#this is like half a rant about the things that have been bouncing around in my head for weeks and half a fucking infodump rip

[1-800-ur-cyber-slxtt]

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃; 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘

summary: your uniform gets shrunken in the wash and shrinks a decent size smaller. Buck who already has feelings for you is more than flustered at the sight of your shirt hugging your plump tits.

word count: 1k

warnings: brief smut (nothing major), plus size!reader, fem!reader, no use of y/n, mentions of tit play + fucking, p in v??

notes: part two incoming

divider credit: @v6que

Buck felt his jaw drop as soon as you walked into the firehouse. The way your fat tits pressed desperately against the navy fabric of your work uniform, the shirt visibly much tighter than usual. His cheeks were already a bright shade of red, hot and embarrassed at the tent already threatening to form in his pants. He adjusted in his seat as you made your way over. Buck tried to hide his arousal from the rest of the team, hoping his flustered state would go unnoticed. 

You let out a sigh as you reach the team, all spread out over the second floor of the station. Bobby was in the kitchen drying some dishes, Chim and Hen on the couch and Eddie with Buck at the table. Everyone’s attention is turned to you, greeting you like usual before they resume their previous activities. You turn to Buck who you’re closest to, noticing how it seems he hasn't looked away from you. You realise his gaze is glued to your chest before it quickly bounces back up to meet your eyes with a hard swallow.   

You make a defeated- almost embarrassed face as you pull out the chair next to Buck and sit down. “My shirt shrunk in the dryer! All my tops were wet and I was desperate to get at least one dry before my shift.” You pull at the fabric that if it wasn’t for your boobs would be hugging your stomach, wanting desperately for it to be looser. “Lesson learnt, I guess.”, you add with a huff.

Buck, stammering on his words, tries to comfort you, “If it helps, I think you look amazing.” It was painfully clear to Buck now that this was going to be one very hard shift to get through. The knowing chuckle that leaves Eddie’s lips at his best friend barely breaks Bucks trance but it shifts your attention away and onto the dark haired man across from you. 

“What?”, you practically whine, feeling increasingly insecure and annoyed, the shirt making you feel claustrophobic. At least eventually you’d have your gear on and there’d be no need to be insecure. In your rush this morning you hadn’t even remembered to pick up your jacket that could have been worn in the meantime. 

“Nothing.”Eddie shakes his head with a grin. Buck spares him a warning glance, battling to get himself in control. Who would have thought he’d get this worked up over a shrunken shirt. Buck already knew he was attracted to you, painfully aware in fact. Eddie was also aware that his best friend was swooning, always encouraging the blond to make a move. ‘Just ask her out for drinks!’, he’d practically plead so he would stop having to hear Buck’s incessant ranting. But despite Buck’s confident nature and the fact he could probably have any man or woman he wanted, he remained too timid to make a move. 

You roll your eyes only half heartedly, letting a small grin take over your features as you fall into natural conversation with Eddie. Buck stays quiet next to you, daydreaming. Imagining all the things he wants to do with those plump tits of yours. 

He imagines taking off that shirt you’re wearing, your boobs overflowing from the cups of your bra. Palming them with his large rough hands, rolling the hardened nipples between his fingers. His tongue swirling around the swollen buds with almost animalistic need. 

He imagines his hard cock buried between them, throbbing tip pushing out from them with every thrust, hot cum spurting across your chest and chin when he couldn’t hold it any longer. 

He thought about the way they’d bounce as he fucked into you or you rode him. How they’d jolt with every thump of your chest, heart beating fast as you try to catch your breath. Panting like you’d ran a marathon but really Buck had just been fucking you with little to no remorse. 

“Buck? Earth to Evan.” The sound of your voice calling his name snapped Buck out of his thoughts. He wondered how long both you and Eddie had been trying to regain his focus. He looked around at you both with wide confused eyes, a look on his face that could only be described as one of a guilty child, caught red handed. 

He swallows down his embarrassment, “Huh?”, is all he manages to say at first. You and Eddie stare back at him, a small idea of where his mind had run to. Taking in his dilated pupils and beetroot red cheeks, flush rising up his neck. 

“We were asking you if you’re okay. You seem spaced out.”, you say back. Buck normally wasn’t anywhere near this quiet, unless he was upset or brooding. Always actively participating in conversation, half the time you couldn’t get him to shut up. 

“Huh, yeah- uh, I’m fine.”, He stumbles on his words, hastily getting up from his seat. “I’m just- bathroom.”, he mumbles rushing off and down the stairs. Disappearing just as soon as the muddled sentence was leaving his lips. 

You turn back to Eddie making a face, “What’s up with him?”  

He shakes his head, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “No clue.” Your eyes narrow, he definitely knew something but you decided not to push it, already have a pretty good idea yourself. Maybe you’d confront him later, especially if he kept acting strange. The thought of following after him briefly crosses your mind but the bell going off shuts that down. 

If Buck had gone down to do what you’d thought then you already knew he wasn’t going to be happy. Going down the stairs with the rest of the team following suit you can tell you’re right. Buck’s coming out of the locker room looking frustrated. He runs a hand through his short curls, irritation exuding from him. The light illuminates small droplets of sweat across his forehead, uniform only slightly messed up. 

You can’t help the smirk that forms on your face. You’d definitely be catching up with him lately, at the very least to tease him.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 4 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley unknowingly go on a date 

warnings (TW): swearing, illusions of past abuse, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, slight angst, affection

notes: thank you all for the engagement! hope you enjoy <3

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked an up to date masterlist of all the parts of this continuing series- hope you enjoy <3

word count: 3.9k

| masterlist | part v |

He had somehow managed to drag her out of the basement that day. 

Of course, he had been down there assisting her in any way he could. A high school dropout only knows so much about mechanical engineering and quantum physics. Still, she seemed happy enough to dance around the chalkboard she (he) had dragged downstairs, bouncing off ideas with him contently listening, trying to piece back together complex wiring to get the ominous inverted triangle on the basement wall to whirl back to life. 

She was even more spurred on when he actually engaged, not that he raised his hand like he was back in class (not that he ever remembered doing so when he was in class). She simply seemed grateful that he was attempting to learn anything to help her. To learn how to move this whole fucking thing along. 

She dragged him to the basement quite often now that the shack was half shut down for the winter. He had managed to see a few rounds of locals and tourists through the Murder Hut from early October until Thanksgiving when snow began to fall. Then tourists dried up, and only the locals frequented now, so Stan reduced his hours and gave some more of his time to helping her downstairs during the day. 

Every night was spent downstairs in the basement though, there hadn’t come a day since she stepped through that front door that they both didn’t wander down to the portal. Of course, this was usually then followed by convening upstairs in front of the T.V., Stanford’s journal passed between the two of them.

She had grown more frustrated as of late, raving about alien material and compatibility with human electronics. He did his best to understand, and he followed along very aptly. Always wanting to be an attentive sounding board, and even bouncing his own, albeit stupid, ideas. 

Not that she ever made any indication of them being stupid, and not that she would ever stop him from voicing them. 

Educationally, he felt it was the closest he’d ever gotten to an actual education. Said education being advanced quantum mechanics, but everyone had to start somewhere. 

But now they were out for dinner because, after yesterday’s long night of pacing and chalkboard rants, he thought they deserved to go out on the meager earnings of yesterday’s Murder Hut tour.

That and it had been exactly a year since he first laid eyes on her. Not that he was gonna tell her that. 

He could acknowledge that she may have noticed the amount of time that had past, hence her growing irritation with the lack of progress in getting Stanford back, and her growing hours spent in the dark of the basement. But she more than likely didn’t know of the significance of the exact date, or care, which he figured may be more likely. Especially with the anniversary of Ford’s disappearance having come and gone.

December had been hard for the both of them really, and some things had settled somewhat awkwardly between them from the previous week. 

They both handled the anniversary slightly differently, her with general avoidance, head somehow buried deeper in that god-forsaken journal. He found some semblance of self-soothing in diving head first into holding a conversation with any customer that walked through the front door of the Murder Hut that day. 

Sitting across from each other at the dinner table was hard that night, and for the first time ever, she poured copious amounts of wine into their mugs on a weeknight. The kitchen had been eerily quiet that night, the silence only broken by scrapes of plates and mumbled conversation.

He remembers being disgusted with his hands that evening. Remembers thinking about how he had shoved his brother away that day, how Ford had stumbled from one end of the room into the other just to disappear before his eyes. How his hands had reached for Stanford, calling for him. How the journal made its way back to his hands, but his brother hadn’t. His hand had been constantly grazing his shoulder that day, running along the raised scar, a sickening feeling sinking further into him throughout the day.

They had both shuffled around each other that night, and she had not said so much as good morning and goodnight in her mounting grief, it felt like. She had felt bad about how she handled that day but had felt even worse about failing Stan and Ford. She knew of the hope in Stan’s eyes that day when she had trampled in through the door of the shack, knew the relief he felt in her knowledge and presence. But a year had passed, and she could feel nothing but shame when she looked at him. She saw both twins that night while looking over at his hunched figure across the dinner table. She had said goodnight to Stan and Ford that night and had wandered upstairs wondering if she could wash the image from her eyes in the bathroom sink.

They had both returned to normal by Thursday but had grown more determined than ever before. So yeah, Stan figured a night out may be deserved. 

She seemed happier now, sitting crisscross from him in the Greasy’s diner booth, elbows on the table as she reached over to draw along the corners of his paper placemat with the crayons she had swiped from some kid on the way in. 

Something that made him chuckle for a little too long. He must be a bad influence. He had sticky fingers and she knew it. It now seemed to be a competition between the two of them, who could steal the most random of objects. 

Her hand was out, shielding the drawing on his placemat as she switched between the meager 4 colors the shitty diner crayon pack supplied. He nudged her hand aside as she giggled. 

“No! My masterpiece! Give me a second you grump.” 

“It better be good, Picasso, you’re hoggin all the crayons.” 

She handed over the red one, and he elected to reach across to her own paper placemat, beginning to draw his usual comic-book-style figures. One of the figures, oddly enough, began to look like her. 

Her face was so close to her drawing she might as well have been kissing the table, when she shot up, smiling at Stan and looking for approval. 

“Ta-Da!” She moved her hand, showing a mish-mash of red, blue, green, and purple. 

He stared contemplatively, sitting back in his seat humming. In truth, he had no idea what he was looking at, but he would entertain giving an “expert” review. 

“Hmmmmm, now the color selection may be controversial to some but I think the blue and the purple over here are just lovely. Truly an emotional piece mhm.” He nodded his head, pointing at the corner of colors. 

“You have no idea what it is, do ya?”

“Not a clue Doc.” 

She laughed, pointing to the blue and purple figures. “Okay so these are two llamas and they are totally in love. You can tell by the cool rainbow and shooting star I put by them.” She pointed at what he figured was the “rainbow and shooting star” between said “llamas”. 

“And they are here in Gravity Falls because I drew a bunch of pine trees behind them!” She pointed to what he supposed was the foreground and the mess of green sprigs she had tried to draw. 

He hummed again. “Very moving, very touching Doc.” He moved to wipe a fake tear, sniffling along with his act. 

“I ain't much of an artist, am I Stan?” She laughed, finding humor in her lack of skill. 

He gasped, fake clutching his pearls, an even faker mean expression on his face. “Don’t say that Doc! This is a masterpiece!” 

She smirked. “Okay, then that will be 50 bucks for said masterpiece, pay up!” Hand held out to him she made to grab his placemat. 

“Pretty steep price there kid, don’t get ahead of yourself now.” He conceded. 

She smiled again. “I knew you thought it was shit.” Shaking her head at him she moved to look at his own drawing. “Now what's this?” 

He smacked his hand palm side down on the corner image, a blush on his face. “Nothin’!” 

She nudged his hand now, trying to lift his hand finger by finger. “No! I had to show you mine now fess up! What ya drawing?” 

His hand clenched the corner of the paper placemat, ripping the picture of her from the corner of it and crumpling it up into his hand. 

“Nope!” 

“Yup!” She had risen up with her hands on the table, reaching for the corner paper now clutched above him in his fist. “Lemme see! Don’t do this Stan!” She giggled the entire time.

He panicked at her determination, fisting the paper into his mouth. 

“Gross Stan!” She laughed. “What the fuck!” 

He swallowed the paper, not thinking much of it. Saving himself the embarrassment of having to explain himself. He smiled across from her though, as she cracked up at his over exaggeration. 

She looked just right, under the shitty diner lights. Car headlights flashing as they went by from time to time, he began to wonder how long she would stay. If she would linger around, once Ford had returned. Wondered what it was that note said, that she brought in with her that very first day she burst through their front door. She had put it away after that day, and he never really did get to see his brother’s usual cursive gracing the paper. What was it he had said, to get her of all people out here?

She was too good to linger, he figured, and Gravity Falls felt far too small for someone like her anyway. Even if the unknown waited past their doorstep, they both hadn’t made the move to wander into the woods in search of the creatures Ford had spoken about. Something they had both voiced before over dinner, their shared hesitation to walk too far from their doorstep. If it was just himself he reasoned he would have wandered into the woods looking for signs his brother had been there, he wasn’t fearful of the unknown, he had done plenty of other things that were far scarier than what waited in their backyard. But she was here, and he felt some semblance of duty to watch her back in particular. So they had made a pact to not wander off too far from the other, and they had stuck to that deal even when coming into town. 

