#the pain that you had brought the pain that has been brought on you all the things you now have to live with and an understanding of what

[darlingdaisyfarm]

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 3

author note: wow. oh. I can’t believe i finished this :')

this ridiculous, tender unhinged love letter to Ford (and to all of you) has been such a wild ride. tbh i started writing this fic as a half-joke, half-desperate need to get the scenario out of my head and now it’s grown into something so much more intimate than i ever imagined

to everyone who liked, reblogged, who wrote to me such wonderful sweet comments - i read every one and I love you more than Ford loves overthinking. seriously :) your support means everything, and I hope you'll like this final chapter. I’m so grateful for you all <3

ALSO sorry if there are a lot of kisses here….... ummm well I mean, you can't really blame me bc if Ford had let me, I would have just eaten him whole

nsfw, minors DNI

You don’t notice, but his hands are trembling when he reaches for the first aid kit he’d somehow already brought with him. Had he been planning this? Or maybe. . . he just couldn’t stay away, couldn’t bear the thought of you trying to deal with it on your own. 

Ford tries to maintain his usual level of calm composure, but the sight of your exposed thigh makes it so much harder than he anticipated. He feels so conflicted, his thoughts are somewhere between concern, desire and disgusting guilt. He’s a scientist, an explorer, a goddamned professional, not some pathetic old man fantasising about—

“This is going to sting,” Ford warns, trying to not look at your underwear along with your exposed body parts. He can’t be the one to make you uncomfortable now, not when you’re already in pain. “I’ll try to be quick, but it will hurt. I won’t push it, but. . . you need to stay still.”

He avoids meeting your wide, doe-like, scared, no, more like nervous eyes. Those eyes had undone him countless times before, always so trusting, so impossibly soft, curious, full of life. He dies every time when you look at him like that.

“Yes, okay,” you answer, though you’re not sure if it’s for him or for you. He pours the disinfectant into a cotton pad and just as he prepares to press it to your skin, you tense. “Ford, please. . . be gentle, okay?”

“I will, if it’s too much just tell me.” Ford still doesn’t dare meet your eyes, not when he knows his own will betray him. Instead, he focuses on the wound, on the crimson smear of blood that trickles down your skin. But it’s not that damn injury he wants to fix, it’s you, all of you. He wants to be needed by you, to be the one who makes you whole again. 

Ford prepares himself and trying his best, he gently presses the cotton pad to your skin what makes you gasp, oh, sweet mercy, that voice of yours. It’s all he can do to stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in tender kiss, getting between your legs and taking you right there. He keeps going, though, his big hands too careful, like you’re made of porcelain. He doesn’t want to hurt you, never, but he just wishes he could be inside you right now, show you how much he’s desperate for you.

“Ahh! Ford, h-hurts!” your fingers are gripping his wrist so tight, nails digging in, and fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking this. You are hurt, in pain, for god’s sake, but all he can see is you beneath him, making those same sounds for an entirely different reason as he makes love to you.

“Shh, I know, I know it does. I know, but you have to let me do this. If I don’t, the wound could get infected. Tetanus, sepsis are not things to take lightly.”

Goddamn, why he’s so close to places he shouldn’t even be thinking about. You’re laying there so beautiful, helpless, voice pleading with him to stop, it’s driving Ford crazy. His cock twitches in his pants and he hates himself for it, hates how his mind creates an image of you crying out his name like that, begging him to keep going instead of to stop. 

He feels the throb in his chest, but in his groin too.

“N-no more, fuck, ugh!” obviously it’s a plea for mercy, but to his traitorous brain, it sounds like—

Ford frowns, looking way too serious than usual as he tries to make his dirty thoughts go away, tries to focus on the wound and not the way your skin feels, but goddamn why are you so soft and warm and why he’s so damn close to you. And then his gaze betrays him, lowering down to the curve of your inner thigh, so close to where the hem of your panties teases him mercilessly.

“That’s enough, please!” you begin, biting down on your lip as the pain grows.

“Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt more,” Ford’s tone sounds rougher than he meant to. “I’m almost done.” 

She’s in pain, you disgusting old idiot. She’s fucking suffering and you’re—

“Please, stop!” 

Ford freezes, stiffening. That’s enough, you’d said, but it’s not, it’s fucking not. It’s never enough. Not your skin, not your voice, not the way you cling to him, not the way you beg, not the way you look at him.

The cotton pad is soaked now in your blood too, pressing too hard against your skin before Ford even realises it. You wince, gasping again and Ford can't help it anymore. His eyes drop to your panties, how they hug your body and his cock twitches in his pants.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to handle this. But all he can see is you, laid out before him like this, looking at him with those needy eyes, begging him to take you, to fuck you.

“Just sit sti—” before he finishes his sentence, he unintentionally presses the cotton harder into your wound, too lost in his own fantasies and the sharp burst of pain makes you hiss so you move involuntarily, your leg jerking straight into his crotch and—

You feel it.

Your foot accidentally brushes against something unmistakably hard. You didn’t mean to move that way, absolutely. But the second your limb drags against him, you feel it. The hardness beneath his pants. His body reacting to you. To this.

And neither of you move.

Ford is first to speak.

“I— I’m sorry,” he blurts. “It’s a natural physiological response. Adrenaline, heightened states of focus, they can trigger. . . well, unintended reactions. Nothing to do with— nothing to do with you.”

The sharp pain in your thigh momentarily forgotten. “Physiological response?” you repeat. “Ford, are you seriously trying to explain away your. . . uh, situation with biology?”

“It’s not what you think. It’s involuntary. Biological. A man’s body doesn’t always obey his mind. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He sounds so awkward, so flustered and you don’t know what to think. He’s not usually like this. . . well, not around you. Around you, he’s always so collected, always the smart, serious, intellectual Stanford Pines who wouldn’t bat an eye at anything that didn’t involve research.

You try to click pieces together, processing. He feels something for you. That’s the only explanation. He wouldn’t be this flustered, this desperate to excuse himself, if he didn’t.

And now you know. Ford’s just as human as the rest of us. And he wants you, too.

You move again, brushing your leg against him again and Ford wants to die because he makes the loudest surprised gasp in the room. “Doesn’t mean anything, huh?” you ask innocently. “so if I just move like this—” you press just a little firmer, feeling him growing harder. “it’s still just biology. Nothing to do with me at all?”

He’s silent.

“Ford, Is that. . . is that really how you feel?”

He sighs and darts his hand out to grip your leg to stop your teasing. “Don’t,” he warns, saying your name. His eyes meet yours for the first time all evening. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

His eyes stay locked on yours. You’re silent now too.

“Don’t— don’t look at me like that. You don’t understand. I. . . shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

But you do understand, more than he could ever realise.

“But why?” your foot slides all over his hard clothed length and Ford’s body responds with his needy cock twitching at your touch.

“This isn’t funny,” he bites out. “this isn’t a game. I’m not a young man, im not— I’m not what you need.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need, Ford.”

“But you’re too young—”

“Stop treating me like I’m some kid who doesn’t know what she wants. I’m an adult, Ford, an adult!”

“An adult?” he repeats, while your foot is still rubbing over his very obvious bulge. “an adult who can't even get dressed normally for the weather?”

You grin, leaning closer to his face. “uh-huh. And here you are, all worked up over me, right?” you press on his cock harder and Ford nearly finishes in his pants. 

He grabs your ankle, even though he doesn’t push you away.

“This. . . now this is inappropriate.”

You rolls your foot over his bulge what makes hips buck just slightly. You bite your lip, grinning at how badly he’s losing control.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” you lean closer and murmur into his mouth. “you’re so worried about what I can handle, but look at you. You’re the one who’s hard as rock right now, who can’t control himself.”

“Enough, I’m serious, stop.”

“Make me.”

That’s all it takes. It’s your smirk that gets him, your teasing voice, your dirty remarks, even as you’re sprawled out on the bed with that horrible wound on your thigh.

Ford is on you in a second. His mouth crashes against yours and you don’t even realise what’s happening yet. His kiss is messy and needy, like he’s trying to consume you whole. And you give yourself to him completely, your body melting into his. Every surprised gasp of yours is swallowed by him, his big hands gripping your face as he deepens the kiss. It’s so messy, the way Ford literally fucks your mouth with his tongue.

And you can’t help but tug at his clothes, dragging him closer until he’s on top of you. Ford’s weight presses into you and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at it as your body presses against his, your heart pounding so hard you swear he can hear it too. Ford is barely restraining himself from ripping off the rest of your clothes, that oversized T-shirt and panties, and fucking you right here, making all his fantasies come true, which he wrote down in his journal.

His mouth devours yours like he’s starved for you, his hands yanking you closer like he’s holding on for dear life. You let him claim you, let his kiss swallow every thought in your head until there’s nothing left but him, just him, him, him, him. You’re drunk on the way he feels. His hands are everywhere, pulling and tugging at you like he’s losing control. And oh god, you feel it.

You can’t get enough of it. You want more.

Ford is too lost so he lets six-fingered hand slip lower, brushing the side of your thigh and then it lands right where it shouldn’t.

Your fresh wound.

You gasp in pain, breaking the kiss.

“Damn,” Ford instantly pulls away, and his hand is next to your wound, concern and fear are visible on his face. “i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

“Fuck it,” you interrupt, pulling him closer. “worry about that later. I need you now. Please, Ford, just kiss me again.”

But looks like Ford is interested in your wound more than in kiss now.

He’s already inspecting the bandage, ignoring your begging, his brows furrowed with guilt. “i wasn’t thinking, im sorry, does it hurt? did i—”

Why men are so stupid, you think and grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, but he talks first.

“Let me—” he clears his throat, blinking before continuing. “no, let me bandage your leg. We need to, uh, stop the bleeding.”

“Ford,” you groan. “It’s fine. It’s not even that bad now.”

“Not that bad?” he looks you with a glare that’s somehow equal parts concern and anger. “that’s not how infections work, young lady. You could lose a limb if this festers.”

You groan in frustration, rolling your eyes, but he’s already kneeling in front of you. “This is really what you’re worried about right now?” you drawl, raising your brow.

“Yes, this is what I’m worried about.”

And here he is again, between your legs, his hands are still careful as they work, bandaging your inner thigh. Ford is trying so hard not to look at the very place he’s so devastatingly close to. He pulls the knot of the bandage just too tight what makes you let out the softest, unintentional moan.

“You— you cannot make noises like that right now. Stop making this harder than it already is.”

The corners of your lips curl and you lean back on your palms, unbothered. “Says the man who’s between my legs right now.”

“You got a point,” Ford lifts his brows as he clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “clever girl.”

When he finally finishes tying off the bandage, he proudly looks at the work he done and pulls away, wait, pulls away? However, you don’t let him get far. Your hands drag him back down with a force that surprises him and maybe yourself.

The kiss you pull him into is anything but delicate. It’s urgent and hungry. Ford groans against you as if you’ve stolen the last bit of air he had left. Your fingers fist the fabric at his shoulders and when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. 

“Been waiting for this,” you confess between gasps. “Ford, I need you.” 

His forehead presses against yours. “You think I don’t? I’ve needed you. God, you have no idea. You drive me insane.”  

“Need you,” you breathe, arching up into him. “Ford, please. . . need you so bad.” he swallows your words with another passionate kiss, this one deeper, slower. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you that goes straight to his cock.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. His teeth graze against your skin making you shiver because you feel like on damn fire, so sensitive for him.

“Ford, ah,” you breathe, tilting your head to give him more room as his kisses grow bolder, hungrier. He’s so desperate he can’t seem to stop himself, mouthing at your collarbone, your throat, anywhere he can reach while he mutters how beautiful you are.

Your hand trembles as it finds his, wrapping around his wrist and guiding him down. “Ford, please, touch me there,” you whimper against his lips now, spreading your thighs apart to make space. “need you. . . need your fingers, your hand, please.”

Ford hesitates at first, as if he doesn't fully believe what he sees in front of him, the object of his fantasies, his clever girl, which he wrote about in his journal, right beneath him, begging for his touch, for his love. It seems like his genius brain cannot comprehend what is happening yet.

Finally his hand moves, two fingers, one extra, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties and the sound that leaves your mouth sounds like a desperate needy sob. His forehead drops against yours as his fingers press against the dampness pooling there.

“You’re so wet,” Ford drags his thumb slowly over your clit. “is this all for me?”

“Yes, yes, all for you,” you gasp, writhing under his touch, bucking your hips up into his hand. “only you, Ford— fuck, just keep touching me, please, need more— need you. . .”

“I know,” he mutters, kissing you hard enough to steal the words from your tongue. “i know, sweetheart, i know.”

Ford’s fingers tugs your panties to the side and you both groan when he finally touches you bare. You squirm, swaying your hips to grind against his hand and he curses again, moving his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping as if he can’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

“Y-you’re driving me insane,” he breathes. “been dreaming about this, you have no idea, been wanting you for so long.”  

“Good,” you manage a weak smile, whimpering when he circles your clit with his thumb. You curl your nails into his shoulders. “then fucking do something about it.”

Stanford groans at your words, his cock twitches, begging to be taken care of, but his pleasure doesn’t matter now. You’re so hungry for his touch and Ford needs to touch you badly, so he slips his fingers through your folds, caressing you while still rubbing your clit in torturous circles. “like this? does this, does this feel good?”  

“Yes, yes, oh my god! more, more, give me more,” you cry when he sinks one finger into you, curling it just right.

“God, I wanna—” but he cuts himself off when his eyes notices that damn bandage on your leg.

“What?” you question and press a light kiss to his cheek, your eyes searching his face. “what do you want?” 

“You,” he admits. “I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me, want to, b-but you’re hurt, and I— fuck, I can’t, I can’t risk it.” 

You whine, your head falling back as his fingers keep moving, sliding in and out of your pussy, brushing against that spot that makes you see stars. “don’t care,” your thighs clenching around his hand. “i don’t care, just need you, need your cock— fuck, please!”

“Please, don’t say that, don’t say that when I can’t give it to you.”  

“Ford, please, I need it! I’ll be fine, I swear—”  

“No, you’re hurt, this is all i can give you right now. . . but i swear, I swear i’ll make it up to you, honey, when you’re better, when you’re not hurt, i’ll—” his fingers thrust deeper into your wetness with his thumb circling your clit in time and you interrupt him with loud cry.

“Ford! please, just don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ford nods and watches you. Letting his fingers curl inside you, penetrating deeper into your pussy. His movements growing more confident as your body reacts to him, your beautiful moans spurring him on. His lips find yours again and you both get lost in the kiss, in the way your breaths mix, in the way your bodies press together like you’re trying to fuse into one.

