#the worst ones like this one are around people

[sturnsdarling]

Birthdays in Boston

A prequel to 'I don''t know how to forget you', and the full story behind the photo of matt and y/n on the fridge

vibe check: WHOLESOME VIBES, bestfriends to FWB to idiots in love Au. smut throughout (its worth being patient for it trust me), shower stuff (handjob/fingering), birthday sex, matt the much, squirting (its her bday she deserves it), daddy kink, fluffy matt and y/n moments, just all round good vibes dude

9k words

A/N: this was so much fun to write I LOVE THEM UGH. I could write a thousand stories about them honestly its just so wholesome. I know it takes a lil while to get smutty but i wanted to build tension and was honestly enjoying writing wholesome vibes lol also its literally my story so if you dont like it, kick rocks. anyways i hope you guys love his as much as i do

love and cigs, merc

"you guys are actually insane, you're not paying for a plane ticket for me to go home for my birthday" you rolled your eyes, legs tucked under you on the boys' sofa.

"why not? we'd come with you obviously" Nick said, his head leaning on your shoulder as he peered up at you.

"because it's so much money, are you crazy?" you replied.

"kid, you're being silly, we're doing it." Chris rolled his eyes, taking his phone out his pocket and pulling up flights.

"no, Chris" you launched yourself forward, attempting to grab his phone out his hand.

Chris stretched backwards, holding his phone out as far away from you as possible whilst trying to finish his purchase.

"Matt, grab her" Chris laughed, holding you back with his free hand.

You're frantically trying to get his phone from Chris' hand when Matt stands up off the sofa, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off Chris with ease. You flailed about in his arms but his grip didn't waver. He chuckled at your attempts to free yourself from his grip.

"Chris, i'm so serious, don't buy those fuckin' tickets" you near enough screamed, still trying to escape Matts arms.

You threw yourself forward, arms stretched out and matt immediately pinned them to your side. Nick was laid down on the sofa, too comfy to move from when he fell off your shoulder, belly laughing at the sight of you frantically trying to overpower Matt.

"Done." Chris said, turning his phone round to show you the confirmation page for the flights.

Your body went limp in Matts arms and he dropped you to your feet.

"you guys are the worst" you sulked, Matt brought a large hand to your hair, soothing down the tangled mess that had occurred from your altercation.

"shut up, kid, you deserve it" Matt said from behind you just before picking you up and spinning you round, "Boston birthdays!" he drew out his last word, singing it as you giggled in his arms.

"Boston birthdays!" Chris and Nick joined in from the sofa, cheesing at the sight of you, your head hung back on its hinge as a giant smile crept its way onto your faux sulk ridden features.

The plane ride back to Boston was a tiring one,

you spent basically the whole journey asleep on Matts shoulder, his blue fresh love hoodie on and a half read book open in your lap. Justin picked you all up from the airport and brought you to the boys house, the car ride through Boston was weirdly nostalgic, you hadn't been home in a couple months and the feeling of being back in your city, with all your favourite people in one place for your 21st birthday was enough to fill you with an overwhelming sense of joy.

"Can you not just feel the 'og-ness', y/n/n" Chris peered round to you in the back seat, the whole car chuckling at Chris' favourite and very made up word.

"Chris, what does that even mean" Nick laughed, looking up from his phone.

"Its just the vibe, man, this kid gets it" Chris said, referring to you, "you get it, right y/n/n?"

You let out a breathy laugh through your nose, grinning at Chris, "yes, Chris, I can feel the og-ness"

"OG-NESS" Chris screamed, hanging his head out the window like a dog.

"kid, get your head back in the car" Justin said from the drivers seat, yanking Chris in by his hoodie.

"you're actually ridiculous" Matt shook his head, stretching his arm out behind you, his hand toying with a stray piece of your soft hair.

"He just feels the vibes, Matt, don't you feel the vibes?" you turned to look at him, your tone somewhat sarcastic as you batted your eyelashes at him.

A smirk filled his features as he peered over at you, eyes flitting down to your mouth and back up to meet your gaze again, "yeah, I feel the vibes"

The tension between you both was thick, and you weren't the only ones who felt it. Justin was watching the entire interaction from the review mirror, a knowing smile forming on his face as you rolled your eyes at Matt, biting your lip slightly and tearing your eyes from his.

After a short drive,

you guys were pulling into the boys house. Justin pulled into the driveway and Mary-lou, Jimmy and your mum were all outside the front of the house, smiles plastered over their faces as you all piled out of the car.

You squealed at the sight of your mother, fumbling out the car and racing over to her. She opened her arms instantly, catching you as your threw yourself into her.

"Hi, flower" she spoke into your hair, your arms crushing around her head as you pulled her into you

"Hi, mum" you replied, "god, I missed you so much" you nestled into the hug.

The boys were getting all of your bags out the car, Chris was already in his mothers arms, wrapped round her like a baby and Nick was racing ahead, running through the front door to find Trevor.

Justin and Matt were by the boot, Matt pulled your suitcase out and put it on the floor just before Justin slammed the boot shut. They picked up the bags and began to walk up to the house.

"so, whats going on with you and y/n" Justin said, slightly under his breath to his little brother.

Matts eyes widened slightly and he shot his gaze over to Justin, "what're you talkin' about?"

"come on, kid, I saw your little interaction in the back seat" Justin scoffed

"I dunno what you're on about" Matt shrugged, trying to fight the smile forming on his face, "there's nothin' going on with us"

Justin rolled his eyes and nodded, "right, sure there isn't"

You were all piled into the living room,

All the parents on one couch, you, Matt and Chris on another and Justin and Nick tucked up with Trevor on the smallest one. You sat like that for hours, talking about everything from childhood memories to LA stories, you told the boys' parents about college, and how you had found the perfect apartment off campus that was only ten minutes from the boys' house. You loved nights like this, where everyone was all in one place, talking about nothing and everything, tucked under Matts arm and your legs spread out over Chris'.

"whats up, fuckers" Nates voice boomed from the entry way.

everyone turned to see him standing in the doorframe, no-one questioning the fact that he had let himself in the house.

"oh shit, sorry y'all, didn't see y'there" Nate said, eyes wide as his hand flew over his mouth, gesturing to the parents all laughing and shaking their head at his entrance.

"NATE!" you screamed, pushing yourself up from your place on the couch and bounding over to him.

"was' up, trouble" Nate said, catching you in a warm hug, pulling you off the ground slightly.

"dude I haven't seen you in months, how have you been?" you pulled away from the hug.

"m'good man, just hangin' out and missin' y'all" Nate nodded, you both walked over to everyone on the sofas.

"whats up, kid" Nate said, laughing as Chris jumped into his arms, both Nick and Matt joining in on the hug, all of them hanging off each other as if it had been years since they'd seen each other.

Chris finally released his grip on Nate, letting him walk over to your guys' parents and give his 'hello' hugs and dapping up Justin. Everyone returned to their prior spots, Matt slumped down onto the couch and Chris sat on the other end, you thumped yourself down on top them, laying your head on Matts lap and your legs over Chris'. Nate lifted your legs up and planted himself between the boys, placing your legs back over him and Chris.

"so, what're we doin' for your birthday, kid" Nate tapped your leg.

"honestly, I don't wanna do anything" you shook your head "I jus' wanna be here with you guys and hang out, just like this" you looked around at the room, filled with everyone you loved, a warm feeling washing over you as Matt looked down at you.

"nah, we have to do something, it's your 21st" Matt said, his brows furrowing as he stared down at you

"I've never really cared about my birthday though, you know that" you replied, slightly awed at how handsome Matt looked from your position on his lap.

"Let me and Mary-lou make a dinner, at least? we can make that pie you love" your mum said from the other sofa.

"ugh, yes, please lets do that, you two in the kitchen is an unstoppable duo and the only thing I want for my birthday" you groaned, craning your head round to look at your mum and Mary-lou

"It's decided then, we'll have a big family dinner" Jimmy said, smacking his hands down on his knees and getting up, "I'll go get the groceries now"

Once Jimmy left to get groceries, everyone disbursed.

Nick, Nate and Chris all went up stairs to play fortnight, and your mum went home after suspiciously hiding in the kitchen to plan what her and Mary-lou were going to make for your meal. Matt and Justin went on a short pokemon-go hunt up the road, saying something about a shiny and sprinting out the house. You had gone out into the garden, telling everyone you wanted to catch the sunset from the hammock that was strung up between two giant trees.

You were laying in the net, swinging slightly as you stared off into the orange sunset, colours of pink and yellow illuminated the whole sky, the view from the top of the hill the boys' house was situated on giving you a near perfect view of the Boston skyline as the sun ducked behind it.

"Hey" Matts voice softly interrupted your solace.

You turned to look at him as he walked over to you, a giant smile engulfing your features at the sight of him.

"hey" you said, staring up at him as he rocked the edge of the hammock, "d'you wanna watch the sunset with me?"

"mhm" Matt nodded, "scooch up, pretty girl" he said, clumsily getting in the hammock and pulling you into him, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and rested his chin on your head, rubbing small circles over your skin as you both swayed in the warm Boston breeze.

"thankyou, for doing this" you said, turning up to face him.

"doing what?" he smiled down at you

"bringing me home, I don't realise how much I miss it until I'm back" you said, turning back to face the skyline but quickly returning your gaze to Matts soft features, the orange light making his eyes shine as he smiled down at you.

"of course, anything for our best girl" Matt ruffled your hair in his fingers.

"I know its lame but, I really do feel the og-ness" you chuckled, quoting Chris from earlier.

Matt erupted into laughter, "kids really got a way with words" he said, refereing to Chris.

You laughed in response, your giggles making Matt laugh even more as he watched you throw your head back. Your laughter subsided and you settled into each other, watching the sun go down as you swayed in the tiny hammock. For a short moment, Matt let himself forget that you weren't actually together, eyes flitting over your soft profile as you stared off into the distance, taking in the view and simply relishing in the feeling of being home. You could feel his eyes on you, and turned to face him, blinking at him like a cat.

"what?" you smiled, a red colour dusting your cheeks.

"oh, nothin' you're jus-" Matt cut himself off, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "you're jus' really pretty"

You rolled your eyes and smiled, swatting his chest slightly. He caught your hand, bringing it to his face and planting a kiss on your palm. He placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch as you shifted closer to him. He let his eyes wander to your glossy lips, and you pulled at him slightly, edging his face closer to yours. Just as your lips brushed over each others, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

"Matt, y/n/n, dinners ready" Justin said from the back door.

You both quickly drew away from each other, Matt turned to look over his shoulder at Justin and you perched up with a hand on his chest. You looked at each other and not so gracefully got out of the hammock, you walking a little ahead of Matt and brushing past Justin with a smile. Matt was just a bit behind you, eyes fixated on your figure as you sauntered through the house.

"nothin' going on my ass" Justin muttered, grabbing Matt by the shoulder as he walked past him.

Matt just laughed and shook his head, pressing his tongue into the side of his cheek and turning to look at his brother sheepishly.

"don't worry, kid, your guys' little secret is safe w'me" Justin whispered just before walking off into the kitchen.

The next morning,

everyone was at the boys' house, you ended up staying the night in Nicks room after hours of chatting about anything and everything. Your mum had showed up early hours of that morning, wanting to be there when you woke up. Everyone had crept into Nicks bedroom, all holding balloons and gifts for you as they quietly shuffled and squished up at the end of his bed. You were dead asleep, hugging Nicks pillow as you felt the bed shift slightly. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with everyone; your mum, Mary-lou, Jimmy, the boys and Justin all cheesing at you from the end of the bed

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY" they all shouted in unison, Chris popped a confetti popper and Matt blew air into his party blower.

You laughed, covering your face with your hands as Nick clicked the film camera, the flash of light hurting your still sleepy eyes.

Your mum came forward, leaning on the bed and giving you a tight hug, "happy birthday, my sweet"

"thanks mum" you smiled into the hug.

Your mum pulled away and planted a kiss on your forehead. Everyone came forward one by one, giving you loving hugs and soft happy birthdays. The boys were last, and in perfect unison, they all jumped on top of you.

"BIRTHDAY BUNDLE" Nick screamed as a belly laugh erupted from your throat.

They all piled on top of you, squishing you beneath their weight as they laughed like little kids. You were giggling uncontrollably, nearly winded from their weight but consumed by laughter.

"I remember birthday bundles, you guys used to do that every year when you were little" Mary-lou said, chuckling to herself at the sight of her kids piled on top of you.

"Its a tradition" Chris said from beneath Matt, shifting where he was slightly to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

"you guys are insane" you chuckled as the boys got off you one by one, "thank you" you smiled, looking at the room full of everyone you loved and feeling utterly grateful for their existence.

"okay, get up and shower, we're going shopping" Nick said, dragging you out his bed.

"shopping? why?" you questioned, stretching the tiredness out of your bones

"because, dumbass, its your birthday" he said, stating the obvious

you let out a breathy laugh through your nose and shook your head, "okay" you said as everyone piled out the room.

The shower water ran down your back,

the warmth soothing your skin as you tipped your head back, letting the water run over your face and down through your hair. There was a sudden cold waft of air in the steamy room and the sensation pulled you from your blissful moment. You ran your hands over your face, getting the water out of your eyes as you fluttered them open. You were met with a grinning, naked Matt standing in front of you, before you could open your mouth to be shocked, his hand was wrapped around your mouth, his finger coming to his mouth to shush you.

"shhh, pretty girl, s'only me" he said, moving his hand from your mouth and wrapping it round the side of your jaw.

"Matt? what're yo-" your questioning was cut off by him pulling your lips to his, he kissed you feverishly, his hand snaking round to the base of your spine to pull your wet body into him.

Your hands found his face immediately, returning the kiss as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, the warmth a welcomed sensation as your tongue pressed against his.

Matt broke the kiss, leaving you aching for more as he turned you both round so he was under the warm water for a moment.

"what're you doing in here? what if someone catches us?" You whispered, hands raking down his bare chest.

"no ones gonna catch us, sweetheart, everyone's downstairs" he said, pressing you into the cold tiles and bringing your mouth to his again.

You whimpered into the kiss, the feeling of his warm, completely bare and wet skin pressed against yours quickly igniting a desperate ache in you.

"mphm" Matt grunted as you moved your hand down to palm at his painfully hard cock, "not being able to kiss you for twenty four hours has been agony" he broke the kiss before quickly crashing his lips back into yours.

You chuckled at Matts desperation as his kiss became increasingly needy at the sensation of you pumping your hand up and down his length. He was near enough fucking into your fist, thumbs pressed hard into your cheeks as his tongue sloppily moved against yours.

The heat from the water mixed with your growing arousal made you both feel slightly lightheaded. Matt trailed a hand down your torso, palming softly over your tit before snaking his hand down between your legs. He found your puffy clit and rubbed slow, soft circles over it, just before gliding his ring finger through your folds, your sticky wetness covering his finger as he moved back up your pussy, using your juices as lubricant over your clit.

You bit down on Matts lip with a whimper, your grip tightening around his cock as you involuntarily bucked your hips into Matts fingers. Matt grunted into your mouth, the sting of his lip coupled with your tight grip around his length only serving to make him more desperate. He slid his long fingers through your folds once more, slipping two digits inside you with ease as you clenched around him,, your head rolling back into the tile as he curled his fingers inside of you.

Matt broke the kiss to trail wet, hot kissed down your neck, still fucking into your closed fist, completely reeling at the sensation of your hand around him.

Matt groaned as you began to turn your wrist, rubbing your thumb up and over his leaking tip, "fuck, princess, you're gonna make me cum if you keep doin' that" he breathed onto your wet skin.

"cum all over my hand, please, Matt" you moaned, the steady pace of his fingers making your back arch off the cold tile behind you.

Matt moaned at your words, "you first, birthday girl" he said as he pulled his fingers from you, using his soaked fingers to rub blissful circles over your throbbing clit.

You couldn't help the guttural moan that left your throat and Matt chuckled, bringing the hand on your cheek to your mouth, "shh, pretty girl, you don't want them to hear us, do you?" he smiled, his pace on your clit never wavering.

You shook your head, pleading eyes pouring into Matts as he worked your clit, ducking his head back down to nip and suck on your neck, soothing every sting of his teeth with the warm flat of his tongue. You pumped his dick impossibly fast as you chased your own orgasm, rolling your hips into Matts hand as your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. Only Matt would be able to make you feel this good with such a simple act.

