#when you're a mega genius

[tresdem]

"Lyla, check my schedule..."

[tobiasdrake]

I'm rewatching Legally Blonde and I feel like you couldn't make this movie today only because modern writers would want to qualify Elle's intelligence.

Like. The first twenty minutes leading up to her acceptance to Harvard are packed with establishing character pieces highlighting her intelligence.

We open on her savagely tearing apart a sales worker that was trying to trick her into an upsell. And once they start talking about her academics?

I mean. Yeah.

She's been maintaining a 4.0 GPA and manages to study hard enough to get a 179 (out of 180) on her LSAT while also managing the responsibilities of being sorority president? Yeah. Yeah, that's really fucking impressive. Elle Woods is a goddamn mega-genius.

It's just that her mega-genius is presented comically because of how hyperfeminine and Rich White Girl she is. She's coded bimbo to disguise how mega-smart she actually is. Which is. Y'know.

Kind of.

What the entire movie is about. The preconceptions and harsh judgment of women who are considered too girly. Elle doesn't have to change herself and become smart in order to succeed. Elle's fine, actually; If you thought she wasn't, you're just wrong.

She's not a static character; She does have her own growing and developing to do. It just. Isn't related to her intelligence and capacity for understanding even the complex subject of case law. She was already brilliant from the word go.

When she gets into Harvard, despite her comically unconventional admissions essay, it's treated as a relatively ordinary admission. It's not like they're running some kind of special program or something for less qualified candidates that she only finds out about halfway through the film and then has to resolve to prove that she can do it anyway.

(In fact, that's how Warner got in. The big reveal is that he's an unqualified dipshit whose family bribed his way in.)

There's not, like... one guy who's willing to take a risky chance on her and everyone else is just like, "Okay, but she's worthless and when this blows up in your face, it'll be your career on the line." There's a little bit of discussion and then a rubber stamping.

Elle gets into Harvard because... the board looks over her credentials and goes, "Yeah. That is a Harvard-worthy admission. Stamp it." And that's it.

She gets in because she's smart and she puts in the work. That's it. That is all there is to the secret of Elle Woods's success. She's smart. She puts in the work. She succeeds.

I just. I really like that for her. And I'm not sure how many writers today would be willing to let her have that.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

takin’ what’s not yours (ford x reader x stan)

chapter 2 | chapter 1

someone please whack me with a rolled-up newspaper like a misbehaving dog so i actually finish my fics on time. also i think this chapter is mega boring but i have no more brain cells to fix it because im very tired

tags for this chapter: death mention (i mean a dog’s death, and this is a little self-indulgent, but i just wanted to write it exactly like that), gore (not so much), panic attacks, child abuse, alcohol, flashbacks, unreliable narrator

Stanley, who has never met a terrible situation he couldn’t defuse with a joke, lets out a breath. “hey, bro, you planning on hunting something tonight or just ready to, i dunno, take out some deer in the backyard ”

Ford blinks once, but doesn’t lower the crossbow. “Already did,” he answers calm as you please. “for an experiment.”

You and Stanley go silent at the same time. The crackling of the old lightbulb above you fills the space where words should be. Somewhere outside, a tree branch scrapes against the roof, snapping you out of trance.

“. . . What,” you say finally, because someone has to.

“I needed to analyze the cellular structure post-mortem, it’s relevant to my research.”

Stan lets out a laugh, which sounds a little too loud in that awkward silence. “Oh, sure. Yeah. Right. Because that makes total sense, totally normal thing to do. Real brother-of-the-year shit.”

“Science isn’t about sentimentality, Stanley. Besides, it was already injured when i found it. I only expedited the process.”

Expedited the process. Jesus Christ.

You glance at Stanley, who is staring at Ford with such confused face, seeing something he doesn’t recognize , doesn’t have name for, which is funny, because you’re pretty sure he’s seen a lot of versions of Ford by now. Except this this one, who’s holding conversations with himself in his own head, this one with the dark circles and the too-quick explanations.

However, you were Ford’s assistant, his best friend too, so you know how his brain works, although even right now you can’t find explanation for. . . whatever this is.

You take a careful step forward. “Ford, why do you need dead animals for your research?”

“That’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He exhales through his nose, apparently annoyed. “ Certain anomalies leave biological imprints even after death and I hypothesise that these imprints could be harnessed. Imagine, for example, an organism imbued with interdimensional properties—“

“Okay, okay, no. Stop.” Stan holds up both hands. “literally no idea what you just said, but it sounded fucked up. Also, you're still pointing that thing at us, genius, mind putting it down before i start thinking you’re planning on adding people to your little science fair project?”

Ford blinks again, then looks at his own hands as if he just now realized what he was holding. Carefully, he sets the crossbow aside.

“It’s not like that,” he mutters, pushing his glasses up, looking away.

“Great,” his twin says. “good talk. Totally reassuring.”

