#like im interested a lot more with what they sound like than what they look like

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part six (stan route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part five | part seven

interested in the ford route? click here for masterlist.

tag list: @awitchersbard | @theilluminatidragonqueen | @jazzypop-op | @jonndoe | @chaimshelii | @starship606 | @swimmingrascalbatdragon n | @stanfordsbaby | @gxstiess | @skrunkle11 | @valinbean | @funkyenby | @therealgoofygoober69 | @theblueraven | @adrian920155 | @im-kinda-bored | @miarabanana | @leo4242564 | @soupieoopieisloopie | @marvelous-maniac | @opossumclown | @m4x-3dw | @nothingbutcloud | @reivelmin | @grimometry | @walmartjim | @reiofsuns2001 | @bunni-teeth81 | @satorisgirl | @pen900 | @creat0r-cat | @lackingoriginalthoughts | @fries11 | @sunniskyies | @policedeer | @sadslasher13 | @kittenlover614 | @margibees | @lunnybunny12 | @the-hufflebird-girl | @sawendel l | @shamrockfish | @atseoks | @luckybatbones | @ryuyukawa | @mekkori | @bigbodycity | @kawaii1369 | @333brat333 | @styxxcrossing

The drive back to the Mystery Shack was a bit tense to say the least.

Stan and Ford had both agreed to not mention your dream to the kids, not wanting them to worry but immediately, Mabel and Dipper started to pick up on the tension between you and Ford.

The pair watched the two of you, eyes darting back and forth over their cereal, ate out of plastic cups as you both tried to avoid interaction with one another as much as possible.

The tension became apparent when you asked Dipper to switch to the front seat when Ford slid into the driver’s seat, offering to drive back since Stan was sleep deprived.

Due to the lack of sleep over the past two nights, both you and Stan knocked out in the back next to Mabel, the only sound echoing through the car was Stan’s snores.

Mabel breaks the awkward silence, “Are you and Y/N fighting, Great Uncle Ford?”

Dipper looks up from his book, back at his sister, “Mabel..” He mutters, not wanting to upset Ford even further than he already seemed.

“It’s alright, Dipper. You and your sister are much more perceptive than I give you credit for.” Ford glances back at Mabel who stares back at him in concern, “We’re… at a bit of an impasse, Mabel. Y/N got a painful memory back last night and I’m giving her some space as she processes everything.” Ford explains.

“Did you two get into an argument or something? Is that what she remembered?” Dipper asks.

Ford hesitates, not wanting to mention Bill at all after what they went through last summer, “Something like that..”

The two decide to drop the matter for now.

As Mabel looks through the photos she had taken during their camping trip, she glances to the side briefly when she hears Stan’s snore stutter. Usually, she would nudge him awake, thinking he was choking in his sleep. Instead, she blinked owlishly at the scene before her. Your head had slumped to the side in your slumber, landing on Stan’s shoulder. A bit of drool leaked from your mouth onto Stan’s shirt yet her uncle was still fast asleep, snoring away, with his head atop of yours.

‘Y/N has been a lot more comfortable with Grunkle Stan compared to Grunkle Ford. But that would be devastating for Grunkle Ford…’ Mabel muses before snapping her fingers and rummaging through her bag to pull out a tween magazine she had buried at the bottom.

‘A good ol’ compatibility test should prove that Grunkle Ford and Y/N are a perfect match!’ Mabel grabs a glittery pen and flips to the dog eared page, smoothing out the wrinkles on the paper.

“Mind if I ask you a couple questions, Uncle Ford? It’s.. uh… for a summer project of mine to interview a family member.” Mabel comes up with a fabricated excuse, causing her brother to glance back at her skeptically. She quickly hushes him with a finger over her mouth and he sighs, putting in his earbuds and going back to reading his book, accustomed to his sister’s antics.

“Sure, go right ahead, sweetheart.” Ford says, appreciating any type of distraction from the worries he had circling in his brain about the memories you were going to uncover tonight.

“What adjective best describes you? Smart, Cute, Flirty, Goofy?” Mabel asks, pen hovering over the bubbles.

“Well.. that’s a bit of an odd question. Smart probably is the most accurate descriptor for me out of all of those.” Ford hums.

“Got it. Next question, what do you look for most in a partner? Humor, A Killer Smile, Quick Wit, or Positive Attitude?” Mabel decides to skip over the option ‘A Six-Pack’.

Ford raises his eyebrow, “What class is this for, Mabel? These questions are quite peculiar.”

“It’s… uh for my Science class. We’re learning about the science of attraction!” Mabel comes up with hoping Ford will buy her answer.

“Huh, fascinating. The curriculum they’re teaching the youth nowadays is a lot more diverse. I probably could have used a class like that growing up…” Ford mutters mostly to himself.

“Quick wit. I value a mind that can keep up with me.”

“Interesting… Now what animal resonates with you the most?”

- You were woken up with a gentle shake, your eyes fluttering open. You’re greeted with the sight of the Mystery Shack with Dipper and Ford’s backs disappearing inside, carrying their backpacks and gear. Letting out a yawn, you’re about to sit up but pause, feeling the weight of Stan’s head still atop of yours. Your eyes flick over to Mabel who attempts to wake her Grunkle but with no success.

You decide to pull your head out from underneath Stan’s, feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of how long you two were leaning on one another for. This causes his head to toss suddenly down, jolting him awake as his head whips back up, “Wha-? Where are we?”

“We’re back home, Grunkle Stan. Your snores were practically shaking the car.” Mabel teases her Grunkle before her eyes look over at you.

You see a certain look in her eyes and can’t help but gulp.

You knew you were in for a Mabel interrogation session.

Did Ford tell the kids about your dream?

You barely understood what was going on - how were you supposed to explain this to a 13-year-old?

“Y/N, I wanted to ask you a couple questions for… a school project.” Mabel says with a grin that you can’t fathom saying no to.

Stan glances over at you and chuckles, “Trial by Mabel again… good luck, toots.” A warm hand encloses over your shoulder, patting it in a mockingly sympathetic manner.

“How about we head inside first, Mabel?” You say with a tired smile.

Surprisingly, said interrogation was not about your first encounter with Bill. Instead, it was a quiz straight out of a teen magazine.

‘Huh, somehow I thought this would be way more intense.’ You think to yourself as Mabel finishes the last question, sitting on the floor in front of your air mattress.