You whimpered into his palm, the skin of his hand muffling your cries as you came, your whole body shaking as you tried to keep yourself upright. The sight of you cumming all over his hand sent Matt over the edge and soon enough, his hips were stuttering against your hand. With his eyes clenched shut and his forehead against your shoulder, Matt released sticky, warm cum all over your fist. You continued to work his length as he slowed his pace on your clit, movements sloppy from his orgasm and the sensation of you using his cum as lube to pump him.

Matts whole body shook against yours as he let out a soft chuckle into your skin, watching you in complete awe as you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean of his cum.

"you're insane" Matt smiled, shaking his head before kissing you feverishly.

You kissed him back before pulling away, shifting slightly to stand under the warm water once more. You leant down to get the shampoo from the side, squeezing it into your hand and rubbing it through your hair.

"here, birthday girl, lemme do it for you" Matt said, replacing your hands with his as he worked the foam through your hair.

Your eyes closed at the massaging touch of Matts hands against your scalp, your head relaxing into his touch as you let out low satisfied hums. Matt did your whole shower routine for you, conditioning your hair, exfoliating your skin with the rough side of the sponge before going back over the way he came with the soft side. He treated you like you were royalty and he was your servant, peppering tender kisses all over your wet skin as he bathed you, whispering sweet praises in your ears about how beautiful you looked or how soft your skin was.

Once you were clean, he stepped out the shower first, wrapping a towel around his waist before holding a hand out to you and helping you step out onto the cold tile floor. He reached for the fluffy white towel and wrapped it round you, bringing you into a tight bear hug.

"happy birthday, pretty girl" he said, placing a loving kiss into the top of your wet hair.

"Thankyou, Matty" you cheesed up and him and he cringed at the old nickname.

"don't make that face! I used to call you 'Matty' all the time when we were little" you said, looking up at him with your chin rested on his chest.

"yeah, when we were little it was cute, now it just makes me feel weird" He chuckled scrunching his face up at you.

"well, I like it, so" you drew out your 'o', smiling cheekily up at Matt.

"you can have twenty four hours of calling me Matty, only because it's your birthday, and then you can go back to calling me daddy" Matt smirked, raising his brows and brushing his lips over yours.

"i've literally never called you daddy in the history of ever" you smiled, laughing into his parted lips.

"maybe you should start" he said in a low, seductive tone, pressing a kiss on your lips.

"In your dreams, Matty" you said, kissing him back with a smile etched on your lips.

The rest of your day was spent shopping with Nick,

It was the perfect day. You and Nick went to all your favourite thrift spots in Boston, spending the whole day talking about how ‘they just don’t do it like this in LA’ and complaining about west coast prices. Nick took you to your favourite lunch restaurant, a hidden gem in your home down and you guys spent hours chatting about nothing and everything. Even though you begged him not to, he told the staff that it was your birthday and your pancakes came out with sparklers and a song. You, obviously, wanted the ground to swallow you whole as the entire restaurant sung happy birthday to you, but the look on Nicks face from behind his phone made all the embarrassment worth it.

You and Matt spent the whole day texting, as usual, and he was nothing other than loving and attentive. Every thrift find you weren’t sure of he was there to give you his opinions, every selfie you and Nick took was sent straight to him along with photos of the city that really ‘captured the og-ness’.

Little did you know, the whole time you were out shopping and sending silly photos to Matt, he was helping set up your surprise back at the boys’ house.

Everyone had come over to help out; Mary-Lou and your mum were a dream team in the kitchen, making more food than anyone would ever need as the boys put up all the decorations in the back garden. There were party hats, streamers, balloons and a giant vintage style cake with your name sprawled across it in big pink letters.

Just before the sun was starting to set, you and Nick decided to make your way home. Nick sneakily messaged the family group chat and let everyone know you were both en route, just in case they needed to add any finishing touches before you arrived.

When the uber pulled up, you were completely none the wiser.

You and Nick waded into the house, both excited to show everyone what you had got but were met with an empty home.

“where is everyone?” you said, brows furrowed as you dropped your bags to the floor

Nick pretended to be as confused as you were, hoping you couldn’t hear the music that was blaring from the back garden.

“that’s so weird” Nick said in faux confusion, “maybe they’re outside?” he said, pointing to the back door.

“maybe” you said, nodding as you began to walk towards the garden, the music slowly coming into your senses as the confusion you felt grew.

Nick pulled out his phone, walking slowly behind you as you pushed down on the back door handle, stepping out into the garden, eyes on the floor.

“SURPRISE” everyone yelled in unison, party poppers going off as the sound of party horns rattled through your skull.

Your head shot up, and you were met with the boys' entire family and your mum, all clad in party hats and standing in front of a massive banner hanging from tree to tree with "happy birthday" sprawled across it.

An intense feeling of pure joy engulfed your body. A giant smile spread across your face as tears welled in your eyes. The entire garden was filled with balloons, streamers hung from the trees and an entire table filled with food. Your 'feel good' spotify playlist was blasting from a speaker that Justin had set up, 'Home' by Good Neighbours making the grass rumble with the bass as everyone came running up to you, all engulfing you in a giant hug, leaving you squished in the middle of them.

The air was filled with laughter, everyone jumping and screaming happy birthday over and over again, spinning and pulling you back and forth into tight, loving hugs. You couldn't help but well up, feeling completely overwhelmed by all the love you felt. You never cared about your birthday, but in this moment, you knew that you had an army of people who did, who cared about your birthday, who cared about you, more than anything.

The laughter subsided and your playlist began to rifle through songs, all your favourites playing and filling the garden with an energy that could only be described as you.

"how did you guys have time to do all of this?" you cheesed, looking around the garden and wiping the small tears from your eyes.

"It was the plan all along" Matt shrugged, his eyes trained on your glowing features.

"why do you think I kept you out the house all day?" Nick asked, putting his phone in his pocket and looping his arm round your shoulder.

"this is actually insane" you shook your head in disbelief, "is this my playlist?" you said, clocking the familiar music.

"that was my idea" Chris said, grinning at you like a proud kid.

You couldn't stop smiling, you took a moment to look around at everyone, taking in the fact that you were home, and you were spending your birthday with everyone you loved.

"you guys are incredible" you said, locking eyes with Matt, who was already looking at you.

"you deserve the world, flower" you mum came up to you, wrapping a warm arm around your waist as you pulled her into you close.

You spent the rest of the evening eating, laughing and having the best time.

Everyone was dancing about, the boys were making up silly routines that made your stomach ache with laughter as you keeled over on the grass, a drink in your hand and a plate of birthday cake on the floor beside you.

Matt came forward, slightly out of breath from the intense routine that Chris had forced him to join in on and held out a hand to you, pulling you up from the ground with a smile. Within seconds, his shoulder was at your stomach and you were hanging upside down over his back. He leapt out into a full sprint around the garden, your giggles filling the air and only serving to make him run faster. He was chanting happy birthday over and over again, singing the tune with a grin spread across his face. When he reached his brothers once more, he placed you down onto the grass, catching you by the waist as you nearly stacked it from lightheadedness.

You couldn't stop your laughter, it being echoed by everyone around you.

"guys, smile!" Nick said, a few feet away from you and Matt with his camera to his eye.

You both turned to face him, Matt shifted to stand behind you slightly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing his face close to yours with bared teeth, acting as if he was going to bite your ear with a wide smile. Your hands found Matts arms, gripping onto him as you squeezed your eyes shut, baring your teeth in a cheesy grin. The camera shutter went off and Nick giggled at the two of you, running off to take more photos of everyone.

Your hands didn't leave Matt, you caressed him gently as he dropped his smile and pressed a long kiss into your hair. You pushed into his touch, finally dropping your hands from his arms and turning to face him.

"thank you, for all of this" You said, absentmindedly taking Matts hand in yours loosely.

"It wasn't all me" he smiled, linking his fingers with yours.

"no I know, but, I know it was your idea" Your eyes poured into his as he fought his smile, you were right.

"it might have been" Matt gazed down at you, fighting every inclination to kiss you.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?" You shook your head slightly, gripping his hand tighter.

A smirk formed on Matts face, "you love it" his tone shifted slightly, carrying an air of seduction.

You rolled your eyes with a smile, glancing away from Matt and locking eyes with Justin, who was grinning behind his cup and watching the two of you act as if you were the only people in the world. He shot you a knowing wink and you smiled at him, your attention finding the grass in slight embarrassment.

Once the sun had set, you all settled in the garden, curled up on the furniture

"happy birthday, my sweet" your mum pulled you into a tight hug.

"thanks mum, i'll be home after tonight, I want to spend some proper time with you before we go back to LA" you said into her hair, just before you broke the hug.

"I'd love that" she smiled, her eyes glistening just as yours do when you smile.

Once your mum had left, Mary-lou and Jimmy went to bed, and it was just you and the boys, all sitting round the fireplace jimmy had built when you guys were little.

"Nate, are you staying here tonight?" you asked from your position on the bench, legs draped over Nicks.

"yeah I think so, gonna spoon with my boyfriend" Nate said, wrapping his arm around Chris shoulder and kissing his cheek.

"cant wait" Chris giggled.

Nate and Chris went up stairs first, saying something about 'burring kids on fort'.

It was just you Nick and Matt, you spent a while talking about the day and giggling about how oblivious you were. Matt couldn't stop staring at you, the way your features were illuminated by the flames captivating him completely. A small smile crept across Nicks face when he noticed his brothers inability to look away from you.

"I'm gonna go zone out and edit the pictures from today" Nick pulled your legs from across his, ruffling your hair as he stood up, "happy birthday, queen" He grinned.

You and Matt were finally alone, and he immediately came to join you on the small sofa you were curled up on.

He pulled your legs over his, rubbing small circles across your soft skin. You shut your eyes and let your head fall back onto the arm rest, reeling in his touch after what felt like forever.

"I um, I got you something" Matt said, breaking the comfortable silence.

You pulled your head up to look at him, "you got me something?" You mirrored his words.

Matt nodded with his lip tucked between his teeth, shifting slightly to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a small box with a little blue bow on it, handing it to you with nervous hands.

You took the box from him, admiring the effort he went to with a smile and a kind tut. Before you even opened it, you were grinning from ear to ear.

"you didn't have to do this" You smiled at him, your heart pounding in your chest at the sentiment of him giving you a gift, in secret

"just shut up and open it" Matt rolled his eyes, tapping your leg.

"Okay, okay" you shuffled to sit up, undoing the bow and handing him the ribbon.

You opened the box with a creak, your mouth falling agape slightly at the sight of a small gold heart locket staring back at you. It was engraved with swirls in a shape that followed the curves of the gold. A small blue gemstone sitting happily in the centre. You couldn't help but gasp slightly, it was beautiful.

"Matt..." you said softly, eyes finding his as he grinned at you.

"open it" He cocked his head slightly.

You furrowed your brows lovingly, glancing back down to the locket before carefully opening it. Inside, was a tiny photo of you and Matt when you were kids. Little Matt was in a backwards hat, holding your face with his tiny hand, innocently kissing your cheek as you smiled at the camera.

You were in awe, it was perfect. tears welled in your eyes as you shut the box, throwing yourself forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. Matt giggled, hugging you back and nestling his head into your neck.

"do you like it?" He said, tucked into your hair.

"Matt..." You pulled away, "it's perfect, its beautiful, its-" you sighed, shaking your head and looking down at the box in your palm, "thank you" you said, a warm smile on your face as your eyes poured into his, flitting back and forth and watching as the fire flickered against his blue iris'

"you're welcome, angel" Matts hand found your cheek, caressing it slightly with his thumb as he pulled you into a tender, loving kiss.

Your lips slotted around his perfectly, you closed your eyes and leant into the kiss, deepening it with the brush of your tongue against Matts lip, asking for invitation.

Mat chuckled into your mouth, "easy, birthday girl, we're still in my garden remember?" He smiled, peppering a soft kiss on your lips before pulling away completely.

You and Matt spent the whole night talking,

wrapped up in each other and the warm embrace of the fire. The stars hung above your heads, illuminating your conversation as you laughed and joked, talking about everything from childhood memories to your favourite 'date nights'. On nights like this, it was easy to forget that you weren't together. Everything with Matt was so easy, you knew him better than you knew yourself and vice versa. You just worked, and, you hadn't realised in that moment, and wouldn't for a while but, you were falling in love with him.

When the fire finally died, you both retreated inside,

walking hand in hand through the house, trying to be as quiet as possible in attempts to not wake anyone up.

You crept up the stairs, following Matt with your hand loosely locked in his. You reached his bedroom door and paused just outside, Matt turned to face you, his hands finding your waist as yours found his shoulders.

"you know, I have another present for you" He whispered, moving his lips impossibly close to yours.

"really?" you whispered into his nearly open mouth.

"mhm" Matt nodded, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue instantly pressing against yours.

You kissed him back with matching desperation, wrapping your arms round his shoulders as he opened the door with one hand, leading you both inside to his dimly lit childhood bedroom.

Neither of you broke the kiss, only deepened it once you were safely hidden in the confides of his room. Matts fingers looped around the hem of your top, silently asking for permission to take it off as you broke the kiss. He slipped your top over your head and pulled his own off before quickly capturing your lips in a wet kiss once more. You whined at the sensation of his warm skin pressed against yours, falling against the bed as you straddled him.

You ground your hips against him as you bit down on his lip, growing more and more desperate for him as minutes passed. Matt groaned at the feeling on your warm, clothed pussy rubbing against his stiffening cock. He pushed you up, flipping you both over so your back was on the soft fabric of his duvet. You hit the bed with a giggle into your kiss, one Matt returned as he pulled away from your lips, trailing warm kisses across your skin, down your torso and to the hem of your jeans. Your hands found his hair, back arching into his touch as his grip on your ribs became bruising.

Matt sucked and kissed at the skin on your stomach, nipping at the flesh as he edged his hands down your torso and to the button of your jeans. He expertly pulled them open, breaking his embrace with your skin to tell you to lift your hips up. You complied, allowing him to pull your jeans down at an agonisingly slow pace. As he did, he kissed all the way down the inside of your legs, pressing his warm tongue against your skin. An uncontrollable whimper left your throat, a tingling warmth vibrating across your body at the feeling of Matts slow kisses.

You wear nearly bare for him, sprawled out on his bed, clad in a baby pink matching set he had gotten you a couple weeks earlier. Matt groaned at the sight of you, stretching like a cat and putting yourself on full display for him.

"you're so fuckin' beautiful" Matt shook his head, unable to control his wondering hands as one gripped your thigh, and the other found the soft flesh of your tit.

You smiled in response, a smile that quickly left your face as Matt leant down, capturing the soft skin of your stomach against his tongue once more. He was so gentle, taking his time as he worked his way down to wear you needed him the most. Your hands were tangled in his messy hair, pushing him against you with desperation as he kissed all round the hem of your panties, purposefully missing your throbbing clit with every wet, warm kiss.

His thumb came to your core, and your back arched instantly at the pressure of his digit against your sopping hole. He pushed the fabric against your pussy, making your juices seep through the lace. A chuckle left his lips at the sight, pride swelling in his chest over how wet you were for him.

"Matt, please" You whined, bucking your hips into his thumb, the tension making you feel lightheaded as you looked down at him with hooded eyes.

"you want it, angel?" Matt looked up at you, pressing his thumb harder against your clit as he began to rub slow circles against the lace.

You nodded with a whimper, your lip tucked between your teeth as you played with his soft, brown locks.

"okay, pretty girl" He smiled, letting you get away with the lack of verbal agreeance only because it was your birthday.

With that, he wrapped his mouth around your core. His tongue pressing against the soaking wet fabric as he slowly and passionately kissed your pussy. Your mouth opened, a moan nearly escaping your lips as you pressed a firm palm over your face, silencing any noises that tried to escape.

Matt pulled your panties to the side, the cold air hitting your warm pussy just before his mouth was back on you, lapping at your hole as it clenched around nothing. His pace was slow, but the pressure he was applying sent tingles all through your body.

He was relentless, not giving you a moment before he teased your hole with his middle finger, slipping it in with ease. Your thighs tensed around his head, locking him in. Matt didn't mind, in fact, he loved it. He groaned at the taste of you, watching as your back arched off the bed, pushing your throbbing pussy further into his mouth. He slipped a second finger into your clenching hole and began to suck gently on your clit, pumping his fingers at a faster pace than his mouth was working.

The sensation was euphoric, your whole body felt as if it was on fire as your vision began to blur. Matt curled his fingers inside of you, lapping and sucking at your clit like a man starved, relishing in the sight of you convulsing above him. You tensed and writhed, your toes curling as you involuntarily bucked your hips into his mouth. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, the sound of them pumping in and out of your soaked and sticky walls filling the air.

