#sleeping beauty turquoise stone

[itsbulkgemstones]

[aspiregemshk]

Turquoise Faceted Rondelle Beads, Sleeping Beauty Turquoise Beads, Natural Arizona Turquoise

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The Atlantis is the fanciest Earth Ship I've ever seen. For one, it's turquoise. Wow, it looks like there's nothing around it for miles, but supposedly it's in an Earthship Community in Tres Piedras, New Mexico. 2bds, 2ba, $900K.

Interesting that the walls are painted, usually they're natural adobe and earthy tones. It has the typical long "hall" of plants in the entrance and along the side.

There's always a garden along the outer wall of the home.

This one has a stone and tile fireplace. Look at the hole in the wall. I wonder why it has shutters.

This is a relatively small earth ship. The cans, bottles, or whatever they used in the walls look jewel-like. For an earth ship, this is kind of a classy dining area.

The kitchen is small and looks sort of standard, except for the architectural salvage upper cabinets.

The primary bedroom is more of a sleeping nook and is separated by curtains.

The covered patio has a swing.

Must be very dark here at night.

They have a seating area in the corner, but I wouldn't call this a beautiful view. Almost $1M. I don't know if it's worth it.

[sametsyun]

Beauty and the Beast

Shinazugawa Genya x Iguro Obanai's sister! OC

"Beautiful... Genya-san is very beautiful... I'm almost jealous of how bright you can smile..."

Strangers to frenemies, frenemies to friends, friends to lovers

tags: gore, blood, trauma, ptsd, insecurities, sexual themes, no smut, nudity, mdni, angst, platonic angst, abuse, self harming, eating disorders, sexual harassment, no use of y/n, oc x canon.

This gon be a full fic.

NOT AN X READER! I REPEAT! NOT AN X READER!

Prologue~ Chapter 1

Prologue

My brother was special as they said. From a long line of women only being born in the family, my brother was the first boy to be born after centuries. I didn’t know how he was so special or why I never see him.

I never understood anything in this family.

The sound of small footsteps pitter-pattering against the wooden floors were quiet and unsuspecting towards the sleeping residents of the manor. Tiny turquoise eyes peeked through a slightly ajar futsuma, looking out for anyone who could be awake. The door slides open and a toddler walks in, closing door behind her before carefully descending down the stairs.

There were many things I was restricted to do, many rooms I wasn’t allowed to go in. Had I not seen a relative of mine go into one of those rooms, I wouldn’t even bat an eye on it.

It was cold and dark when she reached the bottom. The usual wooden floors she would feel beneath her tiny feet were replaced with cold stones. Her eyes see nothing but darkness, yet her ears were quite sharp. She could hear something move not far from where she stood. Her feet followed the sound.

Had I not woken up that night, I wouldn’t have seen my brother.

An overwhelming scent entered her nostrils, making her scrunch her nose in distaste. It smelled of both new and old food. The further she walked the stronger the smell grew and her nose began to twitch at the gross smell. A small sneeze left her, unknowingly startling something near her.

A small glimmer of the moon shined through an open window by the ceilings of the basement. With the small amount of moon light, the girl looks up from her sneezing attack and turned towards the source of the smell with her nose scrunched up, only drop it once she sees what else was with the smell.

A small boy curled up against the wall with the strangest eyes she’s seen. The boy looked at her confused but still quite fearful. Upon seeing a new face, the girl’s eyes lit up with interest. Crawling up to the boy’s cage, she attempted to reach for him, her tiny hand barely even passing through the gap. Her big baby eyes glimmered with strange determination and interest for the boy.

He was confused.

He was confused as to who this tiny child was how she found him. With the small amount of moonlight, he wasn’t able to see her properly until she tried pushing her face through the gap. The fat of her baby cheeks smushed against the thick wood.

It was only then he was able to see her properly. Since she was a mere baby, he thinks it’s fine to get a little closer. So, the boy shuffles a little closer, and sits in front of her. The girl’s eyes visibly widened, reaching a hand towards him. The boy slowly reaches out as well, and their fingers touch.

They both smiled for the first time.

[bellysoupset]

Sick Wendy during the holidays + Caretaker Vince. Fever, stomach bug and some much deserved belly rubs.

-----------------------------------------

"Honey," Wendy whispered, shaking Vince's shoulder lightly and he groaned, rolling away from her as much as the passenger seat allowed. She bit down a smile, shaking him harder, "Vince, wake up."

"Are we here?" he groaned, not bothering to open his eyes and Wendy opened a fond smile, rubbing his back. Vince had these terrible dark circles lately that were worrying her, but he swore everything was fine, he just couldn't get a good night of sleep. She decided to let him sleep.

"No," she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his curls, "we're at the gas stop, I'll be right back. Do you want anything?"

Nothing but a soft snore answered her.

It wasn't a hole-in-the-wall type of gas station. It was part of a much bigger chain and had a restaurant area, as well as a trinkets store and a coffee shop.

They had had breakfast back home and Wendy was still feeling quite full from it, but that didn't stop her from buying a large caramel latte, as well as a box of cupcakes for Vince, then took her sweet time browsing through the trinkets.

Everything was overpriced, since this was the last store before reaching town and they knew their clients were people who had forgotten to buy gifts, especially during holiday season.

Wendy smiled as she saw a beautiful headband, all bejeweled and with turquoise stones. She put it inside her basket, continuing to go through the products, while slurping on the rest of her coffee. Wendy grimaced as her straw hit the bottom of her plastic cup. She hadn't realized how fast she chugged it.

Her stomach gurgled, complaining, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, standing up straight and going to pay for the headband, as well as other useless trinkets she thought were cute.

Vince was awake once she got back to the car. He had jumped out and was leaning against the metal, hands shoved in his jacket's pocket, cheeks kissed by the cold and all pink, the tips of his curls poking out from under his black beanie were twirling with the wind.

"What you got there?" he asked, once Wendy moved closer. She handed him the box of cupcakes, the one she had already forgotten about and felt vaguely queasy as he opened it to reveal the icing covered goodies.

"Ooh, they look great... I'm starving," he reached for one, before pausing and frowning, "dairy free? I don't wanna shit my pants during Christmas, honey."

Wendy wrinkled her nose at his crass language, shifting on her feet. Her stomach was starting to throb and continuing to gurgle, "it's just the 20th," she told him with an eyeroll, then before Vince could interrupt, "and yes, they're dairy free."

"Uhm," he didn't need to hear anything else, all but shoving one of the tiny cupcakes whole in his mouth, "eel'goo."

"Ew," Wendy grinned, putting the other bags in the backseat and circling him, "switch with me?"

Vince nodded, still eating as he circled the car and then planting the box on her lap as he fixed the car seat and put them back on the road.

"These are actually great," he said happily, fishing another one from the box, left hand drumming on the steering wheel, "thank you... Aren't you gonna eat, Wen?"

Wendy's stomach squeezed at the thought and she shook her head, fighting to keep a smile on, "not hungry..."

"Are you sure?" Vince glanced at her quickly, before looking back to the road, "they have a red velvet one..."

"No, I'm good," Wendy stressed, fighting the urge to shove the cupcakes off her lap. She could smell them and all that sweetness was making her already unsettled belly even more so.

Vince frowned and seemed like he wanted to argue, but he didn't say anything, only ate another cupcake and kept driving. Wendy was graceful, her stomach was souring quickly and her head started to throb with the sweet scent filling the car.

It was snowing, so it wasn't like she could open a window and she mentally cursed, leaning back on her seat and closing her eyes, breathing through her mouth. Maybe she was just carsick, she could fight through it.

Her mouth felt sticky and she licked at her dry lips, gulping down and bouncing one of her legs anxiously, feeling the latte churn in her belly. In the cramped space of the car, she was sure Vince could hear all the little noises her stomach was making and Wendy felt terribly embarrassed on top of the nausea, trapped like a caged animal and wanting to put as much distance between them.

Vince's freezing hand upon her forehead startled her so much Wendy gasped and coughed, rushing to sit up straight.

"What-"

"You don't look so well, honey," he had slowed down and seemed to be looking for a spot to pull over, much to her dismay. The cupcake box had been closed and Wendy glanced around in search of it, finding it sitting in the backseat.

"I'm fine, I'm just..." there was cold sweat gluing her clothes to her back and Wendy groaned, squirming on her seat, "don't laugh," she said, wrapping an arm around her stomach and pushing his hand away from her face, "I drank a latte back at the stop and it's not sitting well."

"Oh," Vince sounded relieved, which only made her want to curl up more. Wendy pressed herself to the door, rocking her body slightly to keep her mind off the waves of queasiness and the pressure in the back of her throat, "why didn't you just say something, hon? Do you want me to pull over?"

"Nu-uh," Wendy shook her head, then brought up a hand to her mouth and muffled a little sick, airy burp, "no, I just want to get to Doveport as soon as possible..."

"We're fifteen minutes out," Vince planted a hand on the middle of her back, switching his attention back to the road, "think you can handle it?"

"God, stop-" Wendy groaned, leaning further in and breathing through her mouth, "stop babying me, it's my fault I feel like shit, Vince. I shouldn't have drank a freaking gas station caramel mocha."

Just the thought of it made her spine curl and Wendy gulped down as she could taste the sweetness all over again. She shuddered, again, goosebumps covering her skin.

"Don't be silly," Vince reached in the cupholder between them, passing her a water bottle, "it's not your fault, honey."

"Uhm..." the water was refreshing, but it landed on her stomach like a brick, immediately wanting out. Wendy's rushed to cup her mouth as her body betrayed her and yet another little burp rushed out, this one morphing in a gag at the end. She swallowed convulsively the sweet saliva pooling in her mouth, her throat seeming to refuse her.

"...Just a second..." she heard Vince say in the background and then the car came to a stop on the side of the road and he reached over her, pushing her door open when Wendy didn't move. She let out a groan, shaking her head, still in denial.

"Nooo..."

"I don't think you get a say on that, honey," Vin said sympathetically, knuckles brushing her cheeks, "c'mon, better out than in."

Her belly let out a nasty growl, a nauseating string of burbles rolling around and Wendy whimpered, giving in and turning on seat to hang out of the door.

She tugged on the ends of her pink scarf, tugging it off her neck and balling it up in one hand, the one squeezing the doorway. Her stomach turned once more and Wendy spat on the grey snow on the side of the road, knowing there was no chance to swallow it back down and not throw up.

Vince's hand was still in the middle of her back, rubbing soothing circles and she wanted to tell him to stop touching her, not when she was feeling this gross and embarrassed... Wendy let out a sick burp and whined, gulping the acid in the back of her throat.

"Let it up, honey, you'll feel better," Vince thumped her back lightly and she nearly snapped at him, when the motion only made her feel worse. She couldn't swallow it back down like this, as he forced up another belch... And then she puked a gush of beige vomit all over the snow.

Wendy coughed, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to spit the horrible taste in her mouth, without setting off another round. Her nausea didn't lessen, on the contrary, it only seemed to grow and grow... She nearly fell off the car with the strength of the next heave, vomiting a much larger amount as her belly squeezed with a cramp.

Vince had moved on his seat, so he could gently hold the pieces of hair away from her mouth with one hand, the other one planted on her shoulder to stop Wendy from taking a dive at the disgusting side of the road, and she let out a whimper at the realization he could see exactly what she could see, which was quite the gruesome sight.

"Stop- Stop touching me..." Wendy whined, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and falling back against her seat, wrapping one arm around her stomach. She was wearing a graphic sweater, as well as a thick baby blue skirt, with a belt around her middle. When they left home, the belt had been loose, but right now it felt like it was squeezing her in half.

However, just the idea of undoing it was too humiliating. Wendy gulped down nervously, shuddering again and wiping the little tears clinging to her lashes. She avoided Vin's worried gaze and his outstretched hand, holding the plastic bottle of water. Her fingers came back brushed with black and Wendy groaned again, imagining just how gross she looked, with her mascara all smeared.

"I'm so sorry," she sighed, wiping at her mouth and her eyes again, trying to regain a scrap of composure, "I'm sorry, this was disgusting, I just-"

"Oh, can it, Wen," Vince scoffed, cupping her face. His hands were freezing and they felt lovely against her cheeks, even if they made her shiver. Wendy whined, closing her eyes as her stomach continued to flip, not feeling one bit settled, although it was much emptier, "did getting that out of your system help?"

She nodded, lying, and Vince let out a huff, suddenly pressing a kiss to her brow, "I don't know if I believe it, you're the color of the snow."

Wendy gagged at the thought, "covered in sick and disgusting?"

"White," Vince corrected her with a chuckle, reaching over her to slam the door shut, "white like a bunny," he teased lightly, kissing her temple again, "take a minute, okay? We're not in a rush."

"We sort of are, though," Wendy sighed, but couldn't help but lean back on her seat with relief. Her stomach was still feeling horrible, churning ominously and she felt far from done. To makes matters worse, she was covered in sweat and couldn't seem to stop shaking, "I feel like crap."

"I'm sorry, honey," Vince rubbed her arm, then reached on the side of her seat, lowering it a little bit, "we're really almost home, just try and breathe, okay?"

That wasn't as reassuring as he thought it was. Home for Vince, sure, but to her it meant a much larger audience witnessing as she made a fool of herself, her stomach hellbent on emptying itself from the caramel latte and Wendy was terrified her intestines would join her body's riot against her. She wanted her own apartment, her own bed and bathroom and no audience.

Still, she didn't say it out loud, and true to Vin's words, not even 10 minutes later they were entering his street. Wendy lowered the mirror to get a look at herself, then cringed as she saw the smudged mascara around her eyes, and how pale she was. She quickly wiped the black vestiges away, grabbing the water bottle and taking some sips, swishing the water around to get rid of the horrible taste in her mouth and the puke breath. It was the best she could do.

The water had been a horrible idea, it added to the churning in her tummy, making her feel even more nauseous. She felt overly full and dizzy, but right now was not the time.

The front door opened and Vince's mom rushed out to pull her 6'4 baby into a hug, squealing when he pulled her off her feet. It was a heart warming scene and Wendy would've basked in it, wasn't it for the fact she could feel her belly squeezing again, her mouth watering.

"You too, c'mere," Ma said, tugging Wendy into a hug, "darling, I missed you... What's wrong?"

Wendy wanted to cry. She had hoped she could simply lie her way through and go up to Vin's room to curl up in his bathroom and die, but clearly his mother had other ideas. The woman cupped her cheeks, then touched her forehead, a wrinkle appearing between her brows, a frown forming. Ma looked every little bit like her son when she glared like that.

"I'm fine-"

"Mamma, she's alright," Vince interjected, noticing his girlfriend's pale face and weak, strained voice, "carsickness, that's all."

Carsickness was much less embarrassing than I-drank-a-fucking-side-of-the-road-latte-because-i'm-stupid-and-have-no-self-restraint, Wendy thought sourly, wincing.

Ma let out a little unhappy noise, "you poor thing," she pulled back, patting Wendy's arm, "come inside, lie down for a bit. I'll get you a ginger ale."

She mumbled another string of words, but that Wendy couldn't piece together since it was in italian. She hoped it was just amiable cooing, but Wendy's swirling thoughts couldn't help but feel like she was being judged.

Her parents would be judging the shit out of Vince if it was the other way around, the talking behind his back would simply never stop. It was hard to believe in Ma's genuine affection as she pushed Wendy inside the house and towards the couch, telling her to sit down and lean back her head.

"You'll feel alright in un attimo," the woman cooed, while Vince brought in the bags. He flashed Wendy a smile, crossing the living room to crouch in front of the couch.

"Sorry, mom's a lot," he whispered, pushing a strand of hair away from Wendy's eyes, "how's your belly?"

"I wanna die, Vince," Wendy answered him, her voice hoarse from the previous puking, "I'm sorry, this was so stupid- I don't know where my mind was."

