#sand gambler

[yu-gi-poll]

ROUND 1A, MATCH 8 OUT OF 8!

Monster Stats & Propaganda Under the Cut:

Sand Gambler is used by Mitsuo “the Boy” (Pierre the Gambler in the dub). Its stats are the following:

Attribute: LIGHT

Level: 3

Type: SPELLCASTER / EFFECT

Effect Type: IGNITION / CONDITION

Effect (according to the anime): “Toss a coin 3 times. If all 3 results are Heads, destroy all monsters on your opponent's side of the field. If all 3 results are Tails, destroy all monsters on your side of the field. You can only activate this effect once per turn, during your Main Phase.”

ATK / DEF: 300 / 1600

Propaganda:

Like a riskier time wizard with some more meat on their bones. Inexplicably related to sand. Desert casinos maybe?

Drawler is used by Taira Taizan (Damon in the dub). Its stats are the following:

Attribute: EARTH

Level: 3

Type: ROCK / EFFECT

Effect Type: TRIGGER / CONTINUOUS

Effect (according to the anime): “When this card is Normal Summoned, you can place any number of cards from your hand on the bottom of the Deck (in a random order) to have this card's ATK and DEF become equal to the number of returned cards x 500. If this card destroys an Attack Position monster by battle, place the destroyed monster on the bottom of the Deck instead of sending it to the Graveyard.”

ATK / DEF: ? / ?

Propaganda:

Legit a solid way of keeping your opponent from accessing certain cards. In the modern game, maybe this would be rogue.

Gagagigo is used by an Obelisk Blue student and a Duel Zombie (Duel Ghoul in the dub). Its stats are the following:

Attribute: WATER

Level: 4

Type: REPTILE

Description (according to the anime): “This young evildoer used to have an evil heart, but by meeting a special person, he discovered justice.”

ATK / DEF: 1850 / 1000

Propaganda:

○Gagagigo has this whole storyline about redeeming himself in the eyes of others. He corrupts himself to defeat his archrival, but when an ally saves him, he realizes the error of his ways and powers himself up to an extra-deck monster.

[imsofthelp]

thinking about jjk squid game au. unedited. tw for yandere undertones and squid game related violence, read at your own caution :p

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who just lives for the games, his heart thrumming in his chest with barely restrained excitment. Sitting in his isolated room, his cat-like violet eyes watching each game intently as he drowns his tastebuds in expensive, old whiskey and cigarettes, biting back a smirk at the blood that follows each death, coloring the floor a beautiful maroon. More and more players gone mean that there’s about to be a winner, which really is a pity. It’ll take a while to hold another game.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who thinks all the players are vile, the scum of the earth who deserve everything that comes their way. Death is perhaps kinder than the outside world, the debt, their pathetic, miserable lives. Some people would ask who he is, to play god. These people chose to sin first before he became their judge. How silly to blame him.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who’s apathetic to all the players until his eyes catch you. He knows information about each player, of course. Most people are gamblers who got overconfident or thieves who tried to scam the innocent: their families, friends, workplaces. You, however, are different. Working off a debt that isn’t even yours. Despite the circumstances, he finds himself rooting for you, his pretty face scrunched up each time you try to save someone who isn’t yourself. Stupid, utterly stupid, naive. You need someone to care of you.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who decides that enough is enough just before the marble game starts. Something about imagining seeing your pretty face marred by a gunshot wound, brains splattered over the sand, makes deep, long-forgotten part of him ache. He’s frustrated that he can be so infaruated with someone this weak, but perhaps, the heart he had long forgotten he had, has finally overriden his brain.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who takes you into his room, saying that everything is for your own good, chuckling at your confusion and offering you a drink instead of actually explaining what’s happening.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who makes you watch the following games, indulging in your reactions: the gasps, the held in sobs, the way your form trembles as he subtly adjusts his pants, trying to contain his own reactions as he lands the softest of kisses to your temple.

Squid game! front man Suguru Geto who watches you fall to your knees in front of him, begging him to save another player, an ethereal looking man with a halo of snow-white hair. Is he a friend of yours? A boyfriend? It doesn’t really matter, with how pretty you’re begging, doe-eyes glitsening with tears. His violet gaze trails back to the screen, focused on the man as he goes through the glass-pane game. Perhaps he should kill two birds with one shot and have you both? Things are much, much better in sets, after all.

[endlessdreamworld]

For the Yandere alphabet with Aventurine: B, C, D, F, G J, and Y, please.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling? He's already such a messy guy in his day to day. Whatever low needs to be sunk to, he'll see it as a right of passage and enthusiastically drop as low as he can. Hell, he'll even take a second and give a little wave to anyone watching on the way down.

Each new sin is another notch on his belt, and a small price to pay for another piece of you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them? If it ever got to the point that abduction needed to happen, the situation would be unsalvageable. He's been kept against his will, and captivity breeds defiance. Defiance turns into resentment and loathing -- none of which is conducive towards a loving environment.

Any misbehavior worth punishing leads towards to self flagellation. He'd gladly take on the burden of bearing your punishment, since it's his failure that's causing you to act this way.

It was part of the unspoken deal he made with you (in his head) after all. What kind of man would he be if he punished you for something that was his fault to begin with?

Of course there are lines in the sand...

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will? He's very much keen on letting you keep all of your independence per the above reasons. Aventurine's got some uncrossable lines as mentioned above. If you stay away from those lines then there's very little to worry about.

He wants to give you things, experiences, memories. He wouldn't want to deny you those opportunities.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back? He'd feel a lot of things. If it's gotten to the point where you are physically fighting him, it would feel like an act of psychic violence. You'd be brutalizing his psyche and ego, but in the heat of the moment, he'd even be proud of you.

Look at you behaving so fiercely, showing your teeth to the lion in its den. It reminds him of well... him.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape? Everything is a game to Aventurine. He's a gambler for fucks' sake. The world is just a series of games, one after the other. It's a black and white binary of wins vs losses.

There's a part of him that wants to see you try, to see just how much fate favored him. It wouldn't be out of a sense of enjoyment, but as an act of soul searching and selfish validation of his own existence

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope? Jealousy is a waste of mental resources, and it would cloud the bigger picture. He might lose a hand here or there, but the game isn't over. It doesn't matter what happens as long as he wins the pot.

If he were to feel jealousy, it would only be in the middle of a panic -- the kind of panic that only kicks in when he's staring defeat in the eye. In this state, he needs to play his cards very carefully to make sure the situation hasn't gone completely out of control. As long as there's still one more hand to play, he doesn't need to do anything drastic.

Right?

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Crocodile

You had a big challenge ahead of you. You loved surfing, and you loved sandboarding even more. You felt like it was a sport made for you. You didn't need good wind or waves. All you needed was a desert with dunes you could ride. 

You were so good at what you did that you were among the top of the best and even had the opportunity to participate in the Sandboard World Cup. You were so happy about it that you couldn't sleep for the first few days. 

Your enthusiasm didn't last long, however, as you had a bad accident during the competition and woke up without part of your leg. You were devastated. You felt like it was the end of you. 

You couldn't imagine life without a leg or even a prosthetic leg. What about racing? You didn't want to give it up, but you didn't have many options. 

You wanted to get back on your feet as fast as you could, but it wasn't as easy as you imagined. You could move with the prosthesis, but what you couldn't handle was the phantom pain. 

It happened at night, or when you were at rest, when you thought you could feel your leg again. That it itched and you wanted to scratch it and then you realised that wasn't possible. The spot then started to hurt, as if the limb was still there. 

This led to insomnia, where you just lay there at night staring at the ceiling. Quite often, you found that you were keeping yourself awake mostly on energy drinks, and when you got tired, you dreamt of sand. Giant dunes that were dangerous and swallowed up your opponents and you. 

Very often, your lost foot began to sink into the sand. It hurt like hell, and the sand slowly began to bury you alive. You were drowning in sand and you couldn't get out. You felt like the pressure of your dreams was pushing you down in real life. Or was it the other way around? You weren't even sure anymore. 

What you were sure of was that if you didn't do something about it soon, you'd be so tired you might as well forget the whole competition. That's why you turned to magic for help. 

You found the best psychic in the area on the internet and decided to go to her for help. Sure, you could always try pills or other meds, but you were never one for the ordinary stuff.

Plus, this sounded a lot more interesting than some pills where just reading the package insert would put you to sleep. No, you wanted something unusual and out of the ordinary. Something like your favourite sport. 

To your surprise, the psychic you'd found was in a nearby casino, which was humorously shaped like a pyramid, with a golden crocodile with a banana on its head. This was actually your overall first visit to the casino in question, as you may have been a gambler with a life, but not someone who would seek out slot machines and other games of chance. 

You had no trouble finding her corner, which looked like a tent or the entrance to a marquee. Unsurprisingly, the psychic was already expecting you. You got the impression she was telling everyone who came to her for effect. 

What you didn't expect, however, was that she had guessed the exact reason you had decided to seek her help. At that exact moment, all humour passed over you and you believed she knew how to help you. 

The psychic took you inside her tent, where she first performed a palm reading and laid out the cards that told her how best to help you with your problem. 

She stood up and left you alone for a moment. You got the impression she was looking for something. Moments later she returned with a teddy bear that looked very unusual at first glance. 

It was a sandy and black teddy bear that was wearing an orange and black plaid vest and had a long black coat over its shoulders. But what caught your attention the most was the scar that stretched from one cheek to the other, a golden hook for one paw and a long crocodile tail. 

"Teddy bear? And this one is supposed to help me how?" You didn't understand and began to question her again. She frowned at you and uttered that if you didn't want it, it was your fault. 

You looked at the teddy bear once more and for some unknown reason, you got a chill down your spine. You finally took the teddy bear. You thanked her and were about to leave when the psychic stopped you with a warning. You weren't allowed to let him out of the cage, whatever that meant. 

Since you took the bear home, your sleeping patterns have improved many times over. Your insomnia had evaporated and instead, you slept like a log all night and into the morning. 

However, you woke up with sand in your bed with no idea how it got there. Of course, ever since you got your teddy bear, you've dreamed about the desert and sand in general very often. It didn't even have to be sand, sandboarding or anything like that. 

It also happened that the sand in the dream was much finer. It caressed your lost leg and warmed you up nicely. It was a kind of pleasant massage that made the pain go away. 

You've also often seen out of the corner of your eye a very tall man with black hair and a long coat that reminded you of the one the bear wore. 

If something startled you or something strange happened to you, you even heard the kind of laughter that you used to hear in your dreams. And in the same way, you woke up in the morning and your room smelled of cigar smoke even though you were a non-smoker and didn't even own cigars. But all these things reminded you of the man you saw out of the corner of your eye and whose voice you heard in your dreams. 

The sandboarding competition was the very next day and you felt that you had done everything you needed to do. Despite all that, you felt that it wasn't all. That it could have been done better.

You went to bed with these thoughts and worried that your thoughts would keep you up all night. Fortunately, that didn't happen and you fell asleep as quickly as you always did. 

In your dream, you were in the middle of the desert, not a cloud in the sky and no water or civilization in sight. The only thing you had with you was your trusty board that you hopped on and decided to ride down the dune. 

But the sand began to move as if it were alive under your board, pulling you in an unknown direction until you reached the rocks and the cave at the same time. However, the entrance to the cave in question was blocked by bars. 

You were already thinking of taking a different route when you heard that iconic laugh again and your eyes glittered in the darkness of the cave.

"It took you quite a while. I have a feeling you wouldn't have found your way here if I hadn't helped," the voice spoke and you saw something, or rather someone, move in the darkness. Very soon whoever was in the darkness of the cell walked over to the bars and you could see who it was. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, watching the man you had seen out of the corner of your eye for the last few days, who was close to you even when he was behind bars. 

"I know why you got me. Let me out and I'm sure all your dreams, no matter how big, will come true," he spoke in a convincing tone, a slight smug smile on his lips. 

You immediately remembered the warning the psychic had given you. That's also why you immediately dismissed him and wanted to move on. But even after you left, the sand made you come back. 

The man behind bars was very convincing and before you knew it, you decided to let him go. You had no idea how, but as soon as you touched the bars, they unlocked. 

The man came out of the cave and walked over to you. He towered over you, looking you over. You had the impression that he could see into the very core of your soul. He grinned and put a hook under your chin and made you look at him. 

"This is going to get interesting," he smiled smugly, and you could see that he was pleased with you. 

When you woke up that morning, your bed was full of sand. Even more than usual. So much that you felt like you were at the beach or a sandbox. 

You sat up in bed and immediately remembered that strange dream. At that moment, you thought you heard his distant laughter. 

You got out of bed, made your bed and were wondering what to make for breakfast when you realized that your teddy bear was missing. In that moment you could have turned the bedroom upside down, but it was as if the teddy had vanished off the face of the earth. 

However, you didn't have much time to look for it, as you had to get to the venue of the competition, about which you had mixed feelings. Once you got to the registration and picked up your number, everything went by almost at the speed of light and you didn't remember much of it.

But what stuck in your mind and mattered most was the race. You stood at the top of the dune and with a deep breath as you cleared your head and heard the sound of the siren you started down the dune. 

The start was calm and everything went according to your plan. In your head, you had prepared a precise procedure of which tricks to perform when and where. What you hadn't counted on was the fact that the sand under your board started to behave strangely. Like it had a will of its own.

At that point, all planning went by the wayside and all you had to rely on was improvisation and freestyle. You never knew exactly how the sand was going to move and more than once you ended up airborne. 

However, thanks to all this, you managed to pull off many more tricks than you had originally planned and your descent absolutely amazed the jury. From then on, there was also a buzz around the course about who had it in the bag. 

You were the clear winner and you could go and collect your prize. You got the gold medal along with an invitation to the next competition. With gifts from fans and medals, you stood on the podium for the press to take your picture. 

As you stood there, you thought you saw the man of your dreams in the crowd. Your eyes met for a moment before he grinned and was blown away like sand by the wind. As if it were a mirage or a fata morgana. 

As soon as you had a free hand and could move freely you made your way to the crowd, hoping to find your sandy protector. However, he was nowhere to be found, so you returned to your tent to rest and pack your things. There, to your surprise, your protector was sitting in your chair. 

"Crocodile," you said in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. You got the impression that he was really happy that you had won. You walked over and wanted to thank him. But he took a drag from his cigar before he sat down and stopped you. 

"Too many eyes here," he uttered, looking towards the door where footsteps could be heard. You looked to the door and then back at Crocodile, but he was as gone as sand and disappeared. Less than three seconds later, reporters walked in, wanting to interview you briefly. 

That evening, you collapsed on the couch. You didn't have the energy to walk all the way to your bedroom and you fell asleep within moments. Even in your dreams, you dreamt about the journalists and it seemed that they had become your new nightmare. But before that could happen, the sand blew them away.

The wind picked up, and though you hadn't seen your protector yet, you knew he was there. The wind made you feel cold and you rubbed your arms with your hands. 

Suddenly, a man's coat landed on your back like a blanket. At the same time, it was quite heavy, and you felt as if your knees would buckle under its weight. 

"Thanks for the help... and the coat," you smiled and turned back to where he was standing. Crocodile lit a cigarette and just laughed heartily at that. He was surprised that the mean old hag had given him to you in the first place. 

He finally looked at you before putting his hook around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He put his other hand behind your head and leaned in before kissing you. 

"I'm your protector..." he said as he pulled away slightly and looked into your eyes. "...I expect great things from you, and with my help, I'm sure you'll achieve them..." 

You woke up the next morning, and the first thought you had was that it had been quite a pleasant dream. It wasn't until you opened your eyes that you realized it wasn't just any dream. 

Instead of a blanket, you were covered by a heavy but comfortable coat, and on top of that, you weren't lying on your couch, but on someone else's. Crocodile had his arms around your waist and looked like he was sleeping too. You smiled contentedly before you laid your head on his chest again and closed your eyes.

Crocodile Masterlist

Sleep Protector Masterlist

For @sircrocodilesandflower

[rouguang]

aventurine’s name in cn (sha jin) translates to sand gold/placer gold, which is interesting bc both concepts are fine particles of gold with no guarantee there will be anything genuine to find. placer gold is when gold deposits are eroded and washed into streams/rivers and tiny fragments mix with the streambed. the pursuit of placer gold is itself a gamble, because you might find one fragment and waste a long time searching for more only to come up empty. or you take the risk of devoting yourself to it and strike it big. many people ruined their lives trying to find placer gold during the gold rush. the concept of sifting thru a lot of useless stuff to find the real deal is so fitting. he’s a gambler, a person who’s willing to bet a lot on something small, a minuscule chance of success. and he seems to have done very well for himself so far, even betting against fate. he'll play russian roulette, he'll go for the biggest gamble, and i guess we'll see if he wins

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Dead Asleep AU?

