#tw illegal activity

[jselorekeeper]

HC for the egos...Lemme see what I usually do about my version of them. I'll give you short bios. Hope you'll find them a bit entertaining, at least.. :D : Marvin: He's a famous entertainer. He started as illusionist. Like a sort of David Copperfield (the difference, is that Marv used his actual magic and passed it like incredible illusionist-tricks) and then branched out to other things like TV -being pretty-looking helps a lot, in the showbiz- and became rich and famous. At night, he entertain himself by stealing jewels, gems and ancient magic relics from museums that he either sells, or keep for himself. (magic relics and artifacts are not supposed to go into non-magical hands after all...). He uses a disguise when he's in front to an audience. Of course he cannot just go out with a cat mask, symbols on his face and long green hair with the risk of being recognized. He's also v gay. I'll die on his hill. Jackie: Works as cameraman and as odd-jobs-doer in the same studios where Marvin works too. He technically works for him. He has a thing for special effects too, but they won't let him experiment with them. Of course, he hasn't realized thief-Marvin is the same magician guy he sees all day long at his work place. (If you ask: Yes. Marv knows exactly who Jackie is.) Jackie is also good friend with Doc and Chase. Infact, he often uses Doc's secret clinic when he needs to be patched up after a big fight. He won't snitch about the illegal clinic in exchange. Schneep: This man is on the run. He's already wanted in several parts of Europe and he's not planning to stop now. He went to jail several times...He ended so many people and not only in the science/medical field, but with the glock he legally owns. Never challenge an eccentric man who's kept together by adrenaline and caffeine... To earn money and fund his weird experiments, he run an illegal-hidden-to-the-sight small clinic, where he patch up pretty much whoever can pay for his and Robbie's services... Jackie and Chase are both friends of him. Robbie: He's real in my heart and he deserves more love. Strong, tall, with an incredilby high IQ and the same sense of humor of a pissed dobermann. Always hungry for knowledge, he got his very own lab in the basement of Schneep's secret clinic where he practice horrible and non-ethical experiments especially on humans he lures and snatches at night from the streets. (Or troublemaker clinic-customers when they get problematic for some reason. Nobody will miss them after all.) He sees humans as spare parts and cattle, pretty much. The only spark of what he can define as "feeling of sympathy" is for Henrik. Robbie respects the Doc as a scientist and he's interested in his experiments. That's -and the fact he can access to labs if he sticks around him- the only reason why he hangs around. He accepted his role as Schneep's assistant -and bodyguard- as long he can experiment on his own. JJ: He's buff and stronger than what he looks. Can break your spine by hugging you tight enough. Trained in the usage of several vintage weapons. Included explosives. He can make an AWESOME tea. Anti: Has a thing for sharp objects. Knives in the specific. He doesn't need to use them anymore (he got silly tendrils arms after all), but he loves to keep one in a holster tied on his tigh. Just in case. It reminds him his childhood, if he ever had one. When he's not causing mayhem, he rests in his very own pocket dimension he can temporarily open. Chase: He's also here. He's Henrik's best friend at this point and he's one of the few that knows about his secret clinic and the stuff that happens in there. He's living in there with Schneep after he was rescued from the IRIS facility and he discovered chaos. He's a good shooter (can practice with Doc's gun). Chase has no idea Robbie is a monster. He just think he's a tall, creepy, goth guy that Henrik hired as assistant.

D your stuff always fascinates me! I love seeing your style and story of them all the time lol

Marvin: a fabulously gay performer during the day and a thief at night, what a fabulous man he is 😌

Jackie: let Jackie experiment with special effects 😭

I absolutely love the idea of him not knowing Marvin as the thief but Marvin knows exactly who Jackie is, that could be great for angst!

Henrik: Henrik needs to be stopped, never trust this man and his assistant to be your doctors cause I certainly wouldn’t 😅

Robbie: You have absolutely no idea how much I love your version of Robbie! Everytime I see him I just wanna know more 👀

He does give off the vibe of like “you really don’t want to fuck around and end up at his place” style and I love it

JJ: yes I love buff Jameson! I need to see more of it honestly 🤩

He gives the vibe that he would serve absolutely perfect beverages, no matter what it is he just knows how to make it perfect!

Anti: him 🤝 Wilford, wearing knives holstered to their thighs

Man Anti is lucky to have his own pocket dimension! I wanna chill with him that sounds like a nice time 😌

Chase: ahhh yes! Those two as besties is the best idea ever, they just love hanging out!

Pfft, Robbie is that one person you see in the streets who suddenly disappears when a bus drives by, never know whether to trust him or to fear him

[gary-goldstein-law]

Hey, Gary, do you know where the best places are to hide dead bodies ..? I need some… help.

