#tate exchange

[cameforstuff]

Hate Mail

Stan had gotten used to reading and replying to piles of mail in a day, slowed by carefully deciphering the messy crayon so he could give the best response. It would usually take him several minutes to think of the perfect doodle to slip in with it. Sometimes he would scrap it several times before he was happy with the result.

His last letter was from a little girl from California asking if it could rain soda she poured it into the ocean. He’d written a polite answer explaining that it would be bad for the sea animals, and a simple experiment she could do with evaporation instead. After a bit of thought he drew Dr. Pine sitting a a table chatting with a sea turtle in purple crayon at the bottom. He was almost glad he had not improved his drawing skills since he was twelve. 

The next letter shocked him a bit. He almost set it aside when he saw it, thinking a bill had been slipped with the fan letters. Yet there on the front, in almost obnoxious cursive, was the typical address to Dr. Pine. There was no return address.

Another odd thing about the letter was just how carefully it had been put together. The wording straight and the envelope closed seemingly perfectly. Yet the bottom corner was scrunched like the writer had been holding it like their life depended on it. Stan opened the letter, to his surprise there was two. 

The first was like any letter from a kid, slightly messy handwriting gushing about their favorite part of the last episode. The ‘Tate Mcgucket’ seemed to really enjoy them discussing the lake’s food web and listed a few of his favorite fish. 

The second letter however was not as kind. It listed 12 inaccuracies in the episode. Each going in lengthy detail. He could only skim it as the text shrunk to save room. The explanations were familiar in a way. Kind of like how he tried to explain things, but laced with passive aggressive remarks. Hate mail was a thing he had gotten from angsty teenagers and upset parents on occasion, but this letter felt different. It was addressed by a ‘Mr. Mystery PhD, A real one unlike yours.’ He stared at the letter for several minutes unsure of what to do with it. 

He moved back to the first letter, replying to it like any other. Drawing a Dr. Pine riding a large bass. He quickly popped open a book for references, this kid seemed like the type to appreciate the effort. Then he looked back at the other letter. A bit of annoyance now when he remembered the letter had no return address. He pinned both to a the corkboard above his desk and moved on to replying to other letters.

He decided he was going to get his reply to Tate, not only because he was determined to reply to every letter, but also to spite this ‘Mr Mystery.’ He may be right that Stan is not a real doctor, but he was a man to stubborn for his own good

______

And thus a saga of mail exchanges begins. Where? Uh I lost it in shipping, you know how mail goes.

Forgot to link the post that this is based on.

[moths-in-hats]

Nobody But You

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63508330/chapters/162740050

It begins, as most bad decisions do, with alcohol. Home from college for the summer, Lydia and Malia go to a party, make bad decisions, try to save the Nemeton, and fall in love.

Written for Estelle as part of @teenwolfrarepairevents Rarepair Exchange

Language: English | Words: 8,992 | Chapters:8/8

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship: Lydia Martin/Malia Tate

Characters: Lydia Martin, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Scott McCall's Pack Members (Teen Wolf)

Additional Tags: Getting Together, Misunderstandings, (resolved), Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, not between lydia and malia though, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Mild Angst, like genuinely very mild, the nemeton as a plot device

[waystarresourceco]

J. and Brian on Logan and Gerri's backstory (and whether they had an affair).

J. Smith-Cameron:  I Imagine that Gerri had a husband a little bit older than she was, or maybe significantly older – I don’t know, who might have been the way Laird was with you in Season 2. Someone who was like a colleague or a financial advisor, or someone you played golf with that you liked. And so you hired me kind of, as sort of a – I was part of his legal team, maybe as a young woman, and that maybe we never quite had an affair because of the husband. And that by the time he passed away, that moment had passed, but maybe there was a flirtation or an attraction or –there’s definitely a bond there that’s like-

Brian Cox: I absolutely agree. I think that’s so accurate, that’s exactly what I felt. I felt that we go back a long way and there was some kind of relationship there clearly.

Excerpt from Still Watching: Succession Season 3 "Secession" with J. Smith-Cameron and Brian Cox - Oct. 17, 2021

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

A COVER GIRL OF HER TIME AND FOR ALL TIME -- SHEER CLASS OF '67.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a studio portrait of the late, great American film actress & style icon Sharon Tate, photographed in a brown sheer top, c. 1967. 📸: Shahrokh Hatami.

MINI-OVERVIEW: "Actress and magazine cover girl Sharon Tate, who was nominated for a Golden Globe Award for her performance in 1967's "Valley of the Dolls."

Tragically, in 1969, while eight-and-a-half months pregnant, she was murdered in her home, along with four others, by followers of Charles Manson."

-- SAN FRANCISCO ART EXCHANGE (SFAE)

Source: https://sfae.com/Artists/Shahrokh-Hatami/Sharon-Tate-Studio-Portrait-in-Brown-Sheer-Top-196.

[ckret2]

Chapter 73 of human Bill Cipher still being stuck in the Mystery Shack but currently fearing back pain more than execution: it's Day 1 of Bill being off death row, let's see what everyone other than Soos is doing with their day.

When Fiddleford answered the door to Ford and Stan—Stan with the Quantum Destabilizer's case slung over his shoulder—the first thing Fiddleford said was, "That demon's still alive, isn't he?"

"Demon's still alive," Stan confirmed.

Ford let out a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd have to break the news."

"I figured when the power here flickered during your shot." He planted his hands on his hips. "You didn't use the NowUSeeitNowUDontium, did you?"

Ford shook his head.

"Well?" Fiddleford fixed Ford with an angry squint, lips pursed. (Maybe it wasn't an angry squint, Ford told himself hopefully. Maybe it was just because Fiddleford didn't have new glasses yet.) "Why didn'cha shoot him?"

"I couldn't. He escaped," Ford said. As panic began to bloom on Fiddleford's face, Ford quickly added, "But he's back! That's why I used the wrong fuel. Somehow he overheard that we'd made enough Dontium for one shot, and he—tried to persuade me to cover his escape. Firing a blank made him think I'd used the Dontium up and he was safe—"

"—So's he'd come back and you could get a proper shot at him! Ha!" Fiddleford jumped up, kicking his heels in the air, hollering, "Stanford Pines, you clever sonovagun!" His hooting and hollering died down as he realized, "So... why're you here with the destabilizer instead of shooting him?"

Ford and Stan exchanged a glance. Stan said, "Well—He—He's pretty harmless right now, really—And he's great with the kids—"

"Not with Dipper," Ford muttered.

"He's great with one of the kids."

Ford said, "And he's..." It would be a lie to say improving, wouldn't it? "He's... got the potential to improve. And we— We thought— If there's a chance he could do better..."

Sternly, Fiddleford said, "You let him get into your head again, didn't you."

Ford sighed. "I let him get into my head."

Stan held out the Quantum Destabilizer's case. "Which is why we're here. He's not in your head. You won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"I getcha." Fiddleford accepted the case grimly. "You need me to finish the job."

Ford hastily added, "If—if it becomes necessary."

Fiddleford gave him a hard look.

Ford swallowed as he realized—as always, a moment too late—just what an enormous thing he was asking of Fiddleford and his fragile nerves. "But if you don't think— I mean, if you'd rather it stay in our hands—"

Fiddleford held the Quantum Destabilizer away from Ford. "No, no—you're right. It's safer here," he said. "You oughta shoot him. I'm never not gonna think you oughta shoot him. Especially now we know he knows how to escape. But, if you won't—better that this is in my hands than with the fellers what let that devil sucker 'em into thinking he deserves to live."

Ford wanted to say I'm sorry. If he was so sorry, why had he chosen to let Bill live? It seemed like his problems always became Fiddleford's problems—yet the only times Fiddleford's problems became Ford's was when Ford caused them. "Well—the good news is, even if he does escape, he can't get far. He's trapped inside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier."

"Well, that's somethin'," Fiddleford muttered. Then he frowned and gave Ford a sharp look. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you sure he can't get out?"

"I—" Ford tried to remember when they'd learned that. "Sure, we—found out that first night, didn't we?" It had been a very long night.

"Yeah!" Stan laughed. "Almost accidentally killed the guy by driving him into it."

Fiddleford nodded, his expression faraway and thoughtful. "I need to run some calculations," he said. "I'll let you know what I find."

He turned away, muttering to himself. Just before he shut the door, Ford saw Tate at the far end of the great hall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings sourly.

And then the door was shut without so much as a goodbye.

"Huh," Stan said. "Ominous!" He clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Welp, let's get home!"

####

Tate leaned into Fiddleford's lab. "Dad?"

Fiddleford was sitting at a space he'd cleared at a worktable, hunched forward and squinting to see his work as he ran through a towering stack of calculations, using a calculator to double-check his math and a second calculator to double-check the first one. As he often did, he'd put on an old record to help block out distractions; and an old country song was blasting at top volume as Fiddleford sang/yodeled along: "I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son! How I looong to shoot that sonuuuvaguuun. I'll seeee my boy when that triaaangle's done—cuz I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son—"

"Dad," Tate said louder.

"Tater!" Fiddleford sat up, automatically reached to adjust a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing, and just bumped the bridge of his nose. "What is it, son?"

"Couldja turn the volume down?"

"Turn th—?" Fiddleford looked at his record player, started when he realized what was playing, and quickly took the needle off the record. "Sorry, Tater, I—"

"It's fine," Tate said glumly.

"Didn't even realize which song'd come on. They're just words to sing along to. You know I don't really feel..."

"Just don't like Pluckin' Jim's yodeling style, that's all."

Fiddleford dropped his gaze. "All right, that's fine. I'll keep it down."

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets. "Might oughta be careful with that album, anyway. If any guests overhear it talking about the triangle and call the police..."

"Oh, I know, I know. You're right, I'll be careful. It's just..." He reached under his hat to scratch at his head like he was trying to massage his brain into working. "When it feels like the whole darn world's gone crazy, it's comforting hearin' somebody sing something sensible," he said. "I—I don't mean Jim's attitude toward his family. Just the rest of it."

"Mm." Tate nodded.

Fiddleford sighed and shook his head sadly. "I don't know—maybe I'm the one who's going crazy."

"Naw," Tate said immediately. "You're not. You're the sanest I've seen you since I was a kid, dad."

"Well—thank you, Tater. That means a lot."

"You're just stressed, that's all." Tate nodded toward Fiddleford's stack of calculations. "Don't overwork yourself, all right?"

"I won't, I promise."

"If you need help with all that math..."

"No, no, that's all right." Fiddleford waved off the offer. "It's got to do with Stanford's weirdness thingamajig." For the past few months, Fiddleford and Stanford had been working on a paper about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism—although that had seemingly ground to a stop at the start of summer.

Tate paused. "Okay, but I'm dragging you out of there for meals."

"Heh! I won't fight you."

As Tate left, Fiddleford set the needle back on the record, starting the next song: "The Three B's Poisoning Your Children (Booze, Bebop, and Bill)." Tate shut the door and let out a long sigh.

####

"I'll get it!" Dipper doubted anyone else could even hear the phone; Abuelita was asleep in the living room, Soos was upstairs hammering on something, and Bill and Mabel were at the far end of the house playing the piano and singing.

Dipper jogged into the office. "Hello?"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "Dude! Just the man I wanted to reach."

"Wendy, hey! What's up?"

"Are you still looking for the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes! Why, did something happen?"

A couple weeks earlier, Wendy had shown him where her brother had seen the Fremont Nightwigglers; but by the time she showed him the path, they'd already come and gone a couple nights earlier. They'd found footprints and followed them to what looked like a campsite—there were odd empty burrows in the ground and traces of ashes—but when Dipper had tried to figure out where they'd gone after leaving the campsite, he'd lost their trail in the underbrush.

"Gus says he saw them on the same trail again last night," Wendy said. "Which means, if they were going back to that place we found with the burrows, and it was a campsite—"

"—then that's where they're camping today. So they'll still be there tonight!" Dipper laughed. "That's perfect! I can stake them out and watch when they wake up! Hey, do you wanna come along for a stakeout?"

Wendy groaned. "I wish. Gus freaked my dad out talking about the Nightwigglers. He says we have to stay home after dark and he's actually been checking our rooms."

"Aw, man. That stinks."

"But hey, tell me all about it at work, okay?"

"You got it! Oh—I could make a Guide to the Unexplained episode! I'll show you the whole thing."

"Oh, awesome. I can't wait to see these things," Wendy said. "Head's up, you probably wanna be quiet to avoid spooking them. Gus said they looked super skittish last night. They're probably wigging out because of gravity disappearing for a couple of days, lots of other wild animals are. I don't blame them, I'm still wondering what was up with that."

"Giant invisible flying axolotl from another dimension."

Wendy laughed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I'll tell you about it at work too." Probably leaving out Bill's involvement. Speaking of Bill, where had he left Dipper's backpack? "I've gotta pack for the stakeout. Thanks for the tip!"

####

Gideon knocked on the shack's back door and waited anxiously, tugging at his sleeves and shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened to the sound of distant piano music. Dipper stood there holding a heavy backpack and a box of granola bars. "Gideon?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"Well, hey there, Dipper!" Gideon tried to sound more chipper than he felt. "I don't suppose Mabel's ar—"

"Nope," Dipper said. "What do you want?"

Gideon took a deep breath. "It's about Bill—"

"Shhh!" Dipper cast a nervous glance back toward Soos's grandma asleep in the living room. "Keep it down. Only Mabel and I know you know about Bill and no one else can find out."

"Why not?"

"Because... Mabel and I will get in trouble for not telling them sooner?"