Okay, so I kind of wanted to write another part/version of that sleeping beauty AU from the other week. But this time, Stanley is the one who gets too suffer! HAHAH!

So, here is part two. Also, I posted both parts up on my Ao3 account and I'll link it here if you want to save it for later or whatever.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62066953/chapters/158737552#main

And of course, I'm going to @sixerstanley again! Because this was their idea. Now. Let's get into being evil. Heheh.

(I had most of this done on the tenth, but then I basically died and couldn't finish. So, enjoy. That live stream was like crack or something. Idk guys.) (P.P.S. Gonna post this on its own now because I don't think anyone saw it when I reposted it attached to the old post. Rightfully so. That shit was long as hell.)

Truth be told all of Stan Pines favorite and happiest memories took place on a boat. It didn't matter if it was on some crappy litter scattered beach.

It was theirs and nothing could soil those memories. Back then all that mattered was the hot burning sand, maybe the stings of glass cuts across a sole, and tumbling along getting hurt, hand in hand.

Sure, it took forty damn years to get back there, but he's anything if not stubborn. And it paid off.

What's that saying? 'Most gamblers call it quits right before striking it big?'

Good thing he never stopped betting with higher and higher stakes then, right?

The future is much brighter because of it. The deck of the ship has a sharp bite to it now. From one extreme to the next. A hot infected wound, now soothed by a cold compress.

The arctic Ocean.

There isn't a lot in the area for fishing, but there is still plenty of wildlife to watch from the top deck if your patient.

Late at night the sky lights up with the northern lights, or 'Aurora Borealis' if you speak blabbering scientist. It's beautiful and a new flavor of Ford's favorite activity, Stargazing.

Out at sea there is no better place for it without any light pollution. Just them, the universe, and the expansive inky blackness below.

Sitting out on the deck, fish watching with a pair of binoculars, the world is practically blinding this time of the afternoon. The white overcast clouds mixed with the occasional chunk of ice covered in snow lights up the world like being inside a light bulb.

That's not what pulls Stanley's attention from the endless water he's been looking at all morning though. Finally, he sees something!

Off the starboard side from where they've been anchored a group of Narwhals is swimming by, long tusks poking out of the water and interrupting the sleek outline of the waves.

"Sixer, get the hell up here!" He knows his brother won't be nearly as excited about seeing this marvel as he is, but Stan still wants to share it with him anyway.

Just because Ford saw a million different impossible things through the portal doesn't mean whales aren't interesting too. Sure, not what they're hanging out waiting for, but who cares?

When Stanley can't hear Ford immediately running up the stairs, no big surprise if stuck in a book, he stomps on the floor of the deck without looking away from the water. Grinning like an idiot.

"Stanford Pines, get up here! I'm having a heart attack!" Okay, yeah. It's not funny. But that never fails to get him top side no matter what he's in the middle of.

'Boy who cried wolf' Yack! Yack! Whatever. If it works, why fix it?

There are at least ten different Narwhals intermittently breaching for air but the sight is incredibly short lived before they dive again on another breath hold, disappearing from sight below the grey waves.

"Awe, too slow! You missed it!" His booming voice is the only sound on the ship and it makes Stan finally drop the glasses and get up out of his chair with a crack from both knees.

He stomps, again, and then listens with a little more attention to the ship.

There is the lapping of the waves against the side, the slight breeze blowing the fresh smell of sea salt over the vessel, but otherwise its quiet.

Hmm. He could stay up here, maybe even pretend to fall over and really scare his brother. Except the last time he did that Ford almost threw him overboard into the freezing cold water.

Still. It is a little weird that Ford didn't at least yell a few foreign curse words up through the ship.

"Alright, fine. You want to prank me back? I'll bite." It comes out in a mutter and Stan makes his way across the deck after one more glance around at the water.

Through the wheel house, down the steep steps, and around the corner into the room dubbed 'the office' only in the name on the door. It's a glorified science lab that Stan gets to store a shelf of books inside of.

Pushing open the door is a little challenging, like something is blocking it but after a minute of shoving he's able to get enough room to squeeze through to get a look around.

Yep. This is 100% a prank.

The thing blocking the door? Ford, leaning back and looking pretty limp. Stan has got to hand it to him, this is a really convincing look.

"Nice try genius, laying around on the floor isn't going to convince me. Come on, up we go." It takes a lot more work than it should to move Ford from the floor up into the single chair in here.

The only real dead bodies Stan has ever seen have been bloody from being murdered or covered in vomit thanks to overdosing on something. Lots of blood, bruises, stomach acid and empty eyes stained with their last moments.

Ford's open, blank ones, do cause a little bit of alarm, but. It's how damn cold his body is that brings the first real taste of concern to the forefront of his mind.

"I thought I told you to turn on the space heater periodically. You have bad enough circulation as is, you idiot." Ford is very cold, and limp just like a dead body, and his eyes-

To humor Ford, and to reassure himself, Stan does a big show of rolling his eyes and then putting two fingers to Ford's wrist. You can't hide having a pulse, genius.

"................................................................................................................"

Okay. Maybe you can hide a pulse on one arm, if you cut off circulation. Whatever, big whoop?

Stan shifts over to check the other wrist and lets out a tisk of annoyance before raising those same fingers up to Ford's neck.

Same result.

Huh.

Now that's a neat trick.

Ford is doing a really good job pretending not to breathe too.

A really really good job.

That's bad.

"Alright Sixer, good one. I've learned my lesson here, you can undo whatever witchcraft you used to manage this." His confidence that this is a joke is cracking with every second Ford doesn't hop up and start lecturing him.

That's what should be happening. Another long rant about how pretending to be injured or sick isn't funny, not a good way to get attention, and unnecessary.

Yeah. Stan knows all that.

Ford does come topside, eventually, whenever he yells. It's just-

Sometimes Ford gets a little too caught up in his work and needs to be reminded the rest of the world exists. Extremes are the easiest way to do that.

And, yeah. Stanley can admit in the safety of his own head that he enjoys the fretting Ford does, despite knowing it’s a false alarm. It's been a long time since someone cared about him enough for something like that.

Or maybe those memories are what decided not to come back. Eh, his life seems pretty sad. Makes sense.

What doesn't, however, is why Ford is doing this for so long.

Plain and simple, he wouldn't.

But, that would mean something so terrible that his mind still won't accept it.

Because Ford can't be dead. That's not possible. They had this conversation.

Before leaving Gravity Falls, they had a really long and difficult talk about health issues. Ford came up with game plans for emergencies, Stanley had to own up to his numerous health issues, and how does Stanley know with complete certainty his brother can't be dead?

Bill said so.

Ford isn't supposed to die until he's ninety-two of a heart attack.

Now, Stan doesn't trust that demon on much. Or anything. Except this.

Because Bill liked Ford to an uncomfortable degree, otherwise he'd be dead right now. Or, would have at some point during the apocalypse.

So. The devil must have been telling the truth on this one thing, right?

Ford had seemed pretty sure that he wasn't going to be the one needing healthcare at sea, solidifying the belief in Stan's own mind. If Ford wasn't worried, why should he? He's a genius!

But-

What if Bill did lie? Tricking them into a false sense of security only for Ford to drop dead one day. Honestly? That does sound more his style.

Except, it can't be today.

It just can't.

Because if Ford is dead-

That's not a possibility Stanley Pines has ever considered for so much as a millisecond.

Not when Ford went through the portal.

Not for thirty years during the rebuilding process.

Not even prior to rescuing him from Bill and saving the world.

Because he can't imagine a world without Stanford Pines.

Sure, he's been gone before. Missing, but he came back from the portal and they eventually fixed things. They're okay now.

That was six weeks ago.

And, yeah, they still fight, but that's normal. Expected, living so closely after so long apart.

Stan has found himself frozen standing next to the chair simply staring down at Ford waiting for-

The joke to end? The camera crew to jump out? Ford himself to come in from the other room telling him this is a dummy or clone?

That spurs him back into action, rushing out of the room. "You aren't funny, Stanford Filbrick Pines! When I find you, I'm going to give you the worst wedgie in the multiverse!"

There are really only four places Ford could be hiding, given his size. Their bedroom underneath the bunk beds, the bathroom, the tiny kitchen pantry, or the engine room.

The kitchen pantry is bare, as expected. It’s a pretty shitty hiding spot.

Looking underneath the bed is tricky, but he isn't under there either.

The bathroom shower is clear too and he leaves the lights on, doors open, as he yanks the tiny half-sized door to peer into the almost crawlspace-sized room-

Empty.

For good measure Stanley does a second, and third, lap of the ship from the deck all the way back through leaving no chance for his brother to be sneaking around hiding.

In the end he still lands back in the office, leaning against the wall, looking at his brother's freezing cold and lifeless body.

Dead, body-

Nope, nope, nope! Ford can't be dead, he can't be.

Instead of looking at 'Ford' Stan looks around the room at anything else in search of answers. There's a stack of books and some science doohickey on the desk, but that's not all.

When first entering the room, Ford was laying on the floor back against the door. The chair was sideways, almost like he'd fallen out of it.

Down on the floor is a small collection of scattered papers.

It certainly looks like-

"Nope. Not happening." I'm not going to entertain it, not going to think about it. Ford is cold and being an idiot.

Stan busies himself with gathering up the scattered papers off the floor and organizing them on the desk and-

Ford's phone.

Before leaving port they'd both gone out and bought one at the behest of Dipper and Mabel. For taking pictures, calling, texting, and use of the internet.

They have this thing called a 'hot spot' that allows them to use the internet on their laptop for video calls and such. Ford usually sets that up and Stan gets the call going.

Neither of them knows the full process, so they have to work together.

Finding it discarded on the floor fits with the scene Ford has laid out trying to play dead. It's all very convincing, really.

But all that panic and worry remains buried deep, because what else is there?

Losing Ford would probably give him a heart attack, for real, right about now.

So. It's pretty concerning to see the phone open, wasting the battery, to their text chain.

It looks like Ford tried sending him a text up above deck.

'Stanley, I require medical assistance, follow protocol 32-C. Thank you. -Stanford Pines'

Except the text never went through, that red bubble with the exclamation mark 'Not delivered' is obvious enough for even Stanley to see.

Okay. There isn't any ignoring that.

Why? Ford was right here, why didn't he yell or come upstairs, or knock on the ceiling for fucks sake?

Except it does look like Ford might have tried to leave the room-

Real, honest panic claws its way up into the center of his chest from where he's kneeling on the floor looking at the text that didn't go through.

Maybe it was never a heart attack, could've been a stroke-

This text is pretty long and lacking spelling mistakes though, like all the other messages Ford has ever written.

His last words.

"Stanford..." It comes out broken and he ignored the complaints of the floor in the rush to get up, still clutching the phone, and across the room to his brother.

Idiot! Stupid, God damn idiot!

Instead of helping him for one fucking second you decided to play hide and seek!

Nope, we aren't going to cry. Not now, nope. Doesn't matter that there isn't anyone around to-

Nope!

Pulling Ford down onto the floor to assess him is easy with how limp he is and Stan makes quick work of pulling off his gloves in search of-

Something.

There still isn't a pulse, but the skin along each wrist and the neck feels colder than it did earlier. Stan's hands are shaking like he's going through withdrawals, trembling.

Focus.

Despite what his brother might think, he did in fact take the time to review the procedures stored in their extensive first aid kits. Not because any of them are helpful here though.

Ford put that together with Stan exclusively in mind.

What to do in the case of a heart attack, stroke, aneurysms, seizures, and all the small things too. Stuff for stitches, concussions, burns, and there is one small pamphlet on amputations.

The reason he took the time to review them was to put together his own plans, just in case.

If this is a heart attack he can't use to stupid paddles on Ford because of his metal plate. Besides, who knows what kind of effects that might have if it is a stroke-

He's already dead-

"Shut up! Just, shut up. He isn't, not until I say so!" The yell echoes back inside the claustrophobic room. The boat has never felt so painfully small-

CPR it is then.

Thirty-two C is essentially an undefined chest pain. Aspirin, monitoring, and high tailing it to the closest port.

Hard to do any of that when Ford can't breathe, much less swallow. And, you know, being three hours from the closest dock doesn't help either.

Stan has wasted too much time fussing and being useless as is. He knows how to do this. Where the hands go, the rhythm needed and the right amount of pressure to apply. How often to force Ford to take air.

This gives his hands something useful to do, his mind something to focus on instead of pure white-hot panic.

Because that's what he feels.

There is only one thing he could never protect Ford from, himself.

Sickness, and eventually death fall into that same category because the body does those things without considering what you want. Old age would come for his brother someday, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Stanley had always assumed- no, made damn sure -that he wouldn't outlive his brother.

Because he can't be the one to carry on. That is a world he wants no part in.

He realizes, a while into doing compressions, that he should have consulted a clock before starting to try and keep track of how long he's been doing this.

Whatever, like it really matters.

Stanley continues anyway, long past when his arms started to burn and past hearing two different ribs crack.

What makes him stop is when he physically can't catch his own air enough to continue.

He is, understandably, a mess.

Snot smeared between both faces, tears across the front of Ford's shirt and cheeks, and Stanley himself can't breathe, chest tight and wracked with sobs.

Even if Ford did have a heartbeat Stanley knows he wouldn't be able to feel it because of how badly his hands are trembling and how fast blood is rushing in his own ears.

Six god damn weeks. Is that really all we got? All that time, all those mistakes? So much wasted all because I couldn't control myself for five fucking seconds!

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Stanford." It comes out choked, barely real words around his chests arguing efforts to sound like a dying animal and take in enough oxygen to avoid meeting his own end.

The pile of regrets is immeasurable, but not so much about the past.

They've done that song and dance, so those aren't the thoughts that tear into him now.

So many things missed that still need to be made up for.

Christmas. New Years. Drunk nights out. Their birthday for fucks sake!

Now they'll never get to share that, ever again. Forever Seventeen.

Just-

Being together again.

Joking together.

Together!

Not apart.

Haven't they had enough of that? Wasn't four cursed decades of loneliness plenty?

Guess time has a funny sense of humor.

Or the world just hates him specifically.

Stanley Pines isn't allowed to be happy, hopefully everyone got the memo!

He can't remember ever crying so hard or for nearly as long ever in his whole life. Countless nights spent breaking down in the basement, slumped over the desk in the upstairs office, or camped out in some slum across the back seat of the car are nothing in comparison.

Lying across Ford's chest feels unnatural. It's too cold, too still-

Wrong.

It's like someone just broke one of the fundamental laws of physics here in their office and Stanley can't handle it.

When he finally manages to pull away a crazed laugh bubbles up and out into the room without permission.

There is nothing funny about this, but it seems to have a mind of its own, running away with his vocal cords.

What the hell else is he supposed to do? His whole world just died. Ford might as well of snuffed out the sun, causing the whole universe to go out with it. All that's left are stars.

Memories.

That's not fair. None of this is, and he knows that life ain't fair. Why would it be now? Of course it wouldn't, but-

"Why?! Why now, huh?! You couldn't of waited ten fucking minutes? At least let me be here with you? I could of done something useful for once! But no, I always have to fail! It's the only thing I'm good at!"

The humor vanishes, the hysterics of it washed away by anger and grief.

He ends up sitting back on his ass with knees drawn up with both arms wrapped around them, just like when they were kids.

What is he supposed to do?

Ford's dead. Stanford is dead. Sixer is dead. My twin brother is dead-

Repeating the same thought doesn't make him feel any better. If anything, it makes the shaking ten times worse. Unsteady hands, trembling shoulders-

He's shivering all over, goosebumps caused by something other than the cold.

"God, i really am a failure. Can't argue with me now, huh? You died, fifteen feet away from me and-" He can't look at Ford like this anymore, so he brings up a hand to cover his face while trying to regulate his own awful breathing.

Who cares? Why does it matter? Why bother calming down if Ford's dead?

As much as he'd like to give up, because it would be incredibly easy to do so, Stan knows he can't. Not now.

Okay. Deep even breathes.

In. One, two, three, four, five.

Out. One, two, three, four five.

It takes several tries to manage getting past two, but it gets a little easier to stop feeling so light headed the more he focuses on it

He can't give up, because like it or not-

Why not?

Because of the kids? Because of Soos? How exactly would they feel to find out both of us were brought into port dead by the coast guard? Two funerals to attend.

Although they would probably do them together-

That's a nice thought.

Nope, we aren't encouraging that!

"Alright, come on. Get it together. You know what to do..." That doesn't make it easier.

Back up. First onto both knees, then both feet.

Unlike moving Ford into the chair, dragging him around, Stanley takes more care lifting Ford up over one shoulder to carry him from the office across the boat into the bedroom.