“Hey… are you mad at Great Uncle Ford, Y/N?” Mabel asks, putting her glittery pen down to look up at you with a concerned tilt of her head.

Ah, there it is.

“Mad isn’t really the right word.” You explain, trying to find an accurate descriptor for your feelings towards Ford at the moment, “Frustration fits a bit better. Mix that with a good amount of confusion and that’s how I feel towards your great uncle right now.”

“You think you’ll be able to forgive him?” Mabel questions, “Grunkle Ford kinda gives off a prickly cactus vibe when you first meet him but he does have a softer, less prickly side.”

You laugh at Mabel’s comparison, envision a cactus with Ford's nose and glasses, “I guess that fits him, doesn’t it?”

“I really hope I can, Mabel. I still don’t know what your Grunkle did that led to us going our separate ways but I definitely don’t want to be holding a grudge forever.” You admit as honestly as you can.

A knock on the closet door interrupts your discussion, your voice telling the person on the other side of the door to come in.

Stan opens the door, “Is the interrogation over? Is it safe to come in?” He jokes, eyes flitting between you and Mabel.

“I don’t know, am I done, Mabel?” You ask, glazing down at the pre-teen who nods, “Yup, got all the information I needed!”

“Mind giving us some privacy, pumpkin? The adults gotta talk about adult things.” Stan asks his grand-niece and Mabel grimaces, remembering the birds and bees conversation Stan had with her in Dipper’s body last summer.

She quickly takes her leave, thanking you before shutting the door behind her.

Now it was just you and Stan.

“So what adult things do we need to discuss, my fellow adult?” You say teasingly.

“Hey, you try to find a better way to ask your niece to leave to have a private conversation without getting a billion questions asking why she has to leave.” Stan scoffs before his expression looked a bit more serious.

“Ford told me you wanted to break into the museum tonight to maybe find more of your memories.” Stan pauses.

You notice his reluctance, “Is breaking and entering against your moral code?”

“Of course not, I’m all for breaking in, but… you sure you want all your memories back all at once?”

“I mean yeah, why not?” You say, wondering where Stan was going with this, “Who knows how long it’s going to take for these memories to come back organically, especially since Ford has nothing from our time together?”

“Guess that’s true…” Stan mutters, not considering that he had a lot more to work with to bring back his memories compared to you, “Listen, I’m just speaking from personal experience here. I know ya got a time limit compared to me but it gets pretty overwhelming getting a ton of memories back to back. Just… pace yourself, if it gets too much tonight, okay?”

Despite your initial skepticism, you see the genuine concern in Stan’s face. You knew that while you had a few years of memories to get back, Stan had 60 years worth of joys and sorrows all flooding back to him at different stages. You were still determined to get as much of your memories back tonight as possible, but you better understood the potential pain and confusion that came at the cost of that.

“I’ll try…” Your answer doesn’t give Stan full certainty but he recognizes that’s the best he can ask for at this point.

“Well, I’m gonna catch up on some more sleep. The real reason I came in here was Ford wanted me to tell ya that the museum closes at 10 PM so we’ll head out at 11 PM, don’t forget to wear all black.” Stan reminds you, heading towards the door. You were slightly perturbed by the fact that Ford was using Stan as a messenger of sorts. You recognize you had asked for space but this was a bit much.

“I’ll remember to bring some black gloves too.” You say jokingly.

“I mean if you’ve got 'em…” Stan says with a shrug, having a pair himself that he was going to wear.

He sees your surprised expression, “Oh.. you were joking. Forget I said that.” He says, closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Mabel stares down at the results of the compatibility quiz in her and Dipper’s room in the attic, having compared you and Ford’s answers.

40% - Good friends but not much more.

“That can’t be right… they should at least have a 70 or 80% compatibility rating for them to be soulmates!” Mabel says in shock, her pen running across the pages to make sure she tallied up the scores correctly.

Dipper looks up from his journal, halting his own writing, “Ya know, it’s been almost thirty years since they dated, Mabel. People can change, maybe they just aren’t compatible anymore.”

“But Dipper, I failed at matchmaking for Grunkle Stan last summer… I was really hoping I could find a match for Great Uncle Ford and Y/N seemed like a perfect candidate.” Mabel sighs, flopping back down onto her bed and burying her head in a pillow. “Maybe Great Uncle Ford’s match isn’t even human. He did date a siren at one point.” Dipper points out.

On his way up to his room, Stan stops at the twins’ room, giving a courtesy knock before opening the door. He sees Mabel buried in her pillow and glances over at Dipper who merely shakes his head in response, a silent way of communicating ‘It’s complicated.’

“Hey kiddos, me, Ford and Y/N are going out later tonight to hopefully find some of Y/N’s memories back in the old museum. Soos and Melody will be in charge if you need anything.” Stan announces nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame.

Mabel sits up, “You guys going on an adventure without us?”

“Why can’t we come, Grunkle Stan? We’ve been down there before last summer, we can help you guys search.” Dipper protested.

“Hey, this isn’t an adventure - I’m just tagging along to help break in, and keep your Uncle Ford and Y/N from fighting.” Stan puts his hands up defensively, “Besides, you kids gotta remember that they didn’t end on… the best terms to put it lightly. Y/N’s might have a lot of not so great memories with your Uncle Ford that I don’t think either of you want to see.” Stan explains with a slight sternness to his voice.

The two twins look at each other, knowing Stan only uses a serious tone when he means business before nodding in understanding, their prior protests gone.

“Alright, your Grunkle’s gonna take a siesta before another late night. I swear I haven’t stayed up this late in ages.” Stan is about to take his leave before Mabel stops him in his tracks.

“Wait, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel calls out, causing Stan to pause at the doorway and groan over the fact that he was being kept from the sweet solace of his bed.

“Can I… ask you a couple questions too?” Mabel asks, clutching the magazine.

‘Maybe there is something there.’ Mabel thinks to herself, recalling the last few interactions you’ve had with her Grunkle Stan.

“I swear I think you’re starting to get a kick out of interrogating people, pumpkin. Someone's gonna recruit you for the FBI someday."

-

Your fingers ran over the ink of your journal, looking through the pages of the dreams you had cataloged over the past twenty plus years.

Tonight was hopefully the night you would uncover the meaning behind them.