"you taste so good, angel" Matt spoke into your pussy before latching his lips around your clit once more, his tongue pressed flat against it as he worked your sopping hole.

All you could do was whimper in response, any sense of coherence leaving your brain as Matt brought you closer to the edge. The vibration of his soft moans against your pussy had you reeling, and with a knuckle deep curl of his fingers, your vision was white, your thighs tight around his head as a wave of blissful euphoria washed over you. You came all over Matts mouth, releasing your juices onto his fingers. He swiped his tongue through your folds, collecting your cum on his tongue with a groan as you shook above him, your grip on his hair relentless as you rode out your high on his face.

Matt kept his pace, determined to make you cum again, totally engrossed in the taste of you on his tongue. Your whole body began to tense, legs shaking as if they had their own mind as Matt pumped into you faster, sucking on your clit with feverish pressure. He near enough growled as he felt you clenching around him once more.

"Matt, Matt I think I'm gonna-" You were cut off by a sudden, guttural moan attempting to leave your throat. You tried your best to silence yourself, but the sensation that was ripping through your body was more than distracting.

You released a flood of juices all over Matts face, juices he encouraged with curling fingers and a lapping tongue. He couldn't help but smile as you squirted all over his face, shaking and convulsing on his mouth as he slowed his pace on your pussy.

you went completely limp, shivers creeping up your spine as Matt pulled his mouth from you, the cold air hitting your warm pussy once more.

"happy birthday, my pretty, pretty girl" Matt whispered, crawling up your body to capture your open mouth in a wet kiss.

The taste of yourself on his tongue sent you into a frenzy, and as if on instinct, you locked your legs around his waist, hands immediately going to the buckle of his belt, pulling his jeans open with utter desperation as you whimpered into his mouth.

Matts cock was painfully hard as you took him in your palm, a small whine leaving his lips as you pumped him, attempting to line him up with your gaping, soaked hole as he bucked into your hand. You were locked in between his arms, his body weight hovering just above you as you pressed his leaking tip between your folds, pushing it up and over your clit with needy whines.

Matt chuckled into the kiss, and waited until you brought his tip down to your hole before bucking his hips forward, sliding his length inside you with ease. You both moaned at the sensation, your head flying back to the pillow, breaking the kiss. Matt stared down at you in awe, the sight of your fucked out face making him lose all control. He bottomed out without warning, pressing his hips hard against yours.

"fuck, Matt" you whimpered into his ear, locking him into you with tight arms around his neck.

Matt groaned, pulling out of you before pushing into you once more, feeling lightheaded from the sensation of being nestled deep into your perfect, warm pussy and dipping his head down to the cook of your neck

The sting of him stretching you out was blissful, you nipped at his earlobe, "you stretch me out so fuckin' good, daddy" you whispered.

Matts attention was immediately back on you, eyes wide as he stilled inside you. You giggled slightly, looking at him with teasing eyes as he attempted to form a thought.

"say it again." he said, his tone stern but holding the air of a whimper

"make me cum all over your dick for my birthday, daddy" you said, biting your lip and giggling once more.

Matt growled, dipping his head down to kiss you with feverish passion as he began to rut into you, hard and fast. You moaned into his mouth, legs tight around his hips as he fucked you at a relentless pace. One hand was pressing bruises into your waist, holding you still as the other held your jaw, leading the kiss with gentle dominance as your walls clenched around him, milking him.

His dick pressed against your g-spot over and over again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrust into you, the whole bed shifting under you both. His grip on your jaw was soft, but the way he was kissing you was completely desperate, heavy breathes leaving his mouth every time he caught a sliver of air. Matt was completely lost in you, fucking you with passion you'd never felt before. The sensation of his throbbing cock sliding in and out of your gummy walls was mind boggling, and the pressure of his warm skin against yours had you reeling.

Matts hand moved from your waist down to your clit, and he began to work fast circles over the throbbing bud, looking down and watching as your pussy sucked him in.

"oh my god" you whimpered, eyes clenching shut.

"cum for me, princess, cum all over my dick, please" Matt was begging, actually begging to make you cum again.

He watched as all sense left your brain, your orgasm fast approaching as he kept his pace, fucking you with relentless desperation and rubbing fast circles against your clit, using your juices as lubrication for his movements.

"fuck, you're so beautiful like this, so fuckin' beautiful, taking me so well, such a pretty girl" Matts rambles were coming out in moans, watching as you approached your climax.

His words sent you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you as you came all over his dick. The tight clench of your pussy around him sent him spiralling, and with a stutter of his hips and a hard, whimpering thrust, Matt came inside you, matching your breathy moans as his forehead rested against yours.

Matt stilled inside you completely, breathing heavily above you with closed eyes. You giggled, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips and he chuckled in response.

"best birthday sex, ever" you whispered with a smile.

Matt chuckled once more, opening his eyes to look at you cheesing up at him. He shook his head with a smirk and kissed you as he pulled out, his spent cock limp against his leg. He fell down onto you instantly, and your hands found his hair.

"we should do that every year" Matt muttered into your skin, a wave of tiredness washing over him as your gentle caresses on his head soothed his racing heart.

You didn't reply, only smiled to yourself at the sentiment, not quite realising the weight of Matts request due to your fucked out senses.

Within minutes, you and Matt were asleep, tangled up in one another's warm, naked bodies.

The next morning,

you and the boys were sitting around the breakfast table, eating waffles and drinking fresh orange juice. No one had noticed you sneak out of Matt's room in the early hours of that morning, and luckily when you snuck into nicks room to pretend to be asleep, he was dead asleep.

"yesterday was so fun, guys, I love it when we're all together" Chris said, already getting sentimental at ten in the morning.

"it was great, I really felt the OG-ness" You said, cocking a brow at Chris. Nick and Matt both groaned at you encouraging Chris' antics.

"YES!" Chris shouted, flinging his bacon out his hand, "the OG-ness, bro, I'm tellin' you, it's a thing" he continued, patting Nate on the chest.

Nate chuckled, "okay, kid"

Everyone laughed at Chris' outburst, the table filled with rolling eyes and warm hearts, because deep down, you all knew he was right. A comfortable silence filled the kitchen as you all continued to eat your breakfast, simply enjoying each others company.

"so" Nick said, taking a bite of bacon, "what did you guys get up to after we all went to sleep?" he asked, innocently.

You and Matt shared a quick look, both fighting the smiles forming on your face. You shuffled in your seat and shook your head slightly, "nothin' really, we just stayed up all night talking".

"yeah, just sat down here and hung out, pretty much" Matt added, a small smirk crawling its way across his face.

You glanced at him, trying to look as normal as possible. Nick watched the entire interaction with a look of bafflement on his face, eyes flitting between the both of you shifting in your skin on either side of the table.

"okay..." he drew out his word, taking a bite of his food with suspicion etched across his features.

The nearly awkward tension was cut off by Justin coming into the kitchen, he walked behind you and placed a firm hand on your shoulder with a squeeze, "how was the rest of your birthday evening, y/n/n" he asked, his accusatory tone going over everyones heads.

"it was good, thanks J" you looked up at him from your perched position.

"Good" he nodded with a smirk, before walking over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug.

Nick watched with furrowed brows, his eyes trained on you as you blushed. The puzzle pieces began to slot together in his mind, you looked at him, your face completely straight but somehow confirming his suspicions.

"OH MY GOD" Nick screamed, everyone in the room being totally startled by his volume.

"what Nick? what?" Chris jumped out his skin, looking around the kitchen for an axe murderer.

Nick locked eyes with you once more and your eyes widened slightly, unbeknownst to you. Matts focus was trained on you, and Nick looked to Matt, who suddenly looked very tense.

"no, nothing, nothing, I thought um- I thought I saw a bug" Nick stuttered his way through his lie.

A smile formed on your lips, as you returned your attention to your food. Matts shoulders relaxed, and he glanced at Nick, shooting him a grateful look. Nick was onto you both, but you knew your secret was safe with him, and realistically, he'd probably forget about it in a week. Of course he didn't, he kept it to himself for months, until the moment came where he needed to be a big brother and save the day, but thats a story for another time.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour

[huginsmemory]

Ideology of Exceptionalism and Gravity Falls; meta and character analysis

I had a whole ago read a post by @icanlife that had a quote by Alex Hirsch on Ford's greatest flaw, and wanted to explore what the flaw is, which is the ideology of exceptionalism; in the exploration, I’ll touch on what it is and how it is used in abusive relationships and cults, as well as how it drives multiple Gravity Falls characters and consequently how it impacts relationships between these characters, and how the show ultimately refutes exceptionalism.

Quick note here; I am not in any way, shape or form a psychologist nor have any formal training in psychology; this is written from my own experiences with this ideology and my own forays into psychology and trauma-informed learning. It is also written with a loose understanding that is likely not broad enough to cover all references to cults, extremist groups and abusive relationships. 

The Ideology of Exceptionalism 

First of all, we have to get through a drier bit, which is… what is the ideology of exceptionalism and how does it arise? Might be fairly obvious, but it is the belief that you are, or belong to, a group of exceptional people, thus more important and worth more than anyone else; ie, those who don't qualify as 'exceptional'. It is often a subconsciously learned ideology. Now, what qualifies one as exceptional can be extremely varied; generally it revolves around something that provides some form of privilege. Thus, it might be, as the main exceptionalist idea in Gravity Falls, 'intelligence', or power, or it can be such things as attractiveness, quantity of money one has, species, nationality, or skin colour and ancestral heritage. The ideology of exceptionalism, being by nature hierarchical, devalues, and at its worst, openly and violently dehumanizes those who do not qualify as exceptional. 

For why exceptionalism occurs is an extremely broad topic, but I've personally found that, for exceptionalism revolving around intelligence, it's a result of a poor sense of self-worth, and having one's self-worth tied to what makes one exceptional. Poor self-worth itself (again, broadly) is a result of childhood trauma from a lack of positive affirmation and unfulfillment of the emotional needs of the child. Meanwhile, self-worth becoming tied to the quality of exceptionalism generally is a result of when positive affirmation was pretty much solely provided around their 'exceptionalism', especially when provided derogatory commentary, or a blatant example of how they would be treated if they aren't 'exceptional'. As a result of the general lack of affirmation, self-worth then becomes often solely reliant on the qualities of exceptionalism, as that is the only way for the child (and later, adult) to get affirmation of their worth, as well as out of fear of being ‘not worth anything’ like the examples of ‘non-exceptional’ people they have been given. 

This is especially likely to occur when the child is a social outcast; the adoption of the hierarchical ideology of exceptionalism, and the devaluation/dehumanization of others often occurs subconsciously as an avoidance/minimization tactic from pain. This is to say, the child, and later the adult (if healthy self-worth is not established) goes 'it doesn't matter what the non-exceptional people say or if they accept me since I matter more than them because of my exceptionality'. It can even be taken further, that being shunned is part of one's exceptionalism, and becomes part of the qualifier of being exceptional. For instance, 'they just can't understand because they aren't exceptional and that's just a part of being exceptional'. This idea also neatly tailors into the part of the concept of being better then others means you are separate from others; this can be taken that someone who is special, needs to be alone to be truly special.

Obviously, exceptionalism is not a healthy coping mechanism for poor self-worth, as often such people constantly feel the need to prove and show off their exceptionalism to gain that affirmation and avoid rejection, which is stressful. As well, it often negatively impacts their relationships with other people as a result of the arrogance of believing that they are better than most others, or even deliberate sabotage due to their arrogance. This occurs as they flatten the complexity of human experience to black-and-white hierarchical categories of exceptional/not-exceptional through constant judgement of those they meet, and often refuse to engage with people who don't belong to their 'exceptionality', or even people they simply don't like, even if they technically qualify. Generally, those that they do like or have close relationships with, often due to being similar, are automatically labelled as 'exceptional'. Those judged as ‘exceptional’ also become privy to the open judgements of ‘non-exceptional’ others, out of a subconscious belief by the exceptionalist that the other believes similarly; something that may strain their relationship if the other doesn’t ascribe to exceptionalism. This all culminates in the exceptionalist being blind or even adverse to the diversity of experiences, which makes it difficult to create relationships and community outside of echo chambers of their own beliefs (if they can even find this), and subsequently, these people are often isolated and have very few to no close relationships with people. 

However, all humans require connections with other people, relationships where one can rely on others emotionally and physically if needed and feel accepted; they also require to feel like they are worth something, that their life has meaning. Lacking meaningful connections and having a crippled sense of self-worth, a deep yearning hole is left in these people. Exceptionalism, especially as it is a narrative constantly pushed by Western society as it validates hierarchies, is then employed as a (often subconscious) trauma response to assuage this yearning hole, with arrogance and denial. And depending on the circumstances, it can be a very strong and definitive trauma response for people.

This isolation and lack of self-worth is catnip to abusive relationships, including cults and extremist groups. These types of relationships often heavily rely on isolating their victims or pulling them into echo chambers of solely the abuser’s rhetoric, to redefine what is healthy through gaslighting; as the exceptionalists are already isolated, this makes them extremely susceptible. They also often provide these people affirmation, and in these cases especially about their exceptionalism, thus confirming their self-worth, their 'specialness', while also providing them the connection they have been lacking, either through the cult community or through the abuser’s own presence. These emotional needs, which haven’t been met in a long time, if ever, begin to be fulfilled; something that abusive relationships and cults hinge on, rather than any form of logic.

Ideology of Exceptionalism and Gravity Falls

The main characters within Gravity Falls which are heavily ascribed to exceptionalism would be both Ford and Bill; this characterization deeply impacts the story and their relationships with others (technically the Northwest are another case regarding wealth, but less directly impact the storyline and thus tangential; Gideon also is an example, but as a mirror of Bill). With each of these characters I’ll go into detail within their sections on the way they began to ascribe to exceptionalism, and how it plays out later in their relationships; I will first begin with Ford, then move to Bill. Then, to cap it off, I’ll go into the characterization of Stan and the way Gravity Falls refutes exceptionalism. 

Ford and Exceptionalism

Firstly, the quote from Alex Hirsch that kicked this whole baby off, as mentioned previously; 

“Ford sees Dipper as someone who’s special like himself. That’s Ford’s great flaw, his arrogance is he believes that there’s special people, and everyone else. That human attachments are actually weaknesses. And the song and dance that he’s giving Dipper right now, is the song and dance that he gave McGucket, back when they were younger… ‘You and me are different, we’re better than everyone else. We have a path that no one else can understand, and only us can do this.’ It’s a very seductive idea for Dipper… Dipper is a smart kid, but Ford’s projecting. Ford loves Dipper because he sees someone who’ll tell him ‘yes’ to everything. Who’ll never challenge him, who’ll do a really insane dangerous mission.”

Very blatantly Alex Hirsch calls Ford out on his arrogance in the belief that he is special, in his belief in the 'lone hero' complex, in his belief in exceptionalism. And really, it should be no surprise that Ford does so, considering the way he's depicted as a social outcast as a child (other than Stan), and the way his parents have been clearly shown to be not particularly emotionally supportive (“I’m not impressed”); they don't provide positive affirmation except for his intelligence (mostly due to the possibility of money making through it…), while also actively comparing him to Stan who is derogatorily ‘not-exceptional’, and ‘worth less’. This all sets Ford’s self-worth up to be fragile, and other than Stan who wholeheartedly accepts him, he is isolated and invalidated; plus, the only other validation he receives is around his intelligence. All very classically fitting the profile for exceptionalism.

Image id: Stand and Ford when they were children, both clearly enjoying each other's company.

Ford’s belief in his exceptionalism catalyzes after the shattering of his and Stan’s relationship. Previously the twins are shown to do everything together, having a very close caring relationship; something unlikely if Ford thought he was better than Stan. Also, when Ford is talked to about his opportunities, Ford looks uncomfortable at the way they talk about Stan as inferior, compared to how he himself is being praised; but in the offer he’s simultaneously finally being validated, he’s being told he’s someone worth something, and he’s going to be someone worth something after this. And then the science fair incident occurs, and Ford loses that validation from his parents, from the judges and a future of more validation; after being promised validation and acceptance, it slips through his fingers. And in his anger of being denied that, it becomes easy to begin to slip subconsciously into the rhetoric the others have been feeding him; that he’s exceptional, that Stan isn’t, and he deserved to be recognized for his worth. So he breaks the relationship with the only person who accepted and validated him for who he is. With that loss of previous support, Ford becomes then deeply obsessed with proving his exceptionalism to the world to assuage that fragile self-worth, to become accepted, or even better, revered, confirming that he is someone of worth, someone special, like he was promised. 