Laying him out on the bottom bunk, tucked into the blankets, it looks like he's just sleeping.

Despite barely doing anything Stanley is exhausted already. Arms sore, his back is going to be killing him tomorrow from picking up all that dead weight, so he settles on the edge of the mattress. Just for a minute.

There was once a day when the gun would, metaphorically, already be in his hand.

The world hadn't exactly been kind to him. Not growing up. Not on the road. Not even fully in Gravity Falls. Sure, it was home, but the basement was its own form of torture and suffering.

All of that was supposed to stay off the boat.

Land was pain, the ocean was perfect.

Or at least he'd thought so. If death was going to come for them, taking them into the ranks of lives lost at sea, they were supposed to go down together.

It's tempting. More tempting than ever before.

"I'm sorry." He can't turn and look at Ford, but the presence of his body is comforting in a weird way. Just don't think about how-

"I know you keep telling me I don't need to be, and that we're all good, but I really am. I'm the reason we lost so much time, so maybe it’s just that I have to live with that until my heart gives out." These are the kinds of things he'd never say if Ford was really here.

Or in front of anyone, but what's the harm now? Might as well get it out now before heading back.

From there Ford will be carted off to the closest morgue, body probably cremated, leaving Stanley to bring the ash remains home.

"Maybe I was a damn fool to think I could have it all. Should have known it was too good to be true. I can't-" He has to stop to take several deep full breaths before pushing on.

"I can't do this. Thirty years, forty, all alone. Ruined, and now-"

Things were good, fantastic, for fucks sake!

Having someone to cook and clean with. To get annoyed at when they hog the bathroom. Pointless arguments, bickering, but always getting over it.

It was domestic in a way he'd always wanted but never allowed himself. Always afraid anyone who got close would leave.

In a way, Ford did. Not intentionally, but he did walk right back out the door just like everyone else. Who knows, maybe it would have happened sooner or later anyway.

"I-I know I wasn't great to live with. I'm a pain in the ass screw-up and I guess that's all I'll ever be." Failing to notice something was seriously wrong sooner, not hearing any noises his brother might have made, not getting that text-

Overshadows saving the world. It doesn't matter if the sun keeps rising if his brother isn't here to see it.

He doesn't really know what's considered 'normal behavior' around a corpse. It might be incredibly weird of him to decide to sit up against the wall at the head of the bunk and get Ford situated laying back against his chest, repositioning the blankets.

Stan finds he doesn't care either way. If his brother is dead, the love of his life, he's going to sit with him for a little while before his body gets all stiff and gross and corpsey.

It'll take about two hours, give or take, before then.

Other than the bed being cold it’s not hard to pretend things are okay. Stan's own breathing moves Ford with each inhale and exhale in the otherwise quiet room.

They're both to old to be cuddling, but who's around to judge him? The next closest human is miles away and Ford...

He doesn't really get a say anymore.

Stan lets out a sad and exhausted chuckle, shaking his head and tucking his face down into Ford's hair while keeping both arms tight across his brother’s chest.

It smells of sweat, sea salt, and something chemically that makes his nose burn a little. He needs a shower, gross bastard.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, Sixer. No fucking clue how much I love you."

Never, ever, would Stan dare be so open in front of anyone, much less his equally emotionally constipated brother. But it’s not like he's going to be able to say all this stuff in front of people.

Not when he heads back to Gravity Falls, tail between his legs. Much less at the funeral.

"I mean, you had to know. One person doesn't dedicate a lifetime to fixing a mistake like that if they don't give a shit. But, well, you know."

He's a corpse Stan, he doesn't know anything. Not anymore.

"It was never the boat. I didn't care that you wanted to go to school. I didn't care about taking the journal. I didn't even care about you being a pretentious asshole. Okay, maybe I did care about that last one a little." It's the first genuine laugh Stan's let out since finding Ford.

"It was the separation I had a problem with. We could have been enlisted in the military for all I cared, as long as we did it together. Talk about codependent, am I right?"

His arms are tired from doing compressions so instead of continuing to hug Ford in a vice grip he settles for holding one of his hands instead.

Cuddling, weird but not outside of things they've done before. Usually after or because of nightmares.

Hugging is practically a daily occurrence at this point, sometimes multiple times depending on the itinerary Ford's always got in his stupid head.

But this, holding hands, isn't something they've done since they were kids.

Hopefully, Filbrick found a special space in hell for yelling at them until they stopped. He was right, socially, of course. But Stan can't help holding a grudge regardless. As if Ford needed more negative press about his perfect hands.

They're cold but Stan pointedly ignores that in favor of savoring the moment.

"It was good we spent time apart, in its own stupid way. Not because either of us had a good time or anything, but we finally grew up. Eventually. Just took the world ending for you to get your ego checked." It's nice having Ford lying back against his chest, their hands intertwined over Ford's cold one under the blanket.

It's sad, and temporary, but better than nothing at all.

You take what you get and you don't throw a fit.

"But hey, it wasn't all bad." Looking around the room the proof is right here. "We did it, eventually. We had some fun, stole some treasure. Never did get any babes though, but-"

The wall closest to the door is covered in a large cork board covered in pictures from the camera Soos gifted them as a housewarming present before leaving port. Original pictures of them back in Jersey pinned at the top with their adventures detailed in the ones below, picking up decades later.

He sighs, bringing up his free hand to straighten out Ford's hair. It's always a rat’s nest. "I was never as worried about that part as I probably should have been, because I-"

Dead or not, is this really the kind of thing he should be saying out loud?

The things he's saying aren't really for Ford, they're for Stanley's own benefit anyway. "Well, heh. You see, about that...I, uh. Really only had interest in getting one babe on board." He squeezes Ford's hand for emphasis, like he's listening.

But even Stan can't help bursting out into laughter at his awful joke, managing to avoid letting out more than a couple tears. "Oh god, that's terrible. I'm terrible, I know. But, you never had to worry about that. You being here is more then I could've asked for. No sense betting it on the bonus word and getting left at a dock when things where good as is."

There. It's out there, in the room, shared with someone who can never tell his worst secret. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"As it was, I guess. Still can't believe you're gone and our adventure is over before it really got started." It's a somber thought, but he leaves it at that.

What else is there to say?

Time passes, only marked by the slight darkening of the clouds outside the boat and the ticking of Stanley's watch.

He keeps saying 'five more minutes' but that started up about two hours ago. It's been nearly three since settling into bed. His back hurts from staying in the same position, fingers cramped, but he still doesn't want to get up.

That means letting go. He isn't ready for that.

Probably never will be either.

It must be the cold keeping Ford from getting all stiff like dead people should because he's still just as limp and relaxed as when he first died. That thought makes him wince.

"Alright. As fun as this is, I should probably get up and bring us back to port before it gets dark." He says it like Ford will be able to encourage him to do so, like the corpse is going to hold him accountable.

Except, it can't.

Stan finds the willpower to get up and off the bed anyway, leaving Ford tucked in, and heading out into the hallway that is the kitchen and dining room.

Next step is getting back to port, calling the local authorities, and explaining what the hell happened. That won't be fun. None of this is.

He only gets as far as the kitchen before having to sit down.

Who is he kidding? This is impossible. How the hell is he supposed to do any of this?

No matter how hard he tries to cling to the fact that he has other family, because Stanley knows full well how much the kids and Soos care for him, that doesn't make the suddenly unbearable weight on both shoulders any lighter.

The boat is suffocating, cold, and it’s only going to get worse.

When Ford had gone through the portal it was easy enough to rationalize his feelings of hopelessness away using pure denial. Can't be sure Ford is dead if you can't see him.

And yeah, he'd been right, though on all accounts he shouldn't have been.

Stan can't do that here because Ford is very clearly dead and gone.

All those years he'd already been through the first several stages of grief periodically. Denial, anger, and bargaining but had always gotten stuck in the second to last step. Depression.

If people can get past that one, they usually reach acceptance and from there, it’s all about finding a way to live with it.

I can't do that.

How on earth am I supposed to after everything? So many mistakes, miscommunications, lost time, and for what? For it to end here?

What the hell am I supposed to do? Pack it up, return to Gravity Falls, and drink myself to death?

That's probably what he would have done if Ford hadn't been able to make it home. If he'd actually been dead for thirty years and all that effort was for nothing.

It doesn't take much to make up his mind. It’s only a matter of when, not a matter of if.

The painful silence of the ship is interrupted by his watch beeping at him several times, indicating it’s time for his blood pressure medications.

This watch is considerably uglier than his gold one, but its water proof and has some fancy alarm and timer settings.

Ford set it up to remind him.

He all but collapses in on himself with tears escaping easier than before in the office.

This was all he ever wanted, for someone to give a damn about him and now the only person who ever did is gone!

No more bickering about who used all the hot water. Complaining about who's turn it is to handle the laundry. Doing dishes together.

No more laughing, cracking jokes, or arguing over what to have for dinner.

"I can't do this, I'm not strong enough for that." His voice is choked, barely above a whisper.

His own feet bring him to the first aid kit fastened to the wall above the toilet in the bathroom. It's where any medications they might need are kept from ibuprofen to some other more questionable alien junk of Ford's.

Nutrition pills are not a substitute for real food, even when you’re sick of fish Stanford.

Down on the bottom shelf right next to the Aspirin and Tylenol is where his stupid medication is to take-

Except currently there is a small and simple letter propped up on the shelf blocking the several bottles there with 'For Stanley Pines' on the front in neat and actually legible cursive handwriting.

He looks around the bathroom, almost comically, because he really has lost it.

Maybe he actually had his own medical problem while trying to do chest compressions and now he's a ghost or something?

Because this looks like Ford left him a letter right inside their medicine cabinet.

Except he's dead in the other room.

After picking up the letter, and taking his stupid meds, Stan goes back to the bedroom to double-check that the corpse hasn't managed to go anywhere in the last ten minutes.

Nope. Still there.

Okay.... Well, might as well read it then?

He closes the bedroom door first and goes about straightening up the million open doors and all the unnecessary lights left on this whole time, settling against one of the kitchen counters and tearing the envelope open with his pocket knife.

'To Stanley,

If you are reading this letter then you must be in the throes of panic at the moment. As I know well, it’s not very fun to have a brother who continues to terrify you with health scares. I have tried discussing this with you several times, but clearly, you don't fully understand.

Perhaps this spook, over a supposed 'blocked blood vessel', will set the record straight. I do not find your jokes about 'keeling over' to be amusing. Waking me up purposefully drooping one half of your body also isn't funny.

It is for these many reasons I've devised a plan to scare you, briefly. The serum I gave myself to cause the presentation of symptoms should have no permanent or ill health effects. However, it does eventually result in a loss of consciousness, so you will need to administer the antidote.

It is tapped to the roof of our fridge and kept at the appropriate cool temperature until it is ready to be used, with the dosage already measured out in a previously prepared needle. Any vein will do, though it may take some time to circulate and take-"

Stanley doesn't bother finishing the stupid list of instructions Ford may have left him filling out the rest of the letter. In fact, he can't even bring himself to be mad right this second about Ford torturing him like this.

He's alive. That's all that matters.

It’s a rush of slamming open doors, making a mess of the top shelf of the fridge, before Stan is able to find the supposed needle right where the letter said it would be. Back to the bedroom he yanks on the light, tearing off the blanket.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it-"

Or at least he hopes this is real and not some hallucination caused by grief. Seems a little too good to be true, but he'd be willing to gamble on giving Ford sulfuric acid if he left a note saying so right about now.

Sure enough, by the time Stanley is able to yank Ford's closer sleeve up he can see a big X drawn with a sharpie over the vein along the interior of the arm where you'd have blood taken. Or shoot up heroin.

How long does he have to give the antidote? Could it be too late? That letter was probably supposed to be opened hours ago.

Whatever.

No time like the present.

He's done this plenty of times on himself, so it’s not hard.

Using one of Ford's ties out of the closet (a ridiculous thing to bring on a boat) he's able to create a tourniquet without having to go back to the bathroom.

The cap gets removed with his teeth and once the vein is visible, he carefully presses the needle in under the skin before pushing down the plunger and injecting whatever the weird black medication is.

Only after putting the needle aside does he run off to get dressings and gauze to patch up the injection sight and stop the bleeding. The same amount you'd expect from a live body.

A weird sense of euphoria takes hold in the time it takes to secure the gauze over the injection site with some medical tape.

And a little bit of hope.

Rightfully, he should be beyond pissed. What the hell was Ford thinking in the first place? Okay, yeah. They suck at talking, and he hadn't been the most open to Ford's previous complaints about his 'death jokes' and such.

Dark humor. But he hadn't expected Ford to do something this extreme in retaliation.

Talk about a prank war getting out of hand.

This is worse than when they got into a closet territory war in high school and it had ended with them both getting yelled at, and grounded, when some itching powder accidentally ended up in the wrong laundry.

Later he can be upset, but right now Ford will probably be waking up in enough pain over his own stupid choices. Being given CPR is a rather violent experience, his chest is going to hurt considerably for a long while.

That's revenge enough, and-

Okay, maybe you could consider this lesson learned.

Stanley is left to wait, with bated breath, for Ford to wake up.

It's pretty safe for Ford to say that this whole experience turned out to be a lot more traumatizing than it should have been.

Maybe he was a bit of a dick, planning on scaring Stanley a little, but that's all. Just a tiny scare to get his brother to stop being so-

Difficult, let's go with that.

Pain in the ass would be more accurate

Regardless, absolutely nothing had gone to plan and it had very nearly ended in the worst possible way. Him dead, and Stanley heart broken.

What was supposed to happen was pretty simple.

Starting with sending the text, which Stanley would get above deck. Meanwhile, below deck, Ford would cast the spell meant to slow his pulse to an unsteady rate on top of accelerating his breathing. Mimicking something close to a heart attack.

Just for a little scare, with no real consequences.

Then Stanley would come downstairs, freak out, but follow the procedure.

Which is when he would have found the letter, stopping the whole scene before everything got so out of hand. Easy.

But, no.

The text hadn't gone through, because their signal was spotty at best out here.

No problem, because the spell does technically leave a window before putting you into stasis.

Or, it’s supposed to.

Thirty-two and a half seconds isn't nearly enough time to do anything useful, as Ford found out the hard way.

The results were him being left waiting on the floor for Stanley to find him and being left fully aware of every second without being able to do anything to stop it.

Having chest compressions done when your heart is fine, just old, is not fun. Very not fun. One of the more painful experiences he can admit to participating in.

This whole thing, in fact, is up there with one of the top five worst moments in his life.

All because Stanley wouldn't listen!

No, it's because you’re an idiot who seems to only know how to hurt your own brother-

Shut up!

That's not helping anything.

The slow-to-restart heart rate, which never fully stopped, is more painful because of the time left lying around. Not a surprising response to his apparent death, but-

Two broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising, but otherwise physically he'll be fine.

Just as soon as every vein stops burning from the antidote.

Truly that's a just punishment for the time he's left waiting after feeling the injection up until he's able to breathe and move again.

There is a lot that he could unpack here, but that would involve facing everything that he just caused. Which is terrible.

Better to focus on the one damn good thing to come out of this whole mess.

Stanley loves him.

Not only in the 'brotherly love' kind of way, but it certainly sounded like it had been implied romantically, hadn't it?

The spell or the cold he'd been experiencing couldn't have made up a hallucination like that.

It's logical if you think about it.

Stanley was under the impression he was dead, so why not own up to all kinds of gross and sappy crap? Taking time to mourn everything that was, could have, and is.

Brother, best friend, and-

Lover is a rather big leap to make from some simple implications on their own, but-

Was it two or three hours of straight-up cuddling and holding hands?

That might be as much evidence as Stanley would ever willingly provide without being physically tortured out of it.

Knowing that his own feelings are returned is actually worse than being trapped inside your own skin, because what the hell is he supposed to do with this information?

If they can't talk about Stanley no longer making jokes, how is he supposed to bring this up in a way that doesn't make his brother jump off the boat to drown?

Ford can't help but let out a quiet pained groan with the first gasp of air, taking away the option of saying something first thing.

It's better than screaming, which is what he feels like doing from the pain.

Not the first time an experiment resulted in such poor results, it'll be fine.

"Stanley," is the first thing Ford forces himself to say just as soon as it’s not going to come out sounding too pained. As if either of them needs to feel worse at the moment.

Stan hadn't so much as gotten up off the bed after dressing the injection. He brought up a hand to steady Ford when he tried to sit up too fast. "Woah, take it easy there, Sixer. The world's not going anywhere."

Now is not the time for jokes, Stanley. This isn't funny.

His brother’s ability to compartmentalize traumatic events and the emotions associated with them is astounding. Must be a shared trait.