Fair enough. Adults didn't need to know everything, Gideon thought. Voice lower, he said, "I didn't notice him with the others at Rainbow Club this week, and I saw that big laser thingamabob at the shack,"—and the next day received a panicked call from a cultist who couldn't reach Bill—"and... well—I need to know if Bill's dead, or—"

Over the piano playing, an off-key voice sang at top volume: "AND IIIIIIIIII will never HATE yooOoOOou—!" In the living room, Abuelita started from her nap, blinked sleepily, turned up the volume on the TV, and fell back asleep.

Gideon's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"Still alive," Dipper said. "He has a really bad backache, though."

"Well, dang it!" Gideon kicked at a twig on the porch. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said. "But... I kinda think Bill has to stay alive? I heard this prophecy that I think is about Bill saving everyone? Probably not voluntarily—he actually really didn't want me to hear about the prophecy—so... yeah, we might just be stuck with him. At least for a while."

"Well," Gideon said sourly. "Isn't that just wonderful."

####

As he trudged home, Gideon tried to think of a way out of this. For one day, he'd thought he was blessedly free of Bill; finding out he was wrong felt like getting hauled back to prison.

If the adults didn't know he knew about Bill, maybe he could tell the Stans that Bill had been using him—surely they'd forgive Gideon for using a little dream magic to brainwash the town, right? Stan understood the lengths a businessman had to go to to advertise his business, and Ford was apparently the one who'd recorded the spell in the first place—and maybe the two of them could prevent Bill from spilling his blackmail to the rest of the town; or maybe Gideon could arrange for the Stans to "accidentally" find out Gideon had been working for Bill, and then Bill couldn't blame Gideon for spilling the beans...

Or maybe he could just stop helping Bill. Simple as that. He knew he'd been helping Bill arrange escape plans. Bill had promised he'd keep quiet about Gideon's crimes as long as Gideon didn't pick up dream magic again; but he'd never required Gideon to help him. The only issue was what his contact in Bill's cult might do and whether she might out him as one of Bill's allies; maybe he could just tell her that his parents were getting suspicious and he couldn't be a go-between anymore...

When he got home, as soon as he opened the front door he could hear his father excitedly talking in the kitchen: "It's the darnedest thing! I don't know where they came from—must be tourists, I suppose..."

Gideon followed his voice into the kitchen. "Daddy? What's all this fuss?"

Bud was grinning from ear to ear; even Joy was faintly smiling, a half-washed dish forgotten in her yellow-gloved hands. "There you are," Bud said. "Son, I've got the most terrific news! I just sold the three most expensive cars on the lot, all on the same day! Can you believe that?!"

"Well, hot dog!" Gideon grinned as well, relief washing over him. "That oughta keep us going for a while, shouldn't it?"

"It sure will! I guess you were right—we never needed any magic hocus-pocus, just good salesmanship!" Bud beamed. "But it's just the darnedest thing," he said again, "they all said they'd been referred to the dealership by a Mr. Locke."

Gideon's smile froze and his stomach flipped.

"I don't remember any Mr. Locke passing through town."

"Oh," Joy said, "there was one a—a week or two ago. Some sort of talent agent, I think? He came to see Gideon."

"Did he," Bud said, clearly a bit deflated that it wasn't his prowess as a salesman that had lured these customers to town; but he quickly recovered, "Why, that's wonderful! Maybe looking to line up another television appearance?"

"No no no," Gideon said quickly, "no, it was—it was purely a social visit. I-I knew him last summer. I'm not doing that sort of... television thing anymore."

"Ah, well. Still! Having connections pays off," Bud said. "If all he wants to do is send customers our way, I'll be mighty happy! If he comes by again, invite him to stay for dinner, it's the least we can offer him as thanks."

"I think that's a—a wonderful idea," Joy said, voice even softer than usual. "He was very friendly."

"Son?" Bud called. "Where you headed?"

"Just upstairs, I remembered I need to make a call," Gideon said. He had to ensure Sue knew Bill was alive.

Seemed like he'd be working with her and Bill for a while yet. His family couldn't afford for him not to.

####

Dipper pounced the Stans the moment they entered the shack. "Hey! Great Uncle Ford!" 

"Dipper? What—"

"Grunkle Ford, remember you promised that as soon as we weren't dealing with any Bill bull, we could go on an investigation—?"

"Hey," Stan said sternly, "any Bill what?"

"Bull... soup?" Dipper tried.

Stan nodded, satisfied. "That's right. And if your parents ask, that's exactly what you think it means." At Ford's look of amazement, Stan said, "What! Last year the kids' parents said if they came home swearing, I couldn't take 'em over the summer again."

Dipper resumed his attack: "Well, we're not dealing with any Bill bullsoup today! Come help me track the Nightwigglers!" He held up his journal, proudly showing off his unfinished spread. "Wendy told me where they're camping today! If we're there before they wake up, we can finally see them in person!"

"Really? Tonight?" Ford asked. "We just had a late night yesterday."

"Can't we have two late nights and sleep in tomorrow?" Dipper pled. "They might not be there tomorrow night! What's more important: sleep, or seeing the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes, I see your point. You're absolutely right," Ford said. "I could take a nap now and we can leave after dinner."

"Yes!"

Stan groaned, "Great—the insomniacs are enabling each other." He shook his head and started upstairs, muttering, "I'm gonna see what Soos is hammering on."

Dipper said, "I've already packed my camping supplies! Do you need help packing? I can help you pack! Come on—I can show you where we're going, too!" He impatiently led the way to the elevator.

####

This weekend, Bill had escaped the shack, faked his death, and proven that the whole Pines family actually wanted him alive; and yet, for all that, Mabel thought he seemed pretty down in the dumps today. He'd been kind of off since the eclipse.

Actually, now that she thought about it, he'd been off since before the eclipse, ever since the day he'd been grumpy to her about the glass pyramid "Mysteries." She was pretty sure he wasn't mad at her about that anymore; so she didn't know what was wrong.

But even though Mabel could see him wince when he leaned certain ways or moved his arms too quickly, he was trying to hide that he was in pain and he was trying to hide his gloomy mood. He grinned when he played the piano, and he alternated between popular songs that she knew and could sing along with and a bunch of old boring things like jazz and opera. (Bill tried to sing along to everything, even when he shouldn't. Mabel was pretty sure he was the worst opera soprano in the world.)

She didn't know how to fix whatever was actually bothering him. She could hang out with him and sing and talk—that seemed to make him happier. But Bill needed more than that.

He needed more friends.

Bill attempted a run, one hand crossing over the other and back as he rolled up the keyboard; his hands tripped over each other and stumbled across several keys at once.

Mabel laughed. "That sounded like a musical fart!"

Bill blew a raspberry. "I'll show you a musical fart." He attempted the run again, and messed up again.

Mabel laughed again. "I don't think you've got that part."

"Hey! I'm usually great at that part. It's this body—I'm used to playing it with flat fingers, I haven't practiced it with an extra dimension before," said Bill, who was lying, and had never been good at that part, and truthfully was pleased he now had an excuse that let him pretend he was actually better than he was. "Playing piano in a human body really holds me back. It takes nine hands to play my favorite song." That wasn't a lie.

He started the song over and elbowed Mabel. "Hey. Something's eating at you. What's up, kid?"

She hadn't realized she wasn't hiding her gloomy thoughts well enough. "Uuugh, I want you to meet my friends, but this morning Grunkle Ford said I still can't invite them over even though you're off death row. I guess he and Grunkle Stan are still worried you'll brainwash them or something?"

"Pff. We're still—renegotiating the terms of my imprisonment."

"Oh yeah? What have you renegotiated so far?"

The corners of Bill's mouth turned down. Mabel suspected that might have something to do with his foul mood. "Hey, I've got an idea to get your friends over here."

"Yeah?"

"Tell your uncles that the girls' parents are starting to wonder why you haven't been inviting them over like you did last summer. Say they're beginning to think that something is going on over here, and they're worried you're not in a safe environment—buuut if their kids can come over and see everyone's just been adjusting to a new guest, maaaybe their parents will calm down, right?"

Mabel shot Bill a dirty look. "Bill! That's a complete lie."

"But it's the kind of lie that could easily be true, and might even be true in the future, so is it really a lie?"

"Yeah it is."

"No it's not! Besides, it'll get your friends over here and it won't hurt anything, won't it?"

Mabel grimaced. "Okay, I can try—but if I try it and it works and I bring my friends over, you've got to make friends with them."

"Hmm!" Bill's face twisted up. "I like Candy's taste in art. And her bloodthirst."

Mabel elbowed him. "What do you have against Grenda?"

####

Eight-year-old Grenda sat at her desk kicking her feet and staring at her $1 bill, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. It was Chocolate Chip Cookie Monday, they were fresh and gooey, and she was ready.

For the first time, she noticed the design on the dollar had a weird little one-eyed triangle with a hat. She pulled out a marker and drew a little smile under his eye.

And then she added buck teeth to the smile.

And then she gave him a second eye, stupid glasses, and a spiky beard that poked out in every direction.

And then drew wavy stink lines over him and added a word bubble that said "I'M SMELLY!"

"Heh. Stupid looking guy," she mumbled.

####

With an air of haughty disdain, Bill said, "She knows what she did."

"Okay, but you'll be nice to her, right? Pleeease?"

"All right, fine," Bill said. "For you, I'll be nice."

####

"Grunkle Stannn can my friends please come over? Even their parents think it's weird that they haven't been here all summer! If Grenda and Candy come over they'll know nothing weird's going on!"

"Uhhh..." Stan grimaced. "The last thing we need is parents asking questions... Yeah, sure, you should probably do that sometime soon. Maybe after we figure out what we're doing with Bill for the rest of the summer—"

"Thanks!" Mabel hugged him, ran off, and decided she'd heard Stan say "yeah, sure, you should."

She pulled out her phone. "Candy! Grenda!" She kept her voice at a loud whisper. "Great news! Dipper's gonna be out with Grunkle Ford tonight and I kinda-sorta got permission for a sleepover! Get ready for a party. I have a plan."

####

(This is a bit of a transition chapter for a couple more plots, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know what you think!)

[wh0re43van]

Boyfriend (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Summary: you reunite with an old friend while making a delivery for your shitty boyfriend

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: smut, throat fucking, weed, cheating, not proof read

A/n: I have no idea how much weed costed in 2003 bc I was two years old. Also, I apologize if your name is Chelsea bc you will be slandered in this fic. Thank you for reading! <3

Pt 2 , Pt 3

I slam my boyfriends shitty car door, stepping out into the cold November rain, running towards the brick house, an 8th of weed shoved in my bra. I can’t believe my idiot boyfriend is too lazy to get out of his car to make his delivery. I’ve never even met this customer and his dumbass is having me waltz right up this random man’s house, while he’s parked a block away.

I pound on the wooden door before stepping back a bit. I shift back and forth on my feet as I rub my hands up and down on my arms trying to warm myself with the friction. After a couple of minutes, the door swings open, a man with unkempt brown hair and tired eyes steps out, looking a bit surprised. Those eyes. I know them. I cant put my finger on it, but I know him from somewhere.

“Uhm can I help you? Are you alright?” he asks, stepping out onto the porch closing the door behind him, looking me up and down, maybe trying to figure out why some strange girl is stood sopping wet on his doorstep, or maybe he recognizes me as well.

“Of course that dumbass didn’t tell you,” I sigh. “I’m delivering for Dakota,” I explain, pulling the plastic baggie out of my bra.

“Ah, okay,” he opens the door again, ignoring my hand offering the weed. “Why don’t you come in, get out of the cold?” he offers, holding the door open for me. I consider his offer; He seems kind, and he doesn’t appear to have the money on him anyway. I might as well wait inside while he retrieves it before I catch my death out here.

“Thank you,” I smile, stepping into the warm living room, part of me hoping that Dakota can see me going into the random man’s house. He leads me down to the basement, explaining that this is his bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” he smiles, showing two familiar dimples on either cheek as he gestures to his couch. I smile back, happily taking a seat. He walks into the bathroom, coming back with a towel in his hand.

“Did you go to Tates Creek Highschool by chance?” he asks, offering me the grey bath towel.

“I did,” I smile. “Only for freshman year though, my family moved the next county over after that,” I explain. That must be where I know him from.

“Y/n, I thought that was you,” he smiles taking a seat next to me.

“Yeah,” I smile back. “You look familiar, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name,” I blush, a bit embarrassed that I don’t remember him.

“Ouch,” He chuckles. “I thought getting detention together for stealing the teachers’ cigarettes would have been a bit more memorable,” he says, leaning back on the couch. Then it dawns on me.

“Warren?” I ask, shocked. “Little Warren Lipka?” I turn on the couch to face him, getting a better look- the best look I can get in the dim yellow lighting. I don’t believe it! He laughs at my reaction.

“I guess if you remember me as little Warren, I can see why you didn’t recognize me,” he says, reaching for his grinder and papers laying on the coffee table. “You got that 8th, beautiful?” he asks casually. I blush at the comment, pulling the weed out of my bra once again. I hand him the warm baggie.

“That’ll be 7 bucks, sir,” I grin. All the memories come flooding back to me when our hands touch as we exchange the substance for the cash. All the classes we skipped together, all the many hours in detention we spent alongside each other, the cigarettes that we would smoke under the bleachers. He was shorter than me then, he always had his hair buzzed and wore oversized clothes to hide his small frame. I guess he was a late bloomer, because the only remnants of that little boy are the deep brown eyes and dimples displayed like artwork on the handsome grown man in front of me.

“You look really good,” he breaks me out of my thoughts, sparking the joint he’s just rolled.