The townsfolk hadn’t seen Stan without her by his side since he trampled into the gas station in search of food that very first week. Surprisingly, not too many townsfolk approached her at all when they were out. If it was because he tended to glare at unknown men, she didn’t comment.  

“Order up!” 

Susan made her way back over to their booth, her hands full with two separate plates of short-stacks. 

“For you Mr. Pines.” Settling one plate in front of Stan, Susan moved to place the other in front of her. “And the other for you Mrs. Pines!” 

Brain short-circuiting, he freezes in his motion to grab his fork for his meal. His mouth began to move to correct Susan. 

“Thanks!” She said across from him, a panicked look in her eyes. Face creeping up into a flush as she thanked the waitress. 

Susan made her way away from the table after exchanging common pleasantries, all the while he sat in suspense. 

Only after he could swear Susan was out of earshot did he lean into the table, chest close to his plate to whisper across at her. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

She looked beyond guilty, ringing her table napkin in her hands as her eyes flickered to every corner of the diner that didn’t contain him. 

“I-I may have… accidentally… at some point, perhaps…” She sighs, knowing the drive home will be silent, absent of the usual radio. At least it would be if they couldn’t make it through the mistake she had made all those months ago. “Accidentally, sorta, maybe, kinda, let Susan think that we were married?” Her voice rising in octave, her hands running along the rim of the diner table now. 

He sits back, disbelief struck him. How the fuck had she managed that? 

She answers his question unknowingly. “Okay, so for your birthday in June, remember how I begged you to come to town?” A nod. “Well, you know how I snuck off to Greasy's to get you some birthday pie?” Another nod, remembering how she had been so happy to have correctly guessed his favorite kind that night. He hadn’t even chastised her about the money she had spent on him. 

She continues, hands now flying around, trying to flick the memory away. “Okay well, when I got the pie from Susan she had called my order and she called me Mrs. Pines. And I just…. froze up… and I didn’t know how to explain- well everything.” Her voice picks up speed. “I’m not good at lying, like I can do it, but she just caught me off guard. And we hadn’t discussed what we were gonna tell people- like what we were gonna tell people about us living together? And I thought of Ford and all that bullshit-“ she slumps further into the booth seat. 

“And well, ya I just…I just didn’t correct her.” 

Staring at him, expectantly now. Perhaps waiting for him to explode on her. But all he can manage to do is unravel his fork from his napkin and dig into his pancakes to finally take a bite. Chewing around it, he finally can ask something. He’s less likely to yell with his mouth full. 

But the question dies on his lips. He feels more confused by the second, and then more frustrated also. The silence she figured would follow in the car seems to have raced ahead and sits between them at the table now. Her appetite diminishes by the second, and she no longer waits for some sign from Stan, some indication of acceptance. She didn’t figure there would be, she knew she had fucked up. Or at least, fucked up by not telling him about all this sooner, but she had more or less forgotten in between work and well… enjoying living alongside him. But perhaps the arrangement she had unknowingly shoved him into wasn’t something he was comfortable with, which was understandable. She hadn’t ever really believed herself marriage material, and more or less figured she was even less so in Stan’s eyes. 

He knew she wasn’t the best liar, their old conversation concerning his name had rushed back to him. He hadn’t wanted there to be any lies between them, because he knew it would be difficult for her to upkeep them on top of everything else. That and he believed that their arrangement and reliance on one another wouldn’t work in the slightest if they were just spilling bold-faced lies back and forth to each other. But this arrangement she had stumbled headfirst into came as a surprise. Perhaps they should have rehearsed something to say to everyone who asked about them, but then again Susan didn’t really ask, she had just assumed that they were together, were married. He understood her stumbling into something like that, but he was struggling to find a way back out of it. Because he couldn’t allow her to live attached to him like this, didn’t want her to have to lie for their own comfort. 

A lingering worry in the back of his mind, concerning his past. What if it all came rushing back? What if someone was out there looking for him? What if they hurt her?

He was far past frustrated, not at her though. At all the scrapping and clawing he had to do just to get here, to wind back up in the comfort of lies to survive. But he didn’t want her scraping by with him through this, he wanted her to live. At least before today, he believed she could leave him behind if it all fell apart under him. Always an escape plan somewhere in the back of his head, a way out, a door to reach in the dead of night. But she had shut it, and he didn’t know how he was gonna get her out of it now. 

They finished dinner in silence, something that also rubbed him the wrong way. He was frustrated, and taking it out on her. She folded into an odd shape across from him, now looking dim in the diner light. It only served to frustrate him more. 

Susan didn’t comment or come by to further disturb them through dinner, which was odd for the waitress. She liked to talk, and Stan knew that the south half of town would know about their silent dinner by Friday night. 

Bill paid, they made their way back to Stan’s car. His coat caught up in her arms, he opened her door and shut it again after she entered the car without so much as a prompt. 

He didn’t voice a single word until he made it to his seat, he had been too wound up concerning what she had said. That and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear their conversation. To know about the lie she had sown, tying them unknowingly together. 

“So you’re tellin’ me that this town has thought that we’ve been a couple, no married, for about six months?” His hands tight against the steering wheel. 

“Well no, because it was just Susan. Like, maybe just a few people know?” She reasoned.

He shakes his head, chuckling. That’s not how small towns like Gravity Falls worked. “Nah, she told everyone. People in this town are nosey Doc. Everyone’s gotta know by now.” 

He adjusts himself in his seat again, reaching his hand out to the back of her seat, like he always does. She’s swallowed by his red coat, her hand meticulously passing the patch he had put across his right shoulder. Humming to fill the silence. He sighs. 

“This is gonna be hard, Doc. I get why ya shrugged off the assumption Susan made, really I do, but that doesn’t change the fact ya didn’t tell me.” His hand rubs his eyes, frustration seeping off of him. How the fuck was he gonna pull this off?

“What do you mean?” She interrupts. “It won’t be that hard Stan, we can manage this, it won’t be too hard.” She shakes her head, trying to smooth over his frustration.

“How am I supposed to convince this whole fucking town you married some sorry-sap like me doll?” He points between them, an intensity to his eyes. “Now this will be the hardest con. Because why the fuck would you have married me, huh?” He shrugs, throwing his hands up. 

Looking over his scarred shoulder, feeling regret seep through his bones when he sees her now. Sitting there, his winter coat hung off her shoulders, a look of disbelief on her face. An apology on her tongue, he could almost hear it now. 

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “What’d I tell ya Doc, don’t apologize to me.” He turns back to face her now, still shaking his head. 

“No.” Anger blooming on her face. “No, why the fuck would you say that Stan. Why the fuck would you even think that.” 

She was fuming, a look crossing her face he had never seen before. He had never seen her this thrown before, and he hadn’t the smallest inkling as to why her anger grew tenfold in the face of his statement. 

“Because I ain’t no good and you damn well know it!” Voice raising, hackles rising. 

“No!” She shakes her head, fingers fisted into his coat sleeves. “You are good, Stan! I don’t wanna hear that utter bullshit from you, don’t say that to me. I don’t believe it, not for a second.” Shaking her head, refusing to leave his gaze. "You're kind to me, you're considerate to me. You're good to me." She reasoned. But he was only ever really good to her if anything. Only kind in the face of her everything.

He thinks of his parents then, their image mirroring their own, but only for a moment. Arguments in front seats of cars and in front of televisions. How they would bend and snap back to each other, how he figured his father would snap and his mother would lie, to soothe him. She would lie, to see the end of the argument, to soothe frustration and heal hurt. But he figured it had more to do with his father's temper more than anything, more to do with raised voices and raised fists. But she was a terrible liar, his Doc, and he would swear to be less of a terrible grump.

He slumps in his seat, turning glassy eyes ahead of him. 

“I just didn’t want you to have to lie for me, hun.” He hadn’t called her that in weeks, a flickering memory of that dream always made him flush at the enderment. But he enjoyed how she melted when he did call her that, so he’d concede his embarrassment for her. 

“Stan, we can do this.” She slides closer, into the middle spot of the long bench, reaching her hand to his chin and pulling him into an earnest gaze. “Stan we can do anything, we will do anything, to get your brother home. And if it means lying like this then I'm prepared to do it.” She chuckles, humourlessly. “Especially because I’m the one who got us into this mess.” 

She’s beautiful, he thinks, this close. Diner light seeping in through the dashboard window, her eyes looking deeper than he'd ever been allowed to notice. She's even more beautiful, as she giggles across from him, slipping a stolen diner spoon into his hand. Slipping her fingers around the stolen object and his fingers. He chuckles finally, he's a terrible influence. His heart settled into that familiar aching sickness, something he doesn't dismiss as much now. Now that it felt as familiar as her. There was a certain comfort he fell into when it came to the feeling and her now, one that made his heart race.

It wasn’t a mess though, what she had done, but it did solidify what he had to do next. 

He had been thinking about it for a while, thinking about what sitting in one spot would bring to his, their, doorstep. Thought of the crimes he had left behind, skipping from state to state. It's what had kept him up late at night during those early summer months. What had made him linger around the door late some of those nights also, what if it all caught up to him? Would she be safe? 

No, he figured now. Now that she had intrinsically tied herself to him, she was safest next to him. That she hadn't shut any door, that there was a way out, but only for the old him. So she wouldn’t be leaving, but that old part of him would have to. Protect her, them.

He sighs, ready for the conversation they would have to have. He would have to be more honest about himself, he warmed, kinda like her. But really only with her. 

“There's something I gotta do then, hun.” He shuffles, leaning into her warm palm along his cheek. “I gotta die.”

She pales next to him. 

[mournings-stars]

Lute x Charlie’s Best Friend

from this request by @lixanjewel

i may need to make a part two cus i kinda love this little enemies to lovers flirtation-situation-ship

this is a fem reader but i’ll happily write anything else as well!! :)

A meeting in Heaven was never something you expected. And you certainly didn’t expect Charlie to ask you to come with her — sure, you’d known each other since you were kids, and sure, you were the first person to support her ideas before Vaggie, and sure, you did a lot of planning…

Maybe you did have a right to go with them—

“Of course you do!” Charlie snapped you out of your thoughts as she packed her suitcase, yours (a backpack) packed and in your hands as you waited for her while you, apparently, thought out loud. “We’re gonna have so much fun!” She was bouncing in place, shutting her suitcase before she turned to you. “And you are gonna be so proud of yourself when we show them this dream is real! I couldn’t have done this without you!” You gave her a small smile before Vaggie came in. “Either of you!”

The rest of the morning was spent saying goodbye, getting that one wall destroyed, and sending your friends off with the person who destroyed it before you entered the portal to Heaven.

After making it past the gates, meeting Saint Peter, Sera, and Emily, you were touring with Charlie while Vaggie stayed at the hotel, the trip seeming to be taking a toll on her. To put it simply, she was in an awful mood, looking like she was going to be sick.

“Look, look, look!” Charlie squealed, pointing at a very fluffy white animal as she grabbed your arm.

That was how your entire trip to the zoo went before you got lunch with Emily, who was the one showing you around. She got the two of you food and drinks and when you went to sit, you cautiously excused yourself to continue looking around while they talked.

You took your drink with you as you walked the promenade, taking in the environment. It made you wonder what it’d be like if things were different — if you were born in Heaven rather than Hell.

“Enjoying your visit?” You were startled out of your thoughts by a girl dressed in all grey. Even her blunt cut hair was a pale grey. You recognized the uniform as an exorcist’s, but you had half a mind to think you were jumping to conclusions without the horns and X over her eye to prove it, but her eyes were gold — and they look far too warm to be so menacing. “Lute,” she introduced before the silence became awkward, sticking her hand out.

“Pretty,” was the first thing that came to your mind. She raised a very judgmental brow at you. “I meant your name… is pretty — well, actually, no, that’s not what I meant, but it is… pretty — like the instrument.” Her brow relaxed, and you sighed, feeling less like Charlie and her bundle of excited nerves and more like yourself and your internal bundle of excited nerves. You introduced yourself and took her hand, shaking with a smile. “I’m usually not so nervous,” you said.

“New environment,” she shrugged. “Why don’t we walk,” she suggested and brought her hand to your back to turn you in the direction you’d been going before she stopped you. “I thought only two of you were coming.”

“Charlie asked me to go with her for moral support.” Lute nodded along. “Childhood friends and all…”

“You’re Hell-born, then,” it was more of a statement than a question, but you nodded anyway. “Shame,” she muttered. “Maybe her little redemption idea could’ve actually worked with you.”

You paused. Surely, she was insulting you. “I should’ve realized,” you said, taking a second look at this angel. She wasn’t just a pretty girl wearing a uniform that resembled an exorcist uniform; it was an exorcist uniform and their LED light masks came with artificial horns. That meant if she knew about the reason for your visit, she was the one that was there during Charlie’s first meeting. And suddenly, the name, “Lute,” sounded very familiar from one of Charlie’s rants.