Ford’s obsession also doubly functions as a way to alleviate his guilt over shattering their relationship; if he’s exceptional as he believes, then he’s within the right to respond the way he did, as he’s worth more than Stan, he's better off alone, and he has a right to be angry over being denied that validation. As well, in much the same way as it is used as a way to alleviate his guilt over the end of their relationship, it is also likely used in a way to minimize the pain of being ostracized (although not directly depicted); afterall, Ford’s keenly aware and insecure about his social ineptitude and his six fingers as things that make him different from other people, case in point with his experience visiting Lazy Susans Diner. Thus it wouldn’t be unsurprising if he uses the idea of being worth more than those who ostracize him to imply it ‘doesn’t matter’ what they think. His ostracization by nature keeps him from generally forming close relationships, with the exception of Fiddleford (who much like him, is socially outcast, and intelligent) during his university days. As a result, he's isolated and acutely lonely, having lost Stan.

Image id: One of the missing Journal 3 pages in TBOB, detailing Ford's botched social interaction in Lazy Susans Diner. In the background is the print of his six-fingered hand.

In his obsession over being acknowledged, Ford, like many others who believe in exceptionalism, identifies strongly with the causes of his ostracization (his intelligence, his six-fingeredness) as part of, or wholly, makes him exceptional. It is obvious through his choice of study; with the grant he has been gifted, he chooses to revolve his work around the weird, the outcast, something that you see Ford gravitate towards being an outcast and deemed 'weird' himself (which in Journal 3 he openly talks about). Something that can be, much like him, framed as 'exceptional'. His work is even recorded in a journal that Ford deliberately chooses to put his six-fingered hand on the cover of. Intertwined with the way it becomes adopted into the idea of exceptionalism, is the keen loneliness from his ostracization and a deep desire to be accepted and a wish to find a community of other weird people.

Image id: Two pages from journal 3, labelled 'Myself', in which Ford is open about being weird, and a social outcast, while also noting his ambitions and that 'Gravity Falls, [is] the place that I fit in.'

Ford and Bill

All of this culminates in Ford becoming an incredibly easy target to manipulate by Bill. He’s desperate to be acknowledged (and thus accepted) by an authority figure so that his belief in exceptionalism is justified and his self-worth confirmed. And he knows he’s intelligent, that he's exceptional because people have told him so, but he just needs to prove it with something that shakes the world. And the grant is finally his second chance after the fair, but he's stuck, and the research is going nowhere, and he's in a town where he doesn't really know anyone and he’s so terribly lonely. And sure, he clings to his exceptionalism but if he can't even prove it then is he really exceptional? Is he even worth anything like he thought he was? And what about what he's left behind, rejected, because of his exceptionalism?

And THEN he finds an incantation and he ignores the warnings because maybe, just maybe, this will be his break to get that acceptance/validation he has been chasing his whole life? 

And then it's better than that. 

A god, essentially, shows himself to him, an ultimate figure of authority. And he tells him that yes, he is special, he’s worth more than other people, and Bill’s only showing himself to Ford because he is so much more intelligent than anyone else. Ford is suddenly getting his exceptionalism confirmed by a god of ancient knowledge, an immensely intelligent interdimensional being, and he’s also showering him with affirmations, specifically affirmations around what Ford's fragile self-worth is based on. And even better, he's delighted by Ford's six-fingeredness; he's not put off at all, it even becomes his main nickname for Ford, just like it used to be for Stan all those years ago. On top of it all, Ford's own social ineptitude doesn't phase Bill, another thing Ford is self-conscious about; Bill's own social ineptitude as he's not human probably makes Ford feel comfortable, knowing that's not expected from him.

Through Bill, not only does Ford find someone who validates his self-worth through intelligence and even confirms to him that his weirdness is part and parcel of making him special, he also finds someone who he regularly (generally) is in contact with, who enjoys talking to him and even banters with him familiarly. Hell, Bill even deliberately goes out of his way (literally possessing a whole wack ton of rats, then dream karaoke) to celebrate his birthday with him; how long do you think Ford has simply skipped his birthday since he had no one to really celebrate it with? The loneliness, beneath his arrogance and belief in exceptionalism, is being fulfilled; for the first time since Ford was a teenager, he's fully accepted by someone, social awkwardness, six fingers, exceptionalism and all. 

Image id: One of the lost pages from Journal 3 in TBOB, the 'one thing led to another' page, with Bill and Ford singing karaoke and drinking together, both clearly enjoying themselves; Bill has an arm slung around Ford's shoulders.

So it's really no surprise at all that Ford fell for this, hook line and sinker. Hell, if I was in Ford's shoes I would fall for it just as hard. And I've seen a few posts floating around talking about how Bill is bad at manipulating, and no, he's not. He was able to pinpoint exactly what Ford wanted and needed, and provided that, was charismatic enough to provide that. Again, manipulation isn't about logic. It really isn't; it's about the emotional core in people, what people lack and what you can give them to slowly reel them in to sing your dance and song. And people will ignore vast swaths of red flags when you're finally being accepted, when you're finally getting your emotional needs met at least in some way or form. It's better than not having them met at all, such as previously. So Ford worshipping Bill is really not a surprise, especially as Bill deliberately stoked it.

All of this is part of why you see Alex Hirsch call Ford's belief in his exceptionalism his greatest flaw; because it allowed him to be very easily manipulated by Bill, and by its nature kept Ford isolated from others, evident by his arrogance in assuming he knows best and refusing to see other people who aren't as 'intelligent/weird' as him as worth getting to know, listen too and even reach out to ask help from, it's him believing he has to be the lone hero as someone whose 'special'. It's something that blinds him to the danger of his work around the weirdness of gravity falls because he’s desperate to seek a place where he and his weirdness belong, and it's something that plays out in each and every relationship he has because it's something he clings to so deeply. It's what cost him his relationship with Stan, who previously accepted him completely, and, as he's disinclined to form new relationships and as Bill actively strokes his paranoia (Trust No One…), ultimately further increases the hold Bill has over him. It's only Fiddleford’s presence as he works with Ford that allows him some form of outside reference and reprieve from solely Bill’s influence, something that Bill resents deeply and is clearly jealous and angry about, even if Fiddleford is helping create the portal. And it's ultimately Fiddleford, once he was aware enough of what was happening, calls Ford out on it, seriously jeopardizing Bill's influence over Ford; but Ford is too invested in the portal, in chasing his own ambition and caught up in Bill’s manipulation to take him seriously, until the incident with the trial, and Ford beginning to hear other voices then Bill.

Ford’s Exceptionalism and Wider Relationships

Now back to how it plays out in all Ford's relationships; we've already gone over it with Bill's influence, because it made him extremely easy to manipulate, and with his disregard of Stan in favor of validation of his exceptionalism. But Ford, as pointed out by Alex Hirsch, also exerts the ideology's seductive rhetoric to both Fiddleford and Dipper (who look up to Ford) in a similar way that Bill does with him (although there is a difference of it being used intentionally and maliciously, compared to subconsciously and earnestly, even if it is problematic). Ford, with his black-and-white view of exceptionalism, sees both Fiddleford and Dipper as people who are like him; 'exceptional', and so he treats them as such, and uses this rhetoric to coerce them into helping him.

For Fiddleford, the lure is how he can change the world, how he can be finally acknowledged if he helps Ford with the portal. And it works well; he willingly chooses to leave his own work and his wife and young son, to work with Ford. Much like Ford, Fiddleford himself is also a social outcast and regularly presumed less smart than he is, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder to prove himself, to gain acknowledgement and recognition from the world at large. Although Fiddleford has a family which presumes he’s not entirely lonely like Ford is, he also clearly has deep feelings for Ford, some which are hinted to be more than just ‘friendly’ feelings; it is likely the combination of the lure of validation and spending time with Ford, a kindred spirit that accepts him and an old friend/crush, that causes him to agree (afterall, it was Ford who made Fiddleford feel accepted and choose to stay at Backupsmore). And Fiddleford’s not even considered a partner, but rather an assistant to Ford due to Ford's arrogance, and he still drops everything to go! It’s more about their relationship and connection rather than validation, but that doesn’t stop Ford from espousing exceptionalism. And this is a distinguishing difference, because although Fiddleford would like recognition, he’s not there solely because of it; he’s not a believer in exceptionalism nor arrogant about his skills, and so, unlike Ford who is blinded by his obsession, he’s much more aware of the dangers of the weirdness of Gravity Falls. Thus, he's actively calculating the risks involved, and when he realizes there could be potentially devastating consequences of the portal, he attempts to talk Ford out of it; this fails due to Ford’s own denial and obsession over the portal. In the end, it all goes terribly sideways, and Fiddleford ends up losing everything he had; his wife, his son, his friend, his memories and himself to the trauma he had experienced at the invitation of his friend with the lure of validation and company, due to the memory gun he had created himself. 

As for Dipper, much like Ford, he also has issues with self-worth (many of the episodes deal with Dipper finding self-worth; ie, the manotaur episode), has a physical oddity (his birthmark) and by far the trait he relies on most for worth is his intelligence (for example, in one episode he rubs it into Mabel's face over and over again in beating her in games). He's also extremely desperate to be recognized by authority figures as someone intelligent, case in point when he summons the dead after being made fun of by the government agents to try and show them that the information he's gathered is important after Stan dismisses his knowledge. This desperation to be seen as someone of worth from Dipper, much like Ford, extends to the need to be a hero, something he even says at the end of the zombie episode; yet, due to Mabel, unlike Ford he's not a lone hero, and Mabel also half the time acts as the hero.

Image id: Zombies crawling out of a crack after Dipper summons them; Dipper and the two agents look on in horror.

It all culminates in Dipper hero-worshipping Ford when he returns; really, no different than Ford worshipping Bill. And Ford clearly finds it extremely flattering; Dipper's attention and amazement of him feeds his exceptionalism. Exactly how Ford responded to Bill, Dipper is willing to do anything for Ford, excited too, in an attempt to impress Ford and be validated and accepted. And for Ford, that's an extremely heady feeling, especially as someone who has been constantly alone the last 30 years, especially when he had one previously confirm his exceptionalism all those years ago and stopped, and now someone is once again affirming that idea. And Ford doesn't have to be alone again, because he's found a kindred spirit in Dipper as his assistant, someone ‘just’ like him, someone who is exceptional. Because he sees himself in Dipper, he begins to espouse exceptionalism unconsciously, by praising Dipper's own intellect and adventurous spirit, assuaging his feeling of self-worth, while also telling him he's more important or better than others because of it. 

And it's seductive to Dipper, because he wants to hear those affirmations of his self-worth, especially as he hero-worships him, but Dipper isn't sold on it, because it means leaving Mabel behind, it means believing that he's worth more than Mabel (and also, Stan, and all his friends he’s made in Gravity Falls). It's ultimately because of his relationship with Mabel that he rejects the ideology; he's not isolated the way Ford was with Bill, and he's not willing to break that relationship for that acknowledgement, because his relationships matter more to him.

Bill and Exceptionalism

Now of course, that's only on the Pines; what about Bill? 

While it's obvious that Bill uses exceptionalism as a main manipulative tactic, it's not just an ideology he sprouts emptily; it's also an ideology he believes in, just like Ford, although it's less based on intellectual exceptionalism, and more on power and 'weirdness'. 

This most distinctly can be seen in Bill's denial about what happened to his home dimension; Bill's belief in his exceptionalism occurs as a pain avoidance tactic from killing his whole dimension. Bill was clearly a social outcast within his dimension due to being able to see 3d; he's not accepted, and not trusted, to the point that there is medical intervention to make him blind. That's a deeply traumatic experience that completely erases one sense of self-worth, where one’s sanity is called into question by your parents on something that is not harmful, that's beautiful and you just want to share with them. It's a deep and clear rejection of who Bill is, and his ability. As a result, out of a desperate bid to be understood and accepted, he ends up trying to show them the stars. And it ends up killing everyone. 

Image id: Page of TBOB, on 'The Early Years' which notes that Bill was an oddity for seeing 3d, something that was illegal to speak about. Bill frames it as something that made him 'special' and better than all the others.

Traumatized, and originally rejected by the dimension, he instead weaves an excuse of exceptionalism; that it doesn't matter what he did to them because he's exceptional and he's worth more than all of them because he can see 3d, because he's powerful, so he shouldn't/'doesn't' feel any remorse about it. With such a traumatic result of trying to be accepted by people, he rejects the idea of trying to be accepted for who he really is; instead adopting a facade of a monster that he believes he is (and eventually, becomes).

Even if he clings to the delusion of exceptionalism, and shuns attempts to find true acceptance, he still wants it; and that's where his henchmaniacs fit in, as they're all, as Bill's noted when trying desperately to get Ford to join him, weird; each has something 'wrong' with them, which is why Bill accepted them as his lackeys (although it's not like we know the context around these). It's a surface-level acceptance however, one more predicated on fear than emotional acceptance. He's taken his 'weirdness', much like many do who believe in exceptionalism,as ‘part of what makes him exceptional'.

In the same way that Ford wants to show the world that he's smart and intelligent by building the portal, Bill does so by wreaking havoc and taking over existences as a way to show the world that he's powerful, that he's someone to be reckoned with, that he's not someone to be ignored because he's someone who's worth more than others. If you can't be loved and accepted, then being hated and feared is better than being ignored; acknowledgement at least approaches acceptance, it's validation of some sort of worth. It also functions as deliberate self-sabotage of his morals, by proving that he is the monster that killed his entire dimension; if that's what he is, then that's who he's going to be, because if he wasn’t, then he has to come face to face with his remorse over what he did to his dimension and his whole house of cards around his exceptionalism and not caring collapses. So instead he keeps feeding the delusions the denial, and lies and lies and lies and keeps lying to ignore all of it, to wrap himself in this shroud of exceptionalism and brutality as a way to function. And it somewhat works, because he's mostly deluded himself about it all, even if subconsciously he knows. 

And of course, this display of Bill's exceptionalism is what brings Bill to earth, to Gravity Falls, and to manipulating humans. In meddling with earth and humanity, beyond Bill's goal of taking over earth and fleeing his own unravelling dimension, he also enjoys reaping the benefits of being worshiped by humans, who find him awe-inspiring. Their amazement of who he is, and Bill's own posturing and manipulation of people leads to Bill literally forming cults (ie ciphertology) or having apprentices that worship/find him (to varying degree) inspiring; all reinforcing his feelings of exceptionalism. 

Of course, Ford numbers among these people; he praises Bill and worships him, as he's played like a fiddle by Bill, because his self-worth and belief in exceptionalism is fucked up in a way that perfectly resonates with Bill’s. Because it's the exact same types of issues around self-worth, around being an outcast, being weird and wrong physically, and yet at the same time gifted. And Ford clearly is incredibly lonely and yearning for acceptance, but so is Bill; since the beginning he's been trying to find someone who would accept him, even if he's given up on it. And for his song and dance to entice Ford in, he pretends he's not crushed dimensions for fun, that he's not a 'monster'; a version of him he buried after he had tried to show his parents the stars, one that he occasionally resurrects and puppets around for manipulation (all lies are better when they have a grain of truth). And this version of him is worshipped, but above all is accepted, is loved by Ford. The softer parts of Bill, even if they are still weird as fuck, the parts that were never far beneath the surface for all his deluding, become loved by Ford. Much as Ford becomes hooked on Bill’s praise, Bill also becomes hooked on Ford's genuine love and care. It becomes personal, unlike any previous ‘inspirations’ and Bill over time gets to the point that he feels accepted, safe enough with Ford to share about his dimension much more close to the truth then he did with any of his henchmaniacs. He becomes vulnerable with Ford, in response to Ford’s own vulnerability with him. He’s finding acceptance for the first time in his life around the softer parts of himself, not just the feared acknowledgement that comes from his dimensions conquering; much like Ford is finally finding companionship and acceptance with Bill, not just only intellectual validation. Bill's also for once, not just self-serving; he cares, and goes out of his way to take time with Ford, even celebrating Ford's birthday (in the unique way he does things), both with the rats and the karaoke.

Image id: One of the lost Journal 3 pages in TBOB. Ford recounts Bill talking about the destruction of his dimension, and calls himself by implication a monster.

