#that is my most charitable guess

[shoutsindwarvish]

i was supposed to meet with my synagogue's executive director today to touch base and discuss my membership pledge and she has full-on ghosted me 🫠

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness. 

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed. 

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being. 

How thoughtful. 

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering. 

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser. 

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over. 

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through. 

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting. 

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws. 

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law. 

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust. 

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family. 

Fucking pathetic. 

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock. 

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot. 

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.” 

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive. 

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting. 

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now. 

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it.. 

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on. 

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot. 

“Yes daddy, please..”  

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.” 

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you. 

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane. 

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you. 

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down. 

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son. 

He’s nothing like his son. 

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence. 

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.” 

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more. 

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?” 

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?” 

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?” 

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high. 

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation. 

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.” 

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s. 

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..” 

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down. 

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again. 

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him. 

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod. 

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights. 

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[grison-in-space]

Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think

1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.

Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.

2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?

What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?

3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.

Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.

I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ma'am V

Aitana Bonmatí x Royal!Reader

Summary: You want your wife happy

"I'm not going to yell," Aitana said as she came home," I'm not going to yell."

You raised a brow. "You already said that."

Aitana looked at you, the rage in her chest simmering down slightly.

You're lounging on the bed, head propped up on your fist as you wore the most form fitting lingerie you had in your wardrobe.

"What?" You said," Can't a wife want to dress up for her wife?"

Aitana tore her gaze away, affixing her eyes to the headboard and very stubbornly not looking at you. "I'm meant to be angry at you."

"You can still be angry and look. I've dressed up just for you."

Aitana pursed her lips. "You only did that because you know I'm angry at you."

You scoffed in faux offence. "I am offended," You said," To think, my own wife thinks I'd stoop that low..." You winked, a grin spreading across your face. "Is it working?"

A pillow soared across the room, smacking you right in the nose.

"You bought the RFEF?!"

You scrubbed a hand over your face. "From your tone of voice...I'm guessing that you aren't impressed."

"You bought the RFEF?!"

"Are you okay, Tana? You've been repeating yourself an awful lot today."

"You bought the RFEF?!"

You sighed, pulling on one of your dressing gowns. "I wanted to do something nice for you. You were complaining about the management. I'm going to replace them. It's simple."

"Simple? Do you understand how this looks? My wife buying the RFEF? It's...It's unsportsmanlike!"

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not an athlete."

Aitana looked like she was about to start arguing again so you pulled her into a hug, hooking your chin over her shoulder.

"You come home after every camp complaining. You talk about how corrupt they are." You shrugged, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "I'm doing you a favour."

"You don't know how to run the RFEF!"

"I'm good at starting foundations," You said," Do you know all royals have to have a cause?"

You relaxed back against the bed, undoing the belt of your dressing gown and allowing the bare hints of your gorgeous lingerie to be shown again.

"Will does wildlife stuff and homelessness and conservation. Harry had the veterans and the Invictus Games and climate change. Mine's been women's sports for a while now."

"Women's sports in a country that isn't your own?" Aitana resolutely didn't look at the lingerie you'd picked just for you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you exposed more of your body, looking up at your wife through your lashes. You flashed her a smile. "It's a nice start. Combatting misogyny at its source." You adjusted your position, widening your stance. "Making sports a safe place for women. You'll find I'm quite a charitable person."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to seduce me!" Aitana looked away from you. Or, at least, she made the action of looking away, turning her chin so you couldn't meet her eyes comfortably. But you could see her gaze darting back towards you, could see the way she had to tighten her hands into fists so she didn't touch you.

"Baby," You drawled," My love. My darling wife, do you think so low of me?"

"Yes."

"Come to bed."

Aitana pursed her lips and turned back to you, her voice soft and quiet. "You bought the RFEF for me?"

"I want you to be happy and going to camp doesn't make you happy. You love football and you should love playing football for your country. I promise I won't interfere much. I'm going to set up a foundation to run it. Just you wait. I'm going to change it for the better."

You looked up at her earnestly, eyes a little wide as you tried to seek her approval.

Aitana stepped closer, until her knees were pressed up against the bed and her body was between your legs.

"You really bought the RFEF to make me happy?"

"Of course," You scoffed," Why else would I want that shitty organisation? I love you. I want you happy. And seeing as you've rejected all my offers to join the Lionesses-"

Aitana rolled her eyes, swatting at your shoulder as she laughed. "I'm Spanish."

"You've got an English citizenship. You're a Princesse of England. I think you should be able to play for Eng-"

You didn't get to finish your thought.

Mainly because Aitana crashed her lips against yours and you melted into it like every time she kissed you.

"What are you laughing about now?" She asked as she pulled away.

You grinned. "You still angry at me?"

"Furious," Aitana said with a grin.

"I can take my bra off, if that helps."

Aitana pushed you flat on your back, settled as she straddled your hips.

"That's a good start."

[ckret2]

Chapter 44 of human Bill Cipher wishing he was trapped in the Mystery Shack again:

The Eclipse: Part 2

Gravity is disappearing, and to find out why, Ford's inspecting the sites where the fabric of spacetime might have been damaged by Weirdmageddon. Dipper's glad to come along.

Bill really, really, really isn't.

"I am genuinely offering you helpful advice, that also happens to be self-serving because you idiots wouldn't trust me if I claimed I was being charitable anyway," Bill went on, as he'd been going on for the past five minutes. "This isn't a trick! I'm not running a con! I'm completely serious: being outside during an eclipse is the stupidest thing you could do. You don't want to watch it, I want to watch it even less, staying inside is mutually beneficial!"

"Do you think I should have brought my camera?" Dipper asked, determinedly ignoring Bill as he trailed behind them.

"What for?" Ford asked, also ignoring Bill.

"I've been trying to expand my Guide to the Unexplained series this summer—I've been doing longer episodes, a couple of them are ten minutes—but I wasn't sure if we'd see anything cool and my backpack was already heavy..."

"Hmm. I suspect either there won't be anything worth seeing—or, if there is, we'll be far too busy dealing with it to record footage."

"Yeah," Dipper sighed, "I guess you're right."

"This is why my journals have more illustrations than photographs."

Bill let out a loud groan of frustration before jogging to catch up with the humans. He checked the trail ahead to make sure he wasn't about to trip, then turned to walk sideways, facing Dipper and Ford as they walked. "Okay, fine, you win. So, just to be clear—the only reason you two are dragging me out here is to check a few locations for these imaginary 'micro-rips' you think are shredding the fabric of reality apart. Right? As soon as we've checked the three places you want, it's over, you admit you were wrong, and we go back to the shack?"

"Yes, Cipher," Ford sighed. "Once we've checked those locations, if we can't find evidence that any of the areas of most concern are near the one hundred thousand micro-rip danger threshold, we'll go home. Since dimensional rips could pop up anywhere around Gravity Falls, there's a possibility there could be clusters over the danger threshold away from the three areas of concern, but with no way to guess where they might be—"

"Fine. Then let's get this over with," Bill said. "Totality is in two days, if we're back home by tomorrow night we'll still avoid it. But if you try to drag me outside again after we get back, I'm hitting everyone with the Amnesia Limina curse and nobody's going outside."

With that threat delivered, Bill cartwheeled ahead of the humans, landed on his feet, and bounded ahead in long moonwalking lopes.

"Any idea why gravity's going down faster for him than the rest of town?" Dipper asked.

"Only that, if there are rips opening between us and the Nightmare Realm, perhaps they're giving Bill back some of his powers," Ford said. "Perhaps his powers are stored in the Nightmare Realm. Although I don't know how that would work." It was a better explanation than Bill's claim that he could just float better than humans, anyway.

The bracelet around Dipper's wrist momentarily tightened as Bill reached the far end of his invisible tether, then loosened as Dipper continue forward; and then tightened a second time, and a third time. From up the trail, Bill shouted, "Would you hurry up!" 

"You slow down! Some of us still have to walk!"

But even so, the slowly decreasing gravity was making the hike noticeably easier. Their backpacks sat lighter on their shoulders, and each stride seemed to carry them a little higher and farther than they expected. They startled a deer, and then the deer startled itself with how high it jumped.

"On second thought, it might not be a good idea to take him back to the shack while this is going on," Ford said. "Even if there aren't enough micro-rips in the basement, I'm not wholly convinced it won't end up the epicenter of whatever's about to happen. And if Bill wants so badly to be so close to it..."

From further up the trail, Bill shouted, "If you were any more paranoid, you'd be asking your own shadow why it's following you!"

"If you had access to any more of your powers, you'd be possessing my shadow!"

"Ha!" Bill had stopped to perch on a fallen tree that on any other day would have been far too slender to hold an adult's weight, balanced on it like a tightrope, and waited there for the others to catch up. "Fine, we don't need to go back to the shack, whatever makes you happy! As long as we get inside. Stanley's camper, a motel room, the old Corduroy cabin—hey, the Northwest place is pretty empty these days, isn't it? Is Specs renting out rooms, or...?"

"I am not taking you to Northwest Manor," Ford said. "Fiddleford's had enough trouble without letting you into his life again." Although that was only one of several reasons Ford wanted to keep them apart. For Fiddleford's safety, they couldn't risk Bill finding out that Fiddleford had been told his identity; and, now that Bill had confessed he could see through walls, they couldn't give him a chance to peer through the manor's walls and discover the ongoing paradox fuel synthesis project.

Bill laughed in disbelief. "Oh now you're concerned about somebody else's wellbeing, when it's his—fine! Fine, fine, fine! That's just fine! That's great! Terrific!" He hopped off his perch. "No evidence of self-preservation and let's not even think about respecting the triangle's wishes, but when the hillbilly might be in imaginary danger—!"

"That 'hillbilly' is one of the most brilliant men alive and the best friend I've ever known—"

"Ha!" Angrily, Bill yelled, "Some best friend, he erased you straight out of his head! You don't even know what a best friend is!"

Ford winced—he knew he'd never been much of a friend back to Fiddleford—but while he was gearing himself up to defend himself against whatever accusation Bill lobbed next, Bill turned away from the humans and stormed up the trail, leaving them behind as the weaving path took him behind several trees.

Every couple of steps, Dipper's bracelet twitched against his wrist as Bill tried to get even further ahead and was thwarted. He chuckled. "Do you think you touched a nerve?"

The corner of Ford's mouth quirked up; but he shook his head. "He's just mad he's not getting his way. As usual."

####

"I take it this is our first destination," Bill said, hands planted on his hips, looking around the forest. "This looks like the area where Shooting Star gave me the rift."

Dipper said, "You mean the place where you tricked—"

Bill shoved Dipper's hat down over his eyes. "Anyway, that aside, all the glued-shut wormholes and this are a bigger hint." He tapped the tip of one dress shoe—dusty after a walk in the woods—at the start of a long crevasse in the ground weaving through the trees.

"Yes," Ford said distractedly, taking his micro-rip scanner out of his backpack and turning it on. "This is the place." He took an initial reading, frowned, and followed the crevasse deeper into the woods.

Bill trailed along after him, gesturing at the jagged lines of bending light hanging in the air. "You did a terrible repair job, by the way. Stretching the edges of the rips to meet like that puts more stress on the reality in between the rips. You should have sutured them and let them heal naturally," Bill said. "If there are a bunch of tiny rips in the area, your own shoddy work probably caused them."

"Mm-hm," Ford said, fully focused on the scanner.

Bill's shoulders slumped. He hopped to the other side of the crack in the earth from Ford and strode ahead purposefully, ignoring him.

He glanced at a wooden sign staked next to the crack, nearly passed it, and did a double take. The sign read "MABEL'S FAULT". Bill laughed in surprise. "Who did this?"

"What—?" Dipper caught up and saw the sign. "Oh."

####

2012

Mabel's smile faded as she entered the clearing. "Oh. I... think this is the place where—Bill tricked me in Blarblar's body."

"Guess that explains all the rips in this area," Dipper said. He patted Mabel's back.

She looked down—and spotted the new crack in the ground. She gasped, immediately latching on to the distraction. "Hey, what's that! That wasn't here before!" She knelt next to the crack and peered inside. "Whoa!"

"Huh. Maybe it opened up when the rift broke?"

"How deep do you think it goes?" Mabel hopped back up, straddled the gap, and yelled down into it, "Hello!"

"Careful," Dipper said. "What if it's unstable?"

"We should give it a name," Mabel said. "It's a new geographic feature! We can put it on maps and be famous! What'll we call it?"

"Huh." Dipper stroked his chin. "Well... it looks kind of like a miniature fault line... and you were here when it formed, so I guess that kinda means you discovered it... so maybe... 'Mabel's Fault'...?"

Mabel stared at him.

Dipper's eyes widened in horror. "Oh. Ohh no."

Mabel bit her lip.

"I didn't mean it that way! I swear I didn't mean it that way—"

"Dipper!" Mabel cracked up. "We're calling it that."

"No," Dipper said, mortified. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. Please please don't—"

"Grunkle Staaan, Grunkle Fooord!" Mabel took off toward where they'd last seen their grunkles. "Did you hear what Dipper said—!"

"I'm sorryyy!"