-nonsuspicious person

Well, you definitely shouldn’t pay off the gravekeeper to bury them in an old grave where the stone is unreadable.

It’s also a terrible idea to wrap the corpse in chicken-wire with weights and dump it into the lake after puncturing the lungs, because fish will eat most of the corpse.

And it would be awful if you gave the corpse to some pigs, especially because they can eat bone!

And the worst of all would be to go full hannibal lecter and eat it, though you would need to burn the hair and crush the teeth with a hammer so they would be unidentifiable.

Of course, I am NOT suggesting you do any of these things, you should turn yourself in to the local police, and make sure you avoid any officers that are known for being easy to bribe.

Hope this helps!

[destielmemenews]

Eric Duprey was 30 years old when he died. He was fleeing from officers in the Bronx after allegedly attempting to sell drugs to an undercover officer.

source 1

source 2

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Short Prompt #10

Notes: This can work as a standalone or a part 2 to this. You choose!

TW: Bruises mention, blood mention, bone breaking mention, illegal activity mention

"There," Hero says, a sort of finality to their tone as they brush the makeup over the last of the bruises on Villain's face.

The criminal's gaze wanders over to their reflection in the mirror, eyes widening as they take note of their now untainted face, as if the scratches previously marring their visage had never been.

The hero chuckles, sharp eyes glinting with amusement. The villain is awfully adorable like that. They resemble a confused kitten as they register their own appearance and the formal attire, in a striking shade of dark green, all about style and nothing about functionality. Replacing their usual bland, practical costume. Even if they were naturally good-looking, they were usually somewhat dishevelled. It suited them, in a way, but it was very different from their current state and completely unsuitable for a gala hosted by the mayor.

"You look ravishing, doll," the crime-fighter purrs lazily, warranting a flustered blush rapisly spreading like wildfire across the villain's face and neck. "Let's go, we've got a mission to complete."

Villain nods at them, letting the Hero take their hand, feeling their face burn and desperately praying that the hero wouldn't notice how strikingly their face was flushed.

Foolish hope because Hero notices everything, and it is among one of their favourite activities to make it so cruelly obvious to the villain, letting the corner of their lip curve upwards with a lopsided smirk as they lead them to where all the guests were gathered.

If the crime-stopper isn't buttering them up too much, and Villain actually looks as attractive as their careless flattery describes, it doesn't mean at all that they can actually replicate the part, that their acting would fit the part. Maybe if the objective had been sit still, look pretty, the villain's nerves might've been calmer.

Villain had learned that Hero's real identity was that of a wealthy, young civilian. A fact that felt strangely intimate to know. They were here to procure a piece of paper from the mayor's office; some document that convicted him of striking an illegal deal.

"Oh hello, darling! You look wonderful!" a middle-aged woman in a wine red dress croons excitedly at Hero.

"And you're stunning as always," the crime-fighter replies smoothly, flashing her a million dollar smile. From whatever strange firsthand experience, the villain could tell it was completely fake. Though, in a place where the air reeked of superficiality as much as it did of ridiculously expensive fragrances, they're pretty sure it wouldn't crumble under scrutiny.

"Hmm, and who is that?"

Still letting that dazzling smile dance across their face, their enemy-turned-date brings their hand up to their lips, pressing a soft kiss into the villain's knuckles. "This is my partner, Villain Civillian Name."

"Lovely," the woman attests, though the icy edge to the sugar-sweet tone unmasks how unimpressed she is with Villain.

They were definitely not rich nor famous as VCN, but it brings them solace to know that if she knew who they really were, she wouldn't dare be so dismissive of them.

"Would love to stay and chat, but I've got some rather important matters to attend to, so see you later."

They wrap their arm around Villain's waist, pressing a kiss into their hair, almost as though they are trying to annoy that guest on purpose.

"Alright, sweetness. Your turn to shine. You're going to distract the mayor. Talk to him, keep him interested until I'm done. And you will make great work of it," they whisper, tone still silky, but it held a promise of danger, reminding the villain that this hero pretending to be hopelessly in love with them can still break bones and leave their enemies drowning in their own blood.

Villain nods at them, changing their half-nervous walk into what they hope is a confident saunter, making their way towards the mayor. They take in a deep breath, trying for some calm. They have a million and one cards to play, and they desperately hope they choose the right one.

"Mr Mayor! It's so wonderful to finally see you in person!"

An old, balding man with an impossibly thick moustache turns their way. "Ah, and who might you be?"

"I'm VCN, Hero Civillian Name's partner. And sir, I do hope this isn't too annoying, but I would love if you'd share even just a hint of how you managed to run so many successful businesses while balancing being the mayor!" They flash them a bright grin, eyes wide with well-feigned excitement.

