#im fucking insane. IM CRAZY. IM CRAZY. IM CRAZY.

[kyxurna]

IM GOING TO FUCKINT ESPLODE I LOVE THIS COMIC SO MUCH

I've read it like five times and every time I yell at my scream and cry a little

Your art is GORGEOUS and I'm feeling all the things forever thank you so much

did it mean anything to you

[wisecura]

desperation

You’ve always thought Yuta was the cutest thing on earth.

His shy and timid nature, his ability to brighten the room with his smile, just his overall vibe. All you saw was a big teddy bear. Or maybe a small squirrel. He'd always been so skittish! He'd fluster easily, and was often pretty quiet. You wouldn't have noticed him if you weren't looking for him.

Not to mention how handsome he'd gotten since his training in Africa. He definitely obtained some tonnage, which you thankfully got to see during your training sessions. And you never shied on the compliments. Seeing his reactions easily became a source of entertainment for your days. Yuta was really just so so adorable in your eyes.

Though anyone else who faced Yuta Okkotsu had something else to say.

There wasn't a single person around you that would describe the man as anything short of off-putting. His brooding eyes and overwhelming cursed energy. Not to mention his unbelievable speed and strength. It was obvious he had the blood of countless curses-countless cursed users on his hands. And he hadn't even fully settled into his roll as a special grade yet. 

You'd never understand it when Maki told you how creepy Yuta seemed. The uncomfortable energy she felt radiating off him, and the degenerate look in his eyes that he got sometimes. You didn't think it was very nice how she described him. I meeeaannnn-Of course you trusted your best friend, but you were never one to judge based off other’s impressions. That’s what lead to misunderstandings. And you were a kind and diligent person with a bleeding heart. At least that’s what Yuta said anyways. 

Yuta tailed you regularly, always making sure you were never alone. 

He was always so thoughtful! Always your little protector! You'd remember when you first called him out on his tailing-ooooh~ he'd gotten so red! His stammering and the way he shuffled his feet while looking down-you just couldn't stand it! He'd said it was "For your protection of course." You were sure he was the one with the bleeding heart. 

He’d regularly bring you food when you finished training, and always your favorites. He was sure to give you compliments on your training-much to your squealing. It was obvious to anyone looking in from the outside that you two would end up together. And soon enough he found the courage to ask you out. In the cutest way possible. He brought you flowers, a souvenir from his most recent mission, and your favorite noodles from a shop out of town. He'd told you exactly what he thought of you. All with a cute little blush to pair it off! You don't think you could express just how adorable his proposal was!

Yuta was always a little standoffish. Always a little shy.

Which is why you were so surprised when he worked up the courage to ask you out. You always thought that shy side of him was adorable, but why was he so standoffish even after you'd said yes? 

He would continue bringing you food and continue his friendly compliments, but where was the romance? The passion? You'd thought by now you'd bust down some of those barriers he'd built up. You held out for two months. Two months. And he still avoided you like the plague. Even more-so than before you'd started dating. You'd cry often about this to Maki, earning yourself frequent head slaps. You were sure everyone was annoyed with your whining. Your sweet little Yuta just didn't seem to want to touch you as much as you wanted to touch him. 

You made an attempt to hold hands? He’d shyly move his hand away, either waving to catch up with someone else, or placing his hands atop his head. So slyly evading you. You attempted to give him a hug? It was like chills went down his back as he immediately locked up, hands flinching by his sides. You wanted to kiss his cheek? Hah, you really thought he’d stay close enough long enough for you to try?

You couldn’t stand his distance. Not to mention when you brought it up, he’d shyly brush you off saying you “made him so flustered”, and he didn’t want you to be “scared” by his clinginess. Clinginess? clinginess? But WHERE? WHERE YUTA???

No clinginess to be found. Even if you hadn't been the definition of clinginess, his lack of affection was still odd in any normal relationship. 

This lead to you breaking up with him. I know, i know, I KNOW. It was PAINFUL. But in all honesty, it left you feeling so heartbroken in the end. And it was shameful to say you were still incredibly hung up on him. You just hadn't liked the changes he made after the formality of labels. 

He seemed downtrodden. Unable to lift his head when you told him “I’m sorry, Yuta. It just doesn’t feel like the right time for us,”

He heart the hesitation in your tone. He hadn’t completely lost you yet. 

That was until the exchange event. That brought on all of the Kyoto students coming to the school. Which ultimately left you talking with a stupid nameless boy from the rival school. Laughing at his stupid jokes. Complimenting his stupid technique. And talking to his stupid fuckin' friends.

It’d only been one week since you’d broken things off with him. And honestly, he did wanna be forward with you. But when he tried, he’d get into his own thoughts again. They were vastly different from his normal day to day thoughts, taking on a much more...sadistic turn when it came to you. He'd often take things you left behind, storing his own little collection of you. He had multiple photo albums in his phone dedicated to the different positions and expressions he managed to catch without you noticing.

You'd caught him on multiple occasions following you-a few paces behind or just-watching you. He'd been caught on a few occasions by others, earning him a pretty sour reputation. But it wasn't like his reputation had been good to start with. He was always somewhat overwhelming to those who were weaker than him. It was honestly a miracle in his opinion that he'd attracted someone like you in the first place.

He'd often find himself sneaking into your dorm room-sometimes you weren't there and other times you were. He’d made a routine of stealing your dirty clothes, always swapping them out when they stopped smelling like you. But it was mostly just to watch you sleep. He’d look down at your sleeping, uncovered form-it was always a little hot in the school. And he'd never been more thankful for the lack of air conditioning. He’d sit next to you, stroke your hair, whispering your praises on how you’re so sweet. On how much he loves you . 

It was only once in a blue moon that you actually woke up during these times, shocked to find your precious, lovely boyfriend sitting next to you on your bed. Touching you in a way he’d never do with you watching him. 

He’d immediately freak out, summoning the skill he copied from Inumaki, commanding you to “forget and sleep”. He would never-never let you figure out just how much he craves you. He’d much rather allow you to think he was a sweet and innocent guy. He wanted to live up to those loving compliments you dropped him so easily. He didn't want to scare you off. He knew what he was doing wasn't right. But he couldn't bring himself to care-only feigning ignorance and innocence in front of you. Yet when you weren't looking, he was sure to fulfil all those depraved thoughts clawing in the back of his mind. 

He’d never touch you during these times. As tempting as it was. Ok-well-maybe he did grope your thighs a little while you were under his sleeping curse. But all of the...big stuff could come later. When he built up the courage to face your touch and not immediately try and fuck you senseless. 

You were just too innocent for that

But why was his innocent girl flirting with some fuck-face only a few feet away from him. She must think they’re over. He was willing to allow your your space, at least the little he allowed. He was still your 'friend' after all. But this was too much. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what that kid was thinking when his eyes traced over your curves.  

Which is how he ended up here. Standing over said kid on the event grounds, while everyone else was busy attacking the released curses. No one around to see him at his worst. His eyes were murderous as he peered down at your new boy toy's ugly bruised up face. Yuta really did a number on him. Of course, he didn’t unleash Rika, he wanted the satisfaction of punishing him himself. He let go of him the second he lost consciousness, unceremoniously falling to the ground. The blood covering the kids shirt and the grass below his head looked ghastly. Yuta's knuckles were bruised, having used a little too much force than he'd intended. He'd wanted to kill him, but decided it'd be a good lesson to the others. He made his way back on course, obliterating any curses in his path, easily. 