Slipping the journal into your black fanny pack that you are thankful you packed, you close the door of your room behind you, decked in all black attire. You pass by the living room on your way outside, seeing the peaceful scene of the twins watching Duck-tective with Soos and Melody in the living room before making your way to the front door of the Mystery Shack.

As you step out into the cool summer night, you see Stan and Ford already standing outside, their deep voices bickering. Both wearing all black attire with gloves. They practically matched aside from some clear stylistic differences in their tops - Ford wearing a black turtleneck and trench coat and Stan wearing a black t-shirt and black leather jacket.

“Stanley, if we just bring a pair of bolt cutters, that should be enough to just cut off the lock.” Ford argues, holding up the bolt cutters.

“When you’re breaking and entering, you want to bring as little equipment as possible - otherwise, you might leave evidence at the scene. Besides, you’re the one who said you needed me to tag along for my lock picking skills!” Stan protested.

“Am I interrupting something?” Your voice cuts through as you approach, causing the two to whip their heads around and fall quiet out of embarrassment.

Ford clears his throat, “No, we were just discussing the best method of getting into the museum.” It was the first time he had spoken to you since this morning, and the tension between the two of you was still present as he redirected the conversation back to Stan as he brushes past you to put the bolt cutters back inside, “We should probably get going, I’ll concede and let you pick the lock.”

The three of you piled into El Diablo, the twins sitting in the front and you sitting in the back behind Stan. Stan toyed around with the radio, the music filling up the awkward silence. You glanced over at Ford who had a steely look in his eyes, quickly averting your gaze when he saw you looking in his peripheral, taking a look himself.

Stan’s eyes flicked between the two of you in the rear view mirror before letting out a heavy sigh, “You know, this night’s gonna be a lot harder if you two knuckleheads can’t at least talk to one another. I know I’m supposed to be the mediator here, but I can’t translate silence.”

“Stanley, I’m just giving Y/N the space that she asked for.” Ford mutters defensively, his arms crossing in an almost childlike manner. “She said space, not a cold shoulder, Poindexter.” Stan points out before glancing at you through the rear view, giving you the floor to speak up.

“We do have to communicate… you’re really the only person who can help me understand my memories.” You admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I can’t promise that I won’t get upset tonight, but I will at least give you the opportunity to explain everything before jumping to assumptions.”

Ford glanced back at you, a sense of relief washing over him, “Thank you… I hope tonight gives you some type of closure depending on how deep we get into your memories.”

Stan’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the sound of you and Ford putting aside the tension for now to address the issue of your memory loss. The rest of the drive goes smoothly for the most part aside from the twins’ usual bickering and bantering.

Once Stan parks in front of the museum, Ford quickly steps out to scout the area for any cops or security while you and Stan wait in the car. “Already doing a great job as our mediator.” You mention with a grin to which Stan rolls his eyes, “Please, I was just pointing out the obvious. I can’t do much mediating if you two aren’t even talking.”

“By the way, these are for you. Need to make sure we don’t leave any prints behind even though I’m doing the lock picking.” Stan reaches into his jacket pocket before fishing out a pair of black gloves and handing them to you. You look between Stan and the gloves before taking them from his hand, your fingertips brushing briefly as you do so. “They might be a little big… they’re an extra pair I have.” Stan admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I appreciate it either way. Thanks Stan.” You say with a soft smile, sliding the gloves on. Ford raps his knuckles on the glass, signaling the coast is clear. He eyes the gloves on your hands briefly when you slip out of the car before addressing Stan. “So how do you plan on picking the lock?”

Stan pops open the trunk of his car, pulling out a briefcase that contains all the tools of the trade that he has used before in his many years on the run. “Ford, could you go and check what kinda lock is on the door?” He asks his twin as he rummages through the briefcase. Ford walks off again to assess the entrance and your eyebrow raised, “Does it matter what kind of lock it is?”

“Well yeah, you got your deadbolt locks, padlocks, mortise locks, cylinder locks. I know how to break into all of ‘em… except those new-fangled locks that you just put in a bunch of numbers.” Stan explains before glancing over his shoulder as Ford calls out ‘Padlock.’ “Oh this’ll be easy then.” Stan pulls out two small tools before pocketing them and beckoning you to follow him.

You’re not sure whether to be concerned or impressed by Stan’s vast knowledge of lock-picking, but you’re grateful for it the moment the padlock comes loose, dropping onto Stan’s hand. “Great work, Stanley, that went much quicker than I had anticipated.” Ford says, pulling a flashlight to illuminate the dark museum as the three of you slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

You gently nudge Stan on the side, the two of you trailing behind Ford who leads the way, “Nice work, you gotta teach me how to do that one day so I don’t have to call a locksmith whenever I accidentally lock myself out of my place.” Stan’s chest swells with pride from the praise, “Well, it’s pretty simple, I’ll give ya a tutorial before you head out of town.”

Making your way through the museum, the figures and masks that adorn the walls and space looking creepier in the dim lighting, Ford searches for the room full of eyes that Dipper had mentioned to him during their encounter with the Society of the Blind Eye. “Hey Ford, mind explaining how my memories would be in this museum?” You ask.

“Would you believe me if I were to tell you that Fiddleford started a cult?” Ford lets out a dry chuckle at the statement, glancing over his shoulder to see your look of disbelief. “You’re gonna need to elaborate on that one, Sixer.” Stan pointed out. “Honestly, at this point, I would have believed you if you told me that you and Stan were actually clones more than that.” You scoff, causing the brothers to laugh.

“When Fiddleford first invented the memory gun, I had warned him about the potential risks it could pose if it fell into the wrong hands. Unbeknownst to me, Fiddleford continued to use it to deal with his anxiety. After…” Ford paused, clearing his throat of the nervous lump that got stuck, “After the two of you left, Fiddleford created what he called the Society of the Blind Eye. Its sole purpose was to help the people of Gravity Falls cope with the weirdness they witnessed on a daily basis by forgetting.” You stop in your tracks, your brain seemingly buffering. Just when you thought things couldn't get stranger, there was always something that caught you off guard.

“Excuse me, one second.” You announce, walking away from Stan and Ford into another exhibit away from them.

Ford looks at Stan in confusion before both of them jump at the sound of you exclaiming.

“What the fuck?!”

You walked back into the room, letting out a sigh after getting that out of your system, “Alright, let’s keep moving.”

Ford and Stan look at each other and Stan pats Ford’s shoulder sympathetically, “Better get used to that, I have a feeling that’s gonna happen a lot tonight.”

