again to aim a gun at his own brother, while he struggled desperately to distinguish him from an imposter.

“After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

His grip on the gun tightened as Bill’s earlier words from the bunker flooded his thoughts. He shouldn’t have let Bill get under his skin, shouldn’t have let his temper flare up to the point where he made such an amateur mistake as not double-checking the storage room before he left. He should’ve stayed behind and make sure Shifty and the others that had been locked in the cryogenic chambers were taken care of first and foremost—

“Come on, Sixer! Just—take a page outta the triangle's book and shoot us in the foot or whatever! I can walk it off, you know that!”

“He does not know that! What he does know is that I ain’t as young as I used to be, and there’s no way I’m getting anything done with a busted-up foot!”

“Watch it, pal, I ain’t that outta shape—ack, was that cracking sound your back or mine?”

“Think it mighta been both of them, actually.”

The sound of the Stans’ protests snapped Ford out of his thoughts. “I’m not—I don’t want to shoot you, Stanley!” he insisted aloud, barrel of the gun shifting between them. “Regardless of body part!”

“Aw, come on!” one of the Stans argued. “You really think I can’t handle one measly bullet to the foot? ‘Sides, the sooner you take care of this, the sooner you can get back to chasin’ after Bill, right?”

Bill…

That’s right, Stan had been saying something about Bill before Shifty had attacked him. Something about screwing up like he had done last time?

If Shifty had no way of knowing about Dipper’s change in style or the fate of the journals, there was no way he would know what the real Stan had meant by that. And if Ford could get the real Stan to explain that further—

“What did you mean a few minutes ago?” he asked aloud. “About me thinking that you were going to screw it up like last time?”

One Stan gave him a confused glare as he succeeded in pinning the other to the ground. “Wh—seriously, Ford?! I’d rather just take the bullet in my foot!”

“Yeah, at this point I might actually prefer the bullet too,” the other added.

“I am not shooting you. Answer the question.”

A grunt as the Stan on the ground managed to swing a fist into the jaw of the other, causing him to lose focus long enough for the first Stan to slam him against the nearest tree. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?” the tree-pinned Stan called out with a struggle, the other’s arm pressed against his neck. “We both know the little triangle demon was supposed to burn up in my head, and that didn’t pan out like we wanted. I screwed up like I always do and now you feel like you’ve gotta handle all this Bill stuff by yourself again.”

He swung a fist into the other’s gut and it was the other Stan’s turn to stumble back while the first returned to a fighting stance. “And I don’t blame you for not wantin’ my help this time around, alright? After all the other times I’ve ruined your life in the past, I wouldn’t want my help again either.”

He barely managed to dodge as the other lunged at him. “But you can’t just keep dealin’ with him all by yourself, either! I know just how badly that little jerk messed with your head, even if you don’t ever talk to me about it! So even if I’m still the world’s biggest screwup, lemme at least help you by doin’ the one thing I’m actually good at—takin’ a hit for you!”

Both expression and posture sank, the fight momentarily forgotten. “And yeah, yeah, I know I’m not actually all that good at it. But I’m pretty sure even I can’t screw up gettin’ shot by an actual bullet—”

BANG!

Stan was knocked to the ground by a swing of the other’s fist, an inhuman howl escaping the attacker as if he’d been the one to be injured instead. And after a painful grunt from the impact, Stan quickly realized that had been the case when his eyes landed on the doppelganger’s shoulder—blood now gushing from a wound the exact size and shape of a bullet.

Stan’s gaze traveled further over to where Ford stood, landing on the faint whisps of smoke trickling out of the still-raised gun barrel. “Give it up, Shifty! You’ve been found out.”

The other Stan let out another roar of pain before his body morphed and shifted back into his usual form, blood from the wound splattering across the forest floor as he scuttled backwards from Ford. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” he spat at Ford, tone laced with metaphorical—and potentially literal—venom. “Think you can just come crawling back after thirty years and keep ordering me around?”

“Yeesh,” Stan said, backing up on his hands towards Ford. “Remind me who this ugly mug is again?”

“Like I said before, he’s a shapeshifter,” Ford explained, keeping his gun aimed forward. “I hatched him from an egg, back when Fiddleford and I were doing our research. When he got bigger, he started seeking out—let’s call them questionable ways to get ahold my journals so he could learn more dangerous forms to imitate. Eventually it got so bad that I was forced to seal him away in one of the cryogenic chambers.”

“You thought you sealed me away,” Shifty corrected. “I spent countless years wandering around that wretched bunker, desperately trying to claw my way to freedom. Until those brats of yours sealed me back into one of the chambers during one of their little escapades.”

His mouth curled into a snarl. “But not even they could stop me from finally escaping that wretched hole in the ground. They couldn’t stop me, you couldn’t stop me—and you are NOT taking me back!”

A swing of his fist shook a nearby tree, scattering a flock of nearby birds into flight. And with another roar of anger, Shifty’s body shrank to their size and took flight—soaring up and through the tops of the tall pine trees that made up the forest and vanishing out of sight and reach.

With a sigh both full of relief that the fight was over and full of weight at what was to come of Shifty’s escape in the future, Ford shakily turned to help his brother up from the ground. “You alright?”

Stan groaned, his joints cracking several times as Ford pulled him to his feet. “You’re askin’ the guy who took down an army of mutant crabs off the coast of Jamaica if he’s alright after dealin’ with some overgrown grub? Or—what’d I call him earlier? A caterpillar? Whatever, a giant bug’s a giant bug.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Stan’s expression fell as they stared at each other in tense silence for a moment—

—before a synchronized shout of “The kids!” hurried them off in the same direction that the younger twins had taken off after Bill.

— — — — — — —

“Stop running!”

“Once again, Shooting Star, do you really think asking politely is going to get me to do anything?”

“I’m optimistic!”

A blur of pink went sailing past his left side, the streamer unfurling as it whizzed past and tangling itself in a nearby bush. Guess she’d resorted to throwing her remaining streamers at him in an attempt to stop him from running.

Welp, at least it wasn’t a rock this time. Maybe Pine Tree had been spooked enough by his earlier stunt to not reconsider the idea. Or maybe they just couldn’t grab any while racing after him.

Either way, Bill kept running—much like he’d been doing throughout the past day. Running despite the annoying pain in his stupid, flesh legs and annoying burning in his stupid, flesh lungs, and annoying footsteps of the stupid, flesh pursuiters behind him.

