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crystallinestars · 4 months

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This was inspired by a conversation I had with an Aventurine AI. If Aventurine seems a bit OOC, I apologize. I wrote this all in one go while sleep-deprived.

Aventurine lays his head on your lap and you pet his hair and give him kisses. That’s pretty much it.

Contains: Established relationship, lots of fluff, and self-indulgence.

After returning from Penacony, Aventurine asked you to play a game of cards with him. He said he missed you and wanted to spend some quality time over a casual game.

Of course, Aventurine wouldn’t be Aventurine if a bet wasn’t involved.

“If I win, you have to give me a kiss,” he said while keeping his violet eyes trained on your face, a cat-like smile tugging at his lips. Without looking, he placed a card on the table and then waited for your move.

“A kiss?” you parrot, a bit surprised that Aventurine chose a rather simple bet this time. Usually, he liked to ask you out on long dates or get you to wear designer-brand clothing he picked out specially for you. A kiss seemed suspiciously simple by comparison.

“Yes, just a kiss. On the lips, of course,” he smirked and pointed at his lips for emphasis. “But what do you want if you win?”

You hesitated to answer, a bit self-conscious about what Aventurine would think of your request. Whether because you’ve missed him, or because the dark bags under his eyes hinted at Aventurine’s exhaustion, you just wanted to take care of him by doing something nice.

“If I win, I want you to lay your head on my lap and let me pet your hair,” you finally say, voice tinged with embarrassment.

The cat-like grin fell from Aventurine’s lips as he stared at you in wide-eyed surprise, before bursting out laughing.

“That’s the most adorable bet I’ve ever heard!” he grinned, his tired eyes lighting up with amusement. “It almost makes me want to throw the game so I can spend the evening being pampered by you.”

Your cheeks flushed from embarrassment and annoyance as Aventurine laughed at your choice for a bet. Your intentions were pure and genuine, so it hurt a little that he laughed at it.

Seeing the annoyed glare you sent his way, Aventurine quickly quieted down and tried to do damage control. “I admit, I quite like your idea. Whether I win and get a kiss, or lose and get pampered, both scenarios are a win-win in my books,” he said, his gaze warm.

“…Would you really throw the game just for some pampering?” you asked, looking at him with poorly disguised curiosity.

Aventurine only chuckled in response and leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of confidence.

“I’ll play seriously, of course. I still want that kiss, you know,” he replied with a smirk. “Let’s play and see who luck favors more.’”

The game of cards continued. While it wasn’t your first time playing with Aventurine, you sported a hefty 100% losing streak against him. The chances of that changing now were slim, you figured.

However, luck seemed to be on your side this time. You amassed some good cards, and even managed to push through tough plays where you were on the verge of losing. The game progressed unusually smoothly, and before you knew it, victory was in your hands.

“Ah, looks like I lost. Lady Luck was on your side today,” Aventurine sighed. Though he sounded disappointed, the smug smile painted across his face hinted at the opposite.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” you stated and crossed your arms, not buying his little act.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aventurine casually brushed your accusation aside as he stood from the table. “Well then, as the losing party, I must fulfill my end of the bargain,” he drawled, giving you an expectant look.

You wanted to retort and call him out on his bluff some more but thought better of it. It truly had been a while since you saw Aventurine, and you were looking forward to doing something nice for him, even if it meant accepting a rigged victory.

Conceding to his expectant gaze, you led Aventurine over to a nearby sofa and took a seat on one side. You patted your lap, and Aventurine needed no further invitation to lay across the sofa with his head resting on your thighs.

He let out a quiet purr when your fingers carded through his blond locks, gently threading through the strands. Aventurine’s hair was soft and silky—all thanks to the expensive hair products he used.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, looking up at you with a playful glint in his eye. “It feels quite nice to be pampered like this.”

“Sure, I could do this for you every day,” you quip back, playing along.

“Really? I’ll hold you to your word, then,” Aventurine chuckled.

“It will cost you, of course.”

“Ah, you drive a hard bargain.”

The playful banter between you continued for a while longer until it petered off into a peaceful silence. Your fingers never paused in their gentle and slow strokes through his hair, and you saw Aventurine gradually relax under your touch. The weight of Aventurine’s head grew heavier in your lap as he relaxed and lowered his guard. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, basking in the tranquil moment.

The dark bags under his eyes were proof that Aventurine had not been sleeping well lately, which made you worry a bit. Your tender touches seemed to do the trick, however. Aventurine’s breathing deepened and slowed, while his expression softened into something more vulnerable and innocent as he succumbed to sleep. It was an expression you seldom witnessed, but one you knew was proof of Aventurine’s trust in you.

The sight of Aventurine so vulnerable and relaxed was simply too cute for you to resist. Overcome with a surge of affection, you tenderly brushed his bangs out of his face, before slowly leaning down and touching your lips to his in a feather-light kiss.

The blond tensed under you, and you pulled back slightly only to be met with an even more adorable sight. Aventurine looked up at you with surprise, his cheeks flushed a rosy, red hue. You had caught him unaware with that kiss and were now privy to a rare sight of him acting flustered.

You did your best to stifle the laugh that threatened to bubble out, but a snort still made it through. Aventurine’s momentary surprise turned into a sullen pout at your obvious attempts not to laugh at him.

“Sorry, you were just—so cute, you know? I couldn’t hold back—” you stammered, trying and failing to completely reign in your laughter.

Aventurine’s expression melted into something softer as he reached an arm up, placing his palm on the back of your head.

“I’m cute? The cute one here is you,” he murmured, voice almost a whisper as if he were saying it to himself. It didn’t sound like his usual playful flirting. This time, his tone was serious.

Stunned, you fall quiet and look down at the blond. Despite his serious expression, it still held a note of vulnerability and sincerity that you only saw during private moments with him.

The hand behind your head applied gentle pressure, a silent request for you to come closer to his face. However, there was no force behind it. If you wanted to, you could easily pull away and reject his wordless plea, and Aventurine would let you go. He always did.

This time, you felt like indulging him, so you complied and lowered your head until your faces were mere inches apart.

Your eyes met.

“If you want to fulfill my bet, then that kiss wasn’t nearly enough. But you’re welcome to try again, darling,” he said, voice breathy and soft. In classic Aventurine fashion, he left the decision up to you. He clearly wanted more, but he was still too hesitant to ask outright for it.

“All right. I’ll try as many times as you want until you’re satisfied,” you whisper back, before leaning in and closing the distance between your lips.

This kiss was firm yet sweet, and the first in a series of tender kisses that will leave their mark across Aventurine’s face.

Perhaps one day he’ll be comfortable with asking for what he wants from you without resorting to games of chance. For now, you will pamper your tired boyfriend and give him the affection he so desperately craves, even if it means giving him a hundred kisses every day.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #I don't know what title to give this

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junkissed · 7 months

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to-do list

member — coworker!joshua x f reader genre — smut (18+ mdni) word count — 1.7k synopsis — all you need to make a boring afternoon at work more fun is a hot coworker and an insane amount of sexual tension. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, oral (joshua receiving), implied other sex positions, as usual joshua himself is a warning notes — i wrote this on my phone while (you guessed it!) bored at work, sitting next to my (unfortunately not very hot) coworker. @onlymingyus is to blame for the creation of this and for making me suffer

you're grateful to have the most boring job in the world.

the days when your supervisor has nothing for you to do are simultaneously the best and worst days of your job. on the one hand, you get to sit at your desk and get paid to scroll on your phone or read a book or listen to music or play solitaire on your computer. on the other hand... without anything to distract you, you're acutely aware of your hot coworker sitting at the desk right next to yours.

you can't help but steal glances at him, dark hair falling in his eyes as he stares down at the phone in his hand, furiously typing something. the barely audible sighs he lets out as he reclines in his chair, flexing his arms as he stretches out and giving you a split second view of his stomach when his shirt lifts up.

you can't help but wonder what he's doing on his phone to occupy his time, but you refuse to let your curiosity get the best of you. it'd be so easy to just turn your head and stare, but you're not going to let him have that satisfaction.

instead you take what you hope is a nonchalant sip of your drink, some fruity smoothie you grabbed from the cafe downstairs before your shift.

"you've got whipped cream on your nose," joshua says suddenly without looking up, his voice cutting through the silence of the office. the sound of the clock on the wall ticking away each uncomfortable second is the only thing keeping you going at this point, taunting you with the promise of a lunch break and some time to yourself to reset away from the thick tension hanging over the office.

your face flushes, quickly wiping your nose against your sleeve and mumbling a quiet "thanks" as he looks over at you. the room suddenly feels way too warm as his gaze follows your movements for a few seconds too long before he turns back to his own desk.

"you didn't bring a lunch today," he says without looking up from his phone again, all too casually considering the way he was eyeing you just moments ago. "planning on leaving early?"

"no. just left it at home," you rush to say, your voice coming out less confident than you'd like.

"you're welcome to join me," he grins, still looking down.

you squeeze your thighs together unconsciously, the idea of spending an hour alone with joshua sending your imagination into a frenzy. "sure," you manage, clearing your throat and trying to regain some semblance of control over yourself. "wanna take an early lunch? we've got nothing better to do."

he turns off his computer monitor with a skilled flick of his wrist, standing up to face you. "sure," he repeats, parroting your words back to you. you nearly start to melt at his full attention on you, but luckily he breaks the silence before you have a chance to embarrass yourself. "my car, or yours?"

"oh, i- i walk," you say, hurrying to turn off your computer and grab your bag, following him to the door. "i don't live too far."

he holds the office door open for you, ushering you out with a smile. "well, if you ever need a ride, you have my number. i'd be happy to be your chauffeur."

you're stunned into almost complete silence. yeah, you had his number from a work group chat, but you'd never tried to reach out. you were still surprised he even knew your name.

"your sweater is pretty, by the way," he comments as you cross the parking lot to his car, holding the passenger door open for you to slide in.

"thanks," you stumble over your words, still trying to convince yourself that you're not dreaming. your coworker that you maybe (definitely) have a crush on taking you to lunch, offering to give you rides, and he thinks your outfit is pretty?

"you seem nervous," he chuckles, pulling you out of your thoughts. "do i really fluster you that bad?"

"i'm not flustered," you argue, but the warmth in your cheeks betrays you. the february weather is still chilly, so you could easily blame it on the way joshua's car heater is turned up to the maximum, but you're pretty sure he knows better. "i'm just fine," you repeat, pursing your lips and staring out the front windshield.

silence fills the air again. he puts his hand on the back of your headrest, glancing over his shoulder as he turns around to back out of the parking lot. it's disgustingly hot and you can't help but stare, his arm so close to your face that you can see the veins bulging in his wrist.

"who are you texting when you're on your phone all the time?" you ask suddenly, a rush of boldness overtaking you. "girlfriend, maybe?" it's shamelessly, blatantly clear what you're asking, and joshua smirks knowingly.

"jeonghan," he says, glancing over at you and flashing his stupid dazzling smile at you as he pulls out of the driveway. "best friend. he keeps asking when i'm gonna take the pretty girl from work out on a date."