Vince rolled his eyes, leaning in to kiss her forehead, "whatever do you mean, honey?" he cupped her face, thumb on her chin, "you couldn't possibly have guessed you'd get sick."

"It was gas station food, I definitely could have not eaten that," Wendy scoffed, wrapping an arm around her stomach as the thought made her all the more queasy. She hated that she could still just taste it.

Across the room there was a noise and then Livia rushed in, bundled up in a snow coat, grinning the whole way.

"VINNY!" She squealed, throwing herself over her brother with her whole body, causing him to almost fall on his back. He opened a big smile, kissing her cheek and moving his arms to Liv was sitting on his knee, her arms wrapped around his neck.

The little girl finally saw Wendy, still smiling as she said, "Hi principessa," she jumped from Vin's lap to press a kiss to Wendy's cheek, before frowning, "why are you sad?"

"Wendy's sick, bambi, leave her alone," Vince pulled his sister back, grabbing the little kid and throwing her over his shoulder, then turning to Wendy, "I'm gonna get you some water, do you think pepto would help?"

Wendy shrugged, she didn't feel like she could hold the medicine down, but it was worth a try. Vin let out a little sad, sympathetic sigh, before whispering, "be right back."

She let out a groan once he was out of sight, curling up on the couch and trying to figure if she could get away with leaving the living room or if it'd be too rude. Her stomach was sloshing uncomfortably and she still couldn't stop shivering.

"Here," Sophia's voice startled her and Wendy glanced up from her curled up position, in time to see Vince's cranky teenager sister drape a blanket over her.

It made her heart sink and Wendy opened a strained smile, "thank you..." she said, her voice all raspy. Sophia blushed, shrugging.

"Do you need anything else?" she reminded Wendy of Jonah and Wendy smiled at the thought, pulling the blankets tighter around her. She wanted Vince, but he had only been gone for ten minutes, so it was too pathetic to say out loud.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Soph."

Still Sophia hung around, uneasily shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly wanting to do more but unsure of what. She was thankfully interrupted by Vince coming back, a thermos in one of his hands, as well as a ceramic mug held only by his pinky around the handle, the little bottle of pepto bismol sitting inside of it.

"Mamma made some peppermint tea, honey," Vince said, messing Sophia's hair as he circled around her to get to the couch and causing his sister to hiss and shove his back.

Wendy groaned at the prospect of drinking anything, especially something sweet, when her stomach already felt like it was crawling up her throat. She turned on the couch, pressing her lips tightly closed and breathing deeply through her nose, looking at the ceiling.

"I know you don't wanna drink anything right now, but this could help," Vince said, sitting on the ground in front of her. Even sitting down a level lower than her, he was still taller. Wendy sighed, pulling the ends of the blanket and shaking her head.

"I don't... I don't think so, Vin..."

He pouted, then leaned in to push a stray hair away from her eyes and his brows dipped into a frown, "oh Wen, you're really warm..."

She leaned forward, planting her forehead to his hand and still taking measured breaths, as her stomach started to feel more and more uneasy, "that..." her mouth pooled with overly sweet spit and Wendy gulped it down, "that'd-explaininnit..." she slurred, the words barely forming. Her face felt numb.

"Vin..." Wendy heard Sophia saying, but she was far too nauseous to pay any attention. It felt like the couch was swaying... Her throat constricted as if she couldn't breathe and up came another wave of vomit.

This time it was much chunkier and harder to get up and Wendy was left gasping for air and crying when she finished off the first round, her stomach still flipping inside of her, letting out a little acrid burp. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, sure she had just thrown up all over her boyfriend's parent's living room, probably ruining his mom's rug.

"I'm-" Wendy hiccupped, her head throbbing in the same rhythm as her belly churned, "fuck, i'm so-sorry..." there were tears streaming down her face and Wendy started to openly cry as she felt Vince shush her, pulling her closer to him. Her forehead met his chest or his tummy, she wasn't sure, she only knew she could smell the fabric softener in his hoodie and that it was soft and inviting... And she was probably ruining it with tears and drool.

"Soph, potresti prendere il...?"

"Sí, sí-"

Whatever Vince said to his sister, suddenly Wendy was no longer half covered by the blanket and his arms were wrapping around her, one under her legs, the other around her back, lifting her up.

"No-" Wendy groaned, as he moved so her head could rest on his shoulder, "no, Vin, I'm-" her belly contracted painfully and Wendy muffled a burp against his chest, gasping for air, "stooop..."

"Sorry, doll," Vince whispered back, his voice rough with concern. Wendy groaned louder at the movement of him carrying her, probably up the stairs judging by the up and down that was making her head spin.

"I'm gonna... Vince, wait-" Wendy complained weakly, trying to warn him she was about to be sick again. He sped up, but didn't show any other sign of having heard her and Wen let out a frustrated noise, trying to pull back from his hold.

"No, hon, don't do that," Vince said softly and then hit a light switch and Wendy realized they had just entered his bathroom. It was just a cramped and messy as she remembered it.

He put her down gently in front of the sink and Wendy let out a sob as she noticed a wet dark patch on his hoodie, already wiped at, "oh no-"

"It's alright," Vince tugged his sweater off, balling it up and throwing it under the sink, closing the distance between them so he could pull her hair into a low ponytail.

"Did I..." She leaned heavily over the sink, squeezing her eyes shut against the mounting nausea, "did I puke on your mom's couch...?"

"No, just my lap," Vince teased her lightly, planting a kiss to her temple, and Wendy groaned, letting out a tiny airy burp.

"It's not funny," she scoffed, voice thick with tears and wanting for the ground to open up. She caught Vin rolling his eyes on the mirror.

"Wendy, you're sick, sweetheart. My family adores you, please don't worry about this..." he rubbed her back, "can you get in the shower? I think your fever is up..."

"Uhm," Wendy folded in half, pressing her forehead to the cold sink and shivering violently, "maybe... Do you- Can you give me some space? Please?"

Her belly was still a mess and she had never felt so mortified before, but she knew she'd feel even worse just stripping in front of him. Vince let out a little unhappy noise, his hand still planted in the middle of her back.

"I can... But I'm gonna be right outside, okay? And please don't lock the door."

"Okay," she sniffled, tearing up, "can you get me some clean clothes, please?" Her belt was still squeezing the hell out of her upset tummy and her sweater and skirt felt like they were glued to her sweat covered body. Vince nodded, kissing the top of her head.

"Of course, doll. I'll get you something comfy. You can use my towel, I'll get another one later."

"Thank you," she waited for him to step out and then Wendy's flimsy hold on her self control all but crumbled. New tears sprung up and she immediately started stripping, despite feeling sluggish and awful. The sensation of the clothes was constricting and she especially hated it rubbing on her belly, reminding her how bloated she was.

The hot water took a second to heat up and Wendy shivered violently hugging herself and sitting on the closed toilet in just her panties. Her belly was sore as fuck and she could still hear it let out all sorts of noises, bubbles shifting under her hand.

The warm shower did wonders to how gross she was feeling and relaxed the muscles of her back, but did absolutely nothing to the woozy feeling, except make it worse. She stumbled slightly, pressing her forehead to the cold tiles and letting the hot water run down her back, trying to find any strength to shut it off and walk out.

Instead, her legs were feeling more and more like jelly. Wendy breathed through her mouth as the bathroom spun around her and slowly slid down to a crouched down position, doing her best to not fall on her ass.

Her stomach flipped and she gagged, barely having to heave for more frothy yellow bile to spill out of her and get washed away by the water. There was a knock on the door, Vince's muffled voice calling out her name.

Wendy let out a groan, washing her mouth with shaky hands and tried to get up, only to find out that she couldn't. Instead she sat on her ass and curled up her knees, hoping Vin would overlook her request for privacy and enter the bathroom, because she was seeing a whole new collection of black dots and stars.

She didn't hear the door opening, but she did hear Vince's loud voice exclaim "WENDY!" and then she felt water hitting her face... And next she woke up she was freezing cold.

Wendy didn't think she had been out for more than a couple minutes, because Vin hadn't moved her. He had shut off the water and she was curled up in his arms, shivering violently and he was talking in rapid fire italian-english with someone...

The thought that she was naked in front of his family was enough to have Wendy waking up from any slumber. She whined and tried to move, only to feel Vince's arms squeeze around her, keeping her put. He let out a relieved sigh, "thank fucking God, Wendy..." and only then did she realize he had wrapped her up in a bathing robe.

Ma Monacelli was standing in the doorway, with a phone pressed to her cheek and Wendy dizzily blinked, trying to get a hold of the situation. She couldn't make sense of what his mom was saying and it took her a minute to realize it wasn't in english.

"What... What's your mom..." Wendy grumbled, squirming again. Vince helped her sit up slightly against him, his hands never leaving her once. She realized his curls were glued to the side of his face and his cheeks were blazing red and he was shivering too, water clinging to his lashes... He had gotten in the shower with her.

"She's talking with the doctor. It's better if you don't move yet or you'll get lightheaded," he rubbed her back quickly, in order to produce warmth and Wendy groaned, curling up further.

"No, don't- I don't need a doctor," she whined, shaking her head, "really, I just need to go to bed... It was just- Just the hot water..."

Ma lowered the phone, looking almost angry, "no, we're calling Dr. Bianchi, she's not well."

Wendy felt a small flare of annoyance. She was right there.

Vince probably sensed it, because he interrupted his mother's next words, by saying in a calm voice that didn't belong him, "mamma, we're crowding her. Let me just get Wendy settled in bed and we can discuss a doctor."

Magda crossed her arms, face all scrunched up as if she wanted to argue, "I'm worried, you can't just-"

"Ma," Vince said in a steady, rougher voice that Wendy had never heard him use with his mom. The woman sighed, before nodding and stepping out of the bathroom. She left the door open, but Wen could clearly hear as she shut the bedroom door, having fully left the suite.

"I'm sorry," Wendy whispered, "I didn't mean to make you fight your mom..."

"She'll live," Vince rolled his eyes, pushing the wet hair away from her face, "how are you? Can we move to the bedroom?"

"Dizzy," she answered him honestly, shuddering from cold, "freezing."

"Figures," Vince snorted and Wendy could hear the wind howling outside, probably it had started to snow again, "and your stomach?"

"Still feels really sick," she admitted, "but empty."

"I'm gonna count that as a win," Vince's shoulders dropped and she could clearly see how worried he was, the deep concern lines all over his face, "I'm gonna get you up, okay?"

Very slowly they made their track back to his room and Vince promptly sprung into action as soon as Wendy was sitting on his bed. He grabbed a matching set of his old hoodies in the wardrobe, instead of the suitcase, and crouched down before her.

"What... Why....?" Wendy frowned, confused and trying to understand what he was doing through the brain fog caused by the fever, the headache and the nausea. Vin tapped her knee lightly, sliding his large pants over her legs.

"It's warmer than your stuff," he explained, "and won't squeeze your tummy. Besides, if you end up being sick on it, it's no big deal, these are super old and don't fit me anymore."

"Uhm..." Wendy felt boneless as he removed the bathrobe and slide the hoodie over her head, "can you cuddle me...? I don't want you to get this, but I-"

"Honey," Vince chuckled slightly, pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, then over her lips, "we're so past that, don't worry about it. Besides, I never get sick."

"That's a lie," Wendy scoffed, but she couldn't fight the warm sensation that spread all over her as Vince pushed her against the pillows and tugged on the blankets so it was draped over her.

"Just let me change," he whispered, the moved around again. Wendy was too tired to follow him with her eyes, she felt weak and still disgusting, so instead she closed her eyes and hoped Vince would be back soon enough.

She woke up with the bed moving. Now she was warm, for the first time in hours, so warm she was sweating. Wendy could tell she was lying against Vince, because while his tummy was soft, it was much sturdier than the pillow that had been under her head previously. His fingers were running through her hair and he was speaking in a soft voice.

Too soft.

"You can't be here, bambi, you'll get sick too," he was whispering and Wendy forced her eyes open, noticing Livia was sitting on the foot of the bed, looking terribly worried. She was clad in a footie pajama, holding a stuffed bear to her lap, her little hand tracing over Wendy's.

"I don't care," Liv pouted, "is Wendy dying?"

"No," Vince scoffed, stroking Wendy's cheek, still unaware she was awake, "it's just a tummy bug, she'll be fine in a couple of days."

"Are you sure?" Liv squinted at him, then studied Wendy's face. Wen was thankful for the dark room, she wasn't ready to be awake just yet.

"Yes, Liv," Vince smiled, then moved slightly on the bed, so he could slide out from under Wen, "c'mon, let's go to bed, okay?"

He picked up Livia and she whined, but threw her arms around his neck, complaining as he carried her out of the room.

Once more alone, Wendy rolled on the bed, so she was flat on her back. Her muscles were all aching and her belly specifically was hurting, as if she had done a bunch of crunches, as well as if it was still stuffed with food, which she knew it wasn't.

She pushed herself up against the pillows, letting out a sigh of relief as she realized Vince had left the thermos and a bottle of water sitting on the bedside table, as well as there was a trashcan on the ground, within her reach.

Wendy took a tentative gulp of water and when that didn't immediately upset her belly, she took a larger one. It sat like a brick in her belly and she still felt terribly queasy, but at least it didn't immediately want out.

"Hey," Vince whispered, entering the room again, "you're awake."

"Just barely," Wendy smiled, kicking the blankets so he could join her. Vince didn't come cuddle her, instead he grabbed a thermometer sitting right next to the water bottle and handed it to her.

"Just for my peace of mind," Vince said, planting a hand on her forehead, "but you're not that warm anymore, I think it broke while you slept."

"Uhm," Wendy leaned on his touch, "is your mom pissed at me....?"

"Pissed at you? She was so worried she was considering calling 911, doll, she is not pissed at you. She made dad go to the store, did you know they sell gatorade in six packs?"

Wendy's cheeks caught on fire, "oh no... I really didn't mean to-"

"Wen," Vince rolled his eyes, pushing her mouth shut so the thermometer could get a good reading, "we all love you, you're not a bother. We're just worried."

"Uhm," Wendy sighed, waiting until the little device beeped. A low grade fever, but not that high. Vince's shoulders dropped in visible relief and he leaned forward, his forehead meeting her lap.

"You worried the shit out of me, Wendy."

"I'm so-"

"No, stop, stop," he glared at her, pushing her back against the pillows, "stop apologizing, okay? Just let me take care of you."

"You really shouldn't have to, it's Christmas..."

"You don't even celebrate Christmas," he chuckled, kissing her cheek and then moving on the bed, kicking off hsi flip flops so he could get closer to her, "can I rub your belly?"

Wendy's cheeks caught on fire and she awkwardly bit her lip, unsure if she wanted him to touch it or not. The idea of a soothing belly rub sounded amazing, but she still felt so gross and so... So disgusting. She didn't want Vin to come to this realization too...

"You think too much," he whispered, pushing her hoodie up slightly. His hands were really warm and he rubbed them together before planting them on Wendy's bloated, upset tummy.

The organ let out a growl and Wendy pressed her hands to her face, her cheeks aflame, but still she didn't push him back and Vince kept at it. He rubbed it in steady, slow circles and caused her to let out a little burp.

Vin glanced up, worried, but Wendy only shook her head as if to say she was fine. He smiled, then leaned in and planted a kiss on her belly, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Not that much better," Wendy said, her heart stuttering as she felt him plant a bunch of little, fluttery kisses all over her tummy. Vince chuckled, his laugh vibrating against her skin.

"No? How can I help?"

Wendy pressed her knuckles to her mouth, biting down a delighted smile at his teasing tone, "don't stop."

"Not planning on it, honey."

[slashify]

Steve finally gets his RV.

It’s not a Winnebago, but it’s nice enough. Sleeps six if two sleep in the bunk above the cab and two sleep on the bed formed by the dinette converting into one.