He heard another caw overhead, pupil shifting upwards in time to see the crow from before soaring straight ahead, the unknown item from before still clutched firmly in its left talons. From where he stood—or ran—it was still too difficult to tell whether or not it truly was a piece of Birdbrain’s puzzle. But when the bird veered hard to the right, Bill was quick to follow regardless—letting out a small cackle at the sound of frantic skidding and leaves crunching behind him.

Haha, sounds like the brats need to give their breaks a fresh can of oil!

A zinger he probably would’ve said out loud, if his attention wasn’t sorely fixed on the path and bird ahead. Hey, whether or not the bird was carrying one of Tangy’s charm pieces was still a win-win on Bill’s end if he caught up to it.

If it was a charm piece, he was that much closer to winning their game. His earlier thoughts about giving up on the game entirely were irrelevant—he could always change his mind again once the piece was actually in his hand.

If it turned out to just be some random piece of jewelry—well, that just meant he’d get a random piece of golden jewelry out of the ordeal! One he desperately needed as a way of accessorizing the incredibly generic suit that Birdbrain had stuck him in; seriously, what was with their sudden interest in not picking the tackiest, gaudiest outfit this side of the Multiverse?

And if it turned out to be fake gold? Well, looks like he’d get that chance to bash someone’s brains in with a rock, after all. Or rather, something in the form of the little birdie who’d put him through this chase in the first place.

Man, he was really on his head-bashing-based torments tonight. He blamed Ford’s little stunt down in the bunker—it just wasn’t fair if his brains were the only ones that got to be used as decorative wallpaper.

The bird soared onwards through the wood, towards a series of bright lights that began to poke through the gaps in the trees—ones that came with the addition of faint music and joyful chattering. Almost as if he were approaching some kind of massive gathering or—

Oh, right.

Sure enough, when Bill slowed to a stop between a pair of birch trees, he was greeted by the sight of the Mystery Shack—with hundreds of partygoers crowding the property on all sides.

So the knuckleheads had gone through with having their party after all, huh? And not too shabby a job, by the looks of things. Pretty nice turnout, building itself covered top-to-bottom in an excessive number of decorations. Heck, Bill was almost impressed. Almost. He definitely could’ve done a better job if they’d put him in charge of things.

More cawing overhead reminded him of his mission, and he looked up in time to see the bird exiting the forest and circling above the crowd for a bit, before finally settling for one of the letters on the busted roof sign.

He let out a low chuckle. Looks like Bill Cipher was finally slipping back into Lady Luck’s favor tonight~! Not only would it be easy enough to climb up to the roof, but the large crowd meant shaking his pursuers would be as easy as taking candy from a baby.

“Bill!”

Speaking of which—

With a smug grin cast behind him—and fond remembrance of a time where he’d stolen a lollipop from Paci-Fire—Bill took off into the crowd just as the kids finally caught up to his hiding spot.

“He’s getting away,” Mabel said, making a motion to continue after him—

—before a hand on the back of her sweater stopped her in place. “Hold on a sec,” Dipper said. “If we just go charging after him in front of all those people, someone might catch onto what we’re doing and start freaking out. Remember what Grunkle Ford yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mabel said thoughtfully. “It’d be pretty hard to explain the whole ‘Two Dippers’ thing to people without revealing that one of them’s actually Bill.”

She tapped her chin. “I guess we could always try passing him off as our long-lost cousin or something, but eugh—” A shudder. “Even just pretending that he’s related to us makes my skin all creepy-crawly.”

“Ditto.”

Dipper peered out to the crowd again with silent contemplation as he searched for any sign of Bill among the partygoers. Lazy Susan was holding a conversation with a random barf fairy—a conversation that ended as stomach-churning as expected and Dipper quickly forced his attention away with a look of disgust. A group of non-barfing fairies all gathered around the punchbowl while Pacifica’s parents conversed with them—Dipper’s gaze lingering on Pacifica herself for a second too long before he tore it away with pursed lips. All the Manotaurs were still gathered around the Meat Table and still just as loudly passionate about their food of choice—

“Kids!”

The sound of someone else’s voice behind them drew both Dipper and Mabel’s attention from the party and back to the forest behind them—just in time to see both Stan and Ford emerging from the darkness. “Are you two alright?” Ford asked as they slowed to a stop.

“Are you?” Dipper asked in return. “That was a pretty quick fight…”

“Come to think of it,” Mabel added, peering closely at them. “Are you sure you two are actually you?”

“Yeah, no, we’re not doin’ that again,” Stan said, before pointing between himself and Ford. “I’m me, he’s Ford, and what’s-his-face-when-it’s-not-his-face turned into a bird and flew off after Ford shot him in the leg. If you don’t believe me, I can just rattle off all the different joint pains I’ve gotten from running around the woods all night.”

With a wince, he gingerly tapped his left foot against the ground. “Think I might’ve regrown a couple’a old bunions in the process too if you really need hard proof—”

Mabel winced in disgust. “Eugh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stan said, flicking a thumb at himself. “There’s not a shapeshifter alive that can truly replicate a guy like me.”

"Definitely Stan,” Dipper said.

“No doubt,” Mabel agreed, before casting a suspicious look to Ford. “Although…”

“Stan and I have been together since the fight ended, and we can discuss shapeshifter-proof codewords at a later time,” Ford said, his grip on the gun tightening as he peered out at the party. “Where’s Bill?”

“Oh yeah, that’s him alright,” Mabel said with certainty.

“We chased him all the way here, but lost him when he took off into the crowd,” Dipper explained. “Only reason we haven’t followed after him was because we didn’t want to start a panic with the whole—”

He gestured to himself, then proceeded to form a triangle with his fingers. “—thing.”

“I appreciate you kids taking my initial concerns into account,” Ford said. “With a crowd as big as this, there’s a chance he could start yelling or attracting the attention of any nearby onlookers if we found him.”

He pressed a hand to his head in exasperation. “Although, I guess that’s not all we’d have to worry about now, is it?”

His words trailed off, the rest of his explanation lingering in an uncomfortable half-silence that was only broken by the sounds of the nearby party. “So, uh—” Stan began awkwardly. “Wasn’t gonna give the little jerk the satisfaction of knowing that he actually got me curious about it, but I’m gonna guess your bunker plan didn’t go so well?”

“Yeah, I was wondering about it too,” Dipper admitted. “What happened down there? Why were you two chasing Bill through the woods, and having to deal with the shapeshifter? And what did Bill mean by ‘not up for a repeat performance now that you have an audience’—woah, hey, Grunkle Ford, are you okay?”