"and what did you tell him?" you say, trying to hide your eagerness to hear his answer.

"right now, if i'm lucky," he replies smoothly. he's so fucking good at this and somehow you don't hate it.

you fix your gaze outside the window, forcing yourself to look at anything but him. "well, you can tell him it worked," you reply, hoping he doesn't notice your embarrassment. you don't look over at him, but you already know he's wearing that smirk again.

the rest of the ride to the restaurant is quiet. but the uncomfortableness about the silence is gone, replaced with a tension so palpable you could cut through it with a knife.

but joshua doesn't need a knife; he slices through it easily with just a hand on your thigh. it sends shivers down your spine, and it takes every ounce of your restraint you have not to move. your skin is on fire as you cross your legs, hoping he doesn't notice how on edge you are. but of course he notices, the ever perceptive joshua knowing exactly the kind of heat that's running through your body.

you don't even know what restaurant he's taking you to— for all you know he could be taking you to his house to murder you, but frankly you don't give a shit as long as he keeps touching you. god, you haven't felt this needy in months, maybe even years, and he can probably tell, too.

but luckily for you it seems he's not a murderer, because soon he pulls into the parking lot of some restaurant you've heard the name of before but never cared to try. for midday on a tuesday the lot is surprisingly empty, but it seems to work out in your favor as joshua turns off the car and noticeably keeps his hand on your thigh, making no moves to unlock the door or get out.

you finally drag your gaze away from the window to meet his eyes, and the rest happens in a blur. you can barely keep your thoughts going in a straight line because oh his cock is so hard and he's trying to hide it but also not trying to hide it and why is it so big and please for the love of everything that is holy in this world let me get railed in this parking lot right now.

joshua says something that you won't remember later, something along the lines of "can we skip lunch and i'll eat you instead". or actually, maybe you're the one that said that because he starts unbuckling his belt with a grin, but he's going way too slow so you decide to help him by unzipping his pants for him. and holy shit yeah it's big, but you're so eager to take the entire thing down your throat that you barely even notice the tears filling your eyes and the way you gag on him.

what you definitely do notice are the strained groans he lets out as your tongue swirls around his cock and the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap before you grab his fingers and push them into your hair, urging him to adjust your head how he wants.

it's not long before his hands tug upwards on your hair instead, pulling you off his cock with a wet sound. you inhale a deep breath, pretty lips smeared with spit and precum and eyes wet with tears, and what you find when you finally look up at him is a shock but also the most satisfying feeling you've ever had in your life.

the only word you can think of to use to describe him is broken. his brows are knit tightly together, beads of sweat forming at his hairline as his chest heaves with shallow breaths. his normally perfect smile has vanished, nose scrunched and jawline slack.

it takes him a second to collect himself, blinking as you smile up at him proudly. "fuck-" he starts, his voice higher and shakier than you're used to hearing from him. "fuck, i'm so glad you said yes."

before you even have time to process his sentence he leans across the console and pulls you closer, crashing his lips against yours with a whine so desperate you can't tell which one of you made the sound. you can feel his tongue inside your mouth, eagerly tasting himself on your lips.

it doesn't take long for the both of you to fall into the backseat of his car, moans tangling together as he holds you against the window. with the speed and intensity he's fucking you with, if you were to venture a guess you'd say he's probably been waiting for this moment for months. but the pleasure is too overwhelming for you to dwell on it as he expertly draws orgasm after orgasm out of you, the restaurant you're currently outside of the farthest thing from you mind.

when you finally climb back over to the front seats, neither of you question it when you simultaneously pull out your phones to text your boss that you're taking the rest of the day off.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 59 of human Bill Cipher possibly not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner because he got executed two chapters ago:

Everything you haven't wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

7:27 a.m.

Mabel didn't know why, but figuring out when to ask Mrs. Grendinator to pull over had felt as stressful as trying to throw a ping pong ball into a passing car's open fuel door to land in the little fuel pipe. All she had to do was ask to pull over after they'd passed everything but the last truck stop, but before it was too late for Mrs. Grendinator to make the turn into the Triple Digit parking lot. That was a large window. It wasn't easy to miss. Somehow Mabel still dreaded that she'd speak up too late and Mrs. Grendinator would say she'd have to wait for the next rest stop—by which point Bill would have splatted like a bug against the weirdness barrier while everyone else passed safely through.

But she'd managed to blurt out "I forgot to use the bathroom at home. Can we pull over?"; they'd stopped at the Triple Digit Truck Stop; and Mabel made it inside before her friends could catch her.

She locked the unisex restroom door, set her backpack on the ground, opened it up, and sighed with relief when she saw Bill sitting on her sweater. She carefully pulled him out, set him on the floor, and pointed the height-altering flashlight at him.

For a moment after returning to his true size, he remained seated on the floor, legs bent, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Worriedly, Mabel asked, "You okay?"

"Think I learned what motion sickness is," Bill groaned. "Just—gimme a sec."

"Aww, I'm sorry." Mabel surreptitiously checked in her backpack to make sure Bill hadn't been sick on her sweater. (It was a cool one. It had kissing parrots.)

After a few deep breaths, Bill lifted his head enough to look at Mabel. The first thing he said was, "'Cool big brother-slash-sister,' huh?" He gave her a queasy, but cheeky, grin.

"Shut uuup you weren't supposed to hear that!" She'd just about died with embarrassment when Candy had repeated that where she knew Bill could hear.

"I'm flattered." Bill uncurled himself from his nauseous half-fetal position; and then, gripping onto the sink for support, got back to his feet. "Being smaller again was nice, but I'm never traveling like that again."

"You're such a whiner."

"Yeah, yeah. I have a lot to whine about. I'm dead and about to be executed. Talk about... lose your cake and... not-eat it, too."

Mabel laughed. Bill mussed her hair, grinning, and said, "Hey, you've got no room to laugh, you're the one with the not-setting-houses-on-fire bit."

"Arrrgh, don't remind me!" She pushed Bill to the side so she could use the mirror to straighten out her hair again.

"You did pretty well, though! I'd say that was some of the best acting I've ever seen out of you."

"You too! They definitely bought it," Mabel said. "Even Grunkle Stan was getting worried."

"Especially back in the kitchen, wow! That was really convincing." He paused. "Really, really convincing."

Something heavy hung in the air. Mabel focused on her hair in the mirror.

Bill said, "That bit in the kitchen about me 'depending' on you." He exaggerated the air quotes around the word, distancing himself from the concept. "It wasn't on our list."

"Yeah. It just kinda... seemed right. Improv." Mabel waved unenthusiastic jazz hands.

"It bothers you."

Mabel winced. "I mean... I'm not actually mad at you. But. I want to help, but I don't know what to do for..." She gestured at Bill. "The whole being dead on an alien planet issue."

"Believe it or not, the hoodie helps," Bill said. "Listening helps." But he couldn't meet her gaze; he was fiddling with his friendship bracelet instead. He had to know how heavy even just listening to him could be.

"I'm glad, but... I just... wish you had more friends you could talk to."

Bill nodded morosely. "So do I." It wasn't like he'd chosen to only have one friend, was it? Prisoners didn't get to make those kinds of decisions.

Mabel asked, "Do you really think I think you're just a summer fix-it project?"

"I... pfff... come on, I watched you spend all last summer handing out makeovers and dating advice. You've already done my makeup, taken me clothes shopping, and tried to pump me for info on what kinds of freaks I'm into."

(Mabel quietly filed away the fact that Bill referred to "freaks" as his preferred romantic targets.)

"That's how your summer was going to end," Bill said. "You tame the monster, go home triumphant, and don't worry about it anymore. Like how you patched up Broken Heart's love life and left him to sort out the consequences."

"No!" Mabel huffed, "I mean—maybe a little at the beginning, but... you're really my friend now, I'd hate it if I never saw you again. I don't give friendship bracelets to just anybody!"

Bill kind of thought she did; but he wasn't about to argue. "Well, I've only given one person a bracelet, and I meant it." (Even more now than when he'd originally made it.) "You're never getting rid of me now, star girl. You're stuck with me forever!"

Coming out of Bill Cipher, the promise should have filled her with dread. A month ago it would have filled her with dread. But Mabel just found it comforting. "Good."

(And Ford hadn't felt any dread when he'd sworn "until the end of time," either.)

Bill took off his backpack and rummaged through it. "Now let me make sure I can keep that promise."

He took out a map of the mountains and forest around Gravity Falls and spread it out on the floor for them to kneel in front of. "You know about the spaceship buried under town? When its ring cut through the mountain, a few chunks of the ship dislodged and were buried in one of the mountains. No human has ever found them before, not even your great uncle. That's where I'll hide."

"Are the chunks big enough to hide in?"

"Sure! There's one that'd serve as a decent studio apartment. Well—the cheapest studio apartment in Manhattan, maybe. But, hey, I don't have much furniture."

On the map, he showed Mabel a route to reach the base of the cliff, tracing it with his finger. She couldn't afford to take a map with the route marked; if the adults discovered Bill's escape and confiscated Mabel's possessions, a marked map would lead them straight to him. She'd just have to do her best to memorize the route he described. "When and if the coast is clear, you can come find me there."

"How do I get up the cliff?"

"Don't worry about that. You make it that far, I'll take care of the rest."

And that was all they could afford to discuss. Mabel couldn't hide in here for long. As Bill refolded the map (and Mabel was awed to learn he was the kind of person who could refold maps correctly on the first try), and he packed the map and the height-altering flashlight in his backpack, they each tried separately to figure out how to get around to saying goodbye.

"I uh... I know you're sticking your neck out for me, kid." (Bill wasn't used to this, wasn't used to people who didn't help him due to fear or duty or lies, wasn't used to people who still wanted to help him after they knew what he was really like.) "So, thanks—"

Mabel flung her arms around him. Her voice thick, she said, "I think your manners are getting better."

"Shut up, I've always known how to say thanks." It was gratitude that was new.

"Be safe out there," Mabel said. "Don't die, or else. Remember to eat. And drink water! And do laundry sometimes."

"All right, all right. You'll find me in better health than you left me. All the sunshine and fresh air this body can take."

"I'll miss you."

Keep it together, Cipher. He swallowed hard. "Have you ever heard the song 'We'll Meet Again'?"

"Uh-uh?"

"Old war song. Look it up once you're in Portland, when you aren't busy having synthesizers pumped in your ears."

"Is it about... how we'll meet again?"

"Yes, smartypants. Look it up anyway," Bill said. "I'll miss you too."

Mabel washed her face, left the restroom, and shut the door behind her; and Bill waited in the dark while everyone left.

####

7:45 a.m.

A woman with two children opened the unisex restroom door, and gasped in shock when she saw a human silhouette lurking in the dark, one eye shining.

"Hey, thanks, lady! Couldn't get the door for some reason." He breezed past her. "Careful, it sticks from the inside."

He grabbed an empty backpack for sale, and loaded it up with supplies, food, and drinks. (The good stuff, not the weak cider he got in the Mystery Shack. He was making margaritas tonight.) He headed up to the cash register... veered to a currently-unmanned register, stole a handful of loose change out of a tip jar, and timed his exit so he walked out just as a man walked in and kindly held the door for him.