After following Stan and Ford down a pole that Ford had insisted lead to where the memories were stored, your eyes widened, taking in the sight of a room full of capsules with different names laid across the floor, and a statue of a figure in a cloak at the center of the room.

The Hall of the Forgotten etched above the entryway.

“Jeez, how many minds did that old hillbilly erase?” Stan comments, kicking aside a capsule that rolls across the floor.

“I highly doubt this was all Fiddleford’s doing. Apparently, when his mind was gone after multiple uses of the memory gun, someone took up his mantle and took the job quite seriously by the looks of it.” Ford crouched down to survey the different names on the gold tubes.

“Well… where do we start?” You ask, still dumbfounded at the sheer amount of memories that seemed to have been erased.

Ford glances around the spacious room before giving an answer, “Divide and conquer is likely the best strategy. I’ll take this area over here. Stan, could you take the area on the other side of the room? Y/N, you can check the capsules that are next to that statue.”

With the directions given, the three of you split up, the sound of metal clanking against the floor with each tube tossed to the side amidst the sorting. Each new name that you read causes a pit in your stomach to form, becoming more and more hopeless about the possibility that your name would be found amongst the massive pile. Part of you wonders how many hours, days, potentially years of memories of people’s lives are lost within this room.

The hours spent searching drag along, time standing still underneath the museum. “How long have we been down here for?” Stan asks, making it halfway through a pile in the far corner of the room. Ford pulls back his sleeve to reveal a calculator watch the twins had gifted him for his birthday, “Approximately two hours, eight minutes, thirty-one seconds.”

“Should we just call it? There’s still a good chunk of the room left to sort through. We’ve already lost sleep over this.” You sigh, tossing another tube to the side. Stan glances over his shoulder to see you sitting on the floor, your shoulders slumped down dejected.

Stan gets up from his spot on the floor, walking over to you and placing a hand on your shoulder. You glance up, giving Stan a look that he understood immediately. You were getting exhausted by this search. He’d been there before after sleepless nights spent with Ford, looking at old photos and videos of them growing up. He would stare at them over and over again in the tiny hope that his memories would return.

“Hey, Ford and I are ready to stay up all night to help you look as long as you are. Right Ford?” Stan attempts to reassure you, looking to his brother for back up. Ford nods, “I drank a whole pot of coffee right before we left. I’m prepared to continue searching until the sun rises as long as that’s what you want, Y/N.”

Stan looks back at you, “How about it? You wanna keep going or you wanna throw in the towel for tonight?” With the newfound encouragement, you make the decision to push onward. To pass the time, Ford and Stan would share stories about their adventures this past year as well as a few adventures they took when they were kids to help pass the time.

Stan stood up to reach for a box that contained more of the gold capsules. His hands wrapped around the wooden box, slowly lowering the box that was filled to the brim. One of the capsules fell from the pile, hitting him straight in the nose. “Son of a-” Stan winces, placing the box down to rub his nose before snatching up the capsule that fell to the ground. His eyes widened at the text on it.

Before Stan can speak up, your voice cries out excitedly, “I found it!” In your hand, you hold up a capsule that reads ‘Y/N L/N Memories’

Ford puts down the tube in his hand and rushes over to your side of the room at your announcement, “My god, it actually is here. I was starting to worry that my theory that it may be here was completely off base.” He mutters, taking it from your hands to assess it.

Once the high of finding the capsule has worn off, Stan watches you and Ford look at each other, knowing what lies ahead. Stan decides it may not be the best time to mention the capsule he discovered and pockets it for now, joining the two of you in front of the monitor that displays the memories.

“I’m not sure what lies ahead in these memories… but words cannot express how truly sorry I am for everything that unravels moving forward.” Ford sighs, “I know you may not want comfort from the person who hurt you deeply, but if you need any clarity in what you see, I will give you those answers.”

You look down at the capsule, looking back at the twins before letting out a sigh, “Here goes nothing.”

Your hands place the capsule inside the holder, the screen flickering on the moment that it is inserted. You sit on the floor, knowing you’re in for a long viewing. Ford and Stan follow suit, sitting behind you to give you space.

Memories flicker onto the screen like a tape, playing back every single interaction you had with Ford.

Your first meeting in the library.

All-nighters you pulled together.

Reading under the trees in the quad, Ford’s head on your lap.

Tender kisses exchanged, his six fingers intertwined with yours, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Ford carrying you on his back as you wear your graduation attire.

Stan glances over at his brother who watches on with a bittersweet smile.

It’s such a strange sight to see such tender moments between you and Ford when the two of you weren’t talking to each other just this morning.

There’s a tinge of something else there that stirs within Stan as he watches on.

‘Now’s not the time, Stan. Pull yourself together.’ He thinks to himself, trying to push down the emotion that he did not want to admit.

The memories from college that were still quite murky were becoming crystal clear, everything unraveling in front of you. You could almost feel the feelings of affection towards Ford come back, the butterflies in your stomach stirring.

They suddenly drop at the sight of an offer letter to the National Parks in your hands.

You were about to knock on Ford’s door before he suddenly burst out, grabbing you and spinning you around in excitement. “Ford, put me down! What’s with all the commotion?” You chuckle, still clutching the letter in your hand.

“Y/N, my grant proposal got accepted!” Ford shared the news excitedly. Your eyes widened, and you embraced him in response, “That’s amazing, Ford! I-” Ford cuts you off, “I’ve decided that I want to study anomalies, the oddities of the world like myself… There's a sleepy town in Oregon that is a hot spot for them!”

“Oregon…? That’s so far away from here… but I suppose we could do long distance while you’re doing your research.” Your voice wavers, clutching the paper in your hands tighter.

“Well… we don’t have to.” Ford pauses, holding you by the shoulders, “I would love for you to accompany me on this journey. Oregon is chalk full of geological findings, I’m sure you could find work out there.”

“Right…” You trail off. You had to make a decision right here and now - pursue your dream job or follow the man that you loved to support him. You knew if you shared the news with Ford, he would insist on you taking the job.

“Is everything alright, my star?” Ford asks with a furrowed brow, seeing the conflicted look in your eyes.

“Yes… I’d love to join you in Oregon.” You say, crumpling up the offer letter.

Ford watches in awe, guilt washing over him. He was not aware that you had been offered your dream job right after finishing school. He wonders in his excitement that he took away that moment for you to shine. That you shrunk back into his shadow, like you had always done.