There’s another silence, because Ford doesn't answer that. You dont know what to say too. And the shack gets colder with every minute. Ford’s back is turned now, and you don’t know if he’s done talking or if he just doesn’t care if you’re still standing here.

You glance at Stanley again, silently telling him to say something, to do something, that's his own brother after all, damn it! But he ignores your request and folds his arms over his chest. What a moron. . . And because you hate this kind of silence, you try again. “Ford,” but much softer this time. “seriously, are you okay?”

Ford doesn't answer right away and that's the part that worries you the most. “It’s not as morbid as you’re making it sound. I needed to study the decomposition process in controlled conditions. It’s for science.”

Which is possibly the worst possible answer he could have given.

Stan scoffs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, nervous, but trying to hide it. “Yeah, that clears it right up. Real normal hobby you got there, Poindexter.”

Stanford just ignores that.

Then, out of nowhere, as if to shake the whole tension, Stan shivers, “Oh man. Do we have any tea or something? I’m freezing.” he says it offhand obviously, but it’s the perfect excuse for you.

So you seize it immediately. “Yeah , i’ll— i’ll go make some,” you say, already turning toward the kitchen.

Ford barely acknowledges you leaving, but Stan does. You notice the way his brown eyes flick toward you, the silent thanks he tells you. You both need a second to breathe.

The kitchen is cold when you light the stove, set the kettle on, press your hands to the counter and think. Ford is weird, you knew that, but this is different. The last time you saw him, he wasn’t like this, his skin wasn’t so pale, his eyes weren’t so dark.

He was paranoid. . . Maybe, okay, he sure was, but there used to be some kind of. . . purpose, excitement behind that paranoia. Now, it just looks like wild fear.

A deep, sinking feeling twists in your gut.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Stan’s stomach growls and the sound is too loud, making Ford glance at him. “You should eat something.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “thanks for the life advice, doctor sixer.”

“It’s just an observation.”

“Yeah? Well, what are you, taking a role of an older brother now?” Stan mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Ford doesn't answer, just stares, not knowing what to say to that. In the kitchen, the kettle starts to whistle as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. Pulling out some old mugs andgrabbing the first container of tea you can find, you turn your head to the cookies are on the counter and without even thinking about it, just grab a handful and pile them onto a plate.

When you walk back in, Stan’s sitting stiffly, arms crossed, visibly uncomfortable, while Ford is in exactly the same position as before, hasn’t moved an inch.

You set the tray down with a little too much force. “Ford, i hope you don’t mind i stole your cookies to feed your brother.”

But he barely reacts. Stan, though, eyes the plate, two seconds away from breaking down in gratitude.

“You are actually a lifesaver,” he says, grabbing one immediately.

You pass Ford his tea, but he doesn’t drink right away. Stan, on the other hand, takes a sip, exhales long and slow. “ God , finally, something warm.”

The moment almost feels normal until Ford lifts his mug, opens his mouth and spills the entire thing down his front . You freeze , feeling the cookie stuck in your throat . Just. All of it. No attempt to sip or at least to adjust , looks like a full-body failure of basic motor skills.

The room goes dead silent as Stanley and you stare again.

Ford doesn’t react, just sits there, drenched in tea, holding the empty mug like nothing happened.

“. . . Bro,” Stan says finally. “what the fuck was that.”

You’re gripping your own mug tightly, nervous. “Ford?”

Ford blinks, looking down at his soaked clothes, he slowly touches the fabric, not understanding what went wrong. “I guess I miscalculated.”

Stan throws his hands in the air. “Miscalculated? Miscalculated what, basic human function?”

Ignoring his twin again, Stanford doesn’t answer, still staring at the tea, clenching his fingers. You bite your lip. yeah. Something is wrong. Something’s really, really wrong.

Stan makes a strangled, baffled noise, shoving a hand through his hair, trying to process what he just saw. “Sweet Moses, Sixer, you just malfunctioned. You just— what the hell was that? You need a reboot? A software update?”

Ford, to his credit, keeps his fa c e expression calm as possible. Only brushes a hand over his soaked clothes with a blank face. “It’s nothing, Stanley, a minor lapse in coordination.”

“A minor lapse?” Stan repeats, looking to you for backup. “ Are you one year old?”

You want to laugh, because this is fucking ridiculous because Stan is damn right, but the feeling that’s been pooling in your stomach since you stepped foot back in the shack only deepens.

Ford isn’t acting normal. Not weird normal. Not his usual ‘I’m smarter than everyone and i know it’ normal.

“Ford,” you say quietly. “are you sure you’re okay? This is getting weird.”

Stanford turns to you like he just now remembered you were here and the second your eyes meet, you immediately want to look away as if your body is trying to tell you something your brain hasn’t caught up with yet. Get out.

“Of course i am, why wouldn’t i be?” you're not sure if you imagined it, but the intonation sounds rather sarcastic.

You don’t get to answer as you hear something crashing outside. Stan nearly chokes on his tea while you jolt so hard your own mug sloshes in your hands.

