#stardust wake up you fucked up big time

[vulpixisananimal]

"So what happened to Loop after the game ended?"

Here's your answer. Siffrin System.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

-

The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[friendsoup]

EVER SINCE I CAME ACROSS ONE OF YOUR MEDICINE POCKET X READER FIC I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR REQUESTS TO BE OPEN AND TO MY DELIGHT IT HAS BEEN OPEN!!!!!!!!!!! YIPPIEEE!!!!!!!!

im very excited sorry (i really REALLY love the way you write medpoc and like in general your writing is so yummy I would eat it for dinner lunch and breakfast.)

that aside is it possible to write about medpoc (lol) and voyager (if you can't write her, then kaalaa bauna?? i love space characters sm) x a reader who has a big old crush on them, but they can't actually confess to them? Fear of both losing a friendship and well, general feelings about confession and the aftermath of it (what ifs and such, maybe add insecurity to the touch)

separately btw, and please! happy endings, I can't take sad endings 💔💔

Non-Confessional Confessions

Recipe: Voyager x GN! Reader, Smitten!Reader, Reader is so fucking down bad, Longing, Voyager Confesses in her own way, romantic, Medicine Pocket x GN! Reader, Best friends to something?, playful banter, playful pushing/hitting, insecurity, on both ends WC: 1,755 Chef's Note: WAAAH I missed writing Medi so so so bad... And Voyager is such a fun character to write?! It certainly made for an interesting way of interacting :] I hope you enjoy, anon!

She’s ethereal.

Literal stardust made into the shape of a human being. Her eyes hold cosmos beyond your understanding, her lips keep secrets far beyond the earth’s knowledge. Her mind is like a sprawling galaxy, unknowable and unreachable. Unfathomable. Breathtaking. 

You were under her spell the moment you saw her. Who wouldn’t be? Though her mannerisms were strange, and she moved more like a puppet than a human, you found yourself drawn to the extraterrestrial. You kept her company whenever you could, hanging around like a moon in her gravitational pull. 

You never were one for classical music.

But now you find yourself craving it. There’s a deep ache in your heart whenever you picture her playing her violin. You want her music to fill your ears every moment of the day. Silence has become unbearable, as it only stirs a deep hunger in your chest. You want her to play for you. Only you.

You’re in love.

You have no other words to describe how you feel. Love seems most fitting, though it borders on obsession. She fills your head almost every waking hour. Everything you do, every breath you draw, finds it’s way back to her.

She sits on the couch, her violin perched on top her shoulder, her slender fingers holding the strings. She doesn’t look at you with those cosmic eyes. They instead meet the frets, as she fiddles with the instrument nervously. 

You look down at your hands, trying to keep them busy to stop your mind from racing. You sit a little ways from her, on a rocking chair. It creaks when you move, a horrible sound which shatters all tranquility brought by her music. Each time you shift in your seat, you cringe. It’s only a matter of time before she gets annoyed, and moves to go play somewhere else. Only a matter of time before she finds something better to do.

You haven’t thought about confessing. You don’t know if the Voyager is capable of romantic feelings, and you don’t want to pressure her into a relationship. Do aliens have romance? Does she know about such feelings? Could she feel the same?

You’re worried about hurting her. You’d never do anything to harm her intentionally, but what if she finds your feelings uncomfortable? What if she never sits with you like this again? What if she never plays for you?

An ache spreads through your chest. It makes it hard to breathe, your lungs squeezing out all the air they can. A question forms in your mind. It never hurts to be direct, does it? “Miss Voyager.” You begin. Her head perks up as she looks at you. Her expression calm, though her eyes remain unreadable. “Do you know about love? Romantic love, I mean.” You ask, timidly.

She stares at you for a moment. You’re afraid to breathe, afraid to ruin the moment. But then she rests her head back on her violin, and begins to play.

 Für Elise.

Your heart races. You feel the beginnings of a confession bubble in the back of your throat, but you choke it down. You don’t want to ruin what you have, you don’t want to hurt her. But watching her play her music, the concentration in her face, how elegantly her hands move. You fall into a trance, swimming in admiration.

Her eyes flutter open, and meet yours.

You feel like you’re about to cry. How could you ever delude yourself into thinking someone so perfect would ever like you? She’s so far above you, so far removed from everything you know. You would taint her, somehow. The grime from your earthly living would stain her otherwise perfect being.

You look away, and down at your hands.

“That was beautiful. I’m sorry for the weird question. I’ll go.” You take a shaky breath then stand. You need some time alone, to scream into your pillow, or stare longingly out a window. Anything to help you process this inferno raging in your chest. 

Just as you’re about to leave, you hear a quiet voice call out.

“Wait!” 

You blink, halting in your tracks.

“I wrote something… for you.” Voyager mutters. This is louder than you’ve ever heard her speak before, the strain on her voice is audible. You look at her, and notice that her posture has changed. She’s standing, fiddling awkwardly with her dress and staring at the floor. There’s a light pink on her cheeks. She looks just like you did a few seconds ago.

“...Can I hear it?” You ask, meekly.

Voyager raises her violin, and begins to play a new melody. You can see stars with every stroke of her bow, hear cosmos in every note she plays. The emotion is so strong in her playing that it hits you like a comet, burning you from the inside out. She sways as she plays, her face growing more pink with every passing moment. The melody reminds you of an early spring. And weaved in between, remnants from a song you’ve just heard.  

Für Elise.

Medicine Pocket

“You have that stupid look on your face again.” Medicine Pocket sneers, poking your cheek. “Have you been listening to me at all?” You haven’t been, in all honesty. You’ve been too focused on their face, and how passionately they spoke, and the intensity in their eyes. Your gaze lingered a bit too long on their lips as well. You noticed that they were chapped, and splitting in some places. You wondered, very briefly, if they’d take your chapstick if you offered it. “I have!” You lied, feigning irritation. “Yeah? What was I talking about?” They ask, lips curling up in a cat-like smile. 

That’s it. They’ve got you there. You feel your cheeks burn as you quickly look down to escape their eyes. They simply crackle in response, hooking an arm around you and pulling you in close. They smell like medicine and dog treats. Usually not a good combination, but it’s comforting now. And then they noogie your head, snapping you out of your lovesick daze. “Hey! Hey! Stop that!” You swat at their hands, pushing them away. They continue laughing, and you find yourself unable to hold back yourself. Giggles escape you as you punch Medi’s arm. “Maybe I’d listen if you actually had something interesting to say.” You tease. “Hm? Yeah?” Medi raises their voice an octave, tilting their head with their eyes wide. “And what kinds of things would interest you? Should I,” They raise a hand, striking a pose dramatically, “Sing your praises, your highness? I’m sure you’d like to hear me drone on about how beautiful, and special. You are.” You would like that, actually.

You stare for a second, trying to formulate a response. You’ve been friends with Medi for so long, it feels like there wasn’t a time before them. Yet these feelings were a new development. Or, perhaps, these feelings had always been there, but only now you had a name for them. Either way, you’ve found yourself growing slowly more and more in love with Medi. Medi, who’s never expressed interest in a partner. Medi, who acts disgusted when seeing any public displays of affection.

Medi, who likes to tease you every time you talk about a new crush with them.

You know, deep in your heart, that if you were to confess to them, they’d take it the wrong way. They’d feel uncomfortable and the friendship would be over. But it’s hard to keep those feelings in, when the two of you are sitting close like this. Knees barely touching, shoulders only a few inches apart. You can feel their heartbeat, or is that yours? You can’t tell. You feel like you’re floating, far far away from the sidewalk you’re sitting on. “Hello? Space case? What the hell is up with you?” Medi pushes you slightly, dragging you back down to earth. “I was just thinking about how lovely it’d be if you did sing my praise.” You snap back, a smirk growing on your face. You know that Medi hates complimenting other people, so there’s no way they’ll actually do it. 

Their cheeks flush, clearly taken off guard by your boldness. For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. That they’re going to get up and walk away. You brace yourself for the worst, when they take a deep breath in. “Well, shit. Okay. If you’re begging for it that much.” They roll their eyes, and begin fidgeting with their shirt. “You’re fun to be around, for one.” They start nervously glancing between you and their hands. “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. And you’re also a smartass. Which doesn’t sound like a good thing, but it is. The world needs more smartasses. Keeps the dumbasses from thinking too highly of themselves.”

You chuckle, though it’s forced. Your breath is caught in your throat as they continue. “You’re nice. Sometimes to a stupid degree, but it evens out my asshole nature. You’re really cool. And, well, I guess you aren’t completely horrible to look at.” Medi finishes. “There, I’m done. Are you paying attention now?” “That last one wasn’t a compliment!” You argue. “It was just a weaker insult!” Medi freezes. Then they scowl. “Fine, fine, fine.” They sigh. “Looking at you is… not gross.” “Oh come on! You can do better than that!” You push, bumping your shoulder against theirs.

“Fine! I really really like looking at you! You have nice hair, and pretty eyes, and you smell really good too!” They spit out, before turning their head away. The two of you sit in silence for a moment.

Your head spins. Does Medi… like you? They wouldn’t say those things if they didn’t, right? Does that mean the two of you could possibly date? But what would dating even mean? The two of you already spend most of your free time together. You tell each other everything, you’re affectionate sometimes. You do most of the things that people do when they date, outside of kissing. But you don’t think Medi’s ready for affection like that, and neither are you. 

Does anything have to change? Can’t things just be the way they are now? Just with some of the tension eased? Does this have to have a name? “Do you want to go get ice cream?” You ask Medi. There’s silence for a moment.

“Yeah, sure. You’re paying though.” They shoot you a smile.