They're both fulfilling each other's emotional needs, needs which both of them have struggled with most, if not all of their lives (although their relationship is certainly not healthy, considering it's codependent as fuck, riddled with exceptionalism and oodles of power imbalance issues). And suddenly, against Bill's plans, Ford's no longer just a disposable pawn, but someone Bill wants as part of his team, someone by his side, closer than his henchmaniacs are. He's unwittingly fallen for Ford, and so when everything goes sideways in his plan, and Ford swears it off, suddenly cutting off their relationship and that acceptance Bill had finally felt, he spirals into grief and anger from the rejection. As a result, he becomes extremely abusive to Ford in desperate attempts to continue their relationship, and ultimately he becomes obsessive over Ford joining him again as Ford continues to refuse, as evidenced by both Weirdmageddon and the Book of Bill.

Stanley Pines, and the Refuting of Exceptionalism 

Exceptionalism, being a negative driving factor behind many core character dynamics, is ultimately refuted by the show. This occurs multiple times over the show, such as with Mabel in the Pioneer Day episode, especially compared to Pacifica, but mostly through Stan's characterization. Stan is someone who has been since the beginning characterized (if lovingly so) as someone who is a failure by societal standards; he’s an older man running a run-down tacky tourist shop to swindle gullible tourists out of their money, has multiple divorces, has an ongoing feud with a literal 12 year old, clearly has had multiple mishaps with the law (some ongoing), is generally pretty self-serving and is extremely lonely and really had no close relationships until Mabel and Dipper showed up. He's not exceptional; he's not even what we would consider 'decent' enough to have a 'typical, hard working job’. In short, he’s a failure, a stark difference to the idea of 'exceptionalism' that characterizes Ford. If he's gifted in any area, it would be charisma (debatedly), not anything else.

But it's still Stan who rebuilds the portal from literally only one journal (not all three!) and gets it to work. It even seems like he only needs some codes from the other two journals when he does get them, suggesting that he was able to extrapolate from what was left and the first journal’s blueprints to fix it entirely, something that is extremely difficult and technically complicated (Ford, Bill and Fiddleford all worked on it together!). Stan's able to do it, even if it's been shown he's not 'naturally' gifted in that area. And it's something he does as a result of his deep care for Ford; because even after their fights, he cares about Ford and wants to right his wrongs, believes he should, because of his whole life of being defined as a failure and even worse than that, screwing up his ‘exceptional’ brother’s life. And he’ll do it even if that means learning how to build an interdimensional portal, even if it takes up thirty years of his life doing so, and he doesn't waver. Much of this is connected to his own complexes around being deemed a failure compared to Ford, having failed to succeed in his life, and how he feels that he needs to atone for screwing up Ford’s life, now for the second time; but beneath it all, he also cares. Much like Ford, he's extremely lonely, but he's not blinded by Ford's arrogance, and as a result he wants to make sure Ford's safe, because that's what he used to do, they’re twins, they grew up together, they once they had fully accepted and cared for each other, and dammit that still means something, and Stan hasn't found that depth of emotional connection since. So if possible, he wants to rekindle that closeness they had, but first, he needs to bring Ford back. 

And in the end, it's not Ford's own special gun he built using his intelligence that 'kills' Bill. It's Stan, someone who Ford had long ago broke it off with in search of validation of his exceptionalism, someone who both Ford and Bill labelled as 'not-exceptional', who defeats Bill. It's exceptionalism's devaluation of people who are 'not-exceptional' that causes Bill to underestimate the Pines beyond Ford, and it's only when Ford put aside his exceptionalism and his refusal to accept and trust 'non-exceptional' people, that is, trust Stan once more, that causes Bill to end up defeated by Stan.

In the end, it's not about who's 'smarter'; it's a reminder that everyone has different skills and are better at different things, but that doesn't diminish one's worth or value, and that just because someone isn't naturally 'gifted' in an area doesn't mean they can't learn or use different ways to get around obstacles. Ultimately, it comes down to that no one is worth more or less than other people; exceptionalism is a lie. It’s a lie and an excuse, and it's certainly not a healthy way to assuage one's poor self-worth. What does matter is creating positive healthy connections with other people, and caring about them. This creates a community where you can be yourself and be emotionally fulfilled through these connections; and when opposition does arise, you become able to fight it together, and fight so much stronger than if you are alone.

And by the end of the show, you see that. Ford begins to let go of the ideal of exceptionalism and its black-and-white categorization; finally recognizes his own faults around prioritizing validation of his intelligence and exceptionalism over his relationships, and finally, after all the years, chooses to create and rekindle positive relationships with people, trust people, and make amends. And in the end, he goes sailing with Stan, prioritizing their relationship, finally fulfilling their childhood promise.

Image id: One of the pages written by Ford into TBOB. Ford refutes Bill's idea of happiness, and says he has finally found his own happiness, and it looks like the photo taped in, of Stan, Ford, Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Wendy, all smiling together.

TLDR: Exceptionalism, an ideology of categorizing people into being special and worth more vs plebian and worth less, is a trauma response and subconscious ideology that characterizes Ford and Bill’s lives, deeply impacting all their relationships as it is used to coerce people into doing what they want, makes Ford easily manipulated, and breaks relationships through their arrogance. It is ultimately denounced through the way Dipper chooses to reject Ford’s offer and his rhetoric of being exceptional, and through the way it's not Ford’s intelligence, but rather Stan, who has been labeled as 'not-exceptional' and a failure at life, that defeats Bill through trickery. It's a reminder that everyone has worth, and no one is worth more than other people, even if one may be gifted in certain areas; the ideology of exceptionalism is fragile and a lie. In the end, creating a caring, loving community around oneself is where strength truly lies, as is seen with the deep care and love the characters have for each other, and the repairing of Ford and Stans relationship.

Thanks to the lovely @eshtaresht who deigned to beta read this monster of a post for me

If you enjoyed this meta, (first of all if you read all this you're a champ!) I've also done another gf meta post! (It's shorter I swear)

[challenger-fan-club]

fwb Art who's absolutely in love with you and obsessed with you and who asked to be your boyfriend many times and taking you on many dates but you kept rejecting until one day he gets to know that you're going on a date with someone else so he tries to stop thay date from happening and showing you who you belong to by having the most passionate sex and finally convincing you to accept you as your boyfriend

you can say you don't want this to be Stanford Art but it is.

You've turned him down so many times. But you can't stay away from him. The way he kisses you, the way he touches you. You're needy for him but you know that you can't be in a relationship with him. He's not good for you, not good for you to be distracted. You're not exactly the dating type and Art is almost ready to be a husband. All your friends think you're insane, you know that they're ready to settle down but we're too young and you want to be carefree for just a while. Art is also so very nice, and sweet and kind and you don't want to hurt him when you inevitable self destruct. You rationalise it to protect yourself, it would be like torturing a puppy. You don't want to waste his time and effort. You're doing this for him.

But you can't keep yourself away from Art. You always end up at his door at the end of the night, and he's so obsessed with you, he'll never tell you no. He just makes you cups of tea and cuddles you and keeps you warm. Giving you everything that you want, whenever you want it. "We're just friends with benefits." You tell him and repeat to yourself and Art nods his head as if to say "i know." He invites you to the bar with him, says Patrick and his new girlfriend will be there but they always seem to mysteriously cancel. Patrick was either the worst friend or just didn't exist. "This is not a date Art." He gets you both drinks. He gives you the "i know" nod, slightly hurt, given you a face, slightly like you've stood on a puppys paw. Art asks to be your boyfriend a lot. And you know that you should cut him off and let him go but you can't help yourself. It's like you and Art are magnets or somehow cosmetically intertwined.

Art walks up to you and your friends standing talking. It kills him because he wants to wrap his hands around you like he did in his bed last night. But because you're just fuck buddies, he can't kiss you. He's not even sure if your friends know that you've been seeing each other for the last while. You try to ignore him as you're continuing the conversation as one of your friends starts speaking to him. "Do you know where youre going? and more importantly, what are you wearing?"

Art's ears perk up at the conversation and you try and ignore him again. "I think we're just going for drinks, nothing special." You say softly. "and then back to his? I'm so jealous, he's so fucking hot. I can't believe he just asked you out." You tried to hold back a wince when she said it. You didn't mean for Art to find out about it, at all. Definitely didn't want him to find out like this. He didn't say anything. You didn't want to look at him and you didn't know when he was looking at you. "You should wear that black dress you wore a few weeks ago... and those boots, you'd look so hot!" Your friend continued but you had already withdrawn from the conversation. You knew that outfit worked because Art wanted to take you to the nearest empty room when he saw you wearing it. "I'll text you later, let you know how it goes." You left the conversation. Art stood, making small talk with your friends.

It was around half past 8 when you were getting ready. You were stupidly nervous. You didn't really go on dates, especially with people you didn't know. And you hadn't heard from Art all day long which made you nervous. You didn't want to hurt Art, you didn't know if Art was hurt. He was sensitive so you could only assume that he was sulking in his room. There was a knock at your door as finished fixing your make up. You looked at yourself in the mirror before answering the door. "Hi Art, what are you doing here?" He looked at your face for a moment before letting your eyes gaze over your body. Your curvy hips and cleavage was on show, dress hitting just above your thighs. Art thought you looked perfect. "Are you not going to invite me in?" Art smiled at you. "uhh... actually I'm just getting ready to go out." You were confused. Had he not heard the conversation earlier? You watched him as he followed you into your room. "Yeah, I know... I just thought I could convince you to stay here." He was being very confident, somewhat dominant which he normally isn't it. "Art, cmon." He sat on the bed as he watched you putting your earring in. "Cmon what?" You stood in front of him as he ran his hands on the outside of your thigh. "tell me, you don't want to cancel on him and stay here with me." You were biting your lip as he touched your thighs. "Art..." His hands rubbed up your body to your hips as he pulled you closer, separating his legs, allowing you to stand in between them.

He starts by kissing your stomach. He looks up at you as he pulls your dress up your thighs slowly, his kiss moving slowly down your body. "You know he can't make you feel as good as I can..." he continued to kiss down your body before placing his kiss on your underwear. Your hands were in his hair, rubbing his head, encouragingly. He started to pull you down your underwear as he guided you to the bed. "Art, he's going to be here soon." He just smiled as he started kissing your neck and his hands started rubbing your clit, dipping his fingers into you as you moan against him. "Good, he can hear how good I make you feel." He started to bite at your collar bone, trying to leave a mark. "Artttt..." you almost moaned. "Thats it, say my name, say who you belong to." He moved his fingers faster until you were begging for him to fuck you. Art was really playing a very good game, making you moan, making you a mess underneath him. "You're so good." He swiftly moved his boxers down and allowed his cock to bounce free as he rubbed it against your wetness. He started to push himself inside of you, inch by inch as you moaned. He kissed your mouth, passionately before moving his kiss back to your neck, down to your chest where he pulled your dress down so your breasts were exposed. He started sucking, licking and biting on your nipples as he slammed into you. "Art, fuck I'm gonna cum." You moaned as he quickened his pace. "That's it, good girl, cum on my cock, cum for me, you're all mines." He moaned as he switched between kissing you and playing with your nipples. "you're so good, fuck, you feel so good." He couldn't stop as he started to fill you the second you let your orgasm go. He continued to kiss you and move the hair out of your face. "You're literally so gorgeous." He whispered in your ear as he held his cock inside of you. "when are you finally going to admit that you were made for me?" he kissed your neck. You sighed. "Art, you know..." Art kissed you again. "Don't do this, whatever your worries are about me, we can do it, together. I want you. All of you and you want me, very clearly." He kept your gaze as he held you. "It's all of me or none of me, I'm not playing seconds." The words hurt you and you got a brief moment to think about this being the last time, that the other option was no Art in your life. "I'm happy to wait." He pulled himself away and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You were alone for just a moment. You didn't want you and Art to be over. But you thought you knew how you felt, what you wanted but everything Art said and did, just made your heart hurt. You wanted him. You needed him. When you thought he was mad at you, you felt weak and now he's here. Saying it's him or nothing. You thought you had the power, always telling him no to a relationship but being faced without Art, you didn't want to do it. The thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Shit. Your date. This was your sink of swim moment.

Art popped his head out of the bathroom. "should i hide in the bathroom or tell him to go away?" Art was topless looking down at you with just his boxer shorts on. "Tell him to go away, then take your shorts back off?" His face almost lit up. "So you're finally gonna be my girl?" You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. "I'm all yours Donaldson."

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc: A nice moment with a sleep demon.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main.

---

Danny accidentally absorbed some of Nocturn's powers (like in the Vortex episode), and now, with these new temporary abilities, why not take advantage of them? Like a kid with a new toy, Danny (or should I say Phantom: with a new design) has fun every night going from dream to dream.

The dream world is so strange! Without the constant threat of a dream entity trying to take over the world and all that. Now he has fun exploring the most unusual parts of his classmates' subconscious, or anyone's in general.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this (after all, he's a responsible adult now), spying on other people's dreams isn't exactly something a mature person would do.

On the other hand, Danny is the responsible adult; Phantom is the one who uses his new powers recklessly. Plus, no one in Gotham knows who Phantom is, and at the end of the day, he's not hurting anyone. Point in his favor!

It was all fun and games… until he felt it: the unpleasant taste of a nightmare, distressing and desperate. Phantom knows he has to intervene, because, unlike Nocturn, he does not delight in the suffering of others.

So he goes. And what he sees shocks him.

Resonant laughter of a psychopath, the constant pain of flesh being beaten, and the devastating reminder that no one came to help. Phantom doesn't just see it, he feels it. Gross. What is this? Why would anyone be hurting a child? Then he understands: this is not just a nightmare, it's a memory, and someone is suffering from reliving it.

He absolutely will not allow this nightmare to continue.

...

Jason hasn't been having good days lately, mostly because instead of going to therapy, he's chosen to sweep his trauma under the rug and aggressively throw himself into crime-fighting. He's not good at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's been tormented by the same damn nightmare over and over again.

He knows the script by heart, he knows how it will end, but he still feels the same fear as the first time.

His head hurts.

"No, not again," he thinks in terror. Once again, he's tied up, unable to move or call for help. It's colder than he remembers. The walls have a grotesque tint, with laughter written in every corner. But the worst thing is the silence… until the sound of clashing metal begins to resonate.

Everything is a thousand times worse. He's sure the original scenario wasn't like this, but his terrified mind refuses to accept it.

The metallic sound resonates louder, each crash rumbling in Jason's chest. His breathing quickens, and then he hears it: that laugh.

A deep, distorted echo of laughter that seems to come from every direction. The laughter snakes around the grotesque walls, filled with the same letters that repeat his agony. “Ha… ha… ha…” fills the air, louder with each invisible step that approaches.

Then, he appears.

It’s not the Joker he remembers from that fateful night. This one is worse. Bigger, more deformed, with a smile that seems to tear at his own face. The colors of his suit are darker, more twisted. It’s as if his mind has amplified him, made him more monstrous.

“My, my, how little Robin has grown? But… something remains the same, doesn’t it? No matter how many times you live it, it always ends the same way. And to think that you were my greatest work of art!”

His voice is mocking, but behind the mockery is pure cruelty, a wicked amusement that lights up in those crazy eyes.

The Joker leans towards Jason, his face invading the small distance between them. The sound of metal continues to echo, and Jason knows what's coming next.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" he says, pulling out of nowhere an iron crowbar that gleams in the dim light of the nightmare. "It wouldn't be a good memory without this, would it?"

That's when the pain begins. Jason doesn't want to scream, and he won't. Even though that abominable creature is just a representation of his killer, he won't give him the luxury of listening to him suffer. The blows continue, and Jason bites his tongue. It's just a nightmare, it's not real… it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not-

"Hey… Are you okay?" he hears him ask. His shocked gaze turns to where the clown should be and discovers that he's gone. In his place, there's a handsome young man: short, slightly messy black hair, expressive purple eyes, and a body almost completely shrouded in dark shadows.

The mysterious man had a cosmic air about him, surrounded by a mix of special effects of stars and galaxies. Something magical.

And new.

Jason honestly doesn't know what he's seeing, or why he's seeing it. "What?" he says, unable to find another word to describe his situation.

The entity laughs at his stunned state, a reassuring echo very different from the joker's laughter. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's no longer in that ugly room. He's now in a field of flowers, beautiful and vibrant, looking out at a starry sky.

Okay, this is the part where he asks his brain how he went from being in a nightmare to being with a handsome guy under the stars, hands free and untethered.

"Relax, you're not crazy," the being says as he lies back in the grass. “You were in pain, and I didn’t like it, so I got you out of there. Don’t worry, that abomination won’t bother you again.”

Jason blinks twice, bewildered, not understanding anything. “You… saved me?”

“You could say yes.”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “No, wait, that’s not the question. Who…?” Looking back at the being, he decides to change his question: “What are you?”