Trying to talk is like swallowing tacks but he managed to make a motion towards the water bottle they kept hanging from a hook above the bedside table halfway between their bunks.

Relief was about all Stanley could feel getting up only enough to grab the water bottle for Ford before settling back next to him on the bed.

He's still cold, but very much alive.

It's visible in the tense set of Ford's shoulders when he's awake, the crease and possibly only wrinkle on his whole stupid perfect face between his brow from worrying or fretting over something, and the strong grasp around the bottle when taking a drink.

It's almost enough to make him cry again, except Ford is awake now, so he keeps a better lid on those feelings by shoving them back in a closet. Hugging Ford as soon as he's had a drink also allows for a good expression of his worries while actively hiding any stupid emotions (or tears) his face could be doing against his will.

No matter how much it physically hurts (maybe at least one of those ribs is broken, rather than cracked) Ford wholeheatedly returns it while trying to lubricate his mouth and throat enough to say something, anything, useful.

"Did it work at least? Do you understand now how physically upsetting it is to have you faking health scares? That pure terror is what I feel every single time, regardless of if you’re kidding. It's not funny." His voice is still ruined and dry with an edge of ache, but audible.

Stan lets out a dry chuckle, but it's forced and tight. "Yeah, yeah. Alright, you got me. But for the record, I knew it was a sham. I could smell it from a mile away!"

Both eyes are also a little dry from the extensive time spent open up until Stan closed them, which gives a good excuse for why he blinks at Stan like an idiot.

What, does he think I'm stupid?

Sure, Stanley seemed fooled for a while, but the last several hours of panic and grieving-

He doesn't know.

Oh.

Well, that's. A perfectly rational assumption given that's what the letter said, the spell was supposed to end in unconsciousness in a form of slowed metabolism and heart rate in a form of intense hibernation.

"I was awake." The reaction is immediate feeling the hand on either shoulder tighten momentarily with several emotions passing over Stanley's face too fast to read.

Panic is all he catches before its smothered with the rest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Well, that is almost worse than Ford being dead, because what the hell is he supposed to do now?

They're three hours from port, without anyone around, and no internet connection.

Ford could easily kill him and no one would ever know the difference.

Because that is certainly what's about to happen. He knows, he heard, he saw for fucks sake.

If it wasn't for the physical and literal beating Ford would have already had him in a headlock on the floor.

Watching Stanley physically, and not so subtly, recoil is heartwrenching and Ford won't stand for seeing any more pain on his brother’s face.

There has been enough of that in one lifetime, and tonight.

"Hey, I'm not upset." He has to physically stop Stanley from getting up off the bed by grabbing one shoulder and the closer hand tightly, pulling him back to sit again.

This might be the absolute most embarrassing moment of his whole life.

Worse than the teasing they got as a pair over Ford's kissing bot in high school, which previously held the top spot.

Maybe I should just throw myself overboard to get away from this conversation.

Sure, I'm not dead, but living with 'being let down easy' and then everything spiraling into the most awkward friend zone of all time is much worse.

Death would be kinder.

Stan's whole face flushes bright red but otherwise his expression remains mostly neutral and steeled waiting for whatever comes next. Though its still tempting to run.

Very, very tempting.

This is terrifying, but not nearly as scary as thinking Stanley was going to do something drastic while left to his own devices. In comparison, this is easy.

If you ignore the fact nothing has ever been easy for them.

"I'm, you could say that- I understand." What the fuck was that? He tries again, pushing on because that didn't make any sense. "I mean, I've visited more dimensions then I can count, I'm certainly not- I've grown out of my own reservations, so you could say. But, obviously, I never thought..." He does another lame motion with their linked hands, hoping Stan will read his mind and end this painful moment.

Okay, now this is definitely a hallucination triggered by some sort of mental lapse or stroke.

Ford being dead absolutely did get to him.

Enough to make up a whole letter and shoot up a corpse with some random chemical and now some sick hallucination.

That seems more likely than what Ford is trying to imply or suggest.

But the hand in his, with six fingers enveloping Stan's five, certainly feels real.

And there is the small, helpful, argument-nagging details coming from the back of his head that Ford never actually pissed himself or anything like most dead people do.

Stanley must have picked up the habit of laughing when he's nervous over the last several decades because, from Ford's perspective, nothing about this conversation is funny.

It's very serious and raw, so why the hell is he laughing so hard?

At least he isn't pulling away. That's good?

"For fucks sake, Stanley, can you take anything seriously for one whole minute? Why the hell do I even fancy you? You’re an ass!"

"Fancy me, what are you, a British nark?" Jesus, Stanley can barely breathe trying to calm down but doesn't let Ford pull his hand away an inch.

"I'm going to kill you, just as soon as I can breathe without my whole chest convulsing, I'm going to-"

"Oh, I'll show you being unable to breathe alright." He does not know where the boldness comes from exactly, probably the high from the recent near-death experience, but either way he snatches Ford by the shoulder with his free hand to pull him over into a proper kiss.

He ignores how it tastes of stale water and snot.

[moriaarts]

The Commander Cody obsession continues…Todays subject specifically Force sensitive Cody from the fic Every Grain Of Sand by Willshebemina which is a post order 66 Cody centric fic that is so delicious i will be reading it a second time. Kinda spoilers ahead:

We have Cody with his longer hair post fic / with and without his attempts at makeup

Him in his googles / facemask

His Tatooine fit / home made poncho

And his Coresant trash sugar baby fit worn to rob a bunch of unsuspecting gamblers blind

[tragedy-of-commons]

HI GERN !! could i request yellow rose, amaranthine + druxy + petrichor with aventurine? hunters evil deeds emoji

YELLOW ROSE:  though valentine’s day is usually centered around romance, there are many types of relationships that deserve to be highlighted and celebrated.

amaranthine  —  undying.

druxy  —  (of wood) having decayed spots or streaks of a whitish color; rotten, decayed.

petrichor  —  the smell of earth after rain.

aventurine backstory spoilers, depictions of fear and injury, angst and retrospection, possible lore inaccuracies, intended as platonic

Aventurine can’t quite remember when he started running. 

It could’ve been when he was only knee high to his older sister, her warm hand combing through his hair, praise and reassurance leaving her mouth in droves. He’d run, and she’d chase him, a cacophony of their shared laughter amidst a simple game of tag. 

Maybe it was when the shouting and panic started to penetrate the walls of childhood ignorance; he’d sneak off as far as he could without worrying anyone, desperate to escape the rising tensions of his homeland, all the while humming a long-forgotten lullaby to pass the time.

On the other hand, it might’ve been when everyone fell lifeless around him - his sister bid him to run, Kakavasha, he believes, and his mother and father’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Aventurine ran then, too. He narrowly avoided the wrath of pointy spears and the fate of his loved ones, weaving deftly between each obstacle before being forced to play dead when the time called for it. 

He finds he remembers those details better - the bad ones - rather than the good memories that continue to elude him, slipping through his fingers like sand.

But he knows for a fact that he can sprint, and that was almost enough to save him. 

And he sprints now, as rain falls from the sky in a torrential downpour. There is only one unshakable instinct carrying him forward: one foot in front of the other, run, Kakavasha. The trees around him are thin and generous enough to provide glimpses of where he’s actually going, flashes of forest floor and springy roots abound. 

He cannot feel if his feet hurt, but one of them feels confined; a dress shoe he was well-fitted for months back remains tightly enclosed about his ankle, stomping through puddles without regard. His other foot is free save for a tattered sock, its matching shoe likely abandoned amongst the elements somewhere behind him. 

Flaxen hair sticks to his forehead, too heavy to flutter in the harsh wind. A nauseous, saccharine taste floods his mouth. He wants to vomit, but just as he did back then, he presses on, leaning into his instincts. There is no burn of exertion because this is the high of adrenaline.

This is the same sensation he gets before taking a big risk, teetering on the precipice of whatever bad outcome is to befall him should he somehow lose. But he never does, and so he bids himself to keep going. 

Rain is lucky. It’s something the gambler intrinsically cherishes wherever his job may lead him, no matter the climate of the planet he’s skulking about. Maybe he’d jokingly call it a vice or a weakness, but that’s something he’d say at a party if he was caught gazing at the light drizzle just outside. The occurrence is lucky, to him, the person sick of fortune and what it leads to. 

That’s what triggered this flight response. The storm on this planet (one he cannot recall the name of now, and cares not to) was brewing long before his arrival.

Trip advisory remains a small part of debriefings, but he was told of the drought. 

“It’s really nothing to worry about, Mr. Aventurine. It hasn’t rained there in almost five weeks now, but it shouldn’t impede your directives; you have my assurance. The locals may be a bit… standoffish, but it’s not like you’re part of the Special Debts Picket Team, haha! Just be aware of the wilting vegetation and depleted resources. It must be quite a depressing sight. Your accommodations are still top notch, however!”

His lackeys certainly agreed, voicing their concerns about the darkening sky and the streets devoid of people. That didn’t matter to him. Why would it, when there is no risk he hasn’t taken?

But when it all came pouring down, it was different. Different how? Aventurine’s heart thundered in his chest - fear so raw that it was isolating and all-encompassing. It dredged up things deep within him, things that were buried so far down he’d be reluctant to call them human. Things so animalistic, so prey-driven, that he up and vanished from the task at hand like a wounded deer. 

The man (if he can even be called that), notices the landscape narrowing further. He’s getting close to something greater, someplace that will be safe from the maw of the past ready to swallow him whole. His shades, along with every other part of his signature wardrobe, have long since been stripped away along with his wayward shoe.

His fur boa that normally lounges across his shoulders is dirtied, yes, but also fraying after it snagged on a protruding branch. Cursing and gulping heaving breaths, Aventurine discards the accessory with haste. It will only slow him down.

He feels like Kakavasha, for the first time in a decade or so. 

When he reaches the illustrious clearing, he slips.

His body connects with a slope after his foray with the air ends. It’s a steep drop; there is still no pain, but a gasp of finality escapes his throat as he tumbles, mud and leaves embracing his form due to the harsh impact. Either way, it cannot and will not be heard. Cold, cold, cold. He lands knee-deep in frigid water, the surface of which being battered with the force of the rain. If his adrenaline is gone, it’s then replaced with shock.

Clumsily dispensed into the prone position, his chin digs into the rocky sediment lining the bottom of the creek while his arms flail outward. He swallows enough of the murky water to cough and hack a few times before his vision goes dark.

He can still hear the rhythmic sound of dripping.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

But this time, the repetitive symphony is deep and clanging, almost metallic. It’s loud, rousing him. When Aventurine opens his eyes, expecting to see that he’s still in the forest somewhere - that assumption is proved wrong. He’s now warm, surrounded by downy blankets boasting knitted patterns. If he stares at the swirls of indigo and black long enough, they dance. Just where is he, and why does it feel like he’s in more danger here than indisposed at the creek?

…is this a dream? It certainly feels like one.

The springy surface beneath him is no doubt a mattress, and when he blinks the remaining bleariness from his vision, his surroundings become even clearer.

A voice startles him.

“Oh. You’re awake, then.”

Aventurine wrenches his head to the side - the bedside - where someone he doesn’t know is perched on an old rocking chair. There’s an expectant but curious look on your face, and the gambler is disconcerted by the fact that he can’t get ahold of himself immediately. He doesn’t speak, mouth drawn open in terrible vulnerability.

“I’d be speechless too. How are you feeling?” you probe, tossing the book you were thumbing through aside. It lands with a thud near a pail that’s attempting to contain a leak plaguing the high, logged ceiling. Aventurine watches the source of the earlier clanging, enraptured. “Do you remember anything?”

Assess the situation and make a move.

“I feel—” he winces at the hoarse quality of his voice, “—fine. Would you mind filling me in? I can’t say I have the best grasp on things at the moment, friend.”

He tries valiantly to save face, clearing his throat before pulling himself up to sit against the headboard. Mercilessly, he’s bombarded with pain. Hot, white needles stab at his lower extremities - the ones still obscured by the blankets. Agony circles and constricts his torso like a vice, the telltale aching of a few broken ribs.

The way you react to his answer is unfavorable. Your lips purse - Aventurine can easily place the look on your face as suspicion. He’s been regarded that way more often than not, and he can’t say it bothers him. He’s practically a living, breathing warning sign for any enemies of the IPC. But it’s not good, not good at all, to be on your bad side after you’ve presumably saved him; not while he’s in your care.

“We’re not friends,” you correct. “And I found you on my property, floating in the bank behind my cabin.” Hopping off your rocking chair and standing, you sweep your arms out as if to show him around.

Once you notice him adjusting again, you snap, “Hey! You’re lucky to be so unscathed, boy. Quit moving or else you’ll make it worse.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the blond chuckles, trying to disarm. There are bandages winding around the full length of his arms, the (most likely) mangled remnants of his clothes replaced with a plain undershirt. Aventurine suddenly mourns the loss of his gloves. His hands are on full display, having been bared to himself and to you.

Faded scars mar the skin around his knuckles, similar abrasions littering his palms. Calluses that will never smooth pool around his fingertips. 

Look how much you know about him already. 

Aventurine will not run again, even if Kakavasha is screaming at him to do so. He already has to deal with the fallout of his… uncharacteristic outburst. “I’m here on business, to put it plainly. Seems I got caught up in the downpour and got lost.”

It’s the best thing he can come up with to tell you, one of the “standoffish” locals. He stuffs his hands under the covers and quilts to hide them from view; when he does so, he also feels the scratchiness of gauze around his legs. Being indebted is never a good feeling, even though it’s something he experiences every waking moment. Aventurine knows you’ve saved him… and he knows you’ll, humanly, want something in return.

“Let’s just say I believe that,” you mutter. “I treated you the best I could, but it’s not much. Medical supplies have been scarce around here lately. Your torso’s pretty busted up, and you have a swollen ankle. I dunno how you were so fortunate, but you’ll need to see a doctor as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you. To whom do I owe the pleasure…?”

Silence. The tattoo on his neck burns.

You, with crossed arms, observe him again - this time from head to toe. Your scrutiny takes in his dull, multicolored eyes and his guarded posture. You’re a sharp one, for ostensibly nobody.

“It’s probably better if you don’t know my name. You’re not from around here, and you must’ve been running fast to end up face down in the rough like a corpse. I saw the tracks leading up to where you fell.” A strike of lightning and subsequent thunder punctuates your sentence, exacerbating the roof leak. The pail takes a beating trying to collect the new runoff, quickly filling. 

“But if I had to guess who you are,” you turn your back to him, making sure the thing doesn’t overflow. “You’re the rain-bringer. Hah!”

Aventurine understands you’re just joking, that you’re playfully chalking the termination of the drought up to the appearance of a bizarre stranger. The timing would get a laugh out of anyone. 

Well, anyone but him, that is. 

The man scorched by possibility finds it in himself to say nothing. He watches as you flit around the enclosed space - the cabin being about the size of a public restroom. You’re stoking the fireplace, then you’re up again to bring the wood-burning stove to life. 

“You’ve been out for a day at most, goldilocks. Once the storm lets up and the phones start to work, I’ll call the town doctor, and you can call your people. They must be worried, yeah? I made you something to eat earlier, but I…”

Aventurine tunes out after that. Despite the pressing concern that Diamond and his subordinates will be vexed by him going AWOL out of nowhere, he’s an asset for a reason. Even without taking his infernal blessing into account, he trusts his intuition. He’ll be okay in your hands - at least for the time being.

He doesn’t have a choice.

event post here. network members only!

[hedgiwithapen]

Artemis gets recruited in S1 of stargirl for dhd

"We need to stick together," Courtney hissed. 

"Don't worry, we got this," Rick said, flipping the hourglass. Golden sand began to spill into the other half, and he got ready to charge. Artemis, hefted the mace Courtney had offered her, a feral grin spreading across her face.

"Yeah. We find the guy and beat his head in," she said. "Easy peasy. On three?"

"No! Not easy peasey!" Beth said, suddenly panicked. She pointed down the hall at the two figures approaching. "They aren't the Gambler! That's--" she paused, listening to the AI in her goggles "Sportsmaster and Tigress

Artemis pivoted, Rick just a step behind her. Down the hall, Sportsmaster gripped a metal bat. 

They stared at each other, tense.

"Mom?" Artemis suddenly broke the silence. " Dad? What the-- I thought you were supposed to be on date night!"

"Artemis?" Sportsmaster asked, raising his mask and pointing the bat at her. "You're supposed to be at home."

"Uh," Courtney squeaked, gripping the Cosmic Staff tightly.

Tigress gave a loud sigh. "Alright," she said. "Let's do this. Fair fight, tap out when you need to, sweetie."

"First blood?" Artemis questioned as she held up the mace.