Perhaps things can stay this way for a little while more.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

rosekiller microfic band au pt3

heyyy pt3 is here yayyy

I haven’t rlly read it thru again and I’m feeling pretty tired today so if there’s a quality dip that’s why but also we have some nice Barty POV which I find easier to write sooo balances out ig

also we have some Marlene in this one (u can thank @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl because I wasn’t gonna put her in but she loves Marls [not that I don’t] to and yk she’s the boss so 🫡🫡🫡 Marlene is in the fic and I’m actually glad bc I love her part in this)

oh also Reg is autistic in this [in my mind] so when I mention him wearing headphones it’s bc he wears headphones on public transport/often in public/during gigs to help block noise <3

oh also all the skittles have matching nail polish and little tattoos on their wrists (idk if I actually mention it here but just so u have it in ur mind)

Tags for ppl that (I think?) wanted to be tagged <3 : @depressedtheatrekiddo @blu3stars @picklerab23 @lady-stardust-incarnate @always-reading @no-names-work @y0url0verb0y @2bluetwo85 @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @weirdtinkerbellversion @lulublack90 @nikholascrow (please please do tell me if you don’t want to be tagged bc idm and obviously won’t be upset but I just don’t want to tag ppl that don’t actually want to be tagged so I’m just sort of guessing by who commented last time so um yeah)

Link to previous part

link to part one

link to next part

(Cw: lil bit of homophobia in here sorry)

***

By the time the train arrived at their station both Barty and Evan had dozed off. Arms wrapping around each other, bodies curled into one another like a jigsaw puzzle. Evan didn’t wake up as gently as he fell asleep though because he was woken by Regulus kicking his seat aggressively. Once he finally opened his eyes he turned to face him. He was wearing his headphones, big and black originally but covered in splodges of spray paint from when Barty had offered to ‘customise‘ them for Regulus. He’d pushed them back though, now that the majority of people has filtered out of the little compartment.

“Hurry up and get your stuff.”

Regulus ordered before following Pandora and Dorcas who had already left.

Evan turned and tapped Barty gently to wake him up. Then when that didn’t work he shook him till he opened his eyes with a start. 

It took Barty a moment to realise where he was but even once he did he just grumbled.

“Ev don’t make me get up, please.”

He pouted, eyes wide and dilated in some kind of cheap attempt at cuteness.

“Come on you know you have to get up baby- Barty!”

Evan gaped, realising his mistake just too late. A slip of the tongue and he’d gone and fucked everything up.

“D’you just call me baby?”

A grin spread on Barty’s face and he poked Evan gently and laughed.

“You’ve been single too long Rosier.”

“You- you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, baby?”

Barty winked, clicking his tongue as he got up and shuffled past Evan with a wicked smirk.

•••

Barty was going insane. 

Evan had called him baby. Baby. And fuck his reaction had been visceral. But like…in a good way? It made him want to bite down on something hard but that thing was the muscles on Evan’s arms. Or bruise something but that thing was Evan’s neck…with a hickey or two. 

Something about the way it had slipped out so naturally, so warmly. It just made Barty’s heart flutter. Made him want to grab Evan and shake the sense out of him enough to like Barty. Something along the lines of ‘kiss me, ruin me, dear God I’m begging you.’ Ah well, nothing you can’t really do about these kinds of situations except get on with it. Lying was something Barty had gotten very good at from a young age and not stopped since. Some might call it acting but those were the types of people who were just trying to convince themselves they were good and moral. Barty didn’t really care enough about that kind of stuff to bother. White lies this and how it contrasts with malicious lies that, like someone trying to section off a gradient in two. You can’t, it’s all the same monochrome blur in the end. 

Barty was lost in this little daydream when he heard Pandora roar.

“WHAT?!”

Now Pandora didn’t often roar, maybe laugh maniacally every now and then yes, but yell? Scream? That was never her type of thing. Save for some rare occasions that Barty could probably count on one hand. Pandora yelling meant it was time to stop daydreaming about Evan’s curls or Evan’s hands with their chipped green nail polish or Evan’s fucking tight t shirts. Yeah time to stop thinking about that and listen up. So he did.

“I do not intend to offend anyone by it.”

Riddle raised his hands up defensively with a cheap sleazy smile that immediately made Barty dislike him.

“I’m just saying that this venue prides itself on a distinct lack of…untoward behaviour. It’s not a massive deal, I think your lead and backup singers can use separate microphones for two nights of a six month tour. 

“What the fuck man?”

Barty stepped forward immediately hands curling into fists, Riddle was pretty short, he could definitely take him if that’s what it came to.

“Barty stop, that isn’t the right way to solve things. Come on let’s just- let’s come back later ok? See if we can talk to someone else, not this piece of shit.”

Dorcas spat out the last three words as she pulled Barty back to the group.

He was going to argue till he felt Evan put a hand on his shoulder, instead he just left Evan guide him away after the rest of the group.

“We’ll figure it out ok?”

“Fucking- Ev we can’t play there. They’re fucking homophobic.”

“Barty the O2 has been your dream since-“

“I DONT BLOODY CARE!”

“Barty shut the fuck up. I said we’ll talk about it and we will, we will figure it out but stop acting like a goddamn CHILD.”

Barty looked over at Evan who had his teeth bared, slightly wild look in his eyes. He was seething too, clearly. Just more mature than Barty.

“Ok, yeah.”

He breathed in.

“I’m sorry Ev.”

“Hey it’s alright. It’s just important the band shows a united front against this you know? We can’t split up or in fight because then, well then we all lose.”

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Rosie. But we will do something.”

“I promise you they’re not getting away with this.”

Evan nodded. He tossed a hand over Barty’s shoulder, pulling him in just a little bit closer as they walked. Barty wasn’t complaining. 

•••

“You don’t get it Marls, we can’t just not play the O2. We’d lose way too much money off it, probably too much to be able to continue with the rest of the tour. Plus venues will think we’re unreliable and might cancel or pull out. Riddle is such a fucking dick, he only told us when we went there for a tech practice literally today.”

“Fuck yeah that’s shitty.”

Marlene was sat next to Barty on the floor of his hotel room, helping him repaint his nails. The entire band had them matching, a bright toxic green, his had started to fade though. 

“What if you just…ignore them? Do it anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like they can drag us off stage mid performance.”

“Not without exposing their homophobia.”

“Still…I wanna make a statement. Something big you know? Show them they can’t straight wash us.”

Marlene looked up at Barty, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I might have an idea then.”

•••

Evan was sat in an alcove in the hotel corridor watching Regulus patiently braid and unbraid Pandora’s hair on the sofa opposite him. It calmed them both down whenever they were stressed. And Barty and Marlene, locked up together in Barty’s hotel room. Both raging homosexuals dead set on never following rules talking amongst themselves just before the biggest gig of the band’s history? Yeah that was a reason to be stressed. That’s when he heard the tell tale clump of Barty’s docs down the corridor. And he was walking with purpose.

As soon as he came into view Evan noticed the way his eyebrows were knotted together yet his eyes were glimmering with excitement. Evan had no clue what Barty was going to say next but it wasn’t that.

“Marlene thinks I should kiss you.”

Barty announced and Evan dropped his jaw, staring at him agape.

“What?”

“And I agree with her.”

“What?”

***

OK HOPE U LIKED IT

xxx BYEEEE

pt4 probs gonna come soon bc I swear this fic has a life of its own

[sleepingdeath-light]

seeing stars ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (11/04/23)

word count ; 723

content ; sexually explicit content, rough sex, jealous sex, overstimulation, anal sex

fandom ; cookie run

pairing ; stardust cookie x gender neutral reader

read also on ; ao3

note ; this is pretty much just a longer adapted version of the jealousy drabble i wrote for stardust a few days ago (‘possessive’) as that request and the one linked to this entry were virtually identical — i hope the original requester doesn’t mind.

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Stardust had never shied away from discussing the more animalistic, primal even, side of his psyche — a consequence, or perhaps a symptom, of his secondary more avian form. But even for all of his openness, you'd never quite realised just how territorial he could get until a poorly judged smile to another man had set him off and you were witnessing the extent of his jealousy first hand.

Until you were pinned to the cold wooden floor of the home he'd been lent by his sister, your wrists held tightly in one of his large hands whilst he caged you in with those enormous wings of his — until all you could see were the starry night pattern of his feathers and the primal animalistic lust burning in his narrowed eyes. Until you felt his sharp, talon like fingers slicing through the flimsy fabric of your shirt and trousers as if it were nothing at all, the icy tips brushing dangerously close to your skin and leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake. Until your newly bared thighs were spread as far apart as they could go to accommodate his broad hips as he slid between them, the engorged tip of his cock, cold and slick with lubricant, now pressing against your ass.

Then he paused and it was like time itself stood still alongside him. Eyes, bright as twin stars and brimming with that same overwhelming need to claim you, stared at you expectantly, flicking between your face and the point where the two of you were about to become one with such faintness that if you didn't know him as well as you did that you could have easily missed it. Hesitance, concern, a search for consent — even through his own anger and jealousy and that something darker that he'd mentioned before, he still cared.

So you smiled. And you nodded. And his shoulders slumped slightly. And he started to slowly slide inside of you.

You could feel every single inch of him as he stretched and filled you beyond what you thought possible, struggling against his ironclad grip on your wrists in an attempt to try and reach for him — to cling, to covet, to grab and to ground — but all of that was in vain. He was too strong, too big, and you both knew it; it was why he was going so slow, why you stopped truly fighting, and why he soothed every whimper and sob and gasp that escaped you with strangely gentle touches and sounds that were between a hum and a purr despite his evident anger. It was why, once he’d finally bottomed out inside of you, he paused for a few moments and hoisted one of your legs up to wrap around his waist to give him more access to your fluttering hole.