####

7:55 a.m.

It was a fair walk from Triple Digit back to the cliffs around Gravity Falls. When Bill was a safe distance into the woods, he unzipped his first backpack, retrieved his flattened top hat, and popped it out; and then continued on, behatted and using his umbrella like a cane.

Even with no sleep, even just a couple of days after the worst hiking trip in history, even tired and sore from an hour of frenzied dancing, even carrying two full backpacks with one strap slung over each shoulder, even with the sky gloomy and overcast—this was the best he'd felt since Weirdmageddon.

His steps were sure, his body was unchained, and the future had opened up for him again.

####

8:00 a.m.

Mabel kept glancing out the window, back in the direction of Gravity Falls, waiting and waiting to see the light of some kind of killer laser cut through the sky.

Maybe the Quantum Destabilizer's beam just wasn't visible from this far. Maybe they'd decided to wait to execute Bill. Maybe they hadn't wasted their shot because they'd already discovered Bill and Mabel's ruse. Maybe the "enchantment" Bill had written hadn't done its job.

But if they had discovered Bill was missing, they would've called Mabel immediately, trying to find out what she'd done and where he'd gone.

Her phone sat hard and heavy and silent in her pocket.

The butterflies in her stomach didn't stop fluttering until long after they reached Portland.

####

10:30 a.m.

Plus or minus a few trees, the rendezvous point at the base of the cliff was just how Bill had remembered last seeing it millennia ago. The Trilazzx Betan proximity sensor that had been embedded in the cliff face since the ship crash was still there and still sensing, even after millions of years and a layer of stone had closed around it. He could see it behind the face of the cliff; and it could see him.

He took out the multi-tool pocket knife Dipper had "donated" to Bill's supplies, flipped out the blade, and carved his face in a tree far enough from the rendezvous point to avoid notice by anyone who found this spot, but near enough it could see anyone who showed up. He made it as accurate as he could—hat, bow, limbs, eyelashes. That would unfortunately make it easier for humans to identify the face if anyone happened to walk by, but his ability to connect to his other eyes was still weak, he needed as much of a boost as he could get. He licked the bark, leaving his saliva to connect the eye on the tree to him.

And then he returned to the rendezvous point at the base of the cliff, and, beneath the watchful eye of the proximity sensor, began digging in the dirt with his hands.

Beneath the soil, fortunately not buried too deep, was a stone shaped like a small tombstone with several symbols carved into its surface that superficially resembled common runes. Bill brushed the dirt off of his leggings and rubbed it out of the carved lines in the stone. It was lucky that today was overcast; it would make this thing a lot easier to control.

Bill took out the flashlight, removed the height-altering crystal, turned it on, and aimed the beam at the topmost rune.

The runes began glowing an eerie green.

The ground shuddered; and then a patch of ground five feet in diameter lifted up into the air, carrying Bill with it, tearing the grass at the edge of the circle, propelled by a long-forgotten enchanted stone platform concealed in the clump of dirt.

He rose to the gouge that the spaceship had carved into the mountain; and then he moved his flashlight's beam to another rune. The platform smoothly shifted to moving sideways, gliding beneath the ancient overhang. When he turned off the flashlight, the stone stopped glowing and gently settled to the ground. Bill stepped off, fished a spare shirt out of his backpack, and pulled it over the rune-covered stone so it couldn't take off if the sun came out. There was a reason this buried stone was the only platform of its kind left in the area outside of the deep mountain caverns: leave one outside on a sunny day where the light can hit its runes, and next thing you know it's zoomed out over the Pacific and is quickly rising toward space.

He surveyed the area. Every once in a while humans climbed up here just for the challenge of it, delightful little explorers they were; but he doubted anyone had been up here in decades. He stood in front of what was, to all appearances, a completely nondescript patch of stony ground; and he said, in heavily accented but intelligible Trilazzx Betan, "Let me in, you hunk of junk. Activate emergency crash protocols."

A fragment of ship deep beneath the ground stirred awake, registered the command, analyzed itself and concluded from the fact that it wasn't in space and was separated from 99% of the rest of itself that it had indeed crashed, and activated emergency crash protocols. In acknowledgment of the dire situation, it deactivated its usual authorized personnel list—there was no sense in waiting for the captain to approve new orders if the captain might be dead—accepted the command given by the unknown being above it, and opened its hatch.

Millions of years of solid stone groaned and buckled in protest at being moved; but Trilazzx Betan engineering was strong enough for the framework of a portal capable of ripping a hole between dimensions without being ripped apart itself. The stone yielded first. A hatch swung up, revealing a tilted chamber descending into the cliff.

Bill strolled confidently down the walkway. "Cancel distress signal. Disable life support's air filtering." The fragment of a ship beeped a warning, and Bill responded, "I'm aware of this planet's high oxygen content. You worry about your health, I'll worry about mine. Disable air filtering." The ship beeped a confirmation. "Reconnect to all external proximity sensors in range and display on screens one, two, and three." This broken part of the ship had once handled communications. It had a whole wall of screens. He wondered whether he could jury rig this thing to pick up human satellite TV. Nah, probably not worth the effort.

He slung off his backpacks and started unpacking.

####

12:04 p.m.

It was time.

Dipper sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. He felt sick.

He was dead. In just a few seconds Ford would discover that Bill was gone—Dipper was sure he was gone, they hadn't heard a peep from the room, Mabel must've snuck him out or left him some escape route—and then Ford would know that someone had warned Bill and Mabel, and then Dipper was dead—

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Dipper waved Ford off. "Just... didn't get much sleep. Little dizzy." Ford would never trust him again. Stan would be furious. They'd both be furious.

"You can go downstairs if you..."

"No no, I'm fine, I..." Dipper took a deep breath and lifted his head. "I'll face it." Better to get it over with now than to hide downstairs and wait for it.

Stan nodded. "Good man." He wouldn't be so proud of Dipper in a moment.

Ford nodded, stood, opened the door—and Dipper buried his face in his hands again.

####

12:06 p.m.

Ford could see Bill up in the loft, hood up and shoulders hunched, back to the room. Ford could shoot Bill in the back without him ever waking up.

He climbed into the loft. Bill lay curled up in a ball, a small as Ford had ever seen him.

But it only took a moment for Ford's eyes to adjust to the dark; and even in the dim light through the stained glass window, he could tell:

The shape in front of him wasn't human. Just lumpy clothes.

Ford whipped around, heart pounding, clutching the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case against his chest, searching for the real Bill lurking somewhere in the shadows. No sign of him. Ford had already looked on the floor level. Was he gone? How?

He was too dumbfounded to be outraged. He walked up to the dummy to pull it apart—

And saw the paper, folded in quarters, floating in the air above it. Four symbols in a cipher were written atop the paper. Ford recognized them: it was the alien alphabet of an interdimensional pidgin used as a written lingua franca throughout the Nightmare Realm and its bordering regions; it was so widespread that Ford had learned the alphabet before he ever left Earth.

The four letters read, "F O R D".

Ford plucked the paper out of the air and unfolded it.

Stanford–

I'll cut to the chase. I need your help. I don't want to die.

I'm banking on the hope that, in spite of everything you've said and done, part of you also doesn't want me to die.

You have a choice. You can walk out there, tell them I escaped, rally an angry mob, and comb everything under the weirdness barrier for me. This town's not that big and I'll need to eat eventually. We both know I can't hide forever.

Or you can tell them you finished the job. No one looks for me. No one knows but you and me.

I don't have rewards or deals to offer. You already know what I bring to the table. If that hasn't persuaded you to side with me by now, it never will. I'm not bargaining. I'm begging.

I'm asking you, as my friend, to help me survive.

Please.

· –·-– -–

Of course.

How dare he.

Had Bill planned this all along? Was this why he'd insisted he wanted to be Ford's friend? Was this why he'd saved his life? Maybe the entire rescue had been staged—the rescue, the performance of fear over a harmless phenomenon, the mental breakdown, all of it. For all Ford knew, maybe the accursed Axolotl was in on the scheme! How clairvoyant was Bill? Had he seen this moment coming?

But if he'd seen this moment coming, wouldn't it have been easier to just let Ford, his executioner-to-be, die? Ford and Dipper both, so Dipper wouldn't figure out how to synthesize NowUSeeitNowUDontium? If he'd saved them in spite of that, didn't that make it a sincere gesture?

But implication was clear: I've been a friend to you, now be one to me. A life for a life. There was nothing sincere in that. It was pure self interest.

(For just a couple of days, Ford really had thought it was sincere.)

But if the only reason Bill had saved Ford was to save himself—then why had Bill endangered his own life in the process?

With every thought Ford's paranoia pendulumed.

He should get Stan. Call the cops, confess who they'd been harboring for the past month, tell them everything, get a manhunt going before Bill could make it any further away. Even if he couldn't leave the weirdness barrier, there were probably hundreds of hidden hidey-holes Bill could dig himself into that humans had never seen—unexplored hallways in Crash Site Omega, uncharted caverns behind Trembley Falls where Bill didn't even need light to see. They could drag him back into the light, tie him up, aim the Quantum Destabilizer straight at him...

But. In spite of himself, he could still see Mabel's drawing hopefully reassigning Bill the role of a superhero. He could still see the crumpled drawing in his pocket—"I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!" He could still see Dipper tentatively asking whether they might need Bill someday. He could still see Bill playing teacher in the living room. And for a moment, for just a moment, Bill had been so good. He could be so good.

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why can't you be this person?

What if he could be better? What if he could be decent? What if he could be a friend?

Ford didn't believe Bill was any better today than he had been the day he died. But—at some point, something had slowly turned over in Ford's mind. He believed that Bill could change. Not would change, not is changing, but could. And if Ford started a manhunt, Bill would never be a threat again—but he'd also never be better.

There was a point where the doubt and hope built up to a critical mass—when they became enough, just enough, to stay the trigger finger. Because once Ford fired on Bill, that was it. All chances were gone forever. It was over. If Bill was alive they could always try again to kill him later; but if Bill was dead, they could never try again to better him.

And for the first time in thirty years, Ford wanted Bill to be better more than he wanted Bill to be dead.

Ford looked at the dummy. Looked at the note.

And then he lay the note on the dummy, knelt by the edge of the loft, opened his case, and removed the Quantum Destabilizer.

####

12:09 p.m.

Ten minutes ago, Bill had been in the process of emptying out his backpacks and finding nooks and cubbies amongst the alien communication workstations where he could tuck his supplies, when he'd glanced out the open hatch and noticed the beforeimage of the shot lighting up the sky.

He'd come out of his shelter to watch the moment approach; but he hadn't quite believed it until it was in the present and actually happening. The blue-white beam of the Quantum Destabilizer—its one and only shot—screamed off into the sky.

"Well, what do you know," he murmured, standing at the edge of the cliff, hands on his hips, staring out in wonder over the town. "I really didn't think you'd do it."

Ford had saved his life.