He seems to have taken the being by surprise.

It clasps its hands together as it looks up at the sky, trying to act normal. Jason narrows his eyes. “You can call me Void.”

“Did you just make up that name?”

The being looks away, seemingly embarrassed at being found out. “Yeah…” And suddenly exclaims, “Ah, ancients! I'm not supposed to be doing this, much less with one of the bats."

That last sentence had given away more than it should have.

"Hey, how about we admire the night view and then pretend this never happened?" Void suggested with a hopeful smile, turning to Jason.

Maybe it was the soft scent of the flowers, the calm atmosphere, or just the tiredness after so many nights of endless nightmares, but Jason, without thinking too much about it, walked over, lay down next to Void on the grass, and said, "No."

He needed a break.

...

And that's how Jason befriended a dream demon. And how Danny pretended to be a dream demon until Nocturn's powers wore off. He couldn't let the bats find out his identity.

After that, they spent more time together, fell in love, there was drama and there was closure. In the middle of all that, Danny started having tea with Alfred in the dream world, and at other times, he had fun bothering the other bats in their dreams.

But that's another story.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

[kinardsevan]

i can see the sun

nobody asked for a mini where BuckTommy meet in 2x18, but my brain wrote it anyway? enjoy!

-

Tommy never mentions the first time they met, mostly because he doesn’t think Evan remembers it, and honestly he wouldn’t blame him. That night was—as Evan still defines it today—the worst night of his life, and the last thing Tommy ever wants to do is bring those painful memories back to the surface. Still, in the time since they’ve gotten together, he can’t help dwelling on it from time to time, thinking about the strength he’d seen in Evan that night, the determination. 

“Howie!” 

Chimney spins on his feet, looking around him until his eyes fall on Tommy’s muscular build, the waves of his light brown hair. 

“Tommy? What are you doing down here? It’s not safe-..” 

“I was down the street,” he explains. “Thought I could help.” 

Chimney turns, looks back at Hen and then Bobby, holding his hands out like he’s not entirely sure what the answer should be. 

“We’re gonna need the help to get it off of him,” Bobby states. He looks past his subordinates briefly and then back at them. “Chim, there’s a girl down there with her hand bleeding from twisted metal,” he states, pointing. “Hen?” 

She passes off the bag of IV fluids to Bobby that they’ve hooked up to Buck and Tommy looks around again before glancing down at the man on the ground, shaking his head. 

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself. He shifts backwards and drops down, getting in front of the blonde with curly hair, blood all over his face. “Hey, kid.” 

Buck lifts his head off the ground, groaning in pain as he looks up at him. Tommy reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly. 

“You gotta fight,” he tells him, running his thumb over Evan’s fingers. They’re cold, and he can see the paleness in his face. Buck groans again. 

“Let’s lift this,” Bobby states, glancing down at them. Tommy looks up at him and nods. 

“Alright, kid, you can do this,” he tells him. They both hear the count off, and then the attempted lift and Evan screams like bloody murder, trying to pull his leg free from where it’s pinned beneath the truck, but barely gains any traction before it’s down again. Tommy glances up at Bobby and shakes his head. “You gotta lift higher. 

“I-…I…” Buck’s voice is choked, pained cries falling out of him faster than he can do anything to stop them. Tommy reaches out and curls a finger under his chin, making him look up. 

“Hey kid, you gotta focus,” he states firmly. 

“M-ma-addie,” he stammers. 

Tommy shakes his head again. “Whatever you have to tell Maddie can wait.” Tommy looks around them again, sees everyone trying to problem-solve the situation. He glances back down at the kid in front of him. “What’s your name?” 

His head bobs up and down weakly and Tommy squeezes his fingers again. 

“E-Evan,” he stammers. Tommy nods. 

“We’re going to get you out of here, Evan,” Tommy tells him. “Just hold on.” 

“One more time guys, ready,” Bobby states. They lift again, and again Evan screams, trying to move and again gaining no traction. Tommy looks up at Bobby again, shaking his head once more. 

“It’s too heavy,” Bobby states, talking to people around them. Evan is gasping for air in front of Tommy, silent sobs coming out of him with the struggle for air. “We need more people.” 

Suddenly there’s a crowd of people lining around them, and Tommy looks back at Evan, brushing a calming hand down his hair. 

“Hang on Evan,” he states firmly. “They’ve got you.” 

“One, two, three!” 

He watches as they lift the truck, higher than they’ve been able to, high enough that he can see the clearance between Evan’s leg and the truck, and he tugs him forward until he’s free of it and the crowd is settling the truck back on the ground. Evan’s team crowds around him and Tommy steps back, moving out of the way. Bobby rests a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at him. 

“Thanks for your help,” he tells him before stepping past him, joining the rest of the 118 as they gather around Evan and move him onto a stretcher. He doesn’t voice it out loud, but holds the notion in the back of his head that in another life, he would’ve been the one pinned under the truck. 

. . . 

“Where’s your head at,” Evan murmurs, late one night as Tommy sets his book on the nightstand. He’s been doing that thing where he read the same page three times over and still didn’t digest any of the information. Tommy looks over at him and gives him a soft smile, lifting his hand to brush along one of the barely-there scars on his chin. 

“Just thinking about you,” he admits. Evan gives him an awkward smile, reaching up and pulling his hand away. 

“Should I be concerned,” Evan asks, adjusting the blankets on his lap. “You seem…distracted.” 

Tommy shakes his head dismissively. “No, no.” 

“Then what’s up,” Evan asks, curious. “Where’s your head at.” 

Tommy looks over at him, contemplatively. He narrows his gaze at Evan briefly before licking his lips. “Do you…remember? The first time we met?” 

Evan squints at him with a curious smirk. “Harbor hangar. Stealing helicopters to fly into a hurricane and break at least a dozen different laws.” He drawls on like it’s basic information. 

Tommy chuckles softly. “Sure.” He nods, biting his bottom lip briefly. “Except, no.” 

Evan still has that gaze on his face, like he’s not entirely sure where Tommy is going with this. “Okay?” 

Tommy takes a breath, lifting his hand to Evan’s chin again, looking at the scar once more. 

“I don’t mention it because I don’t ever want to put you in a painful memory,” he states, thumbing the scar. “But I was there for this.” 

Evan doesn’t need to see his face to know what Tommy is talking about. He stares at the older man for a time, clearly searching his memory, only to come up with nothing. 

“I don’t…?” 

Tommy nods. “You were already pinned under the truck, and I got on the ground with you so that Hen and Howie could help with the truck.” 

Evan’s gaze shifts around at Tommy’s words, still searching his memory. After a moment, he looks up at him. “I always thought I made up someone rubbing my head. I mean, Hen would hold my hand, but-..” 

“You didn’t,” Tommy tells him. He’s quiet for a moment, his expression somber. “I could tell you were getting close to giving up. You wanted to say something to Maddie, and I told you no.” 

Evan nods, having the vaguest recollection of that. He looks back up at Tommy. “But then you just vanished into the ether.” 

Tommy shrugs. “I sent flowers. And besides, you had a girlfriend.” 

Evan narrows his gaze at him again, but this time there’s mirth in his expression as he pushes himself up and slots a leg over Tommy’s hips, straddling him. 

“You mean to tell me I could’ve had you five years ago,” he states, moving his hands down to the hem of Tommy’s shirt, sliding his fingers beneath it. Tommy jolts at the iciness of his fingers. He smirks at Evan as he reaches for his hands, squeezing them. He leans forward, kissing along his jawline. 

“Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun then,” he replies. “We were both still figuring stuff out.” 

Evan pushes his hands further inside Tommy’s shirt, fighting against his loose grip to press his cold palms flat against his abs. Tommy growls softly, biting on his jaw. Evan settles back on his haunches and tilts his head, reaching out for one of Tommy’s hands. He brushes his fingers gently along the scars on his face, down to his chin, and then over his heart. 

“I love you,” Tommy murmurs, brushing his thumb back and forth on Evan’s chest. Evan leans into him, pulls him into a searing kiss as his hands find their way back under Tommy’s shirt with only one intention in mind. 

“I love you too.” 

[novemberheart]

{overview} You meet someone from Johnny’s past. A worst case scenario becomes a reality

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, very Johnny-heavy chapter, cursing, mentions of drug use and alcohol, abandonment, abusive parents

Chapter 26 <- Chapter 27 -> Chapter 28

It had been more than a week since Kyle and John had left. A week and three days to be exact. You peered over at the clock on Johnny’s nightstand.

Make that four days. You had been having a hard time sleeping. Since your nightmare about Kyle, you've had two more. At least they were about you dying. That was easier to think about than a member of your pack passing. To make matters worse Simon had to leave last night to do some vague solo mission. Well, every mission to you was vague. Still, there was a heaviness in the air and Johnny felt jittery. Simon was going somewhere dangerous by himself. He seemed to prefer that though. Not that it offered you any comfort.

You wished you hadn't turned down a sleeping pill. It was too late to take one now. You sighed, rolling over, wrapping your arms tightly around Johnny’s middle.

At least you weren't alone.

“Come on, Bon,” you jumped as Johnny patted your bottom. He grabbed a few things out of the cabinet- specifically your favorite snacks. “Grab Vernie and change- casual. We’re going on a little trip,” he winked, throwing the snacks into a backpack and beginning to fill up your water bottle. You grinned, heading over to your room to change. It was officially summer, much to your dismay. You decided on a pair of shorts, a tank top, one of John’s flannels, and Kyle’s baseball hat. Johnny made a mental note to snap a picture for them.

You didn't bother to ask where you were going because you knew he wouldn't tell you anyway. The man loved his surprises. Wherever it was it was off base- making you even more eager. You and Johnny had similar music tastes, which made making you DJ less hard for him. You didn't make it too far before he pulled over at a store.

Your giddiness increased as he led you over to the swimsuits.

“Are we going swimming?” you questioned, already digging through the rack. He said nothing, a familiar glint in his eyes.

John and Johnny were more similar than people ever gave them credit for. It was easy to compare the betas and say they were the most similar, but the more you got to know them the more you recognized the similarities between John and Johnny and between Simon and Kyle. John and Johnny took charge. They were providers and made it known to everyone around them. They were both reactive. While John was a captain and had a higher expectation of controlling his emotions- when he was unhappy, everyone knew. Johnny operated the same way. The bark before the bite so to speak. You could easily imagine Johnny being a Captain one day. Kyle and Simon were both the bite after the bark. There was something mysterious about both of them that made people want to get to know them- for different reasons. They were both quick-witted and spent more time observing than speaking.

“How ‘bout this?” Johnny smirked holding up a bikini you weren't even sure could cover a nipple. You rolled your eyes, a smile etched onto your face at his antics. The perfect swimsuit finally caught your eye. A low whistle sent a shiver up your spine. “Quite like that, peaches,” Johnny hummed. It was decided.

You had figured you were going to a pool, so when you started seeing signs for a beach you couldn't help but shriek. You leaned over into the driver's seat, pressing rapid-fire kisses against his cheek.

“I’m so excited!” you cheered.

Johnny unloaded the car, a large duffle and a backpack. The sand was chilly but you didn't care. You and Vernie ran along the sand dunes. You came back to help Johnny set up a large towel and umbrella. You weren't even sure where he had gotten all this stuff. He even packed a few empty containers for sand castles. There was a breeze that reminded you of your childhood- and for the first time in a long time, they weren't bad memories. The beach was fairly empty, with just a few joggers and random families on holiday. Johnny grabbed a spare towel, tying the two ends and placing it around his neck so Vernie had somewhere to rest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, Vernie crushed between the two of you.

“Thank you for doing this,” you smiled, pressing your lips against his. He moved forward to deepen this kiss, until you pulled away racing towards the water.

“Ya’ Mommy’s naughty,” he chuckled to Vernie, racing after you.

You yawned, your eyes slowly opening. You could feel hands against your skin and you slowly lifted the baseball cap away from your eyes, chuckling as Johnny was rubbing your third coat of sunscreen into your skin.

“I’m going to get cancer from all the chemicals before I do the sun,” you stretched. Hours had flown by before you had known it, your stomach wanting more than just snacks. You and Johnny packed up the car (the worst part of the beach) and went on the hunt to find a restaurant for an early dinner. It would be a crime if you didn't order the fish and chips. Vernie was happy chewing on her puppy chow underneath the table.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, peeking next to you at Johnny’s phone. “No those look terrible,” you whined watching as he sent practically a whole new photo album full of pictures to their group chat.

“The only thing that's terrible is your eyesight, Bon,” Johnny shot back, his lips pressing against your hairline.

“Can you at least send me the ones with you, me and Vernie?” you pleaded. You felt your phone chime a few seconds later.

“Johnny?” a voice questioned from behind you. He stiffened, his body instinctively moving closer to you. Even Vernie could sense a shift as she drifted closer to Johnny’s feet.

“Fia,” Johnny greeted coldly. His hand gripped your knee. You weren't sure if it was to ease you or him. Your fingers wrapped around his arm in solace. They were related. They had to be. Her eyes were identical, and you suspected they had the same hair color before she dyed hers red. They stared at each other. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. He remained silent.

“How have you been?” She asked slowly. She was Scottish.

“Why, so you can fill Dad in?” he shot back. They were related. Your eyes widened at the iciness in his tone. She swallowed, drifting from foot to foot.

“I’m Sofia. Johnny's older sister,” She offered you a polite smile. You started to introduce yourself but Johnny cleared his throat. “We didn’t know you were here. Shannon thought about texting you but”- she trailed off. Johnny slid out of the booth, urging you to follow. You quickly did, his hand reaching out to grip yours. Sofia followed behind the two of you, pleading for Johnny to stop. He opened the door for you, plopping Vernie in your lap.

“There’s nothing we have to say to each other,” Johnny growled, slamming the driver's door shut. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, pulling out of the parking lot. You sat in your seat nervously, his normal soothing scent of cinnamon turning spicy enough to make your throat burn. He rolled a window down. His hand reached for yours, holding it up to his mouth. His nose pressing against the pressure point of your wrist. He breathed you in like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it- it may be.

“I’m sorry, Bonnie,” he whispered against you. You quickly shushed him.

“There are people that would get that reaction out of me too, Mac,” you soothed. You pulled your hand away, your fingers scratching at his scalp. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you whispered, his head pressing against your hand.

He had picked up some fast food. Despite him being shaken to his core he still had to make sure you were taken care of.

“I haven't seen her in seven years,” he said finally. “My parents are purebreds. When I presented as a beta it caused quite the shock. One in a million chance that’ll happen. My father kicked me out and that was that,” he sighed, making you gasp. Your throat tightened, your hands gripping onto his shirt sleeve. His own eyes welled- against his will, as he offered you a slight smile. “Don’t be sad for me, pretty girl. It’s fine now.”

“No it’s not,” you gasped. “How old were you?”

“I was thirteen when I presented but I was able to hide it for a little over a year,” he cleared his throat. He couldn’t look you in the eyes, knowing he would break under their caring glint.

“Where did you go?” you asked finally. You didn't want to know the answer.

“Everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Got roped into a crowd that wasn't the best, but it was my safest chance at the time,” he explained. His knuckles brushed under your chin, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. You pressed a kiss against his hand, holding it in yours.

“Tell me, please. I want to hear,” you whispered. He sighed heavily and you wondered if you had pushed your luck.

“We would crash in barns,” he nearly chuckled. His face fell. “There were drugs and drinking- all of which I did. When I was fifteen I overdosed, they were at least kind enough to call the police before fleeing. I was put into rehab and they put me back with my parents. My dad made my life hell until I left again. I ended back with the same crowd and when I was seventeen I got caught with a bag full of opioids. I was thrown back into rehab. It was good for me though. I was able to finish secondary school and I showed enough promise that they wiped it off my record. By then I was eighteen and joined the military when I got out,” he explained. His chest felt light, his shoulders relaxed against the seat. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but the silence was making him uneasy.

“No one in your family helped you?” you mumbled sadly. Your grip on his arm was tight, your cheek resting against his knuckles. He shook his head.

“They all sided with my dad. Can't say I blame them- but I do,” he grumbled. “My eldest sister Shannon reached out to me a few times the past few years. I just couldn't bring myself to answer,”

“You know I just see you as stronger now,” you spoke softly. “I’m proud of you.”

His jaw clenched, his head turning to face the window as he shoved back the tears. He took a deep breath, his fingers pawing at his eyes.

“Thank you, beautiful.”

Something wasn't right.