Eddie comes along, and Steve doesn’t predict that Wayne comes along too. Eddie’s uncle doesn’t want him out of his sight. The government hush money guarantees that Wayne won’t have to work anymore, and Eddie tells Steve he’s glad because Wayne’s back and knees aren’t what they used to be. They don’t have enough room for all of the kids, so this trip is just Dustin. Claudia loves Steve and she trusts him with her Dusty-Bun.

They’d wanted Wayne to take the bed over the cab, but he opts for the couch, saying he doesn’t want to climb the ladder every night. Dustin calls the dinette, so that leaves Steve and Eddie sharing the over-cab bed. At least two of them snore, but they buy earplugs.

They head to Utah so Dustin can see Suzie.

Missouri and Kansas blow by in a blur of excitement. They point out every animal and oddity they see along the way, Wayne smiling at his boy’s enthusiasm.

Colorado is their first taste of the southwest. Eddie buys Wayne a bolo tie with a turquoise stone. Steve buys an amethyst ring for Robin, a rose quartz barrette for Nancy. They pool their money to get a nice southwestern-patterned blanket for Dustin’s mom.

Steve drives them up to Mesa Verde, taking turns as cautiously as possible. Dustin geeks out over the ruins and takes control of the map, ordering Steve from viewpoint to viewpoint like a very pushy tour guide.

The drive into Utah is beautiful. A gradual shift to huge red rocks. Eddie begs him to stop at a roadside attraction called the Hole N” The Rock and they take the tour there.

It takes them a while to get to Susie’s house in Salt Lake City. They stop a few times along the way. Eddie pouts at Steve at a fossil shop and walks away with a weird little fossilized creature that Eddie and Dustin inform him is called a trilobite.

When they get to Susie’s house she’s waiting outside reading a book, but she jumps to her feet when she sees Dustin. He twirls her around and they laugh together and Steve glances at Eddie and thinks that this is what he wanted all along.

[odditycircus-2002]

That one scene in Ponyo where the giant glowing sea goddess comes out of the depths to look to see her human husband who looks so fucking tired as hell inspired an idea of Good Titan Medusa Reader getting approached by her timelines version of Shang Tsung whose an scientist looking for an mysterious island that he has heard rumors about, as he keeps going he stumbles across Medusa reader after accidentally waking her up after disturbing her sleep

Ponyo was the first Ghibli Studio movie I ever saw!😄😄😄😄 So I love that movie!

Consider that this version of Medusa!Reader resembles that of Cala Maria from Cuphead, not only in appearance but similar abilities. So people aren’t exactly under immediate threat to be turned into stone when they look at her eyes, unless she wants it to be.

As for Shang Tsung, he was on boat on an excursion to find the fire mentioned island for its knowledge and secrets it may hold, as it was once the site for a city of powerful Sorcerers who one day cut the island off from the mainland to guard their secrets. It’s said the seas around the island are filled with some of the most dangerous and bewildering sea beasts known in existence. Yet, so far, he hasn’t faced any of said beasts and the weather has been rather pleasant as of late. The waves were gently crashing against the hull of Shang Tsung’s boat and the wind carried the smell of sea breeze.

However, as the sun sets on the ocean’s horizon, he did find it peculiar that the waters his ship enters are rather dark as if there’s a great structure beneath his boat as far as he can see. The waves seemed a bit bumpier here and the waters more shallow as Shang Tsung can hear his boat scrapping against something hard, that reminds him of something similar to a feline scratching wood amplified. Causing him to grit his teeth from the thought of any damage happening to the hull.

When the sun dips completely behind the horizon, the water beneath him starts glow green and turquoise in an almost haunting display of bioluminescence. Wait was that an eye Shang Tsung saw open? Then he saw another and another, and dozens more of those yellow eyes with skits for pupils. Shang Tsung stumbles backwards as those eyes reveal themselves to be giant snakes rising from the ocean from all sides of his boat, causing to rock hard enough that the man had to grab on to the railings to not fall off. Just as the man begins to pant heavily in mounting panic, his gaze then falls upon the biggest eyes directly in front of him. However, unlike the snakes surround him, this one belonged to a humanoid face. A rather beautiful, if not in an unconventional way, if Shang Tsung is being honest with himself.

Her, or at least Shang presumes that you’re a her, is reptilian in appearance with prominent scaled ridges around your brow, contrasting against your soft looking facile shape. You direct your attention to the small man that woke you from your slumber, blinking groggily with your second set of eyelids. You give the man a slight irritated look with your head tilted in curiosity. “Why did you wake me from my slumber?”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Compromised - A Mel x Silco Piece

Ch: 1 hits this weekend~

Snippet:

"You could," she stretches languidly, and the hem rides up her thighs, "join me."

 "It will be hours before the party winds down."

"Not to sleep. Just to talk."

"About what?"

Silco sits, again, at the foot of the bed. It dips beneath his weight. The mattress, a wide affair, is more than big enough for the both of them.

His palm rests on her ankle. The touch, impersonal before, lingers. Emboldened by this small intimacy, Mel lets her fingers itsy-bitsy-spider up the cuff of his shirtsleeve. The weave is cool; the arm beneath deceptively lean in an armature of sinew and bone.

She thinks of the rapiers her mother kept on display in the gallery: honed, fine, deadly.

But a deft touch, she knows, can disarm even the sharpest blade.

"We could," she says, "talk about our itinerary. The island we'll be staying at is renowned for its beauty. There are waterfalls a stone's throw from our camp. And ruins, where the locals say the gods themselves used to frolic. Or the villa itself: supposedly designed to merge nature with civilization. The rooms are like gardens, each with their own sunrooms and fountains. All of it, with a view of the turquoise seas." She toys with his cuff, and watches his face. "I know you like the water."

"I'd like it better if I weren't sharing the villa with a half dozen coin-gorged parasites."

"Don't think of them," she says coaxingly. "Think of me. Think of you. Think of the possibilities."

"Their security detail? Paid for by my dime. Their staff? Paid for by yours. And the bill?" A scoff. "We're footing that together"

"It's a modest bill. Barely a pittance." Mel's fingertips skitter up his forearm. "Meanwhile, we'll have a wing entirely to ourselves The most luxurious in the villa. Its own beach, white as snow. Its own grotto, with a natural sauna. Its own garden, full of exotic blooms and birdsong."

"And mites, and mosquitoes, and yet more parasites."

She ignores that, continues to speak in that satiny tone she uses for closing deals. "At night, we could light the bonfire and dine beneath the stars. We could take the yawl out and anchor offshore." Her fingers creep higher, and so does her smile. "We'd make love on the deck, and listen to the sea, and make love again, and listen to the sea."

"And all our guests, with their telescopes, would watch, and lay bets on the size of my cock."

[unculturedmamoswine]

Forduary 2024, Week 3: Portal Years

For week three, I finished a fic I've been working on for a while: 30 short fics, one for each year ford was lost in the multiverse. Each fic is based on a prompt from this prompt list. The fics are in the order of the prompt list, but I did number them based on chronology.

Warnings for violence, minor character death, some drug use, and some cursing

12. scrosciare - the action of rain pouring down or of waves hitting rocks and cliffs

Ford leaned against the jagged wall of his little cave, staring out over the raging sea. Rain poured down, streaming off the cliff face and into the water below. The world was gray; the dark shining stone, the grim clouds, the crashing waves that pounded the rock. Even the sound was gray: the dull rushing roar of the sea.

His cave was little more than a pitiful hollow cut into the cliff face. If he hunched over enough he could avoid scalping himself on the cave roof. If he kept his knees up against his chest he had just enough room inside to press back against the farthest wall and avoid the rain. His temporary shelter was a hundred feet above the waves, so he would have to do his best to not fall from his roost.

Avoiding the water was ultimately pointless, as Ford was already only one rung up from soaked. But he was a furless mammal, and avoiding the cascading rain made him feel like had some measure of control over his situation. At least he was warm; whatever he’d been drinking at that bar had done wonders on his hypothalamus, which was great considering he’d had to flee into the stormy night from a white-haired assassin most likely sent by Bill or his agents.

He’d gotten what he’d come to this planet to get. Or this universe, rather– he couldn’t rule out the possibility that he’d entered into a universe that, in lieu of planets, had only a single unbroken coastline stretching into eternity. In any case, the tiny implant he’d had installed into his brain would provide him with the information he needed to find a stable power source for his quantum destabilizer. He just needed to sleep for it to take effect before it was broken down and processed by his body.

It had been hours since he’d heard evidence of his pursuer, and Ford needed to get to sleep sometime in the next five or his temporary implant would dissolve before it had the chance to tell him anything. He let his head fall forward, forehead hitting his knees. He closed his eyes, the world going from gray to black, and tried to let the static roar of nature (or this world’s version of it) lull him to sleep.

6. aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

“Don’t look him in the eyes, Borgith!” snapped Shhhessh, smacking its companion on the back of the head with spindly yellow fingers. “It’s a faux pas on Human-ka to communicate telepathically!”

“Sorry! I’m sorry, human,” Borgith dropped its gaze, possibly a contrite gesture, but most likely to avoid looking Ford in the eyes. Its mouth pulled down into an unmistakable, human-like frown.

“It’s no problem, I appreciate your willingness to leave my mind alone.” Ford hoped he didn’t sound as tense as he felt. The beings of Rennik-ka were kind and scientifically minded, but being surrounded by yellow mind-readers was not good for Ford’s long-term psychological well-being. “And my planet is named Earth, actually.”

Shhhessh turned its beautiful, luminous pink and turquoise eyes to Borgith, making a triumphant noise and doubtless communicating wordlessly with it through their species’s telepathy. Borgith beamed back at its companion, and, without turning toward Ford, said “Ground? The dirt? That’s what your planet’s named after? Wonderful! That’s actually very very common! We here, the Rennik, are actually statistically unlikely to have named our planet after ourselves!” The alien took a small device from the length of brown fabric it wore wrapped around its torso. “Can I record this? As a linguist, getting an audio recording of your voice would just be–!” It turned to look at Ford, who snapped his gaze down to the ground immediately. Having his mind inadvertently scanned and rifled through by Shhhessh and three or four diplomats had been bad enough.

“Oh, hsst, I’m so sorry! I’m normally so much better with alien customs. Look, I’ll do better, really!”

“Right. Yes.” Stanford took a steadying breath. “Audio recording is fine.” He stared just past Borgith’s head, seeing its enormous green-blue eyes and almost comically expressive face out of only the corner of his eyes.

“Great!” Its eyes bulged happily and it touched the smooth surface of the device, which gave no outward indication as it began recording.

“Can I ask a question about the Rennik?” Ford asked, suspecting he knew the response he’d receive. These people had been nothing but forthcoming with him so far.

“Of course,” gushed Borgith. “Oh, Shanford, you have no idea how thrilling it is to have an alien appear out of the nothingness into our world! And to have you be a scientist, too!” Borgith broke off, making a low noise like a distant foghorn.

“Try to calm down, Borgith,” advised Shhhessh. “If you tire out the human, you won’t be allowed back. It needs its rest. And that’s not its name, either.” Shhhessh radiated censure underscored with amusement, its proboscis twitching. It was Ford’s temporary guard/escort/valet as far as Ford could tell. Its day job was as an electrical engineer, though, so Ford wasn’t completely sure how this appointment worked. He did know, though, that Shhhessh was responsible for getting Ford into the nice soft bed he’d been recovering in for the last several days, so he was inclined to like it.

Ignoring the mispronunciation of his name, Ford asked “If you communicate telepathically through eye contact, why do you have such expressive faces? By all rights I, as an alien, shouldn’t be able to even interpret– oh I see.” Realization dawned. “The telepathy is constant, and low-level. You communicate directly via eye contact to access direct thoughts, but you’re always putting out what you feel! That’s fascinating!”

“Yes!” cries Borgith, grabbing enthusiastically at Shhhessh. “Yes, that’s it precisely! Oh, human, you are something else!” 

Ford felt, for the first time in at least five or six years, the joy of sharing a purely intellectual connection with another being. It wasn’t sullied by the fear of being found out or the dirty connotations that come along with using science only to further his cause of destroying Bill. This was pure, knowledge for knowledge’s sake.

Recklessly, as if he was simply sharing an insight with Fiddleford, he let his eyes meet Borgith’s.

It was like being hit by a train. He was flattened, bowled over, breathless with pain and shock, the entirety of his mind spread out before Borgith, who looked. Borgith who saw. No matter how he tried, Ford couldn’t pull any part of himself away from the mind that was suddenly inside his own.

It was the same as the other times the Rennik had accidentally crushed his mind, except that it was different the way they’d all been different. Borgith was curiosity, endless enthusiasm, joy, and fulfillment. Shhhessh had been caution and a love of the familiar, Gre had been quiet contemplation and a desire for universal siblinghood, etc, etc. They’d all been different, all individuals, but Ford couldn’t see the details of their conscious thought or their immediate emotions, just their general personalities.

In less than a second, Borgith, though, had scraped Ford’s mind flat so that every part of it was visible and had seen Ford laughing with Stanley in their room; cupping his hand over his nose, which was pouring blood; cradling a plaidypus gently in his arms and kissing its naked little head; tearing his fingernails into his own arm so he could stay awake, can’t sleep, Bill will be there–!

Ford was wonderfully alone in his aching head in an instant as Borgith broke away. He felt his muscles twitch, senseless little impulses being sent through his nerves like the aftershocks of a really good orgasm, but in a decidedly unpleasant way. His head swam and his stomach revolted as a wave of remorse and dismay pummeled him from the direction of Borgith. He wondered if he could get better at tolerating the horrifying invasion of his mind long enough to see back into the minds of the Rennik, learn more about their science and their culture.

As he curled on his side and began to retch, Ford decided it probably wasn’t worth it.

27. pyrrhic - won at too great a cost

Ford swung his gun toward the fleeing back of the pirate and squeezed the trigger. It kicked back satisfyingly. He’d added that effect himself, too familiar with Earth guns not to appreciate a solid recoil. The blue bolt flew into and through the fleeing woman(?) dissolving a hole in her(?) torso. She dropped onto the purple dust of the craggy moon, Ford’s stolen backpack still clutched in her fist.

What was left of her band of compatriots hesitated as they heard Ford’s shot. They stared in horror at her corpse and dashed back immediately toward her, but not in the hopes of rescuing her. They wanted Ford’s bag. They wanted the bounty he’d collected bringing an interstellar criminal to justice. Somewhat hypocritical of him, seeing as he was accused of worse crimes than the man he’d captured.

Still, the bounty was his and he wasn’t going to let these scavengers steal it from him. He leapt over the body of the gigantic man who’d first grabbed him, aiming at the two pirates hustling toward their dead friend who’d taken Ford’s bag. He had no real hope of hitting them while dashing over the uneven ground, but at least his shots might keep them from reaching the body first.

The one in blue and black armor finally thought to use his weapon, stopping to fire at Ford. It shot some kind of projectile rather than an energy pulse, but he was no better at aiming at a moving target than Ford was at aiming while running. 

Once he was close enough, Ford took a bounding leap for Blue Armor, the paltry gravity of the moon making Ford light enough for an impressive jump. Blue Armor’s eyes widened behind his visor. He must not have much experience as a heartless murderer, as he didn’t raise his weapon to protect himself at all. New on the job, perhaps? “Hah!” Ford said, bringing his gun to bear and shooting the man in the head.

The two remaining pirates knelt briefly by the body of the dead woman and stumbled to their feet, the one in yellow and black now holding the bag containing the bounty.

They fled for their ship as Ford advanced, firing off another shot. His weapon began to chirp a warning about overheating, which he ignored.

He fired again, watching the pirate with the maroon armor collapse as her hindquarters sizzled and slowly dissolved. She must have screamed over her suit’s comms, as the yellow-and-black armored pirate put a hand to his ear.

The final thief had reached the shadow of his ship. “Damn it!” growled Ford. He’d never reach the man in time on foot. He raised his weapon, aiming carefully, but when he squeezed the trigger the gun gave a pitiful whine and sounded its warning chirp again.