Ford is the only one who doesn’t react.

“Shit,” Stan hisses, immediately craning his head toward the window. “what the fuck was that?”

Your heart beats faster. You don’t know why, but suddenly the only thought in your head is—

“What if it’s a yeti,” you whisper, deadly serious.

Stan whips his head toward you. “Why the hell would it be a yeti?”

You glare at him. “Ford literally just admitted to performing illegal backwoods taxidermy. Why wouldn’t it be a yeti?”

Stan thinks about your words and his expression changes. “ Yeah , okay, fair point.”

Suddenly you hear another noise, but this time it’s a sharp rattle against the window.

Stan nearly jumps out of his skin. “oh fuck, it’s the cops.”

Ford finally sighs, tilting his head to glance toward the front door. “It’s not the police, it’s the wind.”

You and Stan exchange a look. Ford is right, the storm outside has picked up hard as the wind is howling through the trees, snow slamming against the shack in heavy sheets.

Stan exhales, realizing that he probably doesn't have a chance to get out of here in his car, the roads are so damn clogged. He runs a hand over his tired face. “Great, just fucking great.”

You glance toward the door, slumping your shoulders. “Yeah. Looks like i’m staying the night.”

Ford doesn’t even hesitate, happy with your words. “You can take the spare room.”

Stan raises an eyebrow, surprised at how fast his brother offered. You are too, honestly. Does that mean . . . you don’t get to finish your thought when Ford turns to Stan. “You can stay too, Stanley.”

At first, Stan doesn't react at all, thinking that he misheard, but then his brother's words gradually sink in. He's wary when he clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neckawkwardly, obviously not used to that. “Uh. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

Ford steps past him, when he passes his twin, though, he stops and leans in. “don’t worry , im not dad, i won’t throw you out.” just like that, he keeps walking, leaving Stan standing here wide eyed and frozen.

You stare after Ford, then back at Stan .

“Oh, um,” you say. “what the hell.”

Stan looks down. “yeah, no shit.”

***

The shack at night is a different thing, you knew this already, but knowing it and feeling it are two different things. You’ve stayed the night here before, back when things were normal, back when Ford was normal and the silence always calmed you, unlike right now. When you hear your own heart beating and the whole house is listening.

Stanley is asleep, dead asleep. Sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs and blankets, snoring faintly through the storm’s howl. Good for him, it's the first time in years he hasn’t had to sleep in the backseat of a car, curled up around himself like a stray dog in a storm drain. It doesn’t matter that the couch is stiff, that the room is freezing, this is the best sleep he’s had in years.

***

Summer, 1960-something. Kids. Kids with scabby-kneed, sunburned noses and wild hair.

The harbour always smelled like salt and fish.

Ford’s hands shake when he sees the bruise. So deep, ugly, purpling against Stan’s cheekbone, swelling beneath his eye.

“What happened?”

His brother was sitting on the curb, resting his arms over his knees, staring at a crack in the pavement.

“Dunno, pa just gets mad.”

The words felt like someone had dropped a rock right into Ford's chest, as it just sank to the bottom of his stomach, too heavy to breathe around.

Stan must’ve noticed, because he grinned. He actually hated that look, hated seeing his own twin with that kind of expression, because that made Stan know exactly how he looked when their old man had really lost it.

“But hey, hey, least now i look tough, huh? Bet all those bullies are gonna be real scared now,” he grinned, nudging Ford with his elbow.

Ford’s hands curled into fists. “thats not,” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “that's not gonna help, Stanley!”

“Eh, maybe,” he shrugged. “but it sure looks cool, huh?”

It didn’t. It looked awful.

Ford's chest was too tight. He looked at his brothers bruised eye, at the careless shrug in his posture, and suddenly the words burst out before he can stop them.

“We should run away.”

Stan opened his mouth, surprised, Ford, sixer, being this bold? And a second, he almost looked serious, considering it.

Then he laughed loudly. “and go where, genius?”

“Anywhere! Somewhere better. We could, we go up north, where it’s colder, where nobody knows us.”

Stan squinted at him. “but what about ma?” Ford hesitated, looking down. Stanley's smile faded as he rubbed his bruise. “look, Sixer, i appreciate the whole dramatic rescue thing, but we’re kids. Where’re we even gonna sleep? In a box?”

“We’d figure it out, you'll never be homeless, we'll never he homeless,” Ford insisted. “we’re smart—“

“You’re smart,” Stan corrected, no bitterness, just a fact. “im just a guy who can throw a good punch.”

Ford hated that he said that, so he didn’t give up.

“We could take a boat,” he tried again. “work at a dock, make some money—“

“You’d get seasick in five minutes.”

Ford scowled. “i would not.”

“Yeah, you would,” Stan teased, nudging him again.

Ford didn’t answer, because he hated the way Stanley took it all as some kind of joke. He was serious. He meant it.