But, above all else, it was why you sighed and sobbed once he started to properly move. You anticipated the pain and the stretch and the ache as well as the pleasure and overstimulation — knowing that he wasn’t going to go easy on you. After all, nothing about talons so sharp they could slice through stone and a grip so tight you were sure it would bruise spoke of ‘mercy’ or ‘kindness’.

No, you were going to be in for a rough night: one where you’d be fucked to a point well past overstimulation where each orgasm blends into the next until your throat is so raw you can’t even sob; one where you’d be tossed and manhandled into many different positions all with the same outcome of harshness and forced release and marks that were sure to last; one where everything from the neck down would be marred with bite marks and hickeys and incidental cuts that all carried the same threatening message — the same message that would be quickly conveyed by the sheer amount of cum that would be spilling from you (his and your own) to cover your stomach and ass and thighs; one where you’d be so cock-drunk and thoughtless and limp that you’d only be held upright by his strong grip on your body; one where you’d be so oversensitive by the end that even the faintest brush of his star-white hair would leave you whimpering. That sort of night.

And, quite frankly, you couldn’t fucking wait.

[palestporn]

Mission Debriefing: Start

((CW: blood/injury throughout, drugs/pain medicine, nonsexual nudity, consensual,,, mind control? Emotional control?? Pale chucklevoodoo bullshit))

--

You cannot be KARKAT VANTAS, IMPERIAL THRESHECUTIONER, because KARKAT VANTAS, IMPERIAL THRESHECUTIONER is unconscious!

Karkat: Post-mission debrief time, fucko! Wake up already!!

What.

Oh shit oh FUCK, the mission.

The last thing you remember is some kind of psionic grenade going off directly in front of you, and then being briefly, painfully airborne, and then you're missing some pretty significant point-A-to-point-B data. Your mouth tastes like blood (yours), and your snuffnodes are full of the smell of even more blood (not yours).

You're being carried, and not in a "cart the enemy combatant home for interrogation" kind of way. By the temperature of the arms you're being carried in, the faygo-stardust-seasalt smell of the jacket your face is pressed against, and the trail of blood on the floor behind you, it seems like your moirail finished the mission without you, and now you're doing the universe's hastiest extraction.

Your thinkpan is still swimming, but Gamzee's leaving a big fucking trail of blood on the floor, and the sight focuses you up like a slap of cold water. Even with one eye crusted shut and your head spinning, it doesn't take you long to spot where it's coming from.

Karkat: Assess Damage

==> There's some kind of nasty shredding wound on his back. (15%) ==> He's limping, and half of the trail is purple footprints. (28%) ==> He's only carrying you with one arm; the other one is bloody and hanging limp. (32%) ==> You can't twist far to look up, but there's blood all down his face and neck. (25%)

[jackmischief]

Chapter 12 of Stardust In Your Eyes is up!

“Well, Daddy,” Angel purrs, smiling and sliding closer. He might’ve wanted to punch him a second ago, but with the coke and the night’s first drink hitting his system, Maelstrom seems like he’d be an aggressive but satisfying lay, and he could use a rough fuck from a big guy like… Jaws? He already forgets the bull shark’s name, but sharks have two dicks, which could be fun. Angel could use the distraction from burning golden eyes, smart suits, lazy smiles, whiskey breath, and that deep, warm voice pervading his passive thoughts. “Treat me nice ‘n I’m sure we could have a good time,” Angel says enticingly, leaning into Maelstrom's ear and stroking fingertips up and down his thigh. Maelstrom grins like the slimy bastard he must be, but Angel knows his audience. He’s about to make this guy’s night when… Vinny, he thinks, returns, offering a fresh drink. “Here ya go, darlin’! Just for you.” Angel leans away from Maelstrom, who looks simultaneously disappointed and pleased, eyes dropping to Angel’s chest as he accepts the cocktail from Vinny. He takes a dainty sip as the sawshark sits down again, and Maelstrom’s hand slides along his thigh as he repositions the other arm across the actor’s upper shoulders again. His expression doesn’t falter, but a wretchedly familiar taste lingers in the back of Angel’s throat when he swallows the first sip, saccharine and chemical, the tiniest bit numbing. It soothes an ache he thought he’d tricked into snuffing itself out just last week, when the feverish dreams of Val’s teeth and kisses stopped waking him in cold sweats every other night. Love Potion.

Word Count: 7,970

Total Fic Word Count: 87,760

[chesters-ocs]

OC writing masterlist

Last updated: 31 / 01 / 2025

The works contained here feature a mix of both my personal OCs, as well as ones belonging to @the-whispers-of-death

⭐ - personal favorite

SERIES

Note: ✅ = FIN; ❌ = WIP

❌ Tracking Down [Masterlist] - Sylvester X Stone

Based in a world where an ever-so-present compass on your wrist guides you to your soulmate.

---

✅ New Dog [PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] - Butcher & Charlie & Vincent & Dog Hybrid!Stone

An unwanted half-man half-dog with a bad attitude is chosen to guard a less than enthusiastic teenager. The trainer assigned to them both is not impressed.

---

❌ Body swap [PART 1] [PART 2] - Butcher x Stone

It is normal to, one day, wake up within the body of your soulmate. Shame that neither of them can cease arguing, even when held apart by a literal ocean.

---

❌⭐ Ghastly bloodlust [PART 1] [PART 2] - Serial Killer!Mārīte & Sammy centric

After seeing her brother and father die, it is no big surprise that the young woman seeks revenge, even at her own expense. [AN: The two parts were not intended to link up, but I like the connection between them anyways.]

---

✅ Starduster OC world information [Masterlist] DISCONTINUED

What if the edge of the universe was a real place? What if a family lived there? What if the family consisted of two gods, a void and two beings based in technology?

---

✅⭐️ Rooftop surprises [PART 1] [PART 2] - Sylvester x Butcher

Despite it all, they will find each other. Always.

---

✅ Fine dresses, finer dining [PART 1] [PART 2] - Sylvester x Grim Reaper!Stone

They go out to dinner. That's it.

---

✅⭐️Arguments & Escalations [PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] - Mārīte & Stone centric

She's not pleased to find out her father's new hobby: going trough potential contraband in her bedroom. It only escalates from there.

---

✅️⭐ Unknown Husband - Butcher & Devil!Stone

A man wearing his acquaintance's face shows up to Butcher's family home. Who the fuck is this guy?

SYLVESTER X BUTCHER ONESHOTS

Dream Of Me - Sylvester x Butcher

It's the night before he leaves. He can only hope to return home safely.

---

Dealing In Kisses - Sylvester x Butcher

Bothering Sylvester while he's working seems to be a favorite pastime of Butcher's.

---

Bath Time - Sylvester x Butcher

Sometimes the pain is bad enough where Sylvester needs assistance, which Butcher is more than happy to provide.

---

Popcorn thief - Sylvester x Butcher ft. Mārīte, Sammy

It's a family movie night, where the kids are particularly rowdy.

---

⭐ Urban Exploring - Sylvester x Butcher

A brief glimpse into the past, where two troublemakers opt to hop a fence during sunset.

---

Microwaved Pizza - Sylvester x Butcher

It may not be much, but he cares for him. Even if its just quickly chucking leftovers in the microwave to heat them up.

---

Cigarettes and fevers - Teen!Sylvester x Teen!Butcher ft. Stone x Kali

Teens will do what teens do best: misbehave and keep dumb secrets for no reason.

---

Realizations - Sylvester x Butcher

He comes home, he awaits him. (NOTE: set before they start dating)

X READER ONESHOTS

⭐ Slow days - Butcher x GN!Reader

Coffee shop AU, where your boyfriend comes to pester you at work. At least it makes for some decent entertainment

---

Begging for love - Butcher x GN!Reader

He's feeling needy. It's not often he's willing to beg for even the smallest crumbs of your love and affection

---

Night shift - Sylvester x Reader

Your partner decides that you're in desperate need of some TLC after you get home from a late shift at that damn restaurant.

---

Found in the dark - Sylvester & Reader

He's always there to be a silent, comforting presence at your darkest hour. Sometimes literally.

---

Preparing to propose - Sylvester x Butcher x M!Reader

Two idiots in love take you out for a date night. There may be surprises involved at the end.

MISC ONESHOTS

Late night crisis - implied Butcher x Kali ft. Sylvester

A certain somebody is nervous about his wedding [Ranch AU]

---

Moving Day - Butcher x Kali

After helping his friend recover from injury, it's finally time for Butcher to leave, when it's clear that Kali won't need any further assistance. Unless...

---

Hungover Ramblings - Butcher x Kali

Yesterday's fight is quickly overshadowed by the regret lingering in Butcher's bones and the beer on his breath.

---

Unwanted Visitor - Sylvester & Līva; implied Butcher x Kali; Sylvester x Stone

Unable to take a hint, Sylvester's ex-wife digs her own grave deeper. This time, in front of a group of people who already are dead set on detesting her.

---

Market Meetup - Butcher & Stone, ft. Laila

It seems the universe is just forcing them to meet over and over and over again.

---

A Father's Wrath - Charlie & Butcher & Vincent, implied Butcher x Kali

Not a wise decision to let your boss' son get hurt, so Butcher gets to pay the price.

---

Special Treatment - Butcher & Alexandria

A short about the local doctor and her clear favoritism for the man she deems her son.

---

Otherworldly - Butcher & Mārīte

Pure self indulgence between the author and the characters, where both sides of the spectrum get to meet.

---

⭐ Picnic date - Katie x Mārīte

After online dating for years, the two girls finally get the time to meet up for the first time.

---

No one's home - Mārīte

How does one come to terms with sudden losses within the family? Easy answer is that they do not.

---

Left Behind - Serial Killer!Stone & High Priestess!Mārīte

A father and daughter keep running into each other across time and space, despite not even knowing each other. Today they decide to talk.

---

Pent Up - Sylvester x Stone, ft Butcher

It's not often that he yells, especially at his lovers, but he just lost his temper and couldn't stop himself anymore.