Your moan breaks into a cry as you arch your back, eyes closed tight when Ford’s fingers pumping into you faster, your spongy walls tightening around his digits. Oh fucking heaven, that extra finger feels too good. “Ford, please! oh, god— fuck, you’re gonna make me—”  

“That’s it,” Ford’s lips trail up to your ear, kissing and biting it as he presses his thumb on your sensitive bundle. “let me take care of you, sweetheart, cum for me.”  

His tone and praise is what sends you on edge as you clench around his fingers, moaning his name and cumming while his fingers, slower, but still thrusting into you. You feel so weak and tired, but your Ford is right there to catch you, whispering soft praises into your hair as you shake in his arms.

Ford’s fingers still buried deep inside you as he watches you come down from your high. And it’s so obvious that he putted your needs before his own because his cock, hard as a rock now, strains against the fabric of his pants, creating the most painful bulge you ever seen. He shifts awkwardly, hoping maybe you won’t notice but you do. Oh, you do.

“Ford,” your voice sounds honeyed as you regain your strength. Your gaze drops pointedly to the tent in his pants. “you’re. . . so hard.”

His face flushes and he tries to pull away, to create some distance between you, but you grab his wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t,” you whisper softly. “don’t hide from me. you’ve been so good to me, let me. . . let me do something for you.”

“No,” he says quickly. “you’re hurt. I can’t, you need to rest.”

“Just look at you, you’re aching. You don’t have to do anything to me, just let me help.”

“Oh my god,” he says your name as if ready to scold you. “you’re impossible, you know,” but his shaky hands move to his belt anyway, unsure, like he’s warring with himself even as he undoes it.

“Yeah?” you lean back. “you’re about to jerk off in front of me, Ford, what does that make you?”

Ford cant find any smart or logical response to that because you’re absolutely right, he’s the mess here, the impossible one, the desperate old man. He takes a breath, finally pulling his cock free and fuck, he’s so hard as if he’s going to explode, the head flushed and leaking.

Ford’s cock is already in his hand, the first strokes making him whimper under his breath. His other hand rests on your thigh, fingers nervously flex like he’s desperate to touch more of you, to hold you, to worship you properly like his clever girl deserves, but he’s so lost in this intimate moment, in you, that he can barely think straight.

You’re watching him, trying to control yourself because if you won’t, you might just jump on him and you can't vouch for yourself. 

You’re sprawled out in front of him like a dream come to life: t-shirt rucked up, legs spread, panties pushed to the side, leaving your pretty glistening pussy on full display for his starved gaze. Fuck, you look so hot like that, from everything he’s already done to you. He’s trying not to stare and you think he’s so silly when it’s specially show made only for him, so you shift your hips just enough to catch his attention, drawing his eyes like a magnet.

“Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want me.” your eyes locked on him, drinking in the sight of his hand moving over his length.

Ford’s chest heaves, his hand grips his cock, which is twitching and flushed an angry red at the tip. But looks like poor old man can’t even jerk himself off properly, so you reach your hand out to brush against his wrist.

“Here,” you purr, guiding his hand with your smaller one, wrapping your fingers around his, forcing him to stroke himself teasingly. At that, Ford’s hips jerk up into your shared grip, and you hum approvingly, watching as his lips part in a groan. “yes, like this, honey. Let me help you.” 

“S-sweetheart. . . you don’t— ah— you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” you lean back against the bed, shifting your hips, making sure he has the perfect view of your soaked, glistening slit. “Don’t hold back, i want you to feel good.”

Ford lets himself get a bit more vocal as he groans, his hips buck into your joined hands and his cock twitches against your palm. He’s so fucking hard, leaking against your skin, and the sounds he makes as he strokes himself are too good to be true, yet here he is, in front of you, jerking himself off, moaning your name. 

“You. . . o-oh god, sweetheart, you’re incredible,” he whines as you guide his hand again, showing him exactly how to squeeze, how to work himself the way you know he needs it. Meanwhile his other hand braces against the mattress near your head, his knuckles white as he struggles to keep himself together.  

“You’re so big, Ford,” your eyes glued to his dick, watching every move with hungry fascination. “you’re so handsome, so beautiful. I could look at you all night.”

He groans at your praise, more pathetic this time, his forehead dropping forward as he stares at where your bodies almost meet. “Christ, you’re gonna ruin me, love.” that’s when his strokes falter for and you take over completely, your warm hand wrapping around his length and pumping him up and down.

“Keep going,” you urge, feeling yourself getting wetter too. “i can’t stop thinking about how good you’d feel inside me. id take all of you, id make you feel so good, Ford. I need you, all of you.” soft whisper into his lips while all Ford can do is fuck your hand pathetically, your thumb sweeping over his tip, smearing the slick there.

Ford digs his fingers into your thigh, trembling. “Don’t— oh god, don’t say that,” he gasps. His eyes are locked on your opening, on the way your arousal glistens, your folds so wet and swollen and inviting.

“Don’t you want to touch me? Don’t you want to feel how wet i am for you?”

“God, I do,” he breathes as his hand joins again, moving together with yours, faster, jerking himself off faster. “I want you so much it hurts. I’d do anything. . . anything for you.”

“Then come for me,” you whisper, reaching out to thread your fingers into his hair when you kiss the corners of his parted trembling lips.

“I can’t— oh god, sweetheart, I can’t hold on much longer.” thick ropes of his cum spills across your thighs and even stomach, marking your skin as he makes a mess of himself. His hot seed drips down over your hand where you keep stroking and caressing him, milking every last drop forcing whines and mewls from him.

He collapses forward after and buries his face against your shoulder. 

“I need you so badly,” he murmurs into your skin. “you don’t know how much I want you. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You hum softly, threading your fingers through his damp hair as you press a tender kiss on his forehead.

***

It’s morning and sweet scent of batter and syrup fills the air. The noise and conversations are coming from the kitchen and there’s only one explanation for the chaos: Stanley is cooking “stancakes.”  

You’re by his side, propped against the counter, balancing on your good leg, watching Stan cook. Spatula in one hand, the other parked on his hip and he radiates confidence, as if he is ready to host his own cooking show.

“Now listen up, kid,” he says in a voice full of pride. “these are world-famous stancakes. they’ve been called ‘edible’ by at least two people, well, three, if you don’t count the pig.”  

“Oh.”  

“Oh” he repeats, incredulous, spinning to face you with mock offense. “don’t tell me you’ve never had stancakes before?!”  

You grin, shaking your head. “not once. I think Ford’s been keeping them all to himself.”  

Stan looks like you’ve just offended him.  

“That’s practically a felony in this house! what, Ford never mentioned ‘em? selfish bastard.”  

You laugh softly.

“but i gotta ask,” Stan continues. “any allergies to elbow grease? or, uh, whatever was at the bottom of the flour jar. pretty sure it was flour. maybe. . .” he winks and you roll your eyes, however the conversation continues good and friendly between you. 

Your hand rests on the counter for balance and you look down, at the faint tug of the bandage around your leg, which works as reminder of the night before. Memories of Ford’s hands, his mouth, the way he moaned your name, how he touched you, heat your cheeks until you force yourself to focus on Stan.  

His spatula waves in your direction again. “so, what’s the story with yer leg? take a tumble down the stairs, or was it somethin’ spooky out there in the woods?”  

You give him a wide smile. “let’s just say it’s a story. remind me to tell you later.”

Stan raises a brow curiously, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he turns back to his stancakes with a grunt. “hmph, fair enough. just glad you didn’t end up worse. Y’know, if ya ever need lessons on landing on yer feet—”  

Before he can finish, his brother steps into the room and you immediately turn your gaze to him. Honestly, he looks like he’s spent the entire night replaying everything. 

“Ah, there you are,” Ford murmurs when his gaze finds you, then he clears his throat and nods to his twin. “good morning, Stanley.”  

Stan doesn’t miss a beat, gesturing with his spatula. “yeah, mornin’, sixer. Yer just in time for the best damn pancakes this side of the multiverse.”  

At that, Ford’s lips curve into a polite smile as he glances at his brother. “that’s good to hear.” then his focus changes, locking entirely on you. His intonation changes into something warmer as he speaks your name. “would you mind if i borrowed you for a moment? just for a quick talk.”  

You nod a little too eagerly. “sure, of course.”  

Stanley lets out a dramatic sigh, waving his spatula at Ford. “don’t keep her too long, poindexter. She’s gotta try these pancakes before they go cold!” 

Ford leads you to his study and you follow, heart thundering in your chest. You’re grinning like an idiot, barely containing your excitement. He’s finally going to say something, but you’re so fucking ready to hear, to discuss, to scream the loudest “YES” when he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend.

When the door clicks shut behind you, he turns and you finally see his face. He’s always so serious, just like right now. But what did you wait? It’s Ford Pines, it’s his normal state. However, you’re so excited you sure he can see the way you’re literally glowing.

You really try to act casual, but inside, you’re absolutely going insane, nervous, happy, excited at the same time. Last night still feels like a fever dream, you can feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, the way his fingers slid so perfectly into you. . . 

And now he’s here, just the two of you, and you’re hoping he’ll finally acknowledge the thing that happened between you.

But then he opens his mouth.

“So, about the anomaly. . .” he begins and the words hit you like a slap.  

No, no. No no no. Are you hearing this right?That’s what he’s leading with?! After everything that happened last night, he’s just. . . no, he’s talking about the damn anomaly like he didn’t just leave you trembling with the memory of his fingers inside you. 

Your smile falters fucking immediately, your shoulders stiffening as he goes on, completely oblivious to the storm of disappointment brewing inside you.  

“I’ve been reviewing the notes I took last week. If my calculations are correct, the creature’s molecular structure—”

What the actual fuck.

Your jaw clenches. You stare at him, thinking it’s some kind of joke. He’s talking about science. Fucking science. After everything that happened, this is what he wants to talk about? He’s here, rambling about molecules and rain like none of it ever happened.  

You can’t stand it. The frustration takes over you.

“Ford,” you hiss as you shove him back against the wall.

His eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t let him speak. You press your palms flat against his chest, pinning him there, your voice shaking with anger. All you can think about is how he’s standing there like some fucking genius, talking about molecules and data when last night, you’d literally devoured each other.  

“Are you kidding me? This is what you wanted to talk about? You’re seriously standing here, talking about anomalies and notes like last night didn’t fucking happen?”

For a second, he just looks at you, his face calm and that makes you practically vibrate with rage, the intensity of your emotions making your head spin.  

And then. . . he smirks.  

The bastard smirks.

“I wasn’t aware we had plans to debrief, sweetheart,” your fingers tighten against his chest and he raises a brow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Though I must admit, you’re surprisingly strong for someone with an injured leg. Should I be worried?”

Your face burns as you glare up at him. “Ford, don’t you dare—”

“Well?” his gaze piercing through you. “What is it you want me to say, sweetheart?”

His fucking teasing is driving you crazy.  

“Are you seriously just gonna pretend like it didn’t happen? That you didn’t— god, Ford—"

“Pretend? Oh, but don’t get ahead of yourself.

I think you’ve got a lot more to say about what happened than you’re letting on, huh?”

Your cheeks burn hotter than they ever have before. You didn’t expect that. You really didn’t.

“Are you seriously gonna tease me about last night? You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re so worked up now that you don’t even care. You push yourself closer, getting right up in his space, your chest touching his, and now you’re just fuming.

“I’m the one who teases you? Interesting. . .” he leans to your face, brushing his lips against your ear. “What else did I do to you that made you so worked up last night? I didn’t think I was that good with my hands.”

“You bastard.” you hiss as you pin him against the wall harder.

He tilts his head at your words. “Careful, love, I wouldn’t want you to strain that leg of yours again. Especially not after I spent so much time taking care of you last night.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The nerve of this man! You want to slap him, to push him away, but instead, you pull him closer

“You better watch yourself, Ford.” You give him a dangerous smile. “You think you can just pay with me like this? You’re not as clever as you think.”

Ford’s smirk widens. “Oh? You think you’ve got the upper hand? I’ve got you pinned right where I want you, sweetheart.”

And then his hand trails down your arm to your waist. 

“And if you’re still mad, I can think of a few ways to work out that frustration.”

Your body goes cold and hot all at once, and it takes everything in you not to melt into him. 

Ford is still against the wall where you pushed him, calm as ever, obviously enjoying every second of this, he thinks he’s the one in control.  

Your pulse hammers in your ears, your hands trembling against the chest of his sweater. He’s so warm, and god, you hate that even now, even while you’re mad at him, you can’t stop remembering the way he looked last night. The way he sounded when he let himself fall apart under your touch. 

“You’re insufferable. Worse than Stan.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one pinning me to a wall. Quite forcefully, might I add. It’s a little ironic, don’t you think? Considering how you were. . . what’s the term? Begging for me last night?”

Your jaw drops.  

“Begging? You think I was begging for you?”

Ford looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I seem to recall a certain. . . eagerness on your part. Particularly when—”

“You don’t get to talk about my eagerness.” you cut him off, your cheeks flaming. “Not when you were the one moaning my name like your life depended on it.”

That shuts him up.

His smirk falters slightly, and you see the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck. Oh. Oh. Fucking finally. You’ve got him now.  

“That’s right. Stanford Pines, world-renowned genius, reduced to a trembling mess because I—” and to kill him for sure, you lean in to whisper into his lips. “jerked you off.”

Ford goes completely still.  

There’s nothing but silence. His genius mind working, his lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out. His face is a mess of conflicting emotions, embarrassment, frustration and something you can’t quite place but looks suspiciously like agreement.

“Got nothing to say now, huh?” you tease, grinning like an absolute maniac. “What happened to all that confidence, Professor?”

“Well played.”

***

Life at the mystery shack doesn’t feel much different, not outwardly. Stan still grumbles about the bills, the tourists still gawk at the exhibits, and Ford. . . Ford is still Ford, except now he’s yours.  

Yours.  

The nights are quieter between you both, more intimate, full of moans and groans, petting and foreplay. Like last night, when his clever hands had slipped beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, his soft and needy voice told you he wanted to make you feel good.  

God, he did. You’d come on his fingers so good, trembling as he whispered your name and called you his good girl, while kissing your cheeks, wiping your tears of pleasure away. And he’d let you touch him too while your hand worked up and down on his pulsing cock and then he spilled against your skin, while you silenced him with a kiss.

No, it actually feels good, really. It’s better than nothing, than not touching him at all, but. . . you crave, you need something else. Something that is not just his fingers, mouth, or hands.

Ford is so careful, so cautious about your stupid leg, his gentle excuses about your injury making you want to scream into a pillow. Like, yeah, it still hurts sometimes, but you can walk, run, pin him against a wall, fuck him six ways to sunday if he’d just let you.  

Ford has his own fears, even if he won’t admit them outright.

But you’re not afraid. 

The woods, your anomaly huntings, are different now too. More dangerous, you’d say. 