####

2013

Dipper cringed. "Look, I didn't hear it until I said it out loud, okay—"

Bill burst out in shrill cackles.

"I didn't mean it!"

"Y-you're the worst brother ever!"

Dipper groaned, contemplated climbing down into the fault, and instead settled for pulling his hat down over his face again.

Ford passed by with the scanner, shot Bill a suspicious sideways look, and demanded, "What's so funny?"

Still laughing, Bill gestured at the "MABEL'S FAULT" sign.

"Oh." Ford glanced at Dipper, fought not to smile at the poor kid's embarrassment—he'd gotten enough teasing last summer—and said, "Right." He moved on.

"Hey," Bill called, "What's the score?"

Ford paused, but didn't reply.

"Well?" Bill pressed. "You're already past where the rift broke! Don't you figure that's where the most rips would be?"

Ford said, "The scanner's detecting about fourteen thousand."

Bill whistled. He meandered back to Ford's side of the fault. "Sounds like a lot. I'm telling you, the wormholes in this place should've been sutured, that's what your problem is."

"It is a lot," Ford said brusquely. He hesitated. "But."

"But?" Bill prompted.

"But... it's less than a fifth of what we'd expect to see if the fabric of reality were falling apart."

"Wow. Let me pretend to be surprised." Bill made zero effort to look surprised. "That's because the fabric of reality isn't falling apart. You idiot."

Ford glared at his scanner silently.

"You fool," Bill tried. "You buffoon."

Ford rounded furiously on him. "The more you say it's nothing, the more you just convince me that you're lying!"

"Which is stupid! If you always assume I'm lying, how do you know I'm not saying 'it's nothing' to trick you into thinking it's something when it isn't!"

"I don't know! There's no way to know with you! That's why I'm checking with a scanner!" Ford pointed aggressively at the scanner. "Because I'm a scientist!"

"You're a pretty pathetic scientist if you refuse to listen when the expert on a topic tells you what's—"

"—maybe if the self-proclaimed 'expert' weren't a mythomaniac—"

"Guys," Dipper said tiredly. "You've had this argument three times. Can we move on?"

Ford closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Right."

"No," Bill said. "Not until I win it."

"Can it, Bill." Ford glanced toward the sky to orient himself, looked around for the path through the trees, and started walking. "Come on. Next site—the place where the rift closed."

Bill clenched his jaw. Under his breath, he muttered, "As if I've ever done anything in my life to make me look untrustworthy..." He glanced up as well—and his gaze lingered on the sky much longer than Ford's.

####

"So I was thinking about what we could do after this," Dipper said, looking hopefully up at Ford.

It took a moment for Ford to drag himself out of his thoughts and look at Dipper. "Yes? You mean after..."

"After the ecl—" Dipper winced, "the... rips get sealed, or whatever's going on." He'd pulled out his journal and was holding it hopefully. "Maybe... I could show you the research I've been doing on the Fremont Nightwigglers? I think they've been stealing pants in town."

He gave Dipper a little more attention. "Is this one of their migration years?" 

"Yeah, I think so! One was caught on a security camera—or at least what looks like one. Here." Dipper flipped open to the two-page spread he was currently working on and held it up for Ford to inspect.

He studied the pictures, smiling slightly. "Would you look at that. Very impressive research. I only experienced one migration during my time in Gravity Falls, and they'd all but moved on by the time I caught wind of it. Never even saw one—I had to interview the townspeople to get a description of them."

"Really? I don't remember seeing them in your journals."

"Ah, they never made it in. I was focused on compiling magical spells and artifacts for Journal 2 at the time. I took some notes with the thought of putting them in Journal 1, but never felt like I'd collected enough information to write about them—especially when I hadn't witnessed one myself," Ford said. "You've already collected more here than I ever did. I wasn't even sure they were real!"

Dipper's face lit up. "Really? It's not that much—I still haven't found one yet either, it's mostly interviews about the crime spree."

"It's more real investigative work than I did on them. I only got as far as asking a couple of people at the diner to describe the local stories. You've got the dates and times they've been hitting the stores."

"I guess so." Dipper beamed proudly. "I haven't heard any 'local stories' about them, though. I only recognized them from a documentary I saw on Californian cryptids."

"That might be the Blind Eye's handiwork. Everyone recognized the name when I lived here. I'll see if I can dig up the notes I took, you might find the information valuable," Ford said. "I'm not sure where I left them, but they're probably still somewhere in my study."

"Scrapbook in your study on the top right corner of your desk," Bill said. "Under the box of glue bottles. You're welcome."

Ford threw him an irritated look. Bill had gotten ahead of them while Ford was looking at Dipper's journal, and now he was crouched beside a creek, scooping up handfuls of water, momentarily inspecting them, and letting them spill back out. The eye on the hood stared balefully up at Ford from Bill's back.

Ford asked, "What in the world are you doing."

"Communing with the dread harbingers of the coming eclipse," Bill said flatly. "You can't see them of course, they're invisible to you."

"Of course." Ford muttered, "I don't know why I bother to ask."

Under his breath, Bill mumbled, "Don't know why he bothered to ask."

Ford studied the creek and checked his map. They were hiking east toward the lake, with the town to their south and the cliff to the north; the creek ran north to south in front of them. On the other side of the creek, southeast of them, was a thicker, overgrown part of the woods, the shadows between the trees darker and quieter. "This seems like a safe place to wait," Ford said. "Dipper, you stay here while I scan the next site. Keep him out of trouble."

Dipper nodded. Bill cast Ford a sullen look, then rolled his eye and looked back at the water.

"After I've checked the next spot, we'll follow the cliffside to the lake," Ford said, pointing northeast, away from the dark area of the forest. "If there's still daylight, we can take a boat behind Trembley Falls and set up camp inside the cave."

"Sounds good." Dipper looked at Bill's tiny borrowed backpack. "You... didn't bring a tent, did you."

"Sorry, do you think I have a tent to bring?" Bill asked. "Do you expect me to slide an entire tipi out of my—"

Ford interrupted, "Dipper, you brought a tent, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Then that's sufficient. You can share my tent and we'll set up Bill's as far from ours as possible. We'll be safer that way."

Bill ignored the implicit accusation with silent dignity.

Dipper nodded. "Good idea." 

"Now, let's see..." Ford studied the creek. It was much wider than he could usually jump, but under the current gravity conditions... He bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times, testing how light he currently felt; then took a few steps back, got a running start, and with a "hup!" leaped across the creek. He cleared it by several feet and almost ran into a tree.

Dipper gasped. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, Dipper! Just... don't know my own strength." How low was gravity now, he wondered? He could see grass swaying beneath the surface of the creek. It hadn't rained lately; without as much gravity, even water was being pulled down less, letting it rise higher and flood the creek's banks. He hoped they figured out how to reverse this before the lake flooded. When they made it into the cave, they'd have to camp on high ground. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Dipper side-eyed Bill; but when he kept gazing into the water without a word, Dipper said suspiciously, "What, no complaints about camping?"

"What's there to complain about?" Bill asked.

"I don't know, you've complained about everything else so far."

"This is the only part of your expedition that isn't a terrible idea," Bill said. "I love camping! Hypothetically. The Nightmare Realm isn't known for picturesque campgrounds. But hey, I like being surrounded by trees. And a private tent? Deluxe accommodations! It's just too bad you'll be dragging the mood down."

"Hey."

Bill laughed. "You're too easy."

Dipper scowled. "You don't seem like the type to be into camping."

"Why not?"

Dipper thought about it. "Man, I dunno, you just—seem like a city person? You're always talking about how much you want to throw wild parties, that's basically the opposite of camping in the woods."

"Is it?" Bill asked. "Welcome to the cult of Dionysus."

Given what Dipper could remember about Dionysus from the book of Greek mythology he'd read in sixth grade, he supposed wild parties and hanging out in the woods weren't mutually exclusive. So what was it about Bill that made Dipper feel so strongly that he wouldn't be caught dead roughing it?

Finally, Dipper said, "I guess it's the top hat and bow tie."

"They're not a top hat and bow tie."

He gave Bill a perplexed look. "Really? What are they?"

"Did you ever read that horror story about the bride with a velvet ribbon tied in a bow around her neck, and when her new husband unties it, her head falls off her neck and bounces down the stairs—?"

Dipper shuddered. "I'm sorry I asked."

Bill laughed.

After a brief silence, he finally dragged his eyes away from the water and impressively flicked a couple of mosquitoes out of the air with a finger. (Dipper wished he could do that. His arms were coated in soothsquito bite messages. He wondered what "BURN TACK" was supposed to mean.) Bill took off his backpack, rummaged around in it, and muttered, "I should've brought a book." He looked around the bank of the creek for a patch of sunlight, pushed his sleeves and leggings up to expose as much skin as possible, and flopped down in the light, eyes shut and hands laced on his chest over the backpack.

Dipper supposed that meant he was being ignored. He took his journal back out and flipped to the section on the Nightwigglers. He'd need some empty space to add Ford's local folklore once they got home. Was there any open space in the next few pages?

"It really shouldn't be called 'Mabel's Fault,'" Bill said out of the blue. "It's not her fault. It should be called 'Bill's Fault.' I'm the one who made it, aren't I?"

Dipper lowered his journal. "Sorry, are you actually accepting blame for something? You're admitting you did something wrong?"

Bill didn't even open his eyes. "I'm not 'accepting blame,' I'm claiming credit. Weirdmageddon was great. Can't help that you're all too boring to see that."

"But you said 'Bill's Fault.' Not 'Bill's Triumph' or something."

"Sure, because we're talking about a geological fault. Don't read too deep into it, kid."

"Pff, no, you definitely said it was your fault. I can't believe Grunkle Ford missed that—"

Bill abruptly sat up. "Hey. What's the 'next site.'"

"What?"

Bill counted off on his fingers, "Six-Fingers said there are four sites you want to hit, right? The place where the rift formed, the place Weirdmageddon started, the place the rift was during Weirdmageddon, and the place Weirdmageddon ended. The rift formed at the portal—been there—Weirdmageddon started at the fault—been there—during Weirdmageddon it was in the sky—going there tomorrow—so where did Weirdmageddon end? Wasn't it in the sky too?"

"Oh," Dipper said. "It's just. Y'know. It's just a... place."

Bill gave him a sharp look.

Dipper swallowed hard. "No big deal. Just... trees and stuff."

Bill flipped up his eye patch, staring in the direction Ford had disappeared. Dipper could see the white of his eye turning red.

"Hey!" Dipper got in front of Bill, trying to block the view of the forest. "It's nothing important. You—you wouldn't even be interested. Really."

Bill just stared straight through Dipper. And then, before Dipper could react, Bill was on his feet and bolting past him. By the time Dipper turned around Bill was already across the creek, following the path Ford had taken.

"No no no, come back!" Dipper jumped the creek and sprinted after Bill, shouting, "Don't go that way, you can't go that way, Bill—"

There was a dark, quiet knot of overgrown plant life deep in the forest, as if no animals had dared visit the area for nearly a year, leaving it to choke itself on its own greenery. Bill was headed straight for the heart of it. He moved through the trees like a swimmer through underwater ruins, kicking off trunks to propel himself forward, grabbing branches to help twist his body around and between them without slowing down—more flying than running, gravity hardly seeming to touch him at all.

He barreled past Ford and his scanner without even acknowledging him. Ford gasped, "Wait—" He turned the direction Bill had come from.

Dipper was squeezing between two trees and tripped over a hidden root. "Grunkle Ford—!"

"Dipper! You still have the bracelet!" Ford pointed, "Run the other direction!"

"Right!" He turned around and squeezed back between the dense trees.

And Ford took off after Bill.

Wild brambles tore at Bill's skin and ripped at his hoodie; he ignored the pain, letting the prickles bite into him as he forced his way through the shrubs—

And then he stood in the clearing, gasping in unsteady breaths, his wide unblinking eyes staring.

In front of him, wide unblinking eye staring vacantly into the trees, was his corpse.

"Bill!" Ford fought against the brambles, trying to figure out how Bill had gotten through. "Don't touch it! We don't know what could happen—"

Bill lunged for the statue.

The bracelet snapped tight around his wrist. Bill's fingers were inches away from his corpse's outstretched hand.

Thirty feet away, Dipper's bracelet went tight while he was trying to scramble over an ancient log. He awkwardly tried to keep his balance on the log; rather than risk toppling back in Bill's direction, he flung his weight the other way, keeping the invisible thread between them taut by leaning so far over that if it weren't for the bracelet holding him up he'd fall to the forest floor.

Bill fell to his knees, clawing at the dirt and grass with his free hand and feet, desperate to drag himself closer in spite of the completely immovable bracelet.

It seemed impossible to Ford that the thin invisible thread wrenching Bill's arm back would hold him for long; Bill would sooner dislocate his own shoulder to gain those last few inches. Ford fell out of the brambles and seized one of Bill's legs. "Bill—"

Bill tried to kick Ford in the face. "You KNEW!" he shrieked. "You knew I was here this WHOLE TIME and you NEVER TOLD ME, you ANIMALS! I could have had my body back! I COULD BE HOME!"

That was exactly what Ford was afraid of. Gritting his teeth, Ford wrapped an arm around Bill's torso and the other around his neck, struggling to get enough purchase on the torn-up ground to move Bill.