But Stan just sighed again, stretching his arms over his head. “nah. don’t worry about it, Poindexter. Ain’t no big deal.”

It was a big deal. But Ford didn’t say anything else. Just sat down next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees, staring at the same crack in the pavement.

They were kids, they thought like kids. Ford just wished they’d stayed kids. Stanley wished the same.

***

Ford is in his bed, but he's not sleeping. Or maybe he does, technically.

He shifts, twists, rolls to his side, then to his back, then to his stomach, then repeats the cycle, stuck in a loop. His body doesn’t want to be still, doesn’t know how to be still.

He can't really control it, can’t open his eyes no matter how much he wants to.

It’s the same dream every time. Ford and him, sitting across from each other, playing chess, if Ford could call it that because every move Ford makes is a lie, and every move Bill makes is a trap.

Ford can’t win no matter what he does, no matter how many times he tries. Bill moves a piece. Ford counters. Bill moves another. Ford moves in response.

And when Stanford blinks, they’re already back at the start, the pieces damn reset and the game begins again.

“What do you say, Sixer? another round?”

Ford clenches his jaw, it’s not like he has any other choice. He just moves the first piece.

Every time their game ends with same, when Ford sees the door to his childhood home. It's already happening, every night.

He sees his brother standing there, staring in at their father with hope in his eyes, waiting for him to change his mind.

Ford sees his father’s mouth moving and even though can't clearly hear the words, he doesn't even need to hear them. He knows what happens next.

It’s already happened.

It’s always happening.

You aren’t asleep, either. Your head is too full, your body is too restless . Your thoughts won’t quiet. Ford, you cant get him out of your head. What you saw hours ago is sitting heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe properly. Something is wrong with him and the whole shack, it doesn’t feel like it should.

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does. Ford has always been intense, sure, his brain works faster than everyone else's, you've always known that.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. No use going in circles. You have to talk to him tomorrow, ask him. And let him deny your questions as much as he likes and look at you like you're crazy, you'll get your way.

As soon as you close your eyes, finally sinking into sleep, the lights go out, and the whole room plunges into an all-consuming darkness. Fuck.

You immediately sit up, gripping the blanket. It can't be that bad.

It's fine, this is fine. You know where you are, you're in the shack, the storm outside is brutal, but that's normal. The generator will probably kick in any second now.

. . . Any second now.

. . . Any damn second.

The darkness does not change. You swallow. No use waiting, there should be candles somewhere in here, just to keep you sane and. . . would word safe fit here? Honestly, you just want to make this place feel like somewhere, instead of nothing at all.

Pushing the blanket off, you slip out of bed, feeling the cold floor beneath your feet.

Ford keeps candles somewhere, you know he does because it was a Christmas gift from you, years ago. So it should be easy to find them.

You put your hands out to feel for the walls as you move slow, trying not to bang your shin into anything, listening to the creaks of the house around you and footsteps. Wait.

Footsteps, exactly. Your whole body goes rigid.

Someone else is awake. Your heart pounds as you pause, listening hard.

Okay, they're not rushed, you take a note of that. Not stumbling or uncertain. Not. . . What was his name? Stanley? Yeah, probably not Stanley's, he would be louder, sloppier.

Meanwhile these sounds too slow, intentional.

Your fingers shake as you reach out, feeling along the shelves. Goddamn, you need a candle. Just one. Just enough light to fucking see.

Seems like luck is not on your side because just when you take another step, you damn trip, your hands shoot out, grabbing wildly for balance, but before you can fall and hit the ground hands catch you.

And they're not yours. Your breath stops. Someone else’s. You barely have time to react before you feel them close around your waist, digging into your stomach, your hips, moving fast, searching, checking. So strong. Coming from behind.

They trace higher, gripping as they move up to your chest. The air rushing from your lungs, your body tenses as a jolt of shock slams through you. The hands don't let go, not letting you pull away as they hold you in place. You try to yell, but before you can, you hear someone's voice right in your ear.

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Your blood runs ice fucking cold, but hands don’t let go.

If anything, they tighten. Painfully gripping you, grasping keeping you there, locked in place. A rush of panic clouding your senses before you even have time to think.

And it doesn't help th at the darkness is so thick, so you can't see who's behind you, can't even get a glimpse

Long fingers trailing slow over the curve of your sides, the dip of your waist, the softness of you beneath them. They follow the shape of your hips, press into the plush of your thighs.

You gasp when you feel your back pressing against someone’s broad chest. But your thoughts don’t fully settle on who or what it can be because your body is screaming louder than your mind. Sharp panic coils in your gut.

Your mind is too scattered, clouded with adrenaline. You thrash. Or at least you try to. Your muscles tense to push, to shove, but the hands don’t budge.

Panic overrides everything, making it impossible to think and breathe. Your body tells you one thing: get away .

But the fear floods your veins like ice, so much so that you can’t even count the fingers on the hands holding you.