You’re pressed against a tree as Ford’s mouth claims yours. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up under your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, like he can’t get enough.  

“Ford, aah, please,” you whimper, pulling him down to kiss you deeper. His knee nudges between your thighs, pressing against you and you swear you’re about to melt into a puddle right there in the dirt.  

“Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want the whole forest knowing how desperate you are for me.”  

But it’s him. . . it’s fucking him who’s desperate, dropping to his knees to pull your pants down just enough, fingers slipping into your panties to find you already soaking.  

“So wet already, holy multiverse,” and then his fingers are inside your pussy as he presses kisses to your thighs and stomach.

But you need to touch him too. Your hands are on him again, tugging at his belt, fumbling with the button of his pants. His cock is hard when you pull him free and you stroke him until he’s shaking, gasping against your neck.  

“My love, i’m gonna—” his hips jerks into your hand as he cums, splashing his hot and thick seed all over your fingers. But he doesn’t stop,  his own six fingered hand working you until you finish with a strangled cry, pussy clenching around him as you nearly fall, when he catches you, whispering how beautiful you are.

You both collapse against each other, sticky and hot, despite coldness of autumn, grinning like idiots. And then Ford leans in to kiss you again, like he’s already planning the next round.  

At dinner, it’s you who starts it.  

Your leg brushes his teasingly under the table that has him choking on his water. Stanley doesn’t notice, too busy ranting about some tourist who tried to haggle over a snow globe, but Ford shoots you a warning look.

You just smile sweetly while also agreeing with Stan about his tourist speech as you press your foot higher until you’re brushing against the hard line of his length beneath the table.  

The lab is worse.

He’s sitting at his desk, scribbling in his journal with you perched on his lap, your arms around his shoulders, your hips rocking against his as you kiss the side of his neck.  

“You’re distracting me,” says fucking Ford with his hands on your hips, guiding your movements as his already hard cock strains against his pants.  

“Good,” you kiss his cheek, grinding down harder, feeling him twitching beneath you.

But every time you try to push it further, every time you reach for him, ask for more, he stops you.  

“Your leg,” but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.  

“But i’m fine—”  

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “i’m not risking it, not yet.”  

***

The November crisp air bites at your skin. The faint smoky warmth of the fire crackling in the yard. Well. . . It was Stanley's idea to do this, he said something about rekindling childhood memories, family bonding and roasting marshmallows like it was summer camp, but he's not here. Something about a "quick run to the diner for pie" turned into him being away for whole evening, leaving you and Ford alone under a shining starry sky.

“You know, for a guy with six fingers, you’re surprisingly bad at this,” you tease, leaning back on your hands as you watch Stanford squint at the marshmallow impaled on his skewer. It's already starting to charred, the edges curling into blackened flakes as the fire devours it. “do they not teach you how to roast marshmallows in the multiverse, professor?”

Ford chuckles softly at your words. “Oh, excuse me, but i’ll have you know i’ve mastered much more complex techniques than this primitive. . .” the marshmallow slides clean off the stick and lands with a soft plop into the embers. Ford stares at it, annoyed. “cooking method.”

You can’t help how cute he looks so you laugh. “You’re hopeless,” you brush your shoulder against his, smiling. “here, let me show you.” Ford nods, handing you the stick. “first rule,” you skewer a new marshmallow. “don’t hold it so close to the flame. you want it golden, not a cremation. You’ve gotta keep it turning. Patiently, like this.” you rotate the stick slowly and Ford actually watches, his gaze is not on the fire, but on you. 

“i see,” he says thoughtfully. “golden, not charred.”

“Exactly,” you let marshmallow toast evenly. “you just have to—” you glance up to check on him and Ford’s still watching you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you gulp awkwardly. “. . . focus,” you finish a little quieter. “why you’re looking at me like that?” you smile.

Ford laughs. “maybe in some universe, you do dress appropriately for the weather?” 

You blink at him, thrown off for a second, before realising. Oh. . . oh, right. Your teeth chatter slightly, fingers cold and you’re shaking slightly, it’s so obvious. “i guess no?”

Ford doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he’s already shrugging out of his coat and draping it over your shoulders before you can protest, but it’s not like you wanted to anyways. His trench coat is heavy and smells just like him and your smile couldn't get any wider.

“Thanks, again. . . heh,” you try to sound nonchalant, but the coat is still warm from him and you clutch it around you tighter.

“So, you were saying?” Stanford prompts, tilting his head toward the marshmallow in your hand.

You clear your throat. “Right, uh, where was i? oh, yeah. so, you’ll know it’s ready when it’s this perfect golden brown all over, not a single—”  

“Give me a kiss,” Ford says suddenly, interrupting you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re not sure who leans in first. You, probably, but he meets you halfway. Ford’s lips are warm, so soft against yours. Your heart stutters in your chest as blood rushes in your ears, one of his hands comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing feather-light against your cheek. Your hands find his chest, fingertips pressing into his sweater as you you sigh into him.

The kiss deepens, not hurried, but like you’ve both waited far too long for this moment. Ford leans into your touch like he’s been craving it just as much as you. 

When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours and none of you speak, both quiet and only fire is crackling softly beside you.  

“I think i might be terrible at marshmallows.” Ford smiles shyly.

You blink at him, you lips still tingling from the kiss, your head feeling too light to even process his words at first. Oh god the whole moment so tender, so beautiful, so intimate it almost makes you want to cry. 

“Ford,” and he hums softly in response.

“Hmm?”

“Give me another.”

Ford doesn’t need to be told twice.  

This time, it’s you who closes the distance, but his lips crash into yours like he’s been waiting, holding himself back and now he simply can’t. His hand slides to the back of your neck as the kiss deepens, hotter, hungrier. You sigh into his mouth, your knees going weak beneath you, but Ford steadies you, holds you.

His coat slips off one of your shoulders as your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer until there’s no space left, and even then, it doesn’t feel close enough.  

“Ford—” you manage to groan against his lips and he pulls back just slightly.

“What is it?” the way he’s looking at you, fuck, like he’s already undressing you in his mind, makes you feel dizzy.  

You pause, staring at him, at the mess of his hair, the faint flush dusting his cheeks, the way his lips are already red from kissing you. This man. This ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.  

“My leg,” you feel nervous out of sudden, afraid he might reject you again. “it’s— it’s healed now, you know. . . i can— i can handle more.”  

Ford freezes, thinking. And then. . . Oh.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s different, this time, there’s no holding back, no careful hesitation.

"Inside," your voice is trembling with anticipation. "please, Ford, let’s go inside."  

And god help you both, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say no. 

***

Ford’s whole body is pressing you into the mattress as though he’s trying to meld you both into one. His hands grip the sheets beside your head and he’s so warm against you. He kisses you messily and desperately, too eager.

“Ford, please,” you whimper, lifting your hips and grinding up against his hard, pulsing length.

“Yes, Ive got you, I’ve got you,” his own voice trembling as one hand dives down, gripping your hip, trying to keep you still but failing miserably because he can’t stop himself from rutting into you. “im right here, my love, i’m gonna take care of you.” the bed creaks beneath the weight of both of you, but neither of you can hear it over the needy moans you two share.

You can’t stop the high pitched whine that escapes you as his knee slots between your thighs, pressing against you just right and you swear you’re losing your fucking mind. “Nngh, Ford, Ford, please,” your voice so fucking needy it feels embarrassing. 

Ford stops, just for a second, pulling back to take a good look at you. His eyes are blown wide, pupils black as they devour every little expression you make. “tell me, tell me what you need.”  

You nearly cry. “touch me,” you plead.

“Oh sweetheart, my good girl,” his trembling fingers brush the hem of your clothes, slipping underneath to glide against your skin, being so careful like you’re too delicate, too fragile for him, he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he’s not gentle. “i’m not going anywhere,” he promises, dragging his lips down your jaw, going lower to the sensitive skin of your neck. “i love you so much.” and before you can even think to respond, his mouth is on yours again, swallowing your moans because he’s desperate to consume every single piece of you. 

Oh, sweet fucking hell, you think when Ford lowers himself between your thighs looking like a man on his knees at an altar and you’re the goddess he’s about to worship. He spreads your legs wide, his six-fingered hands curling into the plush of your thighs and he just stares for a moment like he’s seeing heaven itself. His lips part, and his tongue darts out to wet them, the hunger in his gaze as if he can’t believe this is real.  

"My love," he groans. "so pretty, you’re so pretty. . . this is all mine, isn’t it? tell me, sweetheart, say it, say it’s all for me."  

“It’s yours, Ford,” you melt under his gaze, feeling so exposed and he hums in approval. 

“Good girl,” and then he dips his head down, brushing his lips against your inner thigh, kissing your healed wound. 

You grow impatient with every second, and fucking finally, he’s right here, his face hovering over your throbbing pussy which needs his attention so bad, and he takes a deep breath. 

Ford presses a kiss just above where you’re all wet and your hips jolt, seeking more.

“F-Ford! fuuck. . . fuck fuck fuck!” 

“Shh, just like that, i’ll take care of you,” he presses one hand firmly on your pelvis to keep you still. “just relax, darling, let me have you.”

You’re too far gone to even respond coherently, only letting out pathetic whimper as he drags his lips lower and lower until his warm mouth hovers right over your soaked folds.

His tongue presses flat against your pussy, slowly and oh fuck, you taste so damn sweet, Ford growls and that vibrates straight through you. “oh, god," he pants, pulling back before diving in again, "you taste. . . you taste so good, so sweet, like you were made for me." Ford’s voice muffled against you as his tongue flattens, dragging through your slick, tasting you. 

His hands grip your thighs tighter to hold your squirming body in place as he tilts his head to get a better angle. His lips seal around your puffy clit, sucking gently at first, then harder when your hips jerk up into his face. He holds you open because he’s not letting you go anywhere, his tongue flicks over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sobbing his name.  

“Ford. . . oh god! Ford, too much—!” 

You’re trembling and panting as his tongue circles your little clit in soft lazy strokes that have your back arching off the mattress. You fist your fingers into the sheets as his lips seal around your sensitive clit, sucking gently before releasing you with a soft, wet pop.

“Taste so good,” Ford says more than all to himself. He licks into you now, dragging his wet tongue through your soft folds, lapping up everything you’re giving him like a man possessed. “g-give me more, darling, please. . . i need more of you.”

“Ford, Ford! Ford, i—” you buck your hips against his face as the wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the room.

“Mmhm, that’s it, sweetheart,” his voice muffled against your cunt as his lips brushes your clit, letting his fingers slide lower to tease your dripping entrance. “just let me make you feel good.”

Ford pulls back just enough to gasp for air, his lips and chin shiny with your slick and you swear he looks drunk, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. “you taste so good,” he groans, diving back in immediately, never having enough, moving his mouth against you like he’s kissing you there, sloppily, noisily and so damn messy.

You’re not damn ready for what comes next. When his fingers finally slip inside, you nearly scream, two of them, then three with his extra middle one sliding into your soaked pussy, while another circles your clit, working in perfect tandem with his tongue. "so tight, so wet for me," his voice muffled as he sucks your clit into his mouth again. "give it to me, sweetheart. . . let me have it, be a good girl for me, yeah?"  

His pace quickens as your walls flutter around his fingers. But he doesn’t stop, not even when you’re writhing and tears streaming down your cheeks from the pleasure. He licks, sucks and slurps at you, addicted to the way you taste, the way you feel. “Ford, I’m gonna cum—”  

You cry out and jerk your hips against his face as you do. He growls, gripping you tighter, holding you still as his mouth moves faster, hungrier. Your walls spasming around his long fingers, your clit pulsing between his lips.

But Ford’s mouth doesn’t lift and doesn’t slow, even when your thighs tremble and your fingers push weakly at his hair to tug him away.

“No, Ford, please,” you gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it in slow circles. “i-i can’t— too much. . . im sensitive, Ford—”  

But he doesn’t give a fuck, his grip tightens on your thighs to keep them spread wide. “Just one more, sweetheart,” his words slurred, drunk off the taste of you. “please-please, i need. . . one more, just one more for me.”  

You can’t hold back the loud cry that escapes you as his tongue dives back in, licking and lapping. Your legs jerk, trying to close, but his strong hands keep them locked open. “don’t fight me, let me, let me have you.”

“Ford, oh god—” your voice is broken as his tongue works all over your pussy, it’s overwhelming and unbearable, your entire body feels like a live wire as he devours you, never giving you a moment to recover.  

“that’s it, love, cum for me, please. . . be a good girl and cum on my face.”  

And you do again, god, you do, because there’s no stopping it. Your orgasm crashes over you again, ripping a scream from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Your vision whites out, your mind blank as your release floods through you.  

Ford moans into you as you come, his mouth latched onto your clit, his tongue lapping up every drop. When you start caressing his hair as if thanking him, he presses wet sloppy kisses to your trembling thighs. 

You’re still shaking and gasping for air, when he finally lifts his head, his chin glistening as he stares down at you and smiles. But you still can’t have enough, not satisfied, not when he haven’t been inside you and fucked you properly, you’ve been craving this for months and you totally go for it now. “Please, need you, Ford, please, i need you inside me.”  

He doesn’t even make any excuses this time when he kneels between your legs, his cock flushed and throbbing, the head slick with pearls of precum. “you sure?” is all he asks as his hands come up to cradle your hips.

“Yes, god, yes,” you plead, spreading your legs wider, your eyes glazed with need. “please, i can’t wait anymore! i need you.”  

He knows you do because he’s in absolutely same state as you, needy and desperate to fuck you, that’s why he’s pressing into you, the thick head of his cock stretching you open and you both moan loudly when he slides deeper, his girth filling you.

Ford is trembling above you, sweat slicking his brow as he inches himself inside carefully, terrified he might hurt you or worse, lose control. But you’re ready, so ready, your nails digging into his shoulders, “more, please, i can take it.”

Ford’s hips stutter as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Y-you’re so tight, sweetheart, so damn tight. i don’t— don’t know if i can move. . . feels too good. . . god, you’re perfect.”  

You’re no better because your walls clench around him and your voice so high and breathless as you cry, “so full, Ford— oh my god, you’re so big.”

“I know, love, i know,” he soothes, finding your parted lips with his as he starts to move slowly, making shallow thrusts that have you both gasping. “you’re doing so good, taking me so well, feels like heaven, baby.”  

You feel every inch of him, every twitching vein as he sinks deeper, the stretch delicious, making your head spin. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on. Your wet pussy squeezes his dick so good he nearly loses it right there.

And it’s too much, too good to be true, both of you letting out incoherent sounds and slurred praises as he thrusts into you, moving faster, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. You try to move together with him, creating a perfect sync.

“You feel so good, sweetheart, too good. i don’t— I don’t think i’m gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, cupping his cheek when you look right into his dazed eyes. “fuck me harder, Ford, please. . . need you so bad.”