Your first year of Gravity Falls flies by, showing your adventures with Ford hunting anomalies, several nights of attempting to get Ford to go to bed at a reasonable time that seemed routine, and Fiddleford’s arrival to help with the portal.

Shortly after a clip of you, Fiddleford and Ford building a snowman in the front yard of the Mystery Shack, the beginning of your dream from the night prior plays on screen. Ford’s figure whips around revealing those vibrant yellow eyes and face-splitting grin characteristic of Bill’s possession.

Stan reaches over to place a hand on your shoulder, “Maybe we should take a break…”

You shake your head vehemently, “No, I want to keep going.”

“Y/N, maybe Stanley’s right…” Ford chimes in before being silenced at the sight of you turning your head around to face them, a look of determination etched across your features.

“It’s going to be painful. I know that. I know what I’m getting myself into.” You snap at the two before looking over at Stan whose gaze acts as a silent plea, “I promise.. I’ll tell you when I need to pause.”

Stan and Ford back off, allowing you to continue watching the memories that play out in front of you.

You wince as the screen plays out your nightmare before your eyes. Your hand clutches your necklace tight to your chest, almost wanting to rip it off as it feels constricting, your breath picking up in pace. Your body was stuck in freeze, unable to fight or fly your way out of the scene before you.

Ford watches the screen helplessly, watching Bill use his body like a puppet. Anger and sadness washes over him, wanting nothing more than to comfort you, but knowing it may only make things worse. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Stan scooch forward to take a seat next to you.

Perhaps if he couldn’t comfort you, at least Stanley could.

After all, Stan was much better at reading people’s emotions and offering comfort than Ford ever was.

Stan notices your tense posture and places a gentle hand on your back, “Deep breaths, you can look away if you wanna.” His deep voice coaches you through it, feeling him rub gentle circles against the material of your top. You look away briefly to focus on evening out your breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, “Atta girl, you got this.”

“Is it done? I think I might need a minute.” You ask, peering up at Stan, finally ready to tap out for now. Stan nods his head, his hand lingering on your back before looking back at his brother, “This thing got a pause button?”

Ford’s gaze lingers on his brother’s comforting hand still resting on your back, and Stan takes notice of it immediately, pulling away.

Shit.

“I believe so. It’s 3 AM so we still have about an hour or so before we have to absolutely be out of here.” Ford says, standing up and tinkering with the machine before pressing a button on the side that pauses the video on a still-frame of you sleeping with your back turned away from Ford.

‘How fitting.’ Ford muses to himself.

You look around the room, trying to distract yourself from the image of Bill’s hand around your throat. Your mind is still racing at a million miles an hour, blurry images in your subconscious slowly coming into focus. Your shaky gaze ends up landing on the statue that towers before you, staring at the daunting symbol of the Society of the Blind Eye.

An X through an all-seeing eye.

Your pupils dilate as the symbol suddenly conjures up a memory that was shoved deep in the back of your head.

The symbol glaring back at you, etched atop a red hood that cloaked its wearer’s face. Staring down the barrel…. though it was more like a bulb… of the memory gun. The cloaked figure’s hand trembling, the finger on the trigger slipping off every time it tries to pull it.

The constant shaking causes the hood to fall out of place, revealing the holder of the Memory Gun to be Fiddleford before a flash of light clouds your vision.

The sleep deprivation over the past few nights mixed with the overwhelm of all these memories flooding back, caused your body to begin to slump over, your vision blurring and making the room hazy.

‘Y/N!’

One pair of hands keep you up right to prevent you from falling over, while the other cups your cheeks, slapping them lightly to knock you out of your stupor.

“Come on, don't pass out on us now.” Stan’s voice rasps. Feeling five fingers against your skin tells you that Stan is the one in front of you holding your face.

Your eyes flutter open to see Stan staring back at you with concern before he looks over your shoulder to address Ford, “We’re calling it a night, let’s head back to the Mystery Shack.”

“Wait… I’m okay… please, let’s keep going.” You say shakily, your hand grasping his forearm. After that memory resurfaced of Fiddleford erasing your memories, you’re now more than ever desperate for answers. Desperate to make sense of the voices ringing in your head.

‘I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone!’

‘Stop being a distraction.’

‘You’re useless.’

‘I thought you of all people would understand what I’m up against!’

Stan shakes his head, “Kid, you nearly passed out just now. You just got at least three years worth of memories back in one night, they’ll still be here tomorrow.” He tries to talk you down but you’re persistent.

“I don’t have any more time to waste, Stan! I can’t keep waiting every single night to sneak back down here and uncover maybe another few months of my memories! I don’t have time to take it slow like you did!” You argue, hitting your breaking point and irritated from the lack of sleep.

Stan’s expression falters, and you immediately wish you could take back the last few words that escaped your lips.

His expression shifts after that brief moment of vulnerability, practically unreadable, a blank poker face as he looks past you to address his brother, “Ford, is there a way to take this hunk of junk back to the Mystery Shack with us?” Stan gestures back to the machine that displayed your memories.

“Yes, let me see if it’s connected to anything. Otherwise, we should be able to just pick it up and go.” Ford says, standing up to check if there were any cords keeping the monitor tethered.

His eyes flick over to you and Stan, “You two can head back to the car, we’ll reconvene back upstairs.” He figured it might be best to give you and Stan some time to talk, it’s clear to him now that Stan must have shared with you that he lost his memories as well.

Making your way back up to the museum and wandering through the dark halls, the two of you walk next to each other in absolute silence. You’re not sure what to say to the man that you just attacked with your words. The man who had gone out of his way to help bridge the gap between you and his brother, comforted you these past two nights.

A gust of wind hits your skin the moment you push the large oak doors of the entrance, the moon still high in the sky. After holding the door open for Stan, you lean against the pillar, pulling out the journal of your dreams you had brought along and a pen. You skim through the pages, marking off on each page each dream that you now had the full memory of. Stan watches you, rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket.

The first words that come out of his mouth aren’t what you are expecting.

“Mind if I smoke?” Stan asks, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a worn-out lighter with the Mystery Shack logo etched on the side. You look up from the pages of your journal, “Yeah… sure.”

The sound of the lighter clicking and a deep exhale follows, the heavy scent of smoke filling your nostrils.