You could feel it deep within your chest, a heavy uneasiness. You stayed tight-lipped. It was just you and Johnny and you didn't want to seem like you were feeling into every thought you had. Simon had called this morning. You had been asleep. John and Kyle being gone is what worried you. They have been gone for two weeks now. They were only supposed to be gone for one.

Even though you didn't voice it- Johnny could tell you were feeling it.

It was your first night of peaceful sleep.

The phone blaring on the nightstand changed that.

Johnny groaned, his hand patting your back like he was already trying to lull you back to sleep.

“What happened?” he groaned as soon as he answered. He rolled you off of him and sat up quickly. “Where are you?” he questioned. You sat up abruptly, your body moving faster than your mind. It was like your body had already prepared for this. The other line was quiet. You couldn't even make out anyone's voice. Johnny reached under his bed, grabbed a bag, and shoved a few of his shirts in. He made his way to your room, your legs moving on their own accord after them. “Pick out a few comfortable things. I'll get your stuff from the bathroom,” he whispered to you.

Tears fell from your eyes. You couldn't help it.

There was only one reason you would be pulled out of bed in the middle of the night.

Someone from your pack was hurt.

Hi friends! This chapter was a bit of a doozy, but hopefully you enjoyed it! See you in three days for chapter 28!!! 🧡

[llamagoddessofficial]

For the bad Sanses, if their SO would want to grow old and die, would they respect that?

Agh... well. Short answer? No. Long answer? No, absolutely not.

Horror, I think, would come the closest to actually respecting your decision. He has Papyrus to support him so he wouldn't have to go through it completely alone. He's experienced a lot of loss, and he knows the pain of seeing people you love hang around long after they should've gone, deteriorating into someone you hardly recognise. But also... he's just really not in the right frame of mind to let you go. Horror does not love in halves and the thought of losing you is like a point-blank shot to the Soul. If you bring it up, best reaction you'll get is him being confused and then pretending you didn't even talk about it, and the worst is a full smashing-things-flipping-tables-throwing-chairs meltdown. You might get a better response from Papyrus. He'll try to mediate. Perhaps give it a few years, once he's had time to ease.

If you press Dust about it, he will give you an ultimatum. If you really, really want to grow old and die, the relationship is over. You can die, if you like. But don't expect him to watch. He knows that when you go, part of him goes too, and at least this way his time feeling warm and whole again ends on his terms. He can sink back into the dark by choice. You get your wish, but you'll never see him again. He'll be pretty sour grapes about it (and about you) if you do end up choosing to die. As far as he's concerned you chose your mortality over him. He doesn't respect it or understand why. He feels abandoned and betrayed... and he refuses to reminisce positively on something that hurts so much to think about. Someone bringing up your name is enough to start a brawl.

Killer doesn't understand. You want to die? You want to leave him behind? You want him to be alone again - how could you say that? You don't mean that. If you hold your ground and tell him you really mean it, he'll tell you he's fine with it, but he's a bald-faced liar. Whilst Dust is bitter, Killer is shattered; he really thought he found someone who would stay by his side no matter what. The rug has gone out from under him. Now he's facing the prospect of being utterly alone again, surrounded only by the voices that still taunt him even now. He fully retreats into his own head... he acts like he's silly and fine, but his Soul has never been more red. You'll never see his white eyelights again.

Nightmare... uh, no. Sorry. He laughs it off like you're a kid telling him you want to eat a billion cookies. He thinks he knows better than you, in this regard, you don't really want to die, you'll understand in a few hundred years. He's a reasonable lover in most aspects but this is one of few things he doesn't budge on. Part and parcel of being a God's beloved, I'm afraid. D'aw, you want to grow old and die? Sure he'll let you. Aren't you cute. Just don't pay attention to how wrinkles never form on your skin. I'm sure it's nothing.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 5: What?!

Finally getting home from your patrol you sneak through the window of your bedroom and collapse onto your bed. After the call you decided that your patrol was done.

Frankly you're still coming to terms with the fact that Batman and his protogese are the same people who are essentially praying on your civilian self's downfall yet adoring your vigilante persona like it's the greatest thing in the world.

Though, now that you really think about it, it makes sense. Bruce Wayne is the richest man alive, he'd be able to afford to do this, they have the same amount of members as the heroes, same builds and heights, actually... Basically everything matches up.

Not to mention the fact that your senses goes off around both group members!

From outside your small room door you hear your parents arguing again - more like your mother yelling and your dad breaking things and stomping his foot. It was probably your dad's fault again. Don't get you wrong, you love your family! It's just that they're dysfunctional.

Your dad has a massive drinking problem that landed him working as a goon for Black Mask, he's struggled with his temper for years after he got hit a bit too hard in the head by Batman. Pair that with the fact that he's mute and he's a force to be reckoned with.

Your mom is always busy and rarely ever home, when she is she couldn't be bothered to interact with you unless you got into trouble. She grew up rich, often talking about how she went to the same school as Bruce Wayne and how she was a popular cheerleader before her life fell apart. She doesn't talk much on the topic but it's clear she holds distain for your father and, by extension, you.

You sigh to yourself, you need to shower. That means you need to get past them without them bringing you into it. Or you just don't shower for the night and have one tomorrow...

Your mom screams something out about not throwing knives and you decide to just shower tomorrow morning.

You change out of your costume and hide it safely under a loose floorboard, you change into your pajamas and get into bed. Today was a massive mental drain and physical drain.

...

You awake to a knock at the front door. Your parents usually ignore it and make you answer when someone knocks because "you're dispensable" as they say. Looking at the clock on the wall of the kitchen you see it's around 7am.

Groggily making your way to the door you look through the peep hole and see Tim standing awkwardly on the other side with a guy next to him, the guy next to him being so big and tall that you could only see a small part of his chest and arm.

You curse to yourself quietly, this is by far the worst luck you've ever had.

You open the door and look at the two. Now seeing the other guy the thing that stands out is a stripe of white hair on his head. Instantly you know it's Jason Todd.

You aren't an idiot. He's the only one in the family built like how he is - not including Bruce.

"What do you want?" You ask, annoyed. Tim chuckles weakly, as if nervous. "Wayne Enterprises wishes to give your mother her letter of departure." You blink once, then twice. "Huh? Letter of departure? The fuck does that mean?" You mutter, genuinely confused.

Jason scoffs, "it means your dear mother is losing her job, kid." He states uncaring of how blunt he's being. Tim elbows him and hisses something about being more considerate.

You don't listen, all noise becoming white noise. Why is she being fired? She works hard, she dedicates her time, she does her best! Is this because you have beef with Tim? That's not fair!

She's the only stable source of income, without that job you all would be living on the streets. You've heard AND seen so many horror stories about teens living on the streets, it's something you'd pray never happened to you. But now it's entirely probable.

So, in a moment of desperation you grip Tim by his shoulders "Please! You can't fire her! We'll end up homeless! She works all the time, she tries! My mother will improve if you ask, she needs this job. The whole family does!"

Tim seems shocked by this, his posture stiffening. Jason looks on guard, as if assessing whether he should step in, though he doesn't seem fond of the idea. You wouldn't doubt that he was made to accompany Tim as a body guard.

Tim opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. Clearly he wasn't expecting you to beg for your mother to keep her job.

"Uh... Look, I don't mean any harm by it, it's just that we need to make way for brighter minds..." He stumbles slightly over his words as if making the excuse up on the spot.

You won't back down however. "Tim, please, I desperately need you to realize this. I. Will. Die. On. The. Streets." Probably not true because of your mutation but the fear remains. "Please, I'll do anything for you to not do this! I already promised Bruce to stop talking bad about Aranea!" You please desperately.

Tim glances to Jason who quirks a brow and shrugs. The sound of movement from behind you makes your eyes widen and behind you you see your dad approaching, you were probably too loud.

He glares at you before yanking your hair so you move away from Tim and remove your clutches on him. You hiss in pain at the feeling but bow your head down.

Your dad eyes the two boys before looking to the paper in Tim's hands. He instantly knows what's going on and storms down the hallways of the complex to do who-knows what. That scares you. Your dad is unpredictable.

After some silence Tim speaks up. "Are you okay? Your dad pulled your hair pretty tightly..." You look down, ashamed. You couldn't even bother putting your walls up and defending your pride. Your life is basically falling apart at the seams.

"... I'll do anything for you to not fire my mother..." You mutter meekly, a far cry from how you usually act, something Tim notices immediately. He sighs to himself, he debates the odds. Maybe if he doesn't fire (Reader)'s mother then they can be even. The feud can end, it was pointless on your part to begin with for hating someone so sweet and kind, then hating him who defends the innocent.

"Fine. Your mother can stay, but, it may not be permanent. I suggest she find elsewhere in the mean time." Tim states before walking off. Jason takes a second to stare at your relived form, the slight smile of disbelief and look of relief in your eyes. He then leaves with Tim.

You close the door to the apartment and sink to the floor. That was terrifying. You'll have find a way of telling your mother the news before she goes into work in two hours.

You're officially having the day off from school and patrol today.

[m0nnypie]

DREAMER

Warning: smut, sex dream, oral sex (m), profanity, MDNI, +18, characters in yours 20's, degradation

Synopsis: He always captured you, no matter how many times you escaped from prison. But for the first time, you decided to try something different, what if you invaded the dream of the one who torments you the most?

Words: 1.4k

You felt like vomiting with the force he put his boot on your stomach. He always did this, blow you away for a few minutes, then pin you to the floor or the wall, and humiliate you in the worst ways, until it was time to arrest you.

“What’s wrong? Are you going to cry? Jeez… you’re so useless that you’re not even fit to be a villain..” he looked at you with disdain.

“Egh.. You disgust me”

“F-fuck you” you tried to get his foot off you, but he was strong. You might be smart, and even have an interesting quirk, but when it came to physical strength, especially compared to the #2 hero, you lost.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive, and take you where you belonged, according to the arrogant blond.

But this time things would be different, running away would be too easy. Sometimes you wonder if you're stupid or just dumb, because in all this time you've never thought of invading his dream. Because, like your grandma used to say, dreams are storytellers.

Well, you were about to tell the world a great story about what an incredible hero Dynamight was.

It had been a while since you last entered someone's dream. Not that you hated it, but most people thought using your Quirk was useless, so you rarely used it.

But who would have thought that you would use your beloved Quirk with the one who tormented you the most, the one you wished was dead?

The bad part was that the way you entered dreams depended a lot on the person. You'd seen some that were bridges to cross, others were doors, some were more interesting, like a fast balloon ride. You wondered what the blond one would be like.

After searching a lot, you found it. It was a door, a simple wooden door. You thought it was funny, you imagined that the way he was, it would be something grand, just like his ego.

As soon as you opened the door, you entered something that was probably his house. It was very beautiful and cozy. There were pictures of family and friends scattered around the house, one that caught your attention was of him next to a boy with green hair. It was cute.

You found the silence strange, you imagined that even in his dreams it would be noisy, but you couldn't even find it him. You wandered around the house for a few minutes, too busy to notice the noises coming from the room.

You only noticed the strange sounds when you were already in front of the door. You carefully opened the door, and when you looked into the room, you froze.

There he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, moaning nonsense. And crouched in front of him, there was you, sucking him with devotion. My God. He was having an erotic dream about you.

You closed the door quickly. You didn't want him to notice your presence. You started running towards the exit, thinking that you should never have entered his dream. But something made you stop.

What if... maybe, you took advantage of this moment? I mean, what would be the problem? There's nothing wrong, you'd just be making his dream a little more realistic...

So you slowly walked back to the room, thinking seriously about what you were about to do.

You entered the room confidently. But your confidence died as soon as you looked at your dream version, who was looking at you while sucking the blond, as if you was making fun of you.

You were lucky that he was so focused on the pleasure that he didn't even notice you approaching. You quickly made your dream version disappear, putting yourself in her place. Your nervousness was eating you alive, and if he noticed? No, he wouldn't be able to.

As soon as he didn't feel anything around his own cock, he opened his eyes. Those damn red eyes, so deep, that they pulled you into an endless abyss, from which you would never want to leave.

"What's wrong? Why did you stop? Is my cock too much for you to handle?"

You could feel the shame rising in your cheeks. Letting out a moan when you felt him pulling your head back, with his hand tangled in your hair.

He looked at you from above, almost with disdain. And that, for some reason, made you very wet, making you squeeze your thighs together to get some kind of relief from the sensation that consumed you.

"Poor thing, you're so useless that you're not even good enough for a blowjob... do you need help, bitch?" You could feel him pulling on your hair, which made involuntary moans come out of your mouth.

“Y-yes…please” you felt like you were capable of going crazy with this, the way he looked at you, and how he pulled your hair hard, but without hurting. Fuck, it made you lose any shred of sanity

“This is so embarrassing for you, I almost feel sorry for you…but then I remember what a little slut you really are.” He ran his finger over your lips, then stuck his finger in your mouth, telling you to suck it, even without saying any words.

You practically flooded his hand with your drool, you could feel your pussy vibrating every time you sucked his finger hard, you were pathetic, so ridiculous. You let out a moan when you felt him take his finger out of your mouth. He looked at you as if he felt sorry for you, showing you how pathetic you were.

“You really are such a little bitch, am I going to have to do all the work?” He pulled your head back, holding it for a few seconds before telling you to put his cock in your mouth.

It was huge, it was hard not to choke on every inch that filled your mouth. As soon as he felt it enter halfway, he lowered your head hard, making his cock enter the back of your throat. Making you choke and tears come out of your eyes.

He left you like that for a while, until he felt you grip his thigh because you were having trouble breathing. But he barely gave you time to relax, he quickly started to move your head up and down, while holding you by your ponytail.

You drooled all over his length, taking advantage of the fact that there was no way out, to rub your rough tongue on his cock, and lightly scrape your teeth. This made him moan a little, he wasn't very vocal, how sad you thought. You would love to hear him moan, while he had his cock in your mouth.

In a few minutes he left the movements completely to you, too overcome by pleasure to dare to make any effort. You stuck it all the way down your throat, licking the entire length, releasing your drool along the way, to make it easier every time you put it in your mouth.

You felt his veins pop out, showing that he was close to cumming. Then you started sucking his pink head, while you masturbated the rest of his length with your hand.

Within seconds, he came. You looked at him, flooded with lust, as you swallowed his sperm and cleaned up what had leaked.

“This is just the beginning, you hear me, my little slut?” He held your face, squeezing your cheeks with one hand.

“Yes…” you were overcome with lust, making nothing else cross your mind, other than the enormous desire for him to stick his huge cock inside you and fuck you until you forgot your own name.

Before you could decide anything, he pulled you up, throwing you on the bed. And something you didn’t expect at all happened. He kissed you.

His tongue dominated yours. It was a hot, quick, lustful kiss, taking all the air from your lungs. With the separation, you moaned in frustration.

But soon smiled when you felt him rip your shirt. His hands squeezed your breasts tightly, if it weren't for the immense pleasure, you would probably complain about the pain.

He didn't give you much time before ripping off your shorts and panties. Leaving you now, naked and completely at his mercy. You could see the treacherous smile that formed on his face.

You felt him turn you brutally onto your back, bringing your arms back and holding them. You felt him get closer, his mouth at your ear as he nibbled on your earlobe. His hair tickled. That thought made you laugh.

"Do you think this funny? When I fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own name, I wanna see if you'll laugh."

Oh, yes. This would be a hard night, very hard and fun.

If y'all like, I do pt 2! 😭 Pls reblog or gimme some like or coment, wanna know what u think. 🤌🏻 'N SORRY FOR MY ENGLISH, ITS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE 😭

[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. smut implied but not detailed. you and yuuta are on a working vacation overseas. fem!reader. yuuta and reader are married. a/n: yeah idk. anyway stream risk by victony pls.

You know exactly what you’re doing, and perhaps Yuuta knows too, but he falls in this trap every time anyway - the smooth skin of your bare back exposed as you lay on the beach loungers flat on your belly is like a siren call for him, and he approaches quietly, footsteps naturally soft, and kneels close, pressing his lips softly between your shoulder blades.

“Hey.”

The harsh Equatorial sun has finally abated, and there’s a dry heat around and a hotter, wetter one naturally between the two of you. Yuuta’s returned with grilled suya, butter pear and corn instead of ordering room service and it’s still steaming, posed on the hotel suite’s kitchen table, but he’s more preoccupied by a different meal. You smile to yourself pleased, turning your face towards him as he nips gradually lower, until he's at the skin just above your bathing suit bottoms, and reach out to him before his tongue can loop beneath the flimsy fabric and get too ahead of himself. 

“You’re back so soon!”