“I did introduce myself,” she said haughtily, “not that I expect a low-class demon to pick up context clues—“

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned. Her very pretty eyes, which looked like gold, now looked like… corn — or something — (it was the meanest thing you could think of), and her very pretty name, which sounded like music, now sounded like some kind of crime you would expect from an exorcist angel.

Lute laughed, taking pause for a moment before she did and nearly doubling over as she walked with you.

“Are you insane?” You asked with a sneer that made her laugh harder.

“No one’s ever told me to shut up like that.” She calmed herself down, snickering to herself. “Insane,” she laughed. “You must be, thinking you can speak to an angel like that.”

“Must be.”

And despite that, she kept walking with you. Neither of you knew where you were walking toward, but you kept walking anyway, her with her nose in the air and a pompous smile, and you looking anywhere but at her.

Finally, you broke the silence, “Were you following me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Orders.”

“Why me?”

“Orders,” she emphasized like you were stupid.

“I heard you,” you mocked her tone. “But why the orders to follow me?” Then a very snarky idea popped into your mind as you smirked at her. “Unless you just blindly follow orders like some little bitch on a leash—“

“Do you want to die?”

It was your turn to laugh, shrugging. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

That, she didn’t respond to. Instead, she rolled her eyes and looked away. “Adam wanted to know why you were actually here, seeing as the hearing only includes the princess and her…” She waved her hand dismissively, a look of disgust on her face.

“Partner?”

She shook her head, scoffing. “That relationship is vile.”

You scoffed the same. “Is that something that keeps people out of Heaven, too?” You asked curiously, thinking of the many sinners you knew who seemed nice enough. “Vile relationships like theirs?” Lute frowned at you, looking confused.

“Oh, right,” she said, like she knew something you didn’t, and laughed. “You think I mean because they’re both girls, but thats not it.”

“It’s not?” You raised a brow and took a very long sip of your drink.

“Of course not. They just disgust me.” You laughed ironically, seeing no other answer for her hatred. “I don’t care how they choose to live their lives,” she insisted.

“You don’t need to convince me. We all have our assumptions of what Heaven thinks of people like us. I’m sure some of the… what do you call them? Winners? Said the same things when they were alive.”

Lute looked very uncomfortable, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at the floor. “No one who thinks like that would be allowed into Heaven.”

“Doubt it. Did you have orders to talk to me, too?” You moved on quickly, making her chew the inside of her cheek.

“Unfortunately.” She huffed. “You do a lot of the princess’ research, don’t you?” You hummed. “Interviews?”

“I don’t like talking to people—“

“Clearly—“

“—who don’t like talking to me.”

“I can tell.” Her uncomfortable expression dropped and she laughed under her breath. “I’m glad I won't have to see you in court later. I don’t know how I’d respond to your accusatory defense.”

“Good thing Charlie didn’t want to take my advice for this, then.”

And Lute stopped walking very abruptly. She gave you a very kind smile and said, “I enjoyed our chat. Thanks for your time.” She looked very pleased, like she made you admit something to help her case.

“You’re welcome for the information,” you said lamely. “Charlie will achieve what she wants, Lute,” you said as she began to walk away.

“Not without your help,” and when she said your name, you quickly turned away from her golden eyes staring you down and walked back to Charlie and Emily.

There was absolutely no way you were about to (extremely gayly) overthink what was barely a conversation with a girl you didn’t like because of one sentence that wasn’t even a compliment.

Absolutely not. No way. Not happening—

“What girl is it this time?” You nearly shrieked when you heard Charlie, having walked all the way back to her and Emily where they were laughing.

“Charlie told me you have a talent for falling in love,” Emily giggled with Charlie. “Did you meet someone?”

“Or are you just talking to yourself?” Charlie teased, laughing.

Of course, all you could think to say was, “shut up,” which made you think back to the not-conversation you had with Lute. “Don’t we have a hearing to prepare for, or something?!”

[nephalem-da]

I saw you have requests open for Bill x Reader.

I wanted to ask if you'd write a playful sarcastic Bill who realizes he has feelings. And for f!human reader (or GN!reader) no less. And he does a terrible job acting like Bill usually acts when reader is present or the subject of the conversation. Dare I say he acts normal, so very unlike the weird reader is used to. But reader doesn't pick up on the obvious signs either so it's a mutual pining and awkwardness while everyone else just wants them to kiss already.

I hope you have a great day/ night/ weekend and take your time with my ask. No rush!

M'kay byeeee <3

Sarcastically Yours

(Bill Cipher x GN!Reader)

First of all, thank you so much for being my first ask! 🥳 I’m super excited to write this, and I hope you enjoy the playful chaos that is Bill Cipher realizing he’s got feelings (and doing an absolutely terrible job hiding them). Here’s a little fic with plenty of awkwardness, and pining! Enjoy!

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Mutual Pining, Slight Crack

Warnings: None (it’s all fluff and awkward cuteness)

Summary: Bill Cipher, the sarcastic demon, realizes he has feelings for you, and he does a terrible job hiding it. Meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious, and everyone else is suffering through the awkwardness, waiting for you both to figure it out.

You knew Bill Cipher was weird. A literal one-eyed triangle from a dimension beyond comprehension? That’s not exactly normal. But you’d gotten used to his sarcasm, his chaotic presence, and his annoying habit of invading your personal space. It was just Bill being Bill.

Until recently.

Something about him had changed, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Bill, the same demon who once turned your kitchen appliances into tap-dancing minions, now seemed to be avoiding eye contact with you. And when he did speak, the usual biting sarcasm was gone, replaced by awkward muttering and half-hearted jokes.

Today, Bill was sitting—yes, sitting—in the Mystery Shack, flipping through a book he clearly wasn’t reading. His usual floating, bouncing-around-the-room energy was nowhere to be found.

"Are you sick or something?" you ask, leaning on the counter, staring at him.

Bill glances up from the book, his single eye narrowing. "Sick? Me? Of course not!" His voice is just a little too high-pitched, and Dipper, who’s watching from the other side of the room, immediately raises an eyebrow.

"You’ve been acting... off," you continue, your suspicion growing. "Usually, you can’t go five seconds without making some smart remark."

"Yeah," Mabel chimes in, bouncing over to your side. "You haven’t even insulted [Y/N] today. I thought that was, like, your favorite hobby."

Bill sputters. "I—I’m giving them a break! Geez, maybe I don’t always have to be sarcastic!"

Dipper snorts from behind his journal. "Since when?"

Bill glares at him. "Since now, nerd!"

You exchange a look with Mabel, and it’s clear she’s thinking the same thing: Bill’s acting weird, even for him. Normally, he’d be pranking everyone, floating around causing mayhem, but lately, he’s been... quiet. Almost normal, and that’s what makes it even weirder.

"So," you say, eyeing him. "Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or are you just gonna keep pretending like nothing’s wrong?"

Bill fidgets in his seat. "I told you, nothing’s wrong! I’m just... thinking. Yeah, thinking about... the stars."

"Stars?" Dipper repeats, looking up from his journal. "What, are you planning another apocalypse or something?"

Bill lets out a nervous laugh. "Nope! Just... admiring them! They’re pretty, you know?"

Mabel gasps, slapping a hand to her chest. "Did... did he just call something pretty? I didn’t know he even knew that word!"

Bill shoots her a glare, clearly flustered. "I know a lot of words, okay? Pretty, beautiful, gorgeous—"

He stops mid-rant, realizing what he’s just said. His yellow triangle face turns a strange shade of pink, and you stare at him, completely confused.

"Are you okay?" you ask again. "You’re acting really weird today, even for you."

Bill quickly waves a hand in the air, trying to brush it off. "I’m fine! You’re the one making this weird!"

"I’m making this weird?" you repeat, completely lost. "What did I even do?"

"Oh, I don’t know, exist? " Bill blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth.

There’s a heavy silence in the room. Mabel’s eyes go wide, and Dipper looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

Stan, who’s been standing in the doorway this whole time, mutters, "This is painful to watch."

Bill, clearly mortified, stumbles to cover up his slip-up. "What I meant to say was, uh, you’re... distracting. Yeah, you’re a distraction. That’s why I’m... off my game today."

You blink at him, still completely clueless. "A distraction? How?"

"You know, just... being around," Bill stammers, waving his hands vaguely. "Being... you. It’s... distracting."

Dipper and Mabel exchange a look, and it’s obvious they’re both screaming internally. How could you not see what was happening?

Mabel steps forward, putting her hands on her hips. "Okay, Bill, enough with the weird cryptic stuff. Why don’t you just tell [Y/N] what’s really going on?"

Bill shoots her a look of pure panic. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, Shooting Star! Why don’t you mind your own business, huh?"

Mabel rolls her eyes. "Come on, everyone else has figured it out!"

"Figured what out?" you ask, completely confused.

Dipper sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is so painful to watch."

"Painful for you? I’m the one being interrogated here!" Bill snaps.

Stan steps in, shaking his head. "Kid, just tell ‘em. This whole thing’s like watching a car crash in slow motion."

Bill groans, burying his face in his hands. "Fine, fine! You wanna know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on!"

You lean forward, curious. "Okay?"

"I—" Bill starts, then stops, clearly struggling. He takes a deep breath. "I... like you, okay?"

There’s another heavy silence in the room. Dipper drops his journal, Mabel lets out a dramatic gasp, and even Stan seems momentarily stunned.

You, however, just blink in confusion. "Like... like me? As in... what, like a friend?"

Bill lets out a frustrated groan. "No, not like a friend! Like... like like you! Like... in a romantic way!"

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Bill Cipher, the sarcastic, chaotic demon, likes you? Romantically? The idea is so bizarre, so utterly out of left field, that you can’t even process it.

"You... like me?" you repeat, still in disbelief.

"Yes!" Bill throws his hands in the air. "Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been trying to not be a weirdo around you, but apparently, that’s even worse!"

Mabel gasps dramatically again, clasping her hands together. "Oh my gosh, this is so cute!"

Dipper just stares at you, then at Bill, then back at you. "How did you not notice this? He’s been acting like a total freak!"

Bill glares at him. "I wasn’t being a freak! I was... handling things!"

"Handling things?" Stan repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Kid, you’ve been acting like a nervous wreck. It’s embarrassing."

Bill turns to you, still flustered and obviously out of his element. "Look, I’m not great at this whole... feelings thing, okay? But I do like you. A lot. So... there. I said it."

You stare at him, your brain still trying to catch up. "You... really like me?"

"Yes!" Bill practically shouts, throwing his hands up again. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

You blink a few more times, and then finally, it clicks. Bill Cipher, the same demon who once turned your house upside down for fun, likes you.

"Wow," you mutter, still processing. "I... I didn’t expect that."

Mabel jumps up and down, clapping her hands. "Finally! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever!"

Dipper groans, burying his face in his hands. "This is so awkward."

You look back at Bill, who’s staring at you with a mix of hope and dread. You’ve never seen him look so... vulnerable.

"Well," you start, smiling a little. "I guess I like you too."

Bill’s eye widens. "You... do?"

You nod. "Yeah, I mean... you’re still annoying, but... yeah."

Bill stares at you for a moment, clearly stunned. Then, slowly, his eye wrinkled like a grin. "Well, well, well. I guess this whole feelings thing isn’t so bad after all."

Mabel squeals, jumping up and down. "Kiss! You have to kiss now!"

Dipper groans even louder. "Mabel, no, and I don't think that's even possible with his... eye?"

Bill just scoffed but ignored him, floating closer to you. "Well, I did say I like you. Maybe I should prove it."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re still a dork, Bill."

"Yeah, but I’m your dork now," he says, leaning in.

And maybe, just maybe, you let him kiss you.

Thank you again for being my first request! I hope you enjoyed all the chaos and awkwardness between Bill and the reader, and feel free to send in more ideas anytime! 😊

[gravidwithlore]

Has anyone else ever thought about curses and kink? Not just someone being cursed and then discovering a new kink, but someone having a kink and purposely trying to get cursed in a way that fulfills that kink?

Like for example, witch gf has to leave on a business trip for a weekend, but she knows her bf will be so lonely without her. Knowing her bf has a pregnancy kink, as a kinky little parting gift, she curses him so that every time he masturbates the more pregnant he gets (with what? Guess itll be a surprise). She leaves with a wink and tells him she expects to see a sweet little baby bump by the time she gets back. When she gets back 3 days later, he's already cummed himself senseless, all the way to laboring and crowning around the head of a big demon spawn. Overstimulated and whining, he's still doing his best to touch himself. Because the spawn is partially born already, the curse doesn't just grow the spawn spreading his legs, it instead creates a sibling for his leaving occupant. As she walks into their bedroom, he cums again, and she can see his belly visibly start to swell again. The witch puts down her suitcase and wonders if she can get her slutty bf to cum enough that the 2nd spawn gets big enough to be born once her bf is done cumming out it's sibling.

Or you're single, and happy that way, but still looking to get a good spanking and its so hard to find someone to do it right. Too impatient to go through the human interaction and negotiation, you go to a witch and get a custom curse. Anytime you do some inane, mildly bad habit, you get a solid SMACK! across your backside. Let's say it's something you're more likely to do at home than out in public, or a certain phrase or gesture you tell the witch you're trying not to say or do. The more you do it the more the curse evolves, changing up the position and force of each slap. Sometimes you swear you can feel the metaphysical hand lingering, as if admiring it's own work. Instead of dissuading you from doing this 'habit' the activation thing genuinely becomes a habit of yours. Once it happens accidentally in public, you realize you might have a new, but still related, kink.