Ford cursed. He watched, panting in exhaustion, as the pirate boarded his small vessel. His face, unhelmeted, appeared in a porthole to watch Ford as his ship lifted off, slowly accelerating away. Ford grimaced around at the bodies of the slain pirates. They’d nearly all been killed in the effort of stealing what was rightfully Ford’s.

“I hope it was worth it,” he muttered bitterly.

9. rubatosis - the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

Ford swayed on his booted feet. The heat of the marketplace was overwhelming, or perhaps it was a symptom of his illness. Or a side-effect of the cure, which was untested on humans.

The color palette of the world seemed to shift as he watched, pulsing slowly from blue-tinged to yellow and back again. His hands shook uncontrollably, and his heart thudded distractingly in his own ears. Had it always had that unsteady rhythm? He hoped it wouldn't stop altogether. At that thought, the off-kilter thumping increased in speed and volume, drowning out the noise from the crowd of merchants, customers, and various aliens come to gawk at the wares on display.

Overwhelmed by the color and noise, Ford forgot his mission and fled, escaping the way he’d come. He wiped his sleeve over his running nose. Was it blood? Was he dying? He couldn’t die, Bill Cipher was still out there! Maybe this was all Bill, Perhaps Ford wasn’t sick at all, was instead still trapped alone in Gravity Falls and this was all a convincing dream Bill had crafted for him.

Ford wanted to cover his ears to block out the noise, but he knew it was coming from within himself.

He staggered into the darkest alley he could find and curled against a blessedly cool wall. Ford sat and wrestled with his fear, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

16. trepverter - a witty response or comeback you think of only after it’s too late to use

“You’ve not seen the last of me, filthy biped!” snarled the gigantic crocodilian monster, snapping its immense jaws, now short one or two teeth.

“Well, I… certainly hope I have!” Ford shouted back. He winced at his lame retort as his enemy’s ten-foot gray tail slapped contemptuously against the surface of the water. It sank out of sight as a large wave splashed over Ford’s head, knocking him down.

Spluttering, Ford struggled to his feet and cast around, hoping Grollo was alright. His gaze fell on his companion, who was tugging something from the sandy muck as seawater streamed around them, rushing back down the shore.

“It broke my crossbow, Ford,” said Grollo, waving the weapon’s broken stock at Ford.

“Well, I’m sorry about that, but we got the teeth, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” Grollo raised two long, glowing blue fangs in one fist. “Two reality-warping dino chompers for your science pleasure.”

“Great!” Ford took one from her. “Hmm, yes, this is perfect! You can keep one, if you like,” he told her distractedly. “I only need one.”

“No kidding? Thanks, that rocks. What’s wrong?” Ford had just groaned and slapped his sandy palm to his face.

“That thing! The monster!” he moaned. “What, what about it?” Grollo demanded.

“I should have said ‘see you gator!’ You know, like ‘see you later’?”

“Okay,” said Grollo, implying with just one word that Ford was a complete moron. “Well. I guess you can’t win ‘em all.”

20. hiraeth - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

It wasn’t easy, being away from his home planet for so long. Stanford missed the smell of familiar flowers and trees, missed eating food he recognized and knew wouldn't kill him. There was nothing like exploring the cosmos, true, and he’d learned more about esoteric and hidden branches of science than he ever could have on his Earth. But… well, Ford’s occasional bouts of melancholy longing for the familiar would have shamed his younger self. Stanford at fifteen, or at twenty-five, would never have wanted to be bound to the ordinary, the average, the comforting.

Now, Stanford at forty-five had mostly shorn away the parts of himself that desperately wished to return to his home, but it seemed that there was always some insidious thread of longing ready to strangle him if he let his guard down.

He stood in the streets of a New Jersey not his own. This Earth was a lot like the one from which Ford hailed, other than all the dinosaurs. How weird that the architecture created by gigantic reptiles was almost identical to that created by relatively small mammals.

The cars looked different. Did cars in his own world look like that now, or was this just the way cars looked for dinosaurs? Would Ford ever find out? Would he ever stop wanting to? If he ever could return to his dimension, would it be recognizable? Things changed, and Ford hadn’t been home in fifteen years.

And Jersey wasn’t his home, regardless. His home had been Gravity Falls. What had become of his lab, his house? Had Fiddleford returned there to salvage any of his research? Doubtful. Most likely Stanley had taken as much expensive-looking equipment as he could carry and left the place behind to rot.

It was entirely possible that, if Ford could return home at all, home as Ford knew it no longer existed.

7. resfeber - thrill felt before an adventure

“Okay.” Ford dumped his supplies onto the table in front of him, barely able to restrain his broad grin. The flickering light of the magical orb overhead illuminated a handful of equally anticipatory faces. “I’m here. I’m ready.” It had been so long. Tonight he would embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

“Glad you could make it,” said Sil, amused. “Not sure how likely we are to succeed without your help.” They gave a sidelong look at their friend, a large, guilty-looking man.

“Don’t blame me, the last time wasn’t all my fault. You all just have terrible luck,” he said, scratching a long green ear.

“Terrible luck and nobody who can cast spells,” said a small, soft-spoken being named Lyle. “Arithaa would still be alive if Ford had been here the last time we tried to break in.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Lyle,'' said Sil’s large friend.

“Yes, it’s sad and everything,” said Ford impatiently. “But you can just make a new character.” “I did,” said Lyle, “but I liked Arithaa! She had a cool backstory that I’d been saving for the perfect character!” He grinned suddenly. “But I do love making new ones. I have like five backups for if my next one dies.” Lyle waved his character sheet in the air. “So I’m all set.”

“Alright then!” Sil rubbed their hands together, and Ford felt the electric energy of a game about to start. “Let’s storm a castle, kids!”

28. apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter

Ford hummed in pleasure and turned his face toward the warmth. The twin suns of this planet kept the winter chill at bay and glowed red-yellow through his eyelids. Ford had been on-planet for a month and the weather hadn’t noticeably changed one way or another, so he supposed it might not actually be winter. For all he knew it was midsummer, or this part of this planet had no meaningful seasons.

He breathed deeply, noticing that his breath didn’t catch. His lungs didn’t burn. His ribs didn’t ache, or feel at all as if they’d been reconstituted from the mealy pulp they’d been when he’d been injured. (His mind skittered away from the occasion that had caused the injury. Best not to think of that. He would live, was living. That was what counted.)

When he’d left his temporary home, eager to test his now-healed body, he’d crunched through the icy top of the snowpack, but had had no difficulty in maintaining a brisk pace out to this clearing. His muscle tone had rebounded well, and if his hips ached a little, well, they’d done that before… the incident. He was getting older, after all. Still, he was well again. It was nearly time to move on, time to renew his dedication to his quest.

But for a few moments more, Ford sat in the rich warmth of foreign suns, and breathed.

15. messaline - soft lightweight silk with a satin weave

Ford felt he had disappeared into the background of the town, cloaked in purple fabric of a color he couldn’t describe. Well, it was purple, but the shade was so rich that he thought it merited a better descriptor than that. Pale… eggplant? Violet? No, those didn’t do it justice. Simply put, it was beautiful.

Gently, unseen, he wound his fingers into the light, soft fabric that enshrouded him from head to toe. It was like nothing he’d ever felt. If they had fabric like this on Earth, he’d never been able to touch any, much less wear it. Here, it was expected garb for every being that could reliably walk under its own power.

This backwater little town, hidden among towering, green-black trees, housed a university that was home to one of the most respected time science programs in local universes. Ford was here to learn what they could teach him.

A sudden gust of wind caused his, and everyone else’s, clothing to flutter dramatically around them, and amused titters bloomed up and down the street as the bright colors swirled, blurring everyone’s edges. Ford grinned, too. This planet had a lot to recommend it; he hoped he could stay a while.

23. psithurism - the sound of wind rustling leaves

The forest floor was warm underfoot– or underpaw? Ford clambered awkwardly over a large root, stopping atop it to look around. The thick trees and undergrowth limited his field of vision, and in any case he couldn’t see as well as he would have liked. His current eyes didn't see the range of colors he was accustomed to as a human.

Frustrated, Ford lashed his tail and hissed, then glanced around self-consciously, but he was alone.

Hoping to get his bearings, Ford closed his eyes. His sensitive nose told him about the prey animal that had scurried by sometime recently, the decay of the old leaf litter, the dampness of the moss, and the rich bloom of the flowers in the trees. A tug at his whiskers combined with the whisper in his ears told him the wind blew from behind his right ear and forward, to his left. The cry of a distant animal, high and dangerous, made his pelt, uh, hair, stand on end.

Clenching his teeth against his fear, Ford leapt down from his perch, surprising himself with his agility and the ease of his landing. He’d jumped down from a height of several times his own body length.

Forward seemed as good a direction as any. Stanford headed through this strange universe, the soft shush of ferns against his fur and the rattling of a few bare branches overhead keeping him company.

The wind picked up, tossing the leaves overhead even more, the sound overwhelming to his delicate ears. The shadows all around seemed somehow to deepen, and Ford realized he couldn’t feel the soft leaves and earth beneath him any longer.

Panicking, Ford thrashed, blinking his eyes open to find himself staring at a bland drop ceiling. Panting, he sat up, using human hands to feel at his legs, arms, his face, with its noticeable lack of whiskers.

Ford huffed and flopped back in bed in his cheap hotel room.

“What a weird dream,” he muttered to himself. Shhhhhh, advised the air conditioner. That was reasonable. Ford rolled over and went back to sleep.

19. lapidoso - full of stones, said of roads or of the bottom of a river

“Shit!” Ford threw the battered dagger onto the workbench. “Another failure! Damn it!”

His ally, whose name he didn’t know for security purposes, said “There’s got to be something you can do with this. Don’t just give up!”

Ford rounded on him. “I’m not giving up, this thing is useless! If there was any kind of ancient mystical power in the blade, this would have found it!” He waved the sensor he’d made under his ally’s nose. “We’ve wasted our time. Two years down the drain.” The words were bitter on his tongue.

Ford’s ally rubbed his face with his hands, tired. “A dead end. After all this time, everything I’ve done was for nothing?” He stared hopelessly into the distance.

“Get used to it. I’ve been hitting dead ends trying to get to Bill Cipher for years now. We’ll just have to find a different route.” Ford looked at his interdimensional translator, opening up the interface that would show him the weakest points in his current reality and predict where the paths might take him if he broke through. “There’s no point staying here now. If you want to return to your group and let them know what’s happened, feel free.”

Ford worked in silence for a few minutes, wondering if it would badly damage this universe if he tried to jump directly to the Slug World he liked to pass through on his trips. Slugs were good people, and pretty cute. He hadn’t been to their world in at least five years, so it wouldn’t be too much of a security risk to their peaceful universe to be seen there, he thought.

Feeling watched, Ford glanced up. His ally was staring at him oddly.

“What?” asked Ford.

“Just like that? We’ve worked so hard and so long and you’re… over it, ready to move on? How long have you been doing this?”

“Too long,” Ford said shortly. “So here’s some free advice: It’s not easy. It’s never going to be. You have to get over it and do everything you can to keep going, or give up. Bill destroyed your universe, didn’t he?”

Ford’s ally nodded, wrapping his wings around himself in a self-comforting gesture.

“If you want revenge you have to accept that it’s hard going.” Ford eyed the miserable man. “Look, I’m leaving. I have other leads I can follow. This road is a hard one, not everyone is suited to it.” He clapped his ally on the shoulder and pressed a button on his interdimensional translator, stepping down another path.

10. liberosis - the desire to care less about things

“Breathe,” Ford told Journey, holding their head in his lap, tipping their chin back so they might have some chance at catching a breath. His hands shook. There was nothing he could do to combat Journey’s blood loss, and nothing he could do to ease their pain. They would die here, and Ford’s heart broke.

Journey choked and burbled, spasming in pain or fear, their remaining arm grabbing at nothing. Ford caught their hand and held it. How many deaths had he seen over the years? Allies, innocents, even the occasional friend, like Journey. Why didn’t it ever get easier?

“I’m sorry,” he told them. “I’m sorry.” He wished, selfishly, that he could turn off the part of him that cared about them. He wished he could speed forward through time to a point where he could look back at their friendship fondly, with only a pang of guilt or regret. Instead he was subsumed by this full-body experience of grief. His eyes stung, his stomach knotted.

It seemed to take so long but eventually, Journey stilled. Ford clenched their hand tighter, choking himself now, not wanting to let go for the last time.

21. cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

“My tongue feels really weird,” Ford mumbled to Jheselbraum. He lay slumped against her shoulder; she was carrying him as if he were a small child, one arm under him, the other gently looped around his back.

“Oh, yes?” Her soft, low voice was rich with some emotion he couldn’t place.

“Ugh.” Ford screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue.

“Are you dizzy? Confused?” “...Yes,” Ford realized to his surprise. “I’m not sure where we are.” He pressed his face into a fold of Jheselbraum’s cloak. It smelled strange. Like an alien.

Ford felt as if he floated and spun his way down onto something soft, but when he blinked to clear his eyes, he realized that Jheselbraum must have put him down, as she was now sitting beside him. She met his eyes with all of hers.

“You’re recovering from surgery, Stanford,” she explained, smiling. She reached up and smoothed his hair gently, or so Ford assumed. He couldn’t feel his scalp. "Bill Cipher will no longer be able to possess your body, though be wary– your dreams are still vulnerable to a creature of nightmares. Such is the way with mortals. You're all part dream by nature."

"Oh," Ford said dimly. The Oracle's hand hadn't stopped moving, carding gently through his hair. Even if he couldn't feel it, it was nice in concept.

Searching for something to say, Ford settled on "Your ceiling is nice." It was high and domed, a deep blue that glittered with yellow, white, and pink sparks. "It's like the one on Earth. The sky, I mean."

Jheselbraum hummed, leaning over him, smiling gently.

"Tell me about the sky of your planet, little human," she suggested, hand still moving softly.

Ford wondered if he was imagining the feeling in his head returning. "There's…Orion. The hunter. Not a very nice man, but…great. A hero." Stanford was making less sense than usual. "A constellation," he clarified. His head began to throb distantly. "He died," Ford forced out, "and ended up in the stars."

5. ignipotent - presiding over fire

“Is that real?” The young girl bent curiously over the scraps of paper and spearlike dried plant matter that Ford had just lit. The tiny flame grew, reflecting amber in her brown eyes, lighting her too-thin face.

“We only had the holo kind at home,” she said softly, not moving her gaze from the flames. “It looked nice, but it couldn’t make you warm.” She held out a shaking hand, gently cupping the scrap of warmth as though to protect it from the chill of the early morning.

“It’s real,” Ford confirmed unnecessarily. “Here.” He handed her a chunk of ration bar and a handful of sugar-encrusted insects, then gently fed the fire a couple small twigs.

“Back home… nobody would believe me if I told them I saw a real–” and here Ford’s translator tried to interpret her next word simultaneously as ‘fire’, ‘searcher’, ‘priest’, and ‘life-heart’, whatever that was. “How did you do it?” The girl looked almost afraid to know.

Ford smiled and held out his hand. “It’s a small container of fuel,” he explained. “Liquid that can catch on fire. When you roll this wheel here at the top, it strikes the flint inside. That makes a spark, which ignites the fuel!” He flicked the lighter, a steady flame appearing in his hand. “You close the lid to put it out,” he added, extinguishing the flame.

The girl looked awed at first, then she mirrored Ford’s grin. “That’s so… I don’t know how to even say! That’s the strangest, most wonderful thing!” She clutched her ration bar, too excited to keep eating. “I’ve never even thought of that– fire in your hands!”

Ford laughed. “Keep it,” he said, tossing her the lighter. He put a larger stick on the fire. “When you’re a scientist one day, mention me in your thesis’s acknowledgements.”