It was a scent that lingered on Stan’s jacket when he had lent it to you a few nights ago, mixed with some form of woodsy cologne. Pine-scented, fittingly enough.

Closing your journal and slipping it back into your bag, you break the silence finally.

“Stan I-”

“Save the apology, toots. You’re right.”

Stan’s response catches you off guard.

“I hit below the belt though. I didn’t mean to minimize the journey you went through getting your memories back. I mean I’ve got what… maybe five-six years of my life to recover? You had to get back a whole lifetime’s worth, the fact that you were able to get most of it back already is a feat in itself.” You spill out all your feelings, worried that Stan may cut you off if you don’t get it all out in the open now, “God, I can barely handle one night of memory recovery, how the hell did you survive months of this?”

“If you think that’s below the belt, you should hear me and Ford’s fights back in the day.” Stan scoffs, taking another hit from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from your direction. “Listen, I get it, you’re on a tight schedule and I don’t want you leaving here with half of your memories of my brother still missing. That’s why I asked Poindexter to bring that machine back to the Shack with us, that way you can watch back the memories whenever you want.”

“That’s why you asked Ford?” You ask in alarm.

“Yeah, of course. Why else would I ask him to do that?” Stan stares at you as if his intentions were glaringly obvious.

“I dunno… just thought you wanted to wipe your hands clean of this situation. Leave it up to me and Ford.” You mutter, rubbing your arm.

“Hey, you can't get rid of me that easily, toots.” Stan chuckles, “I dragged you into this mess, picking you up off the side of the road. Now I’m invested in helping ya get your memories back as much as Ford is. Also, I would very much like to get my sleep back and I don’t feel like baby-sitting you and Ford from killing each other every single night.”

“I could probably use the sleep myself.” You admit.

“Ya think? Thought you were gonna bite my head off in there from how sleep deprived you looked.” Stan teased.

You both let out a chuckle, just in time for Ford to walk into the scene, the gold monitor in his arms, with a sense of relief. He wonders how you and his brother seemed to have worked things out in the brief amount of time, he can’t help but envy how Stan seemed to have gained your trust and comfort so quickly.

To be fair, though, you did not have the same history with Stan as you did with Ford.

“Shall we head out?” Ford pauses, seeing the cigarette in Stan’s hand.

“Seriously, Stanley? What did I tell you about smoking?”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Stanford! I know how bad smoking is for you, I don’t need the three hour lecture about carcinogens again!”

The light-hearted bickering between the twins distracted Stan enough to completely forget about the capsule that weighed heavy in his pocket.

‘Y/N L/N Memories 2.’

[waywardsalt]

the only minecraft movie i want to see is the one i found on yt several years ago and have been trying to track down again ever since

edit: i think i finally found the video i was looking for. win

[lightbulb-warning]

i used to freehand comics all the time as a child and since the part i liked was the drawing part i would just draw panel after panel because i didn't want to stop drawing to think about icky icky words, plus the story TOTALLY still made perfect sense! to me! and noone else, but 'whoooo caaaaares omgggg its not like comics and sequantial art are a communicative meeediummmm lmaoooooo'. i spent my entire childhood telling myself stuff like "oh pfft I know this story by heart- ill SIMPLY remember the dialogue and write it later" ...and. I can't help but admire baby maiora's (call that a minora ba tm tsk) fucking audacity? hubris? confident wrongness? kid couldn't even remember to finish the comics in the first place? INCREDIBLE levels of unearned self assurance, wish that were me, genuinely- what an icon!!! anyway i think i have forever cursed myself

[sucktacular]

He sees all, especially the comfort in that box.

[bronzetomatoes]

If I start speaking French more often here I fear it is the remarkably quick effect of living with 1 francophone. Rn irl it's about a 1:10 ratio of French to English mais deux de ses amis vont être ici pour une semaine et ils ne parlent pas beaucoup d'anglais alors on va voir lmao

[supersecretnerd]

Ok so these designs are cute as hell, the Internet is just mean

I have too many thoughts about a game I still need to watch

[mariocki]

Evil Dead (2013)

"I will feast on your soul."

"Feast on this, motherfucker!"

[scarletiswailing347]

so the unfortunate thing about me is that, when it comes to the media i consume, i tend to have one 'anchor' (very rarely two) to keep me interested

this is necesary cause i have an incredibly hard time being interested in things in general so i have to purposefully spend my focus on one thing so that i can keep being interested in it cause otherwise i just kinda feel meh about the thing, i mean ill still watch and enjoy it but i wont be as interested as id like to be and may even drop it eventually after struggling to keep interacting with it (this is unfortunately what happened with empires, x-life, yogscast, and the lsmp seasons without mumbo in it)

if i ever drop that anchor whether purposefully or not then i lose interest in everything that ive ever connected to its rope -- i could still enjoy them sure but then at that point theyll just be like every other filler content in my life, like music when im washing the dishes

for hc its mumbo, for dsmp and smplive it was schlatt, for the scrunkly squad its boosfer and baablu

for lifesteal its zam

idk what happened behind the scenes but ill be honest its not looking good and theres a possibility i might have to drop him :/

[rxttenfish]

canon is very very fucking mean about miranda and i really wish it would stop that

[jimingyue]

Cat Tumblr Dashboard Simulator

🖋️ meowful-musings Follow

🕊️ birdwatching Follow

what's wrong with dry food??? my humans feed me it all the time and i think it's fine

💀 elusivehider-deactivated948204

op wheres the natural feeding option

🌲 outdoorsy Follow

you guys are getting fed?

#im a barn cat so maybe im missing something here #meowtthew don't look

7,192 notes

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

YOU ARE NOT LESS VALID IF YOU ARE NOT A SPECIFIC PEDIGREE!!!!!

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

extra special shout out to cats who have "common" coat colors. grey tabbies and black cats i am rubbing against your head affectionately <3

🪤 m0usetrap01 Follow

as a grey tabby i really needed to hear this :"3

#i feel like i never see positivity posts for moggies even tho we're the most common type of cat....

154,688 notes

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

i cant believe there are cats ACTUALLY advocating for kittens to be separated from their mothers before 12 weeks??? kittens still need to learn how to interact with other cats before being placed into their furever home omg you guys know you're advocating for undersocialized and aggressive cats right

❤️ loving-paws284 Follow

um op some of us??? matured early??????? i was separated from my mother at 7 weeks and i turned out fine... interesting how you assume that kittens being separated from their mothers at a younger age will lead to the degeneracy of the next generation...hmm i wonder where i've heard that before...