“Thank you,” I smile. He passes me the paper. I take a hit. “You look good yourself,” I exhale through my nose, handing the joint back to warren.

“So you’re a friend of Dakotas?” He asks, after sucking in a breath of smoke as he stretches his arm over the back of the couch and behind my shoulders.

“His girlfriend, actually,” My response catches him off guard, making him choke on the smoke.

“Holy shit,” he laughs in between coughs. “How the hell did that goon bag you?” he asks, flabbergasted. I can’t help but giggle, taking another drag off the joint.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing,” I answer honestly. Dakota isn’t exactly the best boyfriend in the world. We’ve been dating almost two years and I’ve caught him with other girls multiple times. He doesn’t respect my boundaries or my aspirations, yet somehow, he always convinces me to stay. I guess when you’re as attractive as he is and as insecure as I am, it isn’t hard for him to convince me that he’s the best I’ll ever have.

“So what’s wrong with Dakota? Why couldn’t he make the delivery himself?” Warren asks, looking down at the joint between his lips as it glows crimson. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies.

“He said he was tired and didn’t want to get his shoes wet,” I laugh, feeling the THC start to take effect. “Can you believe that?” I ask, laying a hand on warrens thigh in my fit of giggles. “He’s just sitting in his shit box a block away,” I say, feeling my eyelids begin to get heavy. Warren raises his eyebrows, looking at me with glossy eyes.

“Wow,” he scoffs. “I actually don’t believe that. I couldn’t imagine having your girl make deliveries for you. Thats some serious pussy shit,” he rolls his eyes, holding the joint up to my mouth. I take a hit from the hot paper between his fingers. I look down at the spliff, then back at him to find his eyes already fixed on me. “If I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t let you make deliveries for me,” he says in a much quieter tone, the moment is almost intimate as I blow the smoke into his face that’s closer to mine than I realized, but I can’t bring myself to back away. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t want you smoking with me,” he adds, bringing the joint to his lips to take the final hit.

“Why’s that?” I ask in a whisper with butterflies in my stomach, breathing in the smoke that’s slowly rolling off his lips.

“Because it gives me the opportunity to do something I’ve wanted to do since freshman year,” he matches my tone, glancing at my lips, bringing his finger and thumb around my chin, tilting my head up towards him. My heart begins to race at his proximity, I know I should pull away from him, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Just as his lips barely brush against mine, my Nokia rings out, sounding like an alarm, making me jump in surprise, scrabbling to find the small cellphone on the couch.

“Hey babe,” Warren answers the phone, winking at me. My stomach drops. Fuck. I reach for the phone, but warren stands up. “Nah man she’s good she’s right here. I just gave her the mon- hey. Hey!” I hear warren begin to shout. I cease my struggle to grab the phone. “Is there a fucking problem man?” Warren seethes into the phone. I hear my boyfriend’s muffled speech. “Yeah, I didn’t fuckin think so,” he hangs up the phone, handing the small plastic brick to me.

“You look pretty stoned,” he says picking up a coat off the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Let me walk you out. You remember where his car is?” he asks, putting his hand on the small of my back, ushering me to the steps. I nod my head yes, staring at him with wide eyes trying to process what just happened.

“Lead the way then, beautiful,” he grins, and just like that, the butterflies are back. I don’t dare respond, not knowing what will come out of my mouth.

The walk to Dakota’s car is silent but comfortable, still pretty baked, I feel the rain coming down in sheets. vibrating calmly in my bones. I stare up at the orange glow of the streetlights in the night sky in awe. Everything looks so beautiful when you’re high.

“Here he is,” Warren says approaching the small rust bucket of a car that my boyfriend drives. He opens the passenger door for me. After I’m seated, he leans in to look at Dakota. “Don’t have your girl make trips for you anymore, man. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says calmly but it comes across like a threat, before tossing a couple folded bills at Dakota and closing the door. I’m glad he remembered the money. Dakota would have killed me if I had left it down there.

 My boyfriend is quiet. Much more quiet than he normally is when someone threatens his masculinity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s scarred of Warren.

As Dakota pulls off, his Insane Clown Posse CD playing quietly, I look out the side mirror to see warren standing with his hands in his pockets, getting soaked in the rain in nothing other than his t-shirt and jeans, watching me ride away. As Dakota begins to bitch and complain my ear, all I can think about is when ill see Warren again, then I remember; I have his coat. It would be rude of me to keep it. I’ll just have to return it to him.

•

•

It’s been a week since my interaction with Warren, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

‘Is it so wrong that I want to catch up with an old friend?’ I ask myself. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with visiting a friend, the issue lies in the fact that the thoughts I’m having of him aren’t exactly platonic.

‘I’ll just drop his coat off, thanking him for the kind gesture and be on my way.’ I tell myself as I climb into my car. ‘Okay, maybe I could make some small talk with him, that’s innocent enough. Yeah, ill ask him about his job, if he’s going to school now, stuff like that’ I manage to convince myself that this will be a short, polite visit with an old friend, but a part of me must know the truth because I tell Dakota that I’m going out with my mother for lunch.

I park my vehicle on a side street near the Lipka house, just in case Dakota drives down here for whatever reason. I grab Warrens coat and walk up to the porch.

‘Maybe he’s not home and I’ll just hand it to his parents,’ I think as I knock on the door. The thought disappoints me, but maybe it’s for the b-

“Y/n!” Warren exclaims as the door swings open. “What a pleasant surprise,” he crunches on a Cheeto, crinkling the bag as he folds it shut.

“Hey Warren,” I smile at the man standing in front of me while he licks the Cheeto dust off his fingers.

“Come in, its freezing,” he steps aside so I can enter. I frown a bit.

“Well, actually I’m just here to return your coat,” I hold out the slick material.

“How kind,” he flashes his dimples. “Are you in a rush?” He asks as he retrieves his jacket.

“Well, no…�� I trail off, trying to think of an excuse, but its hard to excuse yourself from something you want more than anything else.

“Then come inside real quick, darling, just to warm up,” he winks at me and I cant help but giggle. I surrender, stepping into his warm home once again,and following him down to his room.

I sit down on his couch as Invader Zim plays on his box tv.

“This may be a bold assumption,” Warren starts as he sits down on the cushion next to me. “But I think you may have come back for something more than the raincoat,” he suggests, looking into my eyes.

“Warren-“ I begin, but I don’t know what to say. He’s right. I want to desperately finish what we almost started last week. Just the faint brushing of his lips against mine has made me feel something I’ve never experienced before. I need to feel him-

“Free weed, right?” He grins picking up the rolling tray.

Oh.

 I can’t help but blush. I thought for a moment that Warren had already forgotten about our last encounter, but the wink he sends my way suggests that he meant exactly what I thought he meant.

“It’s not often that I don’t have to match,” I admit, pulling my legs up to my chest.

“You mean with friends, right?” Warren asks before he licks the thin rolling paper, holding my gaze as his tongue slowly slides across the wrap.

“Uh,” my breath hitches in my throat. Damn he looks so good. I’ve never wanted to be a rolling paper so bad in my life. “No, I mean in general. Dakota says he’s, uhm, running a business. So I have to pay or match what I smoke every time we, uh, spark. Or else I’m stealing from him,” I mutter out. Warren smirks at the pink raising in my cheeks once again. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Thank God he can’t see the pool forming in my underwear.

“No offense y/n,” he sparks the joint, inhaling a hit of hot smoke. “But Dakotas pathetic,” he breaths out.

“None taken,” I laugh as I take the paper from his hand.

“I mean for more than just the way he treats you,” he explains as I pass the joint back to him. “I’ve known him for a while. We met through a mutual friend, a few years ago. Started smoking together, then started dealing together and breaking into the chain stores around here, ya know, the ones that just throw shit away while people are starving,” he begins to explain as he sinks into the couch, leaning his head back, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the drop ceiling tiles of his bedroom. I stare at him, taking another hit, hanging on to his every word. I could listen to his voice all day. “Soon he started shorting people on weed, over charging behind my back, he was jealous of how well I was doing, always trying to one up me, bragging about how he’s making more money than me, not caring how he achieved it. Then one night, he decided he was going to try and break into a store by himself, of course he chose the corner store down the street, the one owned by the little old lady,” he chuckles. “I beat the shit out of him as soon as I found out,” he takes a hit. “Pussy didn’t throw a single punch back. Just curled up on the ground. Worst part is; he didn’t even get anything. She chased him off with a broom,” he runs a hand through his long brown hair, finally looking at me as he hands me the spliff.

“Wow, I guess that’s why he seemed so scared the other day,” I giggle. I should feel bad, this guy just told me he beat my boyfriend up, but I almost want to thank him.

“That’s also why I get a discount,” he grins as smoke rolls out of his nostrils. “But for once,” he leans in closer to me. “I’m jealous of him,” I can feel his breath on my face. “Seeing you ride off in that car with him last week was painful to watch. You should have been right here with me,” he pushes a loose strand of hair out of my face, and I melt into his touch.

“Well,” I take in a shaky breath, unable to resist those coffee-colored eyes. “I’m here now, Warren.” And with that, the world ceases to spin as he crashes his lips into mine. I’m suddenly aware of my quick heartbeat, every ounce of blood flowing throw my veins, the electricity that shoots from Warrens hands into my body. The smell of smoke on his breath and the slightly stale air in the basement invades my senses. The kiss is desperate and hungry; something I haven’t felt in years. I moan into his mouth as he pulls me into his lap to straddle him.

“This is wrong, Warren,” I pull away reluctantly.

“No beautiful, it was wrong when he called me asking for Chelsea’s contact last month,” he pants. The mention of that whores name makes my blood boil. She’s his most recent side piece. “Had I known he was with you, I would have beat his ass again instead of sending it,” he says honestly, as his hand runs gently up my hip. My mind is made up in an instant. I take the joint out of his hand, inhaling one last hit before I set it in the ash tray. I slide down to the floor on my knees in between his legs before I take my sweater off, tossing it to the side.

“You’re right,” I grin as I reach for his buckle. The pop of the metal releasing ringing through my ears as I shimmy the jeans off his body. I look up at Warren through my lashes, his eyes wide staring down at me with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. The sight makes my core tingle.

“May I?” I ask palming him through his plaid boxers, feeling his dick stiffen under my touch.

“I insist,” he grins, helping me slide the boxers off. My eyes widen at his length in front of me. He’s perfect. I take him into my hand, holding his gaze as I let spit drip from my kiss bruised lips onto his tip, allowing me to stroke him easier. He curses under his breath as I move my hand up and down his now rock hard dick. I smile to myself before wrapping my mouth around his tip, slowly moving down his length until he hits the back of my throat, then I hollow out my cheeks, as I begin to bob up and down. Warren lifts his head to take in the sight below him. He rests a gentle hand on the back of my head.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he groans, instinctively moving his hips in rhythm with my head. I hum in response as I bring my other hand underneath his length to massage his balls, earning a low moan from him.

Soon he takes over, holding my head as he thrusts into my mouth. I push him in as far as possible, gagging on his length. He stands up so he can properly fuck my throat. This isn’t something that I normally do, I never allow Dakota to use me like this. But right now, I think I would let warren do absolutely anything he desires, and I would enjoy every second of it. This is the first time I’ve ever been so turned on from pleasing someone else. My underwear is soaked my arousal and he’s barely touched me. The praise and moans coming from Warren is enough to get me off. The way his eyes peer into mine as he violates my throat, bringing a gentle thumb up to wipe the tears that creep out of my eyes makes my heart flutter.

“Come here baby,” Warren pulls out of my mouth, I gasp for air as he picks my up to carry me to his bed. He pulls his shirt over his head and asks permission to pull my pants off. I nod quickly, earning a chuckle from him. “You did so good for me,” he lays a kiss on my forehead, using his shirt to wipe the tears and spit from my face, I smile at the sweet gesture. He pulls me into a kiss after climbing on top of me, both of us now completely naked. Warrens hand wonders down to my heat, dipping a finger into my entrance, I whimper at the contact. “You really got off to me fucking your throat, huh?” He smiles against my lips, feeling how wet I am for him.

“Please just fuck me Warren,” I beg. He smirks as he lines himself up with me.

“You ready, beautiful?” He asks. I nod, impatiently scooting closer to him, begging for contact. He chuckles as he slowly pushes into me. Being stretched out has never felt so good. There’s almost no pain as I easily take him, a loud moan escapes my lips

“Shh,” he smirks as he continues to push into me, stifling his own moans. “My folks are upstairs baby, not so loud,” he explains.

“I’m sorry,” I giggle. “You just feel so fucking go-“ I cut myself off with another loud moan as he begins rocking his hips at a steady pace. I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle my moans. Warren looks down at me as he he pounds into me, a hand reaching down to hold my breast’s that are moving in rhythm with his hips.

“God, you’re so stunning,” he praises as he uses his other hand to push his curls out of his face. The sight of Warren on top of me is something that I never want to forget. If this is the last time he has his way with me, I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. His hungry eyes that take the time to admire every inch of my body. The way his hair bounces as his cock pounds deeper inside me than anyone has ever been.

Suddenly, he pulls away, leaving me feeling empty as he lays down beside me.

“Come here darling,” he rests his back on the head board as he pulls me on top of him. “I want you to ride me. Can you do that for me baby,” he asks as he lays sloppy kisses on my neck. I giggle in response as I straddle him, happily allowing him to fill me once again. I let out a moan of relief as that void in my stomach is satisfied.

“Fuck,” Warren grunts. “You take me so well, beautiful,” he whispers as I bounce up and down on his cock. I lean forward to kiss him, muffling the moans coming from both of us. I move my hips in unison with his as his hand grips onto my ass spreading me open so he can pound as deep in me as possible. Im positive he’s leaving fingernail makes in the soft skin, but I don’t dare stop him. Warren reaches a finger down to rub circles on my clit, giving me just what I need to approach my release.