"What is going ON?" Courtney asked. "Wait-- stick together--" But Artemis was already swinging, and Rick and Yolanda didn't wait before charging Sportsmaster--that was, Mr. Crock.

Rick dodged the bat, punching hard, and Artemis landed a blow with the shaft of her mace, blocked by her mom's forearm. Tigress flipped her easily, but smiled. " Nice fall, Artemis. Textbook. Try that swing again."

"Midnite, can you stop the Gambler?" Courtney asked frantically. Whatever this was, it wasn't good for the JSA.

"I'm trying," Beth said. "I don't know."

The Crocks pushed the fight back, out towards the parking lot. Rick grabbed an entire car to throw.

"Good," Sportsmaster said approvingly. "Using superior strength is a great move against an opponent. But sometimes they're used to that and if you underestimate them--" he swung the bat hard, taking out one of Rick's knees. "It doesn't go so great. Stay down, Hourboy, you're done."

"No!" Courtney aimed the staff. Sportsmaster sidestepped the blow. 

"Hey! I'm a man of my word. Relax, he's fine under there. Probably." Sportsmaster tossed a hockey puck. Yolanda clawed it out of the air, sending it skittering back towards him before it exploded. 

Sportsmaster tugged off the mask, and yeah, Courtney for sure recognized him. How had she not put together that Artemis's dad was the weird gym guy?

"Alrighty, kid, you got me." He held up his arm, revealing a tiny bit of blood from a scrape.

"I... did?" Courtney asked. then straightened her shoulders. "I mean, I did. So now you're going to tell the JSA everything you know about your evil plan."

He tutted a little. "I don't think that was on the table? Hey babe, was that on the table?" he called to Tigress, still trading blows with Artemis, almost perfectly timed. 

"It was not," she said with a sharp smile. "Maybe next time. Although..."

She trailed off. Crusher glanced up, and whistled. "Nice robot."

Rick crawled out from under the car as STRIPE touched down.

"Get away from them," Pat said through the speaker. "K--team, climb on."

Crusher waved. "Hey! I know that voice. Pat? Pat! Nice team you've got, but they need to work on their discipline."

"We'll take Artemis home," Paula said.

"...." said Pat. "Come again?"

"It's fine," Artemis threw him a thumbs up. "It's my parents."

"Your parents." Pat repeated. "Are ISA?"

"She didn't know," Courtney and Paula said in unison.

"So, Arty," Crusher said. "You really wanna do this? this team?"

Artemis nodded, sweaty and beaming. "Yeah," she said. "I do."

Crusher and Paula glanced at each other. "Well, honey?" Paula asked.

"Yeah, why not? I like Pat more than Jordan, anyways," Crusher nodded. "Team huddle?"

Artemis tried waving her friends over. They hung back.

"I'm sorry, what am I missing?" Pat said, still ensconced in the robot.

"Oh, we're switching sides," Crusher said. "Duh? Get with it, Pat. Oh, shoot, Babe? Can you handle Steven real fast?"

"I can do that," Paula agreed, slipping off into the shadows. "See you at the..."

"Pit stop," Crusher filled in. "Yeah, let's go have a chat, right?"

~

Pat did not want to get out of the robot.  So he didn't. Crusher didn't seem to mind, whistling as he peeked at the blueprints still on the table. 

"These are nice, bud."

"Thanks," Pat said, sounding as stiff and awkward as he felt. 

"So. Bet you've got questions."

"A few," Pat said, glad that Courtney and the other kids were having hot chocolate up on the loft, out of Sportsmaster's reach. "Are you going to answer them?"

"Maybe. Depends." Crusher said. "Ask and we'll see."

"Ok," Pat says. "Sure, why the heck not. What's the ISA doing here?"

"Being really boring, mostly," Crusher said easily. "Like... 8 years of doing nothing, really.  Old Icy liked the look of this place so here we all are."

"All. Who else?"

"Oh, well, you know about Brainwave. Your girl put him in a coma. Handy. Fiddler--not the one you knew, he died. His wife. She's really uptight, no fun at all.  Gambler, unless he decided to be real stupid."

"Do I want to know?" Pat asked.

"Eh. You've got that No Killing rule, yeagh?"

"Yes," Pat said, exasperated.

"Then probably not." Crusher shrugged. "Wizard, but he's dead, hence Paula and my problem. Dragon King."

"Dragon King? He's still alive?"

"Mmm, yeah. Freaky shit, that guy, it's pretty cool sometimes but. Ugh. Not a lick of civic pride."

"Terrible parent," Paula said, dropping from a window Pat could have sworn couldn't even open. "Not a speck of interest in his daughter." She smiled. "Sharpe's handled. He had a very urgent trip to deal with. But you know him, honey."

"He's gonna squeal..."

"So why don't we go deal with Jordan now?"

"Wait," Pat said. "Deal with like kill? I thought he was your..."

"Friend?" Crusher asked. He made a face. " I guess. More than the other guys. But he did kill Wizard and his kid, and Artemis is throwing in with you. Like a football trade, you know? We're on her side. Would we have preferred she stick to the home team? Sure. but where Arty goes, so do we."

"Icicle doesn't have loyalty," Paula said, firmly. "And we're not going to wait around for him to think that we'll follow him when he goes after our daughter.  Look after her? We'll be back soon."

"If we aren't," Crusher said, suddenly grave. " Trust me, you get Arty and your people out of Blue Valley. Maybe try Australia. killer beaches."

"Right," Pat echoed, stunned. "I'll... what?"

Crusher and Paula left. Pat wondered if this was how Courtney had felt, when he'd gone off to face Brainwave. 

~~

"It took you long enough," Jordan said. "Steven isn't answering my calls. What happened? Did you get the satellite codes?"

"Slight snag," Crusher said. "Nothing to worry about."

"The JSA, wasn't it?" Jordan said, coolly. "That sounds like something to worry about. Stargirl and her...Stripesy-bot.  They need to be killed. All of them."

"Dibs," Crusher said.

Jordan rolled his eyes, turning back to his desk. "Must you be so childish about this? Fine. You can kill them."

"Wasn't talking to you," Crusher said, and tossed the azidoazide azide laced hockey puck at Jordan's head.

[cosmic-ships]

Glad I didn't post my lore with Anakin. Cause I'm changing it. lol FOR THE 3RD TIME help

Man my self insert has had some changes at first it was gonna be Jedi training in their later adult years > vito the Jedi idea and instead have them as a force sensitive who really does not give two shits about Jedi and stuff and instead is a gambler > to vitoing that idea to be a bounty hunter who acts like they're tough shit but sometimes is caught giving themselves pep talks before hunting g for a bounty. Also did I mention they're EXTREMELY fucking clumsy? Like....drops their blaster in the sand and some grains get into it and now suddenly its not firing so they have to resort to hand to hand. I'm the luckiest worst bounty hunter in the galaxy simply because when it goes wrong I still manage to complete what I was set out to do! Well nine times out if ten at least 😂

[thewingedbaron]

While I’m posting on fallout. Here’s my theory on what happened to Vegas (if it is actually abandoned like it is implied in the credits)

I think NV ended in a House victory. It would make little sense to set up the king of Vegas in the last episode of the show and then never see him again. So, House takes the dam, Vegas is powered, the NCR loses and the Legion is scattered. What happens then?

Well, House himself said that Vegas runs on the NCR’s caps. He needs the NCR’s money to keep his economy from collapsing. After all, it’s a society built on entertainment, and someone has to pay the families.

Well, if a weakened and already collapsing NCR loses the dam and then shady sands is nuked not long after? I cannot imagine that the NCR would be sticking around Vegas for long. After a last ditch attempt to take the city (hence the crashed vertibird) the NCR pulls out entirely, taking their caps with them.

With no stable supply of gamblers to entertain and fun his enterprise, it would not be long before Vegas’ economy collapses as well. Without the NCR the roads get even more dangerous. Less people are traveling, and no money is flowing. Without caps, the families running the casinos would likely turn on each other, returning to the raider tribes they once were. A second battle for New Vegas is fought until all living things are expelled from the city.

In season 2, I would guess we see a city run by robots. A forlorn Mr. House sits in his tower looking over the bright gem of the wasteland he once ruled. New Vegas is bruised, battered, but to yet beaten entirely. House will have a plan to bring the money back.

After all, the House always wins

[technicallymaximumkitty]

playlists

I made playlist for hazbin hotel characters

charlie, vaggie, alastor, angel dust, husk, niffty, sir pentious (bonus adam)

❤️ Charlie ❤️

❤️ Humility, gorillaz 

❤️ Lights, ellie goulding 

❤️ Gateway to the stars, skeleton staff

❤️ Cry baby, melody martinez  

❤️ Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, Lesley gore 

❤️ KK bubblegum, animal crossing 

❤️ Charlie’s inferno, the handsome devil 

❤️ The exorcist, calypso 

❤️ Space unicorns, parry gripp 

❤️ Out of my league, fitz and the tantrums 

❤️ Heathens, 21 pilots 

❤️ Devil town, cavetown 

❤️ Rat, penelope scott 

💜 Vaggie 💜

💜 Saint benard, lincoln 

💜 Angel with a shotgun, the cab 

💜 I wouldn't mind, he is we

💜 Hell’s coming with me, poor man’s poison 

💜 Mary on a cross, ghost

💜 Notion, the rare occasion 

💜 Butch 4 butch, rio romeo 

💜 Training wheels, melody martinez 

💜 All the good girls go to hell, billie eilish 

💜 Soku eye, gorillaz

💜 Spear of justice, toby fox 

💜 Roar, katy perry 

💜 Raincoat, studio killers 

🧡 Alastor 🧡

🧡 Twisted, missio 

🧡 All eyes on me, or3o 

🧡 Our love is god, heathers musical 

🧡 Animals, maroon 5

🧡 Dismemberment song, blue kid

🧡 Animal cannibal, karen skladany 

🧡 We'll meet again, vera lynn 

🧡 Terry's taxidermy, teddy hyde 

🧡 Christmas kids, roar

🧡 Arms tonite, mother mother

🧡 The hunting song, tom lehrer

🧡 Necromancing dancing, bear ghost 

🧡 Happy face, jagwar twin 

🩷 Angel Dust 🩷

🩷 Epoch, the living tombstones

🩷 Say amen (saturday night) panic! At the disco

🩷 Bad romance, lady gaga

🩷 Candy store, heathers musical

🩷 Grrrls, aviva

🩷 Take a hint, victorious cast 

🩷 Bubble gum bit*h, marina and the diamonds

🩷 Baby hotline, jack starbur 

🩷 Weak, AJR

🩷 Bad habits, steve lacy

🩷 Vending machine of love, the stupendium 

🩷 Front street, will wood and the tapeworms

🩷 Control, halsey 

🤎 Husk 🤎

🤎 Let me down slowly, alec benjamin 

🤎 Dirty harry, gorillaz

🤎 Ghosting, mother mother

🤎 Hand me my shovel i am going in, will wood and the tapeworms

🤎 The good, the bad and the dirty, panic! At the disco

🤎 The gambler, kenny rogers

🤎 Let's get this over with, they might be giants 

🤎 Cats, dogs, and rats, rare americans

🤎 Your gonna go far kid, the offsrping

🤎 Pardon me, he is we

🤎 Coffee, jack starbur 

🤎 Look who’s inside again, bo burham 

🤎 Tennessee whiskey, chris stapleton 

🤍 Niffty 🤍

🤍 Girlfriend, hemlock spring 

🤍 Body, mother mother

🤍 Bill waterson, lemon demon

🤍 The masochism tango, tom lehrer

🤍 The red means i love you, madds buckley 

🤍 Cell block tango, Chicago musical

🤍 Runs in the family, amanda palmer 

🤍 Killer queen, queen 

🤍 Hello kitty, avril lavigne 

🤍 Pretty little psycho, theexorcist 

🤍 Cannibal, kesha 

🤍 Barbie girl, aqua 

🤍 Curses, crane wives 

💛 Sir Pentious 💛

💛 Love like you, steven universe 

💛 Give and take, poor man’s poison

💛 Oh klahoma, jack starbar 

💛 I’ll rust with you, steam powered giraffe 

💛 Mr blue sky, electric light orchestra 

💛 Hidden in the sand, tally hall

💛 Egg and soldiers, cosmo sheldrake 

💛 Rhinestone eyes, gorillaz 

💛 Man made objects, lemon demon 

💛 Under my skin, jukebox ghost 

💛 Bang!, AJR

💛 Secrets, one republic 

💛 Savior of the skies, the cog is dead

🩵 Adam 🩵

🩵 Main character, will wood and the tapeworms

🩵 Stick it to the man, school of rock

🩵 Eighth wonder, lemon demon 

🩵 Verbatim, mother mother 

🩵 They’re only human, death note musical 

🩵 American idiot, green day

🩵 5/4, gorillaz 

🩵 Punk tactics, joey valance and brae 

🩵 Kiss me son of god, they might be giants 

🩵 DONTTRUSTME, 3OH!3

🩵 blood//water, grandson

🩵 Another way out, hollywood undead

🩵 Modern day cain, I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 4 - Closer Than Ever

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: The Mandalorian gets a first-hand look at her card skills in the Razor Crest

Careful for her fingers to not brush by any buttons, she leans over the console to peer out the glass and watch as they drift further and further away from Tatooine.

She can see Mos Eisley in the distance, growing smaller and smaller until everything looks like a diorama. Despite the shrinking of everything, the expanse of Tatooine never looked bigger, its sand dunes never longer.

Her heart falls into the pit of her stomach as the Razor Crest pierces through the atmosphere, leaving behind the twin suns and desert planet. “Whoa…” Craning her head, her eyes dart back and forth, watching the stars twinkle. Once it is safe to walk about the cabin, she undoes her seat belt and stands up, leaning over the console to drink in the sights.

The stars never looked so close before. And there are more than just stars: she sees asteroids, comets, even planets in the distance that fade in and out.

It’s beautiful.

Din focuses on piloting, charting the course to Canto Bight, but he has to notice her. There is a childlike wonder in her eyes reflecting the shine of the stars, half in disbelief and half in utter splendor. A corner of his lips curls into a smile, masked by his helmet. He will let her stare for just a few moments.

She sits down slowly, taking it all in. “You do this everyday?”

“You get used to it,” he says. “Strap in. We’re gonna make the jump now.”

The jump? She does as he says, clicking her seat belt again. As soon as she finishes, Grogu jumps into her lap, startling her. He coos, almost laughing as he settles in.

“Hold onto him tight,” says the Mandalorian.

“Got it.” She wraps her arms around the child, holding him close. Though she doesn’t interact with many children, something about this one’s big, beady eyes and forehead wrinkles activates some maternal instinct in her chest to fill her with warmth. When Grogu settles his weight onto her and relaxes, it brings a smile to her lips. He claps his hands, waiting for the jump.

It steals her breath away. The stars around her warp, turning into sharp lines as the ship accelerates forward. Grogu holds up his hands and adrenaline fills her body until she becomes accustomed to it. The Mandalorian kicks up his feet and rests his hands behind his head, a soft groan of relaxation emitting from his modulator.

Looks like they were going to be here for a while.

She lets a few minutes of silence pass before attempting to strike up conversation. “So… beskar, huh? Is it that important?”

“It is the metal of my people,” he answers. “It was stolen from us in the Purge.”

“Mm.” The Purge, right… She may have offhandedly heard about that, but the streets of Tatooine doesn’t give one great history lessons. Anything she knew about Mandalorians came from Peli, but even the humble mechanic didn’t know everything.

She leans down, reaching into her packet and pulling out some dried meat that she packed for the trip. It pales in comparison to what Canto Bight would have, the very thought making her salivate. Opening the wrap, she bites off a small piece. When Grogu holds up his hand, she smiles and uses her teeth to bite off another, handing it to him. He uses both hands to hold the piece, gnawing on the top.

With a chuckle, she chews her piece before using her fingers to rip off a bigger one. She leans over, presenting it to the Mandalorian. All he does is turn to her, the darkness of his visor piercing her eyes. Lifting a brow, she takes her piece back. “What? I’m just offering.”

“I’m not taking off my helmet.”

She scoffs. “Really? When do you eat?” Then she pops the meat in her mouth.

“Not around people.”

“Never?” His silence tells her everything. “Okay, fine, sheesh. More for me and Grogu.” The kid makes a happy noise as she gives him another piece.

So far, it only seems like one person is happy to have her along. “Hmph.” She bends down, whispering to him. “Your papa is a grumpy, old stick in the mud, huh?”

“I heard that.” He turns to her. “I’m not old.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know that, now would I?” She huffs again, splitting the last piece of meat down the middle between herself and Grogu. “Nothing against stick in the mud?”

He groans. “You talk too much.”