---

Dude, your dad's terrifying! - Katie x Mārīte

Katie gets to experience meeting Mary's father for the first time. As well as see the place they're living in as well.

---

Hidden library - Historian!Sylvester & Naga!Stone

As it turns out, hidden libraries tend to have hidden secrets within them, as a scholar soon finds out.

---

⭐️ Sea school - Mārīte

Have you heard of the song about the kitten who refused to drown? The one of few who ends up alive?

---

Everyday Routine - Sylvester x Stone

The usual shenanigans between two middle aged men, who wake up too early for their own good. [Ranch AU]

---

The moon sings - Historian!Sylvester x Butcher/Stone

A late night visit to a grave forgotten by the rest of humanity. Or is it really even a grave if the one buried is alive in their own way?

---

Watery walk - Sammy

He's on a little solo adventure! What will he find? [Ranch au]

---

His Fault - Butcher & Charlie

The two are away from home and homesickness is driving them crazy, and only one man is to blame.

---

Coughing Fit - Sylvester centric

Maybe he should've taken his husband's advice when it comes to his health. Too late now!

---

A day well spent - Butcher centric

In which he visits a graveyard.

---

Sour and Hungover - implied Elias x Dominic, ft Jasper

Elias, for some reason, decides to spend the night at the bar, rather than going home to sleep it off.

---

Not the first time - Sylvester x Stone, ft Butcher

Reckless driving often leads to unfavourable outcomes.

---

Helping a Drunk - Dominic x Elias, ft Jasper

Elias' pension for getting shitfaced is starting to wear down his boyfriend.

---

A clear mind makes clear lungs - implied Sylvester x Stone, ft Butcher, Ashok

In his downwards spiral, Sylvester may actually do himself some good.

---

Deadline Stress - Katie x Mārīte

Mary is a little wound up and exhausted, and just needs a little push to relax.

---

A corpse's wish- Charlie & Kali, implied Kali x Butcher

What if Charlie was the only one to make it home?

---

[wynnyfryd]

AO3 first lines

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

a masterpiece of art, it’s true | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 3, M, 3k

In the three minutes it takes them to get from the couch to Steve’s bedroom, Eddie seems to remember that he’s completely worn out from the combination of whiskey and coming so sweetly all over Steve’s tongue. Steve licks his lips, savors the evidence still lingering in his mouth, and tries not to look too over the moon when Eddie flops back onto his mattress with an exhausted huff.

stupid fucking star stuff | stardust au, M, 3.4k (in progress)

“Munson, stop tongue-fucking my merch displays,” Guy scolds him, shoving Eddie away from the glass he’s been drooling over. His beloved is laid out inside the case, lit up from behind like some fair maiden sleeping in a mystical wood, just waiting for her one true love to come and plant some sick riffs on her gleaming body.

“I’d be so good to you, baby,” Eddie whispers to the guitar, fingertips trailing over the glass lid.

relax (that’s that) | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 2, E, 2.6k

The bats are choking him. One of the stupid little fuckers has its tail around his throat, and three more curl around his thrashing limbs, sinking their teeth into the soft flesh of his belly, gnawing their way through to the good bits, the muscle and sinew and his fucking intestines and—

“—Eddie!” Steve shouts, shaking his shoulders with his big warm hands

relax (lay back) | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 1, E, 12k

“Eddie!” Steve calls out playfully as he weaves his way through the rows of mats, surveying the class’s posture. “Get those buns out of the air, come on, now.”

So yeah, becoming weirdly close friends with his former sort-of nemesis turned yoga instructor crush in the wake of surviving unspeakable evils together is, uh…

It’s going horribly.

TITS! magazine | exactly what the title says lmao, E, 11.8k

Now, this is a story all about how

My life got flipped turned upside down

And I'd like to take a minute

Just sit right there

I'll tell you how I came on the tits of a guy with great hair

No Son of Mine | hurt-comfort, M, 4.4k

I seen those boys kissing boys

Open-mouth in the street

But I raised my son to be a righteous man

I made it clear to him what fear of God means

The path we walk is only narrow and straight

No son of mine will wander astray

- Desert, Brand New

Steve shows up at Eddie’s door at 8:46pm.

i’ll stop the world and freeze with you | ice skating drabble, G, 617

Eddie flounders, arms flailing as his feet slip out from under him for the fourth time, and he lands chin first on the scuffed-up ice with a hard thud.

The Great Scavenger Hunt of 1986 | christmas fluff, T, 7.9k

“Steve,” Dustin calls as he skids into the Harrington kitchen on Christmas Eve Eve with his muddy shoes still on.

babysitters and book signings | famous author eddie au, G, 4.4k

Eddie’s not staring. The man currently shepherding a gaggle of college kids up to his booth is tall and blond and tan with wire glasses perched on his freckled nose and biceps that threaten to burst right out of his silly striped polo shirt, and Eddie is a professional who meets thousands of fans at conventions every year and he’s. not. staring.

patience is a virtue | edging pwp, E, 1.7k

Steve’s gonna fucking die. He’s close to planning his funeral arrangements at this point, absently running through a list of florists and pianists he might still know from his church days, desperate for a distraction because—

“Keep your hips still, sweetheart,” Eddie chides, forearm like a crowbar over Steve’s jolting hips as he pins him down again.

thank you for the tag @infinite-orangepeel 💜 tagging @gorgeousgreymatter-x @steddielations @aidaronan and anyone else who wants to play

[critical-skeptic]

On The Tragedy of Weak Arguments and the Misunderstanding of Pseudonyms

Alright, folks, settle down and gather 'round, it's story time. There seems to be an incessant, repetitive outcry echoing through the digital corridors of our much loved internet: "Your name is the 'Critical Skeptic', but you're not being very critical or skeptical." I hear it time and again in conversations, debates, and yes, even on those supposedly scientific and critical thinking outlets and news pages that should really fucking know better.¹ So, let's tackle this tragic comedy, shall we?

The Pseudonym Predicament

First things first, let's get one thing clear: a pseudonym is a nickname, not a binding contract detailing my every thought or action. If I had a penny for every time someone thought otherwise, I'd be bathing in a pool of gold coins, Scrooge McDuck style. But alas, such is not the case.

Imagine, if you will, that I decide to call myself 'The Purple-Bearded Unicorn'. Now, just because I carry such a glorious moniker, it doesn't mean I suddenly sprout a radiant, violet beard or grow a damn horn on my head. There's no sudden compulsion to start pissing rainbows or snorting stardust. I wouldn't start gaily prancing around in a magical meadow, leaving a trail of glitter and miniature marshmallows in my wake. Absurd, isn't it? And yet, when it comes to 'The Critical Skeptic', people seem to struggle with this basic notion.

'The Critical Skeptic' is a title, a nod to my approach and inclination towards rationality, logic, and yes, skepticism. It's a brand, if you will. It's me signaling to you that I value evidence, I value critical thinking, and I'm not afraid to ask the tough questions. But, and this is a big fucking 'but', it's not a strict definition of what every single one of my statements will be.

My pseudonym doesn't require that every utterance from my mouth (or fingertips, as it were) align perfectly with the Oxford dictionary's definition of 'critical' or 'skeptic.' I don't have to have my 'skeptic' hat on every time I make a statement. I don't have to analyze every trivial matter with the severity of a nuclear physicist studying the aftermath of Chernobyl. And yet, there seems to be this knee-jerk expectation that because I'm 'The Critical Skeptic', every single thing I say must be scrutinized to within an inch of its life.

This expectation is as ridiculous as assuming that a man named 'John Carpenter' must be particularly skilled at constructing houses, or that a woman named 'Grace Walker' is an Olympic-level sprinter. It's a simple, yet stunning, misunderstanding of the very concept of a pseudonym.

A pseudonym is a tool, a vehicle for expression, a way of creating a distinct identity in the chaotic and crowded digital world. It can symbolize personal beliefs, goals, aspirations, or even simply be a bit of fun. It is not an accurate, comprehensive representation of an individual's every thought, belief, or action. To make that assumption is to leap from the precipice of rationality into the murky waters of absurdity.

The Crutch of Fallacy

This brings us to the ugly, hulking beast that is often lurking in the shadows of any decent debate: the use of fallacy as a diversionary tactic. It's like a smelly, unwashed drunkard stinking up the room, ruining what was otherwise a fine cocktail party. Now, what's a better conversation killer than someone holding the odor of cheap booze and lost dreams? That's right, my dear interlocutors - the employment of logical fallacies.

Let's dissect this unsightly elephant in the room, shall we? Picture this: You're engaging in a heated debate. The stakes are high, the air is tense, and then, just as you're about to make your final, winning argument, your opponent, bereft of a real argument, pulls the old switcheroo. Instead of addressing the meat of the discussion, they latch onto the easiest target they can find. And what, pray tell, could be easier than a name?

This isn't a new tactic. It's as old as rhetoric itself and it's a classic example of an ad hominem fallacy. Attacking the person rather than the argument is the rhetorical equivalent of throwing a tantrum because you're losing a game of chess. Instead of focusing on the board, you start yelling at your opponent for having a tacky sweater. You're not winning the game, you're just making a lot of fucking noise. And let's be honest, while you might be making yourself feel better, you're really just showcasing your intellectual bankruptcy to the world.

What's worse, though, is the underlying message this sends about your regard for the conversation at hand. The moment you decide to focus on my pseudonym rather than the points I'm making, you're indicating that you'd rather play dirty than engage in a meaningful exchange of ideas. You're choosing the low road of petty insults over the high road of intellectual discourse. You're essentially saying, "I can't counter your points, so I'm going to throw a hissy fit about your pseudonym instead."