“Fuck,” I moan into our desperate, wet kiss. “Just like that Warren please,” I beg. Feeling my body heat up and my swollen cunt begin to throb. As Warren thrusts exactly where I need him, I come undone around him as I erupt in a fit of moans and praises. The euphoria quickly filling my body as my release drips onto Warrens twitching dick. He quickly throws me off of him, cum shooting up onto my chest and on to his stomach. I swiftly dip my head down, bringing him into my mouth to milk every last drop out of him.

“Fuck y/n!” He moans in surprise. Now it’s his turn to cover his mouth as he rides out his orgasm. I pull away to lay next to Warren, our chests heaving in unison.

“Holly shit,” he laughs after few minutes of comfortable silence. “That was…you were…wow,” he turns his head to smile at me, already looking at him.

“I can say the same to you,” I giggle, running my hand over his chest. He brings me in for one last kiss, this one gentle and kind.

“You can use my shower if you’d like, I’ve made quite the mess of you,” he smirks.

“Thank you,” I smile standing up. “Uhm, we’re definitely not going to tell Dakota about this, right?” I ask, suddenly feeling… not guilty… but nervous and almost excited in a strange way.

“My lips are sealed, beautiful,” he winks, taking my hand to guide me to his bathroom.

[slut4celebs]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Trigger Warnings: jealousy (jealousy), possessiveness (I fucking love when women tell me what to do and it shows.), no real smut but it does allude to it so MDNI.

Request/Synopsis: "jealous or possessive Olivia pls 👀 (only if u want to tho ofc)" - I'll give you one better... Here is a jealous & possessive Olivia Rodrigo fic in which at an Awards show, Reader meets her favorite artist (in this case, Lizzy McAlpine) and fangirls a bit too much for Olivia's liking.

Requests are open.

She hadn't felt the strong emergence of jealousy building up from her stomach, twisting away around her heart in awhile. However, seeing her girlfriend walk through the doors and literally bump into her celebrity crush made Olivia's breath catch in her throat. She didn't realize the concerned looks of her friend's face, Tate and Conan glancing at each other when Olivia's smile faded away. She was too busy letting her brown eyes examine the situation at hand. She calculated ways to stop their conversation without causing a feud or rumors by chatty gossipers in the room. Too many celebrities tended to get into each other's business.

(Y/n), on the other hand, was in her own little world. She had excused herself from Olivia, Tate, and Conan to use the restroom. She had gotten pretty lost in the halls, and she had to ask people who she had only seen in magazines for directions. Meaningless to say, she was absolutely starstruck. She wasn't from the industry. She met Olivia on accident when the brunette spilt her coffee on (Y/n) after bumping into her on the street, and that was all she wrote after they exchanged numbers. (Y/n) still worked a job as a cashier at a supermarket as she was getting through school, completely confused on why someone like Olivia even looked her way. She was surprised when Olivia first asked her out, when they first kissed, and when they made their first public outing. (Y/n) was even more surprised when she was invited to the music awards ceremony.

Now, she was standing in front of one of her favorite singers, not knowing what to say as Lizzy McAlpine complimented her outfit. "Thanks, my girlfriend picked it out." Her cheeks flushed red, realizing that now, Lizzy probably thought she wasn't her own person. That wasn't true, though. She could pick out her own outfits. It's just, she asked Olivia to because she wanted to match her. Plus, she had no idea what to wear to an event like this. (Y/n) was a very lowkey person and didn't dress up a whole lot, unless going out with Olivia to attempt to avoid the hate- though that doesn't typically work out in her favor.

"Your girlfriend, huh? Which one is she?" Lizzy's eyes turned to scan the crowd, completely grazing over Olivia's narrowed eyes. (Y/n) smiled before moving to point out Olivia, only to see her coming their way. "Oh, cool, I know of her. Like apart from her music. She's my friend, Matt's, friend." She explained with a sweet smile. "By the way, I'm Lizzy. What's your name?" She questioned and (Y/n) could barely answer, still in a state of shock as she shook Lizzy's hand. The action didn't go unnoticed by Olivia, who finally made her way over to the two, completely abandoning Tate and Conan. With that said, the two were definitely enjoying the show from a couple feet away.

Olivia pulled on her best faux, polite smile. It was the kind she put on for the cameras. (Y/n) immediately recognized it, causing her brows to furrow. "Hi, I'm Olivia," she introduced, shaking Lizzy's hand, too. After she dropped Lizzy's hand, her arm dropped to wrap around (Y/n)'s waist. "What were you two talking about?" She needed to be a part of their conversation. It might be a bit toxic, but she was jealous. The last time she let her significant other talk to someone older than her, he left her alone and heartbroken… and a global sensation. But, with (Y/n), no good could come out of their breakup. Her whole entire world would be shattered, and she swore that she wouldn't even be able to write about the tremendous heartbreak. After all, within a couple of months, (Y/n) became her everything, and she couldn't lose her favorite ball of sunshine.

Though (Y/n) was confused about the tight grip to her waist, Lizzy seemed to realize immediately what was going on. She gave a small smile, nodding over to Olivia. "Well, (Y/n), have fun tonight. I hope to see you at more events. Olivia, I can't wait to see you perform. I'm sure you will do amazing, as per usual." She said gently before walking away to find some of her own friends that were at the event. As she slipped away, Olivia's hand dropped and she crossed her arms. The action making her look childish.

"Hey, what was that about? You interrupted her… And, I think you've just scared her off." (Y/n)'s brows were still drew together. Olivia was slightly baffled that she hadn't picked up on her jealous state. So baffled, she thought she might be able to pull off just how jealous she was feeling. However, just when she thought she would be off the hook, (Y/n) started to piece everything together. "Wait… Are you jealous? Olivia, I told you, since we've started dating, the idea of celebrity crushes are like nonexistent to me. You are my one and only crush, remember?"

Olivia sighed at the reassurance, knowing that (Y/n) was right, but that still didn't help the pit in her stomach. "Still, I didn't like you talking to her. She's older and prettier and-" Olivia was immediately cut off by a loud scoff. Now, it was (Y/n)'s turn to be annoyed.

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at her. "Oh, come on, Olivia. You know how I feel about you. You are insanely beautiful. The most beautiful girl I know. You're kind, hot, loving, caring, funny…" She listed off all of her favorite attributes of her girlfriend. This released the jealousy still brewing in Olivia immensely. "You are the only girl for me Olivia. Now, let's go." She took Olivia's hand, leading her towards the bathrooms.

She was confused, but she followed her girlfriend anyway. After all, she would follow (Y/n) to the ends of the earth and vice versa. "Where are we going?" She questioned, waving at some people that called her name, but (Y/n)'s hurry didn't leave room for any talk. Instead, (Y/n) sped up, both of them tripping in her heels. "(Y/n), my love? Where are we going?" She asked again having not gotten an answer the first time she asked,

"I'm taking you to the bathroom. You being jealous was… kind of, very hot. And the way you gripped my waist…"

Pleasant surprise flooded (Y/n)'s body as she grinned ear to ear. Any bit of jealousy was momentarily forgotten. It was even more forgotten with (Y/n) head between her thighs, reminding Olivia whose girl she was. Olivia couldn't believe that she was able to have (Y/n) as her girlfriend. She was able to ease her worries so quickly. While she couldn't promise not to be jealous and a little bit possessive of her girlfriend, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief when she knew (Y/n) wouldn't call her crazy for her feelings, and instead; she would reassure her in ways that Olivia loved by words of affirmation and head at a music awards ceremony.

[doomdoomofdoom]

We already have this, it's called twitter

Tv show idea: 9 "transvestigators" and 1 trans person, but none of them are trans. They're just trying to find "feminine" and "masculine" traits in each other and coming out as doofuses in the end.

[xrag-dollx]

-What the AHS Evans- -------wear in bed-------

Tate:

• shirt of his favourite band and a messy pair of sleeping pants, you can expect them to be all gross and worn out

• he never ever cared abt cleaning the clothes at least once a week so he basically wears the same sleeping clothes like 365 days a year

• thinks bc he's a ghost nobody would ever care

• when he isn't around you, you exchange the clothes and make sure he's having new sleeping clothes bc the smell really annoys you when you're in bed with him

• is actually thankful that you're exchanging his clothes ❤

Kit:

• sleeps in pyjamas during wintertime but prefers to sleep in speedos and a top in summer

• exchanges his clothes at least every week but during summer like every 2nd day (bc u both are a hot mess during the night 😏)

• he mostly keeps track on having new clothes but when his week was too stressful he might forget about it

• so you carefully put his new clothes on his bedside and he always comes around you and thanks you with a kiss on your cheek ❤

Kyle (frankenkyle):

• is wearing the cutest pj's on earth

• like the ones which make u look like a dinosaur or a tiger

• could wear pj's 24/7

• you always need to remind him that he can't go out in his dinosaur pyjamas

• is crying for 15 mins

• you convince him to get a new pyjama if he gets out of his current one just to go out in his normal clothes

• when you see Kyle yawning or sneezing in his dinosaur pyjamas it literally makes your heart melt in cuteness

Jimmy:

• likes shorts and a top in summer and a pyjama in winter

• when he's getting drunk he falls asleep in his actual clothes bc yea why not

• normal clothes = most comfortable clothes

James:

• darn expensive silk pyjamas

• but in summer he'd prefer something like boxers and a top

• exchanges his sleeping clothes like every 2nd day bc he's a hoe for tidiness

• doesn't need to care abt changing the old clothes himself at all, Ms. Evers takes care of it (as for everything else)

Rory:

• loves to sleep naked (and loves to walk around naked at home bc why not)

• in wintertime he's pretty okay by wearing a shirt and some long sleeping pants

Kai:

• he's basic af so just a shirt and shorts (in summer probably shirtless)

• never really exchanges the sleeping clothes unless winter is doing it (bc she's a good lil sissy)

• has to care abt more important shit than sleeping clothes

• does he even sleep at all???

• I guess not, too busy on taking world domination

Mr. Gallant:

• is never underdressed, not even while sleeping

• prefers to sleep in fancy pyjamas bc he thinks when he sleeps without anything on he feels gross

• wears nothing else than Gucci and Versace pyjamas

• goes shopping like every weekend to get some new ones (bc his nana has the cash 💸)

Austin:

• could never go without his silk robes and pyjamas

• has a favourite store in paris so when he's on vacation he gets TONS of new ones

•basically lives off this shit

•they are like his 2nd skin

• likes to brag and shows it to EVERYONE

• when he's got a new writing idea he runs downstairs so his long robe is hovering dramatically over the stairs (thinks it looks freakin cool while doing this)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~《《《》》》~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @fear-is-truth @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @trueangel420 @lacucarachapisser @evanpeterspeter

[v1ctor1asecretangel]

Silence Between Us

Max Cooperman x Fem!Reader

song i recommend listening to: Burning Desire by Lana Del Rey

warnings: drug use (alcohol and marijauna), sexual content (not all the way basically just implied sex and slight mention of fingering), themes of romantic tension and emotional vulnerability

word count: 1.4k

notes: hi guys! so this is my second fic! the love on the tate one gave me motivation to write more!! even if its just a little attention i really appreciate it so much!!

MDNI 18+

Max Cooperman had always been something of a mystery. His bravado mixed with flashes of vulnerability created a complex persona that drew you in. For years, you admired him from a distance, your heart fluttering each time he flashed that characteristic smirk. But Max had always seemed out of reach, an unattainable dream.

Now, sitting in the cozy confines of Max's home, the atmosphere was charged with tension. Friends were gathered, laughter echoed off the walls, and the couch was filled with familiar faces, but none occupied your thoughts as much as Max did. You brushed your hair over your shoulder, stealing glances at him. He was animated, talking to a group of friends, his hands moving as he recounted some story. The way he smiled made your heart race.

The party had progressed, drinks flowing freely. You weren’t a heavy drinker, but the intoxicating buzz of alcohol began to cloud your mind, loosening your inhibitions. By the time the group decided to light up some weed for the night, you found yourself succumbing to the haze of both drinks and smoke, feeling giddy and unguarded.

Max had been sitting next to you on the couch, a playful banter flowing between the two of you. He leaned in closer as he passed you the joint, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Here, try this. It’s the good stuff,” he said, handing you a joint. His voice low and inviting.

You took a puff, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke fill your lungs. As you exhaled, the world spun slightly, and you felt your heart racing again. Not just from the weed but from being so near him.

“Max.” you said, the alcohol loosening your tongue. “You know I think you’re amazing, right?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Your cheeks burned as you glanced sideways at him, studying his reaction.

Max raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity flickering in his chocolate brown eyes. “Really? Since when?”

You chuckled nervously, the moment heavy with unspoken feelings. “I mean… forever. Since like… forever.” you managed to say, the truth hanging between you like a delicate thread. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell you.”

His expression shifted, a mix of surprise and something else. hope? “You’ve wanted to tell me something?”

You felt bold, the combination of the weed and alcohol stirring a fire inside you. “Yeah,” you confessed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Max. I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

He was silent for a moment, processing your words. And then, the smirk returned, but it was softer, more genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Your heart jumped in disbelief. “You what?”

Max leaned closer, the distance between you vanishing. “I’ve liked you since forever too. I just thought you were out of my league.”

The air thickened as you registered his confession. You exchanged a look, realization dawning as the world, with its noise and laughter, faded away. This was it, the moment you had both been waiting for was finally here.