Five. Six. Which is it? You should know. But sadly, your mind is too frantic, your skin burning too hot where those fingers press, where they curl. You don’t even realize you’re shaking.

And when they let go, all at once, the air rushes back into your lungs as your body stumbles forward, and you don’t wait or look back, letting your feet carry you .

You don’t remember running back to bed.

You don’t remember pulling the blankets over yourself, heart hammering, breath coming too fast, too shallow.

All you remember is pressing yourself into the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut and whispering the first prayer you've ever said in years. Not that it helps

So instead, you think. You force yourself to think.

Because fear is useless to a scientist, it is irrational, fear clouds judgment, fear lies.

And if you let it win, it will consume you.

You feel. . . violated. That’s the word, isn’t it? Or was it something that could be explained away as a trick of the mind?

Was it someone? Yes. Someone grabbed you. Someone touched you.

Your stomach lurches and you swallow it down, gripping at the blankets while your brain tries to work through it. To think. To rationalize.

This can’t be. Logic has to win, but the feeling is still there.

The ghost of hands on your body.

And you don’t sleep.

***

There's dirt under your fingernails, packed tight in the creases, clinging to the skin of your palms. Your hands hurt a little. Dug too deep. Pressed too hard. The grave was small, no headstone, although you wish you could, just a little wooden marker Ford helped you to carve.

Somewhere in the trees, hidden in the thick summer-green leaves, cicadas chirped. It was so warm, the grass beneath you was soft, a little overgrown, tickling against your arms.

Your throat still felt tight, and your hands, fisted in your lap, felt hollow.

Your voice came out rough. “it’s stupid to cry over a dog, right?”

Ford turned his head toward you, furrowing his brows, not sure if you were joking.

“What?”

“I mean,“ sniff. “its just a dog.” you rubbed at your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until all you saw was red behind your lids.

He stared at you, and you could feel it. His gaze rested on you, assessing, he was trying to figure out if you meant it or if you were just saying it to make yourself stop feeling.

Ford was not good with emotions too. You knew this. Logic, facts and equations neatly filed thoughts.

“You loved him, why wouldn’t you cry?”

You let out something between a laugh and a breath. It shook a little. “yeah,” you wrapped your arms around your knees. “yeah, i did.”

A scientist, you were a scientist, scientists weren't supposed to get that emotional over things that had clear, defined ends. Things that had lifespans. It was biology. Living things died. It was just how it worked.

But god, he was your dog. He'd slept at your feet when you stayed up too late, followed you through the woods, knew exactly when to curl up against you when you were sad.

“He was a really good dog.” Ford said eventually.

“He was so stupid,” you stared at the dirt. “always running into things. Remember that time he stole your sandwich?”

“He didn’t steal it,” Ford corrected. “you gave it to him.”

“After he tried to rip it out of my hands.”

“He was very persistent,” he admitted.

“You were so mad, i think that’s the first time i ever heard you swear.”

“I did not swear,” Ford said, scandalized.

“You did. I remember. And remember that time when he came back covered in mud?”

Ford smiled. “mud and skunk pray. You had to him, what, three baths?”

“Four,” you smiled back. “and he still smelled. I had to sleep with all the windows open.”

“You let him on your bed anyway,” Ford pointed out.

You huffed. “of course i did.”

Silence again. You leaned to the side, lettingyour head rest against his shoulder.

He didn't pull away. Only stiffened for half a second, like he always did, because he still wasn't sure what to do with touch. And then his hand came up and rested lightly against the back of your head.

The sun dipped lower, turning the sky honey-thick, melting into the trees.

“I’m gonna miss him,” you whispered.

Ford’s fingers curled slightly against your hair. “i know. Me too.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes, feeling the tears again.

Ford's hand stayed in your hair.

***

Morning comes slow, at least the storm has settled. The sky outside the window is still covered with a gray haze, the snow is still falling, but the howling of the wind has subsided.

You don’t feel rested, but you’re awake and you need answers. You hate to admit it, but you're scared. And your thoughts don't paint the best picture for you.

You move careful, quiet, slipping out of the spare room into the main part of the shack.

And the first thing you hear is loud, unrestrained ridiculous snoring, coming right from the couch.

You blink, glancing towards it.

Stanley. Sprawled across it in the most undignified position possible. On his side, curled slightly inward, arms tucked close against his chest. Just a little, but poor guy is shivering. Like some pathetic, scrappy little street dog curled up against the cold. The blanket barely stays wrapped around him, but he clutches at it, seeking warmth in a place where he’s used to none.

For a brief moment, he looks. . . well, he looks cute. But you shake the thought away. You have bigger things to deal with. You need to find Ford.

The lab is quiet, but inside his head, it isn’t.

Ford is slumped in the corner, collapsed into himself with his knees drawn up, his hands tangled deep in his own hair, like he's trying to keep something from leaking out, all six fingers curled so tight against his scalp that his knuckles are bloodless. Moving his heavy head in small, restless jerks, shaking side to side, wanting to shake it out, but it’s not working, it never works, IQ, you fucking idiot.