He hears you, snapping his hips against yours, his pace quickening as he loses himself in you. Your moans about how good it feels fill the air while your hands are clawing at his back, nails biting into his skin as you try to pull him closer where it seems impossible. His scars feel rough under your touch as your fingers trace them blindly, making Ford moan at the sensation. His hips jerk forward, driving deeper and you cry out.

“So tight,” he groans into your ear. “you’re squeezing me, love, c-can’t think. . . you feel— oh, sweetheart, pussy so good.”

Your nails dig deeper, leaving crescents in his skin as he fucks into you with deep thrusts that have you gasping. “more, please, more,” you beg and he obeys without question, burying himself deeper, harder into your cunt.

“That’s it, love,” his hand slips between your hot bodies to find your aching clit, circling his fingers over the swollen nub with featherlight touches. “look at you. . . so beautiful, so good for me, you’re perfect, love. . . my perfect girl.”

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you, at the same time his thumb presses down on your clit and a sharp cry spilling from your lips as the pleasure builds.

“Ford!” you whimper while your hands clutch at him. “oh god, i—”

“I know, love, i know, i feel it, let go for me, sweetheart, cum for me.

His beautiful voice and words are enough to pull you through another powerful orgasm, your body tense as you finish, breathless, boneless, drunk on his cock.

Ford’s dick throbs as your release slicks his length, dripping down to pool at the base of him. “you’re so wet, sweetheart, good girl.”

You cant think, not really, too fucked out and tired, your body trembles and you can barely take a breath, but Ford doesn’t stop, determined to fuck your brains out. His thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk away, the overstimulation making you whimper. “n-no, wait— I’m sensitive—”

“Just one more, love,” he pleads. “please, baby, just one more for me. you can do it, I know you can.”

You try to close your legs and your body twitches with every touch, too much to handle, but Ford holds you open firmly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach. “you’re so good to me, so good, can’t get enough of you.”

He continues thrusting into you, filling your pussy to the brim and pulling out, slamming back again, you feel good, you do, especially with right amount of pressure being applied to your clit, but pleasure borders with sensitivity and little pain from overstimulation as he drags against that tender spot inside you. “Fuck, please! i can’t—”

“You can. You’re my good girl, you can give me one more, please, baby, cum on my cock again.” his words light a fire in your veins because the coil of pleasure tightening and building again despite the ache, despite all these overwhelming sensations. He fucks you so deliciously, grinding his hips into you in deep, slow rolls that make your toes curl and eyes roll, your nails scraping across his shoulders and back, all over his old scars. Ford groans at the sting.

“That’s it, love, just like that, let me have all of you.” he wets his fingers with saliva before bringing them on your sensitive nub again. “you like that? y-you like it when i touch you here, sweetheart? tell me, tell me how good it feels.”

“So gooood. . . feels so good, ford, don’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me, fuck me!” and then you break again, another orgasm crashing over you, but this time you literally scream from how good it feels, your body convulses, your nails dig into his back with such force that blood comes out. Ford watches you come undone as he fucks you through it, his cock coated in your juices once again.

Ford cant hold himself anymore because you notice how his thrusts grow more deeper, harder, more erratic. His sweaty forehead is pressed against yours, his groans changing into desperate pants and you feel how close he is because his cock twitches inside you, his body trembles as he fights to hold on. “don’t w-worry, don’t worry, I’ll pull out— I’ll—”  

“No!” the word bursts out of you in a panic and immediately, you lock your legs around his waist to prevent that. “no, no, Ford, please, don’t, you can’t, don’t leave me, please—” your words tumble out in a frantic, incoherent mess, more sob than speech honestly as you cling to him like your life depends on it. “please,” you babble, your nails scraping against his skin, pulling him impossibly closer. “need it, need you, don’t pull out, please, please, please—”  

His surprised eyes fly open as he processes your words. “but—”

All you do is nod frantically in response, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep him in place. “yes, inside, cum inside me, I need it, I need you to cum inside me”  

Ford groans as he gives in, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes you cry out. He holds your thighs, spreading you wider for himself as he buries himself to the hilt, as deep as he can go. He growls as his head falls back, he squeezes his eyes shut and just loses himself. “gonna— g-gonna cum inside you. . .”  

It happens, finally, his hips slam into you one last time and he finishes, his cock pulses as his cum paints your walls white. He hides his face into your neck while loud sound tears from his throat, halfway between a groan and whine. He rolls his hips, continuing to sloppily and lazily thrust into your pussy, grinding against you, unable to stop because he needs to give you every last drop of himself. “you’re— my love, so good, I feel so good. . .”

You lay under him and take it all, milking him for everything he has. Your fingers tracing his beautiful scars, ones you gave him now and his own ones, smearing a little blood over his skin, your legs tightening around him as you whimper, feeling every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock inside as he fills you. Oh god, such intimacy leaves you dizzy, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.  

“Thank you, Ford,” your body arches into him, asking, no, seeking more, always more. “feels so good. . .”

Ford finally comes back to his senses upon hearing your voice, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he shudders through the last waves of his orgasm. He presses kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. “I love you, i never want to let you go.”  

He pulls out with a shaky groan as he tries to catch his breath, his cock still glistening and twitching. But the loss of him leaves you feeling achingly empty, your walls clenching around nothing as a soft whimper escapes your lips.  

Ford is frozen above you, though, his chest heaving, his wide eyes fixed between your legs. The sight of his warm thick seed slowly trickling out of you renders him completely silent.

You let out a deep sigh, dazed, a dumb little smile curling at your lips as you look up at him, completely blissed out and so beautifully ruined. You trail your fingers down slowly, maybe to tease him once more, until finally dipping between your thighs to catch the mess he’s made.  

You circle your clit gently, then lowering your fingers to your hole, collecting his cum, covering your fingers with this sticky mess and Ford tracks every movement. And then, oh, you push it back inside, curling your fingers deep, your head falling back with a quiet moan as you savour every drop.  

Ford fucking whimpers at the sight as he watches you pump his sperm back into yourself.

“Don’t. . . don’t want to lose it,” you smile, looking at your scientist through half-lidded eyes, gaze unfocused. “don’t want it to go to waste, want to feel you.”  

Before you can say another word, he’s on you again. His hands spread your thighs wides when he positions himself at your entrance. Without word, he pushes back in, groaning as he stretches you open again. “you’re beautiful,” he gives you a kiss, while slowly fucking his cum back into you again, making sure to not miss a drop, letting it stay where it belongs.  

You hold him close, caressing his face and looking into his beautiful eyes. “I love you so much,” but you get interrupted by a little sudden thrust he makes. “oh, ah, Ford!” 

“Shh, i’ve got you, love,” Ford gives you a warm loving smile, rocking his hips gently. “you were so good for me, sweetheart.” he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, like he’d give you the whole world if you asked and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your crazy heart thunders in your ears as you hug and cuddle him, lost in the way he fills you so completely, so perfectly, like you were made for this.

The two of you don’t even bother moving because there’s simply no energy left to clean up. Ford stays buried inside you with his heavy body on top of yours like a blanket. For the first time in life, you feel that safe, good and loved, warm and. . . full in every sense of the word.

Sometime later. . . hours? you’re not sure, but the soft gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains. You feel Ford’s broad chest pressed against your back and suddenly his hand skims up your thigh.

“Ford,” you murmur, half-asleep as his lips brush the curve of your shoulder. His hand finds your leg, gently lifting it as he settles himself against you. “yes, please. . .” you smile, closing your eyes as you feel his cock rubbing against your folds.

He kisses the side of your neck. “just need you again, can’t help it. . . need to feel your pussy around me.”

You moan softly as he slides into you from behind. The angle is perfect as he fills you, sending shivers through your sleepy body. His hand lays on your thigh, holding you steady as he starts rocking into you, slowly, still sleepy, but fucking deep, each thrust making you sigh and whimper.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” his free hand skims over your waist, cupping your breast and playing with your nipple.

Meanwhile your hand reaches back to clutch at his hip and your head falls back onto his shoulder, Ford drives deeper into your pussy. “Ford. . . oh, Ford, yesss. . . just like that.” you mewl sleepily when you feel his fingers on your clit. 

You dont know what time is it, probably very very early morning, but you let him take you. There’s no rush, no urgency, just sleepy, languid thrusts and quiet soft moans you two share in the early morning while being half awake.

The sun is higher now, casting autumn golden streaks across the room, when you wake again. You’re alone in the bed and your body deliciously sore, marked with the evidence of last night. . . and this morning. Faint marks of kisses and hickeys bloom along your skin, the ache in your thighs reminds you of how thoroughly he’d claimed you.

The blanket is all over you, keeping you warm despite your nudity. You stretch out, yawning and blink away the last traces of sleep, but you notice him at the edge of the bed. Ford sits with his scarred back to you, hair messy, but his posture is perfectly straight as he leans over his. . . ah, yeah, now you see it, journal.

He’s scribbling something down there, intense focused, face serious and you just lay there, enjoying comfortable silence and watching him, taking in the way he looks so handsome even in his rumpled state.

“Morning, genius,” you murmur finally.

Ford glances over his shoulder. “Oh, good morning, love,” he says warmly, setting the journal aside and moving to your side of the bed. He leans down to kiss you, brushing his hand over your hair. “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admit with a smile as you stretch beneath the blanket.

Ford studies you. “i’d say that’s to be expected. Rest a bit longer, okay? I’ll make us something to eat soon.”

“You better hurry because i’m so starved,” you yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Starved, are you? well, you’re taking a shower first,” he says seriously, though his tone remains gentle. “you’re not wandering around covered in. . .” he stops himself as his cheeks flush a little, trying to find right words to use.

“Hm? Covered in what, ford?” you tease, propping yourself up on one elbow.  

“You know what, honey, don’t make me say that.”

Your eyes flick to his journal. “what are you even writing in there, anyway? can’t believe you’re making notes after the night we had. Is it, like, some x-rated research?”  

Because of your question, Ford straightens up, his face expression changes, the earlier embarrassment melting away as excitement takes its place. He looks like he’s just cracked the secret of the universe. “actually,” he begins, adjusting his glasses, “i think i’ve finally solved the equation for that anomaly we’ve been tracking! The one that disappeared because of the rainstorm, remember? I had a theory about the dimensional distortion rate and this morning, it all just clicked!” Ford launches into an explanation now. 

You, however, just blink at him and knowing grin spreads across your face. “so, what you’re saying is. . . my pussy literally makes you smarter?”  

Ford stops mid-sentence as he stares at you, flustered. “i— I wouldn’t put it like that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, looking everywhere except at you. “but. . . perhaps there’s a correlation. . .”

You just laugh, dropping back onto the pillows as you watch his awkward attempts to compose himself. “yeah, yeah, Ford, I got you.”

He grumbles something about inappropriate comments, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a shy smile.  

“So, my pussy is the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe? Who knew i was a genius all along.”  

Ford groans, hiding his face in his hands, “Oh my god,” he says your name. “you’re impossible.”  

[geminimoonmadness]

✰NEPTUNE IN ARIES✰

A once in a lifetime astrological event!

©️GeminiMoonMadness

✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Neptune takes roughly 165 years to transit the whole zodiac and has been happily swimming through his own sign of Pisces since 2011. Neptune will transit Aries from 2025 to 2039, spending about 12 and a half years there in total, with a few dips in and out at either end. This represents the start of a new cycle of inspiration and change.

✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Here are the dates:

-Enters Aries on 30 March 2025

-Retrogrades into Pisces on 22 October 2025

-Re-enters Aries to stay from 26 January 2026

-Dips into Taurus on 21 May 2038

-Final visit to Aries from 21 October 2038

-Enters Taurus to stay on 23 March 2039

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Neptune was last in Aries from 1861 to 1875 and brought to light humanity´s impulsiveness translated into wars, the creativity to invent and the determination to discover.

As Neptune transits the signs, it reveals what we idealise and look to for redemption or salvation. In Capricorn (1984-1998) it fed the idealisation of corporations and big business and in Aquarius (1998-2012) it idealised science and technology. In Pisces (2011-2025), it appears to be idealising deception itself because we’re all drowning in fake news and propaganda in a crazy-making post-truth hall of mirrors.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

WHAT HAPPENED IN HISTORY THE LAST TIME NEPTUNE WAS IN ARIES?

60 – 73 CE

-In Rome Christianity was spreading fast

-In Palestine there was a Jewish uprising against the Romans in 66 and Josephus wrote his history of the Jewish War which became a major source on Jesus.

388 – 401

-Christianity had become the official imperial religion of the Roman Empire in 391

-Theodosius prohibited all pagan cults and worship.

432 – 419 BCE

-The ancient Greek city states were always having falling outs/battling.

-The Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta began and ran for decades.

879-892

-Alfred the Great created a small fleet of ships to fight naval battles against the Vikings.

1206 – 1219

-Genghis Khan began his conquest of Eurasia

-The Christian Crusades were in full swing

1370 – 1383

-The Hundred Years War between England and France was going strong, it started in 1337 and ended in 1453.

-The Catholic Church split in 1378 and there were two rival popes until 1417

-The Church came under attack from 1377 by John Wycliffe, an English theologian.

-John Wycliffe (as above) completed the first translation of the Bible into English in 1382.

-1370s, the story of Robin Hood began to circulate (a tale of a classic Aries character).

1534-1547

-Henry VIII broke from Rome and declared himself supreme head of the Church of England

-This led to the dissolution of the monasteries in 1536 and the destruction of religious relics and churches, and endless fighting between Catholics and Protestants.

-In the 1540s Valerius Cordus wrote Dispensatorium, the first pharmacopeia covering medicinal plants, minerals and how to make drugs, published in 1546. He also discovered ether in 1540, which was used in pain relief for surgery – and for getting as high as a kite!

1697 – 1711

- Lots of fighting and rebellions in Europe over various things, including the War of Spanish Succession in which England took Gibraltar in 1704.

-England was getting tired of fighting the Scots, and in 1707 the Act of Union formed a new entity called Great Britain, unifying England and Scotland.

1861-1874

- American civil war commenced

- germ theory was invented

-Violence on the Australian goldfields

-Slavery

-Abraham Lincoln becomes president

-Franco-Prussian War

(Can you notice a trend?)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PREDICTION FOR 2025-2039:

Neptune in Aries could bring pioneering visions that reach into every part of society, with lots of new ideas and progressive thinking. There could be idealistic revolutions and social activism, visionary rebellions, crusades for truth and religious wars. Wars may be fought based on lies and deception (nothing new there then), or fought with bioweapons, chemicals and viruses.

At best, Neptune could inspire compassionate action and leadership that takes us away from the potential for war. But it could just as easily reveal the corruption and weakness of leaders that create power vacuums and trigger war by accident.