Intoxicated and emboldened by your confessions, you leaned in, your lips barely grazing his before you pulled back, searching his eyes for confirmation. “Is this… real?” you whispered.

“God, yes,” he breathed, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

You closed the gap once more, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss ignited something inside both of you, as if a dam had finally burst. Max’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, pouring all the unspoken words and longing into that one heated moment.

You melted against him, sighing into his mouth as his fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head for better access. The kiss intensified, growing hungry and desperate. You felt dizzy, not from the weed or alcohol, but from the realization that this was finally happening.

He pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddling him as you continued to kiss passionately, your bodies intertwined. The couch became your private world, and all that existed was the two of you.

“Let’s get out of here.” he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Yeah.” you replied breathily, feeling bold. “Let’s go.”

Max didn’t hesitate. He stood up with you still in his arms, carrying you with a confidence that made your heart race even more. He pushed through the partygoers, who were oblivious to the fiery connection that had ignited around you. Finally, he reached his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind you.

The moment the door clicked shut, Max’s lips were on yours again, fervent and urgent. “Are you sure?” he asked, pausing to look into your eyes, searching for any hesitation.

“Yes.” you whispered with determination. “I’m sure.”

He wasted no time, lifting you and placing you on his bed. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls. As he hovered above you, his hands glided over your sides, igniting every nerve ending with each touch.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, your body responding instinctively as you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. “Max.” you breathed, your voice a soft plea.

With an urgency fueled by years of pent-up desire, Max kissed you deeply again, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. His hands explored your curves, fingers brushing over the fabric of your shirt, teasingly slow.

“Do you want me to…” Max trailed off, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers hovering just beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Yes, Max. I need you too.” you breathed out, feeling emboldened by your intoxication and the electric connection between you.

His hands slid under your shirt, and as he pulled it over your head, you shivered at the sensation of cool air hitting your skin. His eyes roamed over your body, filled with admiration and desire, and you felt a rush of confidence under his scrutiny.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.” he admitted, his voice low and husky.

You could see the hunger in his gaze, and it drove you wild. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his skin against yours. As you pushed his shirt off his shoulders, your bodies finally connected skin to skin, warmth flooding through you.

Max groaned, a sound that sent waves of desire crashing over you. His hands found your waist again, guiding you closer as he kissed you deeper, tongues dancing together in a rhythm only you two understood.

The world outside faded away, the party’s noise replaced by the sound of your heartbeats and the rustling of sheets as you lost yourselves in each other. You felt powerful, wanted, and alive as Max explored every inch of you, kissing down your neck, savoring every gasp and sigh that escaped your lips.

As the intensity of the moment grew, Max’s attention shifted lower, his mouth trailing down to your chest. The sensation was electric, each brush of his lips igniting a fire within you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, wanting to feel everything he had to offer.

His hands roamed over your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up, and you gasped as his fingers teased your sensitive clit. With every stroke, he ignited a fire deep within you, making you yearn for more. 

“Max, please…” you gasped, overwhelmed with desire.

He looked up, eyes wild and hungry. “Tell me what you want, baby.” he said, voice thick with need.

“More of you.” you whimpered, feeling bold and utterly intoxicated by the passion of the moment.

Max responded to your plea with fervor, closing the distance and capturing your lips once more, lost in the heat of the moment. The outlines of his well-defined muscles pressed against you, his body fitting perfectly against yours like two pieces of a puzzle.

The space around you became a whirl of limbs and whispers, your bodies moving in sync as desire took over. It was messy and eager, but it was everything you both had waited for—years of unspoken love finally bursting into flame.

As the night wore on, the two of you tangled in each other's arms, discovering every secret and nuance of your desires. Words that had once felt stuck in your throats flowed freely now; giggles mixed with gasps became a melody in the room.

Time felt irrelevant as you lost yourselves in ecstasy, exploring the depth of feelings that had simmered beneath the surface for so long, finding solace in each other’s embrace.

Eventually, as the night faded into dawn, you lay entwined under the sheets, Max's fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. “So, we’re really doing this?” he asked, a hint of disbelief lacing his tone.

You smiled, feeling warmth blossom in your chest. “Yeah, we are.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you closer. “I’ve never been happier.”

And in that moment, you knew that your love was no longer just unspoken. It had become reality, and together you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

[costnerera]

Wild and Reckless

tags: trick riding, Tate being a little shit, John has a crush on reader/reader has a crush on John, impressed John

John stood by the fence, his arms crossed as he observed the commotion in the arena. Rip, Lloyd, and the other ranch hands leaned against the railing, their usual rough-edged banter momentarily silenced.

Kayce and Monica stood nearby, Tate bouncing excitedly on his feet. Even Beth, who rarely found interest in much outside of whiskey and chaos, had her arms folded as she watched with intrigue.

And John? Well, John couldn’t tear his damn eyes away.

You were in the saddle like you were born to it, but this wasn’t just riding—this was something else entirely. Trick riding. Dangerous, reckless, and, if he was being honest, one of the most breathtaking things he’d ever seen.

Walker let out a low whistle as you swung yourself sideways, nearly parallel to the ground, before flipping back up onto the saddle with seamless ease. “Now that’s some rodeo shit right there.”

“She’s gonna break her damn neck,” Rip muttered, though even he sounded a little impressed.

Lloyd chuckled, shaking his head. “Not her first time doin’ this, that’s for sure.”

John’s jaw was tight, but he wasn’t mad. No, he was fascinated. The way you moved, the way you commanded that horse—it wasn’t just skill. It was art.

Then, as if you could sense his gaze, you looked his way. There was a spark of mischief in your eyes, a knowing smirk playing on your lips before you urged your horse into another dizzying maneuver, hanging off the side before swinging yourself back up with effortless grace.

Beth smirked. “Looks like you’re in trouble, Daddy.”

John didn’t answer. He was too busy watching you, realizing that no matter how wild or reckless you were, he was already in too deep.

As you gracefully slid down from the saddle, your boots hitting the ground with a soft thud, you approached John, the dirt kicking up around your feet as you made your way toward him. There was a light in your eyes, something playful but vulnerable, as if you were seeking his approval but also expecting his honest reaction.

John’s gaze was steady, the hard lines of his face softening just a fraction. He didn’t speak right away, still processing what he’d just witnessed. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected to be so captivated. He was usually the one in control of everything on the ranch, but watching you ride—like that—took his breath away.

When you finally reached him, your smile was wide, the energy in your body practically vibrating. “Well?” you asked, eyes shining. “Did you enjoy it?”

John looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he nodded once, his gravelly voice low and sincere. “Damn right I did.”

You gave a small laugh, obviously pleased by his words. “I could tell by the way you were staring at me.”

John’s brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced around quickly, but before he could say anything more, a loud voice cut through the air.

“GRANDPA DO YOU LIKE HER?! LIKE, LOVE HER?!” Tate’s voice boomed from across the yard, causing everyone to freeze in shock. He was standing near the fence, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the top of his lungs.

John’s face went immediately red, and he shot a glare in Tate’s direction, wishing he could be anywhere but here right now. “Tate!” he barked, his voice low but filled with frustration.

But Tate didn’t seem phased, his grin widening as he bounced on his heels. “Do you love her?!” The ranch hands were all snickering now—Rip, Lloyd, and Jake all trying to hide their amusement. Even Monica and Kayce exchanged knowing glances, while Beth, standing with her arms crossed, was clearly holding back laughter.

You, however, couldn’t help but laugh outright, throwing your head back as you took in Tate’s full-blown interrogation of John. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

John’s face only reddened further, his eyes narrowing at his grandson. “You better keep your voice down before I put you to work clearing out the barn, boy,” he muttered, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Not until you admit it!” Tate shouted, grinning like a fool. You looked at John, your laughter still lingering in the air. He was flustered, embarrassed, and perhaps a little exasperated—but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

Slowly, his gaze shifted back to you, and for a moment, it seemed as if the whole world fell away. “I like you,” he said quietly, almost like it was a confession, but there was no denying the sincerity in his words.

Tate, sensing victory, pumped his fist in the air. “YES! Grandpa likes her!” You smiled, a soft but knowing smile, as John let out a deep, resigned sigh. “Dammit, Tate…”

You looked up at John, a playful spark in your eyes. “Well, I like you too, John Dutton,” you said softly, taking a step closer. Without waiting for a response, you cupped his face gently and, to the surprise of everyone watching, pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

The soft touch lingered for a heartbeat before you pulled away with a grin, your eyes glinting with mischief. “See you around, cowboy,” you said, turning on your heel and walking away, leaving John standing frozen, his heart pounding.

The ranch hands were oohing, some even whistling, while Tate simply shouted, “Damn, Grandpa!”

[mayatheserpent]

Jyestha-the nakshatra of jealousy🧿🔥

On a recent study done regarding themes of jealous friends, obsessive enemies and psychosexual attraction (where your enemy literally tries to be you and remove your existence- to exist as uni), the name of Jyestha kept coming up. This research was done by Claire Nakti (check out her YouTube) and I wanted to summarize the points she made. I hope you like it 💖 (my instagram: keyakks)

Jyestha nakshatra (Indra- the king of heaven)✨

1. constant mode in life: attack, win and defend.

2. high material success, never in a peaceful state of mind.

3. as they grow to be more successful, they also become lonelier.

4. ability to separate from the mass, be distinct. this will attract copycats who want to become exactly the Jyestha native.

5. same sex relationships - the copycat (or Jyestha's enemy that often pretends being a friend) has intense sexual desires for the Jyestha native, and also wanting to become a twin of the Jyestha native. this fuels competition to be the "one". 👯‍♀️

6.The Jyestha native pushes away the obsessed copycat- provoking them to become more sinister. The creepy copycat tries to remove everyone from the Jyestha's life to become the only remaining person. Thus, the Jyestha native has no option but to rely on the copycat.

7. The other option the copycat may take is to steal the Jyeshta native's social position, friends, family and/or love interest to have a constant presence in their life.

8. Jyestha's ability to dwell in solitude and individuality attracts people who are unstable. The admiration turns into the evil eye.

9. Trusted friends may betray the Jyestha native which arises from envy.

10. Every extremely famous person has a prominent Jyestha placement. (Taylor swift, Elvis Presley, Donald trump, Kim Kardashian, etc. in their top 3 placements)

17. Jyestha- dry, empty, angry and mentally irritated. (These natives claim that jealousy and anger is what fueled them to achieve their goals completely)

18. Jyestha ends STAGE 2 of the nakshatra list, which signifies the height of material power and success. They realize their purpose in this incarnation is to conquer the physical realm. 🤑

19. This desire for power may result in two faiths; one being successful in this lifetime or two, obsessing over someone else's achievements and becoming mentally unstable.

20. When the Jyestha native fails to garner attention or wealth, they fall into delusions of the evil eye where they believe that everyone else is jealous of them.

21. Jyeshta is the epitome of conquest, life being a battlefield instead of being sucked into the collective mass.

22. Jyestha naturally brings an obsession over their own achievements; self-proclaims and talents. (Andrew Tate and Donald trump claiming that they have mastered their realms) .

23. When Jyestha fails to evolve through self-discipline, they try to tear others down being consumed by jealousy and instability.

24. Jyestha (Alakshmi) has an inseparable connection to Rohini nakshatra (Lakshmi), who are sisters. Jyestha being the eldest, lacking juices and containing loneliness, Rohini represents being the youngest, in a state of plumpness.

25. Rohini, which is so internally and energetically abundant and satisfied, is only fixated on union with others. Distracting and teasing others to pour their energy into energetic exchange, is what they truly enjoy. This may be harmful to Jyestha since Rohini will tempt Jyestha to lose energy through interactions and stop the Jyestha native from seperation and self improvement.

If you enjoyed my post/s and want me to discuss CERTAIN topics Ur interested in (suggestions for my next post) feel free to say so! I'm accepting offers to research on for like 5 dollars 🤪❤️

[likablenightmare]

Tate Langdon smut

contains very sexual content. <3

Summary: Tate and you get in an argument and it ends in a very pleasant exchange!

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, oral sex, sex in general… come on it’s Tate Langdon, duhhh.

————————————————————————

As you’re walking out of your room you bump into Tate. You’re already in a bad mood because you just got into in argument with your mother. Tate innocently smiles at you.

“Hi! Wanna play a game?” He asks excitedly. You tell him “not now Tate, I’m not in the mood.” His smile turns from innocent to mischievous and he says “Oh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the grave.” You yell at him to shut up and he pins you against the wall and wraps his soft hands around your little waste.

He gently whispers “stop being so mean,” as he starts to lick and suck on your neck you feel yourself getting wet. You tell him in a soft voice trying to hold back a moan “not right now Tate,” and he teasingly asks “are you sure,” as your eyes roll to the back of your head, he continues to gently lick and nibble on your neck.

You’re getting wetter and wetter and can’t hold back anymore… you’re begging for him to fuck you. He gives a cute laugh and says “I’ll fuck you baby, just be a nice girl for me,okay?” As he pulls your panties down from under your skirt he turns you around quickly undoes his belt and softly rubs his cock on your pussy and slowly puts it in as he let’s out a little moan. He tells you how wet you are as you feel him start going in and out slowlyyyy…

it’s feels so good soft and slooow. It’s a good kind of tease. Slowly making you more desperate and giving you butterflies all at the same time. His cock is soooo warm inside of you. The slow pace makes you ache for more.

You sweetly ask for it harder and as soon as you ask he can’t hold it back and he starts going hard and fast. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he softly whimpers. Something about him having his way with you against the dark haunted walls is erotic and romantic. You can’t hold back your moans anymore.