 13. balter - to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

The glowing moon shone a pink light over staggering, lurching forms. The stocky, lightly feathered humanoid aliens were ranged about in a large, grassy bowl that provided some shelter from the wind, sunk as it was into the sandy earth– or whatever they called the dirt on this non-Earth planet.

Ford smiled, noting in his mental journal that these aliens, though not talented dancers by his human standards, were clearly having quite a time. Delighted hoots and laughter rang through the night, accompanying their loud music. They stamped and staggered out of time, if there even was a time in the long, meandering song that had been playing for the past hour.

The prime minister, identifiable by the crown of blue stones upon his head, stomped over to Ford, offering a metal cylinder full of water. “Please dance, Stanford! This is a ceremony to honor you!”

Ford felt himself blush. The idea of dancing in front of anyone, even these graceless, kind aliens, made him cringe. He felt no different than he had at school dances as a teenager, or the single college party Fiddleford had dragged him to. That is to say, he felt the impending judgment of many people who all seemed to know the secret rules of social interaction that he wasn’t privy to.

“Um,” Ford scrambled for a plausible excuse. “Thank you, Prime Minister, but actually I’m a human, you see. We don’t dance at festivals held in our honor. It’s considered the… height of revelry to simply watch the festivities.” Years of roleplaying in DD&MD came in handy when lying to aliens. It’s harmless, he told himself guiltily. He’ll never know.

The prime minister shook himself, feathers fluffing out briefly before resettling. If that meant something, Ford didn’t know what. Finally the man sighed in defeat and slumped sideways into another dancer, who happily swept him up in a boisterous canter before they both fell, laughing, to the ground.

26. verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

The two beings smiled at Ford, as well as trees could smile.

“We didn’t think we would see you again, Stanford,” they said. Rather, it should be said that they conferred briefly with one another in order to come to a consensus and then transmitted the detailed concept into Ford’s mind without the messy and inexact middleman of spoken language. “It’s nice that you could come. We hope your fight with your enemy is going well. We hope you’ve killed him.”

“Well, not yet.” Ford shifted the gift in his arms uncomfortably. “But I’m still alive, anyway.” He craned his head down to his shoulder, using it to nudge his glasses higher up on his face. “And it’s nice to see you both again!” He smiled up into his friends’ leafy canopies. High above his head, their branches entwined. “Congratulations! I wasn’t certain of the traditions here, but on my planet it’s customary to bring a gift, so, uh, I’ll just leave this here.” 

Ford dropped the heavy bag at the roots of one of his friends. It didn’t really matter which one it was; they were bonded and were therefore treated as more or less one entity now that they had rooted together. Also, their names were so long that it would take forever to address them if he used them.

“Very kind. You’re a thoughtful meat bag,” they joked after a brief pause to confer. Ford laughed.

“Oh, wow, it’s been years since I’ve heard that one. We were a lot younger, back then.”

“Yes.” Warmth flowed through Ford’s mind to convey his old friends’ happiness. “Barely more than saplings. And now look. We have a sapling of our very own to celebrate.”

“Oh, right! I got her some mulch. The gift.” Ford gestured at the sack on the ground. “It’s, um, supposed to be good for young plants.” He looked around. “Where is she, anyway?”

In answer, Ford felt a tug at his awareness, one little trail of thought nudging him forward. He peered curiously around the bole of one of his friends. A short distance away, still well within the radius of her parents’ root systems, what looked like a tiny stick of pale wood jutted out of the ground.

“Oh,” Ford breathed. Although she was hardly sleeping (trees didn’t sleep, at least not in this dimension) Ford felt an impulse to keep quiet so as to avoid waking her. Now that he saw her, he felt her mind vaguely, floating all around him like a scent or a song.

She didn’t convey direct feelings or ideas in the way her parents could, but even as a leafless stick only as high as Ford’s knee, he could feel her mind. It was undeniable that she was a person, a little being who could so easily have never existed at all.

“Wow,” Ford said. “She’s lovely. What will you call her?”

“We won’t bore you with her long name,” the new parents murmured. “We know how cumbersome they seem to you. But for her short name, we are calling her after you.”

Ford looked from tree to tree, wishing that they had faces he could read. It was hard to perform an emotion when you didn’t know where to aim it. Underneath his shock, Ford’s chest felt constricted with a sort of painful happy pressure.

“I don’t– don’t know what to say.”

A slightly apologetic thrum wound through the next idea that appeared in Ford’s mind: “Actually, we aren’t calling her Ford, exactly. It’s not our way to call a sapling after a tree who still lives.” Ford smiled, blinking rapidly. “It’s the same in my culture.”

"Since you are Stanford but don't use all of your name, we will call her Stan."

Ford opened his mouth, then snapped it shut to hold back the various feelings warring in his chest that wanted to crawl up and out. It was hard not to feel anger, at least a little of it, when he thought of Stan, so that was there. But also there was chagrin that his friends were using his brother’s name to honor him, as well as pride that they thought he was worthy of such an honor. Then too there was the bubbling amusement of his namesake being a female tree, rather than, say, a male human.

Ford removed his glasses.

She was so small, that was all. She was a little tiny thing called Stan and he had had a hard few years.

He just needed a moment or two.

11. cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

“I’m not dying, Connell, I’m fine!”

“I don’t believe you! You look gross! Your gross red human blood is everywhere!” “If you’d leave me alone I could clean it up!” “You can let me help you! Breathe, that’s the key! I don’t want another corpse in my crew quarters.” “Is that a common problem?”

“Uh. No. No, it’s never happened before. By ‘another’ I meant ‘the first ever!’ That’s definitely what I meant.” “Hmm… Ugh.” “Ah! Stop it, stop bleeding on everything! That’s it, I’m sending some MediBots here to save you!” “I do. Not. Need. Saving! This is not a calamity! Humans bleed sometimes!”

“Stop waving your arms! You’ll make more blood come out!”

“You don’t know. You don’t know what humans are like! Maybe arm movements make our blood stay in.”

“Eck. Blood really should not be that color.”

“If it was any other color I would actually need a MediBot.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair. I know everybody’s blood color is normal to them. I’ve watched a lot of sensitivity training videos!”

EMERGENCY EMERGENCY! “Wonderful. Connell, make them go away!” “Are you absolutely certain you don’t need them to plug those holes in you?”

EMERGENCY EMERGENCY! PLEASE COOPERATE!

“I need those holes to breathe! Damn it, get off me!”

ZZAPP

“Oh, Stanford, why? Do you know how long it will take me to repair them? I’ll have to get the maintenance bots up here, and they hate me!”

“I’m frankly not your biggest fan, either.” “You’re rude.” “I’m running on two hours of sleep and my body clearly isn’t tolerating the jump to intra-space, so deal with it. Usually I’m a scintillating conversationalist.”

“Hah hah hah. I know when an organic life-form is being funny. That’s a good one.”

…

“Don’t pout. Look, you’ve almost stopped bleeding!”

“I’m not pouting, I was planning on getting some work done. And yes, as I told you, I’m fine. This isn’t something that will kill or even slightly damage me.”

…

“Stanford.” “What?” “You aren’t bleeding and the MaintBots are coming. Will you pretend to be talking to me when they get here?” “Because they don’t like you?”

“Yes. They think I’m not cool because I don’t have a body. If you talk to me about things, they won’t talk to me. They’ll see that a person with a body likes me, you know? You don’t have to actually like me, though.” “I see. Okay, sure. No problem.” “Oh, great, thank you! Okay, okay. What should we say? Oh! We can talk about your blood! Does it evaporate? Or repel predators?” “Well, not usually. Its main purpose is to transport oxygen around my body.” “Oh, okay! Neat! And why was it coming out of you like that before? Is that common?”

“Nosebleeds happen to humans sometimes. I always get them jumping to intra-space. It’s why I prefer not to travel this way.”

“Ooooh I see. Just some normal, regular bleeding, eh? Just like all the organics do on your planet!” “Uh, well, I wouldn’t say that–”

“Or moon! Or whatever, it’s all cool, it’s all fine by me! You can be from wherever you’re from!”

“I–”

“Gosh, now that I’m getting used to it, I kinda like your red blood! Really pops against that space suit! Man! Wish I could see more!”

“You will. We still have to drop out of intra-space.”

“Great!”

1. marcid - incredibly exhausted

Bill was here; was everywhere that Ford was before he could get there, even in his mind. 

Especially in his mind. 

When he slept, and he would have to sometime, he hoped he wouldn’t dream of Bill, appearing with a laugh and a joke. It’s been fun, Fordsy, but I’m tired of the games! 

Even if Bill wasn’t literally in his mind, he was always metaphorically there. Ford’s years of friendship (why does he still call it that?) with that demon made it easy to conjure Bill’s voice to mock or to threaten.

(And in retrospect, their friendship always had had a high instance of mockery and at least implied threats. How had he been so stupid as to not see Bill’s true self? Could he really have been so pathetically lonely that he was willing to befriend anything that laid in his path, waiting?)

Ford staggered, hugging himself against the cold of this empty place. It was flat and barren, but at least he was out of the Nightmare Realm. He glanced down at his dimensional translator, but his eyes were so bleary that he couldn’t read it. The adrenaline lingering in his system after his flight from Bill was waning. Ford’s boots felt impossibly heavy, and his entire body ached.

He tripped on nothing, toppling to the ground. It was dusty, almost soft. And nobody was around to kill him that he could see. He would rest here, just for a moment, and then carry on.

17. temerate - to break a bond or promise

Ford glanced to one side, to the hulking individual striding along the canal with him. Ford’s… associate, Nere, seemed to think he was successfully leading Ford into a trap. He walked easily and with purpose, leading Ford to the narrow alley where they could complete their deal away from the intruding eyes of the law– and where Ford would be vulnerable to an attack.

Ford didn’t much like illegal deals with unsavory characters, but they were a part of life these days. He tried to smother the grin he felt trying to sneak onto his face. Maybe there was a small part of him that did enjoy the occasional brush with danger. He tightened his grip on the six-foot staff that was the only weapon commoners were permitted in the city as Nere silently gestured for him to enter the alley first. Typical.

“Alrighty,” Nere said with a sigh. “Here we go.” He held up a small case and shook it. It rattled. “Year’s supply is all yours.”

“Presuming I can pay, of course,” Ford said.

“Uh, yeah… that’s kind of the deal,” said Nere, frowning.

“Well, the deal’s off!” Before Nere could speak, Ford whipped his staff at the treacherous man’s wrist, dealing a vicious blow that made him howl and drop the case of pills. Ford dashed forward to grab it, scooping up the case and shouldering roughly past Nere.

“What the fuck, man?!” Nere yelled.

Ford didn’t know it, but as he dashed out of the alley and onto the wider street, fleeing the sounds of Nere’s gang behind him, he was grinning.

4. sweven - a dream

When all the lies and terror and confusion of the multiverse became too much, Ford wished there was some happy memory he could recede to. Not always, not for days or weeks at a time, just for a few minutes.

In the Banjo Dimension, beset by discordant twanging, Ford wished he could summon up the image of Fiddleford’s delight if he were to ever find himself here. But no, Fiddleford was a bridge too thoroughly burned to be a fond memory.

On the pirate planet and sick with an intestinal parasite, Ford could hardly imagine a world in which he had thrilling but never too terrifying seagoing adventures with a version of Stanley that had never existed.

There may have been good times in Gravity Falls, but so much of that was overshadowed by Bill, and by the thoughts that still plagued him– how long had Bill been watching, lying in wait? Would he never have approached Ford if Ford had heeded Modoc’s warning? Had there ever been even a moment that Bill might have considered Ford a true friend?

It was stupid. Stupid of him to try to imagine a world where his life had been different, where he’d made the right choices about who to trust and had never been betrayed.

Ford tried to remember the smaller things to get by, rationing his happy memories: the feel of the sun and the sea air on his face, and never mind who was just off his shoulder; the serenity of a chemistry lab at four in the morning, without the explosion an hour later caused by his roommate’s experiment; the joy of a trek through the woods a mile from his home before he knew anything was out there waiting for him.

22. petrichor - the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of dry weather

Sweat dripped down Ford’s face, rolling down his jaw and falling with a soft pat onto his saddlehorn. He sighed, shifting in the saddle. It had been a long, hot week in the Old West Dimension, and he was tired of it. He liked his horse, though. Pigeon was patient with his inexperience and unaffected by the perils of the trail. Ford leaned forward to pat her on the neck, and a bead of sweat fell this time onto her dappled gray neck. Ford blinked. Did she have more spots all of a sudden?

“Ford!” Ford’s head snapped up. Slim, at the head of the string of riders on the dusty trail that wound up into the hills, waved as if they weren’t sure they had his attention.”FORD! IT’S RAINING!” Their grin was visible even from a distance. The rest of the party cheered, raising their arms or throwing their hats. Then they had to dismount and pick them back up again.

“This is great!” Slim had guided their horse back down the trail full of celebrating riders to Ford. “It’s been a long damn time since we saw a drop of rain!” “Well, that’s wonderful, but if it’s raining on its own, then what do you need me for?” Ford asked. He was supposed to be helping these people with their weather problem using a Rainmaker he’d smuggled out of Dimension 7.6^3. It was the job they’d hired him to do, and if he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t get paid.

“Whaddy mean, Ford? Didn’t you finish the last touches on your machine last night?” Slim asked, cocking their head.

Ford wondered if they’d been drinking in the saddle again. “No… you know we need to be at a higher elevation for the Rainmaker to work. And I haven’t finished my repairs.” The light shower poured harder, and the sweet, earthy scent of rain filled the warm air.

“Naw,” said Smith from behind him. “I seen you fixing it up too. Pushed a lot of buttons and zap! Brought all those clouds over here.”

“I saw it too!” Lizard Lizzie shouted over her shoulder. “It was just like magic, I’ll swear on a Bible.”

“You college types can be so forgetful,” Slim said blithely. “Don’t you worry, we’ll talk to the Sheriff. You’ll get your pay.”

Ford grinned. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it!” Slim turned to address the whole group, cupping their hands around their mouth. “Alright, folks, change of plans! Let’s get back to town and tell ‘em all what a good job we done!” They gave Ford a knowing look. “I’m sure you’d like to collect your fee and move on, huh mysterious loner?”

“It’s what we do best,” Ford acknowledged, and they shared a smile.

14. basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss

“Wow.” Ford leaned back. “That's some view.”

The sunset was a lot like Earth's; it painted the sky and sea in shades of orange and purple. Ford sat on a bench at the top of a rise that swept down to the shore. Next to him was Jason, a local biologist who'd been very welcoming to Ford, and with whom he could discuss marine life for hours.

Jason flashed with bioluminescence to indicate his happiness. “It really is. I suppose you'll miss it when you leave. Or maybe not. You'll be off exploring beautiful new oceans.”

“I'll still miss being here. It's always nice to be near the sea. And I definitely appreciate being free from assassination attempts.” Ford hooked his arm over the back of the bench and grinned at Jason, who floated next to him, tentacles piled delicately on the bench seat to imitate a seated posture. while his shorter, frilled arms bobbed in the breeze.

Jason laughed. “I appreciate you not being assassinated,” he said. “You… you’ll be alright, won’t you? Out there,” he waved an arm vaguely.

“I have to be,” said Ford, scratching at his chin. “Death would mean failure, and I can’t fail.”

“Ford, that’s… you’re just so…” Jason laid an arm on Ford’s, frills brushing his wrist. “Well, you’re crazy,” he said ruefully. Ford chuckled. “But you’re very brave,” Jason went on softly.

Ford glanced away, hoping he didn’t look too pleased by Jason’s compliment. When he looked back, Jason was closer. Ford looked up into his face, confused but also feeling a sense of foreboding. He felt that he knew what was happening on some level, but surely not. It couldn’t be what it felt like.

Jason’s mouth was almost on his by the time Ford really believed it. He yelped and jerked back, away from the gentle grip Jason’s arms now had on his knee, his shoulder, his arm.