There may also be a massive loss of faith in leadership, a loss of belief in the nation or the system. People could turn away from the system out of disillusionment or even boredom, and lose themselves in escapist pursuits, like gaming or virtual reality.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

WHAT HOUSE IS YOUR NEPTUNE IN?

WHAT HOUSE IS YOUR ARIES IN?

WHAT DEGREE IS YOUR NEPTUNE?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[fancyfeathers]

how would batfam react if a mission involving a time related brought daughter!reader from the future to the past, and she has like heavy scarring and muscle that rivals Jason’s. Maybe she joined some form of superhero team in the future or became a mercenary

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

Ooooo I have been playing Gotham Knights and this just is such a good idea to me so I am taking some inspiration from that game.

It would have been completely unintentional, an accident during a Justice League mission, but now they are standing in a room with group of bunch of other vigilantes, it’s clear none of them have powers, and it’s clear to Bruce who one of them is, he would recognize her anywhere. The first question is not who are you or are you okay but…

“What happened to you?”

Her teammates have to hold her back from strangling him, the pent up rage over the years coming to the surface. After everything had calmed down, they both get an explanation, something went wrong in a Justice League mission and now they are here and then they are a vigilante group in Gotham…

“Oh so kind of like Batman.”

Barry needs to shut up sometimes because as soon as he says that there are awkward glances among the visitors, including Bruce’s daughter who is just staring at the ground like she saw a ghost.

“N-not exactly… we aren’t on the best of terms with our Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, Oracle, Spoiler- you get the idea.”

“Why is that?”

“Take a guess-“

“It’s because of her, because she ran away, didn’t she?”

Bruce was right when he answered the question that was meant towards Oliver Queen. There is just a bitter silence in the room for a long time before the meeting disperses, the vigilantes will be kept under watch until they can find a way back for them, and this means staying at Wayne Manor.

The feeling of walking back in there is horrible, it is even worse when her and her crew are led inside where the entire family is waiting because Bruce needed to explain everything to them, then the looks she got when she just stepped in the doorway made her want to run away…

Dick looked confused

Jason looked like he was in pain

Tim looked as if he was about to cry

Damian clearly wanted to scream…

But then there was her mother and she looked at her with just a smile, and ran her hand against her daughter’s cheek…

“Look how big you’ve gotten, you’re beautiful.”

Then there is the smallest voice…

“Mama? Who is this?”

She looks down to see herself, so much younger, seven or eight, dressed up like a doll, a hard contrast to the person she has become, but the little girl just smiles at her…

“You’re really pretty, you remind me of Wonder Woman.”

The comment just melts her and she sinks down to one knee and ruffles her younger self’s hair.

“Sweetness, this may be hard to believe, but she is you from many years in the future.”

“Wow, really Mama?”

“Yes, dearest.”

There isn’t even a moment before the little girl is all over her future self, asking her questions about her future, advice…

“Do I date that boy from my class?”

“Well sort of… it is hard to explain, he loves you, but you sort of fall out of love with him… it’s messy.”

She can’t exactly tell her that he ended up being in the Court of Owls.

“Oh okay… well where did you get that scar on your arm?”

“I fell off of a building.”

She can’t tell her that she was being chased by Jason and Dick and she jumped off of a building and into the river, bagging up her arm against the debris.

“What I should I do to meet all your other friends?”

“You’ll figure it out, friendships come naturally to us and kindred souls have a tendency to find one another.”

Her brothers and father both love and hate this, her current self seems to happy to have this opportunity and her future self seems to have a huge load lifted off of her shoulders, but the life she lives is away from them, running from them, choosing a life of pain over them.

[wonupatootie]

이찬 // Lee Chan [Dino] Fic Recsᡣ𐭩

세상에 시드는 꽃은 많지만 여기 있는 것들은 시들지가 않아~

Main Recs Masterlist

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“Scored” by @leejungchans

Fem!reader || uni au, enemies to lovers, fluff, humour || W.C: 12.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･lee chan should really stop winning so many games for your university, because as the resident writer for the sports column of the student newsletter, you’re starting to get really sick of having to cross paths with him all the time.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Light of My Life, Treasure of My Memories” by @idyllic-ghost

Sci-fi au, right person wrong time, angst, fluff, heavy topics || W.C: 16k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The life of a researcher is dull when every answer you seek is at the tip of your fingers. New technology may have brought us a comfortable life, but for you it was almost torture. There had to be something more. So when you got the opportunity to be a researcher for the cognitive sciences of Automatons, you took it. But what happens if the outcome isn’t what you expected? What if these beings you call robots have life? How does one define the essence of life? More importantly, how could you stay objective when you were slowly falling in love with your test subject?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Love Guard” by @tqmies

Fem!reader || summer au, enemies(one-sided) to lovers, fluff || W.C: 9.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Lifeguard Lee Chan is a pain in your ass, and you swear he's only picked up this job to ogle at girls in bikinis. Little did you know, the only girl he wants to look at is you — not that you'd ever let him tell you that though — Especially now that you're convinced he's in love with your co-worker.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Distraction, A Fatal Attraction” by @sohnric

Fem!reader || college au, strangers to lovers, fluff || W.C: 7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You and Lee Chan seem to have the same clubbing tendencies. That being: drinking a little too much at times and getting a little too touchy when doing so. (Or - you and Lee Chan have kissed a concerning amout of times before he finally asks for permisson.)

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Memories That Resemble You” by @viastro

Gn!reader || strangers to lovers, angst, some fluff, some humour || W.C: 11.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･the people that you’ve met are meant to be there in your life, on most occasions. however, the person that you’ve set up your whole life with is one where you know they’re irreplaceable. with every flashback that you may encounter comes hope for the upcoming future, and that was the reason why you were always looking forward to meeting him.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Mind Your Business” by @bitchlessdino

Fem!reader || frenemies au, supernatural comedy, smut || W.C: 12.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･If Chan had to read anyone’s mind, it had to be yours—the one person who seemed to loathe him with every ounce of your being. But before Halloween day, when that wish is suddenly granted, he begins to realize he’s opened a can of worms far bigger than he ever imagined—one that can’t be sealed shut again.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Chapter One: How To Not Get Stabbed” by @mr-cha-n

Superhero au, action, smut, angst, fluff || W.C: 22.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The peace of quiet of your garage is only broken by the hum of machines and clanking tools, and you like it that way - until a superhero crashes his car straight into your door.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“In Case You Didn’t Know” by @shuadotcom

Fem!reader || 90s au, roommates au, brother's best friend, fluff, romance, smut, little angst || W.C: 28.8k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Chan has always been just one of your step-brother’s best friends. He’s also been in love with you for as long as everyone remembers, but you never paid him much mind - that is until you decide to return home after many years away and you see the man he’s become. He goes from being your little brother’s best friend to being the perfect man for you in a matter of months. Now the questions are who wants who more and will either of you do anything about your feelings?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Promise Ring” by @lovelyhan

Royalty au, fantasy, childhood friends, mutual pining, love triangle, drama, slowburn, angst, smut || W.C: 21k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･no one would've guessed that the daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you're forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Take My Hands (We Can Fall Together)” by @the-boy-meets-evil

Fem!reader || brother's best friend, friends to ??, pining, slowburn, fluff, some angst, smut || W.C: ~23.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･chan's known you for years and he knows you're friends, but you've always felt just a little bit out of reach. like you see him as someone your brother brought into the friend group when you were kids. he's fine with that. still, it's hard to watch you settle for relationships where you're never the priority. when the weather starts cooling off, chan figures your favorite season is the time to show you that you deserve better. even if it's not him.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Rates of Change” by @wqnwoos

Uni au, idiots to lovers, fluff, minor angst || W.C: 10.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Your first and only semester as TA throws your previously unassuming college life into disarray, fuelled almost entirely by the brown-eyed and charming student who’s slipping closer to failing with every lecture. And in return for your mathematical assistance, Lee Chan decides he’s going to set you up with the guy you’ve been persistently pining over for a year and a half. It’s a simple equation: you teach him calculus, and he’ll teach you how to flirt. Except, as you’re both quick to discover, mathematical equations don’t translate over to real life as easily as you’d expect.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Blood & Popcorn” by @sailorrhansol

Fem!reader || friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut || W.C: 11.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“A Story About Us” by @wavesmp3

Fem!reader || dark piece, angst, minor gore || W.C: 15.6k

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Lee Chan Needs Love Too” by @bitchlessdino

Fem!reader || college au, smut, humour || W.C: 9.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･There was Lee Chan from High school and now Lee Chan from college. You insist they are not the same person. The only thing they have in common is they both got to fuck you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Ten Dates: Unmatched” by @xunolic

Fem!reader || Exes to not quite enemies to lovers, romcom, angst, smut || W.C: 17.9k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･once you and chan broke up, you decided to be cordial enough to stay friends with him. however, you’ve finally moved on and are taking on dating again. as you beg chan for advice, you should've known he’d grow tired of it.

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[sugawhaaa]

🕯BANGCHAN ONE-SHOT🕯

♟️👑The fall of a king👑♟️

Warnings:: MENTIONS OF RELIGION If you are faithful I highly recommend not reading this and if you do I do not take religious criticism

Genre:: fantasy, demon AU, slow burn

Pairing:: demon!king!bangchan x fem!angel!reader

A/N:: this story has got me hooked. Too bad no one's reading this series 💀 womp womp their loss

Taglist:: @velvetmoonlght @lattyjiji

🎧::

As Bangchan walked back from Lee knows room he looked worried and stressed, so much so he bumped into you. He quickly grabbed you. "Oh sorry," he smiles and helps you back up to balance. "How are you finding your stay here?" He smiles and you glance around nervously. "Is everything okay? You seem...anxious?" He leans down to your level slightly and you shake your head.

"I'm okay just...Minho is on my mind..." you sigh and Bangchan nods.

"I understand. It's hard the first time you see...it," he looks down. "Here, why don't you come to my room with me and we can talk about it okay? There's...some things I think you should know," he smiles and a hint of excitement jolts through you. You were finally getting some answers in this twisted place.

Once Chan led you to his room, the two of you sat on the bed and Chan began telling the story of a lifetime. "Minho was the first lord I came across. I didn't know it at the time but, haha, he's a handful. He was terrorizing my castle here in Hell and I went out to face him, sword and shield in hand. I was told he was some kind of indescribable creature. Wings, tail, horns, scales, fangs, and glowing eyes. He was a beast," your eyes widen at bangchans description of past Lee know.

"He was a beast?" You repeat and Chan nods.

"But once I sheathed my sword I realized he had a human soul and most of all his eyes were fearful. Somehow I got the fool to calm down and he was just a young boy, only about 10 years old," Chan explains, and the story enticed you. "I took care of him and raised him as my own. Before I knew it this little boy is a grown man. He still has outbursts, like you saw, and sometimes he gets destructive but he has come a long way. Honestly, I'm proud of him,"

Minhos story of growth had you feeling a lot better honestly. He used to act like this all day everyday but he's brought it down to once every maybe 2 to 3 weeks. What a strong man...then you thought of the words you overheard from Chan "You're being weak". You look up at Chan but only find sincerity in his eyes.

"Something else is on your mind. Am I right?" He puts a hand to your back, below your wings, and you nod.

"I just...I feel like everyone here is hiding something from me. I feel...distant," you look down at your hands and bangchan smiles.

"Well that's how most people are in Hell. Everyone here has painful, very painful, stories that they don't just share with anyone. You need to build your relationship with these demons Y/N. They aren't just any people. They are made from history," Chan explains and you look up at him surprised.

"What do you mean made from history?" You ask eagerly and Chan laughs.

"As you know we are the eight sins of humankind so we were born from events that heavily displayed these human sins. When Athelstan began his rule over England I was born. During the first mass murder or war, were not quite sure, Minho was born. Hyunjin was born during the Egyptian times and Changbin was born in ancient Rome. However we are not as old as these times. It's a little hard to explain," Chan blushes.

"How was...how was Hyunjin born? Isn't lust kind of...I dunno always been around?" You shrug and Chan laughs.

"I suppose you're right but the Egyptians fed into the lust the most out of all history, supposedly. You also have to remember that Egyptians came very early in the history of the world," Chan explains and you nod. "So they were some of the first people to feel this lust to reproduce and Hyunjin was born,"

"Hyunjin must be powerful..." you look down at your feet. "Even I've felt his strength," you admit and Chan smiles.

"I think we all have," he puts a hand on your back. "And we believe that Hyunjin is one of the strongest lords, if not the strongest. Humans are dirty creatures," Chan winks. "Maybe you should talk to Hyunjin about some of this if you're so curious," bangchan suggests and you blush.

"N-No I couldn't...he...he scares me," you admit and bangchan laughs.

"But Minho doesn't? Or Felix? I saw you sitting in Felix's room," Chan elbows your shoulder and his comment confuses you. "C'mon, let's go pay Hyunjin a visit. He gets lonely easily," Chan laughs and you feel paralyzed as he drags you to hyunjins room.

《??? Ending》

"What an idiot!" Envy slams his hands against the table startling sloth awake. "Going to lust before me. He knows. he's trying to piss me off!"

"Oh shut up Chan doesn't care about you," sloth rolls his eyes. That sentences strikes Envy in the heart.

"Fuck off you useless pest. Get out of my room damnit!" Envy stomps over to Sloth. "Everyone loves to push my damn buttons," Envy sighs.

Masterlist

[maxybabyy]

winter warmers day 1: coffee on a cold morning

The room is dark when he wakes, just a slip of warmth visible from the kitchen.

Daniel stretches out his body and groans at how it cracks back at him, the strain of his joints and that vague hum of pain he doesn’t know how long it’s been there. His head is fuzzy from sleep, and his throat is still sore from the cold that had made him come back to Monaco.

Max hadn’t been home for a full day before Daniel had made him come pick up him. How he had curled up in the passenger seat in matching sweats with the hood pulled up and barely said a word while Max drove them home.

“’m being a shit boyfriend, huh?” Daniel had said and stumbled into a bed he hadn’t slept in since he still had a seat. “Didn’t bring you anything but like, fucking pneumonia, probably.”

Max had kissed his forehead, and even that must have felt like shit with the fever and sweat and all. “You brought me of course you, Daniel. And always I think that is very lovely.”

And like, obviously Daniel knows Max is a great boyfriend. But there’s something so sickly perverse in watching him sign for his championship trophy and place it on the still boxed-up cat tree on his way to the kitchen to heat up a can of tomato soup because Daniel said he was hungry.

It makes Daniel’s heart jump in a way it probably shouldn’t, but there’s no fucking way he wants it to ever stop.

Max pokes his head in from the kitchen, eyes soft when they land on Daniel and finds him awake. He pushes the door open with his hip and lets the cats run through his legs before he comes over.

“I made this for you,” Max says and hands a cup. “For your throat.”