You were back in your dorm rooms. You’d heard of how they found that cute boy you were talking with from the Kyoto team, beaten bloody. You’d been surprised, finding some sympathy in his defeat, but couldn't find it in yourself to really care. You’d lay in bed for a while, thinking about these last few weeks. Unable to find sleep. When you heard your door opening, quite softly might you add. You quickly close your eyes, feigning sleep. Silence etched on for a few minutes until you felt your bed dip to your side. You felt the ghosting of fingers over your forehead and a soft sigh. You’re eyes shot open and in lightning speed you pulled the intruder onto the bed, straddling them. Straddling him. You pinned his hands above his head. Lo and behold, Yuta was staring wide eyed and gaping up at you.

 “Gotcha,” His breathing matched yours, erratic, and he looked as flushed as he was surprised. Your eyes were boarding on insane as he looked up at you, terrified. He called out your name a few times, “You’re awake,” “Been doin’ this a while now, huh?” 

You caught him off guard with your brazen accusation. Maybe this would be alright, he thought. “Y-yes, Ok-ok, I’m sor-“ “You kept knocking me out, didn’t you? So easy to do with that stupid technique.”

He lost his voice quickly. Despite this position he couldn't help but admire how pretty you looked gazing at him. The wild look on your face, shamelessly stirring his dick to life. Even if he’d wanted to command you asleep, it seemed you were better at fighting off the most important command that spewed from his lips. Forget. You looked like you remembered everything. And he couldn't help the vulnerability clawing his chest. Why hadnt you said anything before?-

He realized the position he was in. You were straddling him, thighs pressed flush against his sides, you clothed heat hovering his growing erection. Your delicate fingers grasping his much larger wrists. If he wanted to, he could get out of this position. But he refused. 

“And that boy? Was that you?” Your tone accusatory, He nodded, confirming your speculations. 

“Use your words, Yuta. I’m done playing these games.” Dropping his innocent act, he gave you exactly what you wanted. 

“I would've done more if you'd gotten any closer to him,” He rutted his hips up into you, pressing on, “You should really stop talking to other guys when you have me.” You tsked at him, unfazed, “Yuta, we’ve already broken up.” 

His face formed a frown, a line etched between his eyebrows. You had to remind yourself not to rub the line away. Not to touch that cute face of his. God damn! He still made your heart flutter. He's just so so so so cute-“You said it wasn’t the right time. That doesn’t mean it’s over.” His face was hard, colder than you'd ever seen. His eyes defiant and challenging. A part he'd always tried to hide from you. You wanted to tease him so badly!

This being the most you’ve gotten out of Yuta since dating him. “You never seemed all that invested in the relationship. You never even let me touch you, hold you, and you never made much of a move on me.” When I’m awake at least, we’re the words left unspoken, hanging in the air. Your stomach twisting, heart thrumming wildly. You could feel his erection growing under you and you found yourself wanting to punish him a little more. You so desperately wanted him inside you. Feeling him everywhere. You moved your hips to grind against him, feeling the way his dick seemed to swell from the attention. He looked down at the actions, groaning out, blush still present on his cute face. You grind against him again setting a small rhythm. His head dropping back at the sensation of your clothed warm pussy against his shorts. So so so so so so goooood. He's so perfect! And to think he was watching you sleep at night just cuz he was too embarrassed!

“Awww~, Yuta,” you cooed at him “I’ve never seen you make this expression before~” His eyes seemed mesmerized in your form, and he wished for nothing more than to touch you all over. He wanted your first night to be special. Flowers, wine and diner, and even romantic music playing in the distance. He was idealistic at times, but he didn’t know if it got sweeter than this. You were so pretty when you looked down at him. Your adoration, evident. He thought you were the most precious thing in his life at this moment. 

As much as he never wanted this to end, he needed more. And it seemed you did too. Leaving his arms at the top of the bed your hands made their way down his chest. Deciding he needed less on, you ripped away his shirt-sheer strength, yeah? No- you'd moved to grab a knife from your bedside table, cutting the fabric smoothly (recently sharpened too)- what? it's a dangerous world out there- Before bringing it to his neck.

You looked him dead in the eye, any playful tease gone from your tone, “You move, and I slit your neck.” He visibly gulped, and nodded quickly. He was seeing a new side to you too-and he fucking loved it. He wanted to please you so badly, acknowledging your little threats seemed to make you happy. He sure as hell wouldn't stop whatever was about to happen. He wouldn’t even try stopping you if you had wanted to slit his neck. With the way you moved on top of him, he was sure he’d die a happy man. So he left his arms put. Following your every command. 

You pulled his shorts down, leaving him in only his boxers. The bulge, larger than you'd expected. Your mouth already watering at the thought of taking him, you couldn't tear your eyes off of it. Your mind racing with how girthy his cock would be in your hand-in your mouth-in your cunt. Would he be veiny? What color would it be? How would it curve? How would he sound? Would he whine at you? Beg you to take him? Would his face flush up all red? The desperate look in his eyes had your pussy drenched, slick pulling in your panties, enough to leak through and coat your thighs. He watched you through half lidded eyes, hazy and needy. You so badly wanted to tease him. So badly wanted to hear his groans, his whines, his whimpers, his begging. You'd been patient- what was a few more minutes. You continued your assault of dry humping through his boxers, at a punishing pace. Your slick now coating through his boxers, lubricating his dick. His groans and whimpers music to your ears, spurring you on. The friction was fucking phenomenal. His punishment was set. He wasn’t going to touch you now. He’d already rejected you enough. He was gonna pay even if he was the cutest human alive-

“Y’know, it’s real fuckin gross, sneaking into the girls dorms like this.” Your voice nasty and demeaning. He whimpered, straining against his position, trying to be good for you. Trying not to move. “Watching me like that. I bet you're the type of perverted fuck that'd steal my shit while you were here too.” You continued your tirade of insults, Yuta red face only darkening in humiliation. He didn't know how much you actually knew. He'd never felt so ashamed, yet so fuckin turned on. 

“Huh?~” you teased, “What's this? Did you really?" Your voice coming down to a mean whisper, he wasn't able to stop the small whimpers and groans as you continue dry humping him, straining to keep his hand out of the way. That little knife still close to his neck. "I bet you're also the type of sicko to jack off to me while I'm sleeping? I've noticed some of my panties missing, Yuta~" You couldn't stop the accusations, turning yourself on the more you put out there. "Was that you too? Did you imagine what I'd taste like with those used panties in your mouth? How often did you get off to the thought of me?” Your voice demanding, your gyrations- demanding, he looked up at you feeling the words come out in moans. He knew he needed to respond to this one. "All the time," and you praised him with your own little moan. he was sure he was close to cumming. "So fucking disgusting." 

You really were mean, he thought. His sweet girl saying such mean things because he didn’t know how to behave. He really was a terrible boyfriend. And here he thought he was doing the best and the most for you. But he couldn't deny how hard he was, nor how hot it was for him to be hearing this. To be seeing this. He wanted to tell you he was close-he needed you to stop. This wasn't about him. This was his punishment. And he desperately wanted you to use him. 

You moved his boxers lower as his cock finally sprung free. You looked at it in awe, as he flushed red, looking to the side. If he met your gaze now, he was sure he'd come on the spot. Your hands finally wrapped around the tip of his cock as you slowly stroked down his length. What a blessing you were giving him. You were so sweet to him. So good to him. A loud moan escaped his lips as he begged. He had a feeling you'd like that. 

“Pl-please, don't stop, please, please, please,” It was like a chant at this point. You could see the way his eyes welled up. "Feels so good, please. You feel so-" You watched him closely, loving every word that escaped those cute lips of his. His eyes so needy and desperate. "Such a greedy thing," He moaned at this, nodding his head "yes, yes, please, I'll do anything, anything,-"

“You wanna fuck me?” His breathing to hitch and a low whine came from his pretty lips. “please” how did he get so lucky. You lined him up to your dripping entrance, sinking down his cock. A full body shudder went through Yuta as he let out the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. His toes curling, as he strained not to thrust up into you. He was so desperate to move. But this is his punishment. His punishment. He'd been bad. He deserved this.  