“You–!” She sits up in her chair. “Sor-ree for trying to make conversation. It’s not like this is my first time leaving Tatooine or anything. Or going somewhere new. Or traveling with someone I don’t know! The least you could do is be kinder! I’m doing you a favor, aren’t I?!” It feels good in the moment to let those feelings out, but once the silence settles in, hints of regret wash over her. She looks down at Grogu with guilt, her lips pressing together, and he simply tilts his head, confused by her words. Feeling the initial temper die down, she exhales. “S...Sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to call you that. I… I know I can get all… solar pretty fast.” Grogu touches her hand, his fingers curling around one of hers. “I, uh, will be more focused on the card game. Promise.”

He says nothing back at first. Just when she thinks he isn’t going to accept it, he speaks. “Are you nervous?”

She scoffs. “Actually… yeah, I am.” She watches the stars whiz by. “Playing cantinas is one thing. But these people that will enter the tournament… they’re professionals, right? They make millions of credits off gambling alone. What if I’m… what if I’m not good enough?”

He sees the doubt in her face. Din exhales slowly, then he stands up and goes to the back of the ship, looking through its compartments. He should have a deck somewhere here, left behind by either a bounty or someone else. When he finds it, he brings it back to his seat, presenting it. “Let’s play.”

The doubt washes away, leaving an inquisitive look in her face. “Really?”

“We’ve got the time.” Din knows he stinks, so it should be an easy win for her. That should at least give her a boost of confidence. “You deal.”

A grin curls on her lips. Her fingers brush by his gloves as she takes the deck. The second the cards are in her hands, he can see her change. She sits up straighter and he watches her hands shuffle them fast, performing a couple of tricks for Grogu’s entertainment.

It’s fascinating watching someone so expressive transform into someone else in the throws of the game. Her sabacc face is neutral and cold, almost like looking in the mirror. The one advantage Din has over her is that she cannot read his face. But then again, neither can he. He wonders if she really is keeping track of their deck in her head, if she really is making all of the point calculations she spoke of before. She doesn’t even move her lips to mouth the numbers to herself.

She turns her hand, showing her cards. “Game.”

Din blinks. He looks down at his hand, then at hers. “What?” It’s the first time he sounds so thrown off-guard. “But that’s… how did you…?”

She giggles. “Told you.”

Din snatches the cards from her hands, bringing them all between his. “We’re playing again. I’m dealing this time.”

“Alright.”

A few turns pass.

“Game.”

“Dank farrik.”

She lights up the Razor Crest with her laughter. Maybe she does cheat. Din catches her wrist, ceasing her laughs for a moment. “Wh-what?”

He pulls down her sleeve… nothing. Then he checks the other. When he confirms there isn’t anything there, she brings her hands back to herself, fixing her sleeves. “Told you I don’t cheat.”

“...Right.” He clears his throat. “Just had to check."

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch20: Bobby

Summary: A new friend joins the fight... Referenced Episodes: mention S1 E21 "Salvation," S1 E22 "Devil's Trap" CW: Minor gore (Meg's exorcism). Word Count: 7862 Recommended Song: The Gambler -- Kenny Rogers Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

To my disappointment, Dean didn't stay with me for long. All he needed was a few moments to collect himself, and now he was ready to jump back in. He stormed back into the motel room and I followed close behind, wanting to know what exactly his plan was. Were we really going to go after John?

Sam was seated at the table when I entered and quickly jumped to his feet, his eyes following Dean as his brother marched towards his duffel bag. "What are you doing, Dean?" he questioned as Dean filled the bag and pocketed the Colt.

"We've got to go," he responded, turning to face Sam with a resolute expression. "The demon knows we're in Salvation, all right. It knows we got the Colt. It's got Dad – it's probably coming for us next," he clarified, pulling his coat on.

"We've still got three bullets left," Sam retorted. "Let it come."

My hackles rose. That demon was not something I ever wanted to see again, quite frankly, and I really didn't want to sit here and wait for it. This thing... it had been in my head twice, showing me things I could never imagine on my own. It made my skin crawl and sweat bead on my brow. To allow it to come to us was just going to set us up to be cornered and skinned.

"Sam, if we stay here we're sitting ducks," I snapped. Dean turned to face me with a quizzical expression. Perhaps he had expected me to side with Sam’s usual more careful perspective, rather than Dean’s favored sporadic charge. "Next time we fight the demon, it'll be on our own terms; otherwise, it's going to kill us.”. Sam glared back and I stared him down with a vicious look. I was not in the mood to deal with his idiotic guilt complex and the need for vengeance, not when facing something of this caliber – vampires were one thing, but this… we needed a plan.

"We're not ready to take it on," Dean chimed in. "We don't know how many of them are out there. Now, we're no good to anybody dead. We're leaving now," he ordered, slinging his pack over his shoulder and marching out to the Impala.

I cast Sam a nervous look and began silently packing my things. I was still shaking from my encounter with that demon... that thing it had shown me. Towering red wings that split the gray sky, ash covered ground, corpses buried in the sand. A vision, maybe? I didn't know, but I knew I never wanted to find out.

I hated not knowing. The demon clearly showed it to me for a reason, and I hoped I would never know why. I wanted nothing more than to never see those pale yellow eyes again. The scent of sulfur and ash still clung to my clothes and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"So what is the plan?" I questioned as I tossed the strap of my bag over my shoulder and moved to stand beside Dean. He hunched over his own duffel bag and wrenched the zipper shut in hurried frustration. "Please tell me you have at least some sort of plan."

"Sort of," Dean started. "We find dad and kill the demon. That's it."

A shiver ran up my spine. Maybe I should have sided with Sam after all. "That's your plan?" I spoke, my voice rising with terror. Dean cocked his head from where he hunched to look at my wide eyes, a stern expression set on his face. "Dean, we don't even know where to start looking!"

"We should stayed," Sam crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. Dean shook his head, hoisted his bag in his arms and made his way towards the door. I glanced worriedly over my shoulder at Sam, then chased after his brother. "We could take him!" Sam argued as he followed us, reluctantly hefting his own items.

"Like hell! If we stay we’re dead.

"You don't know that-" he started and I snarled. He clamped his mouth shut and glared from the corner of his eye, refusing to fully turn to face me.

"I saw it, Sam," I hissed through my teeth as we entered the parking lot, the motel door slamming shut behind us. "It spoke to me- I looked into its goddamn eyes! There's no fucking way we can kill it, at least, not on its terms. And I guarantee, if we had stayed we would have been exactly where it wanted us." I turned my back to him and marched after Dean, who popped the trunk and gestured hurriedly for me to stow my bags.

The three of us fell silent, the only noise being the sound of canvas bags scraping against each other as we packed. Finally, Dean spoke slowly and steadily, his brows pinched in concern.. "It spoke to you?" he questioned, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I nodded and fisted the hem of my shirt with a frown. "Yeah. Only a couple of words though. It commented on my eyes."

Sam scoffed and twisted in his seat, a sneer on his thin lips. "The demon complimented your eyes?"

My lips drew back to showcase an irritated grimace. "Its eyes are yellow, Sam- like mine. So yeah, it said 'nice eyes.'" I snapped and folded my arms tightly over my chest. "And... it showed me something."

At this the boys perked up, curiosity evident on their faces. "What kind of something?" Dean questioned, quirking a brow.

"Like... hell on Earth. It was a wasteland," I said softly, my voice dropping to just over a whisper. "There were bodies... everywhere. Humans and monsters," I gulped, my voice dropping as I let myself sink into my thoughts. "No one was spared."

Once again, the group fell silent. Dean’s hand rested on the trunk of the Impala, lost in thought in his preparation to close it. I stared quietly at my feet, my boots a mess, stained with blood, vomit, and whatever else. I had no clue what the vision meant, but I hoped to God it wasn't any sort of possible future.

The trunk slammed shut and I flinched with a sharp look at Dean. "Look, we can worry about dystopian visions later," he said, looking briefly at me in the rearview mirror. "Right now, what we need is a plan. They're probably keeping Dad alive, we just gotta figure out where. They're gonna wanna trade him for the gun-" Sam shook his head and chuckled darkly, drawing Dean's attention. "What?"

"Dean, if that were true, why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam countered. As much as I hated to admit it, Sam was right. I didn't think there was much chance of a trade. "For all we know, dad could be-"

"Don't!" Dean shouted, slamming his hand down on the trunk of the car. I jumped and took a partial step back.

"Look, I don't want to believe it any more than you!" Sam shouted back, struggling to reason with his erratic older brother. He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, looked around the parking lot, and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "But if he is, all the more reason to kill this damn thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Screw the job!" Dean argued. He rolled his shoulders and made his way around the Impala to the driver’s seat. Sam rolled his eyes and hurried to the passenger’s side, opening the door just as Dean slipped into his seat. I followed hesitantly. "We find dad, and then we take this son of a bitch out together."

"And what if that's not an option, Dean?" I prompted as I dropped to my seat. "Do you really think we can take this thing out on our own? Hell, we tried tonight and it evaporated! Like of a fucking cloud of mist!" I threw my hands in the air in frustration and pure bewilderment. "How do we fight something like that, Dean? How do we do that alone?"

"We won't be alone," he growled, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. "Everything stops until we get dad back, alright? Everything."

I bristled and glared at the back of his head, biting my tongue to keep from lashing out. I couldn't just drop everything, not when I had people waiting for me at home. If I didn’t come back, they would go on a manhunt. I shivered at the thought – there was no solace in my own home anymore, no privacy in my personal life. I bit the inside of my cheek and reminded myself that these were my friends, my family now. I didn’t need to be alone.

Right? 

Sam paused in thought, his mind racing trying to comprehend our next course of action. "So how do we find him? Lincoln?"

I scoffed. "You can't possibly think they'd still be there. They're demons, I doubt they'd even leave a trail to follow." Dean's narrowed green eyes caught mine in the mirror. They looked so similar to John's, full of authority and ice, dispelling their usual warmth. "Even if they were still there, we'd be walking in on God knows how many demons."

I rested my arms across the top of the seat and rested my chin on my folded arms, glaring out the large front window. Dean sat still for a moment, then wrenched the car into action. We backed quickly out of the parking lot and tore off down the road.

"You're right," Dean finally answered lowly, as though he hated to admit it. "We're going to need some help." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Frankly, I didn't want to drag anyone else into this mess, but he wasn't wrong. We would need help.

"Who're you thinking?" Sam asked, turning his head towards his brother, eyes full of curiosity.

"It's been a while since we've paid Bobby a visit," Dean offered, a grin rising on his cheeks. "And he knows dad better than anyone, aside from maybe us. If anyone can find him, Bobby can."

I leaned back in my seat and my heart thumped faster in my chest. Dragging a new person into this was a risk, both for that individual and for me. I knew by now that the boys would defend me if something went wrong. But, it wasn't worth risking for my safety and for the individual’s. I picked at my nails and drew my lips into a thin, tight line.

So much had happened in just one night... This was the second time I had a dream about that empty void. Before, I may have just simply considered that a dream. But now... I had seen that demon, right before it had arrived. It had generated such a strong reaction in me that I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. Was the demon the one prompting the dreams-? No, that didn’t make sense, right? And what about that wolf? It was massive and white as freshly fallen snow. Why was it there?

Just another dozen to add to my growing list of questions.

—

Bobby Singer’s property was a mess of old cars, scattered around a messy lot. Tires were half-submerged in mounds of dirt and the rust on old metal seemed to blend in with the reddish dirt of the ground. The occasional weed sprung up around the old cars, but other than that there was little to no color.

It was red and brown, and dirty, but it felt like home. It reminded me of when my uncle was alive, when he would have old cars scattered around the massive front lawn of our house. He would always spend his free time working on cars. Although he would never admit to it, I knew he liked the feeling of being able to fix something, to do something good after all the suffering he felt he had caused.

It seemed to be a common trait in hunters.

The Impala came to rest not far from a large wooden home that looked like it could topple in a strong enough gust of wind. Comically, it reminded me of the Three Little Pigs and the piglet that had chosen to build his home out of sticks. In this scenario, I hoped I wouldn't become the big bad wolf.

Dean parked the car between two other vehicles, one a much larger pickup and the other a battered, beaten old muscle car. I frowned as I stepped out of the car and ran my fingers lightly over the dented hood.The brother’s hushed voices fell on deaf ears and their footsteps eventually faded, on the hunt for their companion.

 Rusted, warped frame, forgotten in the shade of the trees that surrounded the hidden property. The car felt grimy under my fingertips. My gaze slipped from the metal towards the front porch when I heard a screen door slam. I buried my hands in my packets and stared down at the car, waiting for… what, exactly? An invitation to make someone else’s life miserable?

I shivered. Was that really all I did? My pack’s lives had turned to hell since their association with me. And Caeden, this odd bond… I brought a hand to the back of my neck. Perhaps they would all be better off without me. I certainly felt I might be better off with fewer mouths to feed. I never wanted this, never wanted a pack-

"You like that one, huh?" a gruff voice called from behind me, well-worn with age and raw as if the man frequently reveled in the burning flavor of cigarettes. I spun on my heel to face the man, a pleasant smile on his worn cheeks.

I placed my palm flat on the car's hood and smiled warmly at the man. "Just… just admiring," I answered, indirectly answering his question.

The man nodded and held out his hand for me. I grasped it tightly and shook it. "Bobby Singer," he said, introducing himself.

I responded with my own name. He nodded and retracted his hand, glancing at my flat palm against the car. "Where'd the boys go?" I questioned peering around the older man. I hadn't noticed them leaving, and now I had no clue where they had gone.

"Looking for me, I expect," he replied with a chuckle. "I was in the shop out back, working. Stepped out when I heard the car pull up and saw you out here." He patted the trunk of the Impala fondly. "I'd recognize the purr of this beauty anywhere."

I nodded and my grin widened. I too would have known it from a mile away- literally. The purr of the Impala's engine was unmistakable, and I felt confident that I would be able to pick it from a lineup of lookalikes.

"Well don't just stand there," Bobby teased, motioning for me to follow as he turned towards the house. "Come inside, have a seat. Let me get you a beer."

I followed him reluctantly. My eyes narrowed as the front door came into view, a rusted car sitting not far from the porch. Atop it was a muscled rottweiler, with beady eyes and a scarred snout. It lifted its head to look at me and rumbled, growling low in its chest.

"Don't mind him," he said, gesturing dismissively towards the growling dog with a wave of his hand and a limp wrist. "He doesn't like most people." The dog growled in response, rising in tone. I glared back, holding its gaze until it gradually fell silent.

I wasn't a fan of most dogs. They had a tendency to react poorly around me, either with territorial growls and barks, or snapping with the intention of biting. In fact, most animals seemed nervous or aggressive around me – horses especially. I couldn't get within ten feet of a horse without it panicking. My father had always assumed it was how we smelled – like a wolf, and yet we looked different. It frightened them. They didn't understand what we were, beyond predator.

The interior of Bobby's house was just as much of a mess as his yard, cluttered with stacks of books several feet high. How a hunter could have so many books and still find time to read them was beyond me. Bobby motioned for me to sit on a dusty old couch in the living room and I complied while he went to fetch a few beers.

The door in the kitchen was tossed open, squeaking on its old hinges in protest. The brothers stormed into the room, tracking dirt with them onto the tile floor of the kitchen.

"Nice of you to join us," Bobby said, pulling a beer from the fridge and offering it to Sam. "Your friend's waiting for you in the living room." The brother's eyes panned to mine and I gave them a meek wave.

Dean padded towards me, leaving a rapidly thinning trail of dirt behind. I smiled and patted the seat beside me, which he happily took after pushing some books aside. Sam took a chair near Bobby's desk, situated at one end of the room.

"It's good to see you boys," Bobby said gruffly as he waltzed into the room. "Pleasantries aside, you said your daddy was in some sort of trouble with demons?" he questioned, placing his own beer on a table with minimal space on it.

Dean nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "A demon we ran into a while ago's got him. We don't know where he's at, and don't know where to start looking," he summarized.

"We figured it would be best to get some help," I offered, placing my beer on the floor at my feet. "We're hunting something- something big. We need all the help we can get." Dean bumped my leg, a clear sign that I needed to stop talking. We wanted Bobby as uninvolved as possible.

Bobby nodded and nursed his beer, swirling the contents before setting it back down. "Right, that demon John was always going on about," he said, casting his glance down to a book with a large rune on the cover. "Last I heard, he had a pretty decent lead."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in. "And now he's got demons after him for it." He leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as he could be in this situation.

"Well then I guess you lot had better start studying up on how to deal with demons," Bobby said with a chuckle. He gestured with his beer in hand to a few stacks of books. "I'd suggest you look through those. They've got the majority of my demon lore."