Sixer's body tense with horrible, restless energy as if he’s still trying to wake up even though he never truly slept.

Dark, bruising exhaustion hollows out his eyes, pulling his features tight with sleepless strain. His glasses have slipped low on his nose, the bridge smeared with fingerprints, hes been pushing at them, rubbing at his own skin, trying to wake himself up.

Bill was always there.

The same dream. The same game. The same endless, maddening chess match. And the same loss.

Over. And over. And over.

No matter what move Ford made. no matter how many times he tried to outthink the demon, Bill always won.

And at the end it was always the same. Stanley, who's looking at his brother standing in the window, framed by the curtains

Stanley's eyes

Ford never forgot his eyes. The way they looked at him.

The way his brother had searched his face for some answer, at least some kind of explanation, begging. Stan's eyes so big, so damn wide, the pupils blown dark with confusion, desperation, with a hurt that had no words.

And his voice so small, so weak.

“Sixer?”

Ford shudders. Vomit rises in his throat. His hands tighten in his hair.

Gosh, he feels sick.

His stomach twists, coils, knots so tight it feels like it might rupture.

The sticky notes around him are everywhere, scattered across the floor, plastered against the walls, some even stuck to the sleeves of his shirt.

MISS ME, NERD? 
FEELIN’ RESTED? 
DOESN’T MATTER! I’LL SEE YA TONIGHT ;)

DON’T WORRY, POINDEXTER!

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU! HAHAHA!

HOW’S STAN, BY THE WAY?

HE’S STILL MAD ABOUT, Y’KNOW. THE WHOLE… THING

REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE? YIKES.

He wants to rip them down, burn them, but they've dug their way into his skin.

But his body won’t move because his mind is somewhere else now.

Ford remembers the deer. Or what was left of it.

Half dead in the snow. Legs moving, jerking in agony. The crack of stiff joints.

Something that shouldn’t be alive rose from the ground, black tar pooling from its mouth. The ground beneath Ford's boots was damp, the scent of rot curling sharp in his nostrils.

Patches of fur are missing, peeled away, exposing the raw, rotting flesh beneath. Its ribs jut out in jagged angles, parts of it look eaten.

But the worst part is the eyes. Empty sockets, gaping holes where its eyes should be.

Ford ran, but forest was too big. Too many trees, too many shadows and sounds.

His feet slipped on something wet and Ford knew he shouldn't have looked down

Bones scattered across the ground, half-buried in the damp earth. And awfully glistening organs strewn across the ground. Dark red. Raw. Rotting.

A smell so thick, so rancid it shoves itself down his throat, makes him gag. His shaking hands flew to his mouth to stop the ill-fated piece of vomit that threatened to burst out.

You did this.

You did this.

You did this.

Ford screamed, falling to his knees, dirt and blood staining his clothes.

The sound that ripped from his throat didn’t sound human.

His throat closed, air wouldn’t go in, wouldn’t stay.

Ford opens his eyes. His body jerks , thrashing against the floor, his hands shaking, fingers clawing at his own skin, trying to tear something out of himself.

He can’t breathe. His throat is tight, closing, closing, his lungs burning, his vision swimming.

His stomach twists, nausea rising fast, his head spinning so violently he doesn’t know which way is up.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Ford is dying

His hands claw at his own chest, digging his fingers into fabric, into skin.

He barely registers the sound of someone entering the room, running to him, moving, hands grabbing his arms, gripping, holding.

“Ford, Ford. Hey—”

The deer.

The deer, the deer, the deer—

“ Ford!”

A voice he barely hears, hands on his shoulders, hands on his face, hands gripping him.

Not his.

Not Bill’s.

Yours

But Ford can't move, his body feels tight, contorted as if something is twisting him from the inside out. The color of his face is wrong. He’s so pale, every shadow and hollow stark under the overhead lab lights. His lips are parted, his mouth trembling, and his eyes, so wide, bulging, glassy with tears, but not focused.

Not seeing you.

He makes a noise between a choke and a gasp, his fingers digging harder into his own arms, his whole body starting to shudder .

You're on your knees in front of him.

“Ford,” you grab at his arms. “it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s me, i’m right here—”

Ford jerks, his hands flying out, shoving at you with a sudden burst of fear and he screams. “Go away!”

You stumble back, watching him wrapping his arms around himself, his whole body curling inward

“Go away,” he gasps again , “go away, you— you monster —”

“Ford, it’s me, i swear it’s me, look at me.”

But he won’t. His lips are moving, forming broken, faltering words, but nothing comes out.

He’s not here.

His mind is somewhere deep, somewhere dark, somewhere you can’t reach him.

“Ford,” you say again, softer this time, but firmer, shifting closer on your knees, “you’re having a panic attack, okay? you need to breathe, you’re safe.”