You’ve never felt so full in your life. He fit you like a puzzle piece and you were sure he’d do whatever you said here and now. You eyes didn't know whether to look at that straining face of his, or his thick cock finally penetrating your pussy. You'll admit it. You'd wanted this for a while. 

You moved your hips slowly at first, keeping up a agonizingly slow pace. Each time your hips sunk down and took him fully, he’d let out these cute little moans, seeming to come to the terms of his limitations at every bounce. He was struggling.

“Want more?” you couldn't help but fucking tease him. You'd give in. Hi response was immediate voice thick and raspy, “ yes, yes, please, yes,"  His eyes, still fixed on you. Unable to look anywhere else. 

You picked up the pace, thankful for your hours of training. Your stamina was fantastic as you worked his cock. The loud squelched only fulling your demise. He was gonna be the death of you. You wanted him forever. Needed him. Every part of him, “Want me to milk you dry?”  He repeated his desperate pleas, saying yes over and over and over again, begging to let him fill you with his seed. He begged you to let him cum. “You gonna cum in me? Breed this pussy? Fuck me full of your seed?” His hips stuttered at this one. “Yes please, I'll do anything.” 

You toyed with your clit, feeling close to your own high. “I-I’m gonna cum, please, please let me cum for you.” He’s lucky he's so cute. “Cum for me then,” Just as you said that you felt your own orgasm crashing down, in the same breath you felt his hot cum seeping deep inside you. You didn’t make a move to get off him, dropping down to lay on his chest. You hummed against him.

“Yuta, if you avoid me again, I'll end you.” 

masterlist

[darlingdaisyfarm]

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

chapter 1

tags: pre portal, hurt/comfort, angst, Stan & Ford needs a hug, reader too, emotional manipulation, everyone needs therapy but that’s not happening, mystery trio dynamics if you squint, billford?? hmmm

author note: guys i swear this was supposed to be a shameless porn threesome fic, but then Ford and Stan showed up with a whole suitcase of unresolved issues im so sorry

“You’re gonna change the world, Ford.”

“Only if you’re there to see it.”

***

Backsmore University. What a fucking place.

It wasn’t just the old brick buildings or the ivy creeping up the sides. Not really. It was the people. The crazy mix of the smartest, weirdest people you could imagine. You were one of them, no doubt. An absolute nerd with a lab coat on 90% of the time, a mess of papers and equations in your backpack and a head full of ideas and knowledge. But unlike Ford, you weren’t shy about showing it. You thrived in it, honestly. Lectures? Boring as hell, but the energy in the halls? The potential of every single person you met? Yeah, you were there for it.

One of these was Ford Filbrick Pines.

The ultimate BMU enigma, the textbook definition of nerdy. For some reason, his persona always made you think he was hiding some secret genius-level insanity behind his weirdly serious face. 

You’d laugh about it with your friends, the way he avoided talking to anyone. Classic “genius who’s too good for people” type.

He was everywhere, and yet, nowhere at all. Seriously, you could walk through the student lounge, see him hunched over a pile of research papers in the corner and just know you were witnessing something profound. He didn’t get what you were about at first.

You were funny, obnoxious even, always the first to crack a joke or make a ridiculous observation in class. Meanwhile Ford would just stare at you with those big eyes like he was trying to figure out if you were some kind of social experiment.

But then you started talking, typical nerds topics. About quantum physics, mathematics, about the mysteries of the universe, about everything. He’d scoff at how crazy your ideas were but then, just a second later, he'd be scribbling down some insane theory of his own that he wouldn’t even tell anyone else about. And you’d get it. You both would sit in the library, trading theories and arguing about the tiniest details of space-time.

You were the loud one, in Ford’s opinion, the one who could hold a conversation about quantum theory and drag Ford to a campus party all in the same breath. He’d grumble the whole way, saying it was a waste of time, rolling his eyes at your insistence that he needed a little break. He’d follow you through those sticky, badly lit student lounges, watching you laugh with people he’d probably never even look at twice.

These late nights when you’d drag him out to stargaze, pointing out constellations, half-naming stars you didn’t know, laughing when he’d shake his head, muttering about inaccurate astronomy. But he always went along with it, always ended up laying beside you on the grass, looking up at a sky he could never quite make sense of but was desperate to understand.

The graduation day. You clearly remember that one.

The sun was so bright you could barely keep your eyes open and everything felt like a dream. You had your cap crooked on your head (you were probably running late, as usual), your tassel swinging as you walked across the field, your friends beside you, shouting and celebrating like you were all in the fucking “after party of the year.” But then you turned and your eyes saw Ford, who was clutching that damn diploma like it was a golden ticket. He looked different somehow, like he’d finally unlocked a new version of himself. 

The Stanford Pines himself, recipient of Backsmore’s largest grant for his “eccentric” research, standing with his square academic cap, although it was comically slipping off his head. He looked out of place, like a scientist among a sea of partying students who could barely remember their names half the time.

So, you did what any good friend would do— you adjusted his cap for him, (plus you wanted an excuse to touch him), made some dumb joke about how he’d better not screw it up. He’d roll his eyes, but you knew he liked it. He needed it.

“Hey,” you grinned, “looking pretty fancy for someone who spends all their time talking to aliens or whatever.”

Ford smirked. “I’ve already got a date with a space-time continuum. But you can join if you want.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile didn’t leave.

***

Outside, the world has turned into a kind of cold, quiet hell. Snow falls in thick slow flakes, burying everything in a suffocating blanket of white. And Stan stands there, jacket pulled tight against his chest, staring up at the looming silhouette of his brother's house.

It's freezing, but Stan hardly feels the cold. Not really.

It’s quiet here, but it’s not peaceful. Silence feels heavy, like it’s watching him.

His thoughts are pulled back to a time that feels both recent and impossibly distant.

Ten years. Ten goddamn years. It’s been a decade since he's seen Ford’s face. Well, of course he doesn't expect Ford to look like something completely different, they’re twins after all. But at least now Stan knows what Ford would look like with a mullet.

Stanford was always the smart one, the golden kid, with big brains and hands that tinkered with mysteries beyond Stan’s understanding. And now. . . after all these years of silence, Ford finally decides he needs him. It’s a postcard, a single damn postcard, that drags Stan out of the muck and dumps him back here in this town, holding secrets and god knows what kind of twisted shit his brother’s got himself mixed up in.

After everything Ford did, after leaving, after barely even thinking to check in after all these years, Stan knows he shouldn't feel this way. But here he is. Waiting. Hoping. Hoping against hope, as if somehow, that tall figure would come striding down the snowy path, arms filled with books and that same serious look on his face. That same one he had as a kid when something big was on his mind. 

Stan shakes his head, letting out a breath that forms a small cloud in the icy air.

“Ten years, and you drag me here for what, Stanford?” he thinks.

Stan takes a deep breath, the cold seeps right down to his bones, but it’s not the winter’s chill that makes him shiver. His heart pounds as he stares at the weathered door in front of him, trying to shake off the surge of memories of the two of them, inseparable, back when they thought the world couldn’t touch them. But that was more than a lifetime ago.

He mutters to himself, “you haven’t seen your brother in over ten years. It’s okay. He’s family. . . He won’t bite.” or at least Stan hopes so and then he knocks, half-heartedly, already bracing himself.

The door swings open with a sudden jolt. Before Stan can even greet him, Ford’s voice booms through the biting air. "WHO IS IT?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!” his trembling hands grip a crossbow, pointed directly at Stan, and the first thing Stan notices are his brother’s eyes — wide and paranoid.

Stan looks at Ford, steps back a little, blinks, then blinks again. He tries to mask the pang of hurt as he lets out a shaky laugh, “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.”