Wheezing for breath, Bill tried to kick out one of Ford's knees. Ford took advantage of the split second one of Bill's feet wasn't dug in to drag him back; he only managed to move him a few inches.

But a few inches of slack on the invisible thread was enough to throw off Dipper's balance. He instinctively tried to flail back upright, overcorrected, and tumbled off the log the wrong way. "No—!"

Bill lunged out of Ford's hold, scrabbled across the last few inches to his corpse, and planted his hand on his stone face.

He froze.

Ford froze.

Nothing happened.

"N..." Bill grabbed his arm, grabbed his hand, as though trying to shake on a deal with his own body; nothing. "No." He sounded more confused than anything. "No, no, nonono..."

He hung off the statue by his grip, pressed his forehead against their joined hands. And then he let go and slowly put his trembling hand on the dead face. And then he sat there, breathing shakily, every few seconds sucking in a hitching gasp that made his shoulders jerk.

Ford gingerly got to his feet, brushed his clothes off, and looked at Bill. He didn't move for a moment; then reached for Bill's shoulder; then stopped, curled his hand into a ball, clasped it behind his back, and turned away. "Dipper," he called. "You can come back. It's..." He cast one last glance at Bill, then forced himself to look away. "It's safe."

By the time Dipper caught up, Ford had made his way back into the overgrowth, leaving Bill alone in the clearing. Dipper started, "What...?" but fell silent when he saw Ford's face. He looked past him at Bill and winced.

Ford shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled, "We should give him..." Dipper nodded.

Bill remained kneeling for less than a minute. Then he leaned forward, used his sleeve to wipe some of the moss off of his dead eye and the bird crap off his hat and hand, and unsteadily heaved himself back to his feet. He moved like he was very, very old. He glanced over his shoulder at Ford and Dipper. "What're you two staring at." His voice sounded like somebody was attempting to strangle him and his smile looked like a zombie had pulled its skin back on wrong. "You should've said you were waiting on me. I was just..." His eyes briefly unfocused. He shook his head. "Just taking a break." His cheeks were dry. He hadn't even cried.

They stepped back as Bill wove around the brambles. Dipper swallowed hard and asked, "Are you alr—"

"Of course I am." Bill plodded mechanically toward the path out of the dense dark woods. 

Ford asked, "Do you want t—"

"What I want is to get wherever we're pitching our tents before nightfall." Bill pulled his eyepatch back in place. "You're making us camp, right?"

They had no choice. If they wanted to get to the top of Trembley Falls, reach Gravity Peak, and get back down the same day, they had to be ready to ascend in the morning. They couldn't afford to go back to the shack tonight. "Are you s—"

"What were the readings like," Bill asked.

Ford hadn't even gotten as far as taking readings around the statue; he'd still been checking the perimeter of the overgrown zone when Bill ran past. He looked for where he'd dropped his scanner, picked it up, and checked. "215 micro-rips detected. Higher than baseline levels, but—not even as high as readings around the portal."

Voice thick with venom, Bill said, "What a surprise."

When the forest had brightened again and the creek was visible, Bill turned to travel upstream alongside it. Dipper pointed across the creek at Bill's backpack. "You forgot your..."

"Right," Bill said tiredly. He hopped across the creek. 

And gasped in shock when, instead of floating across as before, he landed heavily in the middle of the creek. He squeezed his eye shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a long, silent inhale; and then he climbed out and grabbed his backpack. This time, he put enough force behind his jump to make it back across the creek. 

Dipper and Ford exchanged a look. Ford said, "Do you need a minute to dry—?"

"No."

"You could catch a cold in those damp—"

"I knew how germ theory works on your planet when your gill-breathing ancestors were still swimming around in their own feces," Bill snapped. "When I say 'no,' it's not because I don't understand, it's because I don't care. Don't treat me like I'm ignorant and don't act like you care."

Ford's jaw tightened. No, he didn't care. Bill accepted basic human decency as easily as he offered it. "Fine. Catch pneumonia."

"Fine!"

Ford pushed past Bill to lead the way to the lake. He tried not to notice how Bill was trembling.

####

Maybe ten minutes passed in silence before Ford worked up the nerve to say, "You—know why we didn't tell you." It was the closest he'd get to an apology.

Bill was silent for a long moment. "Of course I do." It was the closest he'd get to accepting it. "When I get my power back, I'm going to invent a very clumsy, easily startled species of bird whose feathers are scalpel blades. And then I'm unleashing a million in the shack, barricading the doors, and blowing an air horn."

Dipper grimaced. Ford muttered, "Thanks for reminding us not to feel too bad for you."

Bill let out a raw, broken laugh.

It was a very quiet hike to the edge of the lake. 

####

After spending the first half of the expedition trying to hurry Ford and Dipper up, now Bill was the anchor slowing them down. He trudged so slowly that Dipper kept having to stop to give his bracelet a little slack; but Bill kept moving, and Ford and Dipper agreed without speaking not to say anything about it.

By the time they reached the lake, the sun was just touching the rim of the mountain curling west around Gravity Falls. The water had risen so far, it flooded the roots of the trees nearest the shore. Far down the shore, distant dark dots, locals were doing cannonballs off the submerged pier, reveling in how high they could jump, how slowly they fell, and how their splashes hung suspended in the air.

Under the unusual conditions and with night coming on, Ford decided that it wasn't safe to try to set out for the cave under the falls. They'd camp on shore and start in the morning.

This, unsurprisingly, started another fight with Bill. "If we were falling behind, you should have said so, I'd have picked it up—!"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to imply you were too ignorant to tell the time—"

"The time isn't the issue, I just didn't think you'd give up for the night before it's even civil twilight—!"

Dipper just found a low hill to pitch his tent on.

When Bill noticed, he broke off the argument, flung his hands in the air in defeat, and crouched by the lake to sulk and study the water. He reflexively scratched his arm, pushed up his sleeve with a frown, and read the soothsquitos' message. "'Deeth in the mourning,'" he muttered. "What's deeth? That's not a word."

Maybe they'd been trying to spell teeth, Ford thought. Why would they warn Bill about teeth?

Ford pitched his tent, he and Dipper made a fire, and they attempted to reconstitute some of Ford's dehydrated astronaut food to mixed success. Bill stayed by the lake and tried to eat the cereal he'd brought, but gagged on the second handful and decided dinner wasn't worth the effort.

As Ford cleaned up after dinner, Dipper rummaged through his backpack. "Hey, Grunkle Ford. So..." He pulled out a portable chess kit. "I brought this to Gravity Falls back when I thought this would be a normal summer and I thought we might go camping? And, well, here we are, and I guess things are kiiinda weird, but, I mean... might as well...?"

Fiord smiled wanly. "I think that's just what we need to unwind."

They unrolled Dipper's canvas chess board and took several tries to set up the pieces on the uneven surface. Ford let Dipper take white; he figured the younger and less experienced player could use the advantage of going first.

Bill wandered over with a can of cider early in the match and crouched at the edge of the firelight to watch. He had rolled his sleeves back down, tied his bow tie, and flipped up his hood, and in the dimming flickering light he looked disconcertingly like his real self. He hadn't bothered to stuff his hair into his hood, and it gave the impression that some strange golden internal organs were spilling out of a gash beneath Bill's eye.

After watching for several minutes, Bill said, "Dibs on playing the winner."

Ford and Dipper said, "No."

"Why not!"

"Because we don't like you," Dipper said.

"Oh, come on." Bill ignored Dipper, turning toward Ford. "Remember how much fun we used to have?"

"I remember that you're an incorrigible cheat and made every game miserable," Ford said.

Bill reeled back. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hood, yet somehow the shadow gave off the impression of fury. He chugged half his cider, unslung his backpack, and dug around inside it. "Who wants to play against humans anyway." He unscrewed a bottle of cold medicine, topped off his cider, and poured the concoction down his throat. "Ugh. You're not even any good. Black's got mate in three and I bet neither of you can see it."

Ford and Dipper stared at the board, trying to find the looming checkmate.

Bill stood. "I'm gonna go hallucinate, pass out, and hallucinate some more. More fun than hanging out with a couple of nerdy losers playing a stupid game of..." He trudged off toward his tent, muttering to himself.

Ford concluded that Bill was probably making up the mate in three—although not confidently—and returned to the game with a sigh. "It will be nice to drop him back in the shack," he muttered.

Dipper nodded. "Yeah."

Ford won—not in three moves—and they started a new game. Several minutes in, Dipper asked hesitantly, "Grunkle Ford? Do you really think the micro-rip theory...?"

Ford pursed his lips, but admitted, "Out of all the locations of concern, you could argue that the spot in the sky where the rift spent a week floating has the highest probability of sustaining lasting damage, so we still need to check. But..." He shook his head. "Based on the empirical evidence—I'm beginning to have my doubts."

Dipper's shoulders relaxed; part of him had worried questioning the Acceptable Theory would be taken as disloyalty. "Then, what do you think about Bill's...?"

Ford snorted. "'Gravitational eclipse' explanation?" He propped his chin in his hand, thinking. "I'm only certain of two things: Bill knows exactly what's going on; and he's hiding something he doesn't want us to know. Everything he's told us so far is what he wants us to think is the truth, and because of that, any of it could be lies. He hasn't given us anything we can independently verify in any way—just vague claims he expects us to take his word for and refuses to elaborate on. Even if he is telling the truth, it doesn't matter. We have to act like... not like he's lying, per se; but like what he says has no correlation with whether it's true."

And thus had been the case with everything Bill had said and done since his capture. Every power he claimed he still had, and every power he acted like he'd lost. Every bit of magical, historical, or interdimensional trivia he spouted off to make himself sound smarter. Every sweet thing he'd said to Mabel, every favor he'd offered Stan—and every time he'd told Ford he wanted to be "friends."

Dipper nodded. "Mabel says that's just how Bill talks. He doesn't care about whether what he's saying is true, he just tells you what he thinks should be true."

Ford would have to keep that in mind when talking to Bill in the future. "That girl's a wizard with Bill. Maybe she's right." Still—he had a hard time believing that figuring out what Bill was really saying had actually been that simple all along. (Maybe he just didn't want it to be that simple, after all the time he'd wasted.)

Ford glanced down at the ring the Hand Witch had gifted him. The first time she'd given it to him in the eighties, she'd told him that if the ring ever turned black, he'd chosen the wrong friends and doomed himself. He couldn't tell if it was just the firelight, but as he looked in the deep blue cabochon now, he swore he saw a swirl of black spiraling beneath the surface. He wished he knew what that meant—was he supposed to trust Bill more, or had he already absentmindedly taken something Bill had said on faith that he shouldn't have? Had that swirl first appeared only now during the eclipse, or when Ford had started studying the miniature grimoire Bill had gifted him? Was it even due to Bill? Ford hadn't studied mood-ring-o-mancy.

Dipper snuck a rook onto Ford's back row. "Checkmate."

Ford huffed. "Well done." He'd been so distracted, he hadn't even noticed Dipper lining his rook up.

Dipper pushed Ford's king over. It dramatically fell in slow motion.

They packed up the chess board, put out the campfire, and slept uneasily.

####

In spite of the sedative cold medicine, Bill couldn't get any decent sleep. It wasn't even a good trip. Every time he shut his eyes for a few minutes, he hallucinated/dreamed that he was locked back in the shack staring at the high attic ceiling, or staring silently at Soos's bedroom—or watching over the town graveyard from high above; or locked like a hunting trophy in a glass display case in some local hick's darkened den; kidnapped and tied up beneath Gideon's bed; closed in a dark airless leather box; preserved like an ancient relic in the museum; hovering above Gravity Falls' valley and trees in the still night sky —

—or petrified in the middle of a quiet knot of overgrown plant life deep in the forest. 

Or still in the tent but with his head wrenched around wrong, unable to move or feel his limbs, staring out at an angle that should have been impossible—until he awoke with lungs heaving to find his body was right and he wasn't dead; only for the humanity of his shape to reassert itself and he envied the stone corpse.

He crawled out of his tent, threw up his ill-advised concoction of cider and cold medicine, and collapsed, slipping in and out of a delirious doze until morning.

####

(I have been so looking forward to inflicting this chapter on y'all. Hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you think, and if you thought that was bad then stay tuned for things getting even worse for Bill!! 🎉)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Okay so apologies if this is outside of your wheelhouse, totally fair. And, on one hand, I know ultimately it's up to me not like someone on the internet with limited context, but I also got into sort of an argument with a friend and I'm very confused and I'd like some input on like. I guess just more opinions on this?

Basically I'm a virgin, and not currently interested in any sort of long term relationship, or even anything serious short term. I mentioned to a friend that I'd decided to give up on the whole dating thing (which I was mostly trying out of...obligation I guess? Feeling like I can't just want hookups idk) and just try going to a bar or social or something and being like hi I think you're hot this is what I know I'm into, interested? Because that's what I actually want. It took me a while to realize it, but yeah, I don't care about whether someone cares about me deeply as a person, I'm just horny. And I'm an adult (20) so....

Anyway. Friend in question responded like that was a terrible idea and said I shouldn't do it because I don't know what I'm doing.