“I—”

It was only at that moment that Ford processed just how much of his body weight he’d sank against the trunk of the nearest tree, and just how badly his entire form was trembling on legs that were barely keeping him upright—

Nope, there they went as he finally collapsed into a kneeling position, any attention to regain his footing immediately thwarted by matching pairs of hands in his own. “Grunkle Ford, no,” Mabel scolded lightly from one side. “Don’t make yourself stand up again.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Dipper added from the other. “Have you…eaten anything today since breakfast?”

Between the younger twins, Stan knelt down with a narrowed glare. “Did you eat breakfast at all?”

“I…” Ford started. “Did you?”

“We’re not talkin’ about me, and that tells me all I need to know,” Stan said, folding his arms. “Gonna guess you probably don’t have some kinda magical refrigerator that restocks itself down in the bunker, either. Or any of those nutrition pills you used to take before you remembered actual food exists?”

“That would be…a fair guess.”

“You didn’t eat ANYTHING while you were down there?” Mabel asked worriedly, reaching into her sweater pockets. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ve got plenty of snacks left—ooh, I haven’t even finished off half the corn dogs in my corn dog pocket!”

She fished out a fully-cooked corndog and held it up with a flourish, causing Dipper to raise an eyebrow. “You have a corndog pocket in that thing?”

“I’ve even got one that doubles as a cooler for soda,” she said, patting the other side of her sweater. “I told you I was set for the day.”

“Alright, alright, forget Bill and the bunker for a sec,” Stan said. “You’re gonna get some food in your body first, Sixer.”

“Stanley—”

“No Stanleys, pal,” Stan insisted. “You’re not gonna get anywhere near catching him again if you keep on going the way you are now.”

Ford stared hard into the face that mirrored his own—just as he had done many times across the past few days. Into the face of the man he had successfully picked out of the earlier fight with his doppelganger, without having to resort to firing a bullet in him.

“Lemme at least help you by doin’ the one thing I’m actually good at—takin’ a hit for you!”

But the main concern there hadn’t actually been piercing out the real Stan, had it? The main concern had been Stan’s insistence on taking a bullet for him at all—and the reasoning behind said insistence in the first place.

Ford could feel his insides twisting with a mess of emotions—guilt, realization, potentially hunger as his focus passed lazily over the corndog in Mabel’s hands. Did Stan truly think that he’d denied his help because he thought he had failed to stop Bill the first time? Stanley—brave, heroic Stanley who had sacrificed so much more than anyone should sacrifice, thought himself a failure?

It wasn’t as if Bill’s return had been his fault—and even if by some misfortune it had been his fault, Ford could never bring himself to truly blame Stan for that. Out of anyone in the world, Stanley had to know just how important he was—

“I screwed up like I always do and now you feel like you’ve gotta handle all this Bill stuff by yourself again.”

He…had to know that, right?

“After all the other times I’ve ruined your life in the past, I wouldn’t want my help again either.”

“After all, you are the expert in destroying those who are just trying to help you, aren’t you~?”

Bill’s taunting words from the bunker echoed through his mind as his gaze and palms found the forest floor, nails digging sharply into the topsoil. Loathed as he was to give anything Bill said the time of day, they blurred so neatly, so perfectly with Stanley’s own claims that he could feel his insides twisting further from a sensation that he knew for a fact wasn’t from hunger.

Had his own insistence to keep Stanley away for his own safety truly strengthened that negative view of himself? Further pushed him to think that the only way he could possibly be useful was to take another bullet for someone? All this time he had been trying to protect his brother, but had he simply just made things worse—

“Sixer?”

Ford lifted his head again, eyes once again meeting the features that mirrored his own to a near-perfect degree. Meeting them, before immediately falling back to the ground in a dazed lull as he tried to refocus his vision. As much as he hated to admit it—the rest of his family had a point. He truly was running on less than fumes at this point, and Bill had already escaped his clutches several times over as a result.

Even if he somehow managed to catch him again in his current state, he no longer had his gun as a failsafe option—with or without all the surrounding partygoers—and there was always a chance that Shifty had destroyed the cryogenic tubes in the bunker before his escape to freedom.

Taking all of that into account alongside his ever growing concerns about Stanley—

“You’re right.”

Stan blinked at him in surprise. “Wh—come again?”

“You’re right,” Ford repeated, lifting his head again. “I’m not going to catch Bill if I keep on going the way I am. I need you to take charge of this situation for me.”

“Wh—” Stan started, taking a confusing look around him as if he half-expected Ford to be talking to someone else. “Okay, I know what I said before, but you’ve gotta be delirious from hunger if you’re seriously expectin’ me to take charge of this whole thing.”

“Even if I was, it’s all the more reason to pass this matter into someone else’s hands,” Ford insisted. “And I can’t think of anyone I trust more to take over for me than you.”

His gaze shifted to the younger twins, a worn smile tugging at his lips as he stared at Mabel. “Well, you and the kids, of course. After all, a braided rope is stronger than a singular rope, isn’t it?”

Mabel’s expression lit up as she dug out a roll of streamers with her free hand. “Yeah! Braids solve every problem!”

“Not that I don’t think you should take a break or anything, because I do,” Dipper said, holding up a finger. “But, uh—are you sure you want us to take over for you, Grunkle Ford? I mean, we don’t even have a plan on how to catch Bill yet.”

“Kid’s got a point, Ford,” Stan added. “Plus I can’t promise it’ll go as smoothly as it would if you were the one leadin’ the charge.”

His expression fell. “Can’t even promise that we’ll be able to catch the little bugger.”

“It can’t turn any worse than how I’ve handled things so far,” Ford pointed out. “Under my lead, I’ve managed to lose hold of him and unleash a shapeshifting monster onto the town.”

He reached a shaky hand towards his brother’s and gave it a tight squeeze. “And…even if you do somehow manage to beat me in that regard, I will never regret turning to you for help in the first place, Stanley.”

Stan’s hand lingered in place for a moment—and Ford could almost feel it squeezing his in return—before he finally retracted it with a gruff laugh. “Hey, come on, Poindexter—what’d I tell you about gettin’ all sappy and makin’ the squirts wanna blow chunks on their first day back?”

While Dipper and Mabel exchanged looks of amusement on the side, Ford simply cast him a weak smile. “You realize that it’s now their second day back, don’t you?”

“Then that just means they’ll blow twice as many chunks!” Stan countered with a low cackle of his own. “And if they’re too busy blowin’ all those chunks, then they’re gonna be too busy to help me with Bill wrangling!”