His scared eyes snap up to you, still wide and glassy and it doesn't take long for him to cry. Ford gasps so hard he thinks his lungs might collapse.

Your arms are around him, pulling him against you, pressing his face into your chest, holding him, feeling the way he trembles while he clutches at your arms in return, his hands fisting in your shirt, clinging to you.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, “I promise, i’ve got you.”

“thirty-two point eight megahertz— quadrants , electron spin—”

What?

At first, it’s so soft you can barely hear it.

Your brow furrows . “Ford?”

“Event horizon c-collapse, field equations— metric tensor—”

You tilt your head to see him, but he just hunches further into you

“Warp theory— symmetry breakdown — proton decay—“

You squeeze him. “Ford, hey—“

He shudders and his muttering falters. Closing his puffy eyes, he buries his face deeper into your chest.

His mind registered it last, but his body recognized you first.

And you hold him, stroking slow, careful circles between his shoulder blades, your fingers weaving up into his hair, carding through the brown strands.

You try to breathe together with him. Slowly, letting him hear it. Letting him match it.

“I’m here, Ford, im right here, i swear you are okay.” you feel how his hands clench, then loosen, then tighten again.

His body still shakes, but the sharp edges of it start to dull, the tremors turning softer, his breathing slowing.

But his face stays hidden.

“Ford , i—” you swallow. “i’m worried about you.”

His shoulders stiffen. You keep going.

“This isn’ t. . . isn’t normal. You’re not okay, Ford. I think maybe,” your fingers twitch in his hair. “i think maybe you should talk to someone, to professional?”

The moment Stanley bursts through the door, his eyes widen at the scene before him. His brother, still trembling, lost in the fog of his panic attack, and you, crouched on the floor with your arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close

Stan’s face immediately changes into that familiar, protective mask, although it's even more concerned now

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You turn your head to meet his worried gaze, your own heart still racing in the aftermath of what you just witnessed. “He just had a panic attack, Stan.”

“A panic attack?” Stan repeats, raising an eyebrow, clearly not sure how to process it, “jesus christ.”

You don’t say anything.

Your hand is still on Ford’s arm as you still feel the tremors running through him.

Stan huffs a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Then, with a deep breath, he squats down next to his twin, trying to make himself appear less intimidating. “Hey, sixer,” he says, making his voice a little gentler, “what’s goin’ on? you . . . you talkin’ to anyone about this? is there somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me? why the panic attack?”

Ford is still silent, his breath still ragged, as if he can’t find a way back to normalcy. He lifts his head, peering up at his brother, but it’s clear that whatever’s plaguing his mind, he’s not ready to share it.

“C’mon, Sixer, you can tell me. what’s really goin’ on, huh?”

Ford doesn’t answer. Stan looks at you, his gaze is questioning, but you don’t know what to say either. How do you explain something you don’t even understand?

Ford is not going to talk too, whatever it is that has him this scared, he wont say it aloud. He better keep it to himself, this deep-rooted and unspoken truth has to stay buried, even if it tears him apart to keep it locked in.

“Ford, it’s okay,” you murmur, squeezing your fingers lightly at his sleeve, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Stan lets out a long, deep sigh, rubbing at his jaw, his eyes still on Ford. And, of course, because he can’t help himself, because he’s Stanley, because it’s how he deals with things, he tries to joke. Tries to break the tension the only way he knows how

“Shit, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

Ford stiffens.

Stan notices. And he . . . does that thing he always does, when things get too serious, when he doesn’t know what to say

He deflects.

Leans back, shakes his head, lets out a short chuckle.

“Or damn, maybe even worse. Like. . . i dunno. Like you just realized the government’s been spying on you through your radio or somethin’.”

Ford’s whole face twitches.

“Stanley,” you glare, warning him, and he immediately holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“What? What’d i say?” but his face betrays him. He knows what he said. He knows it was a bad joke. But he also doesn’t take it back, because that’s how he deals with things, isn’t it? Laughing when he’s scared. Pretending he isn’t worried when it’s clear as day that he is. And you don’t have time to unpack that, not when Ford is still sitting there, unresponsive.

“Just not now, okay?”

Stan grumbles, but doesn’t argue.

Ford hasn’t moved, at least his breathing sounds a little better, less sharp, a little more even, but he still looks. . . tired, so damn tired.

You soften your voice again.

“Ford, hey. . . i know you’re exhausted. I know you’re not feeling good, but maybe a shower would help? Get you cleaned up, get some of that tension out of your muscles.”

His eyes blink at you slowly, dazed you'd day, trying to process the words, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

“C’mon,” you coax, “you’ve got those bags under your eyes. You need some rest.”

There’s a long pause before Ford gives the faintest nod. And so you help him up, carefully, and he lets you, barely meeting your eyes, ashamed that you saw him like that but following your lead, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom.

You exhale when you hear the water running.