Now I'm just confused because like sure, I don't, I've literally only kissed people before but also, lmao. How else am I supposed to figure it out. I'm not worried, I know what I like I've experimented a lot on my own, and I'm comfortable asserting boundaries and communicating. Like sure maybe it'll be awkward, whatever, but they were acting like there's some rule about how I'm doing it wrong and now I'm just confused.

I guess my question is sort of. Would it be somehow... inappropriate... for me to just find a stranger willing to have sex with me and do that. Especially because I have zero expectations really and would both be comfortable just leaving if the vibes are bad? I don't think I'm articulating this very well but honestly I'm a bit confused on what I'm confused about. They seemed like it had to something to do with my lack of prior experience but that sounds a bit ridiculous to me given that I have no interest in idk finding someone to get into an actual relationship with, now or probably ever. So why would I do that first like it's some sort of magic rule. Idk. Help?

hi anon,

respectfully, I think this is probably a friend whose opinions don't need to factor in to your (potential) sex life very much. while I'd certainly recommend everyone engage in sex with people who respect them and care about their safety and enjoyment, whatever that looks like for them, there's no reason that has to preclude sex with strangers - hell, one of the most fun, thoughtful, and relaxed sexual experiences I've ever had was with a bunch of people I had just met at a conference, most of whom I didn't know the names of. someone you just met can be more communicative and mindful of your wants than someone you've known for years; it's all varies tremendously!

giving a charitable read to your friend, I can see why someone might assume that it's better off not to have a first sexual experience with a stranger, but again, that comes from a place of assuming that a stranger is an inherently inferior sexual partner. you seem to have an extremely clear sense of what you want and expect from a sexual encounter, and so long as all of that's clearly understood between you and whoever else is participating I don't see any issue with that. how and with whom you have sex is, after all, up to you.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gerhard (Delico's Nursery) with a beautiful lover who is constantly getting hit on despite being in relationship?

The life of a noble was filled with its privileges, but also its duties.

Ceremonies. Titles. The proper way to hold a fork. All of it was for the aggrandizement and the preservation of the nobility. Gerhard was glad to be a part of it. Usually.

Public functions like this, the balls & the parties, were not his favorite sort. He did not find small talk pleasant, but could hold his conversation (and more importantly his tongue) when chatting with his other nobles. In recent events, however, he found it harder and harder to hold his tongue.

“Your lady wife certainly looks particularly enchanting this evening, Ser Gerhard. Whoever made such a beautiful gown?”

“I do not know. You will have to ask her.” He replied sternly at the man who was so obviously not interested in fashion.

He was recently married to another member of the noble class. A beautiful woman with an old family name much like Dali’s. Oddly enough they also got along well. Most only saw her beauty, but she was also quite clever. Angelico also seemed to like her, although that was irrelevant, as he looked at her often with big doe eyes of enamorment.

For most, it would be fine enough just to have a beautiful wife. And for Gerhard originally that had been enough as well. However, the constant reminder of how beautiful his wife was from men, colleagues, and strangers, was getting on his nerves.

Gerhard looked up from the conversation with the man, as he was not paying attention, and caught site of Dino leaving early with his new wife. ‘Lucky’ He thought. As Dino did not care much for his social standing, but had an old name to stand on, he could leave early without question. Leaving him here without his…well…not ‘friend’ per say but someone at least on his side. Or would not hit on his wife.

“You seem rather glum.”

Gerhard and his partner turned towards his wife, who had just appeared beside him. Indeed, looking radiant in her new gown. “Something the matter my dearest?”

“Oh, I’m afraid that is my fault, my lady.” The man apologized quickly. Blushing and bashful as a schoolboy. Making Gerhard grit his teeth. “I fear I may be boring Ser Gerhard.”

“I’m sure it’s not that.” His wife replied charitably. All civility. All gentility. Yet somehow further pulling this man into her spell. “Is your headache still bothering you, my love?”

Gerhard and the man both seem surprised, but the other man is the only one who commented. “Headache?”

“Yes. Gerhard was commenting on a headache earlier today. But he insisted that we come to the party to make an appearance as it was our duty to come.” His wife lied so easily. She then stepped close to place his hand on his chest. “You should not push yourself so hard my love.” Her eyes glittered with adoring fervor. To which Gerhard just scrunched his lips and sat his champagne down.

“Yes. Perhaps we should go home.” He said his goodbyes to the man, who would make his excuses for others, and took his wife’s hand before leading her out. Once in the open air waiting for the carriage he told her, “that was uncalled for.”

His wife just smirked at him. Her real face coming out now that they were alone. “What? You seemed in pain talking to that man. I assumed you had a headache.”

Gerhard growled. “To tell people that is a sign of weakness. What will people think?”

“That you are a mere man, which I guess is the cruelest insult for a Fra indeed. My mistake.”

The carriage arrived and a footman let them in before closing the door. “Look, I apologize.” Gerhard said after a sigh. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand at these things and have someone tell you how attractive your spouse is?”

“Yes. I do.”

Gerhard turned from his sulking to look at his wife. Seeing that she was being completely serious, before she slid forward; or as much as her gown would allow her. “You do know how lovely you are too, Gerhard? With these long golden curls. That pale skin.”

“Stop it.” He batted her hand away while he blushed. Gerhard usually hated people commenting on his appearance. Looking rather ‘feminine’ from a young age, he had to overcome such preconceived notions about him to gain his standing. But when his wife did it, Gerhard felt a little flustered.

“You are a very handsome, beautiful man Gerhard. The only difference is that ladies tend to be more discreet. Unless they are with other ladies.” Her coy smile sent a shiver through him, before she lifted his hand to kiss it. “You needn’t worry though. Let them compliment me like they would any piece of art. It is what I was born to do. But just know, the only one who can admire me fully, is you.”

Gerhard gulped as he felt the carriage starting to slow. Signaling that they were home. “Perhaps…I could admire you fully tonight.”

His wife grinned as the door opened and let herself be helped out. “Of course. But, we’ll need to have some help getting me out of this thing. Art, though beautiful to admire, can be tedious sometimes. Especially with all these buttons.”

[youremyheaven]

Random Mini Astrology Observations: Vedic Edition

Warning: This is just a string of random thoughts lol, don't compare it to my best work on here. It's a bunch of stuff I've had in my drafts and I'm trying to clear it all out

Before I get into this, I just want to say, that whether my observations are positive or negative, it won't apply to every individual who has these placements. 8 billion people exist on this planet, and not everyone will exhibit the same good or bad qualities. I hate having to put this PSA because some people don't get it but yeah "not all Lunars/Venusians/Nodals/Solars/Jup/Sat are going to be the same".

Jupiter influenced men are known for being introverted cutie pies who kinda have that mature-dilf-y vibe.

Obviously, another category of Jupiter men are often loud, extroverted and very outgoing but I've noticed these placements heavilyyyy in celebrities "known" for being private and introverted. They are also often known for being generous and kind hearted.

Prabhas, Vishaka Stellium (Moon, Mercury and Venus)

He is known as "darling star" and brings food that he has prepared at home for everyone on set (he is an actor). He is known for being very shy and introverted but also super sweet, generous and kind.

Sidharth Malhotra, Vishaka Moon

Sid is known for being extremely lowkey which is RARE for a Bollywood actor. He's also quite gentlemanly and charitable

Ratan Tata, Vishaka Moon

He is an Indian billionaire entrepreneur who lives in a small 2bhk apartment and has donated most of his personal wealth to charity. He is known for having led his company in a very humane way (there are lots of controversies and im aware of them but compared to the work culture and quality of life that most other indian companies offer its employees, TATA is in a different league).

Keanu Reeves, Punarvasu Moon (and stellium)

i dont have to explain but Keanu is the king of kindness and generosity

Mads Mikkelsen, Vishaka Moon

unlike his characters, Mads is actually a sweet guy and very private

Adam Driver- Vishaka Sun

he's so private that nobody even knows he's married with a kid

Tom Hanks, Punarvasu Sun

known for being a gentleman and quite modest. the OG nice guy and obviously very private

Ethan Hawke, Vishaka Sun

another lowkey, private guy who is known for being nice

2. Rashmika Mandanna and Surbhi Jyoti, Swati Moon

I find their eye area to be kinda similar?? I know they don't look alike but there are some overarching similarities between them and I think its bc they have the same moon nak.

3. I came across a comment that Akshay Kumar made about Asin and her CEO husband Rahul Sharma.

“He is madly in love with his wife, his child. It’s like he treats her like a goddess.

and guess what?? Rahul is a Purvashadha Sun 🥺😌😌

4. Ashwini natives often have post-apocalyptic dreams

Since its the first nak and is ruled by Ketu and is in complete darkness, symbolically representing the stage before creation (which happens in Bharani), the subconscious mind is susceptible to having really strange, fcked up, war-like dreams/visions. Also bc Aries rashi is ruled by Mars, God of War.

5. every Venusian man I know kinda has a voice kink

6. Many Punarvasus crave for a simple, rustic, relaxed type of life. In fact many famous Punarvasus live on a farm

Kaley Cuoco- Punarvasu Moon

Bretman Rock - Punarvasu Sun

MS Dhoni- Punarvasu Sun

Dennis Quaid, Punarvasu Moon on his ranch

7. Jupiter and Venus are 'Brahmins' or priestly, the Sun and Mars are 'Kshatriyas' or warriors, the Moon is 'Vaishya', or a trader, Mercury is a 'Vaisya', Saturn 'Shudra', or a lower caste and Rahu and Ketu are outcastes.

This is not an observation but just an astrological fact that I thought I'd mention

8. Magha girls are often the spoilt daughters or come from very bougie families where they're the princesses. They might emotionally suffer but materially and otherwise, they're very comfortable

Shruti Hassan- Magha Moon

she has spoken about how rough her childhood was bc of her parents' tumultuous marriage and subsequent divorce but that doesn't change the fact that she's the daughter of Kamal Hassan, one of the biggest stars in the history of Indian cinema

Kiara Advani- Magha Moon

Kiara is from a very wealthy and illustrious family, and she grew up as a much loved, spoilt ish daughter<3

Wonyoung- Magha Sun

Wonyoung is from a filthy rich family and she has said that she grew up very pampered. And that she didn't have an allowance bc whatever she asked for she got. However she became a trainee at 12yrs of age and that journey could not have been easy. Despite being born rich, she's had to go through a lot in life to be where she is today

Aditi Rao Hydari- Magha Moon

she's of actual royal lineage so she's a real life princess but her parents divorced when she was a kid and she grew up with a single mom in delhi and not in a palace

9. DMX- Mula Sun (dog yoni) was obsessed with dogs

The late rapper DMX's relationship with dogs, which seems almost mythical. He was born in 1970 - the year of the Metal Dog, and in his teens he ran away from his abusive household and befriended stray dogs while vulnerable on the streets. He began to gather dogs for protection, intimidation and family, and was sent to prison for stealing a dog (a neglected dog chained up in a scrapyard). In prison, he wrote a lot of his early songs, in which he came up with his "dog" mythology, in which he imagines himself as a monstrous dog-themed gangster who barks and howls. He had a huge tattoo of his favourite dog Boomer on his back. In 2008, his 12 dogs were taken from him by cops after there were reports of animal cruelty - DMX had paid a negligent caretaker to look after the dogs while he was on tour. (The dogs lived out the rest of their lives as therapy animals in a women's prison)

I think its interesting how our yoni animal influences our life

10. As Vighati graha, male planets are: Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Rahu; female planets are: Moon, Venus, Ketu whilst two eunuch planets are Mercury and Saturn. All the standard rules for determination of the sex of the child are applicable, female signs are: Taurus, Gemini, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn and Aquarius; male signs are: Aries, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius and Pisces. Exalted planets indicate male issue and debilitated planets indicate female.

11. Mercurial men and Jupiter men are soooo flamboyant, sassy and gender non-conforming

RuPaul- Vishaka Sun & Moon

Elton John- Jyeshta Rising

Jeff Goldblum- Jyeshta Moon

Prince- Vishaka Rising

Jimi Hendrix- Mars in Vishaka atmakaraka

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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“...pardon me. I think I must be hearing things,” Alistair frowns. “For a moment, it almost sounded like you said you wanted to break off our engagement. But that can’t have possibly been it, so if you wouldn’t mind repeating yourself—” 

“No, you didn’t mishear me.” 

“What?” 

“I’m saying you heard correctly. I don’t want to get married to you. The engagement is over.” 

You watch as Alistair’s jaw drops open yet again, and meanwhile, your mother lets out the single most offended gasp you’ve ever heard in your entire life. With the way she’s reacting right now, you would think that she’s the one being broken up with. 

Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Everyone is free to be as outraged as they want. Your decision is final.

“[N-Name],” your mother splutters weakly. She somehow looks like she’s aged a whole decade, simply by being part of this conversation. “Don’t… don’t be ridiculous. If this is supposed to be some kind of joke, it’s not funny, young lady. Apologize to your fiancé for your rudeness.”

“But he’s not my fiancé anymore,” you say simply. “I just broke up with him.” 

“[Name]!” 