“We’ll never be too busy for that, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel said delightedly, gripping both corndog-stick and streamer roll alike with a look of determination. “We’re gonna catch him if it’s the last thing we d—oh, uh, wait, we still need to come up with a plan on how to do that first, don't we?”

“We do,” Ford said, pulling himself into a sitting position. “And there’s no time like the present for us to start.”

“Bup, bup, bup—” Stan said with a warning snap of his fingers. “If you’re puttin’ me in charge of this mission, then I’m orderin’ you to leave us in charge of the thinking while you go ahead and get some food in your belly. Mabel, corndog.”

With a serious nod, Mabel held out the corndog towards Ford. “Let me know if you want anything else,” she said, patting the front of her sweater once again. “I’ve got this puppy loaded with just about every snack you can think of! Mom says I save our family a bundle in snacks every time we go to the movies!”

“Just the corndog’s fine for now, Mabel,” Ford assured her, before raising it slowly to his mouth for a bite—

—one that admittedly made his smile falter. “Oh, that’s…an interesting flavor.”

“Yeah, even when we’re saving a bundle, Mom still goes for the generic ones instead of name brand,” Mabel explained.

“Generic or not, you’re gonna eat it anyway,” Stan ordered.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Ford reassured him with another bite.

While the rest of his family conversed, Dipper cast another thoughtful look back out at the party guests. Specifically the Meat Table, where Mayor Tyler was cheering on its inhabitants from beneath one of Manly Dan’s massive arms—seconds before Soos strolled into view with a barrel of freshly-brewed meat.

Dipper stared at Soos for a moment, then back to Mayor Tyler, and finally down at his own hands. Hands he had used to grab Bill’s wrist earlier. Hands he had also used to yank Bill down on his face.

Hands with fingers, ones he slowly touched to his own arm, then face, before finally forming another triangle shape with his fingers—

“Hey, I…might have an idea,” he said aloud. “It’s a super risky one and would go against Ford’s original request to keep Bill’s existence under wraps as much as possible.”

A shrug. “But if we succeed, it shouldn’t incite a panic and we should still be able to recapture Bill without anyone catching onto what we’re doing.”

Stan looked to his brother. “Whaddaya say, Sixer?”

“You’re the one in charge now, Stanley,” Ford reminded him. “It’s your call. But I do have one request at least.”

"Oh, here we go," Stan said with a roll of his eyes.

"Promise me you won't do anything reckless to go and hurt yourself."

And suddenly Stan's eyes were back on Ford again, staring hard into his features as if that were the last thing he’d expected to hear. Rather than comment on it, however, he simply pointed to Dipper. "I mean, pretty sure that's up to the guy with the plan," he pointed out. "Can't go promisin' anything if I don't even know what he's got up his sleeve yet."

"He won't do have to do anything reckless," Dipper assured both of them. "And if anything, the only one who'll get hurt is Bill. Plus it’ll probably be really embarrassing for him, which I think is just an added bonus."

"Then I have no objections," Ford said. "I leave this in your capable hands, Stanley."

More staring followed, almost as if Stan expected him to go back on that claim if he waited long enough. And when Ford simply followed up his words with an encouraging nod, he finally turned to Dipper proper. “Alright, kid, lay it on me. Whatever it is, I’m in!”

“Me too! Me too!” Mabel added excitedly. “I wanna help embarrass Bill!”

“I’m happy you say that,” Dipper said, a smile forming as he looked to his hands again. “Because you two are gonna be playing the most important roles…”

— — — — — — —

Despite her earlier protests, Wendy could only hide out in the boat for so long before the call of the party outside eventually beckoned her to join.

Regardless, she did give pause on the deck to scan the crowd for any sign of the Pines family among them. Any sign of that familiar old hat she had plopped on Dipper’s head the year prior, any random bursts of glitter from Mabel, any heads of grey hair from the Stans—

Her gaze landed on the Meat Table, its inhabitants still devouring the spread before them with their usual amount of gusto and chanting. Currently said chants were aimed towards her father at the far end of the table; an overly-sized drumstick clenched tightly in his raised fist and his other arm draped around—

An annoyed scowl made itself at home on Wendy’s face as she stared at Tyler— his usual trademark of “Get ‘em! Get ‘em!” cheered with more enthusiasm than the entire group of Manotaurs combined—before she forced her attention to the rest of the partygoers. Well, at the very least, she now knew where he was, and knew which side of the party she needed to avoid—

“—yeah, no, he was acting super weird, right?”

“I don’t know if I’d say super weird, but regular weird for sure.”

The sound of voices trailing beside the boat made Wendy peer down over the side, where she was greeted by the sight of Candy and Grenda passing by with cups of punch. “Heya, squirts,” she said, folding her arms and leaning over the railing with a grin. “Enjoying the party?”

Both stopped in their path to look up at her, and Grenda’s expression brightened. “Hey, Wendy!” she greeted, waving her arm so passionately that the punch went flying out of her cup. “Where’ve you been?��

“You missed out on one intense Meat Eating Competition!” Candy added, flexing her own arms in such a way that caused her own punch to also spill out onto the ground. “Womanataur never stood a chance against us!”

“Aww, sick,” Wendy said proudly. “You finally won against her?”

“Oh no, we lost real bad,” Grenda clarified. “...We didn’t specify what kind of chance she stood against us.”

“Thought we might’ve had a shot against Manly Dan, though,” Candy added. “What with him spending half the time going all googly-eyed over Mayor Tyler, and all.”

Despite her scowl threatening to return, Wendy ignored it in favor of giving the girls an amused wink. “Eh, don’t sweat it too much, you two will get a win one day,” she assured them. “And to answer your question from before, I’ve been up here on the boat. Needed to get away from all the weirdness for a bit.”

“Ugh, don’t I KNOW it?” Grenda agreed with a gruff sigh. “I swear, getting this much of the town together in one spot has to, like…mess with the air or something and make everything even more weird than it already is!”

She placed a hand on her hip. “At least, we’re pretty sure that’s what happened to Dipper.”

Wendy tilted her head curiously. “Dipper? What happened to him exactly?”

“Well, everything was fine when we talked to him earlier,” Candy explained. “He had that usual amount of anxiety and cryptic-ness that only Dipper Pines could provide.”

“You know the amount, you get it,” Grenda added.

“But then when he raced past us over by the punch bowl, he was laughing to himself and talking all strange,” Candy continued, touching her free hand to her head. “Also his hair was blonde, for some reason?