Daniel scoots himself upright in the corner and takes the cup in his hands, “Thanks, babe.”

It’s not scolding like the thought it would be. Instead, there’s a pleasant warmth where his fingers touch the ceramic. He brings it to his mouth and then waist, sniffs the air like he can even smell anything with the way his nose is stuffed. But he can, or at least almost.

The scent is so familiar in his mind that it should be obvious what kind of tea Max has made, and he almost feels stupid, but he has to ask, “It smells awesome, Maxy. What did you make me?”

Max glows with the praise, face flushed as he eases himself into Daniel’s lap. The weight feels good on his thighs, anchoring him to the presence instead of the floaty feeling that threatens to pull him back to sleep.

“Always when I was sick, mama would say you need something hot for your throat, so she would make me chamomile tea, but of course I did not like the taste,” Max tells him, like Daniel doesn’t already know Max hates all kinds of tea, even the granulated ones that are more sugar than tea.

So instead, I did this,” Max says as Daniel puts the cup to his mouth, and suddenly he doesn’t need the explanation.

The taste of taurine and red bull floods his mouth, and while Daniel’s never been a big fan, it’s second nature now to just swallow it. But the temperature is what makes him pause, the body-warm liquid swishing in his mouth until he’s ready to spit it out.

“ – just hold it under warm water until it is hot,” Daniel hears faintly.

Max mimes holding the can under the tap, pouring it into a cup like he didn’t just break some sort of mixological law of drink service. “It is nice, no? Especially I think when it like this, cold outside or you are feeling a little bit sick.”

Daniel closes his eyes and thinks about Max winning his fourth championship, drunk on G&Ts and beer but also vodka red bulls. The taste of it hot and heavy on his tongue as Daniel had kissed him. It had been lukewarm then too, so he swallows. Swishes the cup and takes another huge sip. The drink barely gone before he leans up to kiss Max, who eagerly lets the liquid slip past his lips.

“Yeah, tastes great, babe.”  

[acupofinkedblood]

Hyperlaser x reader

Tw: Mentions of violence and death

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• The cold has never graced him with mercy, Hyperlaser is aware of it. How long has he been serving in Blackrock? How long has time went by ever since the last time he fought side by side with his comrades instead of these senseless machines? Blackrock’s snow is eternal, as unbothered with other’s pain as the heads of this faction. But even when the chill has never spared him a moment of peace, it brought him back to the time when he felt even just a hint of peace

• The snow brings him back to the memories of you

• Hyperlaser was born to be a weapon. His fate was sealed ever since he walked out of the Spawn fountain. Those days were hazy to him now, yet the pain was still there. He remembered going through various exams and enduring the gruesome beating whenever he messes up. He was just a child, but that child was doomed to grow up so fast ever since he made his way inside the training ground. Lucky — or maybe unlucky him — for Hyperlaser, his skill proved to be worthy enough to be kept around. How many people have died for him to have that spot? He didn’t remember anymore

• When he got to the mercenary group, it was then that he started to form a deep bound with the members there, who will accompany him on this journey. It was like a light at the end of tunnel. Those days could be nightmare to him, but he still had his friends — his comrades — by his side. As much as a loner he made himself to be, Hyperlaser knew that he had grown fond of this new group of his

• And among them, he remembered you the most

• You, who fought side by side with him when he was still a rookie mercenary. You, who looked out for him even when the toughest time fall upon him. You, one of his dearest comrades he has ever had the fortune to come across

• Even when the violence of this life had got to you, you have never let it get the best out of you. It was almost comical, how you went from such calm individual to a gruesome mercenary that followed orders. Hyperlaser knew that it was a do or die situation. After all, most of them were trying to survive in this line of work, and so did you. He understood you as well

• You were a pleasant memory in his mind. He enjoyed your company, or at the very least, he respected you and your skills. The two of you took your job seriously, as the feeling of the your life being hung up by a thread kept urging you to move forward. Yet perhaps it was why he felt drawn towards you. You never knew who is friend or foe in such jobs, but for some reason, he trusted his gut when calling you his close friend

• The bound between you two, ‘comradeship’ might be the word to describe it. You got each other’s back with no ulterior motives. It’s not like he didn’t trust his other friends, it’s just that he found himself trust you more than he normally would. It’s just a feeling, that you will never stab his back even when you have a chance. Trust is precious, and he trusted you

• When the two of you didn’t have any commission to follow after, the bar is the best place to find you guys. Alcohol and story, never a dull combination when mixed together

• Sometimes you just had this random urge in the conversation, telling him that when you finally reached a certain age, you would figure a way to retire from being a mercenary. Maybe adopting a cat as your companion while you were at it as well, a black cat sounded fitting. He had never understand the appeal of said animal, but the thought made him think

• You enjoyed taking a walk in the snow to clear up your mind. You have invited him to join you sometimes. Now it just hits him like an odd habit to take a stroll under the snowy weather whenever he needs to calm his mind down

• Every moment with you, he felt relaxed. As if you were a walking dose of sedative for him. Even with danger lurking every corner of your life, you were still here with him. That was all that mattered

• Until that day came

• The day when he lost everyone in the bloodshed. Blackrock had dragged all of his friends and him into this mess of a battlefield that it wasn’t even their fault. His friends, his comrades who have been through life and death with him, they have all fallen down. His everything, he had lost it. And you, he had lost you

• When he woke up on the medic’s stretcher, the news paralyzed him. The worst thing was that they had failed to locate your body, considered that you had been blown to ashes in that explosion. It was the cruelty of war. Just a while ago he was still wishing you good luck, and now you have disappeared without a trace. The state of his burn skin didn’t even let him cry in peace, there was no tear running out of his eyes, yet it hurt like Hell

• There is no room for love in the battlefield. He has realized his feelings for you too late. When you left, it’s like you have taken his love with you

• Time gone by with no remorse for the fallen one. You didn’t even have a proper burial. Everything moved on like nothing happened. His hatred for Blackrock just got fueled up even more, yet he had to stay. To figure out a way to avenge his friends and comrades, to avenge you

• Now that you are gone, Hyperlaser finds himself taken up on your habit. He lives with the memory of you. Every time he goes out for a drink, he makes an extra order of your favorite beverage beside his. Every time he goes out for a walk underneath the snow, he imagines your footsteps accompanied him

• To find cat is a surprise for him. Normally, he will be careless with any stray in his sight. Yet there was something that the little black kitten just calls out for him. In the end, he takes the little darling with him. Hyperlaser feels like if you were here, you would have laugh when he became a cat dad

• He has so many regrets. His memory is slowly blur out your face, your voice, and he finds himself cling to the memento you have left just so he can assure himself that he will continue to live with the appreciation of his shared memories with you

• But of course, you are gone, slipped out of his grip forever

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: My customers really love to torture themselves, don’t they?

[vidavalor]

Thanks, @kayleefansposts. Love your reference resource so much! I don't see a ton of murder in S2 but I do think suicide ideation and mental health issues on the whole are a big thing in the story. Glad you brought up Romeo & Juliet-- that, along with Salinger's Bananafish story & It's A Wonderful Life, are the three biggest of the references to a story involving suicide that I saw in S2 but there are probably more. R&J is The Big One, imho. It was in both seasons, especially S2, and I have the feeling that the initial plot in the present in The Finale is going to (temporarily) have a lot of Romeo & Juliet allusions...

Presume for a second that the theory about Aziraphale being about to fall to Hell is correct. Let's say that happens and his memories are taken before it. We last left Crowley driving after believing that the threat in The Final 15 was The Book of Life. Let's presume that Aziraphale falling would be like it was when he was discorporated, in the sense that Crowley suddenly won't be able to sense him. Both involve changes to his physical makeup, really, so it probably is comparable? If that happens, Crowley won't think that Aziraphale has fallen-- he'll think Aziraphale has been Book of Life'd.

If Crowley thinks that Heaven has made it so that Aziraphale has never existed and he'll never see him again, then Crowley is not going to want to live with this. His anxiety will help him rationalize away why he still remembers Aziraphale but all he'll want is to not remember him because it's too painful when he is sure he'll never see him again.

Agnes' Armageddon prophecy-- the Orient's chariot one-- could come back around here: ...take the means of flame from himme...

Mean/means from the same root as mind. Flame-- like passion & slang for a lover. Back in S1, flames in Crowley's phone on the contact page for his flame:

Does Crowley drive to Anathema in Tadfield and beg her to take his memories of Aziraphale? Between it being in Agnes' prophecies and the idea that maybe Anathema is coming into powers like Agnes had and might well be expecting him and knowing that it's pivotal to take his memories as part of everything, maybe she does?

It could be that the start of The Finale is that Crowley and Aziraphale have basically Romeo & Juliet'ed themselves. For a few minutes at the start? They're both effectively dead.

Good thing it's all about supporting characters to the rescue. 😊

In light of the recent Christmas jumpers worn by Rob Wilkins, I thought of the clues the story in S2 left for us that yes, S3 might take place during Christmas.

If anyone else hasn't listed this one yet, the Metatron says "wrap things up" near the end of S2.

I remembered way back to my post about Crowley being summoned to Hell by Beelzebub.

I remarked:

There's an "It's a Wonderful Life" reference here, I realize...With this concept of erasing someone from the Book of Life, I'm inclined to think that a person wiped from existence cannot learn "a lesson" because they don't exist anymore! But wait. That is what happened in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". The angel Clarence showed the human George Bailey a reality where he, George Bailey, no longer existed because he had never been born. George learned "a lesson" about the value of his own life.

I did acknowledge it might be foreshadowing and didn't think it would be particularly interesting, but "It's a Wonderful Life" is a well-known Christmas movie, so this prospect has become at least a little more likely in my eyes.

We might (briefly?) see a reality without Crowley, Aziraphale, or both, with their roles in Eden.

[askhezureviews]

If I remember, you criticize the diamonds from Steven universe for being complex villains and having personalities. Then, you criticize Stella from helluva boss for being an abusive wife for seemingly no reason. Can you explain to me why this shouldn’t be considered hypocrisy (besides your hatred)?

Hello anon, your tone makes me believe you are a biased Viviziepop Stan who has missed the entire point of my criticism for both shows, so I’ll take this time to clarify:

The diamonds are amazing characters. They are complex. They are terrible people, but have redeeming qualities. They are their own characters outside of Pink Diamond.

Stella is not complex. She’s a terrible person with no redeeming qualities. Stella is not her own character outside of Stolas.

I’m extremely confused how you think these two are related. The only thing I’ve criticized the diamonds for was their rushed , not believable redemption. Let me explain; Blue and Yellow are the exception to a degree. They were expected and forced to conquer and control by White Diamond.

They were racist, homophobic (fusion) , and totalitarian. They murdered hundreds of thousands of people for the sake of their perfect empire, but they were imperfect themselves. If they didn’t do what White said, they would be in trouble and she would take their wills from them.

Blue and Yellow, the only reason they woke up is because Pink Diamond left. Because their closest family member died. After hundreds of years of shutting their emotions out and feeling nothing but emotion respectively, they finally woke up and realized how miserable they were. How miserable they’ve always been, and that’s what ultimately pushed Pink away. Pink was the only one that brought them together, who made them truly happy. Knowing they were responsible for their own misery, they realized they needed to change.

Blue and Yellow decided to become better people, but they still had a long ways to go. There’s a lot of damage to the universe they can never undo. It’s not too late to change, but we only saw them wanting to change for the sake of their family member. Magically, their biased racism and homophobia vanishes and they just become saints to their people over the course of a few years when their destructive terrible nature and belief system has been instilled into them for thousands of decades. The show didn’t have enough time to make this change to their morality believable, but had we had more time, it probably would have been perfectly acceptable.

The biggest issue here however is White Diamond. The show set up to pin the blame of the empire onto her. White diamond does not become a better person because she misses Pink Diamond. Even after the finale she still believes organic life, fusions, and off colors to be disgusting; her racism still peaking through. The thing that “redeems” her is a literal joke. Steven embarrasses her. She becomes insecure when she realizes she’s not living up to her own expectations. It’s all still completely narcissistic in nature.

Even to “redeem” herself, she goes around and lets other people control her body and will instead of the other way around, which, after ordering the conquer of hundreds of thousands of planets , with all the blood and gem shards on her hands- this is an extremely unusual , counterproductive way to undo any damage she caused to the universe. It feels like she didn’t suffer. One does not necessarily have to suffer to be redeemed, but when you are someone so full of yourself, so shut off and uncaring and not empathetic to the world around you, I believe, in order to truly change, you need to understand what other people have gone through because of you. You could argue she’s doing that by synchronizing with other people, but she’s not actually doing anything about the pain or suffering she’s caused them. She just lets them use her and take things out on her which isn’t productive either.

Long ramble short,Stella is flat, the Diamonds are complex. Helluva Boss has time to explore its villain characters, Steven Universe did not.

Stella is an annoying waste of screen time, while the Diamonds are integral to the series as well as the overall message.

These characters and series are incomparable.

[pjsk-headcanons]

Social media usage hc's!

Ichika: totally a tumblr user. she's very active in the vocaloid fandom and sends memes in the leo/need groupchat. she would sent cute pictures and caption them "us <3" or some shit like that.

Saki: she definitely used tiktok, twitch and youtube a lot during her stay in the hospital. responsible for 90% of the links in the leo/need groupchat.

Honami: i dont feel like she would use much social media. maybe she made a few accounts to check the links others sent her, but otherwise she doesn't use them.

Shiho: she only uses youtube for bass and calligraphy-related stuff, as well as cute animal videos. that's mostly on tiktok tho. she would have a perfectly curated tiktok fyp.

Leo/need probably have a youtube, twitter and tiktok account, but only use them for promotion.

Minori: VERY active on tiktok. she had been posting since way before she joined mmj, but her account has only gained popularity recently. she sometimes gets haruka, airi and shizuku to feature in dance tiktok challenges with her.

Haruka: she doesn't have a public social media presence, but she does lurk a lot on her private accounts. she feels better when she can keep up with all the news. mainly twitter.

Airi: she's quite active on instagram, but doesn't use anything else often.

Shizuku: banned from all technology usage. i feel like we already know.

More More Jump have official instagram and twitter accounts, as well as youtube where they stream. mostly ran by haruka & airi, though minori likes to log in sometimes to respond to the comments (and probably shock them). they sign off each message with colorful heart emojis. very cute.

Kohane: doesn't use social media much. minori got her to record tiktoks together when they were still classmates, so now she also has a tiktok account. doesn't have a very curated feed, but does partake in scrolling sometimes.

An: watches a LOT of youtube & twitch in her free time. i dont feel like she would feel the need to use anything else tho.

Akito: that man is too committed to the grind to let social media have a hold on him. maybe a bit of youtube and a sports news twitter account, but in healthy amounts. he's too good for tiktok so he watches youtube shorts.