Judging by the grin on the man's lips and the awfully proud, "Certainly," he gives, Villain had made the right choice. Flattery was any egotistical person's kryptonite. Any chance they got to talk about themselves, they jumped at immediately.

And so, the villain gets stuck being tormented by the man's incessant chattering, nodding and smiling through it all, until they feel a light tap on their shoulder. Their saviour.

Shaking his hand warmly, the hero beams at Mayor, eyes devoid of any trace of malice. "Ah, I see you've met my lover. Mind if I borrow them, sir?" they quip.

"Sure, HCN!"

"Well done, love," they congratulate them once they are far away from the mayor. "Things went as smooth as ever. The bumbling fool kept his study unguarded. Keeps most of his papers outside his house. He thought he was so clever."

"Shouldn't we be leaving now?" They raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

"So soon? That's suspicious. So how about a dance, dove?" They extend their arm forward elegantly.

Slowly, Villain takes it, letting themselves be dipped and twirled by the hero.

It feels like magic, however fake it was meant to be. However dangerous it was to do this with their supposed sworn enemy. It takes their breath away, and between the lazy compliments, the dancing and the delicate kisses pressed to their jaw and cheekbones, at least a fraction of it must hold something beyond a perfectly executed act.

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Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[news4dzhozhar]

I don't know what's crazier about this - that someone so desperate for his voice to be heard and the cause that means so much to him to be seen that he attempts (and may likely succeed in suicide in such a painful way) or that 1 of the cops stands with his gun aimed at the man who is fully engulfed in flames for a full minute. At least 1 person had the common sense to yell, while others scrambled around, "I don't need more guns, I need another fire extinguisher".

This is the 2nd person to do this in the past 3 months. Before these 2 I'd only ever heard of this happening in the late 60s when a Buddhist monk, sat in lotus position & set himself on fire to protest the escalating Vietnam war.

[thesoulesscollection]

Summary: As a fresh faced recruit new to the military life, Quentin is scared, lost, and alone with nobody by his side.

Chapter Tw/Tags: No Dialogue But Inner Dialogue, Minor Violence, Implied Illegal Activities, Minor Blood, Internal Conflicts, Manipulation, & Power Imbalances

Down Below is a bit of the fic shared;

It was a brazen trap. A load of hot steaming shit. Panic nearly consumes him, not entirely knowing they're set on stomping the light under their feet. 

This wasn't fair! He wasn't going to allow this!

He's going to fight for it if needs be!

[bleetusmcyeetus]

would you like some blood

Nonono I’ll take the blood, don’t go–

[doing-downtime-hero-shit]

I know it is ok to make mistakes. I know it is ok to listen to my body and take breaks when I need to

I am also terrified I am going to get in trouble at work because I had such an awful day last shift and left early and had basically nothing done

Rly not sure what else I COULD do since I kept getting nauseous and wonky headed and stuck in the bathroom every like 20 minutes trying to wait it out

I just. Have fear and guilt. Especially since it's right before a holiday and we r gonna be busy.

[internutter]

Challenge #03873-J221: I Need This Deal

They didn't have parenting licenses, didn't care. They raised these orphaned children to the best of their ability and made sure the children were safe, knew love, were educated, and given the best lives they had the ability to give them. -- The New Guy

[AN: Honestly, the parenting licenses are there to ensure that guardians don't harm the kids they raise. Pretty much the same philosophy as your statistical outlier there]

My name is Taro. Yes, like the food. And I'm a criminal.

You Galactics have a soft approach to what the former administration considers crime. Some crimes aren't crimes at all to you lot. But I need assurances. All the kids in the warren? I want your guarantee that they're going to full care. The whole soft Alliance treatment. Give it to me in writing.

Okay. That's... that's good. I know I'm a criminal. I've broken a whole bunch of laws, and not just mine. I took in trash babies, and I've been caregiving without one of your licenses. And I've been doing it for years.

[Check the source for the rest of the story]

[auroras-void]

Dipped into my ""totally legal"" secret Adderall stash today for like the first time in like a year, and like holy shit I forgot what it felt like to function like a normal human being. Like, I've only tried taking it like maybe a half dozen times total, but every single time it blows my mind how much of a night and day difference it makes. Like all of a sudden all that ADHD advice I've heard thousands of times before that's literally never done anything for me starts magically functioning perfectly. I set my pomodoros and I follow them, I make my lists, I check my notes, I write my stickies, I remember to reward myself only when I'm done. I let all my unhealthy coping mechanisms and mind numbing distractions drop away and I get more done in 4 hours than I have in the past 3 weeks.