A man has always secretly dreamed of becoming a hucow, and after getting tired of his draining soulless business career, he finally decided to make it a reality. They make fake social media accounts and reach out to a curse creator. He pretends he's someone else who hates him, who wants to see him suffer and be humiliated. He DMs them a whole rant about how he needs to be taken down a few pegs, how he's awful and absolutely deserves this horrible curse to change him for the rest of his life. The curse creator absolutely agrees to help, even providing him a discount out of sympathy for his fake story. Since he knows it's coming, he feels when the curse hits. It's not long until people around him start to comment on how ditsy he's been lately, how much weight he's gaining, how his voice sounds 'different.'

Eventually, he tearfully admits to his friends and family that he thinks someone's cursed him! How could he possibly know who? And no one's come forward to gloat, who could possibly hate him so much to curse him like this? His loved ones look on in sad, if slightly condescending, empathy. It's not his fault he can't keep a thought straight in his stupid little cow brain, or that he keeps getting distracted by the growing teats bouncing on his chest, or that half the time he tries to form a complete sentence he can't help but moo a little! Eventually, when he's almost unrecognizable from the person he was, a family member suggests maybe joining a farm? They have a friend who's just bought one, and they're trying to get started, besides wouldn't it be so much better to be able to roam around a farm, rather than be cramped in his city apartment?

The moment he arrives at the farm and catches sight of the big minotaur running the place, he can't help but bat his long beautiful eyelashes and let out a visceral, lowing heated moo. When the curse creator reaches out to ask them to leave a review, he rates them 5 stars. Then immediately forgets what he was doing as he rubs his hyper-sensitive gravid belly, full to bursting with the minotaur's babies already, which is miraculously dwarfed by his massive udders, hooked up to the strongest milk pump his beloved farmer could find.

[auncyen]

You thought you were great at thinking things through. Before Changing into Isabeau, you were great at overthinking them, even! But once Siffrin shows up at the Clocktower, everything seems to happen too quickly for your brain to catch up.

One moment, Odile is suggesting you all go to the house without Sif, and you get why she's thinking about it, but you can't. But you look at Mira and realize how badly Sif hurt her this afternoon, and. If half the team can't trust Siffrin. Odile's right, isn't she? It's not going to work. Unless you figure out what's wrong with Siffrin and help them fix it so they can apologize--

(Maybe you should still be mad at Siffrin too. They didn't say anything that wasn't true, though, and in a weird way it was …kind of flattering how well Sif had you pegged? Like, Siffrin obviously paid you a lot of attention. Maybe, if they weren't having the wildest post-nap crabs ever, there would have been some nice things said too.)

Then Siffrin shows up, and he's still acting weird, with that miserable fake smile. Then he's mad because he overheard you all talking about leaving him behind, saying you're all going to get yourselves killed. Then he starts talking about time loops, and your brain catches on the realization that oh, no wonder he could nap even the day before you're going to fight the King, he's sick. He's got to be. It's the worst possible timing and they should have told someone before it got this bad, but it's not like they could help the timing and, well, for as easygoing as Siffrin is (most of the time), they have the most stubborn independent streak of anyone you've seen, self-reliant to the occasional fault. You think it's usually a positive. He bounced back from losing an eye better than anyone else expected. But he's hidden being sick once before, because he was the last to get it and Mira was anxious to resume traveling when everyone else had gotten better, of course he'd hide it when tomorrow is the big day. Oh Change if it's contagious, because this time he seems to be the first one sick. You're all fighting the King tomorrow and one of your group is ranting about time loops. Also that you all hate him, which, no??? Where did he get that?

But then you try to catch Odile's eye and pause. You expected pure exasperation, and it's definitely scrawled across her face, but she's also peering at Siffrin in consideration, and you remember what she said about a book Siffrin shouldn't have known about.

And then Siffrin slips off the counter and you stand because the way you see it there are two options: either they're extremely ill, or time loops are actually a thing and that's kind of something everyone needs to know about. Either way, they shouldn't just be running out on you!

"Sif. You need to sit down, and explain EVERYTHING about what you just said." You have to be firm so Sif understands how serious this is. Whatever's going on, he needs to explain so everyone else can help.

But maybe you should have thought more about using that tone, because Sif's breath hitches and his face, already so pale with that dark bag under his eye, seems to lose shade entirely. Then there's barely-chewed samosa on both your shoes, which convinces you. He's sick. Change, if it's contagious, please let everyone get sick the day after tomorrow. You can be as miserable as you want then. Tomorrow, you need everyone.

"Okay, okay, uh," you blurt. Your brain is still trying to figure out what to actually say. It's also fighting both your hands and the urge to check how high a fever Sif's running right now, because you've just realized they're shaking. "Sif, can you just--sit down, I'll clean this, you need to rest--SIF--"

He dodges to your left, ducking around you. You whirl around and grab him, vainly reach for an arm and grasping only cloak fabric, because he needs to stop and calm down--

Normally, you know better than to grab anyone. Especially Sif.

They whirl on their feet with their face twisted in a snarl, one gloved hand reaching up to shove you away with a flat palm--

The scent of stationery reaches your nose, and Paper Craft pushes you off-balance, stumbling back until you hit the counter even as Siffrin snatches his hand back, his good eye wide with horror. You can hear chairs sliding back as both Mirabelle and Odile recognize the Craft sign as well, though Bonnie only sounds confused. Of course they're confused. Siffrin didn't even touch you, and he doesn't know Paper Craft.

Even if they did, they wouldn't use it on you. It didn't hit hard, you think, but maybe you're just too shocked to feel it yet. You stand there, dazed and dumb, until you feel healing Craft being used on you.

It's not Mirabelle healing you.

It's Siffrin, his head lowered but his voice just loud enough for you to make out the words before he sits down, right there in the middle of the kitchen floor. Not moving. Breathing too loud, but so are you.

Since when do they know healing Craft, either?

"Isabeau," Odile says, her voice tightly controlled. "Take Boniface and get the cleaning supplies from the closet, please."

Right. Right, smart, something is very wrong and you need to keep Bonbon safe until you've got a handle on this, so you gesture for Bonnie to come with you and tell them not now when they protest because they're just as confused as you feel, ushering them out of the makeshift kitchen area, and it's not until you're at the supply closet and Bonnie asks if you're okay that you realize Odile wasn't sending only Bonnie out of the room.

Deep breaths, Isabeau. Like Siffrin does!

Change, what is even going on?

"...Did Frin hurt you?" Bonnie asks, looking uneasy. "Nille would have totally flipped you if you grabbed her like that. But they used Craft, didn't they?"

"…They got me, a little, but not too bad," you say slowly, trying to think it through without keeping Bonnie waiting too long. "And obviously they didn't mean to, since they healed me right away!"

And you realize, as you say it, that you really do believe that. The smell of Paper Craft was too strong compared to what actually hit you. You saw Siffrin pull his hand back right before the hit instead of doing a proper follow-through. You tried to grab him without thinking. He reacted without thinking and tried to stop as soon as his brain caught up.

And that's terrifying, because that means they used Craft that's not even their natural type on reflex, because their hand was already moving into a close enough shape. You've known for a while they hate being touched. It wasn't anywhere near that bad before.

What

in the world

is happening?

[tiredandoptimistic]

As someone who likes a lot of "bad" media, or media that starts out kinda slow but builds into a bigger plot over time, I see so many different opinions on what bits are "okay" to skip in order to get to the good part, and it's just wild to me. Bouncing around between the highlights doesn't actually give you the experience, and filler is so important when it comes to just...creating a vibe and building up the relationships between characters and with the audience.

For instance, Red vs Blue is probably my favorite show (ever, of all time), and while I will admit that the first five seasons are not my favorite, I still think they're essential to the show, because those five years of relatively low stakes adventures set the tone so that it can be upset by the bigger plot points. The impact of a big twist is reduced if you haven't spent the time to get invested in these characters when they're just hanging out and being silly. Most importantly though, even once the plot really gets going in season six and we get into the more serious Freelancer and Chorus arcs, Red vs Blue is still fundamentally about a bunch of idiots standing around and talking. If you have to force yourself to put up with the majority of the show, then you might just not like this show.

I was talking about this with my friend, and they said it's kinda the same thing with Homestuck. Yes, it does get "better" as time goes on, but it's still the same thing it's always been, and if that's not something you enjoy then skipping to the bits you do like won't change what it is.

Or like, I freaking love The Order of the Stick, and last year I reread it from the beginning for the first time in a while, and I half convinced myself that I'd just made up how good it is (because volume one is funny enough but nothing to write home about). However, I hit a certain point where I realized that I wasn't just reading out of a sense of obligation but because I adore these characters and am unspeakably invested in this plot. You can really tell that it's been a story happening over the course of 20+ years, you can see the writing and art improve dramatically as time goes on. I could just recommend that someone start with volume two or three, and summarize the plot up till then so they don't feel lost. However! That would rob them of the experience you get from watching these characters grow. You can't fully appreciate Belkar's arc in volume six if you didn't see what he was like on day one, y'know?

On another note, I love the Shadowhunters Chronicles, and I know that a lot of people will give The Mortal Instruments shit and call it the worst series or whatever, but those people just hate fun. Yeah, there are other series that might have stronger plots and better writing, but there's a reason that TMI's main characters have been iconic for years. Sometimes, things are just silly, and if you don't like that then you're not gonna have a good time here.

I could go on! I also like a lot of episodic shows like MASH, Community, Tangled: the Series, the whole DC animated universe, Supernatural, etc. I could come up with lists of my favorite episodes to try to hook somebody, but all of those episodes lose a lot of their impact when taken out of context. Skipping the filler doesn't give you the ultimate experience of Only The Best, it takes away your chance to fully spend time with these characters in a variety of settings. And sure, lots of shows with multiple writers do have some episodes that are just bad, but that's not what I'm talking about. There's a difference between something being bad and something being low-stakes. Maybe you personally don't enjoy things that are low-stakes, but that might just mean you shouldn't be watching a sitcom.

So yeah, this has been an excuse for me to rant about things I enjoy for a while but I'm sorta out of time and need to eat lunch, so I suppose this post has reached its conclusion. All my favorite media are my favorite for reasons I couldn't articulate in an elevator pitch, and putting together a highlight reel will never substitute for truly being in the trenches. If you're truly having a good time with something then you won't need to skip to the good part, because the whole thing is enjoyable.

[cowboyjen68]

Hi Jen, sorry for dumping a big rant in your askbox but your blog has helped me figure out my identity and I don’t have anyone to talk to about this in real life lol. Feel free to delete if this is too weird.

So I’m a 17 y/o butch, and I have been masculine since I was a little kid. I always felt lucky to have a family that was generally okay with my gender nonconformity. They treated it like a cute quirk of mine, and I never felt like I was being judged or that I should change the way I am around them. My dad got a kick out of it. One summer he let me help him build the deck in our backyard. He always took me to baseball games, he dressed me up in his old clothes, basically treated me like I was his son and I loved it.

I feel like as I get older, my masculinity becomes less acceptable. I went to visit my paternal grandmother for the holidays, hadn’t seen her in a few years, and the first thing she said to me was “I thought you would’ve grown out of all that by now” (in reference to my haircut and outfit, I think.) I just don’t know how to react to the way my extended family treats me now. They used to be totally fine with it, but I spent my entire Christmas feeling like I was being judged for every little thing.

Like, what’s changed? Why is it cute and funny when a little girl wears boy’s clothes and wrestles with her cousins, but disgusting when I grow up and settle into my masculinity?

It’s like I’ve crossed the invisible line between being a tomboy and being a dyke, and now no one wants to entertain it anymore.

Again, sorry for the rant haha, I just feel like I’m going crazy because I tried to talk to my sister about it and she said she didn’t notice them acting any different, but I swear my aunt spent half of our Christmas dinner telling me how pretty I would be if I just wore a bit of makeup lmaoo. I’m just wondering if anyone else has experienced this, because I’m feeling pretty lost right now. Thanks, and happy holidays!

It is not weird at all. I hear that young lesbians, particularly butches, do not have older role models to bounce ideas off of or vent or get any perspective on certain experiences. Moms and Dads and straight sisters and cousins, no matter how well meaning, will just not always "get" what is happening. They say things like "we love you no matter what" and "we don't care if you are a lesbian" and they mean it, mostly. But they often don't see the subtle clues (or blatant ones)they toss around that indicates how uncomfortable they are with you being so visible, but just existing as you naturally are.

AND OH MY GOSH yes I have experienced exactly what you are talking about with the deepening judgement as you move from a cute little Tomboy to an adult butch women. It is almost like they hope to "catch it early" when we are in our teens and redirect us away from the "danger" of being a visible lesbian. And a woman who does not, in very overt ways, conform to their idea of how a woman should be and act.