She presses a palm to her forehead and proceeds to fall rather ungraciously onto the nearest chair. She grips the arms of the chair and gasps for breath, as if she’s holding on for dear life. Really, the whole thing is needlessly overdramatic. She’s acting like she just got diagnosed with an incurable disease or something. 

Alistair approaches her hesitantly. “Countess [Last Name], are you quite alright? Should I send for help?” 

“N-No, I’m fine,” she replies, visibly gaunt. “I just… need a moment to collect myself. I’m still convinced my foolish daughter must be playing a trick on the both of us. Truly, I don’t know what came over her. She’s never done anything like this before.”

You wish you could say you feel guilty about scaring your own mother half to death, but does she really need to overreact to this extent? It’s not like Alistair’s the only fish in the sea. You can just marry someone else, for crying out loud. 

“Come on, then,” your mother urges. She looks up at you in desperation. “Take back what you said, [Name]. If you apologize profusely, I’m sure Alistair will forgive you. He’s a patient, charitable man, and you’re extremely fortunate to have him.”

You turn back towards Alistair. It’s true that he’s a good guy. You know as much from playing his route and having seen how kindly he treated the heroine. That’s exactly why this decision is the best one for the both of you. He’ll get to enjoy his fated romance without a villainess fiancée complicating things. He may not realize it right now, but you’re doing him a big favor. 

Still. I guess being broken up with all of a sudden can’t feel good. I should try and soften the blow.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and your mother audibly exhales. Her reaction is premature, however, because you have no intention of saying what she wants you to.

Instead, you double down. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you,” you continue. “And it’s really nothing personal. I thought about it, and I’m not physically attracted to you at all. You seem like a very nice guy, and I respect you on a personal level. But your face just isn’t doing anything for me, and I can’t keep pretending. It just won’t ever work out between us. Sorry about this.” 

Alistair’s jaw drops open for the third time, and your mother lets out a horrified scream before openly wailing into the palms of her hands. 

“What?” you gape. “What did I say that was so wrong?” 

Needless to say, you were lying just then. Alistair is extremely attractive, but you wanted to spare his feelings and not make him feel like you dislike him as a person. It’s not like you could ever tell him the actual reason. He’ll never understand why you’re so desperate to get away from him. But once he meets the heroine and falls for her, it won’t even matter.

Alistair blinks, looking more exhausted by the second. “So… the reason you want to end our engagement… is because you don’t like how I look?” 

“Pretty much,” you nod. “See? Now you’re getting it.” 

Your mother keeps on wailing, and it only seems to be getting louder by the second. Jeez, this family is home to so many drama queens. No wonder the villainess turned out to be such a massive pain. 

“I see.” Alistair presses his lips together. He’s clearly trying to remain civil, but it must be difficult, considering you’ve all but spat in his face. “I didn’t realize you had such specific demands when it came to your future husband. I apologize for not meeting your standards. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to change your mind?” 

“It’s an insurmountable issue, I’m afraid. Let’s just agree to cut our losses here and move on.” 

Alistair scrunches up his nose, struggling to hide his irritation. You don’t really blame him for it. Odds are he won’t want to speak to you ever again after this, but that’s exactly what you’re after. The more distance he keeps from you, the better your chances of survival. Having this hottie loathe your guts is a small price to pay for not dying.

“Very well, then. I should return home and tell my parents the news. They won’t be too pleased to hear it, but if you’re not willing to proceed with the engagement, I must respect your wishes. Good day, [Name].” 

Alistair bows, and even though your mother tries begging him to stay in between every choked-out sob, soon enough, he’s gone. 

Just like that, you’ve successfully avoided your very first death flag.

You’ve got to admit, it feels pretty good. 

“[Name]!” your mother screams. She’s apparently recovered enough of her strength to stand up from the chair, and is now glaring daggers at you. In fact, she looks like she might even be out for blood. “What in the world… is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

You slowly back away from her. “Um. I just ended a relationship that was doomed to fail?” 

“[Name]!” 

“Eek! Don’t hurt me!” 

You rip off your heels and start running down the hallway. Since she doesn’t have the nerve to abandon decorum and sprint after you, she opts to stand by the doorway and yell out her feelings. 

“Just wait until your father finds out about this!” she cries out. “Do you hear me? You’re in big trouble, young lady! You can’t even begin to fathom the storm that’s headed your way!” 

She keeps screaming and screaming, but the further you run, the more her voice fades into the distance. There are countless servants and other household staff that are watching the whole spectacle unfold, no doubt wondering what the hell is going on. It’s only your first day as a villainess, and you’ve already managed to become the center of attention.

Still. You successfully broke off your engagement and saved yourself from certain death. All things considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty well so far.

“[Name]!” 

…you might end up being killed by your mother instead, though.

It doesn’t take long for word of your antics to spread throughout the manor. 

Not that it really surprises you, after all the havoc you wreaked. You figured that breaking off your engagement with Alistair wouldn’t be without its fair share of trouble, but you didn’t expect your mother to react so viscerally. It was like an episode straight out of a reality TV show.

Anyways, you’re still trying to come to terms with this new body and new life of yours, but one thing you’ve quickly realized is that the servants here are super chatty. The second there’s any hot new gossip, they dive right into it. They’re rather careless about their surroundings, considering they work for a mean villainess who could easily punish them for their insolence. It’s a good thing you’re not the real [Name]. She would have probably put them through hell by now.

But you digress. The main topic today is, of course, the fact that you broke off your engagement and nearly gave your mother a heart attack. 

“Can you believe what Lady [Name] did? I heard the countess’ soul just about left her body!” 

“It was so sudden, too. Completely without warning.” 

“Wasn’t she always gushing about how much she liked him up until now? What could have possibly changed?”

“Our lady is a fickle sort, after all. Still, it is surprising. I’ve been hearing talks that she hasn’t quite been herself since this morning. Perhaps it’s true that some strange malady has taken up residence in her body…” 

Well, now that’s a little rude. You would hardly call yourself a malady. Although you most certainly have taken up residence in this body. The villainess that they loved to hate is now a thing of the past, but you’re willing to bet that they’ll appreciate this change.  

For one thing, you’re perfectly happy to overlook their gossip. It’s actually kind of fun to know that so many people are talking about you. This surge in popularity is somewhat exhilarating. 

Well, either way, you aren’t too concerned about it. You’ve already decided to take the steps towards restoring your reputation and prove to everyone that you’re a good person. You refuse to allow yourself to be labeled as the villainess, because you already know how that story goes. 

You’ve been locked in your room reading for the past little while. You were expecting your mother to storm in earlier and yell at you some more, but based on all the gossip you’ve heard from the servants, she has apparently fallen ill from shock and is lying in her bed. Seriously, such a drama queen.

Just as you’re about to turn a page and start a new chapter in the ridiculously cheesy romance novel you’re reading, someone knocks on the door.

“...Lady [Name]? May I enter?” 

“Hm? Oh, sure. Go ahead,” you beckon. 

The door opens, and you are once again faced with the nervous little maid from before. She seems to be just as apprehensive as always, the poor thing. The real [Name] must have been awful to her, if she’s close to bursting into tears every time she lays eyes on you. 

“Hey,” you greet, setting your book aside and smiling pleasantly. “How can I help you?” 

“P-Pardon the interruption, but I thought… you might want to know that your father has just returned to the estate,” she stammers. “I realize this isn’t my place, but given how your mother reacted earlier, I… I just thought I should tell you.” 

Aww. She came all this way to speak to you—something that clearly terrifies her—just to give you a heads-up? Even though the real villainess clearly didn’t treat her well, she’s still acting in your best interests and looking out for you. You’re technically not even the head of the household. Officially, she should answer to your father, first and foremost. But she still went out of her way to let you know, even if she could get in trouble for it. 

You’ve officially made up your mind. This cute little maid deserves the entire world, and you’re going to make sure she knows it. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you smile. 

She meets your gaze, only for a moment, then nods skittishly before looking away again.

“What’s your name again?” you ask. “I’m sorry if you’ve told me before, but I’ve forgotten. I think I should do a better job of remembering from now on. I’m hoping it will help people feel more comfortable around me.” 

“You want… to know my name?” 

She’s visibly taken aback, no doubt because the previous owner of this body never expressed any interest in treating the people that worked for her, like, well… like actual people.

But you’re not the same crappy villainess she’s used to. You’re determined to change your fate in every possible way, and to that end, acting like a decent human being sounds like a pretty good place to start. 

You nod encouragingly. “Yes, your name. I’d like to know, so that I remember what to call you from now on. It would really help me out. I’m going to try to remember everyone else’s names too. It might take a little while, but I’ll certainly do my best.” 

She can’t stop herself from gaping at you, which again, you can’t really blame her for. But despite her visibly wariness, she still musters up the courage to respond. 

“F-Fiona,” she replies. “My name is Fiona. But I-I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, so it's okay if you forget!” 

She’s the very first person whose name you’ve gotten to know since waking up in this world, so it’s safe to say that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

You clasp your hands together and grin. “Perfect! Thank you for sharing that with me, Fiona. I hope this will help us feel closer from now on. And don’t hesitate to tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable. I’ve resolved to make a change recently, and part of that involves ensuring that the people who work for me feel at ease.” 

Fiona keeps on gaping at you. She must be struggling to wrap her head around all this. You can practically see the gears turning inside her head.

Well, you feel much better now. It’ll obviously take a while for Fiona to start trusting you, and that goes for the rest of the household staff as well, but you’re willing to put in the effort and make a change. 

“Anyways, Fiona,” you carry on, lifting up the book you were just reading, “have you read this, by any chance? If so, I was wondering what your thoughts on it were. To me, it just seems way too clichéd—” 

“[Name]!” 

Ah. That must be your father. Well, then. This is as good a time as any, you suppose. 

You set the book down and smile. “I guess that discussion will have to wait until later. Sorry for troubling you right off the bat, but do you think you could help me make a rope out of all those blankets so I can climb out of the window and run away?” 

Fiona blinks several times in quick succession, but unfortunately, she isn’t able to react in time. 

Your father bursts into the room moments later. 

Is there any chance he’s going to be chill about this?  

“[Name]!” he cries out again. “What’s this nonsense I hear about you breaking off your engagement while I was out?!” 

Hm. Honestly, it’s still too early to tell. He might not even be that mad. 

“I’m extremely mad right now!” 

Fuck. 

Your father’s arrival immediately signals for Fiona to leave. Even though she was nice enough to warn you ahead of time, there’s nothing she can do to help you at this point. Hopefully she’ll keep you in her prayers, at least. 

Fiona closes the door behind her, and you slowly stand up from the bed, taking the time to gauge your father’s expression. His nostrils are flaring as he yells at you—definitely not a good sign. You also don’t know exactly what kind of relationship the villainess had with her parents. You know that she was spoiled, but it’s clear that this engagement between you and Alistair is something they consider very important. Batting your eyelashes probably won’t get you off the hook.

But you may as well try it, just to be sure. 

“I’m sorry, father,” you say, mustering up your most convincing puppy eyes. “I just… I just didn’t want to be with him. I realized it and had to put an end to that engagement. The thought of having to marry him was too much to bear.” 

Your father narrows his eyes. “Really? Alistair Calderwood? The very same man that you were absolutely thrilled about when I first announced that our families were discussing a potential engagement?”

…huh. Right. Now that you think about it, the villainess did like Alistair quite a good deal, which is why she completely lost her shit when he fell for the heroine instead. 

Your case isn’t looking too strong. 

“Th-That was then, this is now,” you stubbornly deny. “I’ve learned a lot about myself in this time, and I now understand that we’re simply incompatible. I want to marry someone that I’m truly passionate about. I just can’t force myself to go along with this anymore.” 

“But you were speaking highly of him just the other day,” your father insists, clearly exasperated. “Last night, when I told you that he would be visiting today, I recall that you said, ‘Oh, how fun! I’ll be sure to pick out one of my finest dresses tonight!’’’

Balls. He’s really not making this easy for you, huh? 

“I was really struggling,” you nod somberly. “I kept pretending that I was happy to be with him, even though I had already decided long ago that my heart was closed off. I’m afraid he’s fallen out of favor with me, father. There’s nothing he can do to win me back anymore.” 

Your father proceeds to just stare at you for a while. You’re not sure whether he’s buying it or not. Hopefully your parents are as gullible as you’d like them to be.

“...I’ve had enough of this farce.” 

Okay, so maybe not that gullible. Duly noted. 

“We’ve always let you do as you pleased,” he grits out, clenching his fists in frustration. “I don’t concern myself with what you get up to in your personal time, so long as you do the bare minimum of what’s expected of you. And we had already agreed that you would marry someone we deemed acceptable. Alistair Calderwood is the most promising candidate you’ve ever had. And you want to squander this opportunity purely on a whim?” 

“It’s not like I’ll go unwed,” you protest. “I’ll happily marry someone else. I’m sure I can find another man that’s equally as respectable and impressive. I just don’t want it to be Alistair—” 

“Silence. Do not speak unless I tell you to speak.” 

He glares at you with an intensity you didn’t even know was possible. You involuntarily gulp and take several steps back. You’ve been so caught up in the excitement of a new life that you’d briefly forgotten what kind of setting this is. Here, young women such as yourself are basically treated like property by their own families. You live in luxury, but only under the condition that you marry into a reputable family and further elevate your parents’ status. 