I think I really hate my psychiatrist at this point. It's honestly kinda astounding that I haven't been allowed to get a diagnosis and a prescription at this point. I've had like 4 or 5 therapists suggest ADHD completely independently and unprompted. I've done the weird computer test thingy and gotten back a moderate. My anxiety and depression have gotten way better and my executive functioning still hasn't improved.

But she still says I need to wait more, and that ADHD is rare. That it's probably still just depression. She still asks me the same boilerplate questions every appointment and doesn't listen to any of my overly long replies to each one beyond what it takes to round it to the nearest multiple choice answer. Still doesn't really care about what my therapists have had to say, or what I have to tell her. Still doesn't tell me what the fuck is going on with anything or help make the nightmare of american healthcare any less of one.

Just, god I've been asking for help with this for so long, I've said thousands of times that literally nothing has worked. That none of the thousands of stupid CBT exercises I've been given have made any difference. That it all just gets lost in my head like an hour later. And the one thing I have tried that's worked and made everything else click I can't even tell anyone about without sounding like a drug addict and making everything else worse because I got it from a friend instead of a doctor.

Literally getting on hormones was a thousand times easier than this. Like there I knew I could be confident, that I could fight if I ever ran into any trouble and I was lucky enough to live in an area where I knew there would be good people on the other side of that fight once I got there who would help me with everything else.

I feel so scared to advocate for myself here because the more I do it feels like the more resistance I meet, the more I sound like I just want to get high. But if I don't then nothing happens. I just become more disillusioned with mental healthcare and therapy that hasn't done shit for me. I miss more and more appointments because I forget and I feel more and more like there's no point in rescheduling.

Maybe I should just find a drug dealer instead lol. Seems a lot easier.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Shoutout to Monster Anon for another amazing idea

Yandere Short Stories:

Right Where I Want You

Yandere Private Investigator x Fem Reader

TW: Yandere themes, delusional behavior, unhealthy behavior, racism (ex mil makes a comment), savior complex, murder, stalking, etc.

Inhale. Exhale. Nicalli blew cigarette smoke from his lips while his body sunk into his plush couch in his pent house. Another failure of a day in an attempt to find dirt on his target.

The stench from his lit cigarette did little to soothe the loneliness in Necalli’s heart. No, this small vice merely burned the back of his throat and made his clothes reek of bad decisions. This small action did little to satiate the growing lust that consumed his very being.

Nicalli ran an umber hand through his long, black hair. A few strands stuck to his sweaty palms while his heart raced in his chest.

Nicalli had been plagued with alien feelings ever since he’s taken on this new case. The case that involved the Goldberg family and their son’s fiancée, (your full name).

He has been a private investigator for over a decade and he’s never had someone be so innocent. How could (your name) not have a single speck of dirt on her?! Good people didn’t exist in this world! There was no way someone so pure could be involved with the Goldberg family…

Nicalli sighed in frustration and put his cigarette out on the jaguar shaped ashtray on his coffee table. His russet eyes scanned the various documents before him in frustration.

All he had were pictures of her helping at the local soup kitchen and her indulging in her small hobbies. She was so mundane… he didn’t have anything to give his employer to ‘protect her precious son.’

Nicalli had been on this case for eight months now and he still had nothing but pictures of this absurdly beautiful woman. Henry Goldberg was lucky to have such a faithful woman… Nicalli would die for one.

Nicalli didn’t believe in love after the betrayal of his lover when he was in the military. It was that betrayal that made him become a private investigator in the first place so no one else had to find out like he did… yet this life was lonely. Nicalli was so lonely and now he was enchanted by his target. How pathetic was that?

Nicalli continued to admire to various pictures he had of (your name). She was really beautiful… how could someone smile so joyously? There was nothing in this world to be happy about… or was there?

.

.

.

Nicalli recalled the memory of when he first received this job. He sat in the Goldberg mansion’s study. His large body squished into a small leather chair while the mother and son gave him fake smiles.

“We need you to investigate (your full name).” Mrs. Goldberg pushed a file towards Nicalli, the Mexican man accepted the file with a solemn look. “I feel like she’s cheating on my son… or even involved in some sort of illegal activity.”

Nicalli was shocked to open the file to see the smiling face of a beautiful young woman. This woman was involved in some sort of illegal activity? She looked like she couldn’t harm a fly!

“I will be able to sleep better at night knowing my son is in good hands.” Mrs. Goldberg she d a few crocodile tears before Henry Goldberg handed Nicalli a check that would make anyone gasp at the amount.

“I heard you’re the best in the business so please, don’t disappoint us.”

Nicalli took the money and nodded his head. He could do this… this job would be like all the others…

.

.

.