My dad was relatively consistent in treating me pretty much like he would a son and, to his credit, he did so with my straight sister. We were allowed to do just about anything my older brothers did. In part because my sister was pretty strong willed but also a lot like him. I was less strong willed but she had mowed the path.

Mom was the one who was forever concerned about my looks and behavior, both out of worry I would not fit in, and because she had a certain expectation of how her daughter should grow up. Both normal Mom reactions. She understood bullies and knew that sticking out could be difficult. Her solution was not to strengthen my resilience but to attempt to "tone me down". Her efforts increased as I made the jump from kid to teen and into my late teens. She would discourage me from cutting my hair, becoming almost angry when I brought it up. She would tell me how lovely I was in dresses and skirts and say thing like " a little make up would be nice". It got really old. It lead to us not always getting along even though I loved and respected my mom. She was a great mom. But this one thing made us both crazy. She could not cool it and I could not change who I was.

Friends at school saw hints of my liking girls. I stopped wearing cowboy boots and my favorite horse buckle and it their place went with K Mart Tennis shoes and a generic belt that came with my pants, again, from Kmart. I put away the cowboy fringed shirts and flannel and went with simple jeans and sweatshirts, the acceptable attire for boys and girls in my rural high school. I kept my hair long to disguise my "looking like a boy" traits.

I (barf) agreed to date a boy and spent the better part of that time making excuses to not kiss him or spent time with him. I was starting to listen to mom and do my best to hide ME from the world. Anything (with in reason) to throw the world off the scent, the scent of me being a lesbian. Being butch made that one more step difficult.

It is hard to hide the space we take up naturally.

It might seem hard to see it now by your family is slightly well intentioned, knowing that being "seen" easily as a lesbian can be dangerous. But also, they are uncomfortable with your energy and physical presence because it does not coincide with their ideas of what a woman acts, feels and moves like. This is a THEM problem and I can give you words of comfort based on experience.

The more you begin to be you, and dress in what gives you comfort the more your confidence will grow and be evident. People who are emboldened to try and change you for their own comfort tend to back way off when there is no opening for their opinions. They just sort of realize they are wasting time. AND for those that don't, there are always a few, you don't have to give them any air or acknowledgement. You get to let them waste time and energy while you look great in whatever you wish to wear and however you wish to cut your hair. And in a wonderful turn around, you don't have to spend any effort just being you or trying to defend or correct them.

You are fast approaching adulthood and with that will come even more freedom and independence. Don't rush it but also, work towards that.

[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch III

A/N: hiii sorry this took so long, all the chapters are posted on my AO3, same username. hopefully the next update will be better, i’m not too proud of this one :,(

previous chapters are on AO3 and my master list, here

You and Melissa had agreed on meeting after school for coffee on Thursday, giving you each time to prepare some work. One of her students was showing signs of dyslexia, and after a one-on-one meeting with the student, the redhead decided to take action. Via email, she gave you some information to get started and make an IEP for her. It was quite early in the year, and with it being your first year doing this job, you were quite nervous. Nonetheless, you put your best foot forward and got to work nearly immediately. 

Of course, your habit of drowning yourself in work caught the attention of others. A knock at your door pulled you away from the research in front of you. “Hey you! I feel like you’ve been here for weeks and we’ve barely bonded,” Janine announced herself, entering the room. The younger teacher was sweet, and even though her overzealous personality could be a bit much, you knew it was coming from a good heart. 

“Sorry, Janine. I get wrapped up in work pretty easily. How’s your Tuesday going? Kids treating you right?” You asked, minimizing the tabs on your computer. 

“Oh my students are great, right now we’re working on fractions and it’s actually going good!” She said enthusiastically. “I’m glad to hear, can I help you with anything?” You continued. 

“Uh, yeah! Jacob and I are going out for trivia on Thursday, you should totally join us! I heard you went to a great university and we would love to spend some time together after school. Have you met Jacob? He’s so sweet you’ll love him, you know actually-” You cut off Janine before she could start one of her infamous rants, which you heard lots about and we’re lucky to avoid until this point. 

“Actually, I can’t Thursday. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to get to know you guys but, I’m actually meeting with Ms. Schemmenti to help one of her students out.”

Janine’s face dropped, and just as quick as it did, she returned to her peppy demeanor. It reminded you of what she previously said about Melissa, and you silently wondered if there was any truth to it. “Oh, no worries. I’m sure we’ll figure something out soon,” Seemingly wanting to avoid more rejection, Janine gathered her things. “Wait, Friday is our half day, right? Maybe we could go grab lunch or something after school? Make up for me missing trivia?” You offered, not wanting to make her feel bad. 

It seemed like you made the right choice, as Janine immediately bounced back. “That would be awesome! I’ll tell Jacob right now, see you around!” 

-

The rest of the week passed by rather quickly, filled with new paperwork and projects that you continued to work on. Thursday came before you knew it, and with the final bell, the plans you had put most of your attention to were gathered, on their way with you to meet Melissa for coffee. 

Opus was gorgeous inside, filled with neutral colors and artwork from the team and local artists. Plants covered the walls and even decorated some tables. It was nice, you were happy to meet the redhead in a place like this. Upon seeing her, you felt your breath catch and couldn’t take your eyes away. Sure, it was right after school so she was wearing the same pink sweater and tight jeans, but something about seeing her more relaxed, outside of the school walls, it made your heart beat a little bit faster. 

“Hey hon, thanks for meeting with me after school. I brought some stuff to brainstorm with…” She trailed off, picking a table for the two of you and immediately covering it with papers and binders. Janine’s voice rang in your head again, and you began to feel insecure about where you stood with Melissa. Maybe even stupid, for thinking she would find a friend in you. 

“That’s fine, I’m gonna grab our coffees, macchiato?” You asked, but Melissa was quick to turn down the offer. “Absolutely not, you buy me coffee all the time. It’s my turn,” she walked past you, gently pushing you to the side with a hand on your back. Just as quickly as you remembered the infamous words about the older teacher, you forgot them. 

The rest of the afternoon was that way. One moment, completely entranced by the woman across the table from you, unable to pull your attention away. The next, avoiding eye contact and feeling uncomfortable and used. Something told you Melissa noticed your switch in behaviors almost every time, the way she would mimic your actions. It was impossible to read her. Maybe she wanted it that way, maybe you just couldn’t read her. 

After a couple of hours of this back and forth, the two of you decided to call it. “Thank you, again, for helping me. It means a lot,” Melissa said outside of the cafe, wind blowing her hair ever so slightly. “Oh…It’s no problem, I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smiled and turned to take your leave, anxiety bubbling at the surface, until a hand grabbed your wrist to face its owner yet again. “Hey, what’s goin’ on with you today? Usually you’re more…I don’t know…upbeat and engaged. Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I just…I mentioned to Janine the lunch you shared with me earlier and she said something that made me a little nervous,” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to tell the truth, you figured lying would be even worse. Instead of replying, Melissa motioned for you to continue. “She said she hoped you weren’t buttering me up for something and why else would you be nice to me?” 

Wrong choice. Melissa’s eyes widened and you could see all the rage she had in her expression. “Oh, so I can’t be nice to the newbie for one day? I gotta get somethin’ out of it? And you believed her…This whole time? Whole time you’ve been buying me coffee and offering to help, what are you trying to get out of it?” She yelled, and didn’t give you any time to retaliate as she got in her car and left you on the steps. 

Defeated, you stood alone for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You felt like an idiot, again. For believing what Janine said, and for treating Melissa poorly. You threw your work into the passenger seat of the car and drove to trivia. 

-

“Oh my god! I thought you weren’t coming? Weren’t you going to meet Melissa today?” Janine nearly yelled as she ran from her booth of friends up to you. “Yeah…I did. It didn’t go too well actually so I wanted to come here and at least have a good night. I hope that’s okay?” 

“Of course it is, here come sit with all of us.” Janine led you back to the booth with Jacob and Gregory, happy to be in the company of new friends. “Alright, trivia doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, what happened?” Janine asked, which was followed by Jacob interrogating you as well, and Gregory listening attentively. You explained the entire afternoon to the three of them, hoping to at least get it out of your system. All three of them had something different to say, but you took Gregory’s advice to heart. 

“Listen, Melissa’s a bit tough on the outside, but she always means well. Just apologize to her for reacting that way and, with time, I’m sure things will be fine.”

Thankfully, trivia started shortly after the advice dump you received, and you were happy to be done talking about it. Hopefully tomorrow morning, with a macchiato and an apology, you could make it up to Melissa. 

[ask-apostle-ghoul]

Date: ~197X (Copia is only a month and a half old. Note: This is just for the writing I have no clue exactly when Copia was born.)

Apostle was a ghoul that knew many things. He knew how to take care of himself, cook, clean, avoid the scrutiny of the Clergy. He was a ghoul that probably knew the most about the human world compared to the other ghoulish beings here. He's the one that has been here years before any of his bandmates, after all. The one thing he did not know how to handle... was a baby. Sister Imperator, being the working mother she was, entrusted the baby known as Copia to her darling ghoul while she had to go to an urgent meeting with the higher ups, no dilly dallying. Apostle was still barely getting used to this little chubby thing Sister Imperator calls her son. His chubby cheeks, pudgy body, his mop of dark hair and green and white eyes. He... looked too much like Papa Nihil, Apostle disliked it. Copia was too loud, too fussy, too... too overwhelming. Apostle didn't know how to handle this, didn't know how to handle this... this thing. Yet Apostle was not one to disappoint Sister Imperator. Gently taking the baby from the bassinet, Apostle flinched when Copia started to wail, not used to anyone but his mother holding him. "Shhh, Shhh... it's okay little one, Apostle is here." Apostle softly cooed, pacing around the office and carefully bouncing the baby. Hand under the behind, other hand behind the head, that's how Sister Imperator described how to hold a baby to Apostle. It must have been a bad day for the infant because the crying wasn't going to stop. Apostle could feel frustrated tears burn his eyes but then he heard the baby stop crying. "What's got your attenti-" The ghoul's question was cut off when he felt a little hand pat the gills on his neck, the baby patting up his neck to try to grab the bottom two of Apostle's curved horns. Apostle hadn't realized he had gotten out of his glamour, didn't know that was the reason Copia was crying. "Oh? Did you not recognize me with my human look, little minnow? I thought my glamour would have been better...." The ghoul's comments fall flat once he remembered this baby won't and couldn't respond to him, not yet at least. A sense of pride and protectiveness filled him when the fact the safety of a baby was in his hands. Seeing Copia's gummy smile made Apostle's lips quirk up as well, and for the first time today, Apostle's tail started to wag when he heard the baby start to giggle at the sight of Apostle's smile. Taking a deep breath, Apostle sat back down to his office chair, leaning back and letting Copia rest his head on his chest. "You don't realize how much your mother means to me, minnow." Apostle whispered, running his recently filed claws through Copia's hair, a soft smile on his face when Copia relaxed in his arms. The crying and fussing had stopped for now, and Apostle was grateful. "I would do anything for her, and that extends to you.... no matter what happens I will be here for you. No need to rely on that fool you'll call father one day..." Apostle's little rant paused when he leaned forward, turning on the small radio that sat on his desk. Still holding the chubby baby, Apostle sighed hearing one of his favorites on the radio. "There's a star....man.... waiting in the sky." He softly sung, his chest rumbling with each passing word. Feeling the eyes on him, Apostle continued his sudden singing. "He'd like to come and meet us but he thinks he'd blow our minds. There's a starman waiting in the sky." Risking the glance, his pupils dilated at the sight of Copia dozing on his chest, little hands clutching onto Apostle's shirt. "He told us not to blow it 'cause he knows it's all worthwhile. He told me. Let the children lose it.... Let the children use it..." Rubbing Copia's back, Apostle's words drifted away while the infant fell asleep in the ghoul's arms. "Let all the children boogie..." You know what... maybe Apostle does know how to care for a baby after all....

//just a little writing I wanted to do while i have my day off of work. Had this idea bouncing around for a bit and it warms my heart. Plus it's one of my favorite songs!

[xiament3]

[𝐒ummary : Pete’s dreams finally come true, now earned everything he’s truly ever wanted.]

[𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭] [no, but I would love to be sent you’re requests]

[𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.32k 9 minutes read time]

⟣-----------------------❀------------------⟢

It wasn’t a secret that Pete wanted to have children, he had very publicly talked about it several times and I’m many interviews.

Still the idea was somewhat foreign to him but he knew what he wanted and he wanted kids with you.

“Hey babe” Pete started pausing the movie the two of you chose to watch for date night you both made it a point to have a date nice twice a month every month indefinitely.

When picking those dates you both took turns planning them last time you choose going to a museum, due to history being your favorite subject and you loved learning about thing and telling random fun facts.

Pete had chosen to stay in wanting to have you in his arms close at all times, so here you were watching the little mermaid on the couch with his arms wrapped, around your waists him laying on you’re belly and you’re back against the couch.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” You said turning your full attention to the tall man on your stomach.

He gazed up at you grabbing hold of your hands playing with them showing his eyes gleaming nervously at you’re hands, his eyes bouncing before your hands and then at you.

“Well I don’t think it’s wrong but I’m not sure where you stand on it I mean I know but I don’t know if that was just talk or futuristic.” He rambled.