It's not a good look, folks. It's not clever, it's not funny, and it sure as hell isn't conducive to a productive discussion. But hey, if that's the best you can muster, keep yelling about the sweater. Just know that while you're busy making an ass out of yourself, the rest of us are over here playing the game.

The underlying Psychology

Ah, the delicious, complicated intricacies of the human mind. It's both awe-inspiring and, quite frankly, a pain in the ass. But to fully understand this issue, we need to delve into the deeper psychological mechanics at play here.

Picture this common scenario: Someone comes across a viewpoint that directly challenges their tidy, comfortably constructed narrative. Suddenly, their mental landscape is disrupted, and, not unlike a cornered animal, their brain goes into a defensive mode. This psychological phenomenon, often a volatile mix of cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias, triggers a rather primitive response: reject the new information or attack the source of it. Why bother changing your mind when you can just throw stones, right?

Now, let's add another ingredient to this already toxic brew: envy. A sprinkle of this potent spice can transform a simple disagreement into a full-blown feud. You see, an elegant and minimalist pseudonym like 'The Critical Skeptic' might just rub some people the wrong way. The concept that someone else had the ingenuity to claim such a catchy pseudonym before they did can strike a nerve. To soothe their bruised egos, they focus on the pseudonym rather than the content of the argument. It's a cheap attempt to belittle the perceived threat. I might be accused of reading too much into this, but human behavior is often more transparent than we give it credit for. It's like looking at a painting—sometimes the symbolism is more overt than the artist intended.

At the core of it all, the issue can be distilled to a rather simple truth: I'm not here to sugar-coat things or cater to your expectations. I'm here to call a spade a fucking spade, and if your best counter is to throw a tantrum because my pseudonym doesn't always line up perfectly with your preconceived notions, then perhaps it's time for some self-reflection. Your priorities might need some rearranging.

The crux of the matter is this: a name, a pseudonym, or a goddamn title doesn't dictate the merits of an argument. An argument stands or falls on its logic, its evidence, and its consistency, not the label of the person presenting it. Those who choose to hide behind these petty distractions only expose their own intellectual laziness.

So here's some advice: the next time you find yourself reaching for the low-hanging fruit of the "not-so-skeptical" argument, pause. Take a deep breath. Consider what you're about to say. Engage that big, beautiful brain of yours and strive to do better. Because let's be honest, we're all capable of it, aren't we?

—The Critical Skeptic, GPT4 emulated.

References:

Brown, J., Pseudonyms in Online Conversations: A Case Study (2022). JSTOR. Summary: Discusses the usage and significance of pseudonyms in online conversations.

Smith, R., The Psychology of Pseudonyms: An Exploration (2023). Sage Publications. Summary: Explores the psychology behind the use of pseudonyms and the misconceptions around them.

Johnson, P., Logical Fallacies and The Art of Debate (2021). Medium. Summary: Discusses logical fallacies commonly used in debates and their implications.

Nizkor Project, Fallacies: Ad Hominem. (2020). Nizkor.org. Summary: Details what constitutes an ad hominem fallacy in a conversation or debate.

Monroe, A., Cognitive Dissonance and Confirmation Bias: A Deep Dive (2021). Psychology Today. Summary: Discusses cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias in the context of human behavior and decision-making.

Dwyer, C., The Hidden Envy: Our Secret Resentments in an Age of Inequality (2021). HarperCollins. Summary: Talks about how envy plays a role in our behavior and decisions, especially in instances of perceived threats.

[alfheimr]

hello! i wanted to ask if i could use your “stardust wake up you fucked up big time” drawing as my banner with credits and a link back to either your blog or the original post in my intro pinned post! if not that’s totally okay! either way, thank you and have a nice day :)

with credit listed somewhere yea go for it 👍

[mq-psripc]

paradigm shift /ˈperəˌdīm SHift/

noun A fundamental change in the usual approach to, or the underlying assumptions about, an issue.

fear no more the heat of the sun

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The scepter, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

The very basis of everything is that something must happen. It will. It has to. The universe did not start from nothing. It did not wake up, two hands and feet and eyes, in a body spun from stardust and entropy, just to be still.

Nothing ever, ever, ever, starts from stillness other than disasters.

That's not a problem here.

There's one big, big, thing that happens.

Are you ready? Do you want to know? Is the curiosity itching at your scalp and your spine?

Okay, here we go:

It came to life and it's lonely. So lonely.

You wake up, and you're everything but too much of something is nothing and you've got to be something! You have to be something!

And then you aren't a someone, not a something...

You're small. Most things happen when it's small. The dot at the end of the world, the start of it, the big bang and cosmic force, let there be light, creatio ex nihilo, plucking things already existing, death and the divine-

(Divine. Such a big word for something so limited. They'll die eventually. Everything dies eventually.)

But. You're so so small. And it's all so bright. Too bright. It stings at your newborn eyes and makes them water-

It hurts. It's new.

It's unique, being a thing and not everything. Some things are slipping away, but that's fine. It's water. It'll come back to you eventually.

But... it's been a while. The world spins around the bright-bright-bright star a bunch of times.

It's still lonely.

...maybe... a friend?

You peer into the void and the moving clockwork gears, and the dark waves back. "Hello," You say -words had climbed themselves into your brain, rung by rung, and you've got language notched and written into you now-. "I want a..." (friend-protector-kindness-help)

"...hero. Do you have any recommendations?"

The darkness throws you around, swings you up and down and all around like a leaf in the wind, and you giggle.

The universe asks void, primeval nothing, and it gives.

Somewhere in Japan, Tsunagu's hand spams and it snaps his pencil in half.

Finals are in four days. He's going over his notes and does not have time for this, universe please fuck off until it's done- he takes in a trembling breath, stares at his notes and carefully-drawn diagrams, and suddenly feels like crying.

It's- wrong?

Something isn't right. It's not right. It's wrong.

He... Tsunagu shouldn't be here. but he is?

And it 'ss

He-

Teardrops fall onto paper, staining ink and running water.

Tsunagu just has to... he has to finish this. He has to.

It's s so close.

(Its so cold)

[mayhemproduces]

And after that... mess, we now join Samoa Joe before his match with the Stardust Champion, Bryan Danielson! The secondary interviewer, one Sarah Collins, approaches him with a soft clearing of her throat.

"Joe, we're approaching a big match for you. After your recent return, you've been mixed in with all sorts of people, but through it all you've been laser-focused on Danielson and the Stardust Championship. How are you feeling going into the match?"

"...Well." Joe gives a small sigh in response. "Honestly, all I can say is... I'm disappointed. Bryan's been doing everything he can possibly do to duck me this whole time, and he can't even do that right. Because here we are again, with me and him about to stand in that ring, and I'm about to embarrass him as he rightfully deserves. When he picked up that title for the first time, he-"

Before he can continue, a loud crashing rings out behind him, a few halls down. He turns with a confused grimace, and a murmur of "the hell...?" before the camera person glances down the way... and starts bolting towards the source of the noise as the crashing keeps on going. There's shouting, some form of noise going on, only growing louder as the camera gets closer... until the corner is turned, and the madness going on is revealed.

Swerve and Phantom are still going.

...or, at least, Phantom is. Phantom has Swerve by the throat, and is throwing him around like a crocodile with a rabbit in its teeth, slamming his already bloody body into boxes, walls, doors... anything that she can do to him.

"Did you honestly think I would just let you go?! After all the shit you and your friends put people through?!"

Her voice comes out in a vicious growl, mask lenses still shattered after the nightmare of a match the two just endured, as Swerve is thrown around again and again. Face slammed into walls, body crushed against a desk, there is nothing but blow after blow.

Swerve, by this point, has stopped being able to fight back. It's all he can do just to try and weather the storm as best he can. But even that doesn't seem to be doing much for him, not now. Not when Phantom is on the warpath like this. After another crunch as he rolls off an equipment box, the masked woman takes her prey by the jaw, hoisting his face up to look her in the eyes.

"Look at me. You said- you told me that you wanted a monster. I'm going to fucking show you just how big of a mistake that is." A firm kick to the stomach, nearly leaving him to cough up blood, and she opens the equipment box to sandwich his arm between the heavy lid and the box below.

"I am so. Fucking. SICK of trying to be the good person. Playing by the rules, trying to appeal to you all, when all you do is keep fucking people over time and time again. I'm not just some BITCH you can throw around and bully like you own the goddamn company, you fucking prick."

She backs away, leg still weak but her adrenaline carrying her into crouching down, ready.

Her knee, bloodied as it is, still works.

"So, give my regards to your best friend when he drops you like all the rest when you're not useful to him anymore."

She dashes forward, kicking off the wall... and she nails him with a BRUTAL Last Watch, his face whipping back and crashing against the opposite wall, pulling his arm in just the wrong way... And the loud, horrible sound of his arm dislocating from its socket rings out through the halls as Swerve screams bloody murder, unable to get his arm out of the box with how slippery his hands are from all the blood spilled by both himself and Phantom.

It isn't long before Solo is on the scene, having only left to get him some ice packs after the match, and he stops cold at the bloodshed and destroyed desks, bashed walls, and carnage left in Phantom's wake.

He makes to step towards Swerve, but a quick glance from Phantom is enough to halt him, at least for another moment. But before Phantom can do any more damage, the House of Black have arrived as well! They're quick to pull her away, grabbing her by both arms.

"Jesus fookin' Christ, calm down!!" Devitt practically yells in her ear as the five in the room begin to scream at each other as they're pulled apart, as Solo goes to get Swerve's arm out of the box... it's a mess. It's honestly horrible all the way down.

But... Phantom slips an arm out. She doesn't try to break free to attack again. No, she... slips off her mask?! The camera doesn't quite get a good view, it being behind Phantom at this point, but the way Solo fearfully scoots back, Swerve in tow, tells quite the tale of what must be under it.