Ford lowers the weapon slightly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously and then, as if finally recognizing the person standing before him, he blurts, “Stanley, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?”

“Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Stan grumbles, but to his surprise, Ford grabs him by the clothes, yanking him roughly inside before he can even process it. "Ah!" he exclaims, stumbling forward, before the door slams shut behind them.

Ford, still skittish, shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes, his fingers trembling as he holds it, blinding his brother. “What is this?!” Stan shoves the flashlight away.

Deep down, though, he tries to mask the pang that Ford’s mistrust strikes in him. What happened between you two? Mom would be so upset about their relationship. They used to share everything, trust each other without question, without even a word. Now here they are, stumbling through a reunion that feels like walking on broken glass.

"Sorry,” Stanford answers quickly, studying Stan’s face as if looking for lies hidden in his eyes. “I just had to make sure you weren’t. . . It’s nothing. Come in, come in.”

Stan follows him, the warmth he thought he’d feel upon seeing his brother slowly cooling into something he doesn’t want to admit that feels like disappointment. He watches Ford flit around the room, casting paranoid glances, clutching onto a battered old journal like it’s the only thing holding him together.

The shack is cluttered, papers scattered on the floor, strange devices cluttering the tables, books piled high. Wow, Stan thinks, the whole place screams my brother has been here alone too long.

It makes Stan's chest tighten.

“Uh, you gonna explain what’s going on here? you’re acting like mom after her tenth cup of coffee.” he is trying to defuse the atmosphere somehow, to make contact, but inside, his heart aches. He missed Ford; he missed him like hell. And to finally be here, standing right next to him, only to find him. . . like this. Seriously? It’s almost too much to bear.

Ford, ignoring the gentle jab, clutches the journal tighter. “Listen, there isn’t much time. I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” he doesn’t meet Stan’s eyes as he glances at a skeleton in the corner, twisting its head away from him.

Stan’s heart drops. This is bad, worse than he thought.

He steps forward, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder, a touch he hopes can somehow bridge the miles and years between them. “Hey, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?”

But Ford pulls back, a strange, paranoid look in his eyes. His fingers trace the spine of the journal as he glances at Stan. “I have something to show you. Something you won’t believe.”

Stan's brow furrows, his curiosity piqued despite himself. What could it be? Some kind of super scientific bullshit that opens doors to parallel worlds? A time machine? A wormhole? Black hole made at home?

He looks at Ford, how the man hasn’t aged a day physically, but the exhaustion, the fear, the isolation, it all is painted on his brother’s face. It’s painful to see. It’s heartbreaking to think how Ford might have been living in this place, alone with nothing but his thoughts, trapped in his own world of mistakes and fears.

Stan manages a weak grin, masking his own fear for brothers sanity in his heart. "Look, I’ve been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I’ll understand."

That twist in your chest, that awful, prickling feeling that something’s wrong.

You’re curled up at your kitchen table, sipping your tea with that kind of numbness you get when you’ve been overthinking too much. You told yourself to back off. He needed space. He needed time.

But when Stan’s eyes scan the giant, hulking portal machine in front of him, he can’t hide the bewilderment as he adds, “There’s nothing about this I understand.”

Ford’s hand wrapped tight protective around his journal. It’s the only one left, his last remaining key to understanding, to protecting everything he’s worked for. 

But now Stan stands across from him and his face clearly shows something what can be called betrayal.

Ford’s been distant. Secretive, even. The last time you two spoke, it was tense, full of anger and words you didn’t mean. It shouldn’t matter, you tell yourself, but the thought of him out there, alone, is like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Ford tries to explain as if Stan would understand. “It's a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction. That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it. There's only one journal left. . . and you are the only person I can trust to take it.” he steps forward, holding the journal out to Stan, eyes pleading. “I have something to ask of you: remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Stan’s face shines with smile until he hears next shit his brother say. “Take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as ya can! To the edge of the Earth! Bury it where no one can find it!”

I should’ve just stayed, I shouldn’t have left.

Your fingers curl around the warm mug, but sadly the heat doing nothing to soothe the anxiety creeping up your throat.

You set it down on the counter, trying to shake off the feeling. It’s just the storm, it’s just you being overdramatic. It doesn’t mean anything.

But the knot in your stomach refuses to untangle.

Something’s wrong.

“That’s it? You finally show your face after ten fucking years and all you’ve got to say is ‘get away’?”

Ford's hand drops and disappointment flashes across his face. “Stanley, you don't understand what I'm up against! What I've been through!”

“Oh, yeah?” Stan can't contain his emotions. How dare he?! “You don’t understand what I’ve been through! Three different prisons, Stanford! I’ve chewed my way out of a goddamn car trunk! Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

With a sigh, you stand up, setting the mug down on the table as your dog, a sweet, eager little spaniel, looks up at you with wide, curious eyes.

Ford's temper snaps because he can't believe what the fuck his brother is talking about. “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley? You ruined my shot at a real life! At my dream school! And here I am, giving you a chance to do something meaningful and you still can’t get it through your head!”

You glance over at your dog, a scruffy, affectionate spaniel with big brown eyes who’s been staring at you from the corner of the room.

Stan raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? You want this fucking book gone?” he yanks a lighter from his pocket, the flame flaring up as he flicks it. “Fine. I’ll get rid of it right fucking now.” he holds the journal over the flame, daring Ford to make a move.

You can’t shake this feeling, this urge to go find Ford, even if it means dragging yourself out into the goddamn blizzard.

“I’ll be back soon, girl,” you murmur, pulling on your coat. You don’t know what you’re looking for, don’t even know what you’re hoping to find. But you have to see him. You have to know

Ford’s eyes widen, panic flashing across his face. “No!” he lunges for it, reaching out, but Stan yanks it back. “You don’t understand!” Ford shouts, desperation pouring through him.

But Stan takes a step back, holding the journal dangerously close to the flame. “You want me to take it? Well, then, I’ll decide what to do with it.”

“My research!” they jerk the book back and forth, playing a fucked up game of tug of war, their yells echoing through the lab as they struggle over it.

You can’t shake the feeling, it’s like something’s dragging you forward, pulling you toward him, toward the unknown.

It’s late and the woods are fucking silent, which is weird for Gravity Falls. You’ve been running for what feels like hours, your chest burning, your mind tangled in a mess of thoughts you can’t quite shake. Every goddamn thing with Ford lately has been a disaster, hasn’t it? One fight after another, with him shutting down, disappearing into his head like he’s always been known to do.

The last words you shared with him are still fresh in your mind, “this is it, okay?! I can’t do this anymore.” he didn’t even fight back, just. . . stared at you like you were the problem. Maybe you were the problem, you don’t know, but damn it, you cared. You couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. That’s why you’re out here, because you’re not about to let him get swallowed up by whatever the hell is going on in that messed-up head of his.

And now, here you are, halfway to his place with nothing but your gut telling you that whatever was going down at Ford’s place was way worse than you thought.

When you enter, you hear the kind of noise— angry, violent, something breaking and you know Ford’s involved, you just know it. You don’t care if you two haven’t spoken in days, if things between you and him are a mess of unsaid things and frustrated silences. He’s been acting so off, and now, hearing the absolute mayhem erupting inside, you’re terrified.

The sounds are loud, shouting voices, furniture crashing, angry grunts. Your heart fucking stops as you push the door open so fast it slams against the wall. You’re not thinking, not caring that maybe you shouldn’t be here, but it’s too late to stop now.

At first, you think you've completely lost your mind, because you're seeing two Ford Pines. And then you think, either you're the one who's gone crazy, or Ford has, because he's literally fighting with himself.

But as you take a breath, both Fords turn to look at you, and that’s when it hits you: this isn’t just some bizarre mirror trick. There’s Ford and then there’s someone who looks a whole lot like him, but is definitely, absolutely not him.