As you loudly moan and look back into his beautiful brown glossy eyes, he gently grabs your face and puts his mouth on yours while your both moaning into each others mouths he slowly spits into yours and twirls his tongue around and around inside.

He tells you he is so close and you tell him, “no Tate, not yet! I don’t want this to end!” So he pulls out of you and gets on his knees and puts his soft lips onto your pussy making you weak with pleasure he slowly licks and softly sucks, then puts his beautiful fingers inside of you while he continues licking with his perfect tongue making you shake with intense pleasure while he is looking into your eyes.

It’s the greatest feeling you have ever felt… butterflies and pure excitement of complete surrender and pleasure. No one has ever been able to make you cum before but you can feel yourself.. so so close. He continues licking and licking and you can feel yourself throbbing around his fingers.

“I..I’m.. imm so close Tate!” He smiles and lifts you up off of your feet and starts fucking you while holding you.. your legs wrapped around him.. you start to cum while squeezing your legs around him tightly. You both let out a moan as you cum at the same time, he fills you with his warm cum. You can feel it filling your insides as you have your first ever orgasm… you feel his cock twitching inside… you start to cry of happiness.

It was the best feeling you’ve ever had. He came inside of you but you’re both dead so it didn’t matter. You may be dead but at least you get to experience Tate fucking you for eternity.

[estapa-edwards]

THAT WAY -- ETHAN EDWARDS x fem! READER

paring : ethan edwards x fem! reader

word count: 2078

requested? yes; Can you do a request for Ethan Edwards in which he meets the reader in a class which makes them friends and then everyone thinks they are together and they’re secretly both liking each other as more than friends as well?

warnings: use of y/n

As I stepped into the sports management classroom for the first time, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. The room was filled with eager students, all chatting and getting settled in their seats. I found an empty chair near the back and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

The professor, a tall man with glasses, began introducing himself and outlining the course syllabus. I listened intently, taking notes and trying to absorb as much information as possible. As the class progressed, I couldn't help but notice a guy sitting a few rows ahead of me. He had a confident demeanor and seemed to be engaged in the discussion, raising thoughtful questions and participating actively. 

After the class ended, I gathered my belongings and made my way towards the exit. As I was walking out, I accidentally bumped into the same guy I had noticed earlier - Ethan Edwards.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, feeling embarrassed.

Ethan looked up and smiled, "No worries! It's a crowded class, and it's easy to bump into someone."

I smiled back, relieved by his friendly response. "I'm new here," I admitted. "Trying to find my way around and get to know people."

Ethan extended his hand, "I'm Ethan. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm y/n," I replied, shaking his hand.

"I'm running late to hockey practice, but it was nice talking to you, y/n," Ethan said, checking his watch.

"Yeah, you too, Ethan," I replied, smiling as I began to walk away.

"Wait," Ethan called out, causing me to turn back and face him. "Can I get your number?" He had a genuine smile on his face, which made my heart skip a beat.

"Of course," I said, feeling a rush of excitement.

A few months had passed since that conversation with Ethan, and I had since landed an internship as the media girl for the Umich socials. This new role brought Ethan and me even closer, as I got to spend more time with him and the hockey team, covering their practices and games. We studied together almost everyday.

I was sitting at a table in the library, textbooks and notes spread out in front of me as I focused on my studies. Ethan was sitting across from me, also engrossed in his own work.

"Hey, y/n," Ethan said, glancing up from his book. "Do you understand this chapter? I'm having a hard time with it."

I looked up and smiled at him. "Yeah, it's a bit confusing, but I think I've got the hang of it. Want me to help you out?"

Ethan nodded gratefully, pushing his book towards me. "That would be great, thanks."

As Ethan and I delved into the study material, I noticed Mark and Rutger walking past our table, their eyes lingering on us as they exchanged amused glances.

Mark leaned in towards Rutger, whispering something that made Rutger chuckle, both of them clearly finding something funny about Ethan and me studying together.

Trying to ignore their teasing, I focused on explaining the chapter to Ethan. "So, basically, the key concept here is..."

Before I could finish my explanation, Mark and Rutger stopped at our table, their grins widening as they decided to join in on the fun.

"Wow, look at you two, hitting the books together. How romantic," Mark commented, feigning a swoon as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

Rutger nodded in agreement, smirking at Ethan and me. "Yes, it's a true love story for the ages. Study partners today, soulmates tomorrow," he added, laughing.

Ethan rolled his eyes at their playful teasing but couldn't hide his smile. "Come on, guys, we're just trying to get some work done," he said, trying to steer the conversation back to our studies.

I chuckled at Ethan's response, feeling a bit flustered by Mark and Rutgers jokes but also amused by their playful antics. "Ignore them, Ethan. Let's get back to the chapter," I said, trying to regain our focus. Mark and Rutger laugh and start walking away

Ethan rolled his eyes and called out after them, "How many times do we have to tell you we aren't dating?"

I felt a twinge of annoyance at Ethan's response, though I wasn't sure why. His casual dismissal of the situation and the assumption behind Mark and Rutgers teasing seemed to strike a nerve. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling.

"Ethan, maybe they wouldn't tease us so much if you didn't play into it," I said, my tone sharper than I intended.

Ethan looked taken aback by my comment, his playful demeanor fading as he realized he might have upset me. "Sorry, y/n..."

I cut him off, "Let's just get back to studying, Ethan," I said, my tone a bit firmer than before.

Later that night, I found myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The events of the day replayed in my mind, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Ethan. The way he smiled, the sound of his voice, and the ease with which we spent time together had been on my mind constantly. 'Does he even think of me that way?' I wondered, my mind thinking back to the time he held my hand a little longer than necessary or when he would touch my thigh when we sat next to each other. 

Sitting side by side on Ethan's couch, we were engrossed in watching a movie together. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the TV casting a warm ambiance. As the film's tension built, Ethan's hand rested close to mine on the cushion between us.

Suddenly, during a particularly intense scene, I felt Ethan's hand shift slightly, his fingers grazing my thigh. The touch was subtle but deliberate, sending a jolt of excitement through me. My heart raced as I glanced over at him, wondering if he had meant to make such a bold move. Ethan's eyes met mine briefly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, before returning his attention to the movie. 

I jolted up and said, "Oh god, I think I like Ethan." 

After their practice one day, it was time to ask the 'Monday Question'. I set up the camera, adjusting the angle and checking the lighting, and waited patiently until the players started coming up the stairs. Rutger was the first one up.

"Alright Rut, who on the team would you not let date your daughter?" I asked, getting straight to the point.

Rutger chuckled, glancing towards Ethan who was waiting his turn to be interviewed. "I would have to say Ethan, since you guys are dating," he laughed, sending a playful wink towards Ethan as he walked away.

Ethan and I both rolled our eyes at Rutgers' comment. "Rutger, we aren't dating, come back and give an actual answer," I called out. 

Rutger laughed, turning back towards the camera. "Alright, alright, I'd probably say Mark. He's a bit of a wild card and I wouldn't want my hypothetical daughter getting caught up in his antics."

"Good choice," I replied, nodding in agreement.

Luca was next in line for his interview. As he approached, he grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying the opportunity to continue the teasing.

"Alright, Ethan, I've got to ask," Luca began, looking directly into the camera. "Are you and y/n actually dating, or is it all just a rumor?"

I glanced at Ethan, curious to see how he would respond to the direct question. Ethan looked at me, his eyes softening with sincerity before turning back to the camera. 

"We are just friends, that's all we'll ever be," Ethan replied, his voice steady but his eyes briefly meeting mine. I felt my heart ping, a mixture of disappointment and understanding washing over me.

The atmosphere among the players shifted slightly, sensing the underlying tension between Ethan and me.

"Alright, thanks Ethan," I said 

Ethan nodded, offering me a small, reassuring smile as he stepped away from the camera. "Anytime," he said softly, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary before he turned to join the rest of his teammates. I finished the rest of the video, but couldn't help thinking about what Ethan said. 

Ethan's POV:

A wave of guilt washed over me. Mark and Rutgers teasing had planted a seed of doubt in my mind, and my attempts to downplay our relationship had been misleading. The truth was, I genuinely liked y/n, more than I had initially realized.

Ethan and y/n sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and laptops. They had been studying for hours, the soft hum of background music filling the room. The atmosphere was comfortable, and both were engrossed in their work.

Ethan glanced over at y/n, watching her as she focused intently on her laptop screen, her brows furrowed in concentration. He was struck by how effortlessly beautiful she looked, even in this simple setting.

He found himself captivated by the way her eyes would occasionally light up with understanding or how she would bite her lip when deep in thought. The way she laughed at his silly jokes or how she would playfully roll her eyes at his occasional teasing comments made his heart flutter.

As they took a short break, Ethan decided to play one of his favorite songs. The soft melody filled the room, adding a touch of romance to the atmosphere.

Ethan turned to y/n, their eyes meeting. In that moment, a wave of realization washed over him. He wasn't just enjoying her company as a friend; he was falling for her. Her laughter, her smile, her intelligence – everything about her was drawing him in, making him want to know more about her, to be with her.

Later that evening, Ethan found me as I was packing up my equipment. "Hey, y/n," he said, his voice gentle. "I hope I didn't make things awkward earlier. I just thought it would be best to clarify things for the team."

I looked up at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. "It's okay, Ethan," I replied, forcing a smile. "I understand."

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, y/n, it's not that I don't have feelings for you..."

"Ethan, it's okay. We don't have to discuss this," I said, my tone coming out ruder than I intended. I turned my body away from him. 

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. "You know, y/n, there are so many things I admire and love about you. Your passion for what you do, your kindness towards others, and the way you always know how to make me smile even on my worst days." I braced myself before turning back around. 

His eyes softened as he continued, "I love how you're always there for me, no matter what, and how you always know just what to say to lift my spirits. Your laughter is infectious, and your strength inspires me every day." 

​​Ethan paused, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. . "And let's not forget your incredible talent and dedication. Y/n, I love you, and I can't risk losing you," he admitted, his voice filled with emotion and vulnerability.

I felt my heart skip a beat at his confession, my own feelings for him echoing his sentiments. "Ethan," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I love you too." 

Ethan's eyes widened slightly, his gaze searching mine for confirmation. "Really?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief and hope.

I nodded, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Yes, Ethan, I really do," I said softly, my heart swelling with love and relief.

A radiant smile broke across Ethan's face, and he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me close as if afraid I might disappear. "I'm so relieved to hear you say that, y/n," he murmured against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. 

Feeling reassured and grateful, I leaned in to press a gentle kiss on Ethan's lips, sealing our promises to each other. "I love you, Ethan," I whispered against his lips, feeling his arms tighten around me in response.

"I love you too, y/n," Ethan whispered back, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST!

i might make a part 2 as a social media au!

[ckret2]

Chapter 50 of by this point human Bill Cipher is almost relieved to be imprisoned in the Mystery Shack again: Bill tells Mabel about his adventures, and Ford and Dipper tell Fiddleford about theirs.

But first Bill's gonna die for a bit.

"Guys! You're okay!" Mabel flung her arms around Dipper and squeezed him. "We were worried you were floating around and broke your legs when the gravity came back."

"N—no, we were fine," Dipper said. 

Mabel let go of Dipper to hug Ford next—and then drew back, looked him up and down, and looked at Bill. "What happened to your clothes?"

Bill said, "We fell in the lake."

"Ha!"

"Tate was kind enough to loan us dry clothes," Ford said.

"You look like big dorks." She turned to Bill last, took in his dirty haggard appearance, and said, "And you look awful. Where have you guys been the last two days?"

"Thanks for asking! I've been in..." Bill glanced at Stan. "Am I allowed to say the name of the place I've been?"

Stan shook his head. "Not in front of the kids, you don't."

Bill sighed. "Agony. I've been in agony."

"Aww!" She hugged Bill last. "I like your stupid Fishmas sweater."

"Consider it yours as soon as I can change." He wriggled out of her embrace to point at his feet. "Check out the shoes, though!"

Mabel cracked up. "Omigosh, fish slippers! Fi— Fishlers? Fishppers?"

"Fishoes?"

"Fishoes!"

Soos said, "What did happen out there?" He was in the kitchen, cleaning and reorganizing after zero gravity had tossed everything out of order. "Did you heroically save Gravity Falls from imminent multidimensional devastation?"

Ford said, "No. Aside from the effects on gravity, it... turned out to be a benign phenomenon."

"Oh," Soos said. "Like... what Bill said?"

Ford grimaced. He managed to just nod instead of saying afraid so.

Again, he expected Bill to gloat; again, Bill said nothing. He didn't even look at Ford.

"It wasn't an eclipse, though," Dipper muttered, shooting a dark look at Bill. "It would've been an eclipse if it had gotten between us and gravity. It was basically the opposite."

"What do you want from me." The question was more sighed than spoken. "It was called an eclipse when I was growing up, I dunno what to tell you."

Ford, Dipper, and Mabel all looked straight at Bill at the mention of his childhood; but he didn't say anything more. He just trudged to the kitchen and leaned tiredly on the doorframe, watching Soos work. "Grab me something from the fridge."

"Sure thing, dawg." Soos opened the door. "What do you want?"

Bill was silent for a moment. Slowly, like a spirit medium channeling a faint message from the other side, he said, "I think... the body wants a vegetable. Gimme some guacamole."

"Sorry, dude, we had the last of it with dinner."

"Fine. Just give me an avocado and salsa, I'll make do."

"You got it."

"Two avocados."

Soos started rummaging through the jumbled mess in the fridge. "So if everything was okay, what took you guys so long to get back?"