“And he was dressed up in a yellow-and-black tux,” Grenda pointed out with a look of confusion. “Dunno why he picked yellow, though, it’s soooo not his color. Mabel’s the twin with the right complexion for bright colors for SURE!”

“They look much better on her,” Candy agreed, before her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you know what it might’ve been? Maybe it was part of the surprise he was talking about earlier? The one with Dr. Pines and Mabel that he couldn’t say much about?”

“Augh, that would make perfect sense!” Grenda agreed, tossing her hands in the air and spilling the last of her cup’s contents out onto the grass. “That lying jerk, telling us he had no idea what they were up to when he knew all along!”

“Maybe he was respecting the element of surprise,” Candy pointed out.

Wendy’s expression stiffened with a mix of realization and annoyance. A blonde-haired Dipper in a yellow-and-black tux running past them and acting all weird?

…Yeah, so there was a high chance that something had gone wrong over at the bunker. Which probably meant that Bill was now wandering around the party somewhere and the Pines were hauling tail back to the Shack to try and recapture their escaped prisoner.

She glanced out at the crowd again. And if they weren’t here already, they were probably going to need someone to be their eyes in the meantime.

“Aw, who cares about Dipper and his secrets?” she heard Grenda say below. “Come on, Candy, let’s go refill our punch before those old-timey ghosts pull their ‘expired juice’ prank.”

“You know you can say they’re spiking the punch, right? Because they are.”

“Yeah, just still feels kinda weird that I can say that now.”

Wendy caught the girls hurrying back towards the crowd out of the corner of her eye, before she pulled out her cell phone—

—and as if right on cue, a series of text from Dipper popped up on her screen:

[Dr. Fun Times: Sending out a mass text to everyone still at the shack: Bill escaped and is somewhere on the premises.] [Dr. Fun Times: It’s a long story on how he got there, but Mabel, Stan, Ford and I are gathered at the edge of the forest near the shack.]

Another text joined the conversation, this time from Mabel:

[Unicorn Punisher: We’ve got a plan to catch him, but we’re gonna need some help getting eyes on him before we can put it into action!]

[Bossman: So you need us to keep our eyes peeled, in an ironic twist on HIS weird, all-seeing-eye thing that he has going on??] Soos added a few seconds later.

[Dr. Fun Times: You got it, Soos.]

[Bosswoman: We’re on it, Dipper. Wendy, I see you in the group, are you able to help out?]

Melody’s question prompted Wendy to mash out a quick reply:

[Wendy: Waaaay ahead of you guys on that one. Caught wind from Candy and Grenda that they saw a blonde-haired ‘Dipper’ run past them earlier.]

[Dr. Fun Times: Ugh, GREAT.] [Dr. Fun Times: It’s bad enough he LOOKS like me, now other people are starting to think he’s ACTUALLY me?]

[Unicorn Punisher: I mean, isn’t that important for your plan?]

[Dr. Fun Times: Yeah, but I don’t have to LIKE it.]

[Bosswoman: Like Soos said, we can keep an eye on the crowd for him. Anything else you need?]

[Unicorn Puncher: Uhhh, the Shrink-and-Span! And the Manotaur’s stage!]

[Bosswoman: I can get both from storage, and have guests clear out a space for the stage.] [Bosswoman: I assume you’re going to regrow it to its usual size?] [Bosswoman: Assume with only a fraction of certainty; I’ve quickly learned to expect the unexpected with this town.]

[Unicorn Punisher: No, no, you got it right the first time!!!] [Unicorn Punisher: We’re about to give this party and Bill a surprise they’re NEVER gonna forget!!!]

[Dr. Fun Times: Thanks again for the idea, Soos, it’s really saving our butts!]

[Bossman: You’re welcome, dude!] [Bossman: What idea was that again?]

[Dr. Fun Times: You’ll see soon enough.]

[Bossman: Works for me! Soos Search And Locate Freaky Triangle Dude, go!]

[Bosswoman: I’ll get what you need and be waiting by the gift shop door.]

[Wendy: Keep an eye out for the little jerk performing identity theft, got it.]

With that, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and cast one last look out over the crowd, this time in the hopes of spotting any telltale signs of black and yellow—

—just in time to see a flash of blonde hair dart beneath the very dirty tablecloth on the Meat Table.

Narrowing her eyes, she hopped straight over the boat railing and landed with a hard thud on the ground below. Ugh, great—he had to go and pick the one table she was trying to avoid.

Eh, maybe she’d get lucky and the little creep would so get freaked out by the sound of fists slamming on the table, that he’d book it outta there before she got closer.

— — — — — — —

The good news for Bill was that it looked like his plan to lose the kids in the crowd had worked.

The only issue with that was the size of the crowd itself.

Yeesh, Question Mark’s little girlfriend hadn’t been kidding when she said they were having a party! Felt like everyone and their six-footed, googly-eyed grandma now crowded the grounds of the Mystery Shack.

BANG! “Meat Table!” BANG! “Meat Table!” BANG! “Meat table!”

Speaking of which…

Bill cast a glare upwards at the table he was crouched beneath, one that shook with every pound of a fist from the Manotaurs crowded around it. Not the quietest hiding spot in the world, but maybe the gang of massive meat fanatics would be enough to keep the Pines family at a distance.

Still, he couldn’t hide here forever.

He peered out from beneath the meat-stained tablecloth and looked towards the roof of the shack. The bird he’d been tailing before had settled up there, right next to a woodpecker and a couple of Eyebats. A sight that brought a frown to Bill’s face as they scanned the crowd with innocent curiosity, as opposed to their past behavior of turning any moving beings into petrified statues. Somebody must’ve found a way to placate them during his absence, or had a large supply of eyedrops on hand to keep them mellowed out. Traitors, the lot of them!

Eh, at least sneaking up to the roof would be easier without the threat of re-statue-i-fication looming over him in the process.

After a quick look around, Bill darted out from beneath the table and hurried towards the shack’s nearby storm drain—one that was conveniently within reach of the nearby metal awning. And after a quick hope that his stupid noodle arms had at least enough strength left to climb, he grasped it with both hands and began his ascent up the side of the building—

“Hey!”

—his quick ascent as he heard a voice call out behind him. He didn’t bother looking back, just kept his focus on getting to the top before whoever had spotted him could get to him first.