“What the fuck is going on?” your voice rings out much louder than you meant, but you don’t care. Your heart is pounding way too hard and your feet are planted, legs shaking with adrenaline and worry. You’ve seen Ford in a mess of emotions, but never like this. Not this bad.

The second the door slams open, both of them freeze, but it’s the mulleted guy who speaks first. “So you got yourself a chick now, huh? Thought you were too busy playing goddamn Einstein to bother with things like that.” his angry eyes narrow at you, and you’re not sure if it’s anger or. . . jealousy? Frustration? You don’t have time to decode it.

This guy have absolutely the same features, same nose, same intense, serious brow, but his whole look is just rougher, like he’d been living a life Ford would never survive.

And your blood boils.

“No, fuck that,” you snap, glaring at mullet-man. “You don’t talk about me like that.” then you glance at Ford. “Ford, why the fuck didn’t you tell me about—”

but you get interrupted by Ford’s clone, Ford’s twin, whatever. “Name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. The brother of this genius. Bet he’s never even mentioned me, huh?”

Your stomach churns at the words. Fuck that, no way. This isn’t about you, this is about Ford.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” now you are shivering not only from the winter cold, but also from the absolute chaos of what is happening. You turn to Ford, eyes desperate, desperate to know, to understand, to find answers. “What’s going on? Where have you been? I couldn’t get ahold of you. You just. . . left. And I—” you stop yourself, biting your lip. This isn’t the time to scream at him for all the unanswered questions, for all the shit that’s been left hanging. Not yet.

Ford doesn’t seem to get it. His eyes flick between you and Stan like he’s trying to piece it together, but nothing adds up. "I don’t— what are you doing here? We— we said goodbye," his voice is strained, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“No, Ford. You said goodbye! You fucking disappeared! I don’t even know why, and I— fuck, just explain yourself, okay?” you can’t keep the desperation out of your voice anymore.

Stan is watching with his arms crossed over his chest, and he still doesn't look too pleased, but it's not just anger. Although you don't have time to deal with his point of view. You need answers. You need Ford to talk.

Ford opens his mouth to say something, but then the anger, the frustration, all of it just snaps. "I didn’t want you involved in this. . .  anyone involved. This, this thing with the portal, you wouldn’t understand—"

You don’t even let him finish. “Stop. Just stop, yeah? You don’t get to just disappear like that, Ford. I don’t care about the journal or the goddamn portal anymore. I care about you. Why the hell are you so fucking determined to push everyone away?”

Ford tries to get himself together, though he looks like he’s been caught with every secret he’s ever buried. “This— this doesn’t concern you, alright? Just— just leave, go, this is between me and him.”

Stan scoffs. “Oh, yeah, classy, Sixer. Let’s bring her in just to shove her right back out, huh? Really hitting your all-time high here.”

“Shut up,” his brother snaps.

But Stan’s just as stubborn, glaring right back. “No, I don’t think I will. Not when you’ve dragged some poor girl into this whole shitshow. Real nice, by the way, real nice! Does she even know what you’ve been up to, huh? All the crap you’re into?”

“I said shut up, Stanley. I shouldn’t have called you— God, I regret calling you! You’re just here to make things worse, like always.”

The words land harder than you thought they would. It's not like you didn’t know Ford could be an asshole, but hearing him say that directly to his brother hits a nerve, like a punch to the gut. 

You see Stan’s face change, his mouth drops open, his eyes so wide, like he’s been slapped across the face. He looks like he’s been gutted. It takes his breath away, because he didn't expect to hear this ten years later, and it's obvious that Ford's words hit him too deeply.

However, your own heart drop to your stomach too. Fuck. You didn’t know what was worse — the fact that they were tearing into each other or the fact that Ford could say something like that to his own brother. It’s too much, even for you. You want to scream at Ford, demand that he stop, that this isn’t helping anyone, but you’re paralyzed.

But Stan’s hurt turns into something else and he spits back, “You think I wanted this, Ford?! You think I wanted to be the fuck-up brother?! You’re the one who dragged me into this whole goddamn mess now. You asked me to come! You! So don’t go acting all high and mighty like I’m the one screwing your life up right now!”

And then, in that moment, everything goes to hell.

Before you know it, they’re back at each other’s throats. Ford lunges forward, grabbing the journal, but Stan’s not letting go, the damn thing passed back and forth between them like it’s a live wire, all anger and resentment boiled down to this one book as each of them trying to get a hand on it. 

You rush forward, hands outstretched to push them apart, anything to stop this from going too far, but in the heat of it all, Ford jerks back, elbow flying and you feel it land in your ribs, knocking the wind right out of you and it really fucking hurts. The pain shocks you so hard you gasp.

Ford’s eyes snap to you instantly, widening in horror. “Oh my god— I’m s-so sorry! are you alri—“ he reaches toward you, himself can’t believe he just did that to you, but he barely gets a word out before Stan’s fist slams into his jaw.

This time, Stan hits so hard, putting all his resentment into the punch that Ford stumbles dangerously close to the portal, which is buzzing. You watch in absolute horror as his body goes too close, the fucking thing flickering and humming like a beast about to devour him whole and for a heart-stopping second, Ford looks like he’s going to fall right in.

You’re out of your mind in an instant as you scramble to your feet, adrenaline spiking, crazy fear in your eyes. Without thinking, you reach out, grabbing Ford’s arm, pulling him back, using every ounce of strength you have to pull him back. “Ford, no! Get back!”

Stan’s standing there, frozen for a second, scared himself by how far he had come. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths and his face is fucking pale as he stares at his brother’s body half in portal, but the guilt is written all over Stan’s face. His bruised hand is still raised, like he wants to hit Ford again, but it’s shaking. Did he. . . did he just. . ? God, he didn’t mean—

“You!” you scream, still tugging Ford away from the edge, but the portal’s pulling like a magnet and you’re fighting with everything you have. “Help me, now!”

Snapped out of his daze, Stanley rushes over, grabbing Ford. You tug harder, your muscles screaming as Ford’s body gives a last push toward the rift, but finally, finally, together, you both heave him back, dragging him away from the portal and out of that damn pull. His feet hit solid ground and you both just collapse.

You’re gasping for breath, hands still fisted in Ford’s coat, both of you holding on like if you let go, he’ll slip right back toward that nightmare.

Ford’s breathing heavily, disoriented, his hands gripping your arms in fear. 

Stan’s still looking at Ford, his face torn up because he doesn’t know whether to say sorry, to yell or to just walk the fuck out to not ruin something else. There’s realisation in his eyes and, for the first time, Stanley is seeing what his anger’s capable of. That punch could’ve been the end of everything.

“Brother. . .” Stan’s voice trembles. “I didn’t mean to—”

You don’t let him finish. “No, you didn’t mean to. None of you meant to,” you snap, but it’s not anger in your tone, it’s damn fear, panic, it’s this deep fucking worry. You turn to Ford. “But this shit needs to stop, okay? Right now. Please.”

The silence between you, Ford and Stan stretches out as if it’s some aftermath of a bomb going off. Ford’s still on the floor, breathing hard and it’s not the near-death experience that’s fucking him up, but the bitter realisation of what could have really happened if that damn portal had taken him in.

“So that’s it, huh? After ten goddamn years, this is how you treat me? Almost shove me into a portal like it’s nothing?”

Stan opens his mouth, but Ford isn’t letting him get a word in, he’s too riled up now, all that anger and pride churning in him, boiling over. “Do you even understand what could’ve happened? What you almost did? You haven’t changed one bit, Stanley. I should’ve known better. Should’ve known you’d just fuck everything up, again. Just like you did back then.” Ford’s voice sounds colder than the winter outside. “Remember the science fair, Stan? You destroyed my experiment because you were too fucking selfish to think about anyone but yourself. I could’ve had everything. You took that from me, my chance at West Coast Tech, my chance at anything and then you have the nerve to make me the villain?”