Toya: had no idea what a social media was for most of his life. he would be active on reddit though. an showed him twitch so now he partakes in watching some streams too.

Vivid BAD SQUAD wouldn't have an official social media presence. most of their fame outside vivid street comes from other people posting recordings of their performances.

Tsukasa: he doesn't use it at all. saki once showed him a few things, he tried it, went "you know what. i dont feel like this brings any value to my life" and stopped. we should all strive to be more like tsukasa.

Emu: solely a tiktok user. she sends wxs a lot of funny and cute tiktoks. also partakes in dance challenges sometimes, which gain her a surprising amount of popularity.

Nene: uses discord frequently for her game stuff. made her own tiktok account only to open all of the links emu sends her.

Rui: uses twitter, but realized very quickly that the constant drama isn't healthy for his mental state so now he just looks at the memes. nene makes fun of him for living in the twitter trenches.

Wonderlands x Showtime are tiktok famous. this hc mostly comes from that one tumblr art about tiktok famous wxs and ?!?!?! i absolutely agree! i hc this also was a big reason why they gained popularity so quickly. mainly ran by rui, with everyone frequently helping and giving ideas. they post a lot of skits and extra behind the scenes content.

Kanade: she doesn't seem like the person to use social media. she only has discord and her streaming services accounts, which she considers a chore to run.

Mafuyu: for obvious reasons, wasn't allowed to use social media. i don't feel like she would use it after running away from home either, since she's seen how much pain it brought to ena and mizuki. discord only.

Ena: her being very active on instagram is practically canon, as well as discord of course. i dont think she would use anything else though.

Mizuki: this girl has an account on EVERY social media platform ive mentioned. and probably a few more. she's very good with technology, and has definitely participated in at least one fandom.

Nightcord at 25:00 don't have any social media accounts, apart from streaming services of course. Partially to keep up the mysterious and anonymous image, but also no one could be bothered enough to run it.

woah how did this get this long??? im going to sleep now

- 🍔

‎

[mdhwrites]

Sunday: As Exciting and Concerning as the end of a Weekend

Sunday is, rightfully so, a decisive character. For some, he is the peak of all Star Rail writing. A nuanced villain with grand thematics, imagery, a tantalizing moral quandary and a gray to his morality that is rare to see. To others, he is a narcissistic man with delusions of grandeur that embodies the excesses of Penacony. That he takes too long and too many words to finally get to his point, all while still just being someone who in the end wants to, you guessed it, rule the world. But where does he lie in reality?

That... Well, doesn't have an actual answer because both viewpoints are equally valid. It's akin to how Aventurine suffers from the fact that even when he's good, the writers are so worried about you GETTING. THE FUCKING. POINT. that they hammer it in in a way that is genuinely unpleasant and reveals the hand of the author. Like as a reminder, we get told the story of the Charmony Dove at least three times, in excruciating detail, before we get to the festival to actually have that come to a point. Three times in the SAME. PATCH. To the point of being detrimental to building up his relationship to Robin, which is both more powerful when brought up with his ideals but also just more important to the character in the present in general than this one story. We get it, it's his backstory but how that has compounded over time is far more fascinating.

But on the other hand, I was genuinely invested when he posed the question to us: If you know pain and suffering is the extremely likely outcome of a situation, would a gilded cage be better than the freedom that will lead to death? Should those better and stronger than those around them take on the burden of protecting them? Made even better by the fact that Sunday would have been an invisible hand in it all. Entirely alone and so the only joy he could get would not be adulation and worship but just that of a job well done. It's genuinely compelling and something that is hard to answer and the characters themselves recognize it's a tough conundrum and the final point that tips things one way or another being that people deserve a choice, and that choice being what gives us even a chance to win, is all very effective thematically.

But that's not the only problem here. When I say he's an encapsulation of the issues of Penacony, for those the planet wronged, he really is a big problem for them. Robin's character suffers for the sake of Sunday, just like Acheron is given less attention than Aventurine. He is given a shocking death as the end of a patch... Just like Firefly and Robin the patch before him to the end result of... Jack shit. They were all fake deaths because fuck you. Even if technically had a point, it was a lie to the audience for cheap drama and a false cliffhanger. That's going to leave a pretty bad taste in your mouth.

Buuuut for those who like Penacony, he's also a wheeler and dealer who's quite good at his job, only beat by Aventurine because Aventurine had help above and beyond what could have been expected and Sunday was essentially working alone. He's an antagonist but it's hard to call him a villain, like any of the major players in Penacony, because he genuinely doesn't wish for harm and is operating off of a complex set of goals that he has set in motion and needs to meet. He's got more depth to him and his relationships than would be expected, like how Jade hides parts of herself from her protege or SAM and Firefly's connection, while also being a genuinely entertaining fellow to watch as he goes through his scheme and has brilliant VA work to back up his scenes.

Way... WAY too much VA work in my opinion, the script for Penacony NEEDED to be trimmed down, but that is probably my most firm stance on Penacony as a whole. I think the only patch in Penacony with proper pacing throughout is 2.3 (and now 2.6).

Where do I fall on Sunday though? Well... I don't. Not yet. This is mostly because we know he's about to come back and he's to some extent repenting. How much is to be seen, his stated goal is to still make his paradise after all but that's also Robin's goal and Robin isn't evil so shrug. I think Star Rail is nuanced enough to write him well but...

I've kind of been burned too many times to be too hyped. I've seen charismatic villains lose a LOT of themselves after their fall and that usually comes with losing a lot of what was interesting, compelling or evocative about them. It's very easy to think that the way to redeem a character is to strip them of all traits that made them negative before instead of asking how those traits could instead be used in more constructive ways, or how those traits would interact with noble goals. I don't even know if this next patch will give us enough of an answer one way or another. I literally saw across three movies for My Little Pony one of their most compelling characters go from a charismatic force of personality, to the personality of a brick, to getting some of that initial personality back and it playing with her world in interesting ways and even recontextualizing the second movie's more languid period as essentially her figuring herself out.

Sunday's biggest problem in this regard is that his devotion to the themes of Penacony may now tie him down from being able to stretch his own wings. He did have a personality but it was so dedicated to that version of his dream that I don't know what to expect of a Sunday who is willing to seek other answers to his goal. It's part of the problem with a methodology as blunt as Penacony's. It's very easy to hyper dedicate a character to their narrative role, or even to a specific scene, and leave them lacking as a whole because of it and I feel like that has the potential to happen to Sunday.

I want to end this on a different note and that is him mechanically since the livestream has happened and we know those details. A lot of people think that because he pushes summons forward, he is not a hyper carry support but a summon support. But... No. He's a hyper carry support. His kit is all about maximizing damage. He can make other summons go faster but if he's making a support summon go faster... That support summon needs to be doing better work than he would by supporting the main DPS in the team because your team at that point is a single DPS, two supports and a sustainer. You know: The hyper carry setup.

There is a reason why Acheron mixed with Pela and Jiaqiou is called Acheron Hyper Carry. It's not called debuff, despite that being a core part of the strat, because the debuffs are just the version of support you're going for in order to maximize damage with Acheron. Sunday supporting Jing Yuan is not some new summon meta, it's a hyper carry setup where the best option for the hyper carry is a summon. As such, we may indeed end up with a lot of summons in 3.0... But he'll only be useful for the ones that act like Jing Yuan who is a DPS.

That's why I'm not pulling for Sunday. He's hyper carry in a way I am not interested in so I'm not planning to pull for him and I think that is the correct way to look at him if you are feeling mechanically pressured to pull for him. Just remember: Meta is not individuals in this game, it's teams.

I hope this was all a little insightful and helps you understand people on either side of the Sunday debate. See you next tale and good luck on your pulls!

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[forabeatofadrum]

Ever After (1/21)

Summary: Cooper is the saviour of the kingdom of Daltonia, and his younger brother Blaine is fine with that. Blaine's never had a grand adventure of his own, and he prefers it that way. But one day, a stranger who is lost and in pain is brought into Castle Town, and Cooper isn't around to help him. It's up to Blaine to help him to find his way home, but when Kurt claims that he is from another world, things become more and more complicated.

Notes: Hello everyone! It is time for the annual @klaineadvent! I am so happy that this challenge is still around, even though it's been nine (nine!) years since Glee ended. I have been sitting on this story idea for a couple of months and I am happy to share it. The title is named after the song Ever After from Into the Woods.

I do want to quickly point out that the premise is based on The Accidental Turn series from J.M. Frey, and credit for this idea goes to her. That being said, apart from the initial idea, any other similarities are purely coincidental. Truly. I don't really remember what happened in those books, since it's been years since I read them.

Also, you may have noticed that my 2023 Challenge is still a WIP. It is what it is. I aimed to finish it before the 2024 Challenge, and that didn't work out. I do want to finish it, but writing should be fun, and pushing myself to just churn out words wasn't fun. And since writing should be fun, and I am happy to share this story, I'll be focusing on this one. But we'll see where this one will end up.

Alright. Word vomit is over. Enjoy!

AO3 | S&C

--

SCAN

“Once upon a time, in the gorgeous lands of Daltonia, the Royal family was leading the kingdom in a time of peace. But the king and queen were given a prophecy. Their firstborn would be the hero of legend, the Chosen One, the user of the All Power, the one to save us all from an unseen threat. As a result, when prince Cooper was born, the festivities were lavish, but there was also a feeling of apprehension. What threat would loom over Daltonia?

On Cooper’s tenth birthday, that became clear. The evil sorcerer known as the Pink Dagger, had been secretly planting seeds of disarray around the kingdom. Seeds that would manipulate time. The Pink Dagger tried to manipulate the past in order to alter the present and change a possible future. The young Cooper knew what he had to do, so when he was only ten years old, he and his friends from the Knight Academy set out on a quest to stop the Pink Dagger-”

“And meanwhile, the new queen gave birth to a second son!” Wes yells happily.

David groans as he looks up from his electronic parchment.

“Damnit, Wes, I was getting to that!” he says towards his friend.

“Well, hurry up then! We’re all waiting for Blaine to make an entrance.”

“Guys-” Blaine tries to cut in, but all his friends cheer in agreement with Wes.

“Hush,” David says, “I haven’t even gotten around to the death of the first queen and the king remarrying. I am nowhere near Blaine’s birth. That happens after Cooper’s quest! It would fit better in the intro of the second book.”

“Second book?” Trent bemoans.

“Cooper’s had eight big quests. I cannot put them all in one! That would be idiocy.”

“It’s idiocy to write down Cooper’s adventures in the first place,” Nick argues, “As in, who would read them? Everyone in the kingdom already knows of them.”

Nick is right, of course. Cooper is Daltonia’s biggest hero. His eight year long battle with the Pink Dagger has led to Cooper’s victory, and to the safety of Daltonia. Cooper’s spent most of his childhood honing the All Power. Every member of the Royal family has powers, including Blaine, but the prophecy was right: Cooper truly is the most powerful royal that Daltonia’s ever known.

And Cooper also makes sure that everyone knows it.

“Did Cooper ask you to write a book series about him?” Blaine asks. It’s something Cooper would do.

But David shakes his head.

“Oh David,” Jeff whines, “Why?”

“I am a historian!” David says passionately, “But I must also think of the future. Writing this all down in a simple languages is a way for children to learn about their past.”

“Yes. You’re a historian, definitely not a writer,” Wes jokes, which leads to a playful pat on the back from David.

Although Blaine thinks David has a point. Honestly, Cooper’s his brother, and even Blaine’s had to learn about his brother’s adventures through stories, since he was too young to comprehend them when they were happening. Blaine definitely remembers the darker times, when the Pink Dagger was growing stronger, but his mother has always tried to shield him from most of the destruction and the dangers Cooper and his friends were facing.

Besides, if David needs a story, then Cooper’s life is perfect. It’s not as if Blaine has anything interesting to share. He’s always been the younger brother, the second prince, and what not, and Blaine likes it that way. No one’s ever needed him for something big, and he’s glad. Cooper loves all the attention, and he can have it.

“Okay, quit interrupting me,” David says.

David keeps talking about his story, and Blaine’s friends keep adding comments. Blaine turns back to his potions. He scans his digital potion book and listens along with the others, and also occasionally chimes in.

But the sun goes down early in the colder months, and it’s time for Blaine’s friends to leave. They all put on their winter cloaks and say their goodbyes.

“I will send a bird with a draft!” David says as he closes the door behind him.

And just like that, Blaine’s alone, and he’s glad. He loves his friends, truly, but they can be a bit much. Not only that, but everyone’s turned twenty, which is the age that people in Daltonia start thinking about their Passion, and it’s all everyone talks about. The Passion decides what you do for the kingdom. Some have already found it, like David, but others, like Blaine, are lost.

Blaine stirs his big pot with potion. He’s been enjoying alchemy, so maybe that is his Passion? He can become the royal alchemist. It’s not as if he’s becoming the future king, since that’s Cooper’s calling.

Blaine is Royal, though. He has the magical powers, but he hasn’t figure out how to mix (ha!) those with his alchemy.

He keeps stirring in his pot, and he thinks the potion is done. Great. He wanted to finish this before dinner. He and his parents try to have dinner together every evening, and Blaine likes it. Cooper joins when he’s in Castle Town, but most of his time is spent elsewhere in the kingdom. He’s doing all sorts of heroic stuff.

Blaine pours the potion in a glass and smells it. It’s a calming potion. He’s eager to try it.

But then, a maid barges through the door, making Blaine drop his glass in shock.

“Where is your brother?” she yells.

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers, “He started another quest this morning. Something about a mystical cave up north?”

Blaine’s not entirely sure. He tries to keep track of his brother’s heroics, but there are just too many of them.

He crouches down to pick up the shards of glass that’s lying in the spilled potion.

“Then, we need you.”

Blaine drops the shard he had just picked up.

“Me?” Blaine asks. He’s the only one in this tower room, but he still asks to be sure. No one’s ever needed him for anything significant. What could possibly be happening?

“Someone’s been brought in. He’s hurt. You can heal, right?”

Blaine doesn’t have Cooper’s healing powers, but he is interested in alchemy. He’s made some healing potions with success. He can try.

“Okay,” Blaine says.

He takes some of his healing potions from the shelves and he follows the maid out of the door, leaving the shards behind.

[hbosscreations]

I've sat on this for several days, because your analysis makes me feel feelings as a theater gay, and I think that you touch on exactly why Ride the Cyclone gets to have this conversation and Spirit World (and other modern comics don't).

Marketability.

People like to act like musicals are 'super niche' and not something that the average person will engage with, but that's not really the issue here, the issue is money. Musicals can make bank if they take off. Anything that makes it to a major stage production can generally be assumed to be raking in enough cash to pay everyone back and then some, and musical theater people will promote and encourage people to see the show no matter the cost.