Sure enough, he felt a rush the air pass his foot caused by the sensation of a hand just barely missing its grasp on him as he scrambled up and onto the awning to safety. Once he knew he was properly out of harm’s way, he finally cast a glance down at his attempted assailant—mouth spreading into a wide grin at the sight of flannel and a familiar pine tree hat atop a head of red hair. “Well hey there, Red! Enjoying the party?”

“Save it, pal,” Wendy called up to him, eyes narrowed. “And get your three-sided butt back down here before I climb up there after you. Pretty sure you know I can and will do it, too.”

“Once again, it must be a night where people think asking me to do something I don’t want to do is going to make me comply,” Bill taunted, hands cutely tucked under his chin. “I’d say it’s funny how dumb you all are, but really, it’s just getting redundant now. Come on, gimme something new.”

“Oh, I’ll give you something new—”

She balled up her fists and gave her knuckles a crack, giving Bill the incentive to hop to his feet and scramble further up towards the roof. With a huff, she made a dash for the nearby porch to scramble up the railing and follow after him.

Before she could pull herself up and onto it proper, however—

“There you are, Wendy!”

Her mouth fell into an annoyed scowl as a nearby voice called to her from behind, one that lowered further as she turned around and saw Tyler approaching from the Meat Table. “Been looking all over for you!” he said delightedly. “Great party, isn’t it?”

“Super,” Wendy replied in a deadpan voice while she returned her attention back to the railing. “Can’t talk right now though, Tyler, I’ve got something to deal with. Official Mystery Shack business or whatever—”

“Oh! Well, that’s alright,” he said, cheery tone wavering the slightest amount. “Just wanted to stop and say hello—”

“Wendy!”

The sound of another voice from her right once again gave Wendy pause from her current task, although her expression did brighten at the sight of Stan and Mabel approaching them. “We~ell, if it isn’t Stan and Mabel Pines!” Tyler said with delight. “And here I was starting to think you Pineses were deliberately trying to miss your own welcome back party!”

Mabel pressed a solemn hand to the front of her sweater. “Mayor Tyler, I would never miss a party—welcome back or otherwise—of my own accord! Who do you think I am?”

“My feelings vary by event, but I got a good reason for bein’ so scarce ‘til now,” Stan added, with a look to Wendy. “In fact, that’s why Mabel and I are here. Need to talk to Wendy about the uh—the thing we’ve got planned for tonight.”

“The thing!” Wendy agreed, pointing a finger at them. “Yeah, I know the thing. In fact, I was just on my way up the roof to take care of the thing.”

While she made an obvious motion with her pupils towards the top of the roof, Tyler clapped his hands together in excitement. “Oh~hoh, the thing, you say? That thing wouldn’t happen to be the big, mysterious surprise that’s been keeping most of you Pines away from all the fun this evening, would it?”

“It sure is!” Mabel said, and held up a finger. “And while it’s not finished yet, we should have everything ready to go very soon! So go spread the mayor-ly word to everyone about gathering on the other side of the shack for the big surprise!”

“Just make sure they stay outta the way of the exhibits area,” Stan added. “That’s where we’re gonna be setting up the stage.”

“The stage?” Tyler repeated with delight. “Ooh, this really is gonna be quite the surprise, isn’t it~?”

He gave a whimsical little wave to Wendy. “Sorry for dashing so quickly, Wendy, but duty calls—”

“No need to apologize, just go,” she quickly assured him.

With that, he turned and hurried off with a spring in his step—leaving the three of them to watch him go in silence. A silence that was quickly broken by Wendy with a: “Triangle’s climbing the roof, was about to follow after him when Tyler showed up. Catch him and meet you guys over there for whatever you’re planning?”

“You got it,” Stan confirmed with a nod.

“Good luck, Wendy!” Mabel said with a thumbs up. “See you there!”

With a thumbs up of her own, she pulled herself up onto the railing and finally made a reach for the awning above. Leaving the two of them below as Mabel whipped out her phone again. “Gonna let Dipper and Grunkle Ford know that Wendy’s hot on the target's trail.”

“Of course the little jerk would try scalin’ the roof,” Stan muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Big man’s always gotta be towerin’ over everything, huh? Desperate for everyone else’s eyes to be on him…”

“Hehe, well, he’s gonna have allllll the eyes on him once we’re ready,” Mabel said, casting a cheeky grin up at him. “Isn’t he?”

Stan returned her grin with one of his own. “You know it, Pumpkin! C’mon, let’s go find Melody.”

— — — — — — —

Bill knew it was only a matter of time before Wendy made her way onto the roof after him. If he wanted that piece of Birdbrain’s puzzle, he had to move and move quickly.

And move quickly was exactly what he did—roof tiles slipping down the side as he bounded across them like stones on a river, in a mad dash for the bird that waited atop the brightly-decorated sign.

As he approached, most of the gathered beings took off in a rush—the Eyebats fluttering out of place and into the air and giving Bill pause to shake his fist in their direction. “What the heck are you irised idiots doing, getting all cozy and domestic in some backwoods town?! Go turn a baby into stone or something!”

One of the Eyebats narrowed itself at him, seconds before a burst of energy erupted from its cornea towards him and giving him barely enough time to dodge. “ACK! Not me, not me!”

More tiles shifted as he dodged another attack, but luckily the Eyebat didn’t attempt a third and simply fluttered off after the others into the night. With an exhale of relief, Bill’s gaze moved back towards the bird still situated on the sign—one that had somehow remained despite the chaos around it.

Luck continued to be on his side, for the bird had been far too distracted with pecking at one of the nearby streamers to pay any attention to him. And distracted it remained until Bill grasped a hand around its throat, a strangled caw of surprise escaping the poor bird as he drew it closer with a proud flourish. “Hehe, looks like a bird in the hand really is worth more than just two in the bush!”

Despite the bird’s frantic wriggling in an attempt to free itself, Bill managed to wrestle the piece out of its talons. He did earn himself several scratches to his hand in the process, but if a straight-up bullet to the brain wasn’t enough to kill him, then potentially catching Cryptococcosis was of little concern to him.

And once the mysterious object of gold was clutched safely in his hand, he raised it to the sky to investigate further.

Now that he could get a clear look at it, there was no doubt in his mind that it was one of Birdbrain’s charm pieces. The colors of the surrounding party danced across its golden surface, giving it an otherworldly shine. And on top of that, Bill could feel a familiar, confusing warmth from within the charm piece. An odd, almost alive pulsing that spread from his fingertips to the rest of his body as he gripped it tightly in his hand.

Almost as tightly as he continued to grip the bird's neck, a shark peck from its beak to his arm finally enough pain for him to release it into the night sky.