“Baby what is it?” You said cutting to the point but still finding his rambling abordable.

“Iwanttohavebabywithyousoonbutnow” he sputtered out quickly making you felt like your head was spinning at his pace.

“Okay say it slower, taking that fast you can’t possibly think I’d understand you.” You said reaching to give him a sip of you’re water, before he sat once again on you’re facing each other hands in hand.

“Okay?” You asked making him nod his head and sigh. “Now what did you say?” You asked him again turning you’re attention to him.

“Yeah, I want to have a baby with you and I feel like now would be a great time we’ve been married for a little bit we moved into this house and we have this extra space and backyard for kids and I’m directing mostly now so I’ll be able to be with you and not have to travel as much and…” he ranted deciding to let him finish his baby fever fueled rant.

“Yes,” you said stopping his rant right there quickly focusing on your face.

“Yes?” He repeated confused

“Yes, I would love to have a baby with you were both stable and healthy we do have the space. This would be the perfect time.” You agreed looking at him and not even a half of a second pasted before he was showering your face in kisses before picking you up kissing you all the way.

“Baby making time.” He said taking you up stairs to bed, bursting through your bedroom closing the door behind him before turning his attention to you on the bed.

Pouncing on you again he kissed all over your face.

“Baby, wait wait.” You related begin cut off by a kiss with each word.

Instantly Pete stopped sitting up

“I want to have a baby but I still need to make an appointment to get my IUD removed and it might take a little bit for my body to adjust.” You warned

“I know as long as I get to enjoy the process of the journey with you I’m okay.” He said kissing you rapidly this time with no interruptions.

The following Thursday you found yourself in a doctors appointment with a very excited Peter getting your birth control removed.

And then eight almost nine months later you found yourself in the early morning.

Suddenly feeling extremely sick rushing and pulling the covers off you waking Peter up in the process.

Emptying out your body in the toilet having Pete hold your hair back and rubbing your back comforting you best he could.

You didn’t want to assume immediately you were pregnant, twice before you had a false alarm and now you wanted to be sure before getting excited about the morning sickness.

After a doctors appointment it was confirmed.

“Mrs. Davidson you are in fact six weeks pregnant.” The doctor said dragging the Doppler across your jellied stomach.

She filled the screen around and there was your baby it was the size of a cherry seed but I brought tears to both of your eyes.

“I love you so much.” He said looking deeply into your eyes as he wiped the jelly off your belly and helped you stand up.

Ever since then Pete has been on cloud nine.

HIS POV

ever since I found out, you were making me a father I tried my best to make it as easy as possible.

I thought it would be hard having your body change constantly adapting to take care of our baby.

I wanted needed to do anything and everything to take the much off you as I can.

Crack of dawn cravings? Got it

Can’t fine anything to wear you feel comfortable in? I’ll buy you new clothes or you can have mine

Anything hurts? Feet, back, boobs I’ll massage it

Anything, as your due date was approaching and before you couldn’t travel I wanted to take you on a babymoon.

Settling on Punta Cana’s blue water beaches booking a beach villa, with you laying next to me sound asleep tried from the day and our daughter.

I can’t help but stare down at you and your belly holding the child I always wanted but never thought I’d get.

You’ve given me everything I could ask for marriage, love, understanding, support and now a baby girl to be named Aniline Amy Davidson.

Thanking nobody but you for making all of this a reality.

I drift off to sleep your back to my chest, my hands to your belly, and your hands together with mine.

⟣

Turning over away from the window, the sun blinding me trying to force me out of my sleep.

Feeling the bed for you only to come up empty, jumping up sleep long forgotten my eyes frantically darting around the room.

The bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room and no sign of you. My eyes still darting around seeing the sliding glass door open running standing in the doorframe.

I saw you in a floral dress blowing through the breeze. Playing and swaying in the water.

Drawing closer behind you wrapping my arms around your belly swaying with you and the waves.

“Are you okay your heats racing I can feel it?” You asked me stare locked on me.

“I couldn’t find you this morning when I woke up I got scared and started running around trying to find y’all.” I confessed

Normally I probably would’ve gotten embarrassed about jumping that far off the bat but, with you I didn’t feel like I needed to hide or be embarrassed about anything.

“We’re right here this morning she wouldn’t stop kicking and I didn’t want to wake you up so I came out here, she stopped kicking when I told her about this place and how much it means to us.” You told me sitting down at you best ability to sit criss cross.

“Yeah, this all feels like a dream to me.” I told you sitting with you hearing and feeling the waves clash softly against our bodies.

“It’s real Peter I’m real, our daughter is, our marriage everything is real.” You smiled at me holding my hands your wedding ring glowing in the sunlight.

“I remember when I asked you to marry me, I remember when we were at the alter here, when you told me you were pregnant after our honeymoon and now soon you’ll give birth to our daughter soon. We’re here together you’re 32 weeks pregnant this is all I’ve ever wanted ever.” I told you feeling my eyes water.

“This is what I never thought I’d have thank you for everything being my wife, the mother to our daughter, and my support and heart.” I thanked her rubbing your belly.

Kissing your face enjoying this ocean and life with you.

[aww-writing-no]

For @winterhawkbingo Round 5, Square O2: In Vino Veritas

Ao3 Link

Lift:

The first time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was entirely by accident. The button for Bucky’s floor was directly below the button for his floor, and he’d hit the wrong one after getting back to the tower from an extended mission, eyes blurring with exhaustion. He’d been awake for about sixty hours straight, only upright and conscious thanks to the liberal application of caffeine. 

When he stumbled into Bucky’s rooms he was half drunk with exhaustion, mind barely registering the fact his couch wasn’t in its normal place to the left of the door. Everything seemed to be in muted shades of grey, and he bounced off the armchair that had suddenly appeared in the location his couch normally was.

At that point Clint couldn’t be bothered to care and made his way to the bedroom, dropping pieces of gear in a trail behind him as he went. 

His bed had moved a few feet over – Clint wondered if Tony was pulling some kind of weird prank on him – but he couldn’t find the motivation to care about that either as he collapsed into it face-first, asleep within seconds of his face hitting the pillows.

Clint woke up to somebody poking him sharply and repeatedly in the calf. 

“G’way, lemme sleep,” he mumbled, rolling over and wrapping the blankets more tightly around himself. 

The poking stopped and Clint vaguely registered a set of footsteps walking around the bed before finding himself hauled roughly off the bed and dumped on the floor. He was struggling to free himself from the blanket burrito to yell at whatever teammate had rudely thrown him out of this own bed when someone dumped a pillow on his face. 

“I don’t know why you’re here, but you can sleep on the floor,” he heard Bucky growl. 

“Why am I here?” Clint yelled, finally freeing his arms from the blankets to throw the pillow at Bucky, “Why are you here?” 

Bucky caught the pillow with one hand and stared at Clint like he’d grown another head. 

“Because this is my bedroom?”

Clint looked around in confusion before registering the fact that nothing in this room belonged to him. It was far too clean, for one thing, and there wasn’t nearly enough purple. 

“Aww, bedroom, no,” he whined, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling in despair. 

“Go back to sleep, Barton,” Bucky said, tossing the pillow back at his face. “You clearly need it.” 

Clint opened his mouth to argue before deciding the better of it and tucking the pillow under his head and rolling back up into the blanket. If he had to do the walk of shame back to his floor, he’d rather do it after a full night’s sleep.

*

 The second time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was also more or less an accident. He made the same mistake again - pressing the wrong floor’s button – but this time he’d been distracted by a heated discussion he was having with Natasha. 

She raised her eyebrow when he hit the button, but didn’t say anything as he continued to rant about Reinhold in SciTech and his penchant for leaving his dirty socks outside the showers in the SHIELD locker room.

 “It’s unsanitary and I’ve nearly killed myself about three times now slipping on them on my way to the shower!” Clint was yelling as he walked off the elevator. He nearly ran into Bucky, who was staring at him with confusion.

Clint returned the look of confusion until he glanced past Bucky and noticed the rest of the room. The rest of the room that was definitely not his living room. 

“Aww, floor seventy-three, no,” Clint sighed, shaking his head as Natasha snickered at him. “Sorry Bucky, I must have hit the wrong button again. At least I’m not sleeping in your bed this time?” 

“Small victories,” Bucky said dryly.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Clint told him. He had a vicious bruise on his elbow from slipping on Reinhold’s socks this morning, and he was lucky he hadn’t brained himself on one of the shower stalls. He was going to take any small victories he could. 

“Low standards are important, I suppose,” Bucky commented, looking pointedly at the elevator door. “Are you going to go to the correct floor now, or were you planning to join me for disc golf?” 

Clint perked up at the thought of playing disc golf with another sniper. “You’re going to play disc golf? Really? And we can join?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re far too excited about this. But yes, I suppose you can join if you want to.” 

Clint pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” he crowed, suddenly happy to have hit the button for the wrong floor. “Large victories!”

*

The third time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor he was wheeled in by Tony. 

"Birdbrain here decided to jump out a window again without arranging transport," Tony informed Bucky as he pushed Clint into the living room and parked the wheelchair next to the couch. "The rest of the team is headed to an Assemble, but somebody isn't supposed to be putting any weight on those legs and has a long history of escaping medical. If anyone's going to be able to keep him out of trouble it's you," he said, marching back out of the room before Bucky could respond. 

Clint shrugged when Bucky turned and gave him a questioning look. "Not sure why Tony thinks that," he said, disengaging the brakes on his wheelchair and making his way towards the kitchen. "I mean, your track record isn't that great. You never managed it with Steve, even before he got all full of muscles. You got any pizza in here?" 

Bucky trailed in after him, looking a bit dazed. "Not everyone keeps their fridge full of pizza, you know." 

"Yes, but those people are wrong," Clint said, frowning at the contents of Bucky's fridge. "Do you eat anything besides chicken?" 

"Says the man who would eat nothing but pizza if given the option." 

"Pizza is great," Clint said, shutting the fridge. "We should get pizza." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I think there might be a frozen pizza in th- hey, no standing!" he snapped when Clint pulled open the freezer and started pushing himself out of the chair. "What part of 'no weight' do you not understand?" he asked, pushing Clint back down and keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. 

"It was only for a second," Clint argued. "I wanted to see if there was pizza." 

"There is... barbecue chicken pizza," Bucky said after peering into the freezer, hand still a warm weight on Clint's shoulder. 

"Again with the chicken," Clint moaned, flopping his head backwards dramatically. "Can we please order pizza? I promise I'll be good if we can order pizza." 

Bucky looked down at Clint looking unimpressed. "No escape attempts if we order pizza?" 

"And watch a movie?" Clint asked, widening his eyes and smiling up at Bucky as he tried pressing his luck. 

"No escape attempts for pizza and a movie?" 

Clint shook his head, trying his best to look endearing. It must have worked because Bucky sighed and said, "okay, fine, pizza and a movie". 

Clint pumped his fist and wheeled himself back into the living room. "Can we get mushroom pepperoni?" he asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on Bucky's TV. "Or maybe that mediterranean one with the olives and the feta? Or both? Let's do both. Hey JARVIS, can you order a large mushroom pepperoni and a large mediterranean pizza from that place with the space cats on the takeout menu? And an order of cheesy garlic bread?" 

He looked at Bucky who had a dazed expression on his face again. 

"And a large pesto chicken pizza for the chicken-obsessed super soldier," Clint added. Pizza and movie night with Bucky was going to be awesome. 

*

The fourth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was entirely JARVIS’s fault. He’d stumbled into the elevator after a bit too much revelry and announced “fly me to the moon, Jarvy, my man!”. Apparently, JARVIS took that to mean Bucky’s floor, which was entirely on JARVIS and had nothing to do with the fact Clint was falling over and hitting elevator buttons at random because he had tried to out-drink Thor. 

In retrospect, that was maybe a little bit on Clint. Maybe.

*

The fifth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was much like the first. He’d only been awake for about forty-eight hours this time, but at the end of it they’d busted a child trafficking ring masquerading as a circus and Clint wanted nothing more than to burn the world down and then sleep for a week straight. To say this one had hit too close to home was a little bit of an understatement.

So when he’d stepped out of the elevator and found himself on Bucky’s floor instead of his own, he shook his head and headed for the couch instead of the bedroom. He couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore, because that would open himself up to caring about other things. Things like kids in cages with silent tear tracks running down their faces because they’d learned that crying out loud only brought more pain.

 If Bucky wanted to murder him for sleeping on his couch, well, Clint could think of worse ways to go.

Instead of being murdered in his sleep, Clint woke to find Bucky sitting in the armchair across from the couch and staring at him. The hair on the back of Clint’s neck went up and he shivered, his body going cold like someone had dumped a glass of ice water down his back.  

“Could you be any more of a creeper?” Clint joked, trying to deflect his primal fear of being watched by an apex predator. 

“I could have a knife,” Bucky said calmly. 

“Please, like you don’t have at least half a dozen knives on you,” Clint said, his body starting to thaw out when it looked like Bucky wasn’t going to do anything drastic like kiss him or throw him out the window.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I could have a visible knife,” he amended.

Clint pointed to Bucky’s ankle, where the hem of his pants had ridden up to expose the sheath tucked into his boot. 