I groaned. More reading. As suggested, I stood and began rifling through one of the piles of books while Sam took the other. I didn't understand how Bobby could have this many books and know where anything was.

My fingers skimmed over the covers of books, some about demon summoning, which I avoided, some about witchcraft. I could spend hours in just this room, combing through book after book. I wondered how much information I could soak up from just one sitting.

My fingertips skimmed over the leather-bound cover of a rather thin book, the title emblazoned in gold letters. The Creation of Monsters. My brows rose in curiosity as my eyes scanned the dusty cover. There was no author listed, although that didn't surprise me. The books looked much older than me, potentially even older than my father. My fingers gravitated towards the duty tome-

"Find something?" Sam questioned, looking up from his stack of books.

I looked up to meet his curious gaze and shook my head, running my fingers over the faded title once more before placing it back down on the desk. "No. Just something I might want to read later."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I'm getting plenty of that too," he said and held a book up with strange runes as the title. "Pretty interesting, but not exactly great reading material."

I laughed and returned to my stack of books, thumbing through the odd manuscript and reading a few pages here or there. My eyes shifted back to the old book on Bobby’s desk, curiosity itching at me. There was so much information just in one room. Would our house have looked like this if I had stayed with my uncle? He did have an affinity for collecting.

Eventually, I found a book that looked promising and sat on the couch to read. Dean had long since disappeared, likely to get supplies or prepare weapons. Sam had gone upstairs not too long before I found my book, taking a break from the monotony.

Bobby cleared his throat and spoke up from the kitchen as he prepared what I assumed was an early lunch. "How'd you end up traveling with the Winchesters?"

I laughed and lifted my eyes from the tattered page I had been reading. "We ended up working the same hunt. They've called on me a few times since then to help them out." My eyes fell back to the page, taking in the handmade drawings scrawled in the margins.

"You been hunting for long?" he questioned. "You don't strike me as much of a rookie."

I shrugged and finally placed my book down, turning my head to face him. "I'm probably more of a rookie than you think. I had hunted a bit in the past, but not as much as I do now." Bobby nodded slowly, placing something in his small oven and sliding his small oven mitts off. "I hunted with my uncle for a few years."

"What happened to him?" Bobby inquired, though I was sure he already knew the answer.

"Hunt gone bad," I said simply. "Wraith." I hung my head, hands in my lap and fiddled with my fingers. "It was about two years ago. I hadn't hunted until about... seven? Maybe eight months ago? A case showed up in my town, and so did the brothers. We just kind of clicked."

"I can tell," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "The way those boys look at you- it's like you're one of their own. People don't get that look from many hunters, you know?"

I smiled softly at my clasped hands. "The feeling's mutual," I mumbled, barely loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Once more the door was carelessly tossed open and Dean came sauntering into the room, effectively interrupting the conversation yet again. In his hands, he held several shopping bags, filled with what I assumed were supplies for dealing with demons.

I stood to my feet, placing my book aside and taking two of the bags from him. He thanked me and placed them on the small kitchen table, which was surprisingly barren compared to the mess of a living room. I opened one of my bags to see two paint cans and several brushes.

"Sam said he's looking for something to trap demons," he clarified before I even had a chance to ask. "Figured we could paint it somewhere, just in case Meg or anyone else shows up here."

I scoffed and pulled the paint and brushes from the bag. "You mean when she shows up. I have no doubt that she'll find us, especially if we stay here any longer."

Dean shrugged and smirked, emptying the contents of his own bags. Salt, and a lot of it. "I was trying to be optimistic," he teased and bumped my shoulder. I chuckled and helped him organize the supplies, tossing the bags in the trash as I did.

Bobby had left the kitchen, though I wasn't sure when. I assumed he had gone upstairs to check on Sam, who had been in Bobby's small library for quite some time. I hummed in thought as I closed the trash can, wiping my hands on my jeans, the cuffs and pockets frayed. "You really think we can take her, Dean?" I asked quietly, my back to him.

Dean fell silent, his methodical organization ceasing. I found it funny how obsessed he was with keeping his hunting equipment neat and organized, but not his personal belongings. Finally, after several long moments, he spoke.

"Of course, we can take her," he said, oozing confidence. I turned to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter with my palms on its surface. "We've got the gun and some dusty old books. We can take on anything," he joked with a wink.

I frowned and stared at my feet, brows furrowed and heart pounding with nerves. After that encounter with the demon... I was shaken, to say the least. My confidence had been drained, knowing how easily it could get in my head.

Dean's soft footsteps tapped across the tile floor as he padded over to me, stopping just in front of me. A finger was placed under my chin, and he lifted it gently until I was eye to eye with him.

"Optimism, remember?" he said, a worried look on his handsome features. "Don't worry about it, Fido. Everything'll be fine."

"And what if it's not?" I questioned, gripping his wrist in my hand. "Dean, I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong-"

"It's just nerves," he said, doing his best to reassure me. I frowned as he continued to speak. "Everyone gets them, and it always turns out fine-"

"Fine? Yeah, like it turned out fine for my mom? For my uncle? For your father? Dean, hunts don't always turn out fine," I snapped. His eyes went wide at my outburst and I dropped my gaze to the floor, loosening my grip on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm just... really nervous, you know? I feel like something really bad is going to happen. It's like a weight in the pit of my stomach. I can't shake it."

He fell silent, his eyes raking over my face. I could practically feel his gaze on my skin, my ears dusting red. "I get it," he said softly. "I'm worried too- I'm always worried before a hunt." He pulled his wrist back and my hand easily slid from his skin and to my side. He raked his fingers through his hair, spiking it up slightly.

"Just... promise me you won't get hurt?" I asked, raising my eyes to meet his.

He lifted a brow and smiled softly. "I promised you back in Colorado that I wouldn't-"

"You never actually promised," I pointed out, raising an accusing finger at him. "You just kind of shrugged it off."

He sighed and turned his head momentarily away from mine before meeting my stern gaze again. "OK," he said. "I can't guarantee something won't happen, but I promise not to do anything stupid." He raised an accusing finger, mimicking my earlier pose, "But only if you do the same."

I grinned and folded my arms over my chest. "OK," I agreed. "I can work with that." He smirked back but quickly looked confused as my smile fell. "I just... I don't know what I would do if any of you got hurt. Sam, my pack, you..." I frowned and dropped my gaze. "I think... I think I'd lose it, honestly. Like I did on the Bender case..."

I jumped as his hand slid to my cheek, raising my head to meet his tired gaze. His green eyes flickered between mine, sincere concern written in them. "No one's going to get hurt, Sparky," he said softly, sounding so sure of himself. "Not Sam, not your pack, and not me. Everyone's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," I whispered, sliding my hand up his arm to rest lazily on his wrist. "You don't know what's going to happen. No one does."

"I know I won't let anything bad happen," he whispered back, swiping the pad of his thumb reassuringly over my cheek. "I'd die before I let any of you get hurt."

I frowned. "And I'd kill anything in my way rather than let you die," I grumbled, glaring up at him. He chuckled and I tightened my grip on his wrist. "I'm serious, Dean."

His grin fell away to a look of surprise, that playful glint in his eyes disappearing. His jaw hung loose, and his lips parted slightly as his eyes scanned mine, a mix of emotions flickering in his green irises.

I hadn't realized just how close he was to my face until his breath fanned over my lips. A blush rose on my cheeks, but I don't think he noticed. He looked lost in thought, transfixed. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of someone racing down the stairs.

Dean sprung away from me and turned to face Sam, who was barreling into the living room, an excited look on his face and a book in his hands. "I've got it!" he shouted, thrusting the book into the air in triumph. "I found a symbol that can trap demons!"

I blush blossomed across my cheeks and I swallowed dryly. Perfect timing.

—

The symbol was rather intricate, with odd sigils and designs decorating its edges. There was very little empty space, and I had no doubt that one slip-up could ruin the effect it had on a demon. It baffled me that such a thing could physically immobilize a demon - it just sounded so... fake. How could a painting trap some biblical monster?

Sam had returned to Bobby's desk, his eyes scanning over a lore book with intense fascination. My fingers drummed over a stack of books, waiting impatiently for something to happen. Dean paced up and down the room, his hands buried deep in his pockets and a gun on his waist. He always seemed to have a weapon on him.

Bobby sauntered into the room, a flask in either hand. "Here you go," he said, handing one of the silver flasks to Dean, who inspected it with a curious gaze.

"What is this- holy water?" he questioned, meeting Bobby's gaze.

Bobby chuckled. "That one is," he said, pointing to the one Dean held. "This one's whiskey," he grinned and took a sip of it, then offered it to Dean. Dean took it and drank some of it, offering it back to Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "For everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should come."

I scoffed and leaned forward, glaring at the elder Winchester brother. "He wanted to head straight to Lincoln," I told Bobby, a teasing smile on my lips. "Like a dumbass." Dean twisted to shoot me a glare over his shoulder.

"If you ever need anything, feel free to ask me," Bobby said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his red beard. "'Specially if it means helping John."

"Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything," Dean said with a laugh, turning from Bobby and making his way to the couch. I expected him to sit, but instead, he leaned against the armrest, avoiding my gaze.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people," Bobby replied, tipping his whiskey flask in acknowledgment. I grinned and dropped my gaze to my clasped hands. It was reassuring to know that a man who had known John far longer than I had felt the same way.

"Bobby, this book.... I've never seen anything like it," Sam called out from the desk, his voice dripping with awe. I looked up from my folded palms.

Bobby waltzed across the room and leaned on the desk, looking over Sam's shoulder. "Key of Solomon? It's the real deal, alright."

"And you're sure these protective symbols work?" Sam questioned, running his finger along a drawing on one of the tattered old pages. Bobby nodded.

"Hell, yeah. You get a demon in, they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel." Sam chuckled at Bobby's response and gently shut the book. "I'll tell you something else, too. This is some serious crap you boys stepped in." I frowned and looked up at him with curiosity - of course, this was a mess, but just how serious was it.

"How's that?" Sam questioned, mimicking my own thoughts.

"Normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops," he sighed and scratched his chin, ruffling his beard. "This year I heard of twenty-seven so far. You get what I'm saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more."

Twenty-seven? It was only May, we weren't even halfway through the year yet! "Jesus," I whispered under my breath, wide-eyed and thoroughly concerned. Those were just the cases Bobby heard about, not necessarily how many there really were. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands across the globe.

"Do you know why?" Sam pushed, leaning back in his chair. Bobby shook his head.

"No, but I know it's something big. The storm's coming, and you boys, your Daddy – you are smack in the middle of it."

The rottweiler chained outside began barking erratically, and I jumped at the sudden noise. This wasn't simple bark that a dog would direct at a mailman. This was a violent, territorial bark. Like it was threatened. My hackles rose before I could stop them, my skin prickling.

"Bobby-" I started, standing to my feet as he marched across the room to peer out the window. He held a hand to silence me, his eyes scanning his dirty lot. I clamped my mouth shut, heart hammering in my chest. Something was wrong.

I could smell her before the door was thrown open, the scent of sulfur filling the air. Meg kicked the door open, breaking the lock and tossing it haphazardly into the wall. She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, eyes befalling each individual in the room before speaking.

"No more crap, OK?" she spat, her voice sickly sweet.

Dean charged forward with his flask of holy water at the ready, but before he could even uncap the flask, he was thrown across the room into a pile of musty old books. I snarled, eyes swelling with gold. Meg brightened, a smirk rising on her pale cheeks. "Down, puppy," she said and turned her gaze to Sam. "I want the Colt, Sam – the real Colt – right now."

Sam and Bobby took slow steps away from her and she followed with an ever-growing grin. I took a few small side steps to where Dean lay on the floor, clutching his head in pain.

"We don't have it on us. We buried it." Sam replied, his voice shaking.

Meg growled and drew her lips back in a sneer. "Didn't I say 'no more crap'?" she spat. "I swear- after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed," she scowled and began counting on his fingers. "First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster, man. I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

I scampered towards Dean once her back was to me and helped to pull him to his feet, bracing him with a hand on his back. "Actually," he started slowly, his words slurred as he struggled to get his feet under him. "We were counting on it."

Meg whipped to face him, a confused glare on his pale features. She followed Dean's gaze to the ceiling, finally noticing the scarlet devil's trap painted on it. "Shit," she whispered.

It didn't take long to get her in a chair and tied down. She was defenseless now and likely didn't have enough physical strength on her own to defeat any of the four of us. So she sat quietly and watched as Dean tied ropes around her wrists, keeping her in place.

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask," she hissed, a teasing smirk on her thin lips. I scoffed and crossed my arms tightly, leaning against the edge of the couch. She cast her eyes briefly to mine and gave me a once over before returning her gaze to the brothers.

Bobby entered the kitchen with one of the large packages of salt Dean had bought. "I salted the door and windows," he began. "If there are any demons out there – they ain't getting in."

Dean nodded and returned his ferocious stare to Meg, a scowl etched on his lips. "Where's our father, Meg?" he questioned.

She giggled and glared up at him. "You didn't ask very nicely."

Dean frowned and held her gaze. "Where's our father, bitch?" My heart fluttered with worry. We knew very little about this symbol that had her trapped. What if it broke? Surely she'd attack Dean for his insolent comments.

"Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" she hissed. Sam winced from beside me. "Oh wait- you can't."

Dean slammed his hands onto the arms of the chair, eyes wild with fury. "You think this is a fucking game!?" he shouted. "Where is he? What did you do to him!?"

Meg leaned forward, her face inches from him and a cocky smirk rising on her delicate features. "He died screaming," she whispered. "I killed him myself."

Dean struck her across the face. I jumped and pulled my jacket tighter around me, as though it could possibly shield me. She laughed, a thin trickle of blood staining the corner of her lips, and glared up at him. "That's kind of a turn-on – you hitting a girl." I grimaced in disgust and averted my eyes.

"You're no girl," Dean crumbled. Bobby called his name and all eyes turned to the older hunter, who motioned for Dean to follow him. He glanced once more at Meg and turned to follow Bobby to the next room with Sam not far behind him.

I frowned at the floor and stayed, keeping an eye on Meg. I didn't trust the trap - I didn't trust magic. How could I rely on something I couldn't see to keep me safe? It was nonsense. I scrunched my nose in disgust, the air stinking of sulfur. I understood now why she had practically bathed in perfume.

"Heard you had a bit of a run-in with old Yellow-eyes," Meg purred, leaning back in her seat. Her teeth were stained pink with blood. "How'd that work out for ya?"

I held her gaze for a long moment before looking back towards the hallway that the brothers and Bobby had disappeared down. "I'm still here, aren't I? Clearly, it didn't go too badly."

"Not yet, at least," she teased and shifted in her seat. "You know, it's almost a shame you won’t go to Hell. You and I could have had a lot of fun in the pit," a Cheshire cat grin spread across her face, the small cut in her lip pulling tight and cracking, releasing a small spurt of blood.

I did my best to ignore her, tuning out her syrupy voice. "I hope you know you're not leaving this room intact," I spoke, finally turning my steely gaze on her. "If the Winchesters don't find a way to kill you, I will."

At that moment, the brothers returned, a book clasped tightly under Sam's arm. He stopped beside Meg and rifled through the pages, his eyes scanning over the messily scrawled words until they settled on the incantation he needed.

"Are you going to read me a story?" Meg questioned. I raised a brow at Sam, who met my gaze with his own nervous expression. What exactly were they doing?

"Something like that," Dean said with a small twitch of his lips, the beginnings of a smile. "You ready Sam?"

Sam nodded and began reading out the Latin incantation. Meg turned to face Dean with an unamused scowl, her fingers twitching in their restraints. "An exorcism? Really?" My eyes widened in surprise. Did those really work?

"Oh we're going for it, baby – head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards," Dean replied with a confident grin. A shiver crawled up my spine at the sight of that smile. It always brought a grin to my own cheeks, but this... this was an entirely new scenario to see that smile in. I wasn't as happy to see it this time.

Meg flinched as Sam continued, as though her muscles had spasmed. Sam glanced up at Dean for permission to continue, and his older brother nodded in response.

Meg snarled and clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed. "I'm gonna rip the bones from your body!" I narrowed my eyes at her and pushed off the couch, moving to stand across from her, just outside the devil's trap.

"No, you're going to burn in hell," Dean whispered, towering over her with a hate-filled gaze. "- Unless you tell us where our dad is." When she didn't reply, he shrugged and motioned for Sam to continue with the exorcism.

Meg began shaking in her chair like she was shivering from the early stages of hypothermia. He twitched, her head rocking from side to side. It was sick to watch. Finally, she gasped and Sam paused his reading.