Your eyes are bright as you meet his gaze. He smiles and takes your outstretched hand, and as you scoot over, rolling onto your back, he finds a seat in the available space, eyes flitting between yours and your exposed breasts.

“I’m pretty resourceful, turns out,” he muses. You nod, pretending to sniff the air dramatically.

“I felt bad sending you out on the streets again, but I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do easily,” you bat your eyelashes, wrapping your arms around his free arm and pulling him towards you. You’re being excessively coquettish but sometimes you feel like he needs it, to know that he’s appreciated for everything he does endlessly for you. Plus today was a rough day - the two of you had just come back from the countryside early in the AM after a particularly bloody exorcism back in a village near your hometown, just as you promised your parents you would, and still haven’t completely adjusted from the jet lag of moving across the globe for this particular excursion. Yuuta, despite his natural dark circles, seemed to be somehow more resistant to the lack of sleep than you were and far too willing to venture out even alone for a meal. 

The hotel you’re in is geared towards people who come with currency with far too high exchange rates and you’re taking full advantage of that this week, with plans to lounge on the balcony with the windows open as long as possible, dip in the pool, eat as much street food as you can physically manage until you miss Japanese food again. Most importantly you plan to spend as much time sucking face with your husband as possible. 

God knows the two of you have needed a vacation. 

Yuuta’s hungry for something and it has nothing to do with dinner. The two of your faces are just inches apart and it doesn’t take long for there to be no space between your breast and his palm, and his leg to find its way between the two of your practically bare ones.

You pretend to barely notice as he plays with your nipple, the obvious want in his eyes louder than whatever he’d say out loud in the next few moments, and continue talking. 

“I’m surprised no one’s stopped you carrying that sword all around town.”

Yuuta blows air gently from his nose, amused.

“It’s probably no different from carrying around a cutlass. At best I look like a farmer, at worst a gang member, either way no one’s going to bother me.”

He shifts downwards and soon his mouth is level with the pert nipple he eventually takes in his mouth. You try to stifle a moan, given that you’re still technically outside, even if it’s late, you’re high up enough that likely no one can hear you. 

“Not with that sketchy aura of yours,” you tease, but the last part comes out slightly breathless as he bites with gentle pressure. His eyes dart up towards you.

“Sketchy?” he raises an eyebrow, and your stomach flips like an omelet. Before you can say anything to redirect your tone, he’s slipped a finger down that cursed bikini hem and taps at your clit. You shudder, and he takes that as a queue to take his shirt off with his free hand, a move that’s oddly graceful for a generally subdued man. 

Yuuta is oddly bold when he wants to be, with the unintentional gravitas of a man who has enough ability that he doesn’t need to prove his worth to anyone. 

Letting a leg pass over you so that he’s straddled you on the lounger, he watches you for consent, and the soft anticipatory look in your eyes and the part of your lips say yes for you. 

Fingers curl in and out of you until your legs pull into your body and the sounds of your own pleasure are too much to suppress. Shooting straight up before you can let out too embarrassing of a mewl, you gasp out,

“Inside, let’s go inside!”

Your voice is flustered enough that it brings a smile to his cheeks, and he’s quick to carry you into his arms and bring you inside as you please.

A gentle toss on the bed, and the two of you are back at it, your legs wrapping around his, and your bottoms nowhere to be found. You kiss hungrily, among the aroma of spices and the salty breeze of the coast wafting towards the slow swaying curtains, the taste of each other’s lips more intriguing than any overly generous auntie’s meal.

Less exposed to the elements, you cry out freely, your doting man happy to squeeze out as much pleasure from you, hands on your face, chest, hips, thighs… you hold him impossibly close to you, taking each thrust as ministrations, each kiss and exhale as worship.

Your fingers intertwine, your toes curl as he wears you out.

And when it’s all said and done, you’re curled up in bed, legs weary as you feed each other with your hands. 

A little bit of bliss. You kiss the salt and oil off his lips and press your nose to his.

“I need to stop making you do all the work,” you joke.

“I think you do enough,” he replies back, sweat glistening on his skin, the flush of his cheeks evident. You run your fingers through his hair, sticky dark locks pushed back and caress his cheek.

“Not just sex, the exorcisms too.” 

He tilts his head and you continue.

“You and Rika do all the work, and I just do some prayers and sprinkle some sand,” you joke, your foot sliding down the side of his leg. He lets his hand rest on your thigh.

“Nothing wrong with doing what you can,” he offers, and the sincerity in his voice, like usual, is almost disarming. “Let me take care of you.”

With that he’s taken your hand in his and kisses the back of it.

Your heart flutters, and you wonder if he’s willing to do one more thing for you -

And that’s enthuse you with a round 2.

[paarthursass]

I am still baffled that people think Beer Bad is the worst episode of Buffy when episodes like Wild At Heart, Into the Woods, and As You Were exist. Like really??? You hate the silly Caveman Buffy episode when those OOC nightmare episodes exist??? At least Beer Bad is funny. "It's government propaganda" It's not even GOOD government propaganda (didn't get the funding), it's the most lukewarm messaging ever ("be careful around alcohol!" is, as far as propaganda goes, fairly tame), and most importantly IT'S FUNNY!!! IT'S FUNNY!!!! It has Willow verbally ripping Parker a new one and then it ends with Buffy smacking him on the head!! Do you not like that??? Do you not enjoy hijinks??? Have some whimsy in your life goddamn. In this house we love the campy silly stupid buffy episodes.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

This is another music inspired fic! Logan is obsessed with the reader once more. Request are open! I kind of want to try to write for worst! Logan so please send ideas <3 If you enjoy my work please like, comment, and reblog it really helps me stay motivated

There was something about him you just couldn't explain. Something just drew you into him even though everyone tells you not to get too close. Some called him the devil in disguise, you just called him Logan after you finally learned his name. You are completely under his spell, but you don't regret it.

You tried to avoid him, to avoid the mysterious devil but the more you avoided the more you wanted to know him. Finally, you were cornered by him one night and that's when you noticed his eyes. Somethings about them just called to you, they held so much in them, and you needed to know what he was hiding, what he has experienced, you needed him to let you in.

Logan was obsessed with you from the moment he saw you, he made you a promise the night he cornered you; "If you let me inside, I won't hold back, I don't care how many times it takes to get through to you, you will be mine." A shiver ran down your spine as the words echoed through your ears, you could tell Logan was a man of his word.

Darkness always seemed to follow him, even when he was younger darkness had a way of just creeping in and surrounding him until it became his home, it became his comfort.

That was something you learned quickly after meeting him. There's a darkness within him, you could feel it in his touch. You knew you should get away but the more you talked to him and the more you felt his lips burn into your skin you had to admit defeat and accept that you wanted him too much.

He had a way of taking your breath, you never put up much of a fight but if he came to you and asked to rip open your chest you would let him take whatever was left in there that he hadn't already stolen. You were completely under his spell, but you didn't regret any of it.

The people around you were worried for you. Anyone could see how obsessive you were towards Logan, and they could see how possessive he was over you. They wanted to try and take you away from him, "When you're with him it's like you're possessed by something strong, something dark. I'm worried for you." Your friends tried to convince you to leave, to move but it was too late. Maybe you were possessed by something strong, maybe it was his angel eyes that had such a hold on you, maybe it was his darkness possessing you too but whatever it was, you couldn't just leave.

When Logan found out people were trying to take you away from him, the darkness from within escapes him faster than he could stop it. You came home and he could tell something was wrong "Darlin' what happened?" You knew better than to lie, knew he would figure it out, so you told him everything they asked of you. Logan never liked your friends; always thought they were nosey. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him "Darling what we have is a force that not even God can stop, they just need to know you're fucking mine." He kissed your head and as you started to calm down from your emotionally exhausting day, he started to plan what he should do about the people that now needed to be removed from your life.

You were his and he refused to let anyone take what was his.

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@with-ears-to-see-eyes-to-hear

[copper-16]

Chapter 8 has been posted - but before everyone goes to read, a little bit of an announcement on my end:

This is going to be my last longer Mapi/Ingrid story, and probably the end of me being super active/posting on ao3 and tumblr. I might write the occasional story here and there, but writing is not bringing me the same joy it once was and I want to dedicate my time to other things. I’ll still be around reading on ao3 and somewhat on Tumblr, but I just won’t be posting a whole ton on either. I’ve been so incredibly lucky to get to know all of you guys on here, and to receive so much love for my work. It means the absolute world to me - and thank you all so much for welcoming me into this little community so wonderfully! I hope the stories I wrote were able to bring just a little bit of happiness when you guys needed it (even if I constantly left everyone on cliffhangers - I truly am sorry about that).

The rest of this is long, and you don't have to read it if you don't want to, you can just go ahead to the story now if you would like. I'm not known for my ability to keep concise, that is for certain. If brevity is the soul of wit - perhaps we know why my stories aren't very funny!

I’ve especially enjoyed joining tumblr and really finding a little community here. Getting to interact with so many people, both those who read my works and those who don’t, has been such a joy for me. I love getting to hear when people like the things I've written, even if it touches them in a small way. I love getting to interact with so many brilliant minds and am forever in awe of how much amazing talent there is in this little corner of the internet! I've made some incredible friends from getting to be on here, and it makes me so happy to have a little community of people I love. Thank you guys for letting me have space here even if I don’t write reader works or know how this app works most of the time.

I started writing seriously in September 2022 and I can't tell you how much joy it has brought me in the last two years. As someone who doesn't enjoy the college degree they are currently getting, this was such a fun creative outlet for me. It was so cool to have this blank canvas to work with, to weave things together, especially as I began to write longer stories. Writing was a place to destress for me and interact with other people who loved football as I was coming to love it. Every single kudos, comment, and bookmark meant so much to me. Even when it was something silly like someone dubbing the 'Copper Monologue,' it made me feel so seen. Someone cared enough to read enough of my works to pick out the fact that I do that? Absolutely mind blowing to me. It's crazy to hear that people cared about the silly little stories I wrote. When someone told me that I was one of the things to help inspire them to write their own stuff - I think I properly sobbed. It meant more to me than anything has in this entire world, and it still does! Writing has helped me to process, it's helped me to grow, it's helped me learn to identify my emotions and struggles and think through my own thought processes. I hope that maybe for someone out there, it could help them do that as well. It's a little strange for me not to want to do that anymore. Writing this last story solidified to me that for the most part it was time to be done, and HDITA was more of a goodbye than anything else. But even with that, it feels strange not to be thinking of my next idea, thinking of how I am going to create characters and relationships and plot lines.

I think for me right now, I'm just excited to be myself. Maybe this vessel of writing was what I needed to get myself through the last two years. I wrote la princesa when I was at my absolute worst in life, and as I've grown and matured as a person, I like to think that my writing has. I no longer find myself in a place where it fills a huge void in my own life that I once needed.

I've grown a lot as a writer these few years (those who read my earlier works will understand), and I'm excited to one day come back to it, maybe in a different sphere. I love the idea now of writing a real book. It always terrified me before - I didn't know where I would start or if I would be horrible at it. But you all have given me the confidence that maybe at least one person would like it, and maybe that's enough of a reason to try. So thank you all for holding my hand and encouraging me. I hope that if nothing else, everyone remembers that a little bit of kindness on here or ao3 or anywhere on the internet costs nothing, and yet can go a long way.

It did for me.

But enough of my sappy rambling, please enjoy this last chapter of mine. I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought me when I was writing it. Love you all so so much!

Chapter 8 of How Do I Trust Again?

[utilitycaster]

Do you think the god debate and narrative around it in C3 would be more compelling if Ludinus only focused on killing the Betrayer Gods a la Cassida? As many pointed out, the impact that Primes have on mortals is largely positive. Aside from cool abilities, they give healing, meaning and comfort to their followers. Up until very recently (Braius) we haven't seen Betrayers do much of that and their followers are, more often than not, people who would cause great harm to others.

I actually do not. There's multiple questions in here, and honestly I could probably write 5000 words on any of them, which I'm not going to do, but I will split this up into components.

First: I don't think Ludinus is the problem at all. He is unambiguously the villain, but he is always narratively compelling. It is fun to make fun of him because he is genuinely a fantastically crafted villain. When I dunk on villains who are boring, it's nowhere near as fun because all you can say is "wow what do you even do. boring-ass" whereas Ludinus is full of interesting possibilities and hooks to be like how can you be so smart and have lived for so long and seen so much and come to the fucking worst conclusions. There's a reason why people have been side-eyeing him consistently since at least his first speaking appearance in Campaign 2, if not his first appearance ever, in Felderwin, and it's because he's a great character who I hope dies horribly. So his motivations are fine. I'm not saying the possibility you suggest wouldn't be a very interesting different story, but my complaints about narrative and the gods debate do not require anything different from Ludinus, who has been a consistent bright spot within the muddied narrative by being a consistent blot on Exandria and also sometimes the moon.

The narrative and the god debate are intertwined - the issue is a dull indecision that plagues both of them - so I'm splitting this one up a little differently.

What do I as a viewer think is the most reasonable stance regarding the gods based on my understanding of the worldbuilding of Exandria?

What is interesting to watch?

And therein lies the problem. I, as a viewer, think that killing the gods is a bad idea, and I've articulated this in various spaces and am not going to write another 5000 words about it right now, but between the events of past campaigns; the events of this campaign including Downfall; who within the narrative supports the choice to not kill the gods; and the complete uncertainty regarding the fate of existence let alone mortaldom should they be killed or chased away I have come to this position. Any counter-argument tends to rely either on entirely false statements, or a nebulous "a better world is possible" without any assurances that the allegedly better world is, in fact, probable. Ironically enough, I am not willing to take a leap of faith.

But as for what's interesting to watch? That's an entirely different story. My issue with the the gods debates is that they are endless, circular, indecisive, and between the least informed group of PCs we've had by a large margin. They say the same 5 sentences in different words over and over. It's like watching a bunch of high people while you're sober. It only hits hard if you're stupid. For more on this see here and here. If Bells Hells had decided 30 or 40 episodes ago to side with Ludinus, or to try to only kill the Betrayers, or to oppose Ludinus but kill the gods? Great. Fantastic. I'm not saying I wouldn't have had my critiques of it given the worldbuilding setup as described above, but I think it would have held up infinitely better as a standalone story, at least, than it does now. My problem is that instead they had endless circular indecisive conversations during a bunch of (comparatively much more interesting) fetch quests, finally came to some kind of conclusion that gave the end game some structure and direction like 4 episodes ago, and then had yet another wrench thrown at them. And convention panels and Cooldown have consistently confirmed my suspicions about the lack of planning in the places where this campaign really needed it. In my conversations after the latest episode, multiple people independently used the term "sludge" to describe their feelings about the plot.

In actual play, I want characters who have clear conviction and make bold and decisive moves because handwringing forever in such a slow-moving medium is excruciatingly boring. Like, do I think Percy in the Briarwoods arc is making good, informed decisions that make him a moral person? Absolutely the fuck not. Do I think the story where he's shooting first and asking questions later is infinitely superior to one where Vox Machina can't decide what to do for 50 episodes? Yeah.

The god debates are ultimately a symptom of this narrative aimlessness. The lack of an answer is the problem, not what the answer is.

[glass--beach]

some of my favorite songs maggie wrote.

^ this was the first one she ever sang on and far and away the best song to come out of this band (our first band). literally one of my favorite songs ever. fucked me up to listen to back when she was still with us. i'm gonna have to listen again but i don't think i can stomach it yet.

^ some of yall mightve heard this one before, its video got a little bit of traction after glass beach blew up. lyrics / (terrible) vocals by me but it was all built on her bassline. she had such a knack for simple memorable basslines, like kim deal or tina weymouth or peter hook. instantly recognizable style. goofy ass song but it was always so fun to play

^ this was basically a duet with the two of us that we co-wrote. was based on all of our worst shows and is such a good example of how she could take what was in the moment a really bad time and turn it into something we could all laugh about later.

^ she was really coming into her own with this band. there was so much god damn potential. i was blasting this album all the time when i was broke in LA. i'm even on the cover lol. it's been playing in my head a lot today...

^ she was such a huge perfectionist about this one. she was writing it around the same time i was first working on the first glass beach album and we were sending demos back and forth constantly. she heard my ideas before the rest of the band did. i think we helped each other get over our insecurity enough to spill our hearts out into music and put it out into the world. this song is absolutely fucking incredible. i don't know what else i can even say. she was really something special and i wish more people could've seen that. i wish she could've seen that. i'm just scratching the surface here, there is so much to love in every single song she worked on. i consider myself extremely lucky to have so much beautiful music to remember her by.

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheeks. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

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