Bucky sighed deeply. “I could be stabbing you with a knife,” he said after a beat. “Maybe I should be stabbing you with a knife. Why are you sleeping on my couch?” 

"I hit the wrong button on the elevator again and I didn't want to get tossed out of your bed. The couch seemed safer." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

"Did you read the after action report from the latest SHIELD mission?" Clint asked. 

"You know I don't have access to those." 

Clint snorted. "Everyone knows Steve gives you the hard copy he prints out 'for his files'. He plays up the old-fashioned fuddy-duddy stereotype for the SHIELD administration, but everyone knows he's printing them out for you." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose it's good to know his team can see through his nonsense, even if SHIELD can't figure out what's going on. Yes, I read the after action report," Bucky admitted. 

"And you've read my file?" 

Bucky looked uncomfortable for a second, looking to the side and playing with the zipper on his hoodie. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his nose before replying, "Yes. Both the SHIELD and Hydra ones. The Hydra files on you actually had more detail than the SHIELD files, especially regarding some of your history prior to joining SHIELD." 

Clint grimaced. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Coulson purposefully left some of that out of my official record. After Nat released all the files to the public, I'm pretty grateful for that fact. Not sure how I feel about Hydra having all that dirt on me, though." 

"For what it's worth, after the way you left the circus Hydra didn't consider you recruitable. Too many morals." 

"Well thank Thor for that," Clint said, flopping back on the couch and throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes. "I figured it woulda been the whole Natasha thing that put me on Hydra's blacklist, but sure, getting beat up by my own brother and left for dead on the side of the road's a good reason as any." 

Bucky coughed delicately, and when Clint lifted his arm to peer at him, he was looking pointedly away from Clint.

"What?" 

"The, ah, 'Natasha thing', as you call it actually made Hydra reconsider their stance on you."

"What."

"Not enough to actively recruit you, but, ah, they were always looking for persuasive individuals who could convert others to their cause. If you could convince an active Red Room agent to defect, just imagine what you could do for Hydra recruitment if you joined the cause..." Bucky petered out as he peered at Clint with growing concern. "Are you all right?" 

"I think I'm gonna throw up." 

"Please don't." 

"I'm not actually going to," Clint assured him, despite feeling queasy at the revelation that Hydra had considered him for some kind of recruitment officer. "I just... that's horrifying and I don't want to think about that more than I have to. Great distraction technique, though. A-plus for both effort and execution."  

"That was not actually my intent, but I'm glad to have been of assistance," Bucky said, studying Clint for a long moment. "Do you want a drink?" 

"God yes," he answered, flopping back on the couch again to stare at the ceiling. "I want ten drinks."

Bucky's lip twitched in a small smile. "Maybe we'll start with one," he said, heading into the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later with two small glasses in his hand and held one out to Clint. 

"Nostrovia!" Clint said, taking the glass and clinking it against Bucky's. 

Bucky frowned for a second before replying, "Na zdorovje." 

Clint tipped his head back, taking a large sip and immediately coughing. He managed to swallow instead of spitting it back into the glass, and he felt quite proud of himself for that. 

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, looking balefully at the glass. 

"Absinthe," Bucky replied with a raised eyebrow, calmly taking a sip from his own glass. 

"Why does it taste like where happiness goes to die?" Clint asked, taking another cautious sip and making a face. "It's like... black licorice cough syrup." 

"That would be the anise," Bucky explained. "And maybe the wormwood." 

Clint swirled the liquid in his glass, glaring at it and feeling betrayed. 

"Is this stuff even legal over here?" 

Bucky shrugged. "I have no idea. Tony imports it for me. I got a taste for the stuff when we were stationed in Europe during the war." He held out his hand. "If you won't drink it, I'll take it." 

"I didn't say I wouldn't drink it!" Clint huffed, clutching the glass to his chest. "If it's good enough for Sergeant Bucky, it's good enough for me." 

Bucky just rolled his eyes and settled down on the couch next to Clint. "Sergeant Bucky, as you so call him, brewed coffee in a tin can and boiled most of his meals. I'm not sure I'd take culinary advice from that guy." 

"I won't judge. We've all been there," Clint said with a shrug, taking another sip of the absinthe and wrinkling his nose. "I can see how it'd lead you to thinking this concoction is good, though. Lower your standards enough and even the licorice wormwood drink tastes appealing."

"It is an acquired taste," Bucky said, sipping delicately from his glass before settling back into the armchair across from the couch and giving Clint an unreadable look.

A few too many glasses of absinthe later, Clint had clearly acquired a taste and was sprawled across Bucky's lap, hand reaching up to bat at Bucky's hair. 

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked. 

"Playin' with your hair," Clint slurred, twirling a lock of Bucky's hair in his fingers. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gently grabbed Clint's hand, redirecting it away from his hair. Clint took that as an invitation to hold hands, and twined his fingers through Bucky's, smiling dopily. 

"Why do you keep coming to my floor, Clint?" 

"Pro'bly because I have a crush on you," Clint said, closing his eyes. "I wish you liked men," he continued, drunkenly oblivious to Bucky's shock. "It's okay you don't, of course. You like who you like and that's not a choice you make, no matter what some people tell you, no matter how many times they try to beat it out of you, but I wish you liked men because then you might like me." 

Clint yawned, eyes still closed, so he didn't see the way Bucky bit his lip and frowned. He fell asleep a few minutes later, breathing softly and body going limp and relaxed. Bucky shook his head and slowly eased his fingers out of Clint's hand. When Clint didn't stir, Bucky carefully extricated himself from the couch and pulled the fuzzy purple blanket he'd bought on a whim over Clint.  

It seemed he had a lot to think about. 

*

Bucky stood in the elevator, finger hovering over the button to Clint's floor, for much longer than he cared to admit. JARVIS must think him a fool. 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a brief second, and pressed the button to Clint's floor. The elevator started moving in the smooth way the elevators in Avengers Tower always did, and Bucky had exactly seventy seconds to second guess his actions before the doors opened with a quiet whoosh. 

He took in the surroundings as a matter of course, instinctually noting the differences with his floor - mainly the mess of purple clothing and knickknacks scattered across the floor and tables. 

Clint looked up from the couch where he was sprawled. He had a set of beat up looking headphones over his ears, but pulled them down around his neck when he spotted Bucky. 

"Bucky, hey!" he said, sounding surprised but not unhappy. "What are you doing here?" 

"Possibly something very foolish," Bucky replied with a wry smile. 

Clint perked up from his seat on the couch. "You came to the right place for that," he said, pushing himself to an upright position. The purple Starkpad he'd been holding fell to ground, but Clint just shrugged and shoved it under the coffee table with his foot. "I am totally your man for possibly bad ideas. What are we doing? Are we pulling a jump-scare prank on Bruce?" 

"God, no!" Bucky said, horrified. The last time Tony had tried that, he'd had to replace half the engineering wing. 

"Probably for the best," Clint admitted, looking thoughtful. "Are we pranking Steve, then? I've been wanting to replace his shampoo with purple hair dye for a while now. Did you know they make conditioners with hair dye in them? I don't know how well they'd work on someone with your hair color, but I'm sure they'd work great on Steve." 

Bucky shook his head. "No, but I might steal that idea." He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I wanted to ask you out to dinner." He paused. "On a date," he clarified.

Clint frowned and Bucky's heart fell. 

"Why would you... wait, are you pranking me?" 

"What? No!" Bucky said hurriedly. "Why would I prank you about that?"

"Because you don't date men!" Clint practically shouted. 

Bucky recoiled, torn between anger and frustration. "I don't date men because I grew up in the twenties and then I was a brainwashed Hydra assassin. I don't date men because I haven't had an opportunity to date men, not because I'm not interested in men. I'm sorry you thought I was pranking you." 

He gathered up the remaining shreds of his dignity and turned back to the elevator. The doors whooshed open without him having to press the button. JARVIS must truly think him a fool.

"Bucky, wait!" Clint called out behind him. He heard Clint stand up from the couch and take a few hurried steps, but Bucky didn't turn around. He didn't need to see whatever expression Clint had on his face. Disgust, pity, or god forbid - amusement? Bucky didn't need to see any of that. The rest of this experience had been humiliating enough. 

"Bucky, stop, please," Clint begged, standing right behind him from the sound of it. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea and you - you took me by surprise. I'm sorry. Please don't leave?"

Bucky turned around slowly to face Clint. 

"It's fine. I understand. I made a mistake."

"It's not," Clint insisted. "And you didn't. But even if you had, that's no excuse. It's like... you can't just go around stabbing people because they've surprised you. That's rude. I was rude. I'm so sorry."

"I might have preferred if you'd stabbed me," Bucky muttered darkly. "It would have hurt less." 

Clint winced. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just - I thought you must be pranking me because there's no way someone like you would want to go on a date with someone like me." 

"Why would you say that?" 

"I mean," Clint waved his hands, gesturing to Bucky, "just look at you. You're like, super soldier perfection. I'm like the hot mess carnie trash that keeps breaking into your house." 

Bucky shook his head. "I think you're getting me mixed up with Steve. And it's not really breaking in when you're welcome. If I didn't want you on my floor, don't you think I'd have asked JARVIS to lock the doors?" 

Clint's mouth dropped open. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"Is it too late to say yes to that dinner?" Clint asked, biting his lip and looking at Bucky with a hopeful look. 

Bucky smiled. "No, Clint. It's not too late to say yes to dinner."

[funnywormz]

🏳️‍🌈Rimmer...

send me 🏳️‍🌈 and a character for my lgbt headcanon and a doodle

HELL YEAH >:3

my headcanons on rimmer bounce around a little bit but these are the most constant ones/my favs! some elaboration/explanation below

gay: i headcanon rimmer as gay (specifically homoromantic)! he is just gay to me. i cannot imagine him with a woman, and all of his attempts to act straight and manly in canon feel kinda silly like he's trying Too Hard. i could go on a rant abt this topic for hours but ppl in the rd fandom already somewhat know what im talking abt lol. he's at least some flavour of queer no doubt abt it

asexual: ive seen this headcanon around a bit and iirc at least one half of grant naylor has said that rimmer doesn't rlly feel attraction or have much libido and his attempts at sexual pursuits are just him trying to prove something (this also relates to him being gay but yknow)......... this headcanon has grown on me a lot and i like it. personally i feel like it fits him and makes sense for his character yknow. i don't rlly have much to say abt this one lol i just saw someone else with this headcanon one day and was like "oh yeah that checks out. asexuality be upon ye" and that was it. also a character with a nickname/alter ego called "ace" literally being ace is too good of an opportunity to pass up tbh

nonbinary: probably the most niche/unpopular of these headcanons but hear me out. rimmer does a lot of posturing and protesting around his sexuality but he also does the same thing with his gender, always trying to prove himself as a manly man despite that not being who he is, making snide remarks abt ace wearing woman's clothing, the moments when he wears women's clothing himself, the fact that low rimmer is blatantly gnc etc......... also he's been a hologram for most of his life? death? existence? now and the entire human race is extinct. gender and sex and whatever are kinda completely irrelevant to him now. and i think that for rimmer, gender was always more of a cage that he forced himself into rather than something he ever had genuine enthusiasm about. also im nonbinary and i love Projecting and also generally fucking around with characters' genders

(side note: ik ive been using he/him exclusively for rimmer here, and im doing that bc those are his pronouns in canon and what ppl are familiar with, but personally i headcanon his pronouns as he/she/they/xe)

(side side note: im aware that rimmer is far too repressed and confused to ever realise that he is gay much less that xe is ace and nonbinary LOL. these are not things i would expect her to ever fully realise abt himself. but like. in theory. deep down. in an ideal universe. this is how i see him truly being below all the internalised issues etc)

[hurgablurg]

rant incoming

there's a zionist in the drawfee tag whining and bitching about drawfee having a fundraiser for the PCRF and Karina liking tweets exposing the genocidal shit israel has been doing (and they ONLY complain about Karina doing so, and golly, I wonder why a zionist might only make pointed complaints about a woman of colour? almost as if theres an extremely racist bias bouncing around in that brain of theirs) while desperately trying to hugbox and pathologize Nathan in the tags because they cant wrap their head around a jew supporting palestine.

Half the comments on the post are them self-replying and whining about how hurt they are and how broken up they are and how its the worst thing to happen in their life - which also tells you how much privilege this freak must have for some internet artists hosting a fundraiser to help kids being murdered by an american colony of white supremacists and a woman on twitter pointing at a genocide to be the worst thing to happen in their life - and the other half are tumblr zionists who've never watched a single second of drawfee content in their lives rushing to reassure them and reinforce the deathcult's cohesion and mantras.

It's pretty pathetic, all things considered. I hope they have a terrible rest of their life, rotting in their own hatred and obsession to the point of destitution and pariahdom, while the antisemitic despot of israel that they adore so much collapses in on itself.

Edit 17/05/24:

I misread the post, turns out they ALSO complained about Julia. So they only singled out the women, not just the woman of colour. That's not any better.