Nicalli felt his breath hitch the first day he saw (your name). He’s never seen someone so pretty before… she had to be some sort of forest fairy rather than a human.

Nicalli studied her from his car, his russet eyes studied her in great interest. He has followed her around for weeks now and there was still not a speck of dirt on her…

Nicalli was in disbelief. (Your name) seemed to be a good person… but he was determined to find something on her. Anything would do.

So he continued to stalk her which brought him to present day…

.

.

.

“Have a good day!” (Your name) smiled at the various homeless people that inhabited the soup kitchen. She served each one with a cheery smile, even if they seemed displeased with her.

Nicalli sat in the corner at a bench. His russet eyes studied her in distaste. Didn’t she tire of this? These people didn’t appreciate her company… no one seemed to despite her constant efforts. Nicalli didn’t understand the point of her unnecessary kindness.

(Your name) was so sweet, she could make teeth rot. A woman like her didn’t belong in a place like this, it was dangerous-

Nicalli jumped when (your name) stood before him, a bowl of soup in her hands.

“Hello?” (Your name) tilted off her head to the side as she studied Nicalli in interest. “I always spot you here, but you never come up to the stand so I thought I’d come to you.”

Shit. He had grown careless since she’s so docile… now she knew his face. Should he just call the mission a done deal?

Nicalli was shocked when she gently placed the bowl in front of him with a soft smile. “Here. Enjoy some soup, okay? You always look so sad…”

Nicalli bit his tongue. No matter how badly he wanted to refuse her, he couldn’t bring himself to. If he rejected her kindness, it would be as if he kicked a puppy. And people do not kick puppies.

Nicalli was surprised that the soup was delicious but then he saw her smile even wider.

“I made the soup, so please enjoy to your heart’s content. If you need anything, I’m (your name)! I’ll see you around, mister!” She then went back to the kitchen while Nicalli sat dumbfounded.

The Hispanic man sat there for a few minutes longer before he felt a blush envelope his cheeks. His heart wildly leapt in his chest and his palms began to sweat buckets. What just happened to him?

There was no way… no way he had a crush on (your name)? Yet he couldn’t help the way his eyes shyly glanced towards her bubbly form while she served the rest of the costumers.

She was a good person… (your name) was a genuinely good person. Nicalli was sure of it. And now he needed to report his findings to the Goldbergs.

.

.

.

It took everything in Nicalli not to choke slam Henry Goldberg into the velvet carpet in his study. This man was a bastard… he didn’t deserve (your name).

“God, I thought you were the best of the best!” Henry sighed while his parents chuckled.

“Now son, I’m sure he’ll find something on that commoner.” Mrs. Goldberg pointed out to her son who scoffed.

“Mommy, at the rate he’s going. He’ll need to make something up!” Henry hummed, the man reached for his check book. “How much money do you need to fabricate a lie on her? I truly cannot marry a commoner, but it looks good for the citizens-“

Nicalli furrowed his brow. What on earth were they on about? “Aren’t you happy she’s a good person?”

Henry and his mother paused before the two of them erupted into laughter. “Happy she’s a good person? No one told us you were a comedian!!”

“How about you plant one of my necklaces or jewels in her home so we have the grounds to annul this engagement? I really cannot have my son end up with a woman so poor like that.” Mrs. Goldberg took off her diamond necklace and tried to hand it to Nicalli but the private investigator pushed it back toward her. “Oh come on. People like you are familiar with stealing, right?”

Nicalli’s head spun in horror and confusion. They were going to frame her to make themselves look better for the people… they were going to frame an innocent woman for a crime. The Goldbergs were horrible people… horrible villains.

“Mother, not all Mexicans are thieves.” Henry rolled his eyes before he gave Nicalli a knowing smile. “But I do need you to pin a crime of some sort on her. I can’t have her have the Goldberg family name.”

Even though Nicalli wanted to scream at the two of them, he must feel himself in. He needed to have evidence to show (your name) to save her. Nicalli wanted to save her… she didn’t deserve to have her name tarnished over corrupt people like these ones.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Nicalli gave the Goldbergs a stiff smile. Yes… he’d contact his sources to dig dirt up on the Goldbergs.

Nicalli didn’t become a private investigator to harm innocent people. Nicalli did this to protect the innocent from heart break.

.

.

.

Nicalli threw his coffe table across the room after his source had called him and faxed him over pictures of Henry Goldberg with escorts. Bastard… that fucking bastard!

Henry had this perfect woman and he cheated on her with escorts?! He was involved in drug and sex slave trafficking?! This was a rabbit hole Nicalli never thought he’d find himself in… and he had to get (your name) out.

A man like that didn’t deserve her… not like he did. Nicalli would treasure a woman like her. He’s pamper her and make sure she was properly pleasured- what the hell was that?!