It hits Stan harder than any punch ever could. Stan doesn’t even blink, his whole body stiff, shoulders slump.

His mouth opens like he wants to fight back, but there’s no fight left in him, the words are stuck in his throat. He doesn’t say shit, trying to process everything at once. But there’s nothing to process. Ford’s right.

“Yeah, I get it,” Stan mutters, holding back tears. “I’m a fucking failure. I know that, Sixer. Always have been. I’m sorry.”

But then he does the one thing you didn’t think he would. He turns around, slow, defeated, too fucking tired to argue and fight anymore.

And just like that, he starts walking away. But deep inside Stanley is crying like a child, expecting Ford to stop him. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say a word, but he wishes Ford would care, at least once. 

You’re fucking shocked, feeling helpless rage and anger, heart pounding with confusion and disbelief. You thought. . . well, you don’t even know what you thought! That they’d hug it out? Have some big, tearful reunion? Not really! But this mess of accusations and bitterness and old scars is so fucked up. Completely and utterly fucked up.

Ford stands there, all silent, watching Stan’s back as he walks away, not moving an inch. The pride, the stubbornness, the wall he’s built around himself. Oh god, that guy is so fucking smart he doesn’t know how to feel anymore.

You look back at Ford, at his rigid stance, he won’t even move, won’t even try to call Stan back. You can’t believe it and something snaps in you, something fierce and hot because you’re done with all this bullshit.

“You’re not even gonna ask him to stay? Fuck, what is wrong with you both?”

Ford’s face tightens, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch. And it drives you insane, watching him cling to that pride, that goddamn logic of his that’s somehow more important than his own damn family. No fucking way is this ending like this. Not after everything you’ve just seen, not with Ford standing there like a goddamn statue, too proud or too blind or too stupid to do anything but let his brother walk out.

You storm past Ford, ignoring his surprised look as you push past him, practically running after Stan. “wait!” you shout. But Stan doesn’t stop, doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.

“Stan!”

“What?” he snaps at you.

You step closer. “You’re not leaving,” you say, staring him down like it’s a challenge.

He lets out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Trust me, sweetheart, it’s better if I do. I don’t belong here.” he jerks his thumb back in Ford’s direction. “Pretty clear I’m not welcome.”

“Bullshit,” you respond, what makes Stanley raise an eyebrow, looking a little surprised at your bluntness. “I don’t care if he’s too proud to say it, but you’re his brother— I mean, you think this is how family’s supposed to be? You think he doesn’t want you here?”

“Look, kid, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Me ‘n’ Ford? We’re a lost cause. Always been. Ain’t no point in tryin' to fix it now.”

“Oh, come on! So you fuck up, he fucks up— you’re both disasters. That doesn’t mean you just give up. I don’t care if it’s been years or what the hell happened between you two. You don’t just fuckin’ quit on family. That’s not how this works.”

Stan’s mouth twitches and he looks like he’s gonna bite back with something snarky, but he doesn’t. He just lets out this tired sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t wanna hurt him more than I already have. I always mess things up. I’ll just make it worse. So what’s the point?”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in the frustration pounding through you. “The point is, you’re his brother! And if you don’t stay, if you don’t try to work this out, you’ll both regret it. You can’t just leave him to deal with this shit alone.” 

Stanley opens his mouth, ready to throw out another excuse, but you cut him off.

“Look, Stan,” you change the intonation to softer one, “I don’t know the whole story here. I don’t know what went down between you two and I’m sure as hell not saying it doesn’t hurt like hell. But this whole thing you guys are doing? Pushing each other away? It’s not gonna make anything better.“

“Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to be the hero, alright? I ain’t got no magic words to fix this shit.” Stan sighs and looks down like he’s too damn tired for this conversation.

When you and Stan make your way back inside, you see Ford still there with his back to you.

Stanley huffs out a laugh, trying to shake off the tension. “So, Sixer, when’d ya start collectin’ all this junk? don’t tell me you got a whole damn museum in here.”

Suddenly, Ford huffs a dry laugh that sounds a little bitter coming from someone like him. “Wouldn’t expect you to get it. Takes more than a few brain cells to appreciate real science.”

Stan’s smile falters, well, it was pretty rude, but he thinks he deserved it. You and Stan share a look, but before you can say anything, Stan just shrugs it off, letting out a forced chuckle, his voice trying to stay light. “Ha, yeah, same ol’ Ford. Ya always had a way with words, didn’t ya?”

There is only silence in response, but when you come a little closer, you finally take in the sight of Ford holding a goddamn crossbow.

Wait, what?

Your eyes go wide and the first thing that hits you is the cold sweat creeping up your spine.

Stan and you freeze. Confusion mixing with a little fear as you both look at Ford, What the hell is going on with him? Since when does Ford carry a crossbow around like it’s no big deal?

Stan raises an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. “Hey, bro, you planning on hunting something tonight or just ready to, I dunno, take out some deer in the backyard?”

[gamerchrissgf]

I love being a fan of the triplets, like 100%. But im sure if they got on here and saw how tf yall be bullying people they would be so disappointed. Yall need to learn that thing your parents taught u as kids. Treat others how you want to be treated. Bc ik 1 things for sure if any of these “bigger” accounts on here start sending their little minions at me. Bitch pick on someone else bc im not the one. Its crazy how some of yall are seriously 18-21 year olds still acting like the middle school bullies. Like grow up. I can tell yall have no social life if all u do is bully people on Tumblr.

NEWS FLASH‼️ its a fucking app y’all. People come to shit like this to escape from reality and their actual lives. You’re sitting here bullying people for absolutely no fucking reason. Y’all don’t take into consideration how your words hurt others mentally, physically and emotionally. Yall do realize that behind this app there could be a young boy or girl that your telling these hateful things too and they could be suicidal or depressed and your making it 10xs FUCKING WORSE. This fandom is full of a bunch of fucking bullies its actually so insane. Yall lucky i wasnt these triplets bc if i saw this outrage yall wouldnt be getting shit from me until yall got some act right and respect for one another. You guys hold grudges longer than the grudge her self. Y’all got her shaking in that dress bc y’all be more scary than her.

[jams-sims]

I am home now, I can finally decompress and talk about tonight's episode. I'm going to start with Sam because, she's my girl and then next I'll do Jammer. And yes I'm going to talk about Sam x Evan, if you don't like that I can't help you.

This is the first time, in a hot minute, we've addressed Sam's identity issue. Her lack of real connections outside of her friend base. There's something about that that is worrisome. Everyone has their connections now K has the wolf, Jammer has the fire salamander, Evan has the Bear. We could assume that Sam's is going to be the bat or maybe the goat. What worries me, is that the implications of the next episode, from the misleading trailer at the end. Shows that its going to be about the sea creature and trying to ecaspe that. I have this feeling that something bad's going to happen involving Sam. I could be picking up on nothing but the Vibes Feel off. I feel like that phone scene was just a step.

I feel like we're going to have more scenes, of this lack of connection happening. We have 3 eps left, that just enough time for something to go horribly wrong. Especially with Sam being the heart of the group.

The reason why it weighing on me is because- Sam needed someone outside the group to check on her a few eps back. It was right after Evan killed B. I feel like her friendships are going to come into questions because- How much of her friendship does she believe they love her for her. Evan and her have been having a lot of hearts to hearts. An just like how evan broken down an express those complicated emotions when Jammer got his magical connections.

I can see Sam having a moment where this darkness in her heart. This lack of community comes and tries to swallow her and her connections.

Now onto SamEvan or EvanSam- listen idc if it meant to be friend coded or not. If Sam and Evan do kiss im breaking into the drop off studio dome and stealing tabby. The tension between them is insane!!