Your body slumps just slightly, hands still tingling fro m holding onto him for so long. But you push through it, stretching out your stiff legs, then step toward the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder as you go, noticing Stan following you. Not that you're not used to it, after all, back home, you've got a little shadow on your own.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you open the fridge, moving through the motions of finding something quick to make that Ford will actually eat without you having to argue with him over it.

Stan watches you like a cat staring at a fish tank. Or maybe more like a dog staring at a steak.

“I can hear you drooling,” you say without looking.

“I am not drooling.” you turn and yeah, no, he’s definitely eyeing the food with his whole damn soul.

“Uh-huh.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I see food, I want food. You gotta get used to it if you’re cookin’ around me, sweetheart.”

“Noted.”

You keep working, stirring something in a pan, and Stan shifts against the counter, watching you for a second before glancing toward the hallway.

“Well, i gotta say,” he grumbles, back at eyeing the kitchen counter like a starving animal, “you really know how to make a guy’s day.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, rolling your eyes as you pull out the ingredients for a quick meal. “yeah, yeah, i don’t cook much, but i figured he needs something. Gotta take care of him.”

Actually you’re not much of a cook, but right now, it feels like the only thing you can do. You’re not a doctor. You’re not a therapist. You can’t fix Ford. But you can make him something to eat.

“So, what’s the deal with you two, huh?”

You pause mid-stir, glancing at Stan. “what?”

“You and Sixer. What are you? Couple? Friends? Lab partners? Secret government spies?”

You clear your throat. “we studied together.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “just studied, huh?”

“Yes, Stanley,” you say, exasperated, turning back to the pan. “just studied.”

He watches you for a beat longer before humming, noncommittal. “Huh. That’s funny.”

You glance at him again. “what is?”

“That Sixer never mentioned me. I mean, you two were clearly close. Close enough that you’re still here, takin’ care of him. So why the hell didn’t he ever tell you about his own damn brother?”

You shake your head. “he doesn’t talk much about his past or his family. Especially after one situation where i saw a photo of his dad and said he looked just like him. Ford didn’t take it well.”

Stan chuckles. “Yeah, that’d do it, he doesn’t like the family thing much. None of us do.”

You glance up at him, raising your eyebrow, but before you can ask, Stan shrugs, not going to explain any further. “Sixer’s got his own baggage. We all do. Just gotta leave it at that.”

“He really doesn’t like talking about it. About his family or his past, i mean, i get it, but—“

“Hell yeah, sweetheart, family’s a hell of a thing.”

At end, Ford did eat what you cooked. Barely spoke, though. Sat at the table, moving food around with his fork, his own goddamn thoughts were so heavy he couldn't lift his hand right. You weren’t sure how much he actually tasted of what he was eating, but at least he got it down. You had to remind him to drink some water, push the glass a little closer when he forgot it was there.

Stan, on the other hand, jesus, the way he looked at the food, you almost felt guilty. Like some starving dog watching through a window. And yeah, he made a joke about it, about you running a charity kitchen or something, but you told him to just eat already. No need to act like a starving orphan from a dickens novel. He didn’t argue, eating fast, as if he might lose it if he didn’t.

It was easy to forget about what happened this night, the power cutting out and that moment of frozen, breathless fear in the dark. All of that got buried under your worry for Ford, who looked like he was about to pass out.

Ford was still pale, what made you want to press a hand to his forehead, check if he had a fever. You tried to ask, tried to get him to talk about it, but. . .

“You sure you’re alright?”

And of course, he just waved you off, mumbled something vague.

“It’s nothing.“

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

Stan chuckled, muttered something under his breath what made you shoot him a look before he could say something worse.

Ford didn’t want to talk, that was obvious. But that was the thing about him, right? Always acting like he was fine, even when he was so clearly not.

Stan had been quiet, chewing and incredulously looking around the house like it might spit him back out. He didn’t belong here, wasn’t supposed to be here, and was just waiting for the moment Ford would make it clear.

So, he cracked a joke instead. About how he should probably leave before Sixer turned into an even bigger grump, about how he “wouldn’t wanna overstay his welcome.”

“Soo yeah, guess I better be hittin’ the road.”

You frowned at him. “why?”

Stan gestured loosely. “i dunno, i just figure, y’know. Not exactly mr. Welcome here. ‘sides, your guy here looks like he needs his beauty sleep.”

“He’s not my guy.” you answered, but that didn’t stop the way your stomach twisted. Damn, you didn’t wanna leave Ford alone. Not after everything you’d seen. But . . . your dog. You had to get back. Had to feed her, take her out, make sure she wasn’t tearing up your furniture.

Ford didn’t respond. Just kept looking at his plate, barely eating anymore.

You hesitated. The thing was, you didn’t wanna leave. Not when Ford still looked like this and you knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t saying.

But you had a dog waiting for you.

Ford told you it was fine. That you could go. That he “preferred being alone right now. ”

And you hated that. Hated the way he always did this, how