Nicalli shook his head to clear his thoughts. How dare he think of her in such a way… Nicalli wasn’t worthy of her.

Nicalli’s cheeks flushed in anger. Henry had to suffer. He had to pay for his crimes. The Goldbergs had to pay for their crimes.

Nicalli snatched one of the pictures up before he was able to locate Henry’s location. It would be easy to track him down… Nicalli was all too familiar with the Red Light District.

All he needed to do was figure out which vehicle was his, but that couldn’t be too hard. Henry was a classic spoiled narcissist. His car would be colorful and loud, just like him.

.

.

.

The death of Henry Goldberg was on every news channel and in every article. His shiny red sports car was totaled and the bodies of two escorts were found with him. The cause of death was drunk driving and brake failure.

There was not a doubt in Nicalli’s mind that (your name) would be distraught… but he had to take care of Mrs. Goldberg first.

Nicalli adjusted his black leather gloves on his hands as he slowly approached the Goldberg’s office to discuss further business. The pistol with a silencer attached was buried deep within his coat.

This was all for (your name)‘s future… for their future together. It only made sense to him that he got the girl after saving her! Nicalli could make her happy!

Nicalli would have (your name) right where he wanted her…

.

.

.

(Your name) sniffled in her bed, her body trembled in sorrow. She couldn’t believe Henry died and his mother had committed suicide… she knew Mrs. Goldberg adored her son, but she had no idea it was to such an extent…

Yet she wasn’t surprised about Henry being a deviant. It was why she avoided being physical with him. There was a small voice in the back of her head that told her he was bad news… yet was it wrong for her to want the money to live a good life? She’d never have to worry about bills again if she married him… but then he sent the private investigator her way.

God, it irritated her… but she wasn’t a horrible person. She just wanted a better life was all… was that a crime?

And she always felt unsettled under that man’s gaze. He had such sharp features and such a piercing stare. There was no way people didn’t know he was there when his presence felt like a predator’s.

The man had such a bewitching appearance. Hell, his hair was prettier than hers and his hooked nose was gorgeous… that private investigator was more attractive than her dead white fiancé.

So when she had a package full of photos of Henry with escorts, she knew it was her ‘stalker.’ It was nice to know he had a good moral compass, but these photos were too late. They weren’t anything she wasn’t aware of.

Despite her bubbly attitude, (your name) was not naive. She knew the Goldbergs weren’t good people. No old money family were.

(Your name) sighed as she rose up from her bed and wiped her eyes. There went her plan to be with a man with a trust fund…

(Your name) was surprised to see a bouquet of red roses and carnations on her doorstep. It seemed that private investigator may have a crush.

(Your name) smiled in thought. He was a private investigator for rich people, right? Then maybe he had the money to ensure she had a good life?

She turned her head and spotted the shy man on his car. That classic 1964 Chevrolet impala always stuck out like a sore thumb.

(Your name) wiped her eyes a bit before she gave him a smile. She could spot his red cheeks from her place by her door. It seemed she wouldn’t have to work too hard for this one… because she had him right where she wanted him.

[maevemedeina]

Maeve's right eye twitched when some awkwardness seeped into the conversation. She could hear the hard swallow from Taurus and pressed her lips together as if to visually indicate she was as tight lipped now as she was when questioned about "illegal" hunting and selling. Even at her advanced age Maeve was uncomfortable with familial unrest. If her mother or father gave Maeve an instruction, she obeyed without thought, however the world had changed around them. What Maeve saw as disrespect towards Taurus, she logically understood was simply a reasonable outcome from the situation this little girl had been born into. She could hardly blame the young girl who habitually referred to her mother, the parents who had been there, and yet she stiffened momentarily as she processed the interaction.

"Oh, now that you mention it" the blonde responded lightly, adopting an unaffected air. "I've a contact in Crirtha, he's an expert supposedly, good eye for quality, but reportedly, quite a devious fellow ".

Maeve rarely delivered the appropriated wares herself, usually enlisting the help of another wolf in the pack to sell on her behalf. As such, this request was a little out of the ordinary for her.

In truth, the wolf had not returned to the Kingdom of Crirtha for a few decades, and when asked to make the trip she often had a good reason to decline. Maeve placed her elbows on either knee and leaned forward, her back cracking satisfyingly as she did so. "I think I ought to go myself," she explained, her naturally husky voice lowering further in pitch and volume.

The blonde relied now, on the relationship she had formed over the years with Taurus. Maeve was knowledgeable, resourceful and capable of handling herself in a multitude of situations, and she hoped her pack leader recognised this. She was confident that from the simple explanation she provided, Taurus would understand that this particular deal was not a deal, she could trust in the hands of any delivery wolf, so to speak. Maeve lifted her eyes so she could look her leader in the eye, a resigned, grim smile on her lips.