It feels like Evan is one minute, alway from decalring his fucking knight like devotion to Sam. EVERYTIME they have a heart to heart, Evan gives off the vibe that he wants to say 'I would kill so many people for you.'

I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS!!! ITS LIKE CRACK!!! PUMPED DIRECTLY INTO MY VIENS!! I dont even know how a relationship between Sam and Evan would work!? Sam and Evan have the most shittist relationship tracklist. It feels like they could either be the 'we dated for like a week but it fwkt better as friends' type or the 'we've been so casual about our relationship, moved in together and live this very domesticated life even though we arent actually married.'

It also doesnt help Aabira and Erika are bother just as bad as me, their facial jounery gets me acting crazy!!

I just want Sam to get everything, she needs and wants.

[wabunguss]

shits vwicked nevwer let me drawv again

[redpapercraness]

to lose you

[sofiisx]

Fr

[fuzzyhairedfreak]

um uh uh um. so. did anyone else used to follow Nate Stevenson's D&D campaign drawings back in the day or-

[thel0llip0p]

youve heard of sakura sonic, now get ready for ..cherry shadow.

[wat-zu]

Fanart for @tulipsempai 's Mutual Aid comic part 15 and 16 cuz its literally so cool wtf are you kidding me 😭💥💥‼️💥‼️‼️

Bonus fanart for part 10

CUZ WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1!!1!!!!!1!!1!!!!!!!!! /POS

[x-inc4nd3scent-x]

THERE IS NO GOD DAMN FUCKING WAY FOB PLAYED BANG THE DOLDRUMS AT WWWY. SHUT THE FUCK UP UR JOKING.

[2009phan]

do you ever think about how absolutely insane it is that teen dan howell took a train to meet his favourite youtuber and kissed him like bestie give me your confidence

[dayurno]

robin cross and kevin day parallels actually go so crazy. they both spent their formative years in a basement underground with exy-obsessed captors. they both saw exy as freedom. they both were isolated even within the foxes’ group of outcasts. they were both under andrew’s protection. it cost kevin jean to leave the nest and it cost robin another girl’s life to escape her kidnapper. robin carried her racquet with her to self-soothe and kevin restrings the net of his when he’s anxious. they’re even bird coded

[slasherscream]

Hello Bee! First I want to say that I really love your writing and your characterization of the characters. I've read so much of your stuff over and over again, it's so good! Thank you so much for writing it all!

Secondly, I wanted to make a request. Sorry if this sounds dumb, but could you please make a crazy ass husbands with an artisitic s/o? Like someone who may not necessarily create art, but is really passionate about like painting, and music, and just all the types of art? I saw you added Vincent Sinclair and thought of this 😄.

If not its fine, I still want you to know that I adore and enjoy your writing! Well wishes! 🩷🩷

Qimir (the acolyte) - Qimir likes the way you get carried away by music. The way you close your eyes when you walk into a cantina and musicians are playing. The little songs you hum to yourself when you’re piloting the ship, or fixing something. Music awakens something in your soul. You feel it deeply. Love songs and tragic laments alike light a fire in you. Every now and again he’ll have the two of you go to planets known for their music, their unique sounds, and singing styles. It’s always under a false pretense. The training or mission he sends you on are usually extra grueling before you’re given your “reward”. Otherwise, he feels like a slave to the whims of your joy. What wouldn’t he do to see you smile? To relish your little gasp the first time you hear a new instrument or song? He likes to reach out, using the connection you two share, and feel what you feel. He’s so glad he freed you from your shackles of repression. The way you indulge your passion is beautiful. 

Norman Bates - You’ve always loved flowers. The first thought you had about the motel was that it needed some nice flowers outside. You’ve traveled the country, visiting all sorts of gardens. It’s an odd hobby, but one you chased relentlessly. Until you met Norman, and settled into the hotel with him. But eventually you start to crave those gardens again, so you decide for the first time not to just admire gardens, but to cultivate one. There are a few false starts. Miserable failures. Mixed successes. But Norman is encouraging every step of the way, and eventually your little motel begins to shine. Ivy creeping up trellises you place against the house. Roses, peonies, lavender, poppies. All in ranges of colors and sizes. You repaint the motel when it begins to look shabby in comparison to the garden blooming around it. For the first time the motel starts to look… welcoming. Like a true home. People in town begin to stop by and spend the night just so they can have breakfast in the garden the next morning. People propose to each other at the Bates Motel. Get married there. Honeymoon. Have the celebrations for their baby’s christening among all your flowers and saplings. Norman doesn’t have a green thumb, but he brings you lemonade and kisses your cheek and thanks you earnestly for bringing color and life into his world. 

Hannibal Lecter - This is one of the ways you and Hannibal bond. You could talk about art for hours together. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, and your raw passion for the topic makes it so that you always have something new to say to one another. Date nights consist of going to art galleries for big and small artists. Something about being in one another’s presence sweetens the art itself. Hannibal often surprises you with trips to other countries just so you can go to their art museums and partake in new art scenes. Money is a small thing to Hannibal. The conversations you have about art? Those are priceless. 

Shane Walsh - He’s never been too interested in the arts. Not before the end of the world and certainly not after it. The only art that matters now is the art of survival. He tells you this often. Tells you to look to the future. Focus on surviving the day. On perfecting the skills he tries to teach you, day in and day out, so even if he’s gone, you’ll be okay. But you make him soft. For all that he bitches, he’s always giving in. Always looking to keep you alive, yes. But he wants you to be happy too. So he takes detours, and looks for libraries and bookstores that are beginning to cave in on themselves and smell of rotten pages and wood. He’s risked entire hoards of walkers to retrieve a book he knew was your favorite. He doesn’t mind when precious bag space is taken up by whatever paperbacks you can get your hands on. One day he might find a town that he likes enough and decide to go through the trouble of turning a library into a home for you. It will be well fortified, and he won’t like how many entry and exit points it might have. But he’d love to see you in your element, surrounded by what you love. 

V (from V for Vendetta) - So much art has been ruthlessly crushed beneath the boot of the fascist government you live under. Admiring the arts, any form of it, is like trying to hold sand in your hands. Your grip grows ever more desperate to hold onto anything. But there is no rhyme or reason to what is outlawed or taken away. Little bits of your soul are chipped away, with each new restriction, with each new burning or banning. Until V whisks you away to his hideout, and suddenly the world is made anew again. You are surrounded by art, art you didn’t even know existed. Things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. You inhale everything the gallery has to offer. You feel nearly gluttonous. In each room there is something new to see, hear, read. A feast for your senses anywhere you turn. You feel alive for the first time in years, maybe ever. V, in turn, feels his own form of gluttony. He cherishes every bit of delight he brings to your world. He feels like the worst kind of miser. The lowest of villains. What could be more precious than your smile? Or your laughter? Nothing. And by keeping you here, with him, he deprives the world of you and all you have to offer. But the world isn’t kind to precious things. So he keeps you like all the other treasures of this world. Hidden. Safe. Loved. 

Candyman - You collect book nook shelf inserts. Your home is covered in shelves, just to fit them. You have more book nooks than you do books separating them. Daniel is charmed to death by the collection. By the tender, diligent way you take care of them all. You spend hours of your week dusting. Fiddling. Making tiny adjustments. There must be something meditative about it, because you never complain. The joy he felt whenever he held a paintbrush is the same joy that flashes across your face when you open a new kit. He watches you assemble your precious, miniature worlds and ask you quiet questions, every now and again. He doesn’t want to break you from the beautiful trance you fall into, but he loves to peek into your mind. “What drew you to this scene, my love?” / “This one has an enchanting gloom to it. You have such an eye for art.” / “This one looks especially fragile, you might have to be more gentle, love.” He enjoys watching you lose yourself in your hobby. He loves the way you are unashamed in your joy. How you take pride in this work. You curl up into his side, after you’ve spent hours assembling one of your nooks, and the two of you will stare at it in all its completed glory. 