"Yeah, I've been wanting to ask," Stan said. (He hadn't been able to in the car; when everyone realized Bill had passed out as soon as he'd sat down, they'd fallen into an awkward silence.) "Was the demon making trouble or what?"

Dipper and Ford exchanged a glance; who wanted to share the embarrassing news? Ford said, "Actually, under the circumstances, he was... well behaved." Ford resisted the urge to add the modifier "tolerably." It seemed mean-spirited. Bill had constantly complained, sure, but in retrospect could Ford say the complaints were unjustified?

"Then what took you so long?"

Now Ford felt Bill's gaze on him, watching him sharply. Ford understood now. This was why Bill hadn't mentioned saving them. He was holding it in reserve—offering a deal. If Ford and Dipper didn't embarrass him, he wouldn't embarrass them. If they mentioned his breakdown, he could cut in, claim it was natural for him to be in shock after performing such a difficult, heroic deed.

It wasn't blackmail, per se. Revealing the truth wouldn't cost anybody anything but a bit of momentary self-consciousness. But wasn't that just like Bill—only passing up an opportunity to boast so he could use it to shield his ego.

"It was Bill's fault," Dipper said quickly. Ford's heart leaped into his throat. "Because—we had to climb up and down the tunnel to Gravity Peak, and he only brought dress shoes and dumb fish slippers. We kept having to slow down."

Ford felt the pressure of Bill's gaze slide off of his face as he turned away, staring back into the kitchen. Bill said, "Yep. Guess I should have brought my hiking shoes—oh, wait."

Stan said, "You could've got some better shoes when we were at the mall! You're the one who wanted those dumb dress shoes."

"In my defense, I didn't think you paranoiacs would ever let me wander around in the great outdoors—much less force me to." He leaned more heavily against the doorway with a groan, muttering, "My legs are still jelly. Worthless human body."

Dipper glanced at Ford, as if checking with him to see if he'd made the right decision. Ford gave him a tiny nod of approval. After the day they'd had, humiliating Bill just for the sake of humiliation wouldn't have served any justice; it would have just been mean.

For the past three decades, Ford had always felt that Bill deserved the strongest possible punishment, both for his prior atrocities and to prevent future ones; but, he wanted to deal with Bill swiftly and efficiently. No gloating, no torture—just one quick shot. Sure, he got some grim satisfaction from knowing Bill was unhappy—knowing that Bill's vile intentions were being thwarted—and if anyone decided to treat Bill cruelly for cruelty's sake, he couldn't say they were wrong for it... but the thought of committing it himself made him uneasy.

He tried to remember if he'd felt that way when Bill had first arrived.

"I found the salsa!" Soos called from the fridge. "Somehow it all floated onto the highest shelf? Which kind do you want?"

"That one with a picture of a sobbing baby on it."

"Extra spicy it is!"

When Soos handed over the salsa and avocados, Bill said, "Hey, Hick Junior said his father was making announcements about staying inside and low to the ground? You didn't happen to have anything to do with that, did you?"

"Oh—yeah, I called Old Man McGucket and said I had a hot anonymous tip about what was going on," Soos said. "You said it was this whole public safety thing, so I figured the whole town should probably know? He's the local respected science guy now, I thought he'd know what to do with that kind of important information."

Bill grunted. "Terrific, he gets credit for my help. But you'd all be giving me heck if I'd said nothing and half the town broke their necks, so... whatever, net zero. Here." Bill took off the Monster-Mon backpack and swung it over to Soos. "Your reward. Good job."

"Whoa, haha, this is heavy. What's in here, a bag of rocks?"

"No, just one." Bill pushed off the doorway, wheeled unsteadily around, and trudged toward the stairs.

Soos unzipped the bag. A drugged geodite blinked sleepily up at him. He gasped. "Dude! A real Monster-Mon! Is this my call to epic adventure with a lovable animal sidekick?"

Ford grimaced, remembering watching Bill feed a geodite cold medicine. "Ah."

"I think I'll name you... Rocky," Soos said.

"That—really shouldn't be here. Its natural environment is caves, I don't know if it's safe for it to be out here—for it or us." They had been known to bite.

"Aww." Soos cradled the backpack like a swaddled baby. "Do you think it would be okay if I made it a fake cave to live in?" He gasped. "I could make an exhibit for him! I'll say he's a living meteorite! People love aliens."

"I'm not sure that..." Ford sighed. Well, none of them were going back to the cave today. "Maybe you should put it in the cellar where it's darker."

"Great idea!" Soos carried the geodite through the living room. "Hey, I've already got a mattress down there. You're gonna love it, lil dude..."

Ford hoped Soos didn't get attached to that thing. He shot a glower at Bill.

Bill was already on the stairs. "Now everybody leave me alone. Except you." He pointed at Mabel. "I don't want to do anything but lay on the floor and talk about whatever Mabel wants to talk about for the next three hours."

"Cartoons and boy bands."

"Yes," Bill sighed in relief, already preparing to turn 95% of his brain off. "Wow, yes, that's exactly what I want to talk about. I can't wait." He grabbed the handrail as he climbed heavily, leaning against it for balance as he dragged himself upstairs.

Before Mabel could follow him, Ford put a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, before you go—there's something I wanted to tell you and Dipper." Voice low, he said, "You remember when you told me that Bill had mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop?"

"Yeah? When we were drawing our houses."

"Something Bill said while we were out shook a memory loose. It reminded me of a book I read as an undergraduate—Flatworld, written by Edward Bishop Bishop."

"Aww," Mabel said. "Not an artist?"

"No, although he did illustrate the book," Ford said. "It's a novella that combines Victorian social commentary with a primer on higher-dimensional mathematics by using an allegory about sentient shapes living in a two-dimensional world."

"That's what you were talking about in the boat, right?" Dipper asked. "When Bill said something about..." He scrunched his face, trying to remember, "'Up in the sky'...?"

"Upward-but-not-skyward," Ford said, "to describe something that isn't higher than us in the third dimension, but rather, in a higher dimension relative to us."

"How do you know about it?" Dipper asked. "The first time it came up, you said the name Edward Bishop Bishop was familiar, but..."

Ford sighed in irritation, "I read it as an undergraduate—in a haze of sleep-deprived exhaustion just before finals week—to get extra credit in a course on the history of mathematics. I immediately forgot ninety percent of it—which I'm sure is why I never thought of it in relation to Bill. If only I'd remembered the book thirty years ago, when it might have done me some good..."

"It's okay," Mabel said. "I forget almost everything I've read for class basically as soon as I've taken the test. I think it's pretty good that you remember anything about Flatworld at all!"

Ford smiled awkwardly. He was afraid that might say more about Mabel's study habits than about his. "Thank you, Mabel."

"And you did have a lot on your mind thirty years ago," Dipper said. "Like, Bill. Literally. On your mind."

Mabel added, "Doing creepy possession things!"

"I suppose that's true, too." What would he have done if he had remembered the book during that frenetic, delirious period when Bill and Ford had wrestled for control over his body? He'd been in no fit shape to go to the library. "I did think about it a couple of times in the multiverse—when I was visiting Exwhylia, for instance—but at the time I'd brushed it off as a lucky coincidence that I'd read a book that invented a society of shapes. It wouldn't be the first time science fiction predicted science fact. But now that Bill's mentioned it twice, I'd say it's less likely a coincidence and more likely that Edward Bishop Bishop was another of his 'students.'"

"Is there a way for us to find out?" Dipper asked. "If he was Bill's student, would he have left behind any... hints? Coded messages?"

"Like secret society conspiracy things?" Mabel asked.

"Yeah!"

"I suppose it's possible," Ford said. "If Flatworld happens to feature a one-eyed yellow triangle sharing the secrets of the universe, we'll know for sure. But, there's only one way to find out: now that I do remember the book, we can pick up a copy for research."

"That's great," Dipper said. "If Bill told the author about his home dimension... there's no telling how much we can learn about him by reading it."

"So it's basically a math textbook disguised as a story?" Mabel groaned. "That's just like doing word problems! The most confusing kind of math problems. Why does Bill keep making me have homework this summer?"

"You know what he's like," Dipper said, elbowing her with a grin. "Dastardly villain."

"Pure evil."

Ford huffed. "If it helps, as I recall the book teaches you about math concepts, but it doesn't make you do any math."

She let out a longer, more theatrical groan. "Fine. But if there's a cousin Throckmorton I'm throwing the book away."

"I dunno, sounds kinda neat," Dipper said. "It might give me a leg up when we start geometry."

"I don't remember the details of what it covers, but I bet it could," Ford agreed. "I have to visit Fiddleford this evening to return the equipment he loaned us, and... discuss the events of the last couple of days. If the library's still open when we're done I can go by and see if they have a copy of Flatworld."

"Can I come along?" Dipper asked.

"Of course. Just give me a moment to..." He looked down at himself, "change into something a little less ridiculous."

Dipper tried not to laugh. "Okay. I'll wait here. Mabel, do you want to...?"

"No thanks!" She pointed upstairs. "I've got a captive audience to teach about boy bands. I'm going to make him listen to Sev'ral Timez's entire discography."

"He's already had a pretty bad day. Don't torture him even more."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "He'll love it." She bounded up the stairs.

Ford headed to his and Stan's guest room. Dipper took off his backpack, dropped it in the living room, and stuck his hands in his pockets—then pulled one out in surprise.

The enchanted friendship bracelets. They were still in his pocket. Bill hadn't had them on since Dipper's out-of-body experience that morning.

Dipper stared at them uneasily; then hung them in their usual place on the entryway coat rack and resumed waiting for Ford.

####

It was a rare opportunity that Bill was allowed in the kids' room; but with Ford and Dipper out of the house, the one person most likely to complain wasn't around. So after having extracted a strict promise for him to behave himself, Mabel had let him in, for ease of gossip and CD-switching.

But even if Dipper had been in the room, he wouldn't have found much worth complaining about. Once Bill had finished his snack (he'd eaten the avocados like pears, skin and all, and drank down the salsa like a chunky smoothie), he'd laid down on the floor, and since then had remained a dead lump. Face buried in his crossed arms, curled up in the oversized Fishmas sweater and a set of loose stolen-from-Soos sweats to replace the towel skirt, he might as well have been a pile of laundry that had sprouted curly golden hair. Mabel had put Sev'ral Timez's first album on the boombox, sat herself on Bill's back, and started brushing out his damp, knotted curls without asking as she talked about each track.

To her delight, Bill started insisting they skip past the slow, emotional love ballads, saying he preferred the bouncier dancier tracks; she thought the fact that he was displaying a preference rather than begging to turn the band off was a good sign. He was actually listening to the music. Possibly even liking it! Maybe she'd manage to convert him into a fan. She recounted her experiences with the band's cloned members and Bill threw in the polite "Mhm" and "Uh-huh?" where appropriate without lifting his head from the floor or opening his eyes. She'd thought he might have had something to throw in about the cloning thing, that seemed like the kind of conspiracy nonsense he might have a hand in; but if he knew anything, he wasn't up to sharing it.

When she'd wrangled his hair into some semblance of order, she got to work on his fingernails. His arm was like a dead weight in her hands, loose and unresisting but not helping, either. He shifted his head over to rest on his other arm and otherwise didn't move.

"Your fingernail polish is destroyed," Mabel said. On three fingers the paint had been all but completely scraped off. When he'd left a couple of days ago, it had just been lightly chipped. She started stripping the remainder with nail polish remover.

"Is it?" Bill mumbled. "Mmh. Yeah, probably from clawing in the dirt."

"Pfff. What did you do the last couple of days?"

Bill slowly sucked in a breath so deep that Mabel felt his back lift her a little higher off the ground; and then he just as slowly let it back out. "Do not," he said, "get me started."

He got started.

He began with a tirade about the contempt that both Ford and Dipper had shown him and his far superior subject matter expertise for the last two days; and then about being hauled out and exposed during totality after repeating over and over how dangerous it was and how much he would prefer to not do that—Ford had even admitted he'd dragged Bill out into open air just because he knew how much he didn't want that!—and from there Bill looped back to listing a whole litany of gripes against what he perceived as egregious and undeserved disrespect from Ford over the last couple of weeks—"Youmight have lied to me about that glass pyramid, but at least you didn't laugh in my face about it!"

(Mabel thought Ford pretty much had the right to be as disrespectful to Bill as he wanted, after everything Bill had put him through. Lying about a silly imaginary cult was less mean than lying about taking over the universe. But part of being a good friend, she knew well, was lending a sympathetic ear to your friend's venting without suggesting that said friend might be in the wrong. She had a Color Critters episode about being honest with your friends she could show him later.)

Bill seemed to gain strength as he aired his grievances, bolstered by Mabel's encouraging "mhm" "uh-huh" noises. By the time she'd finished repainting his first hand (she'd picked a glittery purple polish she thought would complement all the yellow he wore), he was sitting upright and Mabel had to sit in front of him to start on his other hand.

"—and my stupid feet hurt," Bill griped. "Since Stanford made me traipse halfway through the mountain barefoot because he wouldn't let us go back down before the gravity returned and I don't even own shoes for spelunking. And my knees hurt, and my back hurts, and I could have killed for a walking stick but do think they'd have allowed me one if I asked? Because I don't think so! I tripped over—I don't know, a hundred roots."

"Worst hiking trip ever." Mabel finished painting his second hand, and started looking through her miniature sticker sheets for some fun stickers to put on Bill's first hand now that it was dry.

"Worst in the history of your planet! Even the Donner party had a better hike! At least some of them got something to eat," Bill said. "All I got for two days was a handful of cereal and Stanford's liquid meat in a toothpaste tube."

Mabel stuck out her tongue.