“I, uh, sorry, I don’t know if you–” Ford had no plans regarding the end of that sentence. His face was on fire. He had no idea how this situation had suddenly taken a hard turn into incredibly uncomfortable territory.

“I’m sorry!” Jason twined his arms together, embarrassed. “Oh, that was really, extremely stupid. I’m sorry, it’s just– you’re so, uh, it’s just a very romantic setting and I got a little– I should have asked first!”

“It’s fine!” Ford assured him, although his heart was pounding as if he’d just dodged a bullet. “I just don’t. I don’t do that sort of thing,” he explained weakly. “Not that I’ve had a lot of offers!” he added, laughing awkwardly.

Inscrutable lights flickered across Jason’s face and bell. Ford wondered how he looked, leaning away as if terrified of this man, who had been nothing but a friend to him over the past weeks. “Well, I won’t offer,” Jaon said finally. “If you don’t want me to.”

Ford felt as if he should explain himself, but he didn’t think he could make his feelings about kissing make any sense to either of them. I’ve never imagined myself doing that. I thought wanting it would happen to me and it never did. I think you’re very beautiful, but like the sunset is beautiful, and I wouldn’t want to kiss the sun. None of these statements would be likely to explain much, or make Jason feel much better.

Before the silence could stretch on too long, Ford said “I’ll miss you.” He took one of Jason’s arms in his hand. “I won’t forget our friendship,” he added lamely. It had sounded better in his head.

Jason grimaced, but squeezed Ford’s hand. “Why don’t you just try to forget the last couple minutes of it.”

30. whelve - to bury something deep, to hide

It was Gravity Falls, but not as Ford knew it, or remembered it. The Institute of Oddology was huge, eclectic, well-equipped, adequately staffed, and world-famous. It buzzed with the businesslike, occasionally chaotic energy of science being done. The things he’d seen here, and the things his other self had accomplished…

Here was what his life could have been. Safe use of the portal, a world free of Bill… Ford swallowed back jealousy and irrational anger, and turned to the man his friend could have been.

“You look, good, Fiddleford,” Ford said. In truth, he looked as unremarkable as he always had. An ordinary exterior hiding an incredible mind, just older.

Fiddleford cracked a grin. “You look exactly like a character you’d come up with for DD and More D, if I’m honest.” He put his hands on his hips and made a show of looking Ford up and down. “Space Pirate, you know? You’re the spittin’ image. They got that subclass in your dimension?” “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there since I was thirty,” Ford reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” Fiddleford rubbed the back of his neck. “On account of that accident with Stan.” He eyed Ford closely, watching his reaction. “Things went south, you say.” “With Stan, and with you, yes.” Ford said shortly. “Very south.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason, it’s nothin’.” Fiddleford put his hands in his lab coat’s pockets and tapped his foot rapidly against the tile. “Do you ever think about how they are now? That Stan, that Fiddleford?”

“They’re fine, I’m sure.” Stanley was always fine; he was slippery enough to survive anything. And Fiddleford, even with his anxieties, even with the temptation of that damned gun, was too brilliant to hang around in Gravity Falls, hunting the locals’ memories for sport.

“Good, good.” They stood silently for a moment.

“Did your family move up here?” Ford asked, wanting to turn the conversation from topics he wasn’t remotely willing to tell this Fiddleford about.

Fiddleford raised his brows, surprised at the change of topic. “Oh, yeah. Not too long after we got the portal all configgerified just how we liked it. Wife and kids came up. Well, I s’pose it was just the one kid back then,” he chuckled. “They always liked you, y’know. The kiddos. They liked that you’d rassle ‘em around and let ‘em do dangerous dang stuff when I wasn’t around.”

Ford’s stomach clenched unhappily at the thought of being a significant figure in the lives of Fiddleford’s children as they grew up. It was so desperately far removed from what his life had actually been. Ford wanted to turn away from this topic as well.

“Yes, well.” Ford gripped clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m glad that the other me has done… so well for himself.” He gritted out the words.

Fiddleford gave him a deeply pitying look. “I can help you, you know, Ford. We can get you back to dimension 46’\ lickety-split.” He patted Ford’s shoulder. Ford suppressed a wince, even though Fiddleford had just told him that only contact with his own alternate self could damage this universe.

“No.” He shrugged off Fiddleford’s hand. I don’t need to go home, I need to destroy Bill Cipher for good.” He fixed his gaze on Fiddleford. “You and your Ford may have made this universe safe– I don’t begrudge you that, but Bill took my life from me. He’ll do it to infinitely more people if I give up. I intend to put an energy pulse right between his… eye.” Ford finished. “I just need to refine my Quantum Destabilizer. I haven’t been able to find a power source that will work with it.” As Ford spoke, Fiddleford’s KBPS began to rise, and his eyes lit with interest.

“Power source, you say? Now that’s interesting…Come this way. I think I got somethin’ you’ll want to see!”

24. meriggiare - to rest at noon, more likely in a shady spot outdoors

Ford plopped down in the soft blue lichen covering the soil under the vast canopy of a towering mushroom. The steep rise he’d climbed to get here was perfectly positioned to show him a view of the picturesque little valley– its forests, clearings, and some of the inhabitants: the large but harmless lizards that fluttered through the air, glittering like strings of jewels. The sky was a dusky blue, the sparse clouds delicate feathery streaks.

A smile twitched at the corners of Ford’s mouth as he tried to open his pack and find some food. He fumbled it and burst into laughter. It wasn’t funny, and that knowledge just made him guffaw again.

Ford shoved his hands up under his glasses, trying to get ahold of himself. What was going on with him? He’d climbed this hill on a whim, just wanting to appreciate the view and have some lunch. Maybe get a few hours rest before carrying on. He was due to visit a weapons factory in a lava dimension, and had wanted to enjoy his last hours here in this world. (Dimension 0591 Dash Six (dash and six all spelled out for some reason.))

But now he felt both bubbly with good humor and even sleepier than he should after a sleepless night of traveling. Even the thought of his own unusual mood made him want to laugh again.

“How did I get stoned out here?” Ford asked himself out loud. Biting his lip to try to smother his grin, Ford waved his hand in front of his face, wondering what it would look like. It looked like a hand waving in front of his face. Not the most useful diagnostic tool. If the flying lizards were watching, it would look like he was waving to them, he thought, and snickered. He gave them a proper wave, in case they really were watching, and turned back to the matter at hand.

He hadn’t eaten anything he wasn’t certain of in weeks. It was an important element of survival in myriad universes. He hadn’t been poisoned in any other way. It must be something environmental. But what?

Ford thunked his head back against the soft, pale trunk of the mushroom, feeling decidedly less concerned about his drugging than he should be. He peered up at the rippling gills of the mushroom. He had walked through a forest of similar fungi all morning.

“Oooh. Yes, that could be it. Spores. Alien spores. Well, don’t feel bad,” he told the mushroom. He smiled drowsily up at it. “I’ll be fine, you know, probably.” Ford’s eyes closed. “Should probably leave. Get to that lava dimension and sober up,” he mumbled.

But a nap first, then back to it. Yes. Just a little rest, and he’d be fine.

8. ansare - to hardly breathe, to be out of breath

“No.” Ford gaped.

“Oh, yeah, totally.” The bartender wiped down the surface of thier bar with one hand, and polished a glass with a couple of others. “He’s a regular here. Probably not the Tesla that you know, but definitely some scrawny inventor guy. Wacko scientists are always washing up here, for whatever reason. Seen at least six in the last five years.”

Ford tuned out the bartender. His heart thundered. He glanced over his shoulder again at the mustachioed man drinking in the corner of the bar. He looked just like the poster Ford had had on his wall in college.

Tesla, Nikola Tesla, took a swig of his foamy brown cocktail and placed it back on the table so that it would hold down one corner of the pages that flapped in the breeze created by the bar’s oscillating fan. He licked whipped cream off his mustache and scribbled something. Ford felt faint.

What should he do? What could he possibly say? Tesla probably had people flocking to him all the time, Ford didn’t want to come off as just some hanger-on.

“Breathe, man!” The bartender smacked Ford on the shoulder. “If you pass out, he’s not gonna give you his autograph, you know.”

Ford gasped for breath, then fixed the slender alien with a scowl. “I don’t want his autograph, I want to tell him that I’m grateful for the incredible strides he made for science, and that I admire his ambition, and I want to let him know that his legacy never faded!” Ford fought off the urge to wave his hands in excitement and curled them into fists on the shining bar.

“Uh-huh,” they gave him an amused look. There was a pause while they stepped away to help another patron, and Ford drummed his fingers on the bar, trying to formulate an opening line. What did someone say when he met his childhood hero (or some version of him) in a spaceport bar?

“Hey, do you hear that?” The bartender was standing in front of him again. Their batlike ears twitched.

“No.” Ford looked around. It was quiet in the bar, both literally and in terms of patronage.

“It sounds so weird.” As they raised a hand to their head, the being they’d just served made an abrupt dash for the door. In the next instant, the back wall of the bar exploded.

Ford was knocked off his barstool and onto the floor, dazed and breathless. He rolled onto his belly and struggled to get his wobbly legs under him. As he rose, his head swam and his eyes streamed from the smoke and dust. He coughed, struggling to breathe, and looked vainly around for either victims who needed help or assassins who needed a quick death.

A couple of figures staggered through the smoke and out the front door, which looked completely intact. The explosive had been a small one, and Ford had been the nearest to it, so it was unlikely that anyone else was badly hurt. The bartender flashed through Ford’s mind– they’d been near him. They could be hurt or worse.

He turned toward the bar and leaned over it, only to be met with the sight of the bartender hauling themself to their feet. They coughed too, covering their mouth with one arm and flailing wildly with the other ones.

Ford grabbed them and tugged them closer, so that they leaned toward each other over the bar. “Is there another exit?” he shouted into their ear. It wasn’t ideal as an escape. If the explosive had been intended to flush him out, there would probably be watchers on all the entrances and exits, but it was either run or stay and suffocate.

They nodded, squinting in the smoke, and led Ford through a door into a small stockroom. Through that was a door into a closet, and then another door that led outside, or as outside as you could get on a spaceport. Ford glanced back and forth down the bright ‘street’, but it was deserted. He had to get away, and ideally get the bartender out of here, too.

He wouldn’t admit it, but Ford’s next thought was that he hoped Tesla hadn’t been a trick, a trap set for him by Bill’s agents. But how could they possibly have guessed he’d wander into that bar? Still, it hadn’t been Tesla to dash for the door, he’d been in his place along with everyone else.

“My bar,” the bartender moaned, bringing Ford back to the present. “What happened, what am I gonna do?”

Ford steadied them as they started to cough again. “I think that bomb was meant for me. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to endanger you or your establishment. You should probably go home.” The bartender turned their incredulous gaze on him. “I lived in there! I don’t have anywhere to go! Who the fuck wants to kill you so badly?”

“Bill Cipher.” The name had no visible effect on them. In some places it was as good as a curse, but not here. “Okay, well, are you getting revenge or something? Is he going to pay for this?” They clearly didn’t mean financial payment.

“Yes,” Ford said simply. This was not even serious enough to count as a footnote on the list of crimes for which Bill should be killed, but if it would make them feel better to think Ford was seeking vengeance for them, then fine.

“Good. I’m coming with you. I’m going to help you and get this guy back for blowing up my house.” Their eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Ford didn’t argue. He knew from experience that it would waste time. He’d take them along and either they would give up and find some new place to call home or he could ditch them in a reasonably safe place.

“Let’s go, then. I’m Stanford,” he added, offering his hand.

“Journey,” they said, shaking it.

2. arcuate - arched; bow-shaped

Slate-gray buildings curved over Ford’s head, huge and entirely contradictory to the laws of physics. It was, he thought, what it might be like to be an ant, looking up at a forest of grass. If he was an ant, though, he wouldn’t be lost. He could use his antennae to scent his hotel and find his way there without fuss, using scent trails left by other guests.

Ford peered at the small ball of light he held in his left hand. The hospitality kiosk had provided it to him, along with a burble of the local language that he couldn’t understand.

Someone jostled his shoulder and snapped something unintelligible at him. “Oh, excuse me.” Ford fought through the foot traffic in the broad street until he could lean against a building. He couldn’t feel the curvature of the structure at this height. He tilted his head back, watching the shine of the lights in the windows against the nighttime sky.

He’d never been to a city so huge before, or so alien. The people here had blue skin, some of them. They were all a foot shorter than he was, and wore things and carried things and said things he couldn’t understand. Ford’s feet hurt. He was hungry and tired and cold– his coat was too thin for this weather.

If Ford had dreamed of being an adventurer as a child (and he now pretended he hadn’t) he wouldn’t have anticipated the aimless hours, or the boredom. He hadn’t considered what it would be like to have no home, and nobody to turn to.

Ford gazed blankly at his glowing orb. He was exhausted, and he was alone here. Nobody would notice for days if he didn’t make it to his hotel. The only thing for it was to move. Ford took a deep breath, pushed himself off his wall, and set out.

18. morituro - of someone who is next or destined to die

When Ford learned that Bill was widely known throughout many universes, he didn’t know if it was comforting (he wasn’t the only person to be tricked or harmed by Bill!) or dismaying (he was just another in a long line of rubes to fall for Bill’s trickery.) He wasn’t known quite everywhere, but in many places Ford heard whispers and rumors.

“Bill Cipher isn’t real,” scoffed a man in one dimension. “It’s just a silly trick created to scare children into obeying, like the Giant Cocoon!”

“I’m sorry,” breathed a sympathetic guard as she snuck Ford out of a heavily fortified prison. “Everyone here lives in fear of the One-Eyed Demon. Get out of here before you’re seen.”

The more Ford learned about BIll, the more grimly certain he became that he couldn’t begin to think of returning home yet. Indeed, he couldn’t take any other path until Bill was dead.

“My people,” said a hollow-eyed old arms dealer, xir hands clenched into a bony knot before xem. “Killed. Gone. Now I help other people to their own ends in the hopeless pursuit of the monster.”

And that arms dealer had been one of the lucky ones: Ford had found that few people ever survived Bill’s scouring of their universes.

“Murdered his own fucking people, you know? Just pfft.” This woman had snapped her delicate-looking wings with a startling sound. “All of them into the mist. And why? To cover up his crimes? For fun? Who knows?” She had shuddered in the sweltering heat. “Evil.”

Eventually, Ford began to hear an addendum to mentions of Bill. Not always, but sometimes, and increasing in frequency as the years wore on.

The first time he’d heard it had been from a child, who had peered solemnly at him from under a wide-brimmed hat. “The Deceiver will make you think fake things are real. He takes you away and replaces you with his own mind.” The little boy’s eyes had sparkled. “But don’t worry! My aunts say that there’s someone who fights the Deceiver! A man who appears from nowhere to strike and run before he can be caught! He’s a thief and a crook, but he helps. Maybe you can find him and he can help you too.”

25. noceur - one who stays up late

The problem with studying 0th dimensional physics was that it was so fascinating that Ford didn’t want to turn his attention to anything else. He’d budgeted two hours for 0d Physics, then two for exobiology (redundant– all biology was exobiology on an alien planet), then one for his Strygian literature class (the language was fascinating! The literature even more so!) and finally some philosophy he was taking to round out his studies and help him to understand the culture of the Strygians.

After that he would eat, sleep, wake, and attend class. And after escaping from that horrible dimension with all the M’s, Ford had washed up here, on the planet Strygis. Then there’d been two weeks of decontamination and rigorous interviews, and it had been decided that Ford should be allowed to attend Tytene University as what amounted to an alien charity case. They didn’t call it that, of course; he was an “Off-Planet-Originated Accelerated Admission” case. He was also, on paper, a woman, because the avian inhabitants of Strygis had organized themselves quite strictly by sex. As a scholar, Ford was female, legally.