Part of you had been hoping that the villainess could get away with this sort of behavior, but it seems as though she too is just a pawn in a much bigger game. 

“You’ve made a royal mess of things,” your father scowls. “And now it falls on me to fix it. I’m not sure if the Calderwood family will forgive this transgression, but you had better hope they will. Otherwise, you’re going to regret it.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on how you’ll be regretting it, and before you can ask what exactly he has in mind, he storms out of the room. 

You purse your lips. “Okay, so that probably could have gone better.”

While you were being yelled at and lowkey threatened by your father, Alistair was facing his fair share of discomfort as well.

“She did what?” 

“She called off the engagement,” Alistair repeats. His parents are every bit as incredulous as he was expecting. Well, he couldn’t quite believe the news when he heard it either. It was completely out of nowhere.

Alistair’s father, Duke Calderwood, lets out a sigh and massages his temples. “Are you quite certain that’s what she meant? Remember, I told you before. [Name] can be rather frivolous at times. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was yet another one of her mood swings.” 

“Considering she repeated it over and over again, I’d say there’s no doubt she was serious about it,” Alistair grimaces. “She… insulted my appearance. She said she wasn’t attracted to me and couldn’t imagine us being together.” 

“Why, that’s nonsense!” his mother gasps. “You’re such a handsome young man!” 

“All due respect, mother, that’s not the issue here. I had no idea how to handle such a sudden rejection, and I must admit that I’m at a complete loss.” 

Duke Calderwood shakes his head. “Like I said, she’s frivolous. But it doesn’t change the fact that she utterly disrespected you. I can’t believe her family would allow such behavior. It calls their legitimacy into question.” 

“Does it even matter anymore? She clearly has no intention of being with me. Her mother desperately tried to convince her otherwise, but she refused to even consider it. I don’t expect that she’ll have yet another change of heart. Besides, I would be humiliated to have to take her back after how she spoke to me.” 

“Right. It’s a frustrating turn of events, but we can’t forgive such an oversight. Perhaps, with the right token of apology…” 

“Father,” Alistair glares. “I don’t want to be with her anymore either. She treated me like dirt.” 

“Yes, yes. But, well, the arrangement we had made with [Name]’s family was quite favorable to us. It’s just a shame things had to end this way,” the duke sighs.

Alistair turns away from him. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to be alone for a little while. Regardless of how [Name]’s family chooses to handle this, I have no intention of taking her back. I hope you can understand.” 

He walks off before waiting to hear how his parents respond. It doesn’t concern him anymore. Frankly speaking, he didn’t want to get married to you in the first place. He’s heard the rumors. He knows that you have a rather infamous reputation, and that you act selfishly with no regard to those around you. He never wanted someone like that as his bride-to-be, but he went along with it to be a good son and make his family proud. In a way, this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. He’s no longer bound to you. 

Which is why it’s so strange. His chest should feel ten times lighter now that he doesn’t have to deal with you anymore. Whoever his next fiancée is will surely be a much better option. 

Perhaps it’s the sting of rejection. The bitterness that comes with being scorned so readily. The way you looked at him back there… it was like you couldn’t wait to be done with him. He’s never experienced such utter disinterest before. 

“What a waste of time,” Alistair mutters under his breath. No, it’s better this way. Some temporary frustration is nothing compared to how much he would have suffered if he was stuck having to marry you. 

He didn’t care about you to begin with, so there’s no reason he should care about you now. 

Lost in thought, Alistair bumps into someone as he turns the corner. 

“...ah. My bad, my bad. I should have been more careful.” 

Alistair scowls, already irritable because of the way his day started off. The person he’s just run into certainly doesn’t help. It’s a familiar face, but not one he’s particularly fond of.

“Hello, Rowan,” Alistair greets half-heartedly, adjusting the collar of his jacket in place. “I didn’t realize you were visiting today.” 

Rowan offers a languid smile. “Yes, well, my father had business in the area, so I thought I’d stop by.” 

“Is uncle doing well?” 

“As well as he can be. No different than usual, I suppose.”

“I see. That’s good to hear.” Alistair awkwardly clears his throat. “Anyways. I’m not feeling too well at the moment, so you’ll have to excuse me for not sticking around. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

He pushes past Rowan as quickly as he can, making no effort to hide his discomfort. Rowan knows it all too well. He’s used to his interactions with his cousin being brief, superficial, and painfully tense. Not that he minds. And besides, there’s something of far greater concern right now.

“Did I hear that right?” Rowan blinks. “Alistair’s fiancée… broke up with him?”

He happened to overhear while he was walking down the hallway, and he could hardly believe his own ears. To think that the engagement Alistair’s parents were so looking forward to would be completely destroyed, in the blink of an eye. It’s just so… so…

Hilarious.

“Pfft—!” 

Rowan covers his mouth with the palm of his hand, struggling to keep from laughing aloud. It’s just too good to be true. It’s the best news he’s gotten in a long time. 

“Ah, incredible,” Rowan chuckles. He wipes a hand across his eyes, which have already begun to tear up from amusement. “That woman, [Name]. She sounds like a fucking riot. Perhaps I ought to meet her for myself.” 

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[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER NINE: WARMTH

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SUMMARY ↳ Gotham's getting colder. You think your life is getting warmer. Nightwing grins, flipping his escrima sticks with practiced ease. "Couldn't miss out on Gotham's winter wonderland, could I? Plus, I wanted to visit my favorite bug.” “Spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids.” “That’s literally the same thing.” “It’s literally not.” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: none, i think wc: 3.4k

Snow comes early in Gotham, so by December it’s mostly snowing everyday. It feels like you’re in New York again, when the Christmas lights start appearing on trees and snowmen litter the parks. Gotham, true to its nature, stays colorless for the most part. However, Gotham Square provides quite the merry site. Your suit reflects the bright lights as you swing by. 

Despite the holiday cheer, you can't let your guard down. Gotham's criminals have a knack for exploiting the city's festivities, and tonight is no exception. You notice a group of people gathered around a shop window, watching a live performance of animatronic figures reenacting a Christmas story. You land silently on a nearby rooftop, scanning the crowd below.

Karen’s voice crackles to life. "[Name],  there's been a report of suspicious activity near the old ice rink. It seems someone is trying to steal the charitable donations collected for the orphanage."

"Got it," you reply, already changing direction. You launch yourself into the night, the cold wind biting through your suit. The streets blur beneath you as you make your way to the ice rink, the glow of Gotham Square fading behind you.

When you arrive, you find a group of thugs attempting to break into the donation booth. They are armed and clearly not expecting any resistance on a night like this. You drop down silently behind them.

"Planning to ruin Christmas for the kids, are we?" you hum, voice distorted and menacing. The thugs spin around, startled, but it's already too late for them.

You make quick work of the first few, your training and instincts taking over. A punch here, a kick there, and they are down before they know what hit them. One of the thugs tries to flee, but a well-aimed web takes him down, his body hitting the wall with a thud.

As you tie up the last of the unconscious criminals, you hear the distant chime of church bells, signaling the hour. You look up, seeing the first flakes of snow beginning to fall from the sky. You feel a sense of childlike wonder as the tiny white stars fall from the sky. You secure the donation booth, ensuring that the funds will be safe for the children who need them.

friendly behind you

“Aw, you beat me to it.”

Nightwing leans casually against the wall, escrima sticks in hand. You give Nightwing a nod, acknowledging his familiar presence. "Just cleaning up Gotham's holiday mess," you reply. "Didn't expect you to be in town."

Nightwing grins, flipping his escrima sticks with practiced ease. "Couldn't miss out on Gotham's winter wonderland, could I? Plus, I wanted to visit my favorite bug.”

“Spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids.”

“That’s literally the same thing.”

“It’s literally not.”

Whenever Nightwing is in town (which seems to be more than usual) he takes it upon himself to accompany you whenever he can find you. You mostly just let him do his own thing. "Semantics aside, looks like you've got everything under control here," Nightwing remarks, glancing around at the subdued criminals. “So… how have you been?”

You’re about to swing away, but his question confuses you. “What?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well, how are you doing? Is work good? Or do you go to school?”

He watches as the eyes of your suit deadpan at him. “...Yeah? Life’s good, I guess?” you reply, appalled.

“That’s good.” he beams. Then he inspects your suit like it’s personally offended him. “Are you sure that thing can keep you warm?”

“Are you sure that thing can keep you warm?” you sass, gesturing to his skin tight uniform. “There’s literally a built-in heater, I’m fine.”

He nods, looking to the side. It’s silent for a while, leaving you with your thoughts. Is he seriously trying to… parent you? You’re used to Steve or even Bucky mother henning you, not Dick Grayson. Don’t get it wrong, you like and respect the hell out of him. But he literally has no business trying to coddle you into his arms. It just makes no sense to you

“Well… it’s been fun,” you cough, turning around and webbing a building. “Bye,” and then your off. Nightwing sighs as his eyes follow you. As you disappear into the Gotham skyline, he looks down, twirling his escrima sticks absentmindedly.

“I see B’s adoption tendencies are hereditary,” chuckles Oracle in his ear.

“Shut up,” he hisses.

“Maybe I should just get him a dog or something,” bemoaned Jon, laid dramatically across your couch.

“Pretty sure someone will do that already,” comes your reply.

Jon likes hanging around in your apartment. You wonder if his parents are curious as to where he is all the time. He’s even started leaving some of his sweaters around (that you definitely don’t steal, no way). He groaned dramatically, rolling over to look at you upside down. "You're supposed to be supportive," he mumbled, voice muffled by the cushions.

Jon has decided he needs your council in getting Damian a Christmas present. “Well, you shouldn’t get him anything to do with, like, chores or work.” You walk over and sit on his stomach. He can take it, he’s a big boy. He curls an arm under his head and rests on it. “That’s gift-giving number one.”

“What can I give him that he couldn’t just buy anyway?” he huffs.

“Something personal,” you hum, brushing his curls out of his face. “Something custom, even. He likes art. Make him something yourself.”

Jon perks up a bit at your suggestion, contemplating the idea. "Like what? I'm not exactly an artist."

"You don't have to be a Picasso," you reassure him with a grin. "Just something that shows you put thought into it. Maybe a sketch, or even a painting if you’re feeling bold. It's the personal touch that matters."

He considers it, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yeah, I could do that. Maybe a memory or something, like the time he tried to cook and set the kitchen on fire."

You choke out a laugh. “What? You never told me about that!”

Jon blushes slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, well, it was… an interesting evening. Alfred wasn't too pleased."

"I can only imagine," you chuckle, picturing Damian attempting to cook. "That could definitely make something.”

“I’ll think on it,” decides Jon, sitting up and tugging you so you sit on his lap. After the whole Ivy situation, he was really awkward around you for a while. He kept stuttering over his words and wouldn’t look you in the eye. Eventually he got comfortable again, really comfortable. You can barely be around him without him having a hand on you or an arm around you. “What will you get him?”

"Something that doesn't involve kitchen disasters," you reply with a playful grin, settling comfortably on his lap. Jon rolls his eyes good-naturedly, his arm finding its familiar place around your shoulders.

"You're no fun," he teases, squeezing you gently. "But seriously, what are you planning to get him?"

You lean back against him, considering the question. "I haven’t really thought about it. To be honest, I didn’t even think he would expect one from me.”

Jon hums thoughtfully, running his fingers across your shoulder absentmindedly. "Why wouldn’t he expect one from you? You’re his friend.”

You guess he’s right. You and Damian talk, go out of each others way to spend time with one another (even if Damian would rather choke than admit it). It’s hard figuring out where you fit in this world.

"Yeah, we're friends," you murmur, more to yourself than to Jon. "But sometimes I wonder if I really belong here, you know?" You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Jon's fingers pause in their absent-minded tracing along your shoulder. He shifts slightly, turning to look at you with a gentle expression. "Of course you belong here, [Your Name]. You’re kind and funny and brave. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest and hug his. “I’m sure you’re just feeling homesick,” he reassures. Oh, he has no idea.

“I know Gotham is a tough place but… I’m here for you, and Damian’s here for you,” he pauses, “...if you want… I can take you up the Queens…?” Surely he doesn’t mean flying you there? It takes a couple of hours to get to Queens from here, but he can take you there in an instant. However, that also means revealing to you his secret. Christ, it’s like he’s not even trying to hide it.

Regardless, it wouldn’t be your Queens. Actually, seeing it might do more harm than good. “No, it’s okay. Thanks, though.”

He looks at you with the most earnest puppy eyes you’ve seen. It tugs at your heartstrings, his concern and offer of support clear in his gaze.

"Thanks, Jon," you manage, your voice soft with gratitude and a touch of wistfulness. "I appreciate it."

He nods, sensing your reluctance to delve deeper into the topic. Jon's hand finds yours, squeezing it gently in a gesture of solidarity. "Anytime, [Your Name]. You know that."

Jon's earnestness and the warmth of his hand in yours fill you with a mix of comfort and a slight pang of guilt. You appreciate his concern and the genuine offer of support, yet part of you hesitates to fully accept it. 