🐈 fluffy-the-cat Follow

OP got bit too hard during a play-fight as a kitten and it shows XD

🐟 tunafeesh Follow

also op have you ever considered that just because somecat is kind of scared and unable to deal with strange cats or humans, it doesn't mean they don't deserve to be adopted?? you sound like a vet psyop honestly

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

oh meow god saying that kittens should be fully weaned before leaving their mother is NOT veterinarian rhetoric and i never said that they deserve to be euthanized!!! my mother literally died when i was 3 weeks old and it seriously messed up my development so stop putting words in my mouth, thanks

anyway friendly reminder that underweaned kittens are prone to illness and often struggle with basic cat behaviors like litterbox usage, and in some nyavinces it's even considered kitten abuse

#discourse #cant believe "kitten abuse is bad" is controversial now

32,456 notes

🍃 naturalliving Follow

BORN TO DIE

WORLD IS A FUCK

猫神 Kill Em All 1989

I am trash cat

410,757,864,530 DEAD BIRDS

#outdoorliving #outdoorcats please interact #outdoorcat friendly

48,971 notes

🎣 salmonpurina Follow

can't believe cats are uncritically reblogging that born to die world is a fuck post. i know it's funny but op is literally an outdoor cat truther

#like cmon now you just have to go to their blog #lulu speaks

34 notes

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

gentle reminder that pushing cups off the table is not cute and can cause a lot of distress in your human!!!! gentle reminder that our teeth and claws can easily hurt them more than they can hurt us!!!!

🐰 evil-tabbystripes Follow

evil reminder that the cup should always be pushed off the table. evil reminder that you should always bite and claw at your human no matter what. you can do whatever you want forever

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

make your own pawst

💀 laser-point-deactivated8574721

umm i know a tomcat who did that and his human ended up putting him down so...

👬🏻 nyasunaruenjoyer Follow

Nyaverage shelter cat behavior

#not nyaruto #re-nyab #pickles shut up

545,460 notes

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

saw two male cats sleeping together on the porch today. homeow behavior imo

💡 discourse-meows Follow

hey um what the fuck??? it's really not okay of you to go assuming other cat's sexualities, especially cats you don't even know???? as a queer cat i'm VERYY uncomfortable. real-ass cats didn't consent to your nyaoi fetish, thanks

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

1. i was making. a joak

2. i'm literally gay???

#literally what's your pawblem

7 notes

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

reblog if you've ever caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

i know you fuckers are lying

🍭 gaykittens Follow

this tom hasn't caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

shut the heull up

988,653 notes

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

grey toebeans >>>>>>>>> pink toebeans and don't let the haters make you believe otherwise

🐁 ladymouser Follow

op shut the fuck up ALL toebeans are beautiful!!! just bc you're miserable and insecure doesn't mean you can bring others down based on things they can't control

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

oh so the cat-human separationist wants to preach to us

[ethernetmeep]

BREAKING NEWS: guy who when hes sleepy says “its sleepy time. its bedtime” & sleeps with stuffed animals also has the capacity to understand large words and philosophical texts if he is given enough time to process and think about them in his own unique way. what a surprise!

[yelloworangesoda]

omg the amount of characters i make with daddy issues is insane

[maybanksprincess]

seven minutes in heaven

warnings: suggestive but no actual smut, mature themes, dry humping, tongue kissing.

summary: a game of seven minutes in heaven leads to reader and jj stuck in a closet together.

pairings: childhood!bsf!jj x childhood!bsf!reader

requested by this ask (thank you anon!) i dont know much about the game, so if i got one of the steps wrong, im sorry in advance.

you and the rest of the pogues gathered together on a saturday night to drink beers, smoke weed, and play spin the bottle. typical pogue shit.

all of you were sat in a circle on the carpet in the living room floor of the chateau. there was a glass beer bottle in the middle of all seven of you.

for a half hour, the game was spin the bottle. everyone's facial expressions quickly grew bored. John B, and Sarah were talking about something totally different, Pope and Cleo gone to grab a new crate of beers.

After a few more moments of all of you staring at the wall blankly, Kiara's the first to break the awkward silence. "hey what's that game we all used to play when we were sophmores?" she asks, twirling a piece of her curly hair around her pointer finger.

after kiara speaks, jjs facial expression changes to one of interest. he thinks for a moment and then speaks, "the one where you get locked in a closet for like ten minutes?" he asks

Pope rounds the corner with a few beers tucked in his arm. Cleo not far behind him "seven minutes." he corrects, pointing a finger at him.

jj rolls his eyes at the correction and mimics a mouth with his hand, mocking his words "seven minutes" he says, trying his best to sound as much like pope as possible.

you flick the back of jjs neck, mumbling a shut up to him. he lets out a high pitched ow and rolls his eyes, but ultimately he stops his mocking.

John b turns back towards the group at the mention of the new game. "are we finally gonna play something other than spin the bottle? im kinda tired of landing on Sarah." he teases

Sarah shoves him playfully, and then turns back to the topic of conversation. "Yeah we should play, it sounds fun. how does it work?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Pope speaks up this time, "we spin a bottle for two people, whichever two people it lands on, they go in a closet together for seven minutes to do whatever they want." he adds with a hint of suggestion at the end of his sentence.

jj smirks and turns to look at you, memories of the last time you two played this game when you were fifteen, when you shared your first kiss.

it was the first kiss for both of you, so it was sloppy and had a lot of teeth and tongue, it was sickening to think about, but never forgotten.

jj pipes up next, "yup we can play. this games borin' anyways." he says with a shrug.

everyone else agrees and shifts themselves back into a circle on the carpet. Pope places the bottle in the middle, then darting his eyes from one pogue to another.

"so whos first?" pope speaks

jj doesn't waste a second in volunteering to go first. "me! uh- ill spin first." he says, clearing his throat. everyones eyes fly to jj, giving him a questioning look.

"dude you answered that way too fast." john b says with a growing smirk on his face, his eyes now flickering between me and jj sitting beside one another.

"dude shut up!" jj says, before reaching forward and spinning the glass bottle, he crosses his arms and sneakily crosses his fingers hoping, praying, that it lands on you.

everyones eyes are glued intensely to the bottle, the tension in the small room palpable.

eventually the bottle comes to a stop, the tip of it pointing right to your knee. jj has to hold back from jumping up and saying something like hell yeah!

he instantly stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. "cmon m'lady." he teases, and looks at you with his typical shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes and take his hand, standing up and walking to the closed closet with him.