Though Maeve's family history was not exactly the most titillating of family drama, especially in a town like Destarin, it was enough to ensure the wolf only visited her father's old stomping grounds when the earning potential was truly high. Even now, there were royals and noblemen, thieves and wenches who might recognise the familial resemblance in Maeve, making clandestine operations almost impossible.

"I would return within a couple of days and at best will be returning with a new, regular client" Maeve explained the details of her plan, while she collected her guests plates of food, beginning to pile them.

When Maeve called his daughter ‘mighty one’ Taurus’ own vanity presumed the woman to be speaking of himself. Unlike Maeve he had not aged out of an indulgence to appearance or to much of any part of himself. He indulged in his strength and his looks and his fighting skills but in truth, the only part of Taurus that would have perhaps actually earned the narcissism within him was his leadership. It was so removed from how he behaved as a father, he would do anything for his pack without backing down. Of course, the narcissism mostly showed in his excessive use of magical products in an attempt to keep his hair and his youth, all of which were never going to be held onto for his specific lineage of wolves.

His daughter caught Maeve’s meaning accurately immediately, and beamed at the idea of her armour having animals printed within it. Little kittens in her armour, despite the fact there was a chance she might end up a wolf like her father and her Aunt. “He doesn’t decide though, I can ask Mum once we’re home,” she responded and Taurus swallowed.

The young woman was not wrong, he had not taken over deciding much for the girl. Her mother had raised her alone for so long it seemed wrong simply because she was ill to take that from her. Eventually, Taurus worried, he would be placed in a situation where he would have to make the decisions however, and his daughter would not be open to listening. It was a strange situation to be in to say the least. His dark eyes looked to Maeve, wishing they were in wolf form so communication might be more private.

“We will ask but I am sure she will be excited to see you in some armour. She already knows what a warrior you are and she certainly wasn’t opposed to it herself in her youth,” he insisted and his daughter gave a nod, recalling her mother carrying her on her hip in brown leather pants, knees knocking against the holster of a sword.

Taurus gave a slow inhale once more, this time because he had his fill of all the lovely food Maeve had placed before them. His daughter, far more politely, had already placed her cutlery to one side of the plate and pushed it ever so slightly forward so it was known she was done. “Anything you needed before I take her home?” he asked, aware Maeve was pretty self sufficient but still not intending on parting without asking.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

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

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[beautyxnthefire]

She remembered the first time she saw him; he was shooting pool at some hole-in-the-wall bar with some of Juan's 'friends', and he was laughing. Loud and clear, head thrown back -aura like the guys she saw in the movies as a little kid that made everything seem effortless and possible. Tall and handsome, everything she didn't know she could ever want wrapped up in a man. It felt like wind had been knocked off of her and seeing him again, after all this time brought back that same feeling.

Mia felt her fingers digging into him on their own accord. Was it the shock, she didn't know. Was he still in danger? That was what was most important. She couldn't lose him again! Leaks and moles and all that..who knew where and when it all ended. Just the thought of him still being- "No!" she exclaimed, reaching up to touch his face. "This is not about me." she shook her head. "I'm fine now." she tried to smile to ease his mind. All this time, in her head, it was all about smuggling, drugs, money laundering or whatever Juan was into. She could never imagine... This was making her dizzy. Shaking her head to focus, she looked him in the eyes. "It's okay, you're okay, I'm okay..we're- are you okay?" she asked, her thoughts still a little all over the place from going from a mad and sad woman to finding him again to hearing all this in just a few minutes. || @is-it-gabriel

Gabe had a lot of dreams about Mia, a lot of far off thoughts about if he had seen her again what he would have said to her. They were all fantasies because for so long he believed she was gone. But that turned out to work against him because it made Gabe realize that because he was living in such fantasies he never had to have the hard conversations about who he really was. She didn’t even know his real name and now he had to unveil the whole truth to who he really was. It may have been easier to live in the fantasy. It was at least safer there, since he never wanted to hurt Mia, but he was scared he would with the truth.