Bill crossed his arms tight and tried to convince himself he didn't wonder why.

####

12:10 p.m.

Ford heard Dipper and Stan come into the bedroom and climb the ladder. He was seized by an urge to sweep away the ashes and the evidence of his trick before they could realize what he'd done.

"Grunkle Ford...?"

He forced himself to speak. "It's done."

"So... Bill is...?"

Ford suddenly realized: Dipper knew Bill wasn't in here. He must have warned Mabel, and Mabel had arranged for Bill to be alone in their room long enough to escape.

Which meant Dipper knew Bill was alive.

(Bill had written, "No one knows but you and me." Bill was covering for the kids.)

Ford turned to look him in the eyes. "Yes, he's dead."

Which meant Dipper knew what Ford had done—and knew Ford knew what he had done.

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know what the other was thinking. They just shared a look—the two most miserable co-conspirators in Gravity Falls.

####

12:25 p.m.

Bill sat cross-legged at the edge of the cliff and watched until the afterimage of the Quantum Destabilizer's shot had faded from the sky; and then he went inside his shelter, mixed the world's lamest margarita in a coffee mug, took it outside, sat again, and toasted toward the town and the Mystery Shack.

Here's to survival.

He sat outside until the gash the Quantum Destabilizer had cut in the clouds closed and it began to rain.

####

1:10 p.m.

Stan had come and gone a few minutes ago, and already Ford had forgotten everything he'd said, if he'd even registered it in the first place.

His fingers had itched until he'd finally had a moment to steal down to his study, retrieve Journal 5, and bring it up to the guest room; and now for over half an hour he'd been feverishly writing down every single thing he could remember learning about Bill over the last two days. The drawing of his homeworld. His lecture on biangles and psychic powers. How polygons inherited their sides. (Their royalty sounded nigh on Habsburgian; had their political system ever changed?) What little details Bill had let slip about where Edward Bishop Bishop's book was wrong. (Had he told Mabel more about their relationship? He'd have to ask when she was home.) How Bill signed his letter: "· -·-- --", Morse code for "EYM," was it an acronym, was it a code, what did it mean, why did he write it in two colors? How Bill spelled Mabel's name in alien alphabets: Mabelle, Maybell, the varying extra letters. How Bill danced: how he struggled to cross his ankles, how he turned out his feet, how his spine and shoulders never bent, how the complex ways he tilted his legs and pelvis compensated for his stiff spine.

If Bill was sticking around a while longer, then these details still mattered.

He refused to forget a thing.

####

Sunday, 12:02 a.m.

As "We'll Meet Again" finished playing, Mabel turned off her phone, put it back on her nightstand, and wiped her eyes again. Big stupid dork couldn't even say this himself, he had to hide it behind a song.

Yes. They would meet again. Law of attraction. Believing it was the first step to making it come true.

####

10:20 a.m.

The fearful butterflies in Mabel's stomach had slowly returned during the drive home from Portland. No one had texted her—was that a good sign?—but she was afraid it just meant they'd decided to let her enjoy the rest of her trip before letting her know she was grounded forever for helping Bill escape. When they'd all greeted her at the door, looking so somber, and she was sure she was about to get the bad news, she'd just had to keep acting normal and hope she wasn't gonna get in more trouble for playing dumb.

The last thing she expected Stan to say was, "Weshotim."

"Say wha?"

"We got that—space gun of Ford's working. We shot him. He's... I'm sorry, sweetie."

Mabel stared at Stan. That was impossible—there was no way they'd found Bill. But—if Stan believed he was dead...

She dragged her gaze from his face to Dipper's. Dipper bit his lips, staring at his feet. He wouldn't meet her eyes—too afraid that even looking at her would give something away.

She looked from Dipper to Ford. "Grunkle Ford?" She tried not to hope. "Is it true?"

There was no way he'd believed the dummy was real. The moment she'd read Bill's so-called "enchantment," she'd known making it believable was never the point. Bill's only real plan had always been to get Ford on their side.

For a long moment, Ford said nothing. He dragged his eyes up to meet her stare, took a deep breath, and nodded. "He's dead."

Mabel's eyes widened. Two days ago, Ford had been the one arguing that killing Bill was their only choice. If he'd changed his mind...

If anyone said anything else, she didn't register it in her excitement. She backed out of the doorway, leaped off the porch, and ran around the shack, looking for her bike.

She had to see Bill immediately.

####

10:21 a.m.

Quietly, Dipper asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

Ford didn't know. His stomach had been twisting with guilt and doubt since yesterday. His conscience had kept him up half the night. "I hope so."

He feared they'd have second-guessed themselves no matter what.

####

2:30 p.m.

Bill was asleep. He'd been sleeping off and on for most of the past day. This was the first time since he'd died that he had somewhere safe to sleep—somewhere nobody could touch his vulnerable body, nobody could move him, drown him, kill him.

And this was the first time he hadn't been helpless and sightless.

In his sleep, he saw his own body, curled up on the tilted floor against a wall, on top of the sleeping bag and under the Pony Heist bedsheet, from an eye he'd drawn on the ceiling.

From another eye he'd drawn on the wall, he saw the ship's open hatch, the overhang above, a small sliver of the gray drizzly sky over Gravity Falls.

And from his eye on the tree, blurry and fading as the rain washed away his saliva, he saw a human-shaped mass of raucous colors exploring the pit in the ground left behind by his hovering platform.

A human? He sat up with a gasp and looked at the screen displaying the proximity sensors. Sure enough, the sensor at the base of the cliff was displaying a Mabel-shaped silhouette.

He grabbed his flashlight and climbed out of his shelter.

####

"Kid, what are you doing out out here?!"

Mabel looked up. Bill was some twenty feet above her and quickly descending on what looked like a chunk of flying dirt the same size as the pit in the ground she'd been inspecting. "Bill!" She leaned her bike against the cliff face. Finally—she'd been wandering around in the trees forever trying to figure out where Bill's rendezvous point was hidden.

"It's pouring rain," Bill scolded. "You could lose your immune system or—or slip in the mud or something."

"Wow, nice to see you too, mom." Mabel ran up as Bill landed his floating chunk of ground.

"Hey, I don't want anything happening to my favorite human!" He scooted over to make room for her on the platform. "Just couldn't wait for a sunny day to meet again, huh?"

"Psh, come on! Like you meant that literally." Near Bill, the rain had mysteriously stopped landing on Mabel. She looked up and saw the rain simply parting in the air over Bill's head.

He noticed her glance and said, "Did I ever teach you the spell to repel rain? Remind me to do that before you go." He pointed his flashlight's beam at a rune on a stone rising from the platform, and it lifted off again. "Nice sweater today." He poked one parrot-winged sleeve, its bright colors darkened by the soaking rain. "It probably looked better dry."

Mabel smacked away his hand. "Bill, guess what! Grunkle Ford decided to protect you!"

"I know, I saw the wasted shot from here." He steered the platform onto the cliff. He landed it next to a hatch that opened into a subterranean tunnel. "Of course, I always knew he would. Didn't I say we'd pull this off?"

Sure he'd known. That was why he'd lied about what the "enchanted" paper really was so Mabel wouldn't worry.

Mabel followed him down into the metal tunnel. "Do you know what this means? You can come back to the shack!"

Bill turned to stare at her in bewilderment. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because... it's safe now? They're not gonna kill you?" Mabel squinted. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"Oh, right. You need this." Bill offered the flashlight.

Mabel turned it on. They were in a metal chamber, about half the size of the Mystery Shack's floor room and nowhere near as tall. One end of it had been torn off and dirt and stone served as the new wall. Most of the walls were dominated by heavy metal consoles, curved metal chairs, and screens, a few of which were on but flickered irritatingly. One chair still had a fossilized alien skeleton in it. Bill had put his top hat on it.

His supplies were piled haphazardly on consoles and the floor; all Mabel saw in his food pile was shelf-stable junk food and drinks. The air somehow felt more damp in here than it did outside with the rain. The chairs didn't have cushions, the floor didn't have carpet; everything was hard and cold and dark. She didn't even see a door for a bathroom in here. This was where Bill was staying?

"The Mystery Shack is safe for now," Bill said. "Just wait until Stanley decides to take another swing at me, or Dolores poisons my dinner again—or Ford changes his mind, dunks me in the bathtub, and doesn't let me back out."

"They wouldn't..." Mabel trailed off. She tried to imagine how mad Stan would be when he found out Bill was alive, and had to concede he might.

"Even if it was safe—why would I go back to that sorry makeshift prison?" Bill hopped up into one of the tilted alien chairs. There was a weird extended bit designed for alien anatomy that curved up at the end of the seat and forced Bill to straddle the chair rather than sit in it normally; it didn't look comfortable. "After almost a month and a half, I'm finally free!"

"Free inside a tiny bubble around the town," Mabel protested. "To live in a... weird little metal dirt room."

"Freely moving inside the entire barrier is a lot better than freely moving through half a shack! Surrounded by people who want me dead! I don't even get full privacy when I'm using the toilet—that's the bare minimum humans offer as basic respect! You don't know how many times I've been walked in on!"

"Do you even have a toilet here?"

Bill hesitated. "There's a—there are gas stations within walking distance."

"How are you gonna get into the restroom?"

"Fine, I'll dig a pit or something, all right? The point is, whatever I do, at least I can do it in freedom!"

He hadn't planned this through at all, Mabel realized. He'd only thought as far ahead as finding food and shelter that would last him the next couple of days. "But..." She gestured at the pathetic room around them. "The shack's got a proper roof and a shower and real food—wouldn't that be better than this?"

Bill scoffed "Only humans care about roofs and showers, and the idea of 'real' food is a social construct I reject!"

He'd be miserable here. Mabel couldn't let Bill do this to himself. "Then don't you wanna be in the shack with your only friend on Earth?" She gave him a pleading look. "Would you really rather spend the rest of summer in some dumb old busted alien ship?"

There was a flash of light reflected in the dark as Bill's eyes turned away from Mabel.

"Bill?"

He didn't respond. He trudged past her, halfway up the walkway out of the ship, and stopped there, his back to Mabel, hands on his hips, staring out into the rain. He sighed. "Kid, you're trying to give me Stockholm syndrome."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means I'll think about it," Bill said, voice flat. "Go back to the shack."

Before Mabel could move, Bill said, "Hold on. Let me teach you that umbrella spell first." He turned and descended back into the ship. "And when's the last time you ate? Human bodies act pathetic if they don't get glucose every three hours. Get some lunch, it's a long bike back to the shack." He gestured at his meager food supplies.

She rummaged through the foil bags and colorful boxes and grabbed some Chipackers and sour gummy dolphins.

Bill sat near her, grabbed a bag of jerky for himself, and said, "And tell me about that concert you abandoned me to my doom for."

####

4:00 p.m.

Bill escorted Mabel down off the cliff—and, at her request, let her borrow the flashlight and wiggle the floating platform back and forth a little as they descended. He took back the flashlight when she nearly crashed the platform and killed them both.

"Where'd this come from?" Mabel asked, poking the stone. "Did the aliens make this, too?"

"Nope! This is good old local Earth magic. Ever hear of Caterpillar Man?"

"Is that some kind of superhero?"

"Afraid not. Well—ever hear of Grendel?"

"Uh-uh."

They were nearly at the ground now. "I think I'll tell you next time."

As the platform lifted him back up, Bill watched Mabel wheel her bike through the trees, slowly heading toward the main road back into town.

For a midsummer day, it was chilly in the rain.

####

Monday, 1:03 a.m.

And it was even chillier in the post-midnight dark when he knocked on the Mystery Shack's door.

####

(Eager to hear what y'all think now that you've seen the full story of how Bill survived—last week once Dipper and Mabel's roles were revealed, I think most folks thought that fully explained how Bill faked his death. ;) Next week is probably a double length chapter, because there's no graceful way to break it in half and also it'd be nice to get this plot arc wrapped up before The Book of Bill comes out lmao.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 5 months

Text

You know know those fics that make one of the waynes a halfa?

I’m just saying, do ectoblasts have the ability to be shaped to the wielder’s will?

Because if so..

——————————

“This is fucking stupid.”

Jason huffed as he tried to push out another blast from his palm.

“It only feels stupid because you’re not used to it.”

“Of course I’m not used to it. Pretty sure the people who would find this natural would be tamarans.”

Sweat was building under his brow as the green flickered in his palm as he braced his arm and took aim.

The glass broke with a shatter but more to the force of the new crater in the old car they were using in the junkyard than his aim.

Danny hummed as he inspected the damage, Jason plopped down with a huff.

“You’re putting too much of yourself into the blasts. You’re draining yourself with each shot.”

Jason raised a middle finger in the general direction of his compatriot,

“You said it was like the baster, when the things’ crappy battery fucks off I just kind of shove all the energy I can into it hope for the best.”

Danny felt gravity suddenly take hold of him as he jolted, with a quick dip into the ground he righted himself to gawk.

“What?!”

“What?” Jason parroted back, “what’s with that look?”

Danny brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second before asking,

“Dude.. how have you not passed out yet?”

“Spite and audacity. Mainly spite.”

“No shit.”

Danny moved so that he was facing Jason with consternation,

“Jay.. how do I best explain this? Yes, you are the power source both, you do power both the ectobasts and the blaster. The problem is that you are not taking into account that you are not a blaster.”

Jason snorted,

“Yeah no shit I’m not.”

“No you don’t- wait let me just-“

Danny reached inside of himself and pulled out a wrist ray.

“So normally these guys only have about two shots before they need to naturally charge, what we do when we force our ecto into the battery is the equivalent of a super charge. The thing is, the battery has a natural cap to how much ecto it can take. If it didn’t it would just turn into slag.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Jay, you don’t have that cap because you are both the power source and the battery when you ectoblast. You don’t have a power cap other than what you can make at a time!”

Jason blinked for a second,

“So what you’re saying is i have basically been hail marry-ing it whenever I have been dealing with these stupid things!?”

“Hey this is good actually!”

Danny as he raised to his feet,

“you’ve been accidentally doing endurance training and nowww we know what was wrong. We just need to give you a better mental visual to help you! What’s a weapon you know that will make yourself limit your ecto? It’ll have to be a projectile and your ability to visualize it has to be almost instinctual, can’t have you fudging up because of a cloudy mind-“

And one would think that Jason’s mind would go to his guns. His primaries that he kept with him wherever he went.

But guns were complex things. How well maintenance, what types of mods, and the ammo; there was a lot of small things that went into a gun.

Further more how would he hold his hands to shoot?

No, his mind didn’t go to his guns.

————————

There was something new up red hood’s sleeve.

Something different.

It was green and didn’t come out often, but it was never a good day when they did.

When a gang had Hood pinned with limited ammo they thought they had finally did the impossible and toppled the crime alley boss.

Only to watch one of their associates get cratered into the nearby wall with a groan from the impact of a glowing blur.

Ted gaped at the fallen member and was only able to let out a confused,

“Was that a green batarang?!?”

Before all hell broke loose.

#dp x dc #writing prompt #danny fenton #dc x dp #jason todd #halfa jason #just had this thought on the bus #ectorangs!#fanfiction prompts #fanfic #i chose jason because he was there and i went that will do #any batfam will do tho #dead birds fly au

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mawofthemagnetar · 8 months

Text

Father's Day

“So, hold on a minute,” Iskall held his hands up, “back up, because I must have missed that. You’re a FATHER?”

“Well, yeah?” Jevin shrugged, scrolling through his comm, “What’s so hard about that to believe?”

Iskall, by way of a reply, simply gestured at Jevin’s person from his head to his slimy feet.

“So? Okay, yeah, I guess it- is a little hard to fathom. I do, uh, have a certain- aura of coolness around me. But yeah, no, I’m a dad. And a damn good one, too. I mean, a slime-dad, which is a little different than a regular dad. But for a slime-dad, I’m top-shelf. Of course.”

“Uh-huh. And how does a slime-dad differ from a regular dad?” Iskall folded his arms.

“I don’t gotta, uh, chase after my kids as much as you guys do. They’re pretty much ready to go once they hit full-size. I do my bit by checking up on them periodically. Anyway, point is, I gotta go. My kids are throwing a father’s day bash, and I can’t be late.”

Iskall rubbed his temples.

“Okay, couple questions. One, father’s day was three months ago. Two, is there a Missus Jevin you’ve got stashed away somewhere? Or a Mister Jevin? Or-“

“…Why would another person be involved?” Jevin asked, tilting his head with a squish of slime, “Like, literally, why? Who needs help to become a parent?”

“…Uh…you know what? No. You want to learn about the parrots and the bats, go talk to Keralis.”

“Sure, whatever. Anyway, to answer your second question, it’s ‘cause if you try to do father’s day on the actual, like, day, renting a big enough hall is stupid expensive and it’s all just kind of dumb. And a hassle. So we host it whenever.”

Jevin glanced up from his comm.

“Wanna come? Meet my kids, I mean.”

Iskall rubbed his forehead.

“Sure, why not. Hit me with it.”

They tapped their comms together, and Jevin clacked his jaw together- the slime equivalent of a smile.

“Okay, so uh…All my kids know you guys as their aunts and uncles. So if they start calling you “auntie Iskall-“

“-Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m used to it.” Iskall nodded, “Should I wear something special?”

Jevin waved a hand.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re fine as you are. Anyway, let’s go. Not good to keep my kids waiting!”

And Jevin tapped a few options on his comm and vanished.

Iskall shrugged, tapped over to his server list, and selected the option for the Hub, with the teleport coordinates visible in the centre.

He tapped it, and vanished.

When Iskall opened his eyes again, he was standing outside a colossal building, looking like some kind of conference centre. It was made of smooth quartz, with a fake parking lot full of fake vehicles that had clearly taken some builder a long time to put together.

Jevin was standing there, tapping his sneaker impatiently, the blue slime slosh-slosh-sloshing against the ground.

“Alright, c’mon, let’s get moving.” Jevin huffed, “We’re already a couple minutes late, and my kids worked really hard to put this on.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” Iskall muttered, brushing off his pants and following Jevin towards the doors.

Iskall was assuming that Jevin’s family would have set up a few tables in a corner. He was a slime; and the way Jevin was talking, Iskall had assumed a big family. Maybe ten kids? That would be a pretty big family.

Then Jevin and Iskall stepped into the conference hall.

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, DAD!”

Several thousand slimes bellowed all at once, a wall of sound so deafening that Iskall could feel his bionic eye nearly shake out of its housing.

He blinked his one eye, darting it around the room in shock. There were hundreds of small tables around which sat an unfathomable number of slimes in all colours of the rainbow. The room was a riot of wild fashion choices, and a deafening rumble of clattering bones and squelching bodies.

“I- I-” Iskall stammered, as he reached up and tightened the nut holding his robotic eye onto his skull’s mounting post.

“HEY EVERYONE!” Jevin shouted back, “THANK YOU!”

“Is that Uncle Iskall?” a deep voice said eagerly, “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“You have…THOUSANDS…of children. Not ten. Not twenty. Not even a hundred. THOUSANDS.” Iskall stammered.

“Yeah. I’m, uh, the father of all slime hybrids. It’s not a big deal, to be honest. Some other slime would’ve absorbed a skeleton and decided to think about itself if I hadn’t.” Jevin shrugged.

“All. Of them. ALL OF THEM.” Iskall clutched his head in his hands.

“Yeah? It’s not that difficult. You just, like, shed some slime on a large enough pile of biomass, it’ll grow into a kid. How is this so confusing for you? That’s probably where humans come from.” Jevin shrugged.

He rubbed his slimy hands together with a hideous squelch, and started traveling through the room, eagerly greeting each and every one of his kids.

Iskall staggered over to the snack table, piled high with compost, cinderblocks, and beer. He popped a bottle, and started chugging it.

#magnetar writes #Jevin Fic #Iskall fic #I've had this thing in my documents for about half a year and I finally polished it up #I hope you enjoy

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bittencandy · 7 months

Text

𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖐

◈ 𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫'𝔰

. toxic relationship themes: controlling behavior, possessiveness, mammon being mammon.

◈ If there was one thing in your relationship with Mammon that you hadn't quite gotten used to yet, it would be how cold he is. Sure, he isn't horridly so. But he's chilly enough that it can surprise you when he touches you when you aren't expecting it. Mostly when he isn't wearing his gloves, the smooth leather working as a buffer between the subtle frost of his palms and your skin. The first time you had felt his bare flesh against your own you had to will yourself not to jerk and move out from underneath his grip from instinct alone. He gets a kick out of it. Seeing how you squirm from the gentle chill. He'll often sneak up behind you, pulling a pair of his gloves off to slip his bare hands underneath your shirt randomly throughout the day and night, reveling in the way that you gasp aloud at their contact. He enjoys it even more when you turn around to scold him. He'll blink at you cluelessly while you glare up at him with insults on your tongue. He loves to play dumb, even when the smile on his face is just a bit too sharp, too big to be truly apologetic or perplexed.

◈ Due to his chilly body temperature; his body's inability to produce its own heat, he will absolutely use you to steal yours. Any amount of warmth that your body generates, from a lot to a little, it doesn't matter, he will latch onto you like a leech to soak it into his skin. You've practically become a portable heater for the King of Greed at this point, with him toting you around like you're a sack full of feathers, regardless of your height or weight, he will scoop you up with a pair of his arms and secure you to his body. Or he'll have you perched up on his shoulder like some kind of parrot. If you happen to be latched onto him at any point of the day, held within the cradle of his arms or draped along him, he will have you hand feed him food. Whatever he's craving, really. Anything from a bag of potato chips to cupcakes. The healthiest thing he's ever had you feed him was grapes, but you were pretty sure he just did that because you were out in public, and he wanted to "look regal."

◈ But his desire to hold you also stems from a place of possession as well. It's a silent yet bold way to communicate that you're his without having to say a single word. And his possessive tendencies definitely know no bounds. He absolutely loves it when you wear his colors or anything that could be linked to his image or brand. Anything from diamond and money motifs, shades of green or gold, or if you're bold with it and outright wear his merch and clothing that sports his name or sigil. It strokes his ego like nothing else. Especially if you wear it at your own accord and he doesn't have to convince you to, he'll be so smug about it; practically gloating with that wide smile stretched out across his face and his ego having inflated about ten times bigger than it already is. Like it needs to get any bigger.

◈ He makes chokers out of his web - collars really and keeps them snuggly secured around your neck at all times. It takes a while for the silk threads to wear down and weaken (typically a few weeks), and as soon as one does it's swiftly being replaced by another, more sturdier string of webbing. But you can't deny that you have a soft spot for the little DIY necklaces. You feel a little sentimental, balmy warmth flutter in your chest every time you catch sight of them in the mirror. And it's an added plus that they're gorgeous in their delicate, silvery glint; reflecting traces of light in a soft green and purple glow with a sort of iridescent shimmer.

If he's feeling particularly clingy, he may also weave bracelets for both your wrists and ankles for you to wear. He gets upset whenever you wear something may cover them up. Anything that's has long sleeves or a shirt with a high neckline that may keep the choker concealed. The first time you had worn a top that covered up your throat and forgot to slip the webbed necklace out from underneath the fabric he had taken a personal offence to it. Plucking at the fabric of your shirt with his face twisted up in a scowl, the burning chartreuse of his eyes narrowing at the top like its existence was a crime. "What the fuck is this?" He had sneered, eyebrow raising with a curious sort of disdain while he snagged the front of your shirt with the point of his claw; the only thing that kept it from ripping into the material of your top was the glove covering the lethal edge. "You trying to hide our relationship? Does it embarrass you?" An absolute drama queen, really.

◈ A billionaire he is but a sugar daddy he is not (at least not in the typical sense). Mammon clings to every bit of money he finds, hundred-dollar bills, fives and ones and pennies. He does not care. He's taking it and he won't spend it. Not even on himself. That's the thing with greed, is no matter how much you have, it's never enough. He acts like if he were to spend even a single cent that it would tip him into a financial ruin that he'd never recover from. He cherishes every single ounce of cash that he gets to a concerning degree, but you knew that long before you even started dating him. Regardless, it still was a little disturbing when you walked in on him talking to the bags full of money he had collected after one of his concerts. He was clutching the filled burlap sacks to his chest, breathing in the scent of the bills like they were laced with some sort of drug while he mumbled praises and drooled over them. Even worse was when he caught sight of you watching him and his eyes had turned into slits, zeroing in on you with an animal sort of instinct like you were some kind of threat. "Get the hell out of here!" He snarled, reaching for the bags of cash and the scattered bills that had managed to spill from his fervent hold. "Trying to steal my fucking money! Trying to touch it with your dirty, greedy hands! I dare ya to even fuckin' try it!" You had been quick to back out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you with a confused look pinching your face. You're like, ninety-nine percent sure that he may have gotten off to his stockpile of cash before.

He also counts it obsessively and he remember every single amount that he had. Down the cent. If so much as a penny goes missing, he absolutely loses his mind.

◈ You had learned a long time ago not to ask him for money. Case and point when you had asked him for a five-dollar bill, all because you had forgotten your wallet before you left the house and wanted a fountain drink. An otherwise harmless request, but then he had accused you of being a 'gold-digger' while you were standing in front of the soda machine. That little comment had resulted in an argument in the middle of the gas station while the cashier and customers watched in fascination.

But even with his stingy ways, that's not to say that he doesn't spoil you. But it's done in his own way. If he gifts you something, you know for a fact that he didn't pay for it. Everything that he gets, he obtains by abusing his status as a Sin or by name dropping. Reservations at the most exclusive restaurants and clubs, 'buying' clothes from the most praised shops and designers, trips to the best resorts, they're all achieved simply from his name alone. He doesn't pay a single dime. And if some tries to reject him because he refuses to pay the booking fee for a reservation, or if they claim that he 'stole' from a store - let's be honest, he totally did- they're going to find themselves on the top of the Sin's shitlist. No one gets away with refusing the King of Greed and escapes with their social image or life still intact. He's not above ruining other demons to get what he wants. His shame is nonexistent, so if someone tells him 'no' then their body may be found lying amongst the toxic garbage and ruble in one of the many landfills of the Greed Ring.

But he does greatly care about how he's perceived by the masses, and considering that you're in a relationship with him, your image must also be presentable at all times. He can't run the risk of you damaging his image. So you learned a long time ago to abuse the usage of his name in order to get what you want. Eventually you didn't even have to mention Mammon. Everyone and the Seven Rings of Hell were quick to catch onto your relationship with the Sin, and by proxy, they learned who you are. If you want something, all you have to do is tell them your name, and what you want is as good yours. It doesn't matter if it's a pair of shoes, a car, or a house. There's only a handful of people that would say no to the Embodiment of Greed, and by extension, you. So yes, you absolutely exploit the privileges of being Mammon's lover, so what?

◈ He expects you to be at all of his shows. It doesn't matter if the events are back-to-back and they all have the same set and routine, you're supposed to be there. Front row. Every. Single. Night. No excuses. And you get extra points if you're wearing his merch. Not going to lie, he's tried to get you to pay for an admission fee, even though he had asked you - invited you, to be at his show. You're the only demon in the history of Hell who will ever get into these events for free. Because you have always been adamant on telling him no. Even when he practically threw a tantrum the first time, skulking around the house, groaning and sighing and mumbling to himself like you were the most unagreeable person on the planet. And the term "mumbling" is used loosely. It could hardly be addressed that way when he was talking to himself in a way that made it more than apparent that he wanted you to hear. Calling you "ungrateful" and "money hungry" and "cheap." The complete bastard.

After he (quickly) figured out that there was no way in Hell that you were going to spend your hard-earned money on his shows, and once you had officially become exclusive (which didn't take long considering his possessive nature) he had moved you from the front row seats and onto one of the overhanging platforms, constructed from his webbing and stationed at every concert. Always safely seated above the raging, downright feral fans as they all clamor against the edge of the stage to get closer to Mammon while he gloats and preens underneath all of the attention. But even with the majority of his focus on performing and giving the crowd some half-assed speech - a large sum of it never failing to be some means to promote whatever new product he's trying to sell - he always wants you to be in his line of sight at all times. He'll lose his composure if you aren't, struggling to keep himself together on stage while his eyes scan the shifting sea of bodies for you, balling a hand up into a fist while he forces himself to save face as not to alarm his fans to his frazzled, irritated internal state.

◈ This is where more of his webbing comes into play (this is a headcanon that's been mentioned by a few other writers, and I'm inclined to agree that he'd do it). You know those parents who put their kids on a leash? Yeah, he does that with you. But instead of a leash, he has a thread attached to some part of your person to keep track of you at his Clown Pageants or other shows. It's something usually saved for when the choker around your neck and the bracelets around your wrists aren't enough. This is for scenarios when he needs to find you. When there's a potential of you becoming lost. He also likes the power of being able to pull you back over to him if he feels like you're taking too long on returning back to his side or if he feels that you've wondered too far from him. It annoys you to no end, especially considering that last time you had allowed him to attach his web to you and he had grown impatient with you quickly. You had been in the midst of ordering a funnel cake from the built-in concession stand, and apparently, you had taken just a minute too long because before you could even get your hands on the food, you were being tugged by the waist and dragged through the hallway and the crowd until you were returned back to your place on his web. It was humiliating and stupid, but you had been able to form a simple way to communicate with each other through tugging at the thread. Like one pull indicated that you were leaving for something to eat, two was a bathroom break, and three was a silent way of saying "hold on, give me a minute." He'd learned to be a little bit more patient with the addition. But the best that you'd gotten him to reciprocate is with an insistent, set of tugs on your thread that easily let you know that he's impatient and teetering on the edge of his self-restraint while he waits for you to come back. He's getting better though. Sort of.

◈ It's already been stated, Mammon is awfully possessive over you. Most likely something to do with being the incarnation of Greed, but Mammon doesn't share. The very idea of it will have his mood declining; electricity sparking around his body, cracking and snapping across the atmosphere in flashes of burning neon. He'll get scathing and mocking with anyone who he feels is a threat to your relationship, regardless of gender. If he gets the impression that there's even the possibility of them moving your attention from him and onto them, then they're already on the fast track to his blacklist. At best he may just insult and belittle them. That's the absolute best-case scenario. Mammon's made plenty of bodies disappear in his lifetime and he has absolutely no problems with adding another one to that list.

◈ He's very touchy. He's always in contact with you in some way, at all times, which circles back to the webbing and how he's keen on holding you against his body. It translates to when he's speaking to you as well. Such as nudging your chin with his fingertips to direct you attention onto him; cupping your face with a pair of his hands; pulling you towards him by your waist and arms; lifting you up to move or sit you onto chairs or places that are more convenient for him. It kind of goes hand in hand with how he uses his height to intimidate other demons. Nine times out of ten, he's one of the tallest, if not the tallest person in the room, and so his size is one of his go to means to frighten others, and crowding past their personal boundaries is just another way to force his presence over them. He doesn't do it to scare you, but it's become such an instinctual thing for him that he doesn't even second guess it. It's fully in his nature to do it. It runs along that vein of his greed; the entitlement he feels to other demon's personal space.

◈ He knows how his presence affects you. How that magnetic thrum that always seems to be pulsing around him like a soft electrical current, prickling at your skin always sends a shiver down your spine. He's aware of how much you like his scent, too. Those warm notes like leather, full with that particular type of musk that wafts from dollar bills, buttery and soft like linen. But he knows that it's his voice in particular that's your favorite. That you especially love the accented lilt that cradles each and every word that comes out of his mouth. It's a particular weakness in your armor that he exploits shamelessly. He knows that all he has to do is dip his voice down into that low coo, all soft with a subtle rumble and you're as good as his. It was a vulnerability that you had tried to hide in the beginning of your relationship, but Mammon being Mammon had noticed your fondness for his voice pretty early on. Mostly because you were absolutely horrid at hiding your affection for his accent. You'd have to physically force yourself from practically melting underneath the sound of that pleasant yet scratchy cadence, pulling your focus onto literally anything else to try and keep from turning into a pile of mush. . . or bursting into laughter. The way that he breaks into a loud string of swears and casual insults never fails to amuse you. Particularly the way that he stresses the word "fuck" so aggressively. Especially the "u" vowel until it almost sounds close to an "a" pronunciation; you have an awful soft spot for it.

◈ He uses his voice and his eyes to get out of everything. He can be extremely expressive, and if he's done something to anger or irritate you, he will try and use his big eyes to weasel his way back into your good graces. Believe it or not, he's very good at pulling the wounded puppy dog look when he wants to, but you're proud to say that you have gotten better at resisting the adorably pathetic faces he's able to make. Much to his chagrin. He absolutely hates it when you give him the silent treatment, and you try to use it is a kind of last resort. You'd much rather try to have a mature conversation with Mammon and sort out whatever is causing a rift or disagreement between the both of you. But sometimes when it comes to dating someone as egotistical as him, juvenile methods are the only tactic that prove to get through to him. He practically goes through the five stages of grief whenever you ignore him.

The first being denial: He'll scoff when he realizes that you aren't speaking to him. Almost more amused than he is annoyed. "Are you really going quiet on me? Psshh, whatever. You'll be back to talkin' my fucking ear off in few minutes anyway. You know you can't ignore me for long."

Anger: Once it finally sinks in that you aren't going to speak to him, he become visibly agitated. His face will twist up into a combination of a pout and a sneer, and he'll start grumbling to himself, huffing swears and complaints under his breath as you go about your day like he doesn't even exist, before his rambling dips into full blown rants. It gets even worse if you chose to leave the house - especially without telling him. That might just be the ultimate insult. He'll pretend that it doesn't bother him at all. That he hardly notices your absence or the fact that you were able to just leave without so much as a backward glance in his direction. It's fine. He doesn't need you. You're the one who needs him. So, when you don't even so much as send him a text or give him a phone call while you're out and ignoring him it has his mood plummeting down into something burning and suffocating.

When you come home from being out, either after hanging out with friends or just having a quiet solo night out on the town, he's on you in an instant, crowding into your space with those bright green sparks pulsing around him in a seething magnetic flare. "I don't even have to have you here. You've been gettin' real fuckin' cocky lately, acting like I couldn't find ten other bitches just like you. I could have you replaced in the blink of an eye, and it wouldn't bother me the fucking slightest."

It's something that should send you running for the hills, or at the very least, get under your skin. But his little tantrums never do. It's just his way of trying to get a rise out of you. To make you just as angry as he is so that you'll break and shout at him; cuss him out to get back at him. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of doing that. You always just level him with a collected stare instead, with a challenge glinting in your eyes. A wordless, "I dare you to."

He never does.

Bargaining: This is when the exasperation settles in, though with his inflated sense of pride it usually takes him a bit to get here. But once he finally does, his first instinct is to try and bribe his way back into your good graces. Mammon is very unused to concept of actually having to work for something. His sense of entitlement is as vast as the Seven Rings combined, and the idea of having to make an effort for anything is such a foreign concept. He's so used to getting his way because of his status alone, so whenever you fail to give into his sway it always leaves him a little bit baffled. He tries to tempt you with gifts and dates, and whenever you refuse the proposals, it leaves him utterly lost and infuriated.

"C'mon. How's about we go to that restaurant ya like so much? "

"You know, that movie you wanted to see is playing tonight. I could kick everyone out the entire theater if you want. How's that sound? Just you an' me with no one to bother us."

"You seriously can't still be ignoring me. This shit's gettin old. Let's just put it behind us, yeah?"

Depression: There will become a change in his physical demeanor once the defeat settles in. Not enough to tip off anyone who doesn't know him well enough. To the untrained eye he's still his usual self. Still just as cheerful and brazen as ever, with his sarcasm and ego just as unaffected as it always is. But even then, you're always able to notice the tension in his shoulders. How the corners of his sharp grin seem just a bit too tight, like he's forcing it on. Whenever he's out of the eye of the public, the fractures in his jovial facade really crumble. Even when he's trying to keep his composure around you, stubbornly trying to pretend that your silence really hasn't affected him. He gets genuinely mopey like this, and the wounded puppy dog expression pulled at his features is actually real this time. But he'll still deny that the heavy frown on his face isn't because of you; he just doesn't feel like smiling, that's all. The irritated way that he's been snapping at everyone as of late; he just woke in a bad mood for an entirely different reason. He's not upset over you, don't flatter yourself.

Acceptance: Mammon doesn't come to a point of acceptance, per say. He'll never admit "defeat" or apologize for whatever it is that he's done wrong. You're pretty sure that Mammon would combust into a roaring billow of flames and ash before the words "I'm sorry" ever make it past his lips. And when he does apologize, it's done so subtly and in a physical manner, usually with him scooping you up and clutching you to his chest until all of those fuzzy, warm feelings build up within you and drown you from the inside out until you find yourself instinctively reciprocating. Or he'll try another route, such as making you laugh. He is a performer if nothing else, and he knows your sense of humor very well. He'll try to be subtle about it first, mumbling jokes to himself in a way that comes across as organic, like he's ranting to himself about his day while you happen to be in the same room or within the nearby vicinity; close enough to overhear him. He'll try anything, regardless of what type of humor you have. Dark humor, lighthearted jokes, puns, physical comedy, whatever you're suspectable to, he'll get you to crack eventually.

It's either that, or eventually you'll be the one to give in first. Only able to ignore Mammon for so long before you sucked into your affections and endearment and then you're the one seeking him out.

◈ He throws parties. All the time. And every single one of them honors him in some type of fashion. He had two separate celebrations for his birthday, twice in a single year. The dates were entirely made up, neither of them lining up with day that he was actually created, but no one so much as batted an eye. There are exclusive parties thrown after his Clown Pageants and concerts. The price of admission is astronomically high, which kills you inside because he doesn't even pay for these events, he has benefactors do it for him. They pay a pretty penny for these parties too, with Mammon hiring contortionists, and fire breathers, and they're always lavishly decorated. But you can't complain too much about it because your birthdays are always insane. Each year is a different theme, and the furnishings and ornaments alone would take ten lifetimes for you to be able to afford.

◈He has several different costumes that he wears for a variety of occasions. One of his most exuberant outfits has to be the one constructed from gold silk. The material is tapestried and what must be thousands of coins threaded into the fabric that chime and jingle with even the slightest movements. How he manages to move around underneath the weight of all that gold is a mystery. But your favorite costume of his has to be the one fashioned from all of the currency in the human world; various and authentic bills that are layered up on top of each other in a variety of colors. From green to purple and orange. It's as gaudy as it is beautiful, but you mostly like it because it makes him look like a rainbow piñata. He's even had similar outfits made for you, so that you'll match. They aren't as loud or opulent as his are, but that works just fine for you.

◈ His shame knows no limits. He actually had a fundraiser before, for people to donate to him so that he could become richer than he already is. He had even lamented about it in a video online, sharing with the masses that it had been an aspiration of his ever since he was young. That if each one of them donated a single dollar, that he could reach his dream. Honestly, you could hardly even blame him for it because demons had actually donated.

◈ If there's a snack that you're saving for later, you might as well as expect it to be gone. Nothing is sacred for Mammon, so if he finds your leftovers or a little treat that you've been saving for yourself in the fridge or in the kitchen cabinets, there's 99% chance it's going to be gone by the time you come back for it. You had learned this the hard way when you had walked into the kitchen one night, eager to finish up on some of your favorite candy after a long, exhausting day. When you crossed the threshold, the sight that greeted you had you freezing still. There was Mammon, standing in at the kitchen counter with a familiar bag clutched in one of his hands, cheeks swollen around a big mouthful. His vision was already locked onto you, but he didn't appear to be worried or guilty that he had been caught in the act. His green eyes swept over you, fully relaxed and unbothered before he tilted his head back to pour the remaining scraps from the bag into his mouth, swallowing it down in a single gulp.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

The only response he had gotten was you ripping off one of your shoes and hurtling it at him full force.

You now know to hide all of your meals and snacks from him. But on the flip side, he gets irritated and upset if you happen to do the same thing to him and eat his junk food. Cue an angry tirade about how you're selfish and don't care about hurting his feelings. He'll glare at you with betrayal and outrage if you eat off of his plate or steal a fry from his meal whenever you go out to eat. If looks could kill, you would have doubled over and died from the searing heat glinting in his eyes a long time ago. Does it stop you from doing it? No.

◈He's a bed hog too. When he sleeps, he spreads all six of his limps out like a starfish, covering up nearly every square inch of space with his body. In the very beginning of your relationship, when everything was still new and a little uncertain, you would curl up at the edge of the bed. And the "very beginning" means the first two days. Your patience was quick to go out of the window. You would try to shove him away from you to make room for yourself, but once Mammon fully passes out, he's virtually dead weight. And he won't budge no matter how much you try and get him to shuffle over. Now you just sleep on top of him instead. Not that you can complain about it much. With the feel of him underneath you, sturdy but soft, surrounded by the scent of him and the subtle chill of his body, it usually has you passed out in a matter of seconds. This has a tendency to backfire because whenever you wake up in the morning, he has each arm securely wrapped around your body with his hands gripped onto your clothes like you're some kind of teddy bear. It's impossible to escape from his grip when he's like this and waking him up is a feat all in its own. Fizz once suggested waking up the Sin by airhorn, claiming that it worked for him. You had seriously thought about it, but knowing your luck Mammon would probably strangle you in his sleep if you did that.

Oh, yeah, he snores and drools in his sleep too. He also talks every once in a while, as well. "Talk" is generous. He kind of rants in his sleep. You're privy to a lot of gossip and drama because of this little habit of his.

◈ He uses you as a kind of stress ball. Especially whenever he's carrying you around. You'll find him squeezing various parts of you throughout the day, such as your cheeks, your ass, your chest, regardless of their size, he'll be palming them at some point. It's mostly absentminded, like it's some kind of involuntary urge that he has, and the more stressed he is, the more he'll do it. But he does it on purpose as well. You can always tell when it is based on that mischievous glint he gets in his eyes. You can't hold it against him all that much though, you do the same thing to him plenty. He always pretends to be annoyed whenever you return the gesture by pinching at the swell of his face or groping his chest, but he leans into the attention. Melting underneath the warmth of your palms like a big house cat.

◈ He isn't the best at picking up gifts and presents. Mostly because whenever he's out with the intent to pick something up for you, such as for your birthday or a holiday or anniversary, he immediately gets sidetracked with things that he'd like to buy for himself. He usually comes home with both pairs of his arms weighed down by bags and boxes and there's a good chance that less than half of them is even meant for you. He's absolute trash when it comes to finding things that you'd actually like. He'll spend a good five minutes squinting down at a set of shoes wondering if you'll like them (even if you have a similar pair for reference) before he eventually calls it quits and just throws them in the cart anyway. If you don't like it, then you can just get them replaced or swap them out. But he does try in his own way.

◈ A lot of talk circulates around Hell in regard to the Sin's. Anything and everything are discussed. From their personal lives to the clothes they wear, who they associate with and what they had for dinner. It's all under scrutiny from the eye of the masses. So when it was discovered that the King of Green of all demons was in a relationship, it was under evaluation for weeks. No one would have ever guessed that Mammon would ever be the type to find a lover. You had been called a variety of different terms, from a social climber, a gold digger, a prostitute. They were all wondering how royalty managed to fall for someone like you. For a while it didn't bother you. You expected it honestly, but after hearing the same harsh criticisms and gossip day after day, it starts to weigh heavy. You had vented to Mammon, confessed how you worried that you weren't enough, that all of their talk and judgement was starting to crack around the edges.

He cupped your face in both of his palms, directing your attention on him with a hold that was surprisingly gentle. It grounded you, centered you enough to pull you through the restless emotions and worry spiraling around your mind. The softness in his gaze was just as shocking, rare enough to leave you speechless. "Don't pay those bastards any mind, " he assured you, sweeping his thumbs across the jut of your cheekbones as he drew you closer to him with the tug of his other arms. "I only take the best. They're a useless band of losers anyway, so they can go fuck themselves. You're better than them."

It wasn't the most eloquent reassurance you've gotten in your life, but coming from Mammon, it made your body burn with a calming, tender warmth. He was right. You didn't need them or their opinions. They didn't matter. And they never would. Not when you have him.

#helluva boss mammon x reader #mammon hb x reader #hb mammon x reader #mammon hb #mammon helluva boss #helluva boss mammon #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x y/n

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melrosing · 5 months

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What do you think of the Sansa bullied Arya take if you don’t mind me asking (just don’t answer if you don’t want to haha)

per my usual practice on Controversial Topics im putting this under a cut

At the real risk of that lot showing up in my notes again, I think this ‘Sansa bullies Arya’ pins their pre AGOT dynamic squarely on Sansa herself, rather than the way they are both being raised by the adults around them to behave towards one another. Sure, Sansa is mean to Arya sometimes during their childhood! We don’t have a lot of examples besides the oft-mentioned ‘horseface’ insults, but I think it’s fair to assume that more often than not, Sansa was looking down on Arya. Meanwhile, Arya herself feels inadequate and like she just can’t do anything right. She resents Sansa, but also worries that Sansa’s opinion of her may be true.

Fine. But where has Sansa’s opinion of Arya come from? Is it her cold black heart? Fucking no, it’s come from Septa Mordane, Catelyn, and whoever else surrounds them growing up. The men don’t seem to really give much of a shit how Arya acts because it’s not their business and she’s just a kid anyhow, but the women pointedly give many shits. In our first scene with Arya, Septa Mordane scolds her for not being good at ‘women’s work’, and there’s plenty to suggest that this is just another day in the life for Arya. Meanwhile, Sansa gets the carrot for excelling. Both Arya and Sansa are learning their own worth in this chapter, and the worth of one another. Sansa internalises the praise whilst learning that Arya is bad, and everything she mustn’t be. Arya internalises the criticisms whilst learning that Sansa is good, and everything she can never be.

They’ll be getting this from Catelyn as well. Catelyn clearly adores both her daughters, and will move heaven and earth to get them back in ACOK. But one good adjective for Catelyn is ‘dutiful’ - it’s in her house words, and it’s how she’s lived her life up to AGOT. Doing as she’s told, even when it pains her. She expects the same of her daughters, and finds those expectations satisfied in Sansa’s case, and apparently flouted in Arya’s. So again, from their own mother, Sansa internalises that Arya is bad, and that she, Sansa, is good. Arya internalises the same. If societal standards were reversed, perhaps it would be Arya lording over Sansa, but such as it is, it’s Sansa over Arya.

Now, Sansa is a child. When children are told over and over that X is good and Y is bad, they generally don’t question it, at least until they're older and more experienced in the world. They will also parrot what they hear, often in graceless ways. Because they’re children. Sansa is told that Arya wilfully misbehaves because she’s bad, and so Sansa thinks: then I should look down on Arya. It sounds like Sansa mostly keeps her distance from her sister pre AGOT. Not always - they play together sometimes - but a lot of the time. She has internalised the teaching that Arya is an aberration, and as she herself knows the adults value obedience in girls, and she wants to please them so badly, the distance between her and Arya demonstrates to them just how good she is - she won’t descend to Arya’s behaviour.

When Sansa does interact with Arya (pre Darry), we see her being a bit bossy - telling Arya what to do, etc. Sansa is replicating what she has seen the adults do with Arya, and is mimicking them to assert her own position as the good, obedient child. If Arya ever doesn’t want to do something, it can only be because she’s bad.

[sidenote, it all really reminds me of these short stories me and my sister used to get read a lot as kids, called My Naughty Little Sister (lmao) by Dorothy Edwards. They're pretty old and I don’t think they ever got major circulation outside Britain, but for anyone unfamiliar, you can probably guess how these stories go. There’s an elder sister, good and obedient, who narrates short tales of her ‘naughty little sister’ doing terrible things like idk, making a terrible mess etc, and going ‘now I’m sure you [the child audience] wouldn’t do a thing like that!’ They’re supposed to be short morality tales for the children, and amuse the parent reading them aloud, who recognises the mischievous behaviour of the younger and is charmed by the haughtiness of the elder sister, who you can hear is narrating the incidents of her sister’s mischief with the disdain that she’s heard the adults do so, and is asserting her own good behaviour over said sister. And the whole fucking reason we were read these stories was because my younger sister was precisely the kind of kid who got up to all kinds of shit as a little kid (which now all of us find hilarious but DIDN’T AT THE TIME), and I was the elder sister like ‘my goodness how could she do such things as these!!’ (e.g. paint an entire bookcase with grout). It amused us both to see ourselves in the stories. You could say this was life imitating art, but I think this is simply an age old dynamic, familiar to many people with siblings: you would see how the adults spoke to another child in your family, and replicate their manner in an effort to come across as an adult. Except you weren’t an adult, so you weren’t always as graceful about it as they were. That is pre AGOT Sansa, to a T. And I’m sure that’s what GRRM, a child of three who had two sisters of his own, is replicating here.]

But I think there’s also a loneliness in being the ‘obedient child’. Doing as you’re told all the time can be boring, and living up to expectations is a lot of pressure. Sansa wants a companion in all that, but Arya has no interest in sharing in it. Arya is offering friendship, but from a place Sansa believes she can’t reach her sister - Sansa thinks she’d have to ‘descend to Arya’s level’ to accept it, and she can’t do that. You get a sense of Sansa thrilling in trying Arya’s ‘misbehaviours’ for herself when she quietly delights in behaving ‘as wicked as Arya’, but you see in this that she has to condemn such behaviours and herself for exhibiting them, all in the same breath. And in the end, I can easily imagine Sansa resents that Arya has more fun with their brothers than she ever does with Sansa herself: that the one sister she has is one she has nothing in common with. Sansa can’t find a like mind amongst her siblings, and so clings to Jeyne Poole, and the praise of the adults around her.

So with all that in mind, YES! Sansa is sometimes mean to Arya, and calls her horseface. That is because Sansa is a child, nobody is correcting her behaviour, and she understands that Arya is bad, and the way she behaves is frustrating to Sansa herself, so really what does it matter if she’s a little mean sometimes? She knows that she is good, because everyone says so. Even if she calls her sister a name now and then, she’s still the good child.

AND THEN we get to Darry. And Sansa starts to see that society isn’t a song, and sometimes it doesn’t matter how good you are, horrible things can happen to you anyway. But she doesn’t want to believe that, because it would turn her world upside down, and her future would look a lot darker, too - Ned has not ended her engagement to Joffrey, and Sansa has to live for the foreseeable in KL. So when Arya doing the thing she ‘wasn’t supposed to’ (playing with Mycah) snowballs into a terrible miscarriage of justice where Sansa’s wolf is killed, Sansa rejects the notion that the songs could be wrong about beautiful princes, and shifts the blame onto Arya for that original 'misdemeanour'. The grief at losing Lady is terrible too (the wolves are meant to have a soul deep bond with the Stark children), and so the target of that grief likewise becomes Arya. What was previously a normal, childishly complicated sibling relationship gets twisted into something else.

This is where I think Sansa becomes different level of unpleasant towards her sister. She’s cruel about Arya’s loss of Mycah, tells Arya she wishes she were dead instead of Lady, etc etc. Arya is not giving as good as she gets here - she even tries to make amends with Sansa, but Sansa throws the offer in her face.

The reasons for Sansa’s behaviour are complicated, but not that complicated. She’s been raised to slot perfectly into this world, without ever being told what that world is really like. And when abruptly it turns out that what she’s being raised for is essentially the slaughter, she rejects it. She can’t see Joffrey as he truly is: she’s been told that princes are charming, that Kings are just, Queens are kind, and she herself will be a Queen. Sansa is going to be handed over to the Lannisters, and she’s going to live the song of her dreams, and the only thing between Sansa and the realisation of those is the thing that’s always been wrong: Bad Arya. Because again, if Arya isn't bad, then everything else is, and Sansa is in terrible danger.

No one is sitting Sansa down and explaining to her that Arya is not bad, just different from her, and that they should love one another - that there are dark forces here far stronger than them that could tear them apart, that the Lannisters are the greatest of them, and they have to fight together, not each other. Arya gets this talk, funnily enough, but not Sansa. Arya is asked to understand that Sansa is different from her, but Sansa is only ever taught to abhor that her sister as different from her. Where Arya is told to be wary of the court of King’s Landing, Ned leaves Sansa to continue her fantasies, and then, when he abruptly tries to put an end to them, he doesn’t bother to explain why. I’m not saying this is unforgivable on Ned’s part - he has a lot on his mind lol - but it’s quite obviously a major failing. Ned leaves Sansa in a fantasy world. It’s fucking Joffrey who has to step in and clarify for Sansa that actually, she’s been dreaming.

So as long as they’re together, Sansa is never able to come to terms with the fact that Arya was not the aberration, but rather, everything else was. In the absence of one another, they cannot reconcile over that fact. So yes, GRRM says they’ll have deep issues to sort through when they meet again, but those aren’t going to be the times that Sansa called her ‘horseface’ - they’re going to be about what happened since they left Winterfell, when their relationship was twisted by forces much darker than Septa Mordane.

So no, I think the ‘Sansa is a bully’ diatribes are seriously tedious, because even if you want to insist that calling your sister ‘horseface’ a few times even qualifies, you can still accept such wrongs without deciding that that makes Sansa a fundamentally unkind person who cannot be reconciled with Arya and doesn’t deserve to be. It is on the page that the two of them miss each other. Like I genuinely cannot imagine going through everything Arya does in the story and then, upon reuniting with a sister I thought lost forever, deciding I’m actually still mad about the things she got wrong as a child that she herself has paid dearly for, both physically and emotionally. Like jesus fucking christ man. By all means let them talk about it!! But who do you think Arya is lmao

Tl;dr: Sansa is a kid in a society. She is not the arbiter of Arya’s place in society. She is not mean because she’s cruel, but because she has internalised the exact same things that Arya has, based on the example of the adults surrounding them. It just happens that those things were a carrot for Sansa and a stick for Arya. But then in the end, they weren’t a carrot for Sansa either.

tl;dr 2: clarifying once again - i am a jaime stan. i find the stark sister relationship interesting bc I have experience of a similar sisterly dynamic and find it interesting to see a version of that explored on the page. so if you think one has to be a sansa stan to observe all this then that kind of just demonstrates how dichotomous you've become on this issue lol like if I'm talking about takes I dislike re JB I don't generally feel the need to attribute them to JC fandom. let's all grow up x

tl;dr 3: no i don't hate sansa or arya, since i know these are both conclusions various people reach whenever i even mention these two. in fact i think they are both great girls! imagine

#ask #im not tagging them

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