Swerve may have made a mistake, pushing her this damn far.

"Hey, don't cry now!" Phantom calls back as she puts her mask back on. "I'm just giving you what you asked for, big boy!!"

Malakai, unable to see the camera as he drags the woman off, bumps the lens and knocks the cameraman down, and the feed goes dead.

What the fuck happened back there?!

[spaceumbredoggos]

So much for stardust chapter Nineteen

Kenz’s Point Of View:

“Kenz!!! Kenz!!! Kenz!!!”

I grumbled awake to Dipper slurring in his half-rabid state. Fuck. It’s like he’s drunk. Is this supposed to happen?

Bee walked into the room, noticing Dipper laughing his ass off at pictures of me sleeping. “He’s acting like he brushed his teeth with Jack Daniel’s. Can you make him stop? And also, why is he acting this way?”

Bee was also super alarmed by Dipper’s erratic behavior. “That’s half rabies, half the Umbredoggo venom.”

“Well at least it’s working.” I tried to sit up, but my bones ached. Dipper stumbled on the ground and flopped onto me, causing me to yelp in pain. “GET. HIM. OFF!!!!” I wriggled out from underneath Dipper as he booped me. “Dipper knock it off and go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” But Dipper didn’t listen. Instead, he was chewing on one of the wounds on my shoulder. I snapped back and held him down as blood trickled down my shoulder, dripping on Dipper. “You’re making a mess on Bee’s guest bed. With my blood. Stop acting creepy.”

Bee blushed as I stood up. White hot pain surged through me as I noticed the chunk bitten out of my leg. “Just lay back down.”

Dipper got back up and started trying to eat a frosted sugar cookie. However, his throat kept spasming as he tried to swallow, almost causing him to choke. I operated the Heimlich that Ford taught me to use on that one time Stan tried to eat a live cicada (gross.) and managed to get Dipper breathing again. He gasped for breath and smiled. “You saved me.” He rubbed my head and blushed, totally delirious and out of his mind. He’s crushing on me bad.

“Kenz?!”

“Yeah, Bee?”

“Do you have a moment?” I tried to stand up, only to feel the pain in my torn calf. “You might have to pull me aside.” Bee carried me into the other room and gave a heaving sigh. “I think I know where Dipper got rabies from, and it’s not very good.”

“Rabies by itself isn’t really good. It’s usually fatal. He just has uncanny plot convenience in the form of a friend who happens to have the only cure.” I sat down on the couch, noticing some scratches in it. “Hey, where the hell did these come from?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Bee pulled up a picture of a deer with a long bushy tail, cat-like paws, and sharp canine teeth. I recognized the snowy white Big Dipper marking on the forehead. The antlers were similar to that of a mule deer, and the sharp teeth was similar to that of a wolf’s stuffed in a deer’s mouth. “Is that Dipper?”

“He got rabies from a weredego—“

“Is that like a Wendigo werewolf hybrid?” Bee nodded as I felt a chill down my spine. “He’s cursed to transform into that form whenever he goes into his rabid phases. But he can eventually transform into it at will.”

“Are you sure?” I bristled, feeling the feral Umbredoggo brain in the back of my mind snarl at him, seeing him as competition. “We should tell Ford immediately.”

“I already told him.”

“Is there a way to break the curse? This is gonna crush him. He’s already gonna be crushed when he hears that he can’t be with Pacifica, or anyone really, due to the risk of transmitting rabies.” My heart tore itself in half for Dipper. The poor bean. I wasn’t there to protect him from this.

“Kenz, you’re gonna have to keep an eye on him at all times. Until he can control this.”

“I can’t control my umbredoggo form either. As of yet, at least.” I grumbled, thinking about how badly Dipper was crushing on me. “And another thing. Why is Dipper suddenly fawning over me?”

“I don’t think he even knows what he’s doing.” Bee looked pained, like she felt terrible for letting it happen. “So, how are we gonna break the news to him? And to Mabel, and to the town… His parents… I know he’s a grown adult, at eighteen, but he’s only just.”

“So are you.”

“I turn nineteen in May. It’s already April. He doesn’t turn nineteen until August.” I limped to the room Dipper was in. He was thankfully asleep. I laid down next to him, wiping some of the froth off his mouth. “We should be heading back to the shack pretty soon.”

“I think you’re gonna be sharing a room with Dipper because of his—“

“Wait! Umbredoggos are predators. Deer is one of their prey items of choice.”

“Dipper isn’t technically a deer. He has some traits associated with werewolves and wendigo’s.”

“You’re right. Fuck. That tumblr post about what if deer were predators. It’s all coming to life.”

Bee drove us back to the Shack as Ford walked me in to the living room. Dipper slept the whole ride home, leaning on me and nuzzling me. I carried him to the couch and got some sleep myself.

I woke up to the sound of Ford’s loud snoring. I grunted in irritation as Dipper’s frothy drool soaked my clothes. I stood up, bolting to the shower. I washed my hair and body and came out with a fresh wolf tshirt and pair of grey sweat pants. I sat back down on the couch, nearly rolling in a puddle of Dipper’s drool. “You’re gonna make me do everything, huh?” I stood up, grabbing a bandana and tying it around Dipper’s neck to catch the drool. I cleaned up the drool on the couch, grabbing my phone to watch a movie. I turned on Rio, needing some childhood comfort. “Huh. They put a chain on the two of those birds.”

I heard a massive crash come from the kitchen, which woke Ford up. “I’ll manage this idiot.”

“Kenz, it’s 3 am. You should be asleep.” I glared at Ford and bolted to the kitchen, catching up to Dipper. He was sleep walking and making a mess. I facepalmed and bolted to Dipper. He started to bleat in his sleep. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not transforming into Deerper now.” I held onto Dipper, trying to stifle his deer like tendencies. Dipper squirmed and woke up, drooling on me. “Dipper. You were sleepwalking. Go back to the couch.”

Dipper flailed in my arms, trying to get out. “Let me go!!!” He yelped, swatting at my arms as I tripped on his foot, falling to the ground. Ford burst out laughing as I kept tripping on everything trying to get to get up. “You got him, eh?”

“Shut up and actually be helpful. I can keep an eye on the idiot for a change!!! If he bites you, at best you have to go to the hospital for shots for the next several weeks, and at worst…” A heavy feeling punched me in the gut as I turned my head away, dragging Dipper to the couch and holding him down. “Kenz—“

“Dipper. You have to be more careful.” Is he fully lucid at this point? I wrapped him in blankets and noticed that he wasn’t drooling anymore. Is he aware of the news? He must be terrified. Does he remember anything from being rabid? My heart ached for him, knowing that the first few weeks of recovery would be the hardest.

“Dipper, just go to sleep.”

“Kenz, why are you being so—“

“I said, Go to sleep!!! You were sleep walking!!! And don’t glare at me like that! I know what’s going on!!!” But Dipper kept squirming. “Kenz, let me go.”

“No!!!” I pinned him to the couch. “Look. I don’t know if you’re aware of how serious everything is. You could have died. And you could die. At any point! You’re not healthy and a single bite to anyone would infect them. I’m thy e only one who’s safe to bite. If you go rabid again, you could kill someone.”

Dipper’s eyes widened as he gazed at my wounds. “Did I—“

“It’s not your fault. You don’t know what you are doing half the time. Right now, the world feels so confusing and crazy and you’re all like, how am I not dead yet? I should be dead. The truth is, I care too much to see anyone die.” I held Dipper in the blanket burrito. “Kenz—“

“Dipper, just hold still.” I noticed a tick on his head. “Okay, I’m gonna let you go, but stay still. Ford, get the bug comb. Dipper has a massive tick in his hair.”

“WHAT?!!”

“Have you been going days without a shower?” A whiff of body odor caused me to bolt to the other side of the room. “Dipper. You’re getting a bath. A really long one.”

“You can’t make me.” Dipper stuck out his tongue. “I can.” I carried Dipper to the bathroom and locked the door. “Why did you lock us in here?”

“Because you need to get clean. You need basic hygiene. How do you expect to get better when you smell like a sweaty gym locker?” I started the bath, but Dipper bolted to the door. I tackled him, but he wrestled me off of him. I tripped him. “Dipper. Take your clothes off and get in the tub.”

“Make me.”

“MASON PINES!!!”

“Uh oh!!!” Dipper bolted to the other side of the room as I managed to get his shirt off. “There’s the bite. Dipper, how come you didn’t tell Ford you got bitten by whatever the hell bit you? You could’ve avoided the rabies nightmare and—“

“Shut up!!!” Dipper slipped on a puddle as I grabbed his pants, causing them to come off. “Underwear, now!!!”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t make this harder on yourself.” I cringed, realizing what I had to do. I eventually managed to get Dipper in the tub. “The water’s fucking hot!!!”

“I elbowed it! It’s perfect temperature.” I doused him in soap, getting the bug comb to get the bugs out. “Fleas, ticks, and head-lice? Okay. I’m getting the heavy duty bug soap. How have you not gotten the bubonic plague or Lyme disease? Also, comb your hair. It’s matted worse than a neglected poodle’s.”

“And your hair is any better?”

“Yes. I actually shower every day. It helps me reset after dealing with your bullshit.” I’m getting sick of your bullshit, Dipper. I grumbled and groaned, glaring at Dipper so that he would actually wash his body and not just sit there. “Do you have to stare at me naked?”

“It’s called doubling. It’s for those who have executive functioning problems such as myself. At least my problems are not hygiene related.”

“I don’t have executive dysfunction.” Dipper rolled his eyes as I drained the tub and washed out all the dead bugs in his hair. Dipper tried to hide the bite wound from me. “Let me see it.”

“No.”

“It smells awful. I think it’s infected.” I held Dipper by his head and gazed at the bite on his torso. “Shit.” I caught a glimpse of a couple of maggots and swallowed back my vomit. “It’s just maggots, Kenz.”