Whatever, who needed some stupid bird when he’d gotten what he’d scaled the roof for in the first place?

“Cipher!”

Right, he still had one other problem to deal with.

After tucking the piece of the charm into his pocket, he backed up towards the edge of the sign platform just as Wendy pulled herself onto it from the other side. “I’d say I appreciate you giving me a chance to get away from the crowd,” she said. “But catching you after you keep wriggling out of everyone’s grasp is really starting to get old.”

She flashed him a condescending grin. “Come on, jerkface, it’s your turn to gimme something new.”

“Throwing my own words back at me, Red?" he asked with a smug wink. “I’m flattered, but I’ll have you know that unlike the body I resemble—I’m not so easily smitten by a redhead in flannel.”

Wendy gave him a flat look and began to crack her knuckles again. “...Yeah, alright, first of all: I’m going to break your legs. Second of all, I’m going to break your arms.”

“Ah, ah, wait—” Bill started quickly, taking another step backwards. “Don’t forget Fordsy’s little rule of not killing me!”

Hey, if Wendy wasn’t aware of what happened down in the bunker, he wasn’t about to go and spill the beans. Especially if it prevented her from kicking his ass from here to the other side of the valley. Just because it wouldn’t kill him didn’t mean he was interested in dealing with levels of pain that intense. Yet.

“Who said I was going to kill you?” It was her neck’s turn to get cracked. “I said I was gonna break your arms and legs. You can easily survive that, but you’ll probably wish you hadn’t.”

Son of a—

Bill’s foot met air as he tried taking one more step backwards and he went tumbling down the other side of the roof with a yelp, barely managing to grab onto the gutter before he could fall—

—only for the gutter to give way in seconds, sending him the rest of the way down to the waiting ground below with a hard thump.

The impact hurt, but nothing felt broken as Bill pulled himself up with a drawn-out groan and a nasty look towards—

—the dozens and dozens of people around him, all staring him down with looks of curiosity and wonder.

Sure enough, it felt like every party guest’s attention had fully locked onto him as he slowly rose himself to his feet. While he was more familiar with being the one to do the ogling, Bill was no stranger to being ogled at himself. If anything, he relished being treated like some kind of sideshow circus oddity or incomprehensible eldritch horror in his usual triangle form.

Being stared down in this small, pathetic human vessel, however? He was staring to feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. The subject of everyone’s attention, but in the most unenjoyable way possible.

Which was, obviously, no fun at all and an issue he neede to rectify immediately.

Alright, Cipher, time to think fast! The majority of the townsfolk had only seen him in his glorious, triangle form—and that same majority probably had no idea about his ability to possess people. He just had to play things cool, get out of sight before the rest of the Pines caught wind of his location—

His left hand subtly shifted to his pocket where the piece of Tangy’s charm lay hidden as a smile threatened his lips. Hmm, counterpoint: he had the first piece of the charm that he needed. If he announced his return, it would potentially incite a panic big enough for him to either sneak off into the night undetected.

Either that or it angered them so much that they took a page out of Ford’s book and tore him to pieces—which would eventually result in him popping back to normal and sneaking off into the night undetected.

Either way, it guaranteed an escape. And much like his original plan back in the woods, at least one of the options came with the added bonus of leaving a few folks with some lifelong trauma! Yay!

“Haha, how’s everyone doing tonight~?” he asked, tossing his arms in the air with gusto. “Havin’ a good time at your little shindig? Little hurt that you didn’t invite me of all people~!”

He pressed a hand to his chest with a wicked grin. “Although I guess any party’s gonna pale in comparison to the one I threw for you suckers last year~!”

A wicked laugh bubbled out of him, resulting in a tidal wave of gasps from the surrounding crowd. Bill’s smile widened as he braced himself for either the sound of frantic screaming, or the sensation of being beaten to death by an angry mob. He wondered what kind of tools or weapons the townsfolk use in this specific instance; he knew the Falls population was often drawn to the usual ‘pitchfork and torch’ approach, but the surrounding party embellishments might allow them to get a bit more creative—

“Aww, isn’t that adorable? Dipper’s gone and dressed himself up in a funny little Bill Cipher costume!”

…Wait, what?

The remark from somewhere in the crowd earned a series of affectionate sounds from the rest of the partygoers, and Bill blinked several times in stunned confusion. “Who’s done what now?”

“Aww, look at his little suit!” Tyler cooed with delight. “Why, this must be the surprise that the Pines family was planning!”

“Oh, that explains the blonde hair and the yellow!” Grenda piped up, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I was wondering, and now I know!”

“Told you so,” Candy added with a grin.

“That’s right, everyone~!”

An arm was slung across his shoulder before Bill had time to react, knees buckling slightly from the impact as he turned to see Mabel standing beside him. “And there’s more to the surprise than just some silly outfit!” she continued with a grin. “While Dipper’s wearing this outfit, him and Grunkle Stan are going to do a recreation of Bill’s defeat—just so everyone here can get a chance to see Bill Cipher getting punched in his stupid, triangle face~!”

…Second verse, same as the first—wait, what?

Actually, no, he was saying that out loud—”Wait, what?!”

“And now it’s your turn to be right, Mabel!”

Bill was suddenly scooped up into the air by a much larger hand, and he turned his head to see Stan standing before the crowd with a familiar, scheming grin on his face. “I mean, the only one who got to see the little bastard get his lights punched out was me, right? Seems only fair that you folks get to see it too, right? …For te—twenty bucks a person, obviously.”

A beat. “Make it thirty…plus ten!”

There was a scattered murmuring of agreement amongst the crowd as Stan stared making his way through them, Bill still clutched tightly in one hand while money was placed in the other. “That’s right, keep it coming.”

As the townsfolk hooted and hollered with delight, Bill cast a glare at their surrounding faces. “Are you nerve-driven flesh mounds really that dense? There’s no way you people are stupid enough to fall for such an obvious lie!”

Despite his insults, the audience still seemed to eat it up as Stan approached the waiting stage at the edge of the property. “Aww, listen to him!” one audience member cheered, hands clasped to their cheeks. “He’s even got the attitude down to a T!”

“Normally, the thought of Bill Cipher’s return would be quite the cause for alarm,” Preston Northwest added. “But when it’s the little Pines boy in a ridiculous costume, well—that’s just downright humorous!”

"Indubitably," Priscilla added with a haughty laugh.