“I’ll figure it out,” you declare, referring to Damian’s gift. “And it’ll definitely outshine yours,” you tease.

Jon grins, and squeezes you close, making you squawk in offense. He blows raspberries in your neck, the feeling of it making you curl in on yourself, but regardless, makes you happy.

“Give me some tunes, Karen.”

Music starts playing from the speakers of your laptop, courtesy of Karen. You hum and rock as you turn a screw. The particle accelerator is looking good and proper now. It’s begun to take shape, winding around the space the more you build it. Sipping your death brew, you make sure the screw is tight before throwing the wrench somewhere.

“Explain to me one more time?” comes Victoria’s voice from your phone. You can see from the facetime that she’s in her pajamas, ready to go to bed.

“It’s a new element. It’s gonna power all my future creations,” you say. “Basically, this bad boy,” you pat the accelerator, “is going to synthesize it by accelerating charged particles to high speeds so that they collide with each other. The atoms will fuse, making the new element.”

“How… did you even come up with this?”

“I didn’t,” you sniff. “My dad’s dad did. He just gave me the blueprints.”

“And what will you name it?”

“Well… my dad planned to name it badassium. So that’s what it’ll be called,” you declare, grabbing your phone.

She raises a brow at the name but has no further comment. “Why don’t you… patent this or something?”

“The idea is to stay discreet, my dear.” You take a seat and kick up your legs. “Besides, I’d have a hard time choosing whether to patent it as [Name] Stark or Spinnerette.”

She snorts. "Right," she says, stifling a yawn. "Just don't blow yourself up, okay?"

"I'll do my best," you reply with a grin. "Sleep tight, Tori. I'll keep you updated."

"Goodnight," she responds, her voice already trailing off. You end the call and set your phone down, turning your attention back to the particle accelerator.

You stretch, feeling the strain of hours spent hunched over. Just as you're about to call it a night, Karen's voice breaks the silence. "Incoming message from ‘please get this boy some brown contacts’."

You wipe your hands on a rag and pick up your phone, opening the message. It's a selfie of Jon and Damian, both smiling (well, Jon is smiling, Damian looks mildly amused). You respond with a simple selfie you took earlier. He hearts the message.

As night falls, you suit up once again, ready for another patrol. The streets are quieter tonight, the snowfall muffling the usual sounds of the city. You swing through the air, feeling a sense of peace and purpose. As you land silently on a nearby rooftop, you hear a faint noise. Your senses sharpen, and you move cautiously towards the sound.

You find a small group of children, huddled together, trying to build a snowman. Their laughter is infectious, and for a moment, you just watch, a smile tugging at your lips.

One of the kids looks up and spots you. "Look! It's Spinnerette!" The others follow his gaze, their faces lighting up with excitement. You drop down to join them, your landing soft and graceful.

"Hi there," you greet them, your voice friendly and warm. "Need any help with that snowman?"

dark and brooding watching

The kids nod eagerly, and you spend the next few minutes helping them build their snowman. When it's done, they cheer, admiring their handiwork. "Thank you, Spinner!" one of the kids says, his eyes shining with gratitude.

"Anytime," you reply, feeling a warmth in your heart. "Now, you little rascals should go home. It’s dark out.”

They whine but listen, scurrying off into the nearby apartments. You watch as they make it inside, they’re parents (who were keeping a vigilant eye) wave to you as they close the door.

You turn to look over your shoulder slightly. “You gonna come out or are you gonna stand there all day brooding?”

“You’re good with children,” comes a low gruff. The man, the myth, the legend himself; Batman steps out of the shadows, approaching you.

“They’re not very complicated creatures,” is your dry response.

Batman steps closer, his presence imposing but familiar. "No, but they require patience and understanding," he replies, his voice softer than usual.

You shrug, "Guess I've had some practice."

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable behind the cowl. "You've adapted well to Gotham," he finally says. "It's not an easy place to thrive."

"Guess I had to," you reply, matching his tone. "This city needs all the help it can get."

Batman nods, his eyes briefly scanning the surroundings before returning to you. "I saw Nightwing earlier. He mentioned you had things under control at the ice rink."

"Yeah, just some losers trying to ruin Christmas," you say, dismissively. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

He hums, saying nothing more. "You… handled it well," Batman acknowledges. Woah, this is a moment in history, take a picture.

You nod, having nothing better to say. Internally, you’re giddy at the praise. The two of you stand in silence, looking at the city as the cold air rushes by.

After a beat, Batman shifts slightly, as if considering his next words carefully. "I've been monitoring your progress," he starts, his voice low but not unkind. "You've shown potential. But Gotham tests everyone, even those with the best intentions."

You look at him, catching his gaze behind the cowl. There’s a weight to his words, a reminder of the city's relentless nature. "I know," you reply simply, understanding the implicit warning. Gotham doesn’t forgive mistakes easily, and the path you’ve chosen is littered with challenges.

Batman nods once, his approval implicit yet unstated. "Keep your focus. And remember, sometimes the greatest strength is knowing when to ask for help." His tone is almost paternal, a rare glimpse of advice from a man who often operates in silence and shadows.

You can’t help but snort. “Gee, Bats. If you wanted my secret identity all you had to do was ask.”

“Are you saying you’d tell if you asked?”

“I’m saying… we can be grateful for one another.”

Batman regards you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable as always. Then, with a slight nod, he turns to leave, disappearing into the shadows as effortlessly as he emerged. The night wears on, and you continue your patrol through Gotham's wintry streets. The city seems to hold its breath under the blanket of snow, a rare moment of calm amidst its usual chaos.

“It’s no wonder cats were worshiped in ancient times,” Damian muses, watching Nari stretch lazily on the windowsill. He’s decided to grace you with his presence this fine afternoon, claiming he had nothing better to do. He’s a welcome addition to your apartment.

Damian, reclining on your couch with an air of regal indifference, watches Nari the cat with a mixture of curiosity and mild wonder. His expression softens as Nari pads over to him, sniffing his outstretched hand cautiously before allowing him to scratch behind her ears.

You lean against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a small smile. "He seems to like you," you comment casually, taking a sip of your drink.

"Hmph," Damian grunts noncommittally, but his hand continues to stroke Nari's fur with a practiced touch. "Animals are simple creatures. They respond to consistency."

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his attempt at nonchalance. "So, are you here just to critique my cat's taste in company, or is there something else on your mind?"

Damian pauses, his gaze flicking briefly towards you before returning to Nari. "Tt. Jon was bothering me about the insipid holiday tradition that is Christmas."

You chuckle softly, knowingly. "Ah, Jon and his enthusiasm for festive cheer. What did he want?"

"He insisted on exchanging gifts," Damian mutters, as if the concept itself is offensive. "As if material possessions hold any significance."

"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?" you offer, setting down your mug and joining Damian on the couch. Nari purrs contentedly as you scratch under her chin. “You’re telling me your family doesn’t do Christmas?”

“Of course we do,” he scoffs. “But I do not care much for it. But Jon seems to think it matters.”

"Well, he's not entirely wrong," you say, keeping your tone light. "Gift-giving can be meaningful if it's done thoughtfully. It's a chance to show someone you care about them, to give them something they might appreciate."

Damian regards you thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what would you consider a thoughtful gift, then?"

You smile. "It depends on the person," you begin, tapping your chin in mock contemplation. "For someone like Jon, maybe something that reflects his interests—maybe a new comic he hasn't read yet, or something related to his hobbies. Or, you could make something yourself. That usually adds a personal touch." It’s similar to the advice you gave Jon.

He considers your words, nodding slowly. "I see," he murmurs, as if filing away your suggestions for future reference. “What would someone like you like?” he asks casually.

You think. What would you like? Any material stuff you’d want has no use to you now, and you can’t exactly ask him for stuff pertaining to your little project. Actually… it’s been a while since you’ve wished for something material. Tony catered to your every whim and desire, you never wanted for long.

“A memory,” you decide, nodding. “Something I can experience and remember fondly.”

Damian listens attentively, his expression thoughtful. He seems to mull over your words, considering how to fulfill your request for a memorable gift. After a moment of silence, he nods decisively.

Nari, sensing the relaxed atmosphere, curls up contentedly in Damian's lap, earning a surprised glance from him before he tentatively strokes her fur again.

“Perhaps it is a good time to mention that my father insists I invite you to Christmas this year.”

"Your father?" You blink in surprise at Damian's unexpected news. Bruce Wayne, inviting you to his family's Christmas celebration? It's a surreal thought (and probably not good news). "I... didn't expect that."

Damian shrugs nonchalantly, though there's a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "He's made it clear that you're... welcome."

"Are you... comfortable with that?" you ask cautiously, glancing at Damian for any sign of discomfort.

"I've grown accustomed to your presence," Damian replies evenly, his gaze steady. "Besides, Father insists."

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly at his reassurance. Bruce Wayne inviting you to join his family's celebration—it's a gesture that speaks volumes, even if Damian's demeanor remains somewhat guarded. You're not entirely sure what to make of it, but the prospect of spending Christmas with the Wayne's is undeniably intriguing.

"Alright," you finally say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Tell your father... I appreciate the invitation."

Damian nods once, his expression giving away nothing more than a hint of curiosity. "Very well."

You lean back against the couch, content to let the conversation drift into a comfortable silence. Damian continues to pet Nari absentmindedly, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. As the afternoon light fades into dusk, you let the pressure of your situation dwindle away, content to live in the moment.

notes:

reader when dick shows affection: this is vile what is this

dick: :C

-

jon ready to risk it all for reader: hey so im superboy but nevermind that let me die for you pls

[spockandawe]

Double edit: actually, that's enough of that.

Edit: I was expecting maybe thirty notes tops. This is a surprise, and one that doesn't delight me. If I hear about any harassment stemming from this post, I'll be more pissed at the harasser than the person this is about.

God. Dammit.

I hate this, let's just out that out there! I'm unhappy that I'm talking about any of this, I'm unhappy there's an issue that's come up at the intersection of media preservation, respecting authors, and one of my favorite book series. And I'm unhappy that I've censored the names in the screenshots I'm about ti post! I'm not happy that I'm helping to slide consequences away from someone who thought this was an acceptable thing to do to a modern working author. But I'm even less happy this is something that happened in the first place, and I'm VERY unhappy the original post has been deleted without a whisper of accountability or apology.

And here's a partial screenshot of the IA page, which has since been removed. I get the excitement to share something you love with a new audience. This isn't the right way to go about it.

First, if Martha Wells' patreon is still in place, I encourage everyone in the strongest possible terms to go sign up for it. It'll charge you one dollar. I've been a member since probably 2018, and I mistakenly believed it was locked to new members (it's labeled 'Currently Closed To New Patrons') until I had reason to look it up last night, when I tripped across this reddit post from earlier this year.

Now. I was looking it up because of this sudden patreon message:

Even if the patreon goes away, I still recommend that people sign up. Explore the stories! They're very fun! Even though the patreon has been dormant for years, I've loved having that repository in place.

In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, what kept me from immediately reblogging last night is that I've felt the same archival urges! I bound a hard copy of these stories earlier this year, and let me quote my own words from that post:

I live in a state of perpetual low key stress over the impermanence of digital media and that goes extra for sites that aren’t designed to work well as archives. I hope, desperately, that someday Martha Wells publishes more raksura, maybe even including these stories! I will buy it immediately. No thoughts, wallet empty. I own all her other raksura books in literally three formats, fingers crossed that by printing this, I can actualize a formal official printing of these stories by the author 😂

So. Archiving, yes. But especially with a living, working author, I would never DREAM of posting a public free-for-all with IA and mediafire links. My most charitable interpretation is that OP thought it was fine since the stories were "free," even though the writeups acknowledge that access costs a dollar. Ao3 is also free. Reposting someone else's fic is still understood to be a dick move.

Last night i was left kind of stunned, and I was hoping to see some kind of response from op this morning taking responsibility, and was... disappointed to see that the post was just deleted. The IA listing was deleted too, and I hadn't actually looked up the mediafire post yet but I'm guessing it's also been nuked. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see if there was anything more in the comments, so I found a surviving reblog. And there was!

So I'm writing this post because I'm... frustrated. Taking down the files is a good step. Posting them publicly was a worse step, but hey. I still more than understand if Martha Wells still deletes her patreon. I don't understand what sending her files of her own stories is meant to accomplish, but whatever. Ascribing a profit-driven motive is driving me up a wall, though. She's financially stable. I read her email, and what i see is frustration that even though it only cost a dollar to access 62k of her work through her own chosen location, control of her writing is being forcibly removed from her. I'm sure that seeing copies sold by third parties wouldn't help, but I don't think that's the root issue.

This is a fandom-heavy website, I'm sure most of us have seen posts about not reposting art when you can share directly from the artist's blog. I've seen posts about stop copying your ao3 faves over to wattpad just because you like reading there better. At a fundamental level, I read the message from Martha Wells as a deep frustration at having no way to share her creative work without someone removing control of it from her hands. And I don't know if there's any way to really take back that damage.