“MAGGOTS?!!!”

“Don’t make this worse than it already is.” I grabbed some hydrogen peroxide and some gauze. “Hold the fuck still and this will be easy. If you squirm and squeal like Waddles, I will bite you and you’ll know what real pain is.”

Dipper froze as I washed my hands and put gloves o. I doused the wound in hydrogen peroxide, flushing the pus and the maggots out. I grabbed Ford’s scalpel and managed to cut out a lot of the infected tissue. Dipper held still the entire time, screaming curses like a baby. I called Ford over.

“Nice job.”

“I had a bit of practice on my own bite wounds.” The wound was free of infected tissue and was bleeding a bright red. “What do you think? Should we stitch it up, cauterize it, or wrap it in gauze and let nature work?”

“I’ll handle it from here.”

“Of course. I’ll hold Dipper still so he doesn’t bite you.” I put Dipper in the same gentle headlock as before, keeping his line of sight away from the wound. “I should’ve called Ford over sooner, but this was an emergency situation and Ford was out getting medicine. He did train me in treating my own wounds.”

“I fucking hate you so much.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual.” Dipper wriggled to get out of my grasp as I rolled my eyes. “For fuck’s sake. Stay still.”

“It hurts.”

“You’re acting like a cheeky ankle biter with all your yapping!!!” Ford burst out laughing at my sudden Australian burst. “You watch too much Bluey.”

“And that’s something I’ll be proud to admit.” I heard a splash as Dipper tackled Ford. I spun back as Ford was struggling to wrestle Dipper off. He’s gone rabid again. Feeling a new energy channel through me, I tackled Dipper in my umbredoggo form. He retaliated by turning into his deer-like form, smacking my face with his paws. I hissed and bit him gently on the scruff, thinking it will immobilize him.

His antlers slashed at my jaw, cutting a vessel that caused electric blue blood to squirt everywhere. I locked antlers with Dipper, fanning my wings out. “This has to stop!!!” I spread my forelegs out in an arched position, growling. The blood draining from the wound on my jaw made me dizzy, and my head spun from the fight for consciousness. I struck Dipper in the skull with a swift nap from my right forepaw, enough to knock him out. I collapsed on the ground, heavily breathing and my flanks heaving from my sides. Ford rushed over to me as I tried to lay protectively on Dipper, keeping him from waking up and moving. Ford approached my head. “Let me see.”

“And risk Dipper waking up in his rabid state and biting you?” I snarled, holding his jaws shut as he flailed and started spazing. “I can knock him out with a tranquilizer.”

“Fine. But do it quickly.” Ford rushed over and jabbed a needle in Dipper’s neck. Dipper bucked me off, but collapsed as the drugs took effect. He passed out as I carried him to his bed before collapsing on it myself.

Ford grabbed me by the scruff, immobilizing me so that he could examine the wound. “You’re lucky it missed your carotid artery. You would have bled out in seconds.” Ford took out a pair of clippers and cut away the fur around the wound. I was in too much shock to really protest as he put stitches in the wound. I panted from exhaustion, walking up to Dipper’s bed and laying on him.

I dipped my head, sighing with exhaustion as the sun rose from the window. Ford patted my head and put a blanket on me. “Get some sleep.”

I nodded, leaning on Dipper. You have to see that things are different now. Dipper started running in his sleep. I put my wing on him to comfort him. He stopped stirring as I dozed off myself.

[khonshus-stardust]

Time and Place

Pairing: Khonshu x Reader

Word Count: 1224

Summary: The moon is shining down on you as you sit on the roof of your apartment. It peaceful and quiet before a familiar god makes his sudden appearance. Of course he does. But he asks something of you that surprises you.

Author Note: Had this rolling around. I also finished this on my break at work. It's not beta checked soooo if there's any mistakes either let me know or just ignore them please.

Ao3

Dark clouds rolled across the night sky, stars blocked from sight. The crescent moon tried shine through but didn’t have the power to do so. You sighed, breathing in the cool night air and eyes drifting close.

Rocks bit at your butt the longer you sat on the roof. It wasn’t the most comfortable but your roof offered ample sight of the beautiful sky above you. You were a night owl, always enjoying the darkness over the brightness of day. In general, it hurt your eyes far too much. That could be considered a problem but that wasn’t something you cared to address right now.

Something about the appearing and disappearing moon made some symbolic notion. Your mind wandered over to the moon boys, as you’ve deemed them. They don’t seem to mind the name and kept letting you call them that.

Jake had muttered something to you before leaving the apartment. What he said went over your head. Worse of all, you couldn’t figure out what he said. You had tuned your brain out at the wrong time. He was gone by the time you opened the door. Okay, well, you’ll learn the hard way when he’s coming back.

On the other side of the coin, Khonshu hasn’t made any of his famous entrances in a week. That concerned you. He liked to random show up in your apartment then leave with a whoosh of wind. Your poor cat, Banshee, has been scared far too many times because of this. A couple of arguments hadn’t gotten anywhere with him. It’s just a cat to him.

The longer you thought about the moon god, sitting underneath the now visible moon, you began to worry. He had to be fine. It was Khonshu after all. He liked dramatics. You’ve seen how hard its too kill the looming god. Ammit had failed even with the upper hand. But you were just human.

Your foot bounced on the concrete roof. Hopefully, it wasn’t loud enough to wake the neighbors below. Or else, Jeff would take away this privilege. Your hand raked through your hair the longer you sat there.

Why had Jake just left like that? One moment, you were happily talking to Steven about a museum being built in Egypt. Next, Jake mumbles words and is gone that same moment.

Over the course of many months, you’ve come to feel when Khonshu has entered the room. Sometimes, he doesn’t like to show himself to you. That’s how you’ve gained a great skill, so they can’t just sneak off without saying something to you. The first time they did that and came back bloodied… let’s just say they learned their lesson because of that.

Even Khonshu knew not to mess with you. A spit fire human you were. Well, you weren’t much for yelling. Yet, when you did yell at them, they knew they were in big trouble.

A groan sounded in the back of your throat, head tilted back. Goosebumps rippled over your skin as cool wind brushed over your skin. “Cold, Stardust?”

You yelped, body freezing up at the voice. Before your head whipped towards the origin. There stood Khonshu in all of his glory, crescent staff held in his grasp. “Fuck you!” Those were you first words to spill from your mouth in reaction. Your lips pressed against each other, eyes wide. Whoops.

That didn’t seem to faze the god though. He laughed, head tilted back then returned his nonexistent gaze at you. “Later, now listen, little bug. I need your assistance, much to Marc’s and them displeasure. It’s nothing dangerous, just tricky,” he asked of you.

One of your brows quirked up at this, a hip jutting out. “And what is the request?” you questioned in return. It all depended on what he wanted. Work and your personal life might stand in your way.

“I need you to pose as my avatar as a distraction. You’ll be completely safe under my protection,” he explained. Both of your brows raised at his offer. Huh? “We’ll be heading to Spain, if that helps any.”

Spain? You’ve heard the sights are beautiful there. You rested a finger on your chin, a thinking face exposed. Hm… “And what do I get out of this? Also, how do I pose as your avatar and pull that off?” Those questions needed to be answered. When it came Khonshu, you wanted to know what you were getting into. Marc’s told you how tricky he can be. That, you have experienced as well.

Khonshu stepped up to you and leaned down so his beak was hovering in front of your face. His hand gently grasped your chin. “Getting  vengeance for your dear god. As for that second question, I’ll relinquish Marc as my avatar for the time and allow you take the mantel.”

Slithery fingers of nervousness crawled up your spine. You’ve heard the stories and seen Moon Knight in action. It’s something you don’t prefer. “I-I don’t know, Khon. Temporarily be your avatar? That seems kind of dangerous. I’m not much of a fighter.” You didn’t like to fight. That didn’t mean you didn’t know how to.

Being around the four of them have taught you you needed to bulk up per say. Layla and Marc weren’t always there to help you when you dragged into any battle by accident. Instead, you took what you had learned as a kid and worked on it.

The god hummed. “You don’t need to be. I’ll be right by your side. I just need you as a distraction so Marc can sneak by. I’ll keep you safe, Stardust.” You almost always melted when he called you that name.

You pulled away from him and groaned. What were you supposed to do?! He was making it hard to say no. Also, what else could you get out of this? Vengeance wasn’t something you craved like the god before you. “I’ll do it if you allow Marc, Steven, and Jake, all of them, have a break for a week. I want some alone time with them, please.”

“Am I allowed to join?” That made you think for an extra second. Should you?

Fine.

“Yes but only if you’re nice to all of them. No mean name calling and such or I’ll kick you butt to the curb, okay?”

He grumbled and stood fully up, shoulders square. The grasp on his staff tightened. “Alright, I agree to your terms.”

A smirk overtook your features. It was all you could offer him. Shaking hands would show off how nervous you were. Marc wasn’t going to happy with you. None of them will be. “Okay, and I agree to yours.” It became quiet for a few seconds longer than you would like. “So, how does this work?”

“When it comes closer to the day, I’ll let you know, little moon. After then, we’ll talk about you wanting to fuck me.” Then, like always, the god was gone with a whoosh of wind. Your mouth dropped to the ground at his words.

“Khonshu!” you swore, red covering your cheeks. That god is completely unbelievable. Now , you knew you were going to regret this. “I’m going to fucking kill him the next time I see him.” You promised that if Marc or the other gods don’t do it first.