Theater people are drama llamas. We LIKE laughing, crying, and being made to think after a show. A theater person will talk about their favorite show for years. Will see it as many times as their wallets will allow, and there's money to be made in a big enough production.

Ride the Cyclone gets to talk about death and sex and teenage pain because musical theater is allowed to be a vehicle to tell meaningful stories. When you go see a show like Ride the Cyclone, you're there BECAUSE it's about a bunch of teenagers begging to be brought back to life.

It doesn't necessarily matter if the show makes millions of dollars either, because in this day and age small acting companies record things and put them on youtube and use things like patreon and kickstarter to fund passion projects. Starkid is my favorite example of this. The passion is a huge part of it, and marketing allows theaters to make their money back.

Comics in the two major companies DC and Marvel though, have an industry that has been poorly managed since at least the 90s. Can't speak for creators like Image or IDW or whatnot, but I can tell you that the balancing act for DC and Marvel to try and make money has been TERRIBLY run and managed for a long time. Margins are pretty thin on traditional comics.

Which means they need to sell lots of stuff, pay their employees less, and cash grab as much as possible. It's why event comics are so common, why tie-ins are so prevalent, and even why they don't bind all the tie-ins together a lot of the time when they put collections together.

DC wants to make maximum profit, and that means making their stuff as bland as they can to appeal to as many people as possible, not realizing they are shooting themselves in the foot.

John Constantine is a fantastic example of this problem. He's in every crossover they can stick him in, because he's a cool character and he's fun to play with, but he's never treated with the dignity and depth his early comics demand. Why? I think it's because most of DC's current audience is American and they are afraid of alienating anyone by choosing a side on anything, and therefore not getting their money.

God forbid the horror comic series about a queer, burned out punk, a man who fully believed in the principles he stood behind but never had the ability or drive to try and make them happen, be about politics and queer topics. We cannot stand for anything or we risk sales being bad. We can't talk about real world topics, people don't want to read that in their escapist fantasy, even though different people get different things out of the concept.

I actually think that's a big reason Dead in America is suffering. It's not ABOUT anything. We could have had a discussion about racism that the earlier issues so CLEARLY wanted to talk about, but we might risk upsetting someone who reads the comics, that's why we have so many 'rural' stories about bad white people in the run. 'Rural whites' don't read comic books, after all (It's bullshit, but their numbers will show this, because people like me who live in rural areas have to get comics from ebay or from a reseller website because we don't have local options). We could have talked about John's complicated feelings about fatherhood, but that might hurt someone's feelings. We could talk about queer topics, but...well, that I'll blame on Spurrier not knowing or caring about queer culture.

It's why the New 52 and Rebirth stories are...not great. They're the aesthetic of Hellblazer and John Constantine, but they don't have any of the bite that the original run has. I have read the OG Hellblazer twice now and there are comics I am HAUNTED by in the best way. I can't think of many stories that have come out in recent years that have done the same thing.

Xanthe, as you've mentioned in another post, is a very generic 'asian' character in design. I didn't realize this at the time, but once you pointed it out I couldn't not see it anymore. Their character isn't really risky at the time of publication. Their backstory seems made to make numbers on tumblr, the relationship with their family only exists for screenshots to get people talking and buying. I bought it for Constantine, but also because I was pulled in by the dinner scene and Xanthe seemed interesting from the few panels we got.

And this HURTS characters like Xanthe when it comes to future appearances. I remembered Spirit World fondly because it was bland and harmless, but I read it once when the trade came out and never read it again until your post about it because it was bland and not actually engaging. My memories were fond, but I didn't think about it. It had no longevity or real thought to the world-building it wanted to create. Pretty art, lots of action (too much action), no real substance.

This story should have been Xanthe's debut instead of a crossover/teamup, detailing their cast roster, setting up future antagonists and potential enemies to become allies. It should have been about a person trying to rationalize being alive and dead at the same time and what that means, it should have talked about what death meant culturally.

Being Asian-American and having that dynamic around death would be an interesting deep dive on its own that might have fueled more readership. Instead, it seems to have left the target demographic ambivalent at best and unwilling to engage further at worst.

Why was Cassandra Cain in the story? She's Asian. Why was John Constantine in the story? He's queer. Neither character felt well written on the second read through, and more to the point, they were superfluous (and frankly I find it a little insulting that someone at DC went, well, she's popular and Asian, throw her in there).

And you're right. Xanthe will show up in team books occasionally they were in an issue of Birds of Prey recentish, but they were also paired with Constantine again. They'll be background art, they might even die in an event if they get a decent fan following specifically so they can be brought back in a super special single edition, and then be forgotten for a while.

It's a shame, because if Spirit World had the love and care to the themes it claimed to the way Ride the Cyclone did, maybe Xanthe could have been the flagship character for a new generation of readers, but we'll never know now.

I don't think I've treaded any new territory here, everything I've said, you've said better and far more succinctly, but I definitely understand your perspective better now. Apologies for the long, long rant.

Spirit World, Ride the Cyclone and Death. A weird comparative analysis

Gonna combine my musical nerd and cape comics fixation together for a rambling meta thought. I've been reflecting on how taboo the topic of death is in media after getting into Ride The Cyclone (highly recommend watching the slime tutorial and Waiting in the Wings' documentary on it) but also contrasting that musical with how Spirit World handled similar topics.

Both stories cover characters whose lives were cut short from a tragic circumstance, but while Cyclone directly talks frankly about how each character uniquely grieves over their lost life (and eventually accepts death)- Spirit World uses death as largely an aesthetic to a generic fantasy superhero adventure.

[spoilers for Ride the Cyclone and Spirit World]

Spirit World is about non-binary, half dead half living Envoy Xanthe Zhou, as they go into the Spirit World with John Constantine to rescue Cassandra Cain Batgirl. They eventually go toe to toe with the spirit of a bitter dead poet.

Ride the Cyclone is about 6 choir teenagers who die in a roller coaster accident in their small town. In the afterlife, they are given the chance to vote which one of them they believe should be resurrected.

For Spirit World, do we even know how Xanthe feels about being "half dead"? What does that even mean? They died as (what looks like) a 3 year old, and have clearly aged 15 more years since then. So they can age? Do they need to eat or drink (they're seen with a drink in a Pride comic)? Xanthe keeps mentioning they're half dead and half living, but the comic doesn't seem to want to discuss what that means. How would Xanthe feel that they were essentially given a job as an Envoy the minute they died as a very young child? Was this even a choice?

We've already covered the numerous plot holes in Xanthe Zhou's poorly thought out backstory so I won't go over that again. But honestly apart from the thematically loose "the dead shouldn't be forgotten" moral, a lot of how death is presented in Spirit World feels so superficial. When Xanthe is formally introduced as this cool character with a giant sword hanging around a gravesite, fighting all these hopping vampire creatures... this scene would play out the same if you swapped the setting with a forest and zombies as bad guys.

The Spirit World is less an afterlife for the spirits to move onto and more an MMORPG setting for our superheroes to travel across and fight generic evil beings and encounter eviler, bigger, boss battles at the end. Then there's the poet clout villain whose problems are just easily solved by Xanthe promising to remember her. I've already covered what a lost opportunity thematically this character was in my last Xanthe essay, but this time I want to contrast her with Ride the Cyclone's Jane Doe. I also want to compare Xanthe with Noel Gruber afterwards.

Ride the Cyclone's musical numbers follow each character performing a song reflecting their wishes, and musings on life (this sounds depressing but the musical handles all this with comedy and wit), hoping to prove themselves as worthy of a second chance at life. Of the characters, Jane Doe is the mysterious odd one out. The accident decapitated her, leaving her to enter the after life with no memories and the people of the living unable to identify her.

You might see where I'm going with this. So in Spirit World, Wan Yujing was this famous poet mourned by an entire empire. She only goes monster mode when a handwave-y "time erodes all" happens in the Spirit World and she is eventually forgotten- so she becomes desperate to demand to be reincarnated by the Jade Court. Because her clout ran out. Again, I already made the critique in my previous essay that this villain would better link to our protagonist if she was a queer poet whose poetry was being purposefully straight washed as an act of queer historical erasure. But I want to bring up how truly unsympathetic this villain is. She gets Shakespeare levels of clout but still demands more because she isn't getting reincarnated fast enough. Xanthe promises that as an immortal "half dead half living" person that they will remember Wan Yujing, so she too can be immortal in some way.

I think about all the Jane Doe-s in the Spirit World who don't get to be famous poets that have Empires remembering who they were. People who died anonymously without a past. In Cyclone, the main character chooses Jane Doe as the person who should be brought back to life. Our cast of teens come to terms with the fact that while it's tragic that their lives ended shortly, they conclude "to say that if one dies young, they die needlessly... that is to discount the years we had. We had a life, she didn't. That's my vote." Since Jane Doe has no memory of who she is, it's only fair that she is given that second chance.

I get that Spirit World is choosing these "larger than life" characters as villains, but it's at the expense of their own supposed themes. Of all the people to die and face off our hero as the villain, a character who's essentially an influencer but somehow has an entire empire forget about her anyway feels thematically hollow.

Modern Superhero comics are suffering from a specific problem right now; they're not really about anything. Characters don't feel like people with interior lives informed by the context of who they are. Class, race and bigotry are only touched upon as lightly as possible. Queer characters are now Pride ads with no personhood or flaws. They punch gentrified crime and fight for no one in particular. Even recent adapted media such as My Adventures with Superman and Caped Crusader follow this. Superman fights white-washed xenophobia, while Batman fights gentrified, white-washed classicism. It's why comics like Superman Smashes the Klan, Catwoman Lonely City and Alan Scott Green Lantern stand out so much. It's been a while since these characters talked about anything that matters. Don't get me wrong, slop that's about nothing exists in every industry. But when these characters and worlds historically used to have more bite- it's especially obvious.

If I could be playfully conspiracy theory-like for a second; I believe Xanthe Zhou was pitched so that DC Comics can buff out their Pride Anthology or AAPI anthology with a new younger character. The company will give this character one limited series, but that's it. Xanthe will appear in the larger DC universe whenever big magic plots happen, but that's it. Maybe they'll get a YA graphic novel. I would love to be proven wrong, but the problems with Xanthe are baked in the dough.

Because they don't feel like a person, Xanthe feels more like an industry planted Pride ad. They're designed to be the most palatable and marketable image of Asian androgyny. They literally have no flaws to grow out of, and their backstory makes no sense. They weren't built to be a sustainable solo character.

So I want to contrast Xanthe Zhou against Noel Gruber from Ride the Cyclone. Because they're both queer characters whose lives were cut short at a young age.

In a dramatic lament, Noel Gruber expresses how if he had a chance to live, he'd want to live the horrible cinematic messy life of a French sex worker woman in post-war France. He struggled as the only gay boy in a small town and never got to kiss a boy before he died. It's a look into a queer life that could've been lived, one with all the messy texture and self destruction Noel couldn't have but desires. We get to see how death and queerness intersect into rich, unflattering, gender-messy themes. "I want to be that fucked up girl." Noel sings.

But what's Xanthe's deal? They died as a 3 year old, got brought back, avoided their family at all costs for 15 years, and then had a transphobic confrontation with their family when they're invited to dinner way later. If Xanthe grew up in a transphobic household, how did they ever figure out they were non-binary when they were 3? Could they even verbalize it? Or did they instead figure out their queerness after they died? But how is that possible when they already held a level of familiar resentment towards their family's transphobia as if they've had several fights about it? It's hard to picture a 3 year old having multiple heated debates about gender with their parents for this level of resentment to make any sense.

Details aside, how does Xanthe's queerness intersect with themes of death and grief? Well, it just doesn't. This scene ends with Xanthe's sister telling them that she bothered remembering them even though their parents moved on from their death (which makes no sense since the parents wanted to have dinner with a random 18 year old they correctly assumed was their long dead "daughter" but whatever). Honestly, the only reason queerness exists in this family drama is so that Xanthe has a tense relationship with their family. The story would be exactly the same if Xanthe was a troublemaker that brought shame to their family. Who they are isn't specific to whatever grief exists in the comic.

When people give the critique that modern Superhero comics aren't about anything anymore, we usually think of these comics as "lacking political bite and commentary". We don't often think of something like Death to be political. And even though it is in many ways, it's also a social taboo to talk about. Death is an uncomfortable thing to confront, even in the safety of fiction. It's what made Ride the Cyclone such a difficult stage musical to market.

So how does a modern mainstream comic like Spirit World fit into that? It just sits there in this non-committal way. Yes, this is a story about a trans teenager who died, but only in a cool Superhero Origin Way, not in any way that would make readers uncomfortable. Bury Your Gays is a stereotype after all, so we can't talk about how queer people feel about death. We don't get to know how Xanthe feels about death as a non-binary Asian American. Especially if it's messy. It's the reason why Wan Yujing's character can never commentate on themes of historical queer erasure. God forbid superhero comics be about something.

I think about how, in the original Hellblazer run from the 80s, John Constantine had an elderly gay friend who was diagnosed with AIDS but was killed by a homophobic hate group. The comic openly talks about the sheer amount of gay people dying of the epidemic, a looming threat that informs John's queer life. It's such a culture shock, to contrast these early comics with how John Constantine is written in Spirit World. A character stripped of his own queer history and is at the mercy of incessant slutty bi jokes. Where is the desire to talk about how death informs a queer person's life? The mourning of a lost generation to the AIDS crisis? Something John lived through?

How about how any of this intersects with being an Asian American queer person? Queer people of color are often erased or purposefully excluded from queer history and communities. As a Queer Asian American, what does it mean to have identities that are often perceived to be in conflict with each other? Would your queer Asian ancestors even be remembered? Cultural differences with how you'd mourn your communities? But answering any of these questions means an uncomfortable conversation for Spirit World. For Xanthe. It threatens to be about something.

Which makes it all the more silly that, of the two stories, a musical about teenagers dying from a rollercoaster malfunction is more willing to have that uncomfortable conversation. You should ride the Cyclone.

[angelstrawbabie420]

in my quest to quell my pain ive only hurt myself worse. damned if i do damned if i dont.

[widowshill]

r/v + loneliness.

102 / Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca, ch. 4 / 4 / 8 / Art Wallace, Shadows on the Wall / 603 / Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca, ch 4. / 473 / Richard Sherman, Demo: "Lovely, Lonely Man/Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Finale" / 2

[mutalune]

on one hand I am very glad that ketamine therapy has been helpful for my severe depression and anxiety and ptsd and whatever else is going on up there, and I’m grateful that it’s available to me as part of my treatment plan

on the other hand I’m not a huge fan of the payment for that help being a 50/50 chance every time of having a bad trip that unlocks some deep scary part of my psyche and then having to address all of that in therapy until the next trip