[lord-squiggletits]

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

[yichens]

Pit Babe Characters x Cartomancy ➣ Part 6: Pete & Way

King of Diamonds: A person with great wealth and power. Often skilled in various areas, a jack of all trades. Ten of Spades: A card of misfortune and tragic endings. Reveals secrets, obsessions, and lies.

for @pitbabeanniversary week 6 prompts: pete & way

(more thoughts under the cut!)

disclaimer: i am not an expert in either cartomancy or tarot reading. i did a lot of research on these two sites to come up with these cards for the characters. some of the meanings associated with the cards are still only my own interpretation, so they might not be completely accurate.

pete and way are the last pair in this series and i have to say that it feels fitting. they are the pair with no ending, the pair left the most incomplete in season 1. way dies for redemption (which is stupid imo) before he's able to ever open up to pete and his attempts to get closer to way. pete is only left with a grave, yet nothing seems to end. (pls s2 come quicker, i need way to have his glorious back from the dead -moment already!)

pete: just like alan, i think pete's card is very obvious and so, very cliché. he's the king of diamonds through and through, the person often associated with money and power. he's very proud of what he's accomplished in life, yet always thrives to be more, to be bigger, better, more powerful. he's in a war against his adoptive father in the only way he knows how, and so he must always be on the rise. he has no chance of letting loose, and i think we all can agree that he works way too much and rests too little. he is often stuck being not quite himself, lonely at the top. it must be hard when we can see that beneath the business persona, pete is horribly warm.

this is why king of diamonds is also described as charitable, generous, and reliable. once again, pete is a lot like alan, but where alan offers his heart, pete offers resources: money, connections, and his skills. he's tried his best to become invincible in every way just like his adoptive father seems to be. he's great in socializing, in doing business, even in combat and tactics. he's driven by his wish to help, and i guess that often ties to his compassion and understanding. that's why he hasn't given up on kenta and that's why he instantly reaches out for way, too. pete might not be able to provide a family in the way alan does, but pete is able to reach out a helping hand. he can offer a place to stay for those who have nowhere else to go and no one else to listen to them. he cares, and just like with work, it's sometimes too much. he does not get a break from it.

way: it was easy to decide that spades was way's suit; a little later, i decided on number ten. i was first thinking about ace of spades bc it's the death card of the deck, but i did not want to make way only about his death when it's the thing i dislike about his character so much. so, i decided on ten bc of the "tragic ending", which is not way's death, even if it kind of is. i think the true tragic ending comes for him earlier; with the reveal of his betrayal that causes him to lose everything he's ever had. he loses his pack, his family, his home; he loses himself, and all his self-worth, and worst of all, babe. bc he does love babe, even if it's in all the wrong ways. way has tried his best, has tried to do what he thought was right, and in the end, it is not enough to solve anything or save babe. (and so he must die, but let's ignore that.)

in a sense, the reveal of that betrayal is both the end and a beginning for way. after it's it's a way for him to be born again. he can give up on all the lies, all the acting and pretending. he's used so much time and effort keeping up his web of lies he must be exhausted by now. how many times did he almost trip? how many times did he forget what lies he'd told and had to come up with new ones, or had to use his powers to fix his mistakes? now, there's no longer need for any of that. he can finally breathe freely. no more lies, no more acting, no more being someone else. everything is out in the open and it must be terrifying bc the ppl who loved him before, would they reject this real version of him? even if they were not this hurt, didn't hate him, would they still not want way? what if tony is right and there's nothing to love about him? i don't know but i hate that the series never let way find out. but well, in season 2 we trust, i suppose. i have hopes and dreams about it <3

but based on these thoughts, it's easy to see why pete and way would work together. way is the master of deception, of lies and acting. pete is able to read people, literally and figuratively. there's no hiding from him and his touch, and i think in some ways, way needs exactly that. he needs someone to understand him without words, or to look into his head and put his thoughts into words for him. pete again needs someone he can trust with his softer side, which i also find interesting about him: he is so ready to offer his heart to way even after knowing who way is and what his powers can do. pete seems like a paradox in that sense, always keeping everyone and everything at a distance (or so i assume), yet being so ready to believe in ppl and offer them trust he's seen so easily broken.

there are also some other interesting connections to this pair i wanted to mention. the funniest coincidence imo is that babe's card is about new beginnings, while way's card is now about tragic or bad endings. also, charlie's card being the exact half of way's (5 and 10) seems to have some kind of story behind it. pete again has the same suit as kenta, both their cards in the royal family, and i think that's exactly why they work and don't work together. pete is exactly like the king, the one on top and in control, while kenta is the knight, the person who serves and follows. they're both calm in personality, tho am not sure if it's exactly who they are or if it's who they were forced to become. i wonder what could've been if kenta had left with pete – or if they'd never been taken by tony at all and had grown up like other kids.

this edit concludes my musings for all these characters. it's been a joy to make these and ponder on these boys, and honestly, i feel like i've found a completely new love and appreciation for all of them. thank you for all who have liked these edits and happy anniversary to the vroom vroom omegaverse bl, you've been stellar ♥ never thought i'd come back to you in a year but here we are, have my whole heart!

(idk if i'll make an edit for the last week, so also adding that i enjoyed the event a ton! it's been fun going to the tag and seeing everybody talk about the series again. looking forward to s2 and the anniversary stage live in less than two weeks ^^)

[a-book-of-creatures]

What notable books (or author) on folklore and/or mythology would you consider to have reliable info, and which ones definitely don't? It's a broad ask, but what are the first names that come to mind?

Very good ask! I'll try to see if I can put my thoughts in words, but if you need any further examples or evaluations let me know.

Here's a general rule: primary sources are Good. Books that directly reference primary sources are Good. The more distance between a book and the primary source, the less reliable it gets. Always ask yourself, where is this book getting its information from? How does it present this information? If you're not dealing with primary sources, always check to see how information is presented and where possible errors could creep in.

For example...

Books like these are the gold standard for reliability. If I was handing out ratings, they would score a perfect 5 out of 5. Everything is extensively cited (the second book is practically all citations). You can't go wrong with these.

In general the more specialized a book is, the more reliable it is. So the excellent Meeting With Monsters gets a very respectable 4.5 out of 5. Very detailed info just about Icelandic monsters. Why not 5? The authors engage in some speculative creature building where they treat the monsters as real animals and invent features for them (the hrosshvalur has dorsal spines teeming with bacteria that infect the wounds it causes, for instance). But these are restricted to marginal notes and do not interfere with the actual information.

More general books generally get less reliable. Again, ask, where are those sources? What are they?

This one is often held up as the encyclopedia of mythical creatures currently in print. It's a decent starting point to start looking for things. It has sources and each entry is linked to its sources. The entries are written in a dry, concise encyclopedic style. But it relies far too much on second and third (and fourth, etc) hand sources. Scratch a little past the surface and you start finding weird mistakes, errors, inaccuracies. Snowballing misinformation. I would consider this to be of average reliability at best. A 2.5 out of 5 or so. Best used as a suggestion to dig into deeper, better things.

This one is a broad introduction to dragons, but instead of an encyclopedia, each "entry" (chapter?) is presented as a retelling of that story. And with that comes very low reliability and heavy use of secondary sources. The retellings make stuff up that isn't anywhere in the originals and miss a lot of the point of the stories - and spread misinformation that continues to propagate online. Also there's plenty of cryptozoology in there so eeehhhh.

This one is obviously aimed at a younger audience, but I'm mentioning it because of one amusing detail. It seems to be a good introduction for children to dragon mythology. Except it presents with a straight face the marsupial dragon as a dragon from Australia. The marsupial dragon, you know, which was written into Dragonology as a joke? And Dragonology wouldn't even have made my primary-source-reliability anyway! Some due-diligence was not duly diligenced, if I may say so.

Then there are books that are just... confusing.

Like anything by Pierre Dubois. On the surface they seem well-researched. But the references and cross-references are more opaque than... uh... a very opaque thing. He clearly has a lot of them, but it's anyone's guess where the information he got came from (no cross-referencing, you see). Combine that with him just making stuff up to pad page numbers and it's never clear what is "true" and what he wrote (and some of it is distasteful, not going to lie). Sometimes he even misses the interesting part of legends just to write his own stories. The most charitable take is that this is literary fantasy, and maybe what he's said can be traced to actual reliable folkloric sources, but after having used him as a source of information I cannot recommend him. You could also argue that Dubois never does claim that this is a scholarly reference, but it sure is presented as one.

I have so far restricted myself to books that claim (or seem to claim) to be references on myth, legend, and folklore. Books that engage in speculative "creature building" (e.g. Dragonology, The Flight of Dragons, etc) would not be reliable as references, but they're still great books. You just wouldn't use them as sources of information.

... or would you? Sometimes non-reference books get treated as such, and then the information they made up gets reified by being parroted uncritically by later books. Like Woodruff's book above. A fake "long-lost expedition journal" by Pliny the Elder, it's an excuse for (gorgeous) art and Latin practice. Except that some of the made-up stuff in there found its way out of the book and - uncited - ended up in supposedly serious works. Like the Pyrallis being a dragon, or the two-headed Hyperborean frogs. Confusing. It even got a minor news mention because people were taking it seriously!

Anyway, how about you? Any books you find reliable or unreliable?

[mprgz]

(Scotland, Highlands Council Area)

"You're doing a documentary on the Rare Humanoid Relief Act? In favor or opposed? Oh... In that case, this interview is going to cost you." "First off, I am not 'on the dole' or 'welfare as you call it. I assume your American by your accent. The purpose is species preservation, not a social safety net. There are around 15,000 of us in all of the British isles, it was 21,000 before Covid. The 1918 Spanish flu reduced our population by half. That is I need to have as many children as possible to preserve my species." "I know I'm not the most productive person in human society. If we were, we'd be the dominant species here, wouldn't we? In fact, none of the humanoids are doing well. Maybe the merfolk, but they live in the ocean, and their population is anyone's guess." "The British satyrs have been subsidized by Parliament since 1909, over 100 years. And even before that, we really didn't 'work' per say, but we received 'tips' in pubs that were really charitable giving. And during hard times, my ancestors did what they needed to do to survive, if that was lightening a rich man's purse or preforming illegal services." "The issue isn't me 'earning my keep' vs being on the dole, it's me taking my relief check and obeying the law vs me supporting myself through crime. Or my kind could just die off, save the average British taxpayer like 20 pence per year." (This one was made by DeeVid AI, which doesn't have recurring free generations. The other one I made with it wasn't bad, but too stiff. I post about half of the generated vids, and about 20% of pics. I think Kling AI is a little bit better than PixVerse, but both are hit and miss.)

[rumor-weed]

JOHN MULANEY STARTER PROMPTS

Kid Gorgeous Edition.

“He was a man most acquainted with misery.”

“None of that matters, but it's important to me that you know that.”

“He did not look like his job description.”

“He looked like he should be the conductor on a locomotive powered by confetti.”

“But, instead, he made his living in murder.”

“He was the weirdest goddamn person I ever saw in my entire life.”

“He could look at a child and guess the price of their coffin.”

“Shut up! You're all gonna die. Street Smarts!"”

“You remember the scourge of muggings when you were in second and third grade.”

"Man, I need cash for drugs right now.”

“Okay, you can get these at any haberdashery.”

“Buy a money clip. Engraved, question mark?”

“Hey, Dad. Can I have a silver money clip with a $50 bill in it, please?” (Or sub “dad” for character name, if you’re a coward)

“The man with the mustache told me to do it.”

“Let's say a kidnapper throws you in the back of a trunk.”

“You kids have no upper body strength.”

“Yeah, he was not a "spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down" kind of guy.”

“Brush your teeth. Now, boom, orange juice. That's life.”

“Fight the guy off using weird, psych-out, back-room Chicago violence.”

“I chewed up a tab of Alka-Seltzer I carry with me at all times. This created a foaming-at-the-mouth appearance that made it look like I had rabies.”

“Now I've thrown him off his rhythm.”

“Okay. Your odds of coming back alive from the primary location, about 60%. But if you are taken to a secondary location, your odds of coming back alive are slim to none.”

“I am 35 years old and I am still terrified of secondary locations.”

“Nah, sister. You're not getting me to no secondary location.”

“I thought I was going to be murdered my entire childhood.”

“Top three colleges? I thought I would be dead in a trunk with my hand hanging out of the taillight by now.”

“I just got a letter from my college, which was fun 'cause mail, you know?”

“So then I had to speed to Goodwill really fast.”

“It was charitable, but it was also fast and violent.”

“I was throwing boxes at people. The boxes were so heavy I couldn't even say what was in them.”

“This one's shirts. I got a bunch of shirts! Take 'em away!"

“How do I write that on my taxes?”

“My mom said it could be a sleep shirt. Please deduct this from my 2017 income.”

“So rather than violate these meaningless politeness rules, I'll just go to bed in a smock like goddamn Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“I'll tremble off to bed in my long Victorian nightgown.”

“Was there ever even a ghost, Mother, or was the dead Victorian girl you saw just me all along?”

“And that's why you shouldn't give to charity.”

“I found out recently that jokes don't do well in court.”

"Hey, that lawsuit with my neighbor is still dragging on.”

“Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you.”

“Okay. See you at improv practice.”

“Strange, the passage of time.”

“I'm not that old. I'm 35, that is not old.”

“I never knew about this, but I am now gross.”