[singswan-springswan]

Behold: a little plot bunny that's been bouncing around my head. Another Kanera mermaid AU because I'm obsessed with mermaids and Kanera is love Kanera is life. Kanan's trying desperately not to blow his cover on land but gaslighting his human partner Hera is harder than he thought, especially when he can't help but save her from drowning on the occasion.

words: 1174

~

Hera knew Kanan was a skeptic—and in all fairness, she’d been one too. But before all that, he was supposed to trust her. That’d been the first thing to connect them. Her wild ideas, and his fascinated willingness to go along with them. Of course, Hera knew that he had boundaries, but they’d been difficult to find in the two years he’d been her best friend, and the fact that they existed in the first place was something of a vague notion. In any case, she never thought he’d draw the line here.

“This isn’t me being radical, Kanan.” Hera huffed, smacking the meter stick into her other hand. These days, it felt like a necessary thing to have him take her side, even if there was no solid opposition to take sides against, and even if the argument didn’t involve him. Hera just liked when he supported her, if she was honest. Which was silly. As if he didn’t support her by default as it was, here she stood now, demanding he agree with the one assertion that made him dig his heels in. 

But really, wasn’t he used to her crazy ideas by now? Surely he couldn’t be putting this past her. He should have seen it coming. She should have seen it coming too. Kriff, maybe she really was crazy, but could he at least agree with her?

Kanan propped a handsome cheekbone on his fist, elbow slanted lazily atop the messy table. Hera could stand to tidy things up in here; the galley of her beloved ship was something that should be clean on the regular. But she’d been down here all night with her murder board, and there hadn’t been time before Kanan wandered in for breakfast. He looked bored, having finished his bagel by now. There was a closed-off tolerance behind his eyes: a look so rare it made Hera frantic to have him understand.

She pointed the stick to the whiteboard on her right, where she’d pinned up photographs and newspaper clippings and a flaky array of sticky notes—all very neatly organized from her point of view, though a small voice in her head said that Kanan and perhaps a Hera who wasn’t sleep deprived would not see it the same way.

“This is me being logical. Look, I have it all thought out.”

Kanan—bless him—didn’t patronize her with a pointed sweep of the room. Hera really ought to clean up.

“There’s nothing logical about what happened.” He said in a blunt tone. At least he was focused on her, not indulging the rant with presence alone. 

“Exactly! There’s no logical explanation. Which can only mean my survival was supernatural. We both know I should have died that night—there was no chance for me to make it through the storm on my own, even with all my skill and experience—so whoever rescued me must have been specially gifted and enhanced individuals like that simply don’t exist within the human understanding of the world. Besides, I saw—”

“You imagined.” Kanan interrupted, frowning a little now, to Hera’s immense frustration. “You were half drowned by the time you made it back to shore, and that much more exhausted. On top of that, your imagination is one of the more impressive ones out there.”

Hera glared at him. “I saw,” She insisted. “Things that can’t be explained by a human understanding of the world. And you know me. I’m adaptable.”

Kanan sighed heavily and rubbed a hand against his brow. He was certainly being firm about this line, and not crossing it and such. And that was maddening to Hera. It didn’t fit his pattern of behavior to be so adamant about not believing her. Sure, this might be her craziest idea to date, but a few of her past conspiracy theories came pretty darn close and as she recalled, he’d jumped on board without a second thought. So why was this any different?

Outside, a boat motor rumbled past the marina, and the Ghost creaked pleasantly while it rocked on the wake coming in. Hera could hear the bustle of other mariners on the docks too, mingled with seagull chatter and clanging equipment. This late in the morning, the first round of fishermen were coming to port already. And she still hadn’t convinced Kanan.

“Okay,” He dropped the hands from his face and held them pressed together, fingers pointed her direction. “This is what we know.”

Hera narrowed her eyes, but she let him talk.

“You were stupid enough to take the Phantom out without me when you knew the forecast was bad, and you were caught on the open ocean when a storm rolled in. The dinghy capsized, probably on the seabed by now, with all your equipment—and you were lucky enough to wash up on shore before you drowned completely. Does that sound about right?”

Hera swung the meter stick down to smack a pile of papers in front of Kanan, eliciting a sharp noise and no reaction but an unimpressed raise of the eyebrow. “What I know,” She snapped. “Is that I should be dead. And I have one very specific person to thank for that. I was rescued, Kanan. Someone saved me: someone not human. Someone from the sea.” 

She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it herself. And although the memories from that night were fuzzy around the edges, she distinctly recalled the moment on the beach, vomiting sea water in the pouring rain, tucked into a pair of strong arms. She remembered babbling in confusion, and she remembered her rescuer vanishing in a brilliant blur of green and gold, before she could properly register the feel of scales beneath her hand. These memories weren’t products of an exhausted brain or overstimulated imagination. She knew she sounded crazy otherwise, but she couldn’t betray herself. Maybe for that reason, she was so determined to convince Kanan. She didn’t want to be crazy and alone.

But he was unimpressed with her stubborn insistence. He wasn’t patronizing, or indulgent—which would have made his disbelief worse—so small miracles. At least he had the decency to be straight with her.

“Hera,” Kanan gave her a flat look. “You know mermaids aren’t real, right?”

There was no budging on that line of his. Hera wanted to pout, cross her arms, insist that no actually she didn’t know that, and neither did he really. But they’d been at this for hours already. She’d started her rant the moment he strolled in—hair still a beautiful mess from sleep—and she’d meticulously explained every node on her murder board with fine detail, so if that hadn’t convinced him even a smidge, then whining definitely wouldn’t.

Instead, Hera drew herself up and gave him her best calculating stare. “What would it take?” She asked slowly, carefully. “To make you believe?”

Kanan crossed his arms and leaned back: the foreign picture of closed off. His lips pinched. His eyes had a wall behind them. “You couldn’t convince me.” He said plainly. “Fairytales don’t exist.”

[brandwhorestarscream]

Jazz vs. Cryptid Seekers

Behold, a mini ficlet one shot thing brought in by weird thoughts about the cryptid seekers AU. Jazz is traumatized XD

The weapon detonates without a single shred of warning. Glowing, slimy fluid splatters his entire left side, nearly the same color as energon, though slightly darker. Jazz doesn't have more than a moment to react, opening a comm to report what he'd found, but it's too late. He blinks once and suddenly the floor is rushing up to meet him. He collapses, paralyzed, landing with a sharp bang. Everywhere the thick fluid has touched is numb and tingling, and he can't so much as twitch his digits. It's sticky and slimy like a glob of old oil, and a goopy rivulet dribbles down from his temple and streaks over his visor.

He's got his right servo planted on the floor and is pushing himself up when there's a loud, wet popping noise, and more slimy goo rains down on him from above. His right side goes numb and heavy and he collapses back to the floor with another clang. A third sloppy noise and something hits his chassis and bounces off to land in the thick puddle on the floor. He can't even move his optics to look around. Whatever these security measures are, they're potent. He's entirely unprepared to handle full body paralysis, only driven home by the blaring of emergency messages on his HUD, warning of immediate shutdown to reboot and flush the Invasive agent from his system.

He barely gets his comm online to send a distress signal when his vision clouds over and he's forced into stasis.

Some odd megacycles later, Jazz wakes to the unpleasant florescent lights of the medbay glaring down at him, and he's barely sat up for half a klik when Ratchet finally arrives to give him the typical cranky reprimand. Going on about how irresponsible and dangerous that was, how he had taken out three other mecha during the retrieval. The paralyzing slime had been collected and analyzed–thankfully it wasn't going to give him some dreadful virus, but that's no excuse! "-better be grateful, I had to completely flush your systems, so-"

A warning blipped to life on his HUD. Energon levels approaching 10%. As if right on cue, his primary fuel tank makes a loud grinding noise, and Ratchet stops his rant to give him a curious look.

Jazz chuckles good naturedly. "Gotta cube, doc? I'm wastin' away over here."

"I just topped you up a megacycle ago," already the medic is approaching with a scanner, checking his processing system for leaks or ruptures. The scan comes back normal. "That can't be right... hn. Drink up."

A glowing cube of precious energon is tossed at him. Jazz snatched it out of the air, breaks the corner with his denta, and happily began gulping it down. While he chugs the fresh fuel, Ratchet is staring intently at his scanner as it searches yet again for a breach.

"...So am I free ta go?"

Ratchet flicks one servo with disinterest, grabbing a second and third scanner just to double check. The results all come back the same.

"That slag you were covered in must have temporarily increased your fuel metabolism," he could bring that to Wheeljack and Perceptor later. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever come out of decepticon scientists' crazy defense mechanisms. They were just lucky they'd been able to extract Jazz before he was discovered. "Come back if you experience anymore symptoms, got it? You're free to go."

Jazz thanked the medic and slid off the berth, happy with his clean bill of health and relieved to get away from the overbearing scent of antiseptics and sterilizing bleach. The mission was technically a bust and Prowl was none too pleased at his lackluster report, but it was good to be home all the same. The minibots teased him for getting caught in a 'con trap, and he laughed right along with them. A rookie mistake to be sure, but they were all thankful it hadn't turned lethal.

Less than a megacycle after being released from the medbay, his systems pinged him that he was once again low on fuel. He forwarded the information to Ratchet, dragged himself in for another scan, but everything came back clear. The energon wasn't leaking from any of his vital components, there were no breaches, nothing to suggest that anything was amiss. The science team was working as fast as they could on analyzing the strange slime weapon, but as of yet had no answers as to why he was digesting his fuel so quickly. It wasn't hurting him, really, so Ratchet told him to just stay on top of fuel consumption and keep his gauges in the green as best he could.

Easier said than done. He swallowed down five cubes in just as many megacycles, and the hunger pains were starting to make his whole body ache. It seemed like as soon as he finished refueling, his tanks were twisting and prodding him from the inside, demanding more. Sharp cramps and pinching pain had him walking gingerly around the base, and it eventually got to the point where he was so uncomfortable he slunk miserably into his berth to try and sleep it off.

Jazz wakes up in the dark to the sensation of falling, rolling right off his berth and hitting the floor with an utter lack of grace. The soreness of the fall is nothing compared to sudden, rampant nausea, and he's gagging before he's even managed to sit up. His tanks heave and his systems warn of an imminent purge. Oral lubricant fills his mouth and he dry heaves once, twice, clamping one servo over his mouth to try and keep it down. Primus no, not here, not on the floor, at least let him get to the wash racks!

He stumbles to his pedes but something makes contact with his shoulders from behind–and he realizes he's not alone. He's shoved back onto the floor, back on his knees, and an unfamiliar voice angrily demands, "Give them back!"

He orders the lights on through hiccups, his tanks rolling unhappily. His sensors don't pick up on anything, and he can't see anyone. It's not Mirage, he knows Mirage's voice.

There's the distinctive clack of thrusters on the floor and his spark constricts. Seekers.

How did they get in here?! Are they under attack? Why aren't the alarms going off? What-

His panicked thoughts are cut off and he lurches forward, half-processed energon and digestive enzymes flying past his derma, splattering his servos and the floor.

"Give them back!" A second voice demands.

He tries to turn his helm toward the direction of the voice, but the movement makes the whole room spin and he's helpless, collapsing onto his side, cheek barely missing the puddle of purged fuel. "Wh- Wha- g'oh…!" He groans and clutches at his midsection. His tanks feel like they're going to physically crawl out of his body. Another wave of nausea bubbles up and he purges again. Primus almighty, what had the cons done to him?!

"Give, them, back!" The tip of an invisible truster very, very gently toes the side of his face, tilting it up. He can't see the seeker, but he knows that voice. Starscream. He is so fragged. "We won't ask you again, autobot! Give them back or we'll take them by force!"

"Wh- What're you-" another glob of half-processes fuel flies out of his mouth and splatters all over the invisible pede. It drips down to the floor, and Starscream doesn’t even flinch. "What're you talkin' about?!"

"Don't play dumb," That deep voice… Thundercracker, maybe? Or Skywarp? He can't tell Starscream's trine apart. "We know it was you. We can smell them on you."

Jazz has no time to ponder what the frag that was supposed to mean, because something in his tanks twists, violently, and suddenly something is clogging his primary intake tubing. He chokes grandly, clawing at his chassis and back arching in pain. His HUD blares a red warning, a dangerous obstruction is damaging his aeration tubing and it needs to be purged, now. It wriggles it's way up his throat and his optics bug out helplessly, body thrashing against his will as something squirms it's way up his throat, and then into his mouth.

There's a sharp, shrill squalling noise; something tiny and moving and very much alive is in his mouth! He flips over to spit it out, horrified, and the tiny, slimy thing hisses at him. It's… a cybertronian, he thinks, but microsized and misshapen, stubby half-limbs and malformed plating. It skitters across the floor on all fours and all of sudden Skywarp is just there, plain as day, cooing as he kneels down to offer his servos to the teeny, tiny bot.

"Oh bitty, we were so worried!" He croons, gently cradling the tiny thing. "Here, come on, where it's safe."

He brings his palms up to his mouth, opens wide, and promptly pops the only half-developed sparkling into his mouth, swallowing them down in one gulp.

"That's better," Starscream appears beside him, glaring down at Jazz. He feels like he just lived through a grisly scene in a horror movie, still laying on the floor gaping at them. Just before Skywarp's teleportation spirits them away, he utters a grave warning, "Stay out of the hatchery, autobot."