Robert Neville (I Am Legend) - At first he thought you were a hallucination. He’d been hearing things more often. Seeing things too. The human mind wasn’t built for isolation, as a scientist he was well aware of that. He tries to compensate as best he can. With his mannequins. With entertainment. By focusing on his research. He only has to stay sane long enough to fix the world he couldn’t save. That’s all. But then he sees you, while he’s hunting. The sun is still high in the sky, and you don’t move like a dark seeker. You’re cautious, slow. You also don’t move like a hallucination. You don’t really look like one either. He almost doesn’t approach you, afraid he’ll discover you were a mirage. He follows you all day long, until the sun is getting too low for comfort. Then Robert approaches you, fumbling through the obvious (it isn’t safe out here), barely remembering to introduce himself because people have names. Hoping desperately that you’ll trust a strange man instead of taking your chances with the dark. But the entire time he talks to you his eyes keep drifting to all the jewelry you’re wearing. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Rings. They glint in the light. Hypnotizing in their imperfections and intricacies. You move into his home, but you two drift around each other like ghosts. You’ve been alone so long, the both of you. You dreamed of meeting another living person. But faced with the reality of it, you’re overwhelmed. Until one night after dinner he finds you in the living room, making more of your jewelry. Slow and careful. He asks you about it, and you tell him it kept you sane while you were alone. Made you feel human. Then you look up at him, and he freezes under your gaze. (It’s been so long since he’s looked into someone’s eyes. It almost hurts. He can’t imagine ever looking away.) You ask him what kept him human. He’s not sure he still is. But he moves to sit beside you on the floor, hands you beads, and tells you he's been pretty fond of movies lately. 

Lestat De Lioncourt - You were a tailor in life, before he turned you. In death, in this eternity he’s given you, fabric is nearly your religion. With your vampiric eyes, you see even the tiniest flaw in stitching. All colors look more vibrant. The world looks more alive. Even though you can never see the way certain fabrics and colors catch the light of the sun, moonlight and starlight can be just as beautiful. You drag him to fashion shows in order to soak in the new styles, and cuts of clothing. You are as endeared by couture as you are the various counter cultures that arise throughout the decades you spend together. You spend exorbitant amounts of money on the finest bolts of cloth and thread. Sewing and tailoring and designing can be done entirely on your own. In fact, you’d probably be done quicker if you were just left to your work. But Lestat gets lonely when you lock yourself up in your work room for days on end. He likes to drape himself against your back, push himself into your side. Trail teasing fingers up your arm, to see if he can get your ever steady hands to falter (he cannot.) Looking over your shoulders and seeing what latest fashion has caught your eye is his hobby. You don’t mind the company of your muse. Sometimes you even sit him in front of you as you sew, and let the sound of him talking guide your needle and thread. He hardly wears anything you don’t make. Not only is your work superior, but every piece is made of love. 

Abe Sapien - You love everything about movies. How they’re made. Sound design. Light design. Set design. The difference between digital and film cameras. Abe was caught in your orbit the minute you were recruited. Talking to you, trying to form a connection, however, did not come as easy. Awkward nods as you passed one another in the hall. Stilted, dry conversation as you ate lunch at the same tables. It was enough to drive him mad. He didn’t know why he alone was unable to form any sort of acquaintanceship with you (especially when he wanted far more than that). This all changed during movie night. You were watching the voted on film play out on screen, entranced by every individual frame, it seemed. He’d never seen anyone smile so fetchingly, or blink so little. He bravely, and quietly, asked if you were enjoying the film. You began to eagerly whisper to him all sorts of details about how the film was made, the difference between the final product and script. Apparently, it was one of your favorites. With one conversation, the bridge between you two was crossed. Abe had been so caught up in enjoying literature, he hadn't explored much of the diverse realm of cinema. Happily, you appointed yourself the esteemed position as his guide. Somewhere between sharing your tastes, late night discussions, and dry eyes from sleepless nights, you leaned over to kiss him. He kissed you back, and you both forgot all about movies for a little while. 

Vincent Sinclair - You were an avid admirer of sculptures. You went to museums, and had to curl your hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch the statues. There was something so beautiful about someone taking the time to carve human shapes out of stone and earth. To make marble resemble fabric as delicate as silk. It was breathtaking to you, really. Until you came across the House of Wax, you hadn’t really thought of wax as a means to make sculptures. Instantly, you are captivated. You forget that your car is being “repaired”, so closely do you look at every sculpture. You admire each one from several angles, for long periods of time, face giving away nothing. Vincent watches you, wanting to know what you’re thinking about his art so desperately he feels as if he’ll die. He interrupts Bo from the preparations to kill you and makes him ask you questions. Bo asks each one through gritted teeth, irritated to be playing a game of telephone, but even he is a little charmed by your thoughtful answers. When Vincent insists on not killing you Bo just shakes his head and washes his hands of the situation. You fall asleep in the town’s only motel, but when you wake up you’re in Vincent’s workshop. You’ll be able to admire his art for as long as you like now. 

Joel Miller - You tell him stories. You’re an avid collector of them. Wherever you go, you collect a story from someone. Sometimes they’re fantastical. Some myth or aesop fables that will be lost to the sands of time and the chaos of the apocalypse within just one more generation (if humanity makes it that long.) Other times they’re heartbreakingly real. The taste of an apple pie someone’s grandmother used to make for them. The memory of someone trying on their wedding dress for the first time. You have a way about you. It’s your eyes. The warmth in them. The understanding. Even after so many years of survival and fighting, you possess an empathy that should have gotten you killed by now. Instead you’re the keeper of people’s stories. You’ll be riding side by side on your horses, and Joel won’t sense any danger nearby, so he’ll say the magic words: You got a story for me today, L/N? And you always do. The sound of your voice keeps his head quiet. 

A/N: i blushed bugs bunny curled ears style. thank you for the compliments, made my day! i think yours is the first crazy ass husbands gang request i’ve written! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[celenawrites]

Why do I wanna write roommate Simon/Ghost??

Roommate Simon who's gone for months at time, but always brings you sweets and trinkets from wherever he's been stationed while he's deployed. He looks at little souvenirs or remembers the dishes he's tried and he takes a mental note to get you something similar before he boards the plane to go back.

Roommate Simon who barely keeps in touch but is worried sick about you. Did you eat? Are you sleeping okay? Does your car need fixing again? Are you safe? Are you still getting nightmares? God, he wishes he was there to hold you while he eases you back into sleeping again.

Roommate Simon who encourages you to text him anyway, despite being busy on the job and unable to text/call you back. But the moment he's on leave, he takes his sweet time scrolling down his phone. You tell him about your day, you text him about your hardass professor, send him videos of you being horrendous at darts at the bar you and him usually go to whenever he's back from duty, show him pictures of all the cute puppies and kittens you find while you're out on a walk and beg him if he'd be amenable to getting a furry friend for the both of you. (Truth be told, if it's you who's asking, he'd pretty much lay down the entire world at your feet.)

Roommate Simon who comes back home to the smell of good food being cooked and you running up to him but stopping short a few feet away from him - hesitant to touch him, only for him to engulf you in a bone-crushing hug as he breathes you in. You smell safe. You smell clean.

You smell like home. Maybe you are his home.

He doesn't have a penchant for physical touch - recoils from anything that intimate faster than the guns he uses on the battlefield, but god forbid, he deprives himself from holding you. For this instant, when you're alive and safe (and still so lovely), and you breathe enough life in him for him to feel like Simon again and not just Ghost, he'd like to hold you in his arms for now.