"He begged for his life with tears in his eyes," she groaned out, tears welling up in her own brown eyes. "He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat." She cackled and threw her head back, twitching madly. Sam nervously went back to his reading, and to my horror, she continued her wild laughter through her spasms.

Dean leaned forward, almost eye level with her, a snarl embedded on his features. "For your sake, I hope you're lying. Cause if it's true, I swear to God, I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God!"

I flinched and turned my gaze from him to Bobby who stood in the corner of the room, a helpless and horrified expression on his features. Meg groaned in pain and flinched away from Dean as Sam continued, lips pulled back in a pained grimace.

"Where is he?" Dean questioned.

"Dead!" Meg shouted, gripping into the armrests, nails digging into the dust-covered wood.

"No, he's not! He's not dead! He can't be!" Dean shouted back. Sam's eyes left the book, filled with concern for his brother. "What are you looking at?" Dean spat. "Keep going!"

Meg screamed as Sam continued and the chair moved slightly, dragging her away from the center of the circle. She screamed and flailed, tears slipping down her cheeks. I covered my mouth with my hand, watching in horror.

"He's not dead!" she screamed, and suddenly all movement stopped. Sam's eyes lifted from the page in shock. "But he will be," she snapped and spat on the ground.

"Where?" I asked before Dean could speak. He cast a glare over his shoulder and then turned back to the demon. "Where is he, Meg?"

"Jefferson City," she hissed out, clenching and unclenching her fists in pain. "Some building in Missouri."

"A building?" Dean questioned. "Where? What's the address?"

"I don't know," she groaned.

"What about the demon? Where is it?" Sam questioned, taking a step closer.

"I don't know!" she screamed. "That's all I know, I swear!"

The room fell silent as she heaved for breath and Dean contemplated what to do next. Dean straightened and took a step back. "Finish it," he muttered to Sam without looking at him.

Meg screamed in rage. "You son of a bitch!" she shouted, thrashing in her restraints.

"Sam, read!" Dean shouted. Sam shook his head and kept his eyes on Meg's thrashing form, clearly thinking.

"Maybe we can still use her-" he offered, but Dean cut him off.

"She said she doesn't know," he spat and glared at his brother with balled fists.

"She lied!" Sam shouted. Dean shook his head and motioned for him to keep ready.

"Dean, you're going to kill her!" I shouted, stomping forward to place a hand on his arm. "She fell off a fucking building, Dean, if she is still alive, she won't be for long!" I glared at Meg who had ceased her thrashing and instead stared at the symbol that kept her trapped. She smelled of blood and infection like she was rotting from the inside. The sulfur had been covering the scent of death on her. "She's human, she can't possibly survive this," I whispered, pleading with him to stop.

Dean stared, holding my gaze for several moments. Finally, he shrugged off my grip and returned his glare to Meg's broken body. "We'll be putting her out of her misery," he grumbled. "Finish it Sam."

My jaw dropped as Sam did just that, taking a deep breath and resuming his incantation. Meg screamed, her chair lurching around the circle as if dragged on invisible wires. She screamed and thrashed and shook violently, bloody spit dripping from her lips. After what felt like an eternity, she tipped her head back and screamed one last time, a billowing back cloud of smoke leaving her body.

Her head dropped and a trail of blood dripped from her parted lips. I gasped as her head struggled to raise.

"She's alive," Dean whispered out in shock. "Call 911! Get some water and blankets!" he shouted, motioning for Sam to help him pull her from the chair.

I raced down the hallway in search of blankets and pounded up the stairs to Bobby's second story. I peaked in each room and finally found one with a neatly made bed that looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. The guest room. Without pausing to think, I dragged the blankets from the bed and bundled them in my arms, stomping back down the stairs with them.

I heard whispers from the living room and watched Sam lift the girl's head urging her to drink. She struggled to do so and swallowed harshly, wincing as she did so.

"Where's the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked gently. I kneeled beside him and stuffed a soft blanket under her back and head, elevating her. She sighed in relief.

"Not there," she whispered out, her voice strained, as though she hadn't spoken on her own in a very long time. "Other ones... awful ones..."

"Where are they keeping our dad?" Dean questioned, a hand resting gently on her broken shoulder. "Do you know?"

"By the river..." she whispered her voice fading with each word. "Sunrise..." Her head lolled back and her heart ceased its erratic beating.

"Sunrise?" Dean questioned. "Sunrise, what does that mean? What does it mean?" he shook her gently, but she didn't respond.

She was dead.

[simpsandships]

A Prank gone wrong? [Sasuke x Naruto]

The Hokage's Office

"The war had finally ended and the ending consequences, you two lose an arm each! Well, the chakra from nine-tails made it easier to heal Naruto, but Sasuke's arm is still not fully healed, but with how his injuries are, I'd say he'll be just fine. So, now that Sasuke is getting discharged, it is your responsibility to share your apartment with him, do you hear me Naruto?" said Lady Tsunade, in a serious voice.

"But baa-chan, can't he go back to his own house, to the Uchiha quarters?" Naruto had asked her, not actually hating the idea of Sasuke living with him for a few days.

"You dobe." This time it was Sasuke who cut him off, "First, the villagers don't trust me yet, and the way these elders have acted all these years only ever caring about their own selves, do you actually believe they'd be okay with the idea of a death-row convict like me going back to the Uchiha compound?"

"But why wouldn't they!!?" that really angered Naruto. Sasuke too, was a war hero after all, and without him by his side, he wouldn't have been able to wake those people up from the infinite dream. "Sasuke saved them, he saved all of them, all the villages and all the people!"

"Sadly, that's not how it works. Well, either way, I can ask the elders to drop all the charges against Sasuke but the living-arrangement needs to be taken care of by you. People trust you more than anyone and if you trust Sasuke blindly to let him stay with you, the people will start trusting him too, and then the elders won't have any other option but to acknowledge him and drop all his charges." Lady Tsunade explained.

Naruto finally understood the strategy to make people trust Sasuke again, "What an amazing idea! No wonder you are the hokage!!"

"It's pretty astonishing that a gambler like you managed to come up with a plan like that." Sasuke added, pretty impressed.

"Actually, it was Shikamaru's idea." Shizune interrupted, "that boy sure is a genius!"

"I know right! Shikamaru's awesome!" Naruto giggled, remembering how he always came up with the best of ideas when they were in a pickle.

Something shifted inside Sasuke. His stomach flipped and he felt a small lump in his throat. Somehow, he didn't like it when Naruto was praising someone else. Although he knew that Shikamaru might have had a thing for the blonde from the village of Sand, but still.

"Okay, since we're all clear about everything, Naruto, let's go back."

"Huh? Go where?"

"To your apartment, of course."

"Wait, we're staying in my apartment? Like I get it that we need to stay together, but my apartment is way too small for the two of us."

"We'll manage."

And with that Sasuke pulled on Naruto's collar as he dragged him out of the room.

'Ah, young love ~' both Lady Tsunade and Shizune smiled.

...

"Baa-chan is very nice, you know. Although she can be so serious sometimes, ya know!" Naruto said, as the two boys jumped over the roofs heading towards Naruto's apartment. But then he slowly took a glimpse of Sasuke's face from the corner of his eyes.

Sasuke's expression seemed neutral, just as usual but his hair had gotten longer, hadn't it? And Sasuke's height had also increased, and Naruto definitely couldn't deny that he had surely gotten a lot more handsome than what he was when they were still academy-graduates. But this time, Naruto was also popular among the girls, so, he wasn't actually losing.

But Sasuke might have caught Naruto staring, that he turned to look at Naruto's face and smirked, "What, don't tell me you've fallen for this face too? ~"

A major blush rose to his face as Naruto yelled, "As if teme! Just who do you think you are!? I would never...!!"

Sasuke was definitely enjoying it, he mimicked Naruto in his voice, "Come back Sasuke ~ I'll die with you Sasuke ~ You can't leave me Sasuke ~ These were the things you probably said a billion times till now, and what else was there? Oh yeah, be mine Sasuke, give yourself to me ~~ " he teased.

The little blush that had occupied Naruto's face intensified and now his entire face was red. He was blushing immensely and his pulse rate had probably increased. "H-Hey!! I never said the last part!! Just stop messing around!!"

"Oh, and not to mention, I was your first kiss, oh, and your second too. But honestly, the I'll die with you Sasuke part was really something else ~" Sasuke had no intention to stop his teasing. Plus, he was seeing a different side of Naruto now. Usually, Naruto was this loudmouth who went on talking confidently even about stuff he was wrong about, but this Naruto who was blushing like that, sure was cute. Wait........cute?

Naruto had had enough, his heart hurt because of his fastened heartbeats. He immediately jumped towards Sasuke, trying to grab him and cover his mouth to stop him from saying anything more, but Sasuke got hold of both his hands. "Not that easy."

"Let go of me bastard! I won't let you say any other weird stuff!" Naruto yelled, still flustered. But Sasuke had caught hold of both his arms so there was no way of shutting him off.

"Honestly Naruto, I get that you were obsessed with me, but I thought you saw me as a friend, who would've thought ~"

Okay, that's it. Sasuke definitely had the upper hand and he was saying all that just to rile him up. But Naruto wasn't going to lose either. If he can't use his hands, then there's just one way left to shut him up. Although... that would be... but who cares!? Naruto couldn't lose!

[Author here - Any of you guessed what 'other way' Naruto was thinking about to shut Sasuke up? ^^]

"I mean, I understand I'm quite a looker so, it was justifiable for those fangirls" Sasuke kept continuing, "but you are a totally different story ~ The war hero lusting over the guy who almost destroy - " Sasuke's words faded and his eyes widened as he felt a pair of soft lips crashing into his own.

Naruto had inched closer to him and had pushed his lips onto Sasuke. It wasn't anything like the previous two kisses they had shared. And it was Sasuke's turn to get flustered.

But the kiss did more than that. Sasuke's face had gotten redder that's for sure, but the longer the kiss went on, his knees felt weaker. His heartbeat rose and temperature increased. Just how the hell did he know how to kiss like that!!!? Sasuke could feel Naruto lips licking his own, gently nibbling on his lower lip, waiting for an entrance. Sasuke's mind short-circuited. He could feel the intensity of the kiss and that send shivers down his spine. Was that longing? Whatever it was, Sasuke was completely absorbed in it. Although, he knew all too well that Naruto had only kissed him to shut him off, but as the thought of Naruto doing this just for winning a situation send an excruciating pain through Sasuke's heart. Wait, did he want Naruto to kiss him in real? And as if unable to handle that, Sasuke kissed back.

He parted his lips, just enough for Naruto to slip in his tongue and explore the insides of Sasuke's mouth, as he released Naruto's hand and sending his arms around his neck, pulled him closer. Seeing that as a sign maybe, Naruto too, wrap Their bodies crashing, and their mouths moving in a perfect sync. The innocent-at-heart kiss had slowly turned passionate with 'want' written all over it. Naruto had definitely initiated the kiss to shut him off, but seeing Sasuke actually get into it, sent Naruto into a frenzy. His heart burned and heat travelled to places he hadn't had expected. He was kissing Sasuke and he wanted more.

Sasuke too was getting hard. Their tongues danced in perfect harmony as they grinded against each other, through their cloths until,

"mm ~" Naruto moaned, when Sasuke had accidently rubbed his knee against Naruto's @-@, that they momentarily separated from the kiss.

Their faces flustered and both huffing for air, they had the words, 'need' and 'desire' written all over their faces. What they had experienced now was something they'd never experienced before, never even imagined it. One joke. Just one joke and they were already a mess.

Now, Sasuke had never been one to be in awkward situations or instances where he wasn't in control. And with how the kiss with Naruto had felt, only he knew the extent to which things could go wrong in so many ways. And there was no way he was willing to risk that. Naruto had saved him from an eternity of loneliness and he wasn't going to lose all of that for some stupid prank Naruto pulled, that majorly went wrong.

Although, it didn't look like Naruto hated it. His face was coloured red and his lips parted slightly, it was clearly evident that he wanted more too.

Sasuke was the more mature one, he couldn't have let things go further south, he had to do something. He had to... But the face Naruto was making then was...

"So.. irresistible" Sasuke murmured, and immediately bit his cheeks. And within seconds, before Naruto could even comprehend it, Sasuke activated his rinnegan.

"S-Sorry Naruto... but this, never happened."

"Wha..." Naruto immediately shut his eyes, being affected by whatever Sasuke did and began to lose balance.

But Sasuke caught him and waited for him to stand back up.

Slowly, Naruto gained his composure back and looked up at Sasuke, "teme? What happened?" he asked confused, gaining his balance back. "Feels like I passed out? Are you okay though, huh, your face, it's red!? Are you okay?" he brought his face near Sasuke's once again, genuinely worried.

'Too close, idiot' Sasuke thought and put a palm against Naruto's face. "Nothing usuratonkachi! Let's go to your apartment already. I'm tired."

Naruto pouted, whining, "So mean!!"

But they both resumed their walk towards Naruto's apartment. And they would've made it inside the house as well, if only Shikamaru wasn't standing just outside Naruto's door.

"Well, took you guys a while. Looks like Tsunade-sama gave you the details already. You guys will be living here from now on, right?"

"Ne Shikamaru! How did you know, we would choose this place to stay? We could have refused the offer." Naruto asked, excited.

Shikamaru just looked at Sasuke and smirked, "How I wonder ~"

Sasuke flinched but looked in a completely different direction.

"But that aside, you're coming with me, Naruto! Back to that study, you need to finish 6 more scrolls today!"

"Whoaaaa...... no way!"

"You'll get plenty of time to be with Sasuke but only after you finish your work! Move your ass, Naruto!"

"Uhh fine!" Naruto yelled, obviously not happy to be separated from Sasuke. But he had to do what he had to do, right? "Ne Sasuke, you'll be okay without me here, right?"

"You're 100 years too early to be worrying about me, usuratonkachi." Sasuke said that, but his face had gotten gloomier that Naruto was going.

Naruto smiled at that and waved him a 'bye-bye' "See ya later, teme!"

...

Sasuke had holed up in his room (Naruto's bedroom, since there was only one bedroom in Naruto's apartment) and clenched his fists, "Making you forget that... was the only thing I could do. Honestly Naruto... you're an idiot... " 

[If you liked it, then here's a link to 7 more oneshots]

see ya later - Ciao ^^

[deadbydangit]

Going on vacation with them: Ace, Dwight

Ace Visconti

Viva Los Vegas baby!

No, seriously, that's where you're going.

Hope you like casinos.

Because you'll be spending a lot of time there.

You don't have to worry about him losing a ton of money though.

He's a pretty good gambler.

Ace knows when to hit it and knows when quit it.

And he's totally willing to give you tips.

"Kiss the dice baby."

"You're my lucky charm."

Complete with a wink.

Super cheesy.

But, don't worry, that's not all you'll do.

He'll take you to some romantic restaurants too.

The super fancy ones that take forever to get into.

You want to go shopping?

You're so getting spoiled.

He won a bit of money, and he's going to spend it on you.

Want to relax at the hotel?

Sure babe.

"Make sure you wear that cute swimsuit."

Like you had any other ones.

Want to do some activity?

Sure.

"Anything you want."

"Hey babe, there's a chapel. Want to get hitched right here and now?"

"We can get an Elvis impersonator to do our wedding!"

Don't worry, he's not serious.

He's just happy to be spending time with you and only you.

Seeing you smile means everything to him.

Dwight Fairfield

To him, the point of a vacation is to relax.

So he's not going to suggest anything wild or noisy.

Maybe some tropical place.

He'd rather relax on the beach than do a bunch of activities.

If you want, he'll take you on a tour of something.

But none of the haunted places type tours.

He might faint.

Dwight is also hella broke.

So don't expect anything to fancy.

He dreams of taking you somewhere luxurious and spoiling you.

But, for now, a trip to the beach is probably the best he can do.

And he feels super bad about it.

Make sure you act extra excited for the beach.

It will boost his morale about the whole thing.

And you better believe this boy is prepared.

He's thought of everything.

Sunscreen, umbrella, towels, sandcastle building equipment?

Check, check, check and check!

He likes to lay on a towel and soak up the sun.

Always being so uptight, it's rare to see him so calm.

Make sure he puts lots of sunscreen on.

He burns like you wouldn't believe.

If you want to do something, he's all for it.

Provided it isn't too dangerous or expensive.

Want to try boogie boarding?

That's the most extreme he'll go.

But he'll have fun.

Want to build a sand castle or collect sea shells?

He'll be right next to you to help.

He even packed the two of you a picnic.

Hand made sandwiches and fruits.

Nothing fancy.

But he put a lot of work into it.

And you two are absolutely watching the sunset together.

"It's so beautiful, like you."

He's been wanting to use that line for a while now.

Make sure to give him lots of love.

That's the best thank you he could get.