The case was over and technically he could tell her what had happened but it still wasn’t easy. They had lived a life together before and had been in the same circles, his job had brought her in the line of fire when all he had wanted to do was protect her. “ there was a leak, in my department. I still don’t know who it was but they somehow got the information about me to Juan. I swear I never wanted you caught up in any of this” Gabe noted looking at Mia feeling like he was losing her before he got her back. “ I was trying to close things before any retaliation happened but, it all blew up. “ @beautyxnthefire

[dansemacabre]

i’ve been thinking about “sixer, it would eat you alive” since i read it and. man. every layer you peel back makes it worse. im not a bill apologist but. shit

if you (1) take it at face value, it paints bill as an apologetic murderer in his single (and maybe sole) open moment of regret. he doesn’t let his walls down often- only with ford do we even get to see the remnant of his galaxy, see the “actual remorse” ford describes, get just a hint of his origins. but he does it, because he thinks ford should know.

if you (2) take it from ford’s point of view, as something he committed to journal three, like. wow. imagine being so committed to a being that you’d hunt down and kill the monster that destroyed his home, only to (assumably) figure out later that that being was the monster. the small moments of trust, the “good times”, are so key to manipulation. how long did ford hold onto that one shred of vulnerability? no wonder ford stayed for as long as he did. in his eyes, bill was a survivor. ford wanted to survive too.

(slight tw below for unreality- any time i mention our reality, i mean “our reality” as a narrative device used in the book of bill as a proxy for the idea of bill being in our reality, since he can’t actually be in our reality. all of this is a fictional theory about a show/book with fictional contents!)

but if you (3) remember that “even his lies are lies” and absolutely Nothing bill says should be trusted. Whoo boy. if i read tbob right the book itself is being created in the theraprism (even tho it shows up with the ciphertologists at some point? idk that’s a whole other post). it’s meant to show what the reader wants to see; it manifests in our reality as what the collective fandom wants to see. so if we want to see truth, if we want to see where bill ended up and who he actually is, there’s a non-zero chance that the whole interaction was a complete fabrication.

imagine bill, stuck in the actively harmful, probably earth-illegal theraprism, once again being forced to be “fixed” and molded into something more palatable, being forced to conform no matter how much it hurts. (i know natural uncontrollable mutation ≠ just so much murder and destruction and chaos, but. you can’t ignore the similarities. bill has obviously been thinking about those silly straws.)

he looks back on everything that went wrong, back on his relationship with ford, back through every dimension where he wins. would that one moment, that one truth amid centuries of lies, have saved him from purgatory? if he had just been open? shown his damage? maybe he did think of his parents, or his henchmaniacs (especially the oracle). people who he might have once opened up to. maybe he just wanted to open up to someone again.

so in his own weird way, stuck in a cell, he reshaped reality again. in this reality, for this fleeting moment, he had been someone worth believing. and ford had listened, hell, ford had wanted to help. looking back, knowing how he treated ford, knowing how ford ended up because of it, maybe bill would have said the most honest thing he’d ever told ford: i am the monster, i am not worth your time or belief, and i will eat you alive.

[the-aisei-cousins]

Event: Camping Trip

(Tw: mention and talks of Pedophilia, R@pe, child abuse, and cannibalism.(also sorry that I forgot to add this. I thought I did when I wrote this.))

You had received an email from Hope's Peak Academy

'You were invited to help Ms. Dai to take Class 82 onto a 2 week long camping trip starting tomorrow! Class 82 will be thankful for your participation.

We are not responsible for any minor damage, major injuries, any human beings being eaten, and/or deaths that Class 82 may cause.'

You decided to join. Probably your better judgment but to join, you chose none the less. The next day, you went to Hope's Peak Academy to see a group of 7 teens and one little robot girl. All had on a white shirt with brown shorts on.

One was a dark skinned girl with two IDs. One was a Substitute Teacher ID and the other a Student ID for the same school. She was in front and facing the rest of the students.

There was a boy with black hair and brown eyes. He had a bunch of scars on his body, some old, some new, some healed, some still fresh.

The robot girl was to his left. She seems to be design to look around 8 years old, but she seems to be an old model. The body was rusty in some areas and wore down by time.

To her left was a boy with an red jacket on. He had the hood over his head and sunglasses covering his face. His hands were in his pocket.

To his left was a young lady with long light reddish pink hair, dilated pupils, and a slightly jagged tooth. She was the tallest in her class.

To her left was Irofuka Nijiue. It was weird to see him not in a butler uniform. He was stilling wearing his red gloves and his hair was pulled into a short, low ponytail.

To his left was Yolei, wearing a light turtleneck sweater underneath the shirt. The also had leggings and a bag on. She was leaning towards Irofuka.

And finally, Yoshino, who had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing stockings under her shorts. She also had a small backpack on.

Yù: "Okay, let's go over the rules, one more time. No killing people, selling illegal substances or items, and no eating people. Alive or Dead. We will still be doing theapry sessions while camping. Don't wonder to far, especially at night. We have to introduce ourselves to our guests, even if we already met them. That means, telling them your actual names and Ultimate Talents, alright?"

"Yes Ma'am."

Yù: "Thank you Yoshino."

Do you say anything?

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