Anyway, all of that was beside the point. The point was that Ford found himself in a university of kindred spirits. It had been years since he’d last earned a new PhD, and Ford thought he deserved a little treat. And the physics department at Tytene University should prove useful, you know, somehow.

A sudden rushing and fluttering in the aerie prompted Ford to raise his head. To his surprise, nearly his entire cohort had swooped in. They made their way to their nests, puttering around and getting ready for bed. Ford stared in surprise past the slender wooden poles that supported the thin canopy over the aerie. The horizon was turning pink. It was dawn. Had he really been awake all night?

“You keep telling us you’re diurnal,” joked Mask from her nest as she fidgeted with it, using her large talons to kick her bedding around. “And yet, here you are, every morning, as if you were just waiting for a good day’s sleep!” “She’s really making great flights with her study of our culture, eh?” came another jovial voice. “You’ll be sprouting feathers next, Ford!”

Ford grinned over his shoulder in the direction of the voice. He couldn’t be sure who it was, but it was clearly friendly ribbing, rather than nasty bullying. “Well, if Larna wouldn’t suggest such fascinating reading for my Science Qualification I could get some human-style nighttime rest!” Ford closed his textbook and relaxed back into his own nest as soft, amused hoots rang out around him.

“If you’re sleeping with us, you may as well get breakfast with us,” Mask suggested. She blinked her huge yellow eyes at him and fluffed up her gray feathers contentedly. “I could catch some oolie and you can explain what Larna is always going on about. I need all the help I can get with physics.” “Sounds lovely,” Ford said truthfully. (A tiny part of Ford already mourned the loss of this planet from his life. Once he moved on, would he ever be back? He pushed the thought aside.) His hand crept toward his exobiology scrolls, almost in spite of himself. Naturally, Mask spotted the movement. She rolled her whole head.

“At least try to be asleep before the sun is above the horizon,” she advised him, sounding like nobody so much as Fiddleford at age twenty.

Ford chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. Old habits die hard.”

29. selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful

Footsteps thundered behind Ford as he dashed through broad, brightly-lit halls. Door after door flicked past on either side, but each one was a dead end, if the map Ford’s accomplice had given him was correct.  He could hide, but he’d be found eventually. He could run, but he couldn’t remember exactly which way to go to reach the outside. This is why you memorize the map! Ford’s brain told him unhelpfully.

At a T intersection, Ford stupidly hesitated for a fraction of a second before staggering to the right. He heard a shout much too nearby.

“There! He went that way!”

Shit. Ford dashed on, terror delaying the exhaustion he should be feeling by now. Even with the benefits of adrenaline he could feel a sharp stabbing between his ribs.

Another intersection, another turn. Ford stopped. Dead end. He was cornered, caught. And weaponless, to boot.

Well, there was only one thing for it. Ford groped in his pocket for a certain cheap plastic case and turned to face the way he’d come, backing slowly toward the dead end.

Guards dressed in green rounded the corner. They stopped, startled to find him facing them, clutching something small that they couldn’t see.

“Greetings, gentlemen!” Ford said, panting. Who knew if they were men at all, but it didn’t matter.

“Drop your weapon!” rang out the command from the frontmost guard. “You’re trespassing in a restricted area!”

“That’s the least of your worries! Get ready… to die!” Ford threw down the infinity-sided die.

Blue light blasted forth from the die; Ford drew his arm over his eyes, recoiling from the flash with his whole body.. He froze in that position for long moments, before the silence around him caught his attention.

Ford removed his arm from his face and was met with a riot of color. He was floating in what felt like a gravityless void, but the black backdrop of space and stars was missing. Instead, he was surrounded by glittering clouds of blue and pink mist so dense he couldn’t see through them, but which looked as soft as cotton. Lights glinted within the clouds, like stars if stars were the size of motes of dust. Instead of the black void of space, it was all set against a gentle blue ‘sky’.

Ford tried to gasp in awe, and found he could. What was this strange place?

He looked down (only designated such because it was the direction his feet were in) and saw a long swoop of pink. He frowned. It was hard to tell distance or size in this place, but it looked like an enormous tail. He looked more and saw a leg, a head, and external gills. It all made sense, he thought, in an abstract kind of way, but his mind bent gently away from the beautiful knowledge of what he was seeing.

A huge, gentle black eye blinked at him through a gentle cyan fog. Ford reached for a gun he wasn’t carrying as a full-body shiver ran through him, and a soft but persistent pressure began to squeeze him tighter and tighter. He tried to thrash in an attempt to throw off the invisible force, and his body obeyed, but the pressure only mounted.

A voice boomed all around and inside of him. The glittering clouds pulsed and flowed to the rhythm of the words.

“ZFYRJBITKMSGVXEFRE

RVYSWSEGVXZVXDXHH

MVWSHUWOFXLXHVOVH

AOVMDVMNRVYSYIAW”

He couldn’t understand. Ford suppressed his instinct to panic. He wasn’t in pain, technically. He could breathe and move. He closed his eyes, blocking out as much sensory input as possible. Think! Perhaps he could reason with… whatever. The thing. The thing he couldn’t quite think about. The voice rang out again:

“JDNULALFCTIGNCPLPETCI

ZFYVXUSUYMNZASGVER

RVYNRCSPPQJEQYLLE

CLXYHBHPEXBXSSOXLEKL”

Ford opened his eyes. They streamed with tears. The pressure was still increasing on his body, but he felt almost as though it didn’t matter. It was as though a pleasant haze was surrounding him, divorcing him from the fear of the situation. He blinked dazedly at a spark in a nearby pink cloud. It looked like shiny cotton candy.

“BEHDHUXGFVGXACPLVDBL”, the voice added. Was that amusement in its booming, glowing, unearthly tones?

A tiny blue object floated past. Ford blinked in surprise, and grabbed his die.

The next moment, Ford was sitting on a large flat stone in a forest that was disorienting in its normalcy. He sat for a few moments, struggling to understand. Then he gave up on understanding. He’d once accidentally eaten a planet. This was nothing compared to that. It was the sort of surreal misadventure that was best forgotten, surely. And, in the grand scheme of things, probably only the thirteenth most dangerous outcome of rolling the infinity-sided die so far.

“Chalk this one up to a victory, then,” Ford muttered to himself as he put the die back in its case and closed it with a snap.

3. astral - of or relating to the stars­

I’ve traveled so far, but this is my first time seeing space like this, the way it was always shown on television when I was a child.

I’m in an actual spaceship, and the view is incredible! Or, it’s actually a little less vivid and brilliant than I would have expected– mostly a big black backdrop with tiny white stars.

Oh, I’m making a mess of this. My first journal entry in years, and it’s complete nonsense! Not that this is a journal. I’ll have to destroy this page as soon as I finish writing it, but I just had to write something!

I’m rambling again. Let me start over.

Since escaping the Nightmare Realm, I’ve jumped from dimension to dimension, seen small towns, vast wilderness, and bustling cities. I’ve been running for my life, essentially. But yesterday I met a small group of outlaws who claim to be the enemies of Bill. I told them my story and they want to help me! Well, that and they also want my help. Perhaps together we can become strong enough, and learn enough, to free the multiverse of the threat that is Bill Cipher.

As it turns out, the outlaws’ base of operations is within this very galaxy. No interdimensional travel for us! So I got to board a real, actual spaceship.

I spent a good few hours discussing the craft’s propulsion with the engineer, a two-headed woman with six names. She talked about faster-than-light travel as if it were simpler than starting a combustion engine! Eventually she tired of my questions and I was banished to my tiny quarters.

Even if the view is duller than I might have hoped for, I can’t quite believe that I’m in space! Every star I can see from my window is brand new, never seen by human eyes. When I was eighteen, watching the moon landing in my parents’ living room, I dreamed of one day experiencing something like this.

It could be under better circumstances, but I’m fed, clean, reasonably unlikely to be killed (I think) and on my way to meet with those who will help me defeat Bill and make the multiverse safer for everyone!

For the first time in a long time, I have hope for the future.

[anthemiswrites]

ladybugs

recently i'm too cold and too hot and crying

all the time about nothing

all the time about you or the lack thereof

i find empty spaces in my neck and arms

i'm forgetting every thought mid-sentence

i'm on autopilot and half-sentient

scaring myself on the drive to work at seven

because i was big-picture focused on concrete

didn't shake it off until two in the afternoon

scaring myself again at eight at night

by holding eye contact with my reflection

seeing the similarities in our eyes

i shiver walking through the doorway

of every room in this goddamn house

i figure i'm either cursed or depressed or dead

that thought puts me at ease

tonight i'll get high then dream of the eighteenth

it's always turquoise and muted

i find it sinking in the swimming pool

when i push my back too hard against the floor

and i recognize it immediately

like it's reaching back in time

in black seaweed floating above my head

in childhood daydreams of a watery death

in the sun through the water

at some point it's more comfort than concern

stone is cold in september

and eventually i do want to feed the bugs

so sometimes when i can't sleep i look up six feet

i play the one solid song morrissey has

and i picture the earth when it's over

the flowers and grass after all time

once we've all become flowers and grass

when we're all friends with speckled orange ladybugs

it's always peach and muted

it's an ever present amber haze at sunrise

and i can't see anything taller than two inches

life is beautiful only when i'm surrounded by it

i sleep like i haven't in years

[itsbulkgemstones]

The Fascinating World of Sleeping Beauty Turquoise

Unveiling the Rich History and Mystique of Sleeping Beauty Turquoise

Introduction: A Gem of Distinction

Sleeping Beauty Turquoise is a gemstone that has transcended its physical beauty to become synonymous with the very essence of turquoise. Its allure lies in its striking sky-blue color, free from heavy matrix, and has captivated people worldwide, often rivaling the coveted robin's egg clear Blue Persian Turquoise among collectors. This exquisite gem typically takes the form of nuggets with a soft white matrix, occasionally bearing traces of quartz or pyrite. Over the years, as preferences shifted towards stones with matrix, techniques like artificially darkening the matrix with shoe polish emerged to create higher contrast.

Discovering Sleeping Beauty Turquoise: A Humble Origin

Sleeping Beauty Turquoise from Arizona traces its roots back to the Native Americans during the Anasazi era, where it was initially mined with rudimentary hand tools and collected bit by bit. During this period, this gem found its way to Pueblo Bonito, serving as a vital trade center for Anasazi Turquoise for tribes spanning North America, Central America, and even South America. In later years, the Sleeping Beauty Mine underwent development by Anglo settlers in their pursuit of copper and other metal ores. The mining operations were managed under contract by Monty Nichols, a miner often credited with metaphorically "tearing down a mountain" to unearth the illustrious Sleeping Beauty Turquoise – a testament to the tremendous effort invested in acquiring this iconic gem.

A Tale of Accidental Discovery: Turquoise Through the Ages

Imagine yourself transported back to the era of King Tutankhamun in Egypt, circa 1330 BC. Thousands of laborers toiled in the mines of the Sinai Peninsula, unearthing turquoise to adorn the Pharaohs. When King Tut's treasures were unveiled, they included exquisite pieces of brilliant blue turquoise. Although the mines of Sinai had long been forgotten and depleted, they were rediscovered in the mid-1800s, sparking renewed interest in turquoise mining.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, in the realm of Native Americans, turquoise was being mined for the Aztec Kings. It served various purposes, from crafting pendants and beads to facilitating trade. Evidence abounds that the prehistoric peoples of the Anasazi and Hohokam tribes mined turquoise in what we now call the Southwest, trading it across hundreds of miles from its source.

The renowned "Persian Turquoise," with its robin's egg blue hue, was cherished by people in Persia (now Iran), Afghanistan, Siberia, and Turkistan (now Turkey). This precious gem was discovered in ancient graves dating from the first to the third century AD. It embarked on a journey to Europe in the late 1600s, and owing to its passage through the French-named Turquie, some believe that it derived its name from the Frenchmen who believed Turquie to be its place of origin.

China, too, shared a profound love for turquoise dating back to the thirteenth century AD, employing it predominantly for carving and decorative items. In Tibet, turquoise was utilized as currency and amulets. Although China had a few turquoise mines, their primary sources were Persia, Tibet, and Turkey.

Benefits and Significance of Sleeping Beauty Turquoise

Sleeping Beauty Turquoise is celebrated for its exceptional qualities, with stones ranging from chalky-blue "robin's egg" blue to sky-blue to deep blue. The rarer the deep blue hue, the more prized the stones become. However, in the realm of Sleeping Beauty Turquoise, achieving the perfect sky-blue color is paramount for jewelers and gemologists. They seek gems devoid of matrix, replicating the vintage Persian Turquoise appearance, as these are considered the most precious Sleeping Beauty Turquoise stones.

Beyond its aesthetic appeal, Sleeping Beauty Turquoise holds metaphysical and healing significance. It is revered as a purification stone, capable of dispelling negative energy and shielding against environmental pollutants. Turquoise is known to harmonize and align all chakras, promoting emotional stability, inner calm, and aiding in creative problem-solving. It symbolizes friendship and stirs the flames of romantic love.

In addition to its metaphysical properties, Turquoise is believed to facilitate the absorption of nutrients, bolster the immune system, promote tissue regeneration, and detoxify the body. It offers relief from cramps and pain, making it a cherished gem with both aesthetic and therapeutic value.

Conclusion: The Enduring Allure of Sleeping Beauty Turquoise

Sleeping Beauty Turquoise is not merely a gemstone; it's a living testament to history, culture, and the enduring fascination humans have had with this mesmerizing blue gem. Its vivid sky-blue hue and metaphysical properties continue to captivate jewelry enthusiasts, artists, and collectors alike, rendering it a cherished and timeless icon in the world of gemstones. Whether adorned in jewelry or admired for its symbolic significance, Sleeping Beauty Turquoise remains an eternal source of inspiration and beauty.

[thebluester2020]

[OC Stuff] "The Thirteen Isles"

More OC dump stuff because 1. I feel like it and 2. I'm taking a mini break from writing the Harvey smut 😔

Also I actually need to work on building my character's story a bit so there's that too-

°❀��.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Entry #2 :: "RogueMay Del Vachey" [Pt. 1]

To understand why he's the way he is, it's important to focus on his parents first. They're the basis of why he's the man that he is today, as well as explaining a lot of his personality traits.

One, his mother is a Sun Elf. (Meeka Hollowsong) They're considered the most "prestigious" amongst the elven races and she was born into a clan renowned for their singing abilities that have a paralyzing effect on anyone who hears it (Only those with their blood are immune to the effects).

Two, his father (Nasarious Vachey) is a normal human nomad and is part of a trio of brothers who call themselves the "Vachey Nomads". Over time, however, as the brothers got married and whatnot, the clan grew larger as they started having children and picked up stragglers along the way. This lifestyle is how Nasarious eventually meets Meeka—

And one, the middle brother of the Vacheys wandered too far from his clan's temporary resting place, eventually stumbling upon a quaint village deep within the heartlands of the Isle commonly thought to belong solely to the Sun Elves, Sunlight's Landing. And the village, built to surround a large and gorgeous oasis, was like taking a step into the heavens.

The scent of citrus fruits and exotic plants filled his senses along with the bird-like dragons that flew about the place, breathing their harmless fires as they flew roost to roost upon the houses where Sand Moss hung heavy along the red stone walls. Desert flowers bloomed in the front yards and elven folk dressed in uniformly silk clothing walked here and about.

As a human, it was hard not to feel out of place. Especially with so many eyes glancing his direction with either a curious gaze or a distrustful glare. Yet, none paid him too much mind as he wandered around, eventually coming to sit and rest his backside against a tree that decently blocked out the sun before Nasarious eventually found himself slowly dozing off to sleep until...

The scent of pomegranate, mixed with...a floral yet lemony scent?

And when he opened his eyes, the most gorgeous being he had ever rested his eyes upon stood in front of him. A mocha-skinned Sun elf woman dressed in a black silk dress, tied with a white sash. Her turquoise eyes as sharp as the sun's glare would be upon one's naked backside whilst her orange hair gave even more life to her annoyance as she looked down at the foreign human.