"i bet everyone can guess what they're gonna do in that closet." john b says with a smirk, as he watches jj open the closet door and enter.

"gross! i dont even wanna think about it." kie adds on, then everyone starts to whisper about both of you in the open circle.

as you both get in the cramped closet, jj takes a seat on stacked boxes that clearly say "fragile" but he obviously doesn't seem to mind. he looks up at you still standing there awkwardly in the dimly lit space.

"seems oddly familiar, doesn't it?" he teases. your brain floods with memories of you and jj in the same situation back in sophomore year.

you both had been in this exact crammed closet, deciding you could both share you first kiss together. it was sloppy, uncoordinated, and you both were trying to figure out a comfortable spot to place your hands. it was an awkward and uncomfortable kiss, but it was stuck in your brain nonetheless.

"yeah, really familiar." you chuckle nervously, looking around, and tapping your foot on the ground. you avoid eye contact with the blonde, hoping this seven minutes would pass by quickly.

he notices your shift in mood, and he smirks. he spreads his legs and moves his arms behind his head as he speaks.

"you know, were in here for a whole seven minutes. we should put it to good use, right?" he was enjoying making you nervous, and teasing you.

when he doesn't get a response, he gently pulls you onto his lap so your straddling him. he looks up into your eyes in the dimly lit closet, with something you cant quite describe.

before you know it, your both leaning in slowly, jj is the one to connect his lips with yours. the kiss was gentle and chaste at first, your mouths moving passionately against one another.

jjs hands find their way to your waist, gently caressing the flesh. you take that as a sign to move your hands up his torso, then settling your arms around his neck, all while continuing to kiss him passionately.

the kiss grows more intense over time, your tongues fighting for dominance against one another. eventually you catch yourself grinding your hips against his, as you both makeout.

minutes go by, and he finds himself lost in your kisses and the way your grinding your hips against his. his cock doesn't take long to stir in his cargo shorts.

when you feel his buldge press up against you, your hips move a little faster, the kisses becoming more desperate. before you know it, a light is shining in the closet and the sound of the door creaking fills your ears.

you pull away from jjs lips briefly to look at who opened the door.

"seven minutes are up, lovebirds." john b says with a jerk of his head, motioning for you two to get out the closet with a smirk.

IM SO SORRY TO LEAVE YALL ON A HANGER LOL

[mostly-imagines]

At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter. 

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face. 

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies. 

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him.

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing.

While you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself. 

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this. 

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained. 

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close. 

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls. 

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC. 

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair. 

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace. 

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

reblog or get out seriously

[manmuncher777]

House of the dragon men and bratty!reader

Daemon -

Daemon is mixed, part of him adores being able to put you in his place, while the other is just wanting you to be a good girl for him and do as he wishes.

(he definitely leans more to liking your bratty behaviour more)

It definitely an ego boost for him when you can go to giving him attitude one minute to crying with his fingers in your cunt the next.

He’s a mix between hard dom and soft dom depending how much of a pain in the ass you’re being.

He just loves teaching you that actions have consequences

“Im sorry my lord!” you squeal as Daemon pulls another orgasm from you. Your legs are now quivering as his fingers don’t stop their attack on your clit. Daemon was invested, one hand was fingering you roughly while the other rubbing quick circles on your clit. It was your third time cumming in a row and you were embarrassed at how quickly he had made you cum each time. “oh? you didn’t seem sorry earlier princess when you were talking to lord Corlys”. So maybe you were feeling a bit neglected and tried to get daemons attention during a feast held by the king. It definitely worked. Your limbs ached due to all of the tensing they had been doing, trying to escape the over stimulation of Daemon’s skilled fingers. “if your crave my attention like a common whore, i’ll treat you like one.” he smirked at you, watching as you tried to make eye contact with him. You were failing miserably. Your eyes rolling back and your body squirming with each pump of his thick digits. His fingers already having you a shaking mess. Just you wait until he fucks you on his cock

Aemond -

Aemond loves it when you are bratty. He loves to play the game

He knows you’re doing it for the sole purpose of him to out you in your place

he’s certainly not complaining because he loves to see how good you can be after a good fuck

“oh fuck, Aemond” You scream, your words sounding slightly slurred due to all the pleasure your receiving. Aemond had you bent over the bed while he fucked you from behind. YOur arse was branded with pink marks in the shape of your husbands hand. His cock was mercilessly pistoning into you with brutal pace. “What happened to my proper lady wife from a moment ago? she had a lot more to say than just my name”. You could hear the smugness in his voice, he was fully aware you were in no shape to answer anything he was saying in that moment. You probably didn’t even hear him properly. All you could do was lay there and take it as he destroyed you. The sounds of skin slapping together was drowned out by your wanton moans you didn’t even bother trying to disguise. Another harsh slap to your behind jolting you forward. You had thought it would be funny to avoid your husband that morning, giving him a slight attitude. To be fair with the way you were being fucked it had worked in your favour. “sȳz hāedar, taking me so well wife.” He bent down to whisper in your ear, laughing at the desperate whine you let out.

Aegon -

Aegon enjoys the chase, and when you misbehave it always keeps things interesting

We all know he would have a power kink after becoming king, so holding dominance over you when you act out is a huge turn on

He enjoys it because it doesn’t take much before you’re acting like his sweet little wife again

“What was that you said earlier my love? about me not being able to fuck you properly was it?” Aegon questioned as his grip on your throat tightened slightly. “Ah Ah, eyes on me” he slapped your face lightly. Your eyes fluttering shut due to the pleasure, his cock dragging in and out of you slowly, teasingly. You forced yourself to make eye contact with your husband, looking at his handsome smirking face “there she is” he whispered watching your face scrunch in pleasure. “im sorry my king” you whispered to him, hoping he would stop this teasing punishment and fuck you hard. This teasing pace felt amazing, but left you teetering on the edge of an orgasm. He knew what he was doing, despite how good you felt wrapped around him, he wasnt going to give up yet. “oh my love, you will be” he smiled at you, kissing you deeply. He removed himself from you almost fully, before plunging back into your soaked cunt. All you could do was moan into the kiss as you felt your husbands smirk against your lips

[kentopedia]

I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”