"And Stanford walks too fast. And your brother kept trying to squeeze through gaps between trees I couldn't get through. And Stanford kept fiddling with his—stupid—useless antique Civil War lantern he's so proud of, and he's just lucky that I thought to bring a way to find a light source even though I didn't even need one, because I knew he would bring that stupid Civil War lantern..." Bill's complaints petered out.

And then, voice oddly quiet, he said, "And I saw my corpse." 

Mabel looked up from carefully placing a yellow butterfly on Bill's middle fingernail. There was a dark look in his eyes. "Oh," she said. "Oh, Bill. I'm so sorry."

This wasn't just a bad camping trip. This was serious. She had to treat it seriously.

She ejected the current CD from the boombox, put in another Sev'ral Timez album, and skipped to track 4: "This goes out to anyone having a bad day. Ladies, this one's for you. 'Girl, today has been—straight whack. You don't know how you're gonna—bounce back. But any time you're down, I'll always be around; I'll drive your heart back to Happy Town'..." Oh yeah. That was the exact energy Mabel was trying to channel.

"And I didn't feel anything when I touched it." Bill was staring down at his hands like he barely recognized them. "No energy, no connection—nothing. What if there isn't a connection anymore? What if I'm just a human now?"

Did that weigh on Bill? Clearly, enough that he'd decided to endure imprisonment in the Mystery Shack rather than kill his body to see if there was still a triangle inside.

But he'd never talked about it before now; she'd thought maybe he just didn't worry about it.

But that was dumb. Of course he worried about it. He was just like her. When something scared him, he just pushed it down and hoped that if he ignored it enough, everything would be okay! Until he couldn't pretend anymore.

And she'd never heard him sound this scared before.

She took his hands and hoped that would help.

He squeezed her hands so hard it hurt. His still-wet nail polish smeared on her hand. "What if I'm really gonna grow old and die in this rotting meat doll, what if I never go home again—? There's so much I haven't done, I was going to throw an eternal party, it would have been beautiful, everyone would have loved me, but now— and now—" He let out a choked noise, head bowing over their joined hands, posture broken. Hot tears landed on the backs of Mabel's hands. "And I didn't even get to, just, die and be done with it, I have to know I'm dead, I have to know everything I was going to do..."

"Hey—come here." Mabel tentatively wrapped her arms around Bill's neck and shoulders, compressing his bouncy curls. She half expected him to pull away.

Instead, he buried his face against her shoulder and hugged her back like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

After spending the last two days suppressing his grief and fear so hard his body couldn't function through it—after spending over a month suppressing his grief and fear—finally, finally, he peeled the tape off his cracked shell to let it leak out. He couldn't hold it together anymore. He'd barely put himself back together long enough to get on his feet and make it to the shack. This was the only place it was safe to fall apart. He muffled his sobs in Mabel's sweater.

And Mabel—who was used to being comforted by adults but who had never been called upon herself to comfort anybody but her brother and the occasional friend—had no idea how she was supposed to comfort a zillion-year-old almost-definitely-adult alien through an existential crisis.

Not for the first time, she wondered whether she might have gotten in over her head.

She pushed the worry down. Everything would be okay. Bill needed her—she could feel him trembling—and he didn't have anybody else in the world he could trust. And if she didn't know what else to do, at the least she could keep hugging him.

Voice so tight it almost squeezed out as a whisper, Bill said, "I was going to make a utopia here, but now I'm just gonna die here."

"I'm so sorry." How do you comfort someone processing the fear of mortality? She'd never processed it herself, she was thirteen, it was just another scary future thing she'd deal with when she had to. The best she knew how to do was be nice. "But... I'm here, okay? For—for anything you need." (Anything that wasn't evil, anyway—but now was not the appropriate time to make Bill feel like her support was conditional.)

"Tell me I won't die."

"You won't die! You're never, ever gonna die." Mabel hugged him tighter. "I'll fistfight Death. I'll—break his bony kneecaps."

"Thanks."

"I'll swing at the reaper with a baseball bat."

Bill laughed feebly. "With nails in it?"

"Yeah! And barbed wire! Connected to a battery!"

"Oh, we're taking Death down. Nobody's dying ever again."

"Everybody lives forever!" Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out. "But... I'm not gonna let you die. You're my friend, and I won't let anything happen to you."

Bill's trembling had stopped, and his embrace was less death-grippy. "I owe you one, Shooting Star." From Bill, "thanks" sounded hollow, but "I owe you one" really sounded like a thank you.

"Hey. If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to do anything evil with it?"

"Sure. Promise."

Mabel doubted it, but that was as good as she was gonna get. "I've always thought you're still a triangle on the inside. You've got those creepy cat eyes that see the future and stuff! If you were just a normal human, wouldn't you have normal human eyes?"

Bill made a noncommittal noise.

"Plus, if you'd really been turned into a human on the inside, then being in a human body wouldn't feel so bad—right? It'd just feel normal."

Bill was silent for a moment. Voice hoarse, he whispered, "I hope you're right."

####

Fiddleford answered the door himself. "Stanford, Dipper, come in! I was just cleaning up." He had a broom, and the great hall's floor behind him was sparkling with broken glass. Ford was relieved to see Fiddleford had put on shoes. Unfortunately, they were fuzzy slippers. "Pardon the mess!"

"Think nothing of it. The shack's been turned upside-down, too." Ford stepped around a broken chair. "Don't you have anyone to help you clean, though?"

"Oh, I do, I do! I built me a Janitorial Executive Drone to tidy up," Fiddleford said. "I'm just cleaning up the mess JED left."

Ford and Dipper looked around at the shattered glass, broken furniture, scorch marks around the fireplace, and torn curtains. Dipper asked, "Did... JED make this place any cleaner?"

"Not at all!"

Ford and Dipper caught Fiddleford up on their scientific findings of the last couple days. Ford was almost embarrassed to admit they hadn't found any noteworthy quantities of micro-rips, as if he were confessing to a personal academic embarrassment—even after Fiddleford pointed out that it had been his own theory, not Ford's. (All the same, Ford hated to be so wrong, even by association. Being wrong felt like a moral failing.)

In return, Fiddleford told them what he'd been up to. He'd confirmed with them NASA fellas that the odd gravity effects weren't detected anywhere but Gravity Falls. At their behest, he'd set up some sensors around town, and when gravity suddenly reversed, the measurements they'd taken had allowed him to make a very loose model of the shape of the force that caused it. He showed Ford and Dipper the model on a computer in his lab, black screen with sharp glowing green lines forming an armature in the shape of a force. It looked like an enormous flying sausage that tapered down at one end. Too little detail to tell exactly what it was; but it certainly could have been an axolotl.

It was turning to look at the cliff where they'd stood.

Fiddleford wasn't pleased to find out the information he'd passed on from Soos had originally come from Bill; but he'd suspected it and already done all his soul-searching before reluctantly sharing his advice with the masses and hoping it wouldn't come back to bite him. "He didn't bother to warn us that gravity would actually disappear today, though," Fiddleford said indignantly. "So he could crow about being right and still get to see some folks get hurt, I reckon."

"Actually, this time I don't think he was hiding it. I kinda think he just made a mistake?" Dipper said.

Ford nodded. "Dipper's right. Bill was incredibly alarmed this morning when it became clear our estimates were wrong. It only made more trouble for him."

"I suppose," Fiddleford said grudgingly; then gave them a sharp look. "This mornin'? You took him camping?"

Ford and Dipper winced. Ford mumbled, "Not for fun."

"Stanford Pines—!"

It took a minute of hooting and hollering before Ford could calm Fiddleford down enough to explain the circumstances: that they'd only brought Bill because of just how much he explicitly did not want to be brought; that it had been a thoroughly unpleasant experience for everyone and Ford had never expected it to be otherwise; and that Bill had proven useful—Ford decided not to share the details—but he hadn't forgotten that Bill always made himself useful before he betrayed someone. If a man helped a little old lady cross a street, opened her door for her, put up her groceries, and then knocked her out and burgled her house, only one of those actions mattered.

(Dipper fell silent rather than help reassure Fiddleford. Ford supposed that was because he'd objected to bringing Bill, too.)

Fiddleford grudgingly admitted that under the circumstances, bringing Bill had been logical. "But that's just the thing—sometimes your logic don't account for the fact that you've got human emotions, too."

"Ah, yes, those human emotions. One of my worst flaws," Ford joked.

Fiddleford didn't laugh. "I mean it, Stanford. The most logical plan in the world don't mean nothing if he talks you into throwing it aside."

Ford thought of all the times he'd let his temper get the best of him over the last couple of days. Could he really say he'd made the logical decision when he'd made it out of anger? "Yes. I... see what you mean."

"Just be careful," Fiddleford said. "I saw you under that demon's oppression for months and never thought it was anything worse than how you always got around finals week—heck, for all I saw, I reckon he coulda started possessing you without me noticing—and I don't want that to happen again!"

Dipper winced. Ford found somewhere other than Fiddleford's face to look.

"What?"

"He... did. Possess me." (Dipper didn't pipe up with his experience. Ford didn't blame him.)

"He what? When?!"

"Remember toward the end of the project? When I started pulling all-nighters to finish the calculations...?"

Fiddleford smacked his forehead and sank down into the nearest chair.

Ford winced again. "I should have told you." During their talks over the past year, he'd been very reluctant to mention Bill or the fallout at the end of the portal project. They both had. "But—I assumed you'd guessed by now. What did you think was happening?"

"Frankly? I thought you'd started taking something illicit."

Ford snorted. "I—all right." He'd done stupider things during finals week.

"If he was possessin' you, why didn't you ask for help? I could've found somebody who knows how to do exorcisms. Did he not let you? Or—or did I miss you trying to tell me...?"

Ford shook his head. "No, I didn't want an exorcism." He wasn't sure Bill was the kind of "demon" that responded to exorcisms anyway. "At the time, I thought... that he was helping me."

Dipper reluctantly piped up, "He... possessed me once too. I didn't know that's what he was doing until too late, but... Even after you know he's a bad guy, he's really good at making you think he's just helping."

Fiddleford didn't immediately say anything to that. Ford couldn't meet his gaze.

Finally, Fiddleford said, voice low and worried, "Just tell me you won't let him get into your head again. Either one'a you."

Dipper shook his head. "Definitely not."

Ford said, "As he is now with all his powers gone, I don't think he can enter my head. Anyway, I had a metal plate surgically installed—"

"I didn't mean that way."

Right. "I won't. I promise."

Fiddleford nodded. "Didja really get a metal plate installed?"

Ford knocked on it demonstratively.

"Hmm." Fiddleford stroked his beard thoughtfully. He pointed at a contraption in the corner that looked like a ten foot tall tuning fork with electricity arcing between its tips. "Try not to get within five feet of that thing."

Ford eyed it nervously.

####

Fiddleford insisted Ford and Dipper stay for dinner. It was the first proper meal they'd had after two days of tubes mushy meat and mushy vegetables; so they tried not to show their disappointment when they received mushy meat and mushy vegetables. Fiddleford's automatic meatloaf-and-mashed-potatoes maker did its job more competently than JED did its, but Ford suspected that was partially because it didn't have legs to let it go get in trouble.

As they drove back into town, a stoplight turned red at the intersection with Main Street. Ford glanced down Main toward the library and asked, "Do you still want to stop by the library?"

Dipper, who'd nearly nodded off, blinked sleepily. "Huh?"

"To pick up Flatworld?"

Dipper yawned. "Honestly, I kinda just wanna go home and sleep."

"I hear that." He'd almost drowned today. He was exhausted. "Perhaps this weekend."

"Aren't you going to that concert with Mabel?"

"Was that this Saturday?" He'd lost track. Mabel had won four tickets from some radio contest to see Phrancisco in Portland and had asked Ford if he'd like to come. "I'm undecided. I'd like to go—I've been a fan of Invisible Plastic Yellow since they formed." He was the one who'd told Mabel about the band after their Portland trip and gotten her their albums. He'd had a phase when he'd really gotten into cutting-edge underground new wave music. It had made him feel conventionally cool, which not many things did. Now, all his musical tastes were three decades behind. He hadn't even known Phrancisco had a solo career until Mabel came home with tickets.

"But she's bringing her friends, and whoever has the fourth ticket needs to chaperone; and I'm afraid an old man escorting around three young girls would look... odd. It may be more appropriate for one of the other girls' parents to go." But he did want to see Phrancisco. "Perhaps I'll wait and see whether Mabel talks me into it."

"Better pack your bag now, then."

Ford laughed. He had a point. "If I do go to Portland, maybe I can stop by a bookstore to pick up Flatworld. If it tells us anything useful about Bill, I suspect we'll want a household copy for reference."

He was eager to reread it. He'd forgotten so much of it since college. He only recalled the vague, overarching plot: something about a third-dimensional sphere teaching a second-dimensional square about realities with higher and lower dimensions—from zero dimensions up to four—and a stuffy society based on what geometric shape you were... but that was it. He probably never even would have remembered the phrase "up but not north" if Bill hadn't referenced it. He wondered how much it could have helped him if he'd reread it sooner.

Dipper yawned again. "Sounds good."

The light turned green; and Ford drove past the library and headed on home.

####

(After going full tilt for two months, we finally get a breather lol. I hope y'all enjoyed, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts!)

[victusinveritas]

A reminder that it is always ok to crush fascists. Especially if you can physically crush them with your muscles. Also, I'm pleased to see "little man" making a comeback in the insult world.

The guy who Tate decided to go after is a Cryptobro of some stripe, and this exchange is kinda like watching one rat chew the neck out of another one on the sinking ship of Twitter.