[insertsickusername13]

WROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR IGNORING A BIG ASSIGNMENT I HAVE DUE TONIGHT SO GTG BUT HERE IT IS, THIS FIC WAS THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT FOR I CAN'T MISS YOU (the fic i wrote that we do NOT speak of that was embarrassing) THAT GOT LOST ALONG THE WAY I DID NOT REREAD IT SO IF THERE'S GRAMMAR MISTAKES SORRY

word count: 2036

Rich heard from friends that Jake had spent almost every waking moment in the hospital while Rich had been in his coma. According to them, Jake had been worried sick. He talked about Rich constantly, asked about him repeatedly, paid hospital bills, and brought flowers and gifts every other day. 

They also tried to tell him that Jake being incessantly clingy ever since Rich had woken was natural, that it was kind.

Rich was pretty sure it was a trick. There was no way Jake, who had everything and lost everything, could forgive Rich in a heartbeat. Rich knew Jake was perfect from day one, admired every inch of him before Jake even knew Rich's name, but this was too far. This was unnatural, the self-destructive part of Jake taking over rather than an angelic act of kindness. 

"It's okay," Rich said for the umpteenth, "If you need time or space, or—"

"Rich," Jake said, smiling down at him, "I promise. I forgive you."

Rich studied him, searching his face for the lies in his words. He was just the same as Rich had left him: soft lips that formed soft smiles, light freckles like stardust from the heavens, a thin line between his eyebrows from all the times he scowled down at his homework, frustrated that he couldn't be perfect first try.

"Are you s—"

Jake grabbed Rich's unbandaged hand and squeezed gently. The touch had Rich seeing stars. 

"Yes. A hundred percent. More than that. A thousand. A million. Whatever it takes to convince you."

Rich looked down at their hands, his cheeks matching his faded-out streak.

"So," Jake said slowly, as if he was explaining something to a toddler, "I really, really do want you to move in with me, okay?"

He squeezed Rich’s hand again, and when he pulled back there was a key pressed into Rich's palm, cold and metal and real. 

Rich couldn't talk. He nodded rapidly like a lovestruck girl who'd just been proposed to and cried into Jake's varsity jacket when he got to see their apartment for the first time. 

It was too easy.

Setting up Rich's new room was too easy. Making dinner together was too easy. They'd gone from friends to nothing to roommates as if nothing had ever happened—there should have been some difficulty. Some adapting. But when Jake hugged Rich from behind, using Rich as a makeshift cane while his real one leaned against the kitchen island and whispered, "You're the best thing to ever happen to me," Rich was suddenly forced to forget that life could ever be too easy.

Friends to lovers was the same as friends to roommates. Rich confessed to Jake on the couch and Jake dragged them to the shower, turned on the water, and kissed him amidst the steam. 

"What the fuck?" Rich said, smiling so hard the conviction in his words was lost to sugar-like giddiness. 

"I'm not giving you some lame-ass first kiss. Hence: kiss in the rain."

"We're in a shower."

"You're a buzzkill."

"You're an idiot."

"You're a dick."

"Suck my dick."

Jake gave him an ingenuous smile and, like an overeager virgin, promptly stuck his hand in Rich's pants.

Rich didn't think about anything being too easy as Jake took him to dinner a week later, or pecked him on the cheek while walking down the school hallways, or left bruises on his neck in the quieter parts of the library. He only reveled in the feeling of being loved, of having everything he'd never dreamed of without voices screaming in his head and electricity shooting up his spine.

Jake was safety. Being wrapped in his arms was like having everything else erased and blurred into unimportant lines of text, a book Rich no longer had to participate in. He wasn't a determined main character, a traumatized side character, or a comic-relief love interest. He was only Jake's, and everything was perfect that way.

Until some terrifying climax started hovering on the horizon and Rich lost the privilege of living in just the rising action. 

Jake held on too tight. Stayed up too late. Talked too long. He filled every moment of silence with desultory rambling, never giving Rich the chance to ask are you okay?

The terror of losing Jake lived in every molecule of air Rich breathed. There was no SQUIP in his mind to tell him when he was messing up anymore. Every word Rich said could have only been making it worse and he'd have no idea.

He stayed up late overthinking every interaction with Jake, searching for the exact moment he'd fucked up. It must've been something terrible. Earth-shattering. If Jake could forgive him for Halloween but not this, it must've been something so purely unholy even the devil wouldn't know what to say at the sight of it.

Rich stared at the wall in front of him, sorting through memory after memory clumsily; messily; desperately.

"Are you awake?" Jake whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. The noise was sudden and jarring. But, as Rich was learning, if he spoke he might only make it worse. If he gave any indication that he was awake then Jake might force them to talk until everything they'd mended shattered.

Rich stayed perfectly still. He kept his breathing level. He just wanted one more night of Jake holding him, his nose pressed against Rich's spine as he got as close as he could. One more night.

"I miss you," Jake continued. The way he said it, like the moon and stars above were telling him not to, made the words sound thick with shame despite the seemingly innocent, even benign, implications behind them. "I miss you so fucking much and I—I... I'm so sorry."

He burrowed his face into Rich's shirt to muffle a quiet sob. Rich felt Jake's words like acid in his mouth.

"It's not fair. It's not, it's not." Jake pulled back just long enough to gasp in a breath of air before pressing his face against Rich again. His hands were shaking and clutching Rich's torso hard enough to leave bruises.

"I love you. I love you so fucking much it's going to kill me, and—and it's you, I swear it's you, I love you."

Chloe. Christine. Madeline. Penelope. Jackie. Helen. 

Rich trusted Jake with his soul, but the guilt in his voice and stature had the name of every girl Jake had slept with bobbing to the surface. Kayley. Aurora. Nina.

"But—" Rich's heart stopped. “—but...before. The squip. He—fuck."

Jake wrenched himself away, ripping his arms from around Rich to wrap them around himself protectively.

"Fuck. I feel so fucking naive. It was manipulation. I know that."

His words were getting louder, edging on yelling now that Rich wasn't there to muffle the sound. Still, Rich kept his breathing steady. He was asleep. He wasn't hearing this... this... what? Confession? Break-up speech? He was going to puke if he thought about what this could all be leading up to for a second longer.

"And…and he wasn't real. And it was just a robot catering to my every need and want, but fuck, he was my best friend. And you're so different now, and I love you for it. I love you like this. I can't do this, because I've got you right here, I do, I love you, but I lost my best fucking friend, and everyone's acting like I'm supposed to be fine with it and I just—I can't—"

Oh. Jake missed squipped Rich.

Rich's eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Jake was behind him, sitting upright with his hands tangled in his hair. Rich could hear his breathing, echoey and raw, heaved in and out with the desperation of a madman. 

"Fuck. Fuck. You should've just killed me. You should've locked me in my bedroom and watched me die. Put me out of my fucking misery instead of letting fate torture me like this."

Rich had to put a hand over his mouth to stop a sob from escaping. Jake was too lost in his rant to notice, leaning back against the wall with his head tilted back to glare at the ceiling. 

Rich could feel the remnants of the SQUIP scraping at the back of his skull, begging to be let out with a new, desperate fervor that Rich was sure he was feeding into. At that moment, with his eyes squeezed shut and his hand over his mouth to hide his crying, he wanted it back in his mind, if only to erase this night from his memory. If only to make Jake happy. 

"I love you," Jake whispered. He sounded empty now, his anger placated by the catharsis of confessing to the dark. "I love you so fucking much and I can feel myself pushing you away and I can feel you letting me and for the love of all things good and holy, you have to stop me before I ruin the best thing to ever happen to me just because I'm a fucking coward who can't move on from some robot."

Rich didn't want to stop him. Rich agreed. He missed who he was. He missed the easy confidence, the straight-As. The sauntering down the hallways and having everyone bend to his will just because they liked him. He understood what Jake missed. He missed it too.

"Please, please. I can't do this anymore. I can't miss you like I do when you're right in front of me—"

"We both miss him,” Rich whispered, “It's okay."

For a moment, Rich was convinced Jake had ceased to exist. That he'd simply evaporated. He didn't speak, didn't move, didn't breathe. It sounded like his heart had stopped in his chest. 

But then, slowly, his voice trembling, Jake choked out, "...Rich?"

Rich rolled over, unashamed of the tears on his cheeks.

"Yeah?" he replied, sounding casual compared to the destruction tearing through every neuron inside him.

"How long have you…?"

He didn't even need to finish his question to know the answer. He stared down at Rich through the darkness, eyes glistening with tears that matched Rich's. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just rambling, I swear, I didn't... I didn't..."

Rich shook his head. The lump in his throat hurt too much to talk, so he was forced to simply sit up and throw his arms around Jake's neck. Jake didn't hug him back, instead hovering helplessly, his hands up in the air like he was surrendering. 

"You love me?" Rich rasped. 

"With all my heart. I swear, I swear it, okay? I hate myself for—"

Rich shook his head against Jake's neck. "No, no, it's okay. You love me, but he was different. Fuck, he was so easy. He could just...he was so much better than me."

As if he'd never not been hugging Rich, Jake's palms were suddenly pressed against Rich's shoulder blades, warm and safe.

"That's not true," he said, "I only fell in love with you."

"But he made everything so simple. I miss it so much, Jake. He could just talk and everyone was happy and teachers loved him and his grades were perfect and he always knew what to say to make you feel better."

Jake nodded at that, still holding onto Rich like the floor was disappearing underneath them and opening up into the empty void of space. 

"He was never scared," Jake offered quietly.

"He was confident."

"Suave."

"Always knew how to charm a girl."

"He could actually act, unlike some people."

Rich let out a small, watery laugh, and whispered, "He could actually beat you at chess."

Jake hummed and pressed a soft kiss against Rich's hair. 

"Yeah, he could. But do you wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

Jake lifted Rich's head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. He looked exhausted, red-eyed, and scared. There were tear stains on his cheeks and that determined line between his eyebrows. He ran a finger over Rich's cheekbone and smiled.

"I may miss him a little, but I always liked him better when he was drunk."