“He’s really keeping in-character!” one of the Manotaurs agreed loudly. “It strengthens the illusion! And strength is GOOD!”

While the rest of the herd slammed their fist on the table with hearty agreement, Bill stared in disbelief. “They’re really that stupid…”

“Don't tell me you're actually surprised by that one,” Stan muttered quietly.

Bill crossed his arms defeatedly across his chest as they headed up the stage’s steps. “No, no you’re right—that’s my fault for expecting any sort of intelligence out of them.”

Voice still low, he raised an eyebrow at Stan. “So, which one of you Pineses came up with this whole idea? I can’t imagine Fordsy would be too keen about you flaunting me in front of the entire town.”

“Psh, shows how much you know, pal,” Stan replied. “As for who came up with the idea…why don’t you take a look in the mirror?”

Stan gestured subtly towards the curtain at the back of the stage, and Bill cast a look towards a thin crack between them to the sight of Dipper and Ford—the former casting him a smug grin complete with a lewd hand gesture.

“Aww, isn’t he just the cutest in his little tuxedo?” Lazy Susan piped up. “It almost makes me not want to see Stan punch him in the face! ...Almost~!”

“Oh, well, it’s great that you say that, Susan!” Soos said from the middle of the stage, microphone in hand. “‘Cause the entire surprise is ruined if you folks don’t wanna see the hit!”

“Come on, party people!” Mabel added excitedly. “Don’t tell me you wanna miss out on seeing Stan give Bill another black eye!”

This got a bout of enthusiastic cheers from the partygoers and Stan flashed Bill a grin. “Better grit your teeth this time, wise guy.”

“Don’t you da—ACK!”

Bill’s order felt on deaf ears as Stan’s fist collided with his face, the force of the hit sending him through the air, and hitting the hard stage a few feet away.

Naturally, the audience clapped and cheered with delight, as Stan flexed an arm with pride. “That’s right, I still got it~! Now pay up, I know for a fact some of you yahoos are tryin' to stiff me! And while I respect it, I ain’t about to let it slide!”

While the audience tossed their money at Stan with enthusiastic abandon, Bill let out a pained and irritable groan as he pulled himself up with his hands, barely having time to react before someone else grabbed him with a: “Thanks a lot, folks! Hope you enjoyed our little recreation!” and began to pull him through the stage curtain.

With a wince from the pain that was once again swelling around his eye, Bill cast a dirty look up at Ford. “You’d better hope none of those idiots noticed just how real that looked,” he warned. “Might be bad news for dear old Stanley if rumors started going around that he gives his precious great nephew black eyes for profit.”

“It would be,” Dipper piped up from Ford’s side. “If I wasn’t about to do this!”

With that, he hurried out to the other side of the curtain, and the audience roared with applause. “Haha, yeah, thanks so much, everyone! Yeah, that was…that was fun, right? We have fun here.”

“Yeah, give it up for the kid!” Stan added. “Ain’t he talented? …So talented, in fact, that praisin’ him’s gonna cost another ten!”

As the audience continued to cheer from the other side, several more folks—Soos and Mabel to be exact—ducked back behind the stage’s curtain to join Ford. “I think it worked!” Mabel said delightedly.

“That was such a good idea, dudes!” Soos added. “It’s like…we wanted to keep Bill’s return a secret, and now we’re still keepin’ it a secret because they think he’s actually Dipper!”

He made an explosion sound next to his head. “Like, boom: Mind. Blown!”

“Yeah, Dip really outdid himself with this one,” Stan added as both he and Dipper ducked behind to rejoin them. “Thanks for bitin’ the bullet on that one, kid. Probably wasn’t easy to see a guy who looks like you gettin’ socked in the face.”

“No bullets bitten whatsoever,” Dipper said proudly. “It’s not like I’m taking the hit myself.”

“Oh, well—aren’t you so clever for putting this much thought into such a mediocre party trick?” Bill asked bitterly as he dangled in Ford’s grasp. “I wouldn’t expect a call from Daniel Raine anytime soon, though, Pine Tree. Pretty sure even a kindergartener could come up with something like that.”

“You’re just mad because it worked!” Mabel said proudly.

“It probably helped that you went and ran your mouth as much as you did after falling off the roof,” Stan said, smug grin returning as he gave Bill’s arm a nudge. “Heh, still can’t resist the chance to try and be the big man in charge, eh, Cipher?”

Bill could only glare at him with a burning rage that was sure to be turning his face red, as Wendy also joined the group behind the curtain. “Melody’s getting the crowd back into regular party mode,” she explained. “So we’ve probably got at least a few minutes before someone comes poking around the other side of the stage to investigate how you did your little swap act.”

She gave a thumbs up. “By the way, that was awesome!”

“Sounds like got just as much time to get this jerk outta sight as quick as possible, then,” Stan added, and held out a hand. “I’ll go stick him in the Shack until the party’s over—gift shop side should still be cleared out enough if I run and use the woods as a cover. Unless you’re feelin’ up to the task, Sixer?”

“You know, I think I’ve dealt with enough of Bill for tonight,” Ford added. “You take care of him for now, Stanley. Soos, the rope?”

Bill could feel his face getting hotter from a mix of rage and humiliation as he was passed from one twin’s hand to the other, once again with as much ease as passing a small kitten from one hand to another. Only this time around, Bill couldn’t even find it in himself to be as smug as before while Ford retied a rope around his body, once again tightening it with just as much spite as he had possessed earlier in the day. In fact, Bill was finding it a struggle to be truly smug about anything as he was once against clutched like a sack of luggage in Stan’s fist and lead back towards the dark wood that waited just a few feet from the stage—

“Grunkle Stan, wait!”

Stan paused at the sound of Mabel’s voice behind him, and Bill was spun back around to the sight of her hurrying towards them. “I’ve been waiting to say this to Bill all day!”

She held a fist to her mouth to clear her throat, then pointed a finger at him with a fierce expression. “Get pranked, dumbass!”

Behind her, the rest of the group melted into amusement—Dipper nudging her with a laugh while Wendy plapped the top of her head with a proud: “Nice one, Mabel!”

And with a laugh of his own, Stan gave her a thumbs up before turning both of them back to the forest that waited ahead. Leaving Bill to stew in that one last insult to injury as the party raged on behind him.

No doubt in his mind at that point, he definitely would’ve thrown a better one.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Dipper Pines #Stanford Pines #Bill Cipher #Shifty #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters; those are just the ones on the poster)#(This chapter's VERY Pines-centered overall and Wendy gets a bit of time to shine too)

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