"What is a human doing upon my estate?"

Nasarious fell harder for Meeka than Meeka fell for him.

In Nasarious' eyes? Meeka was the only woman he could see himself with from that point on while Meeka only saw a stranger that she would eventually scold her servants for not getting rid of quicker later on.

But, the thing about Sun elves is that they're very arrogant and prideful about their appearances. So much to the point where having a child? It's considered an affront to their beauty, their entire race is willing to go entirely extinct in the pursuit of keeping their looks.

So a relationship with a human? It wasn't on Meeka's mind at first but as Nasarious continued to rave on and on about how beautiful she was? Saying things like—

"You are, by far, the most gorgeous being I will ever set eyes on in all of the thirteen lands. Your eyes and hair are like fire and ice."

"Do you have a spouse? Please tell me you don't! I want to try and court you, will you let me?"

"Ah...please don't let my appearances fool you. I can be a very good provider! I'm good with a weapon and I can cook! Tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it!"

It was a surefire way to eventually catch her interest.

And catch her interest she did because before Meeka even knew it? (Aka she came to a decision about two weeks later after allowing Nasarious to follow her around as a free-labor bodyguard / worker) Meeka decided to pack her things and travel with Nasarious for a little while to see if she really wanted to be with him.

The noblewoman wasn't used to so much...walking.

Typically, she'd have a horse to ride on whilst she'd hold up an umbrella in order to shield her skin from the sun. Servants standing on each side with packs full of things necessary for whatever journey she was on in order to make sure that she'd want for nothing. However...even as the human male carried her things so dutifully in front of her, she found herself quickly getting tired.

But, she wouldn't dare allow herself to be seen in such a state.

"Nasarious," She said with a stern voice, stopping the man in his tracks.

"Yes?"

Her eyes narrowed into daggers at how unaffected his was by this heat, in fact? She'd dare say he was doing better than her! His umber skin seemed to glow like bronze surrounded by piles of gold whilst he kept a bright smile on his features. It annoyed her.

"Let us rest here, I am tired." She admitted, standing off to the side as Nasarious set her things down and started to unpack a blanket from his backpack.

And, like a hawk observing the movements of its prey, Meeka watched. Yet, the human male was something that she couldn't entirely figure out, indeed she understood that he liked her, Nasarious constantly let her know of that fact. But...from what she understood? Humans weren't exactly fond of elves, especially the kind that raved on about their appearances.

She also heard of those poor unfortunate forest elves who were frequently taken as slaves. Something that her people wouldn't dare allow themselves to be, when she saw the human, she almost wanted to say he was a scout for such a horrid group of people, enslavers but...then again, a good scout would know quick that her estate was more or less defenseless and was only armed with servants and a few guards.

And as Nasarious helped her sit, Meeka smoothening out her dress underneath her behind. She decided to make her questions known. "Why did you come to my esate?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

"I was wandering, I've told you I'm a nomad?"

She nodded her head. "Yes."

"That is what I do," Nasarious chuckled. "I wander and my feet lead me to your estate."

"And now I have a human puppy constantly raving about how much he likes me." She scoffed.

"Can you blame me? You're beautiful."

"I know I am," She hmphed. "I don't understand why you try though, humans are eager to only use elves as slaves for pleasure. Not that you could try, I'd cut off the thing you use to breed with faster than you'd be able to lay a finger on me." Nasarious cringed back a little at the image that formed in his mind but, eventually he smiled at that comment as well.

"Well...I don't intend to do that. I'd cut off my own hands long before such a thought comes to mind. But, I know what I want and I know that I want you as my wife."

"And if I say no?"

"Then that is your right," He said. "But, so far? You haven't."

Her brow rose, an unfamiliar heat warming her cheeks as she placed a hand against the side of her face.

She wouldn't deny it. The male was charming but, it would take a lot more than common flattery and outcries of devotion to allow herself to even think of marrying a human!

Now, when Meeka and Nasarious eventually caught up with Nasarious' clan. It's safe to say that everyone was shocked that Nasarious was gone for weeks and then came back with a Sun Elf trailing his steps.

Especially his older and younger brother, Lokni and Jeel, who were already married at the time.

While Meeka and Jeel got along fine, Jeel already had an idea that it was best to stay clear of Meeka and respect her nobility. Lokni was not so convinced and thought that it was irresponsible of Nasarious to bring along a noble who wouldn't be able to keep up with the constant traveling that a nomadic clan would do.

But with this argument and trying to nudge Meeka out and back where she came from. It's also where Lokni learned quick that Meeka hates one thing above all.

Being touched by someone she deems inferior. (Which births the scar Lokni comes to receive on his chest)

End of Entry #2

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Beautifully maintained 1956 Mid-century Modern home in Los Angeles, California has 3bd. 2ba. and is listed for $2.369M.

Very open and spacious, gets lots of light from glass walls. The interior is painted white and I’m not sure if always was white, or if it was originally natural, but it does look good in white, even the fireplace.

The white makes a nice contrast with the natural stone wall. 

MCM homes are usually open-concept and this one has a living room/kitchen sharing a spacious area.

This large kitchen counter is a great idea. How convenient for casual dining and serving.

This has to be an original kitchen, except for the updated appliances and exhaust hood. 

Beautiful big kitchen with lots of storage.

Isn’t this lovely? A covered area, that is currently used for dining, has access to the living room and pool.

It was on the news just last night, that if you want a good night’s sleep, the bd. should be empty and stark. 

Nice vintage bath looks fresh and updated, yet fitting the style of the house. 

Beautiful large bd. They all have beamed ceilings. 

This is nice- original turquoise tiles. 

Very cozy family room. 

Very nice yard features a small patio.

Plus, a beautiful oval pool. 

https://www.compass.com/listing/2051-outpost-drive-los-angeles-ca-90068/1297240147024525401/

[shining-gem34]

||A little short drabble following @etherealguard post here

ENJOY IT, LUNA! HAHAHAHAHA

---------

The journal opens of their own accord.

Every detail of Dan Heng experience in his dreams, he recorded it all within these pages. They flip one by one, the black ink starts to glow a faint turquoise.

As if summoned, a ghostly shape of the past appears. An ethereal man in white and silver with majestic horns sitting at the crown of his head. Yet where there used to be a pair, only one horn remains on his head and the other a stub. Opening his eyes, a pair of vivid turquoise hues observes the room before him.

The archives, Yinyue Jun recognizes.

Then his gaze lands on the figure hunched over the desk.

Dan Heng, Yinyue Jun smiles and walks over to him.

The High Elder footsteps make no sound, leaving behind him a trail of water ripples and blooming lotus flowers. He stops to examine Dan Heng again, surprised to find him fast asleep. A rarity considering his treasure stubborn nature for many reasons. Regardless, Yinyue Jun grabs the nearby blanket and places it onto his back.

Another pause, Yinyue Jun eyes narrowed to scrutinize the item in Dan Heng hands. They widen upon recognizing it; a horn.

Not just any horns, but his horn

"I see." Yinyue Jun shuts his eyes, "Some time has passed since we said goodbye."

Dan Heng had grown not only physically, but mentally as well. He no longer needed Yinyue Jun guidance to help him understand himself as a person. Eventually, the High Elder will disappear and return to the sea of their souls.

His treasure is no longer a hatchling clinging to his father hand. He is a grown man that must let go of him and blaze the path he had chosen.

Yinyue Jun shouldn't be here.

He shouldn't be here as a spirit haunting Dan Heng. He shouldn't be here witnessing his silent mourning. He shouldn't be here because of his own selfish wish.

Selfish, the High Elder will always be selfish to the end because he never had a chance to express his own desires freely when he was still alive.

But just this once, Yinyue Jun wanted to see his treasure today.

"I'm sorry, Dan Heng. I cannot be here long, because if you see me- Everything we have done will be undone at the seams." Yinyue Jun said somberly, reaching out to pat his head gently. A faint smile drawing his face seeing Dan Heng frown at the touch. "Today is a special day for you, little one. I'm not sure if you remembered the day you were born."

He retracts his hand back to pull something out of his sleeve and places it on the table next to him. A jade stone of a deep green color with a beautiful dragon carved into it.

"My skills are subpar compared to the Furnace Master in my era. However, I hope the sincerity of my gift makes up for it." The High Elder chuckles to himself.

When his form starts to flicker, Yinyue Jun sighs realizing he has little time left here. He pats Dan Heng head again, "I am no longer here to help you, but you are strong. As long as you don't lose yourself, you'll be alright."

"I am proud of you, Dan Heng."

Yinyue Jun places a gentle kiss on the crown of his head, "Happy birthday, my treasure..."

Then he pulls away, taking a few steps back, and spent the remaining few minutes watching his son peacefully sleeping. His vision slowly fading just like his body, and soon Yinyue Jun was no longer there.

The only thing that remained as proof of his presence was the jade stone and the scent of lotus blossoms.

[rhianna]

THE TAJ MAHAL. ANDRÉ CHEVRILLON.

At the back of a marvellous garden and with all of its whiteness reflected in a canal of dark water, sleeping inertly among thick masses of black cypress and great clumps of red flowers, this perfect tomb rises like a calm apparition. It is a floating dream, an aërial form without weight, so perfect is the balance of the lines, and so pale, so delicate the shadows that float across the virginal and translucent stone. These black cypresses which frame it, this verdure through the openings of which peeps the blue sky, and24 this sward bathed in brilliant sunlight and on which the sharply-cut silhouettes of the trees are lying,—all these real objects render more unreal the delicate vision, which seems to melt away into the light of the sky. I walk towards it along the marble bank of the dark canal, and the mausoleum assumes sharper form. On approaching you take more delight in the surface of the octagonal edifice. This consists of rectangular expanses of polished marble where the light rests with a soft, milky splendour. One would never imagine that so simple a thing as surface could be so beautiful when it is large and pure. The eye follows the ingenious and graceful scrolls of great flowers, flowers of onyx and turquoise, incrusted with perfect smoothness, the harmony of the delicate carving, the marble lace-work, the balustrades of a thousand perforations,—the infinite display of simplicity and decoration.

The garden completes the monument, and both unite to form this masterpiece of art. The avenues leading to the Taj are bordered with funereal yews and cypresses, which make the whiteness of the far-away marble appear even whiter. Behind their slender cones thick and massive bushes add richness and depth to this solemn vegetation. The stiff and sombre trees, standing out in relief from this waving foliage, rise up solemnly with their trunks half-buried in masses of roses, or are surrounded by clusters of a thousand unknown and sweet-scented flowers which are blossoming in great masses in this solitary garden. He must have been an extraordinary artist who conceived this place. Sweeps of lawn, purple-chaliced flowers, golden petals, swarms of humming bees, and diapered butterflies25 give light and joy to the gloom of the burial-ground. This place is both luminous and solemn; it contains the amorous and religious delights of the Mussulman paradise, and the poem in trees and flowers unites with the poem in marble to sing of splendour and peace.

The interior of the mausoleum is at first as dark as night, but through this darkness a grille of antique marble is faintly gleaming, a mysterious marble-lace, which drapes the tombs, and which seems to wind and unwind forever, shedding on the splendour of the vault a yellow light, which seems to be ancient, and to have rested there for ages. And the pale web of marble wreathes and wreathes until it loses itself in the darkness.

In the centre are the tombs of the lovers; two small sarcophagi upon which a mysterious light falls, but whence it comes no one knows. There is nothing more. They sleep here in the silence, surrounded by perfect beauty which celebrates their love that has lasted even through death, and which is still isolated from everything by the mysterious marble-lace which enfolds them and which floats above them like a dream.

Turrets, towers, and temples : The great buildings of the world, as seen and… http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/72946

[stavosmissionary]

Stannis x Targaryen!Reader: Part I

pov you are Baegal targaryen, youngest son of Aerys II the mad king. to settle the argument between the crown and house Baratheon your father is marrying you off to your cousin, the harsh and mysterious Stannis. you quiver with fear as the wedding preparations go on, anxiously thinking about your new husband to be.

You survey yourself in the mirror; your father’s strength and your mother’s beauty all beautifully woven together. Long strands of silver hair fall over your back, streaked with gold and black, perhaps foreshadowing the fate which shortly awaits you. Your eyes are purple, with a bit of burgundy and your face is comely and sad.

“Baegal,” your mother says. “Yes, mother?” you ask, apprehensive. “My aunt Rhaelle used to read to me when I was little.” She said softly. There are dark circles around her eyes and they are soft with sorrow. You feel terribly sad. Queen Rhaella’s only joy in life are her children. She is with child again, you can tell. Your older brother thinks of naught but prophecy and dreams. He is occupied with his wife and children on Dragonstone, but your mother tells you he and his family will return to Storm’s End for the wedding. A foolish gesture, perhaps, but wisdom is not your father and brother’s strong suit. “Her son was delightful, when he was companions with your father.” She grows sad again. Your new husband’s father and mother, cousins to your own, had drowned in a shipwreck long ago. It is said that Stannis has since been a changed man. “His children…they are good boys. I know it.”

Privately, you disagree. But you smile for your mother and dress in red, gold and black, remarkably similar to the one your great aunt Rhaelle wore for her own wedding. Your mother says Stannis will cover you with the same cloak. Your goodsister Elia looks tired as ever, grim, but soon lightens up. Your niece Rhaenys is a delight and Aegon does nothing but sleep. You comb through your small beard and your hand trembles ever so little. The Baratheons are volatile, large, angry and cheerful all at once and treacherous. The Laughing Storm is not yet forgotten. Neither is your goodbrother Robert. Sure enough, he stands tall and proud in the hall, his arm protectively around the young Lord Eddard Stark, looking calm in his soft greys. The lords of the castle are dangerous men, having recently incurred the king your father’s wrath. It is said that they shamelessly caress and fondle each other in front of all their lords bannermen and smallfolk alike. Their children, some 5 in number are around them, including who you guess is Lord Robert’s bastard daughter Mya Stone. Another shameful practice, it is said that the stormlord was urged on by his lord husband to do so, who was of the North and no stranger to such unspeakable custom. Your father sits on the high chair next to Robert. He is unwell, as is usual. His eyes are pale and hooded, his nails overgrown and despite the grooming, his hair and beard look wild. Lord Tywin Lannister is noticeably absent from the proceedings, although his heir, Cersei Lannister looks resplendent in rubies and turquoises, next to her wedded, Catelyn Tully, heir to Riverrun, looking serious and grim. The marriage has been recently conducted. Evidently the future lady of Riverrun wants to earn the friendship of House Targaryen, so she has come, without perhaps consulting her goodfather. Then there is your brother, Rhaegar, next to his wife, who looks remarkably pleasant, Aegon in her arms and Rhaenys at her father’s knees. He looks as though he is not there. Off to Summerhall, you muse, and not without good reason. This is not the first time House Targaryen has attempted to ally itself with their bastard brothers of the golden stag. Robert was betrothed to Rhaegar the moment they were born and yet, at 16, Robert unceremoniously eloped with Lord Stark’s second son, who he had been fostered with in the Eyrie. Love, he said. Treason, your father screamed. He had raged and complained, and you could not tell how Rhaegar had felt. It was always so difficult with him. Next to Robert there is Renly. Seven years of age, the child looks very apprehensive and you feel a stab of pity. The poor child...fatherless and motherless...it was said that Lord Stannis was more of a mother to him than an older brother, ever since Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana died at sea. The child scarce left his side and at this moment is sitting close to his brother. You have heard talk that young Renly is to be betrothed to your twin sister Crossaent, though she is much too old for him. And there is Stannis himself. Not as tall as Robert, nor as bulky, but his presence is the strongest in the room. There are circles underneath his eyes, his cheeks hollower than they should be, his mouth creased in a frown. His black hair is combed neatly and his deep blue orbs are dangerously alluring. He looks at you. You force yourself to look back at him. Your lord husband.