#my brain is being a little stupid right now

[drdemonprince]

Is there a polar opposite of transphobia?

Like I’m a newly transitioned trans man and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me. In a weird way. Like people have started asking me to join committees and talk to youth groups and shit so they have their “representation”. I’m now the token trans person. I live in a small lefty town. People either want to ask me allllll the questions or they are too scared to even talk to me in case they offend me. Suddenly everyone wants to be my friend. I feel like I’ve joined a club I did not agree to sign up to. Like is this normal? Is there a term for it? I have a lot of gay male friends who are awesome, no other trans people local. I’ve started connecting with people online.

I mean some people have been cunts for sure. But mostly it’s nauseating fawning. I know this is a stupid thing to be complaining about but I guess I’m curious.

I’m not that special, I’m actually just an angry little man.

My brother dear, what you are experiencing is a very common combination of the growing visibility & tokenization of being a newly out marginalized person, and the massive increased authority, social trust, social value that comes with being a man.

Welcome to male privilege baby, to put a spin on a far more undermining phrase that typically gets hurled at trans femmes. You will be considered a trustworthy authority on trans issues, a valuable contributor to panels and workshops, a needed (but also highly convenient to access) form of "diversity" for a workplace, a welcome attendee at all manner of events, and you'll be deferred to over women, especially trans women, for pretty much the entire rest of your life, if you continue to remain out about the trans side of things.

Guys like us are invited, centered, included, listened to, treated with respect, treated with WARMTH, viewed as intelligent, perceptive, sensitive, safe, trustworthy, reliable, and desirable to include. In the eyes of the cis public, we are a "safe" kind of trans person who does not make people uncomfortable to look at and who doesn't challenge their pre-existing understanding of gender hierarchy; when they listen to us, they get to trust in the certainty of a MAN giving them information, but they can also feel comfortable and safe around us as a kind of enlightened, sensitive nonthreatening figure.

We're men who can can explain sexism right back to women. We're trans people who went from being subjugated as women to being rewarded with privilege as dudes. In this way, trans men being positioned as an authority figure reinforces the existing gender hierarchy, which feels soothing and right to people's brains.

You will have to be conscious of this power differential for the rest of your life, around cis and trans women alike, because otherwise it plays out in a pretty traditionally sexist fashion: people (especially women) will go quiet when you start speaking, you will be given credit for ideas that were a collective effort, your emotions will be more likely to be taken seriously and seen as a sign of principle rather than weakness, and you will be regarded as special and memorable while dozens of other people and their concerns are passed over.

Another factor that is at play here is a phenomenon that is less specifically gendered, because it does happen to trans women too, and that's the phenomenon of cis groups making the newly-out trans person their token and educator, because typically it is the newly out person whom they have the most access to and power over.

The moment that a trans person transitions they immediately start getting singled out as an expert and resource on the trans experience, asked to lead workshops at their jobs and explain concepts to people and attend events and sit on panels. I think on some intuitive level cis people kinda *know* that the newly out are in a vulnerable, uncertain state and have fewer communities ties and less experience than more seasoned trans people do, and so they make the ideal "translator" of trans experiences to them as an audience.

In cis people's minds, you're not gonna push back, you're not going to complicate their narratives, you're not gonna be tired of answering offensive questions, and you will be freely available to them as a resource, because you've just come out. You'll put a friendly face on transition, one marked by newness and hope, rather than be jaded, complicated, or assertive at them. That's their expectation.

It makes no logical sense to make a newly out member of the community the arbiter of transness or the educator on the trans experience, but it DOES make sense that a powerful group would view such a disempowered and disconnected (relatively speaking) member of the trans community to be the most attractive to include.

Of course, this might not be true to who you actually are. But on a gut level, this is how the newly out trans person is typically seen: nonthreatening, moldable, convenient, so thankful to be included that they won't be angry. And you will be doubly rewarded for fulfilling that role if you are a man.

The only way to upend this narrative being forced onto you is for you to speak up, every single time you are invited to an event, and demand that just as many trans women be included in that event as trans men. Make sure to have a nice list of experienced, wise trans femme friends whom you can recommend as speakers and co-panelists in your pocket.

More often than not, you will be thanked by cis people and rewarded for having the brilliant idea of including women in a conversation about gender minority status. How the trans women in the equation get treated, well, you'll need to pay close attention to, and be ready to stand up and speak out the moment any passive aggressive exclusionary bio-essentialist fuckshit gets going. You can do it! And lots of times you ARE the person with the power to set things right. You're trans and you're being singled out, but you also are a man.

[thatbitchery]

MANIFESTING 102; IF YOU JUST ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT A LITTLE

Today I feel like playing teacher (Avoiding my responsibilities) so lets do this. I alr talked about manifesting and the masculine X feminine and today I want you to see its actually really simple if you just think for yourself instead of mindlessly consuming content and acting like you're stupid or something. like, debunking some myths that you could easily debunk yourself if you just actually thought about this stuff a little :). But I have to do everything in this house I guess

Here is the theory we are running on- You are the universe in a human body in the universe. We all know the Big Bang and how the Universe decided to split itself to create a mirror to define itself bla bla bla you've been in LOA spaces for long enough I'm not re-explaining this. Basically- You are the universe that chose to experience life in YOUR human body. It's a mirror we know this bla bla moving on.

one- The universe does not respond to who you are it responds to what you want. Wanting is not 'lack mindset' its human nature. You are the universe that chose to experience human life, so you are also bound by human nature do you see how that works? Human beings are pretty much the only animals with desire the rest just survive. we want so we make and now we have the Burj Khalifa and Tesla Robots. And that's what the universe respond to- desire. It's like your dad. You say dad this is what I want he says Okay. You don't act like you already have it and then he gives it to you. Matter of fact he won't bc you already have it. It responds to what you WANT not what you ARE. wanting is not 'lack mindset' it's human nature. Again, y'all are committed to demonizing and hating yourself its kinda funny to watch. In a bad way. Don't act like you have it. Act like you want it because you do???? Closed mouths don't get fed? No idc what the vibration people said. Again stop mindlessly consuming content think about it. You're not dumb.

Two- Visualization as in vision boards- yay. Do that stuff. I love that stuff. Visualization as in closing your eyes and experiencing it- PLEASE STAWPPP that sheeet. Listen if you could visualize things into existence maladaptive daydreamers and three quarters of the people in psych wards would run this planet have you thought of that? Because you are not visualizing harder than someone with literal hallucinations. Thats peak visualization that's peak be in the moment feel the feelings 3D doesn't matter if you have it in the 6788D bla bla. And the most annoying part of the visualization people is that ITS RIGHT THERE> Feeling in the moment. Experiencing it. The brain doesn't know the difference between real and imagination. Excellent you are on to something there. Now let's rev back up to the REASON we exist. TO EXPERIENCE life. Why tf would a universe obsessed with new experiences let you experience the same thing twice. And you're right there is no difference if you imagined it or it happened. So you have already experienced that. Moving on to the next chapter closed. No think about it, have you EVER experienced the same thing twice exactly the same way????EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR????? Just think about it.

Three : the 3d doesnt matter what matters is in this astral plane 6788789 light years away in the 688790d you have all your desires- shut up no you don't. The 3D is all you got. This reality is all you will get as long as you are in this body at this moment in this time space reality. I don't usually condemn escapism that hard life sucks so yeah go watch a movie and distract yourself for a while but this is called mental illness and nope slapping cute universy words on it doesn't make it go away. YOUARE SUPPOSED TO EXPERIENCE THE 3D that's why you're here. Just say you hate yourself and show up to a psych ward. There is no secret universe out there this is the one. IF the 3d didn't matter why are you in it. Just think. The 3D IS all that matters actually. This is the most powerful plane you know this. This is the ONLY ONE where you get free will. This is the only one where YOUR DESIRES MATTER. In those other planes you wanna be on so much, you don't even exist as an individual.

Four: The rules of reality don't matter- no ma they do. And you are bound by them. And no you are not special. NO you can't pull a mermaid with wings and fangs from thin air because in this reality that can not happen. You are supposed to EXPERIENCE this reality. You are bound by the laws of time and space and human nature and your country btw and you can't manifest your way out of this. You are GOD as in you have stake in creation not you are God as in you're superior. And honestly, do you even want that? Do you really want to live in a universe with no binding laws? Do you really want people to be able to pull whatever they want from thin air? Have you ever left your bedroom ever? Have you ever seen the light of day, is what I'm asking. You came to live as a human being in THIS time space reality if you don't like it maybe don't choose to come back. And no you can't change the color of your eyes and height and waist size by imagining- ma. You're delusional. You are supposed to experience your life in that body. If you don't like it try plastic surgery. None of us think you have blue eyes just because you tell yourself you do, We will put you in a ward.

Five: You can not 'manifest' a specific animal, especially human. People have free will. Dogs have free will. Animals have free will and if they don't want you it doesn't matter how many time you write I AM MARRIED TO HYUNJIN in red and burn sage and annotate with grobovoi numbers if he doesn't want you back it's not happening. You didn't manifest your ex back he tried with other girls got tired, remembered your desperate easy ass exits and came back for more and he WILL do you worse mark my words. If you are being honest with yourself you like the LOA and manifesting and I and I AM GOD because it makes you feel superior, but then we all are GOD. Unfortunately, no you are not. No you can not force your will over another's and now THAT is lack mindset and honestly so embarrassing me personally I would rather eat glass that chase that hard. And again, do you want to live in a universe where if someone wants you they can just- manifest you? Or do you just want to be the only one with that privilege you selfish prick? If yes, have you ever touched grass?

[starmieknight]

Stars Align

The Inconveniencing

17 Again AU: After a disastrous first day with the twins, Stan swears to do better as an uncle. But fate loves playing tricks on him and the magic 8-ball in the attic is more than it seems.

Now on top of having a pair of twelve year olds around the house while he tries to finish the portal and bring his brother home, Stan has to deal with being back in his seventeen year old body! Summer has never been weirder in Gravity Falls.

Prologue, The Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters Pt. 1, Headhunters Pt. 2, Headhunters Pt. 3, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 1, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 2 (previous), The Inconveniencing

Any joy Stan might have felt from his lingering victory over Gideon and the find that came with it was dampened by his brother’s near indecipherable notes.

It was already hard enough to read his fancy handwriting, but having to slog through the sections written in code only to find stupid little observances that he’d hidden just because he could was maddening. Stan had spent their childhood and teenage years going over his brother’s homework to finish his own then another thirty years going over Journal One over and over again until the spine was soft and the pages embedded in his memory. Decoding Journal Two was easier with the first one on-hand, but it wasn’t without its difficulties.

If he hadn’t spent his entire life forcing his eyes to stay on letters with the tendency to get up and move on him while he read, he might have thought Ford had used some kind of magic on the books to keep unwanted eyes out. As it was, he knew that it was just his own brain struggling to keep up and make the words look right.

Reading aloud helped ― he had a better memory when it came to things he could hear rather than trying to retain information by reading, but he only had a few hours in the dead of night to go over the book.

Dipper and Mabel, though safely sequestered in their attic bedroom after a certain point in the night, didn’t do as much sleeping as they claimed to. Stan could often hear knitting needles going a mile a minute even past midnight, or the compulsive clicking of a pen as Dipper tried to beat the protagonists in his mystery novels in solving the case. And, ugh, why did those stupid Sibling Brother novels have to be so popular? Those guys had been jerks even way back in 1960s Jersey.

Shoulda let the Jersey Devil eat them…

Stan hoped the last Journal would help put the others in perspective. He had no delusions about Dipper letting him keep it for long and had spent a good bit of his time between tours working on the old copier in his office. The thing had been a dinosaur long before Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls and he was only slightly worried that it was another crazy invention of his brother’s. Anything was possible with the leftovers Stan had built his life around here. But if he could just make his own copy of the book, Dipper would be none-the-wiser about why Stan was so invested in it.

And he was sure he’d end up spending more time pouring over the book than he wanted to. It just felt like something was missing ever time he read through them. Something hiding right under his nose.

What he wasn’t missing, however, were the pinecones flying over the Mystery Shack’s parking lot.

He paused on his way to the car, having intended on going into town to get craft supplies for a new exhibit, and turned to squint at the roof.

He hoped it wasn’t the gnomes being assholes again.

Creepy, little―

A pinecone hit him square in the face.

“Gah! My nose! It hit me right in the nose!”

“Oh my gosh!” a familiar voice cried in panic.

Dipper.

Now, really ― Stan could let a lot of things go when it came to being a responsible guardian. He was cool like that. And, besides, it wasn’t like he’d had any good role models to base his skills on growing up.

But the kid had just survived a tumble off a cliff thanks to sheer dumb luck and his sister’s quick thinking.

A sister who was standing beside her twin on the roof.

Along with his lumberjack-in-training cashier.

“Wendy Darlene Corduroy!” Stan bellowed, his face red with anger. “You get your ass down here right now and explain yourself!”

“My innocent ears!”

“You too, Mabel Olivia!”

Oi, he really was channeling his mother these days, what with the ‘explain yourself’ and full naming the kids…

“Ah, man. There goes my hideout.” Wendy sighed, unbothered by being caught. The twins, however, looked mortified. “Oh, hey ― it’s my friends!”

Wendy then did something that nearly sent Stan’s teenager body into cardiac arrest.

With all the casual flippancy that her family seemed to possess in spades, Wendy launched herself off the roof, latching onto one of the pine trees that bordered the house and riding it down all the way into the parking lot. She was in her friend’s van and speeding off before Stan could catch her.

“Later, dorks!”

“Later, Wendy!” Dipper cried, his voice cracking painfully. He seemed to have forgotten the situation he was in.

Well, Stan could fix that!

“Mason Alexander Pines! You’d better be down here in the next thirty seconds or your BABBA collection’s goin’ in the Bottomless Pit!”

__________________________________________________________

Maybe it was a bit childish to still be on Dipper's ass the next day, but Mabel was a lot harder to embarrass than her brother. And Dipper still was trying to find excuses about why he couldn't share the journal yet.

 Well, opportunity gave Stan the chance to share a little something of his own!

“Mom used to dress him up in a lamb costume and make him do…” Mabel was telling Wendy eagerly, pausing for dramatic flare.

“The Lamby Dance!” Stan finished for her gleefully, pulling a VHS tape from his jacket and waving it at the kids. 

He'd found it after all, buried in an old box of home movies that Ford had kept buried in the lab. There were even a few reels from the fifties and sixties that Stan just couldn't bring himself to watch. But Dipper’s mortifying childhood memories were free real estate!

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper screeched, his face crimson. “We don't talk about the Lamby Dance! Destroy that tape!”

“Hup, hup, hup.” Stan tutted, easily keeping the VHS tape out of his nephew's reach. “Now, this is a precious memory I treasure. Why would I destroy it? It's not like you can promise me anything in return…”

Dipper groaned dramatically. “Fiiiiine. I'll stay off the roof!”

“Deal!” Stan grinned triumphantly, his expression gaining a slight edge as he watched the boy stomp the tape into oblivion. It was a good thing he had more copies hidden away.

Wendy laughed at the scene, gently ribbing the boy about wearing a costume, when the cuckoo clock in the gift shop signaled the end of the Shack’s hours. 

“Hey, look at that!” she said eagerly, pulling her name tag off and shoving it in her pocket. “Quittin’ time ― the gang's waiting for me!”

And then, much to Stan's surprise, Dipper invited himself and Mabel along with them, spinning a quick yarn about their age.

Stan raised a brow at that but kept his mouth shut, curious about where he was planning to go with this. 

He crossed his arms, looking at the boy expectantly while they waited for Wendy to gather her things.

“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't tell her you're really twelve.” 

“C’mon, Grunkle Stan!” the boy hissed, eyes darting to the doorway nervously. “This is my― our chance to hang out with, y’know, the cool kids! And Wendy’’ll be there!”

“The same Wendy who jumped off my roof yesterday?” Stan asked, his tone flat and unimpressed. He shuddered. Ugh, he sounded like his father.

“Give him a break,” Mabel soothed, eyes twinkling. “He can't help that he's in love with Wendy!” 

She screeched the last part like a particularly excited bird, making Stan grateful he no longer needed his hearing aid. The feedback would have been murder on his ears.

While the twins wrestled in the background over Dipper's apparent crush, Stan mulled over the situation silently.

On one hand, letting them run off with a bunch of teenagers could end horribly. There's no telling what they could get up to, especially in Gravity Falls. 

On the other hand, seeing Dipper grow a little bit of a spine and showing the ol’ Pines’ conman spirit tugged at his heart strings. If the kid honed that mindset just a bit more, he'd be a real chip off the ol’ block.

They'd finally have something in common. 

“I’ll allow it!” Stan declared suddenly, surprising the twins into silence. “But I want to know where you're going and I get to meet the rest of those kids. If you've got a problem with that, I'll tell Wendy the truth and you twos don't go nowhere.”

 The twin shared a look.

“Deal!”

 Stan pressed his lips together tightly and trailed after the kids as they met up with Wendy's friends.

 The teenagers lit up at the sight of her, cheering her name like many townsfolk did for her dad. 

Despite the obvious affection they seemed to have for the girl, something tightened in his chest at the picture they all made. Specifically the twins at the center of it.

Mabel had seemed to charm her way in with the teenagers instantly, like a duck to water. She didn't even fawn over the boys, which relieved Stan.

That was a nightmare he wasn't ready for. Probably never would be. 

He knew the dangers of falling for older men. 

Dipper, meanwhile, was struggling to fit in with the others, leading to an awkward silence in the group. Yeesh ― maybe the kid did have more in common with Ford than he’d thought.

One of the teens took advantage of the silence to notice Stan. A pale, crater-faced kid with dyed black hair and an air of indifferent despair. The Valentinos’ son.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the kid. He’d been an unwanted interloper, who'd hung around the Shack in the early days of Wendy working there. He was a terrible distraction that had to be run off multiple times before getting the picture.  

He knew to be afraid of Stan Pines. 

He knew nothing about the new ‘teen’ hanging around with Wendy

“Who's this guy?” the Valentino kid asks, his voice nasally and weasel-like. It grates on Stan's ears and something about the kid makes him want to start punching. 

If the way Dipper also tenses is any indication, the boy shares the sentiment. 

“Stanley Pines,” Stan offers shortly before anyone can open their mouths. “The Second.”

“Whoa,” one of the other boys grinned at him. His long hair and face reminded Stan of the overly patriotic redneck in town. They might even be related. “ I didn't know Old Man Pines had a kid. Dude, he's not, like, dead or anything, right?”

Stan blinked rapidly for a moment at the question, a lie falling from his lips before he had time to process how the idea of Stanford's identity dying out entirely makes him feel. His chest feels tight again. Stomp it out and put it in a box to deal with later.

“He's on a cruise.” He shrugs noncommittally. The teenagers relax at the lie. Probably uncomfortable with the idea of being forced to offer a stranger their condolences. “Won it in a sweepstakes or somethin’ and he made me come down to run the Mystery Shack while he's gone.”

The teenager with the hat made a sympathetic face. “Dude, that sucks ― having to work all summer.”

“Yeah,” Wendy agrees, throwing an arm around Stan’s neck and nearly choking the life out of him while she grins. There's an edge to her eyes that whispers mischief. “He should totally come hang with us.”

Oh boy… 

“What?!” Dipper yelps, mortified by the very idea of Stan tagging along. Which he gets, but also ― ouch. 

The Valentino kid looks just as upset with the idea, glaring daggers at the arm Wendy has around Stan.

Oh great, the kid’s jealous of him!

Now would be a great time for Stan to bolt and disappear. Possibly lock himself in the basement so no one could find him and get some extra work done on the portal while the kids are out.

But Wendy had a death grip on him and he was forced into the back row of an unfamiliar van while people he didn’t know shouted up front.

Altogether, a familiar experience made new by the presence of his niece and nephew sitting on either side of him.

Stan crossed his arms and glared at the back of Wendy’s hat.

“I am not okay with this.” he announced flatly, breaking Dipper and Mabel out of yet another argument about Stan’s kidnapper.

“Grunkle Stan,” Dipper began hesitantly, lowering his voice until they were in a little bubble only privileged to their family. “Why did you tell them your name is Stanley?”

Stan does his best to breathe through the cramp in his chest, the sensation lingering from earlier, and fixes his eyes on the dents in the roof. Shoves his hands further into the crooks of his elbows to hide his sweaty hands, the echoes of his mother calling his name ringing in his ears. (Always Stanley and never just Stan.)

“I didn’t wanna be Stanford Junior.” he says finally, hesitating just too long to be a natural answer.

“Who’s Stanley Pines the First?” This time it’s Mabel, her eyes sharp and likely running through all their shared relatives in her head. He’s grateful the majority of the Pines family were back on the East Coast, Shermie’s family the only outliers and not as ready to fill the twins’ heads with cautionary tales designed to keep them from turning out like their ‘no-good, dead uncle’.

‘Stanley’ was practically a swear word in Shermie’s house.

“A dead man.” Stan mumbled, the words nearly lost beneath the cacophony of the teenagers in front of them. “The family’s better off without him and that’s all ya need to know.”

“You must have loved him, at least.” Mabel prodded, ever the optimist. This was the first time it had ever cut into his heart like this. “I mean, to name yourself after him. Rename? Would you name a hypothetical son after him?”

Stan finally turned to look at her and she flinched from the intensity of it.

“Never.”

__________________________________________________________

The old Dusk-2-Dawn looks just as Stan remembers it. The last time he’d been in there was 1995 to buy a few things he was too lazy to go all the way into town for. He’d been in a foul mood, his birthday only weeks away, looming over his head like a coming storm, and he’d barely said two words to Ma and Pa Duskerton while roaming the aisles.

Ma had tried to push the conversation, eyes full of a matronly concern Stan hadn’t seen in over twenty years, but he had resisted to the point of rudeness. It normally wouldn’t bother him to be a jerk, but the old lady had looked so disappointed with him that he’d suddenly seen his own mother’s face staring back at him. The way she’d looked at ‘Stanley’s’ funeral, the only family he’d had there. Even Shermie hadn’t come down, though he’d had the excuse of having an appendectomy on his side.

Stan had mumbled an apology and an excuse about having a headache.

Ma’s face cleared of irritation pretty quickly and she’d pressed a packet of aspirin into his hands, free of charge.

To help keep the town’s best tourist catcher in good health, she’d claimed. The Murder Hut had brought in a surprising amount of revenue to the town once he’d made it into more than just the local papers.

He’d done it again a few years later after rechristening the Shack with a more family-friendly name, but Ma hadn’t been around to see that.

But she’d believed in him at the moment.

Three days later, she and her husband were dead and their store closed down.

Haunted, the townsfolk claimed. Fenced off and avoided at all costs.

Unless, of course, you were a group of teenagers who wanted to star in a horror movie like Wendy and her friends.

Or Dipper, who’d climbed onto the roof to break in.

Wait ― what?!

Stan jolted out of his memories at the sight of his nephew disappearing into a vent and he made a strangled sound of rage.

That knucklehead!

Still, it was pretty awesome to see the kid punching his way through his problems. Just like his ol’ Grunkle Stan!

The boy opened the doors and waved them in, a grin splitting his face.

Stan followed after the other teenagers, most of them chattering happily about the unexpected addition to their group, and paused just inside the doors.

“I’m impressed, kid.” he snorted, ruffling the kid’s hair and messing up his hat. “But don’t do that again!”

The boy laughed at him, always a tad nervous in their interactions, and smiled hesitantly back at Stan.

The resemblance to Ford was too much for him to take in at the moment, so Stan slung an arm around his neck and dragged him inside.

Now breaking and entering was something he could get behind!

He even found himself laughing with the other teens as they trashed the store, throwing food and dusty cat litter at each other. They dropped Mentos into an old bottle of Pitt and Stan just shook the fizz out of his hair with a joyful grin.

He had to hand it to these kids ― they knew how to have a good time. Even the Valentino kid and all the weird staring he did at Stan. It wasn’t even all glares, but there was an occasional splash of color that made the kid go all splotchy whenever Stan caught him in the act.

Stan tried to avoid him, sticking close to the kid with the long face and his friend with the hat. Lee and Nate, though he’d forgotten which one was which.

They seemed to like him the most after Wendy.

The other girl was too focused on her phone to pay him much attention ― though he’d seen her snapping pictures of him on occasion ― and the last guy in the group was too desperate for attention from the original friend group to try and corner Stan.

So Stan gets caught up with the pair of boys who seem to know each other like the back of their hands, so lost in the thrill of finally acting like a teenager again that he fails to notice when something inevitably goes wrong.

“Stan!” Dipper hisses urgently, tugging at his uncle’s T-shirt and pulling him away from the others so they can speak in private. “Something's wrong here! I keep seeing things ― weird things! ― around the store and I’m pretty sure it’s haunted and Mabel’s overdosed on Smile Dip and I can’t say anything to the others because they’ll just think I’m a scared little kid or something!”

Stan takes a moment to just blink at that, because, wow. He’s surprised the kid didn’t pass out trying to get all that out in one go. He certainly hadn’t stopped to breathe.

Then he straightens up, the air of a teenager sliding off him to show the old man he really is inside.

“Where’s Mabel?”

The poor girl looks like the guys Stan had known back during his dark days in Colombia. Living on the streets was rough enough ― seeing them go into seizures after too much ‘edible flour’ was almost as traumatizing as accidentally pushing your brother through an interdimensional portal while he called your name and begged for help.

So… pretty damn traumatizing.

Stan didn’t know if Smile Dip had the same stuff in it to send Mabel into a similar state as the guys he’d known on the streets, but he didn’t want to chance it.

He scoops his niece up, cradling her tiny body to his chest, and wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

How did he get so caught up that he missed Mabel trying questionable substances?! The girl was so much like Ford in his eyes that he forgot how much she was like Stan, too.

It’s just supposed to be a bit of fun.

Until it isn’t.

“We’re leaving!” Stan barks at the others, startling them out of their fun. The Valentino kid is so shocked that he falls off the counter and disappears behind the register. “NOW!”

“Whoa,” Wendy tries to placate, her gaze hardening as it lands on the bundle of turquoise and pink in his arms. “Stan ― breathe. C’mon, guys, time to go.”

A breath leaves his chest in an explosion of air, the tightness in his chest having built up to a vice yet again. It burns and crushes him simultaneously, quickly becoming a feeling both familiar and a hindrance. Every moment the twins spend in Gravity Falls just makes the feeling grow and grow and grow.

The last thing Stan wants to do is send them home to parents who’re contemplating divorce, but that small bit of good sense he has whispers that it may be what he needs to do.

To keep them safe, alive.

“No one is leaving!” a new voice bellows.

Stan can only look on in horror as the Valentinos’ kid rises from behind the counter.

And keeps rising.

They really did end up in a horror movie, the Valentino kid obviously possessed now and floating above them while wreathed in a ghostly glow. His dark eyes are white beneath his fringe, rolled back so far in his head that the veins are visible and bulging.

That… That can’t be good.

It’s a blur after that, the teenagers disappearing one after another until it’s just him and Wendy left, backed up against the doors with the twins encased in Stan’s arms. He’d picked up Dipper at some point, though he had no recollection of doing so.

The ghost is laughing at them now, saying something about hot dogs of all things!

Fury and fear war within Stan until they spew forth from him in an angry wave.

“Oh, can it, Duskerton! You never sold your dogs at a discount and that joke’s thirty years old! Get some new material and let us outta here!”

The possessed Valentino kid scowls at him, his ghostly glow tinged red, but it’s the other face materializing next to him that catches Stan’s attention.

“My, Pa!” Ma Duskerton exclaims in surprise. “That’s Stanford Pines!”

The red fades away and Pa Duskerton fades into view beside the transparent image of his wife.

The Valentino kid drops to the ground, landing with a muffled groan.

“Why, it is, Ma!” Pa says joyfully, floating closer to peer at Stan’s face. “Got yourself caught up in some magic mischief, didya m’boy?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stan rolled his eyes at the familiar tone of the couple. For some reason, they liked him enough to ignore his gruff attitude. “The whole baby face’s old news by now. So, ya gonna let us go or what? My kid’s spazzin’ out over that junk you guys used t’ sell.”

Ma’s face crumbled with concern and she disappeared, only to reappear right in front of them. Stan jumped and clutched the twins more tightly. Ma didn’t seem to notice, attempting to pet Mabel’s tangled curls, her hand going right through the girl.

“Oh, the poor dear.” the woman tutted maternally. “I saw my share of kids go through the same thing. Get her some water to break it down and something starchy to soak it up and she’ll be just fine, deary.”

Some of the tension floods from Stan’s shoulders at the reassurance. Already Mabel’s eyes are beginning to clear, every pass of Ma’s hand bringing life back into her tiny body.

“Now,” Pa sighs, crossing his arms. “I really am sore at you kids for the state of our store.”

“We’re really sorry,” Wendy offers sheepishly, the expression out of place on her face. “We didn't think anyone would care after seventeen years.”

Pa flares red briefly but settles down quickly when Dipper flinches in his uncle’s arms.

“Well, I do care, young lady. But you’ve apologized. Your friends, however…”

“Can’t we do anything to help them?” Dipper asks rather meekly. He forces himself to stay steady when Pa attempts to pat his head and shivers when the hand passes through him.

“Now, now, little fella ― say, how old are you, anyway? Y’seem a bit small to be one of them sassa-frassin’ teenagers!”

Once it’s apparent that the Duskertons hate teenagers, Dipper’s con is now on the line.

The boy looks nervously at Wendy before slumping in defeat.

“I’m twelve… technically not a teen.”

“Wonderful!” Pa beams, his ghostly glow becoming almost blinding white at the admission. “Do you know any funny little dances?”

“No―oooo,” Dipper drags out the word in a panic as Pa flashes red. “Well, there is one! The, uh, Lamby Dance… But I can’t really do it without a lamb costume, so―”

Which doesn’t deter Pa in the slightest.

The ghost snaps his fingers and warps reality around them to put Dipper in a fleecy costume, the boy teleported to the center of the store where there’s room to dance.

Stan muffles a distressed moan at the sudden loss and holds Mabel tighter. Whatever the kid was doing, he didn’t want to get in the way. His nephew’s song and dance routine is a familiar comfort, but Stan won’t be anywhere near at ease until the boy’s back in his arms again.

Which probably won’t be any time soon.

The boy’s sacrifice has saved the others and everyone practically crawls out of the Dusk-2-Dawn as Wendy regalls them with a heavily edited retelling of how Dipper exorcised the ghosts.

Mabel’s stirring in his arms and Stan barely has time to put her down before she’s throwing up against the van’s tires.

There’s a muffled chorus of sympathetic noises from the rest of the group as she finishes spewing her guts.

“Oh, man.” Wendy sighs as she comes to stand beside Stan. Her face is contrite and worn, a shadow of nervousness on her face that Stan would have missed if he hadn’t known the girl her entire life. “Sorry about all that, dude. I just really wanted you to let loose a little ― not deal with overdoses and ghosts.”

He bumps his shoulder against hers gently. It barely budges her, only a testament to how tired she really is.

“I’m not happy about the twins getting dragged into another mess, but you didn’t know what would happen.” Stan’s reminded of another teenager who made a mistake, a lifetime and a coastline away, and can’t bring himself to yell at her just yet. “Whaddya say to dumpin’ the gremlins in bed and pigging out on ice cream and bad public television?”

Wendy grins and punches his arm playfully. It actually kinda hurts.

“You got it, man. Better than just staring at my wall for hours until the world makes sense again. Next time we hang out, let’s just stay at the Mystery Shack, okay?”

“Next time?” Dipper, who’d been hovering at their hips and holding back Mabel’s hair, perks up. “You mean, you still wanna hang out with us? Even… even after I lied about being thirteen?”

Wendy pushed his hat down over his face.

“Of course, doofus!” her tone was unbelievably fond. “The Pines Family is the coolest in Gravity Falls!”

The boy is practically glowing as he climbs into the van, only dimming slightly as he and Mabel fall asleep on the ride home. The twins glue themselves to Stan’s sides and only offer mumbled protests when he and Wendy carry them into the Shack. They’re snoring by the time they’re tucked into bed and Wendy and Stan crash in front of the TV to spend the rest of the night binging some old movie they’re too tired to protest watching.

By the end of it, Stan’s crying over Duchess’ long-awaited wedding and appropriately angry when it’s interrupted.

Wendy just laughs at him, long and hard, still grinning half-an-hour later when she finally passes out. Stan follows her soon after, his dreams full of dashing men in waistcoats and fiery young women who challenge the world.

[inthedarknessofnight]

I watched The Holdovers for the first time over the holidays (loved it btw), and for some reason I've also been getting flashbacks to last year when I basically devoured The Secret History and If We Were Villains back to back... And because I have this little devil on my shoulder constantly telling me to Steddie-fy everything, my brain immediately went like, ‘but what if Steve and Eddie both ended up stuck at their college campus over winter break.’ Consider this my pathetic attempt at their little forced-proximity romance story.

So, without further ado, I give you... Part 1

❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖

Steve Harrington leaned out of his dorm room window, filling his lungs with the chilly air of a New Hampshire winter morning. Underneath him, the courtyard was brimming with students scurrying left and right, bags of various shapes and sizes slung over their shoulders, and even an occasional suitcase being dragged through the wet slush that covered the paved pathways, courtesy of last night’s snowstorm. Lively chatter echoed off the walls of the residence halls enclosing the courtyard, as his fellow students tried to squeeze in as many well-wishes, festive greetings, and goodbyes as they could, before their designated rides took them to whichever overpriced holiday destination their families chose this year. Steve tried his best to avoid getting too morose about it all, focusing on fumbling around his jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter. He knew Patrick, their resident assistant, would have been on his ass before he even drew the first breath, but to everyone’s great surprise, he’d started his holiday a week early, prompting Steve and pretty much every other person in the building to take up smoking out of the window.

As soon as the first plume of smoke hit his lungs, Steve could feel the negative thoughts trickling away. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and exhaled, savouring the moment. Unfortunately, his moment of bliss was short-lived, as Tommy Hagan barged into his room in his usual fashion—without so much as a knock.

“Harrington! You trying to get sent home or something?” Tommy asked, an annoying smirk stretching across his face.

“Fuck you, Hagan. I’m not that stupid, okay? RA’s gone, it’s basically a free-for-all over here,” Steve replied nonchalantly and leaned out again, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Alright, alright, we get it, Henderson Hall’s the coolest. Unless y’all burn it down,” Tommy clicked his tongue, “then, probably not so much,” he delivered what, Steve could only assume, was supposed to be the punchline. When Tommy realised Steve wasn’t going to deign that with a response, he merely scoffed and continued.

“So, hey. I thought I’d check if you’ve changed your mind about that ski trip? I know you said you wanted to stay here, catch up on whatever crap you’ve got going on with that ridiculous degree of yours, but…” Steve glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Tommy quirk an eyebrow at him suggestively. “Well, Carol stayed at that same place with her family last year, and according to her, they have a sauna and, like, a bunch of hot tubs. And, umm… Tammy will be there, if you know what I mean,” Tommy winked at him.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction Tommy expected from him, especially since he’d never really had a thing for Tammy beyond them hooking up a few times during their first year of college. In fact, he had no intention of going on that trip if Phoebe Cates herself walked in and personally offered him daily blowjobs. But he couldn’t exactly look Tommy in the eye and say, ‘Funny story—I got into a fight with my dad because he’s being an asshole, and now he’s refusing to give me any more money unless I come home and talk it through with him in person’. Instead, it was easier to turn around, face Tommy, and say…

“Nah, man. Already told my parents I can’t come to Cancun with them, because I need to study or I might fail and waste three years’ worth of their precious investments in my education,” which they didn’t even approve of in the first place, Steve finished the sentence in the privacy of his own mind. “They’d probably skin me alive if they found out I blew them off just so I could run off with you guys.” At least he didn’t have to lie about that last part.

“Dude, aren’t you, like, majoring in philosophy, or some shit? I thought you guys just sit around and talk all day,” Tommy scoffed. Philosophy and drama, actually, Steve thought, but knew all too well the addition would do little to help his case, so he didn’t bother correcting him.

“Yeah, well… Apparently, you have to have at least some idea what you’re talking about before you get to ‘just sit and talk,’” Steve countered. “But, hey, for all it’s worth, I really appreciate the offer, man. You enjoy that sauna for the both of us, okay?” He threw Tommy a wink, which immediately caused him to cringe internally. Tommy, resigned to being unable to persuade him, simply shook his head and shrugged.

“I don’t get you man but, uh, suit yourself,” Tommy said after a brief moment of consideration and gave Steve a dismissive wave. “Have a good one. I’ll see you after break, Harrington,” he added before promptly turning his back to Steve and exiting the room.

With Tommy gone, Steve felt like he could finally breathe again. The feeling didn’t last, though. A cold breeze blew through the open window, bringing with it a familiar feeling of loneliness that always settled deep inside his bones. Steve knew all too well the feeling had nothing to do with a little movement of air. Because it felt more like an old wound reopening. Because maybe it’s always been here, Steve admitted quietly. Etched into his skin. Blended into his marrow. Flowing through him like blood through his veins. It was the kind of cold he couldn’t just close a window on, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, he opted to close the one in front of him, making sure to stub out the cigarette he’d left burning on the windowsill before lowering the window pane and twisting the handle. He leaned his forearms on the inner ledge and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It was only a few weeks. He could do this. After all, he was used to empty rooms and haunted halls—these just happened to be slightly bigger empty rooms and haunted halls. Right?

—

Steve Harrington had never been more wrong. By the time day three of his self-imposed exile rolled around, he was fairly certain he was losing his mind. The worst thing was, he couldn’t do anything about it.

The first weekend passed with little fanfare, the campus growing quieter with each passing day. From Monday morning onwards, the whole thing was practically haunted. In fact, Steve was the only occupant left in Henderson Hall, barring some guy in the room down the hall from him. Steve didn’t really know him, but he was pretty sure he was a Music major—a suspicion the asshole happily confirmed by treating the seemingly empty dorm to a full-on concert in the middle of the night. When Steve ran into him in the dorm’s communal kitchen the following morning, the guy looked startled by his presence at first, then simply offered Steve an apologetic smile and mumbled something under his breath before darting out. Great, Steve thought to himself and slumped against and empty chair at the dining table. He was already well on the way to going batshit crazy, and now, his only company was the dorm’s resident weirdo. To be fair, there were at least two other people on campus that he was presently aware of, down the road in Mayfield Hall: a girl from the languages department he knew from Mrs. Click’s first-year rhetoric class, but wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with, and a girl he was pretty sure was in the Dance program, since they’d attended a movement class together the previous year. He’d noticed the former while out on one of his regular morning runs, catching sight of her just as she slipped on a particularly nasty patch of the frozen path, landing gracelessly on her backside. He went off course to help her and make sure she was okay, but she merely levelled him with a deadly stare. That was all the encouragement Steve needed to get the hell out of there.

With no company to save him from boredom and distract him from the gnawing sense of loneliness, Steve kept busy as best as he could. He even came to consider the dining hall being closed for the holidays a small mercy, as he occupied himself with planning his meals and taking the time to prepare them. On Tuesday, he made the short, fifteen-minute drive to the nearest town and bought a week’s worth of groceries, in case the weather prevented him from being able to make that trip again in the coming days. Steve was happy to find the fridge in the communal kitchen nice and empty for once—well, except for a frankly impressive supply of beer, which he could only assume belonged to the other remaining resident. 

Speaking of the rather unusual fellow—they’d started to develop a sort of quiet camaraderie, the two of them. They would usually bump into each other at lunchtime and again at dinnertime, and once Steve had been able to let go of the resentment he held towards his fellow resident, for the little nocturnal performance he put on the first night, they’d even gone as far as greeting each other.

“Hey, man,” the other guy would say, as he leisurely strolled into the kitchen, normally around noon, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Hi,” Steve would reply, giving a quick nod and small smile.

And that’s essentially how the entire first week of winter break went by. Slowly, Steve began to find comfort in the little routine they’d established. In a way, it soothed the ache inside him, to know that, without fail, his weird neighbour would always wake up way too late and meet him in the kitchen at mealtime to exchange a greeting or two. The guy had even taken to hovering there while Steve finished whatever dish he was making that day, and Steve was surprised at how quickly he became used to his quiet company (and Steve was applying this term liberally, by the way, since the guy clearly found it impossible to move around without making an array of random sounds). But despite how strange he was, Steve found his presence oddly calming, if not comforting. It also gave Steve a little insight into his habits, which were no less strange than the man himself. Over time, Steve noticed the guy seemingly lived on nothing but Cheerios, beer, and the occasional microwave meal. It made Steve wonder how the hell he was still alive—or how he managed to keep such a slender physique. Not that he’d been paying much attention to said physique, of course. Steve guessed he was just one of those people who lucked out with their metabolism. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the man’s curious gaze on him every time he saw Steve crafting his next meal. It even got to the point where Steve was half-convinced he could hear the guy sniffing the air as soon as he walked into the kitchen at mealtime, but whenever Steve glanced over his shoulder to check for proof, the other man immediately corrected himself, pretending to be occupied with with trivial tasks, like pouring more milk into his already full bowl of cereal. 

Steve found it sort of endearing—and, if he was being totally honest, it filled him with a sense of pride, to see another person react to his cooking that way. He loved cooking. Hell, he loved cooking for other people even more than he did himself, even if that opportunity rarely presented itself. True, he’d gained his cooking skills mainly out of necessity, having to take care of himself from a young age, but he knew not everyone grew up with a fully stocked pantry and the same resources and tools he had at his disposal. Who was he to assume that hadn’t been the case for his mysterious roomie? At the end of the day, even if he turned out to be too lazy to cook, it wouldn’t kill Steve to toss a double portion of spaghetti into the water and add a bit more tomato purée to his sauce—it would still be the most nutritious meal the guy’s had in days. If nothing else, you’ll gain a new friend and maybe you won’t have to do this alone, his brain supplied. Steve pushed the thought to the back of his mind. 

Emboldened by his newfound purpose, Steve put down the book he’d been trying to get through for the past week and made it for the kitchen. If he was lucky, he still had about two hours before his neighbour got up, which should give Steve enough time to have the sauce ready by the time the guy walked into the kitchen. At 12.30 pm, like clockwork, a familiar mop of curly hair peeked through kitchen door.

“Hey, man,” the guy said, his voice still groggy. Steve smiled to himself. He was nothing if not consistent. Not wanting to spook him by being too forthcoming, Steve stirred the sauce a few more times, then turned to face the guy fully and opted for one of his warmer smiles, as he said, “Hi.”

In his sleep-addled state, he didn’t seem to suspect that anything was out of the ordinary. Steve watched him go through his usual routine of dumping a bunch of cereal into a bowl and retrieving the milk from the fridge. He sat down at the opposite side of the dining table, facing Steve, and moved to pour the milk over his cereal. Steve couldn’t, in good conscience, let him ruin a perfectly good bowl of cereal if he decided to accept his offer (he was decidedly not getting ahead of himself just there), so he figured now was as good a time as any to speak up.

“You do realise you can’t keep eating cereal every day for the next three weeks, right?” Steve said, making sure to keep his tone light and playful. The last thing he wanted was for the guy to think he was judging his eating habits. He set the timer for the spaghetti, then leaned against the counter next to the stove and crossed his arms. Across from him, the poor guy seemed to have stopped dead in his tracks, still holding his milk at an angle. Confusion was clearly written all over his face, as he grappled with the fact that Steve had just addressed him directly. He looked up at Steve from beneath his messy fringe, big brown eyes slowly traveling upward until they were level with Steve’s, unsure whether he was allowed to look or not. It crossed Steve’s mind that he looked every bit like a frightened young deer, and he had to mentally stop himself from letting out a laugh.

“Umm… sorry?” His eyes darted confusedly between Steve and the offending bowl of cereal in front of him. “I didn’t realise there were rules about this stuff,” he said, though his tone wasn’t defensive. His voice was soft and shy, almost apologetic, and Steve immediately regretted his choice of words.

“No, shit… Sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve chuckled, desperately trying to salvage the longest conversation he’d had in days. “It’s just that, well, I can see you obviously really enjoy those,” he quickly motioned to the box of Cheerios on the table, “and, I mean, not to yuck your yum, but they really don’t make for the most nutritious meal. Wouldn’t want the rest of this dorm to come back to the smell of a rotting corpse because you, like, dropped dead of malnutrition or something, you know?” Oh god, what was he even saying?! Nice, Harrington, real nice. Idiot.

Too busy chastising himself for the word vomit he’d just unleashed on this random dude, Steve registered somewhat belatedly that the guy was now laughing, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Steve couldn’t help the expression of pleasant surprise creeping onto his face, as he watched the other man come down from his fit of laugher. He was now beaming at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how he had one of those smiles that light up a person’s entire face.

“Well, it does sound kind of grim when you put it like that, but what can I say?” He plucked a single Cheerio from the bowl and held it up close to his face, as if to examine it. “What you sacrifice on nutrition, you save on money.” Then, with a quick flick of the wrist, he tossed the Cheerio into the air, caught it in his mouth, and flashed Steve a triumphant grin. Steve chuckled, giving him a quick round of applause, to which the guy responded with an exaggerated bow. And if Steve found himself somewhat surprised at how quickly he was warming up to his new roommate, nobody needed to know.

Despite the cheerful nature of the encounter so far, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little guilty after hearing the guy explain his peculiar diet. Here he was with half the grocery store at his disposal, while, across from him, sat a guy forced to live on the same kind of cereal, meal after meal, for the sake of being frugal. He could imagine how difficult it must be to feed yourself on a budget when you don’t have the knowledge or skills to cook in the first place. The sound of his timer jolted Steve out of his thoughts, and he turned back to the stove to check if the spaghetti were cooked. He manoeuvred a single piece of pasta out of the water, blew on it a couple of times, grabbed it with his thumb and index finger, then tipped his head back and lowered it into his open mouth, blissfully unaware of a pair of brown eyes trying their best to look at anything other than Steve. After giving them a few more stirs, he strained the spaghetti in the kitchen sink, then paused for a moment, pretending to deliberate, the guy’s gaze still fixed on him. Before he could overthink it, he turned to face him again.

“Listen, you can totally say no if you want, but I think just made way too much spaghetti for one person. Would you like some?” He heard the guy take a breath, preparing to say something, then remembered. “Oh, and I have this sauce too, by the way,” he quickly added, taking the pot with the sauce off the stove and bringing it towards the other man. Steve tipped the pot slightly, trying to show him what’s inside, nearly causing a bulk of it to spill over the edge. He then realised the contents in the pot were essentially liquid and he probably shouldn’t have been doing that, which prompted him to a curse under his breath and carefully set the pot back on the stove. The guy, clearly amused by the whole display, just giggled and Steve had to take that as a win, even if he ended up rejecting his offer of a warm meal. To his credit, the guy seemed to weigh the idea carefully for a moment. All of a sudden, it looked like something clicked in his brain, and he offered Steve a lopsided smile.

“Well, then, if there really is sauce involved, I don’t see how I could possibly refuse.”

It took Steve a little while to register that he was, in fact, not being rejected, but as soon as he did, he couldn't help the way his face lit up, not caring anymore if he came across as overeager. He snapped his fingers and made finger guns at the guy, clearly high on some kind of playful energy the exchange had incited in him.

“Alrighty then,” he said cheerfully, turning to plate their meal, trying his best to ignore the warmth spreading through his chest as he looked down at the result. Two plates.

❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖❄️📖

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it ☺️ Just fyi, I don't have this whole thing written yet, so I'll be posting it in parts here, on Tumblr, until I do, and then once it's been edited a bit and given a title, I'll probably put it up on ao3 as a longer oneshot. I'll make sure to reblog with the first part every time I post a new one, and I'll also link all the previous parts, so don't worry! It's gonna be so so cute and I'm so excited to share this story with you guys. Check in to see what the boys will get up to next!

[novagrippia]

.

[vyvansecrashing]

can russia and north korea just nuke us already this is hopeless

[scrawlingskribbles]

not me blearily waking up at 5:30am almost in tears bc I had a dream that Ian had apparently been making more little OK KO shorts on the side and the utter joy I was feeling as dream!me was scrambling to find & watch them only to wake up before I could........ :((((

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

He had a random grabling hook for Mabel, he uses smoke bombs to leave conversations, he’s from New Jersey. How do we know Gruncle Stan never worked for Batman? 🤨

[seeking-elsewhither]

concept from my AU (you know the one):

After that horrific scene on Bracca and Rex manages to save Omega, and after the boys slowly come to, Crosshair, who'd been elbowed hard by a chip-influenced Wrecker, finds himself slowly but surely slipping under the chip's influence. He manages to get this out to his brothers, through gritted teeth and hissed syllables.

Rex stuns him out cold, absolutely zero hesitation - in fact, he's more than a little smug about it (after all he said about Echo and Rex back on Anaxes, it's more than a little deserved.

Understandably, the Batchers all take offense at that because the Captain could've given them at least a warning before he went and did that.

But Hunter's mostly upset because he really really wanted to be the one to stun Crosshair.

[abstractpenny]

guys, guys, guys, don't you love shaking around your little guy in your head so hard all day you probably got brain damage, but at least now you have a thousand new plots for them to follow

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

good lord my brain is running laps and i just wanna knock it out and get some goddamn sleep

[fallenfawnn]

i have lost count of how many times i have cried today, i have yelled and screamed more than 10 times, collapsed to the floor more than 5 … im so exhausted now .. and slightly more stable.. but still the tears won’t stop. im a little glad they won’t.. i haven’t *felt* so much in a while. and maybe it is a little bit nice after months of dissociated autopilot.

[homunculus-argument]

Oh hey random storytime:

My mother had a dog of a fairly unusual breed, the kind breed whose existence I hadn't even heard of before the breeder became a family friend. This specific dog was a zero brain cell masterpiece specimen, so while he was fucking stupid, he had an impressive enough pedigree that it would have been a waste to not take him into dog shows, maybe win a few prizes and have him sire pups.

Anyway, this one time we were at a smaller dog show, not really an amateur one but definitely not a huge international event. It was held outdoors on a football field(?), and not only was my mom's dog the only one of his breed in the show, they had somehow completely forgot to include him in the show's schedule. We had come all the way over here to show off a dog that didn't have a time, judges, or ring for him anywhere in the plans.

So while my mother isn't the type to Demand To Speak To The Manager when something doesn't go her way, everyone was in the agreement that the fuck-up was on the show runners' side, and they were very apologetic about such an unprofessional mistake. And they did manage to find a show ring with a slot to squeeze him in, just before the next breed was about to start.

So they made a quick announcement in the ring just before the scheduled breed was going to start, and into the ring went the breeder and mom's dog. And while they were doing their little lap, surrounded by a mostly quiet, uninterested audience, I heard some random kid's faint voice asking

What happened to that one?

And it suddenly hit me how funny this whole situation must look like with no context. Mom's dog or his whole breed were not on the printed out leaflet schedule of the show, in this specific ring or otherwise. If someone showed up now, or somehow otherwise missed the announcement (which wasn't even broadcasted in any way, just yelled out over the crowd by one guy), holy shit they would be confused.

The dog breed that was booked on that spot was samoyeds. My mother's dog was a peruvian inca orchid. Imagine being at a dog show in the right place at the right time, 100% expecting to see one of those fluffy clouds on the left, and out walks the motherfucker on the right.

[medicinemane]

Anyway, hope you're all doing well

I just... I haven't slept and also I've got like... 2-4 days of tumblr to catch up on... mostly to make sure I don't lose anything I want to keep requeuing

In many ways I'm probably doing better than I have been in a long time... maybe ever, but... I've got zero focus, I can barely watch youtube videos, I certainly can't play games... I can't get myself to clean... I don't know man

It's like... it's like my mind's empty except for some thick clear goopy sludge... it's like being over at a strange house sat alone in a big room waiting for people to come back... not wanting to touch anything so you just sit there staring and feeling out of sorts, except it's just constant in my own house in my own room... just saw Bart flop down in front of my door and realized I'm so out of it I forgot I had cats

It's like I'm living every moment in the moment, but not in a peaceful way, in a I'm untethered from reality and trying to figure out plans or how to deal with getting everything sorted out is just kinda painful kinda way

Then my mood... well... I kinda have no mood. I'm fucking numb if I'm honest. I have flavor opinions like "I'm worthless and should kill myself", but I actually don't even feel depressed right now, I feel nothing

I don't see much point to my future even if everything goes great, and I would like to kill myself, but I have zero interest in even considering it right now even though I have everything I need around if I just stand up and take a single step

So... much as it probably sounds like I'm just pure in the trash right now, I'm actually in many ways probably doing better than I ever have before... I'm just also real messed up right now at the same time

I don't feel hopeful, I never feel hopeful, but I do feel like I can maybe guide shit into a good position, it's just once again I figure that even if I do everything I want to with being able to help other people out and stuff, I'll still just kinda end up alone in a crowd

You know... funny thing is I'm thinking "the fuck is even the point I wanted to make?", and I realize... my point was actually that I'm doing pretty good and not to worry... not sure how well I'm selling it, but it's true

I hesitate to assign anything to myself, my stance on me and anything I can't conclusively say tends to be no comment... but if I were looking at someone else describing what I'm feeling in my position, I might be inclined to say burnout... months of having to be on and clean and manage everything and... all that... well it's one explanation, who knows if it's correct

Anyway though, I'm good, don't worry, know I do appreciate you all and wish I had more brain power to say more to more people... it's just maybe kinda sad that this is my version of doing good... the fuck is wrong with me if I wake up everyday feeling like I've been beaten with clubs... and for me this is kinda peak... what's that say about my baseline?

Doesn't matter, only thing to do is keep moving forward

Guess insomnia paired with not really being able to think, like words just kinda pop out with no planning... guess it makes me ramble real bad, this was supposed to be like one or two paragraphs being positive

It's a Beautiful World

[lxnarphase]

listening to sukuna talk during your peak ovulation day, doing your best to follow along with his words. but you just can't, it's too hard to focus on the words...but the way his voice sounds, the way he occasionally growls out certain vowels and syllables.

you don't even notice how your eyes glazed over, the way your eyes were focused on his mouth...and you also didn't notice he caught on, starting to smirk as his works turned to teasing, filthy, mean phrases

"look at you, gone stupid already? tch, sweet thing, you know it's rude to zone out when someone's talking to you."

"you probably don't even know what i'm saying, do you? mm, pretty little thing, letting that smart brain of yours just leak right out of you...it's probably all dripping out that slutty cunt of yours."

"so, so pathetic, baby...thought you came over to spend time with me, not turn into a dumb little bunny from me talking."

"bet she's dripping alllll over that seat your in. mm, if you were actually listening, you would've heard me ask if you wanted to come sit in my lap."

when you do finally snap out of it, you catch one of his sentences and whine so cutely, stuck between needy and embarrassed as you try to hide your face. you're too precious, but he hates being ignored.

"no, no, my sweet girl, you don't get to fuckin' hide now. not after that. c'mere. maybe if your nice 'n' close, saying alll those nasty things in your ear, you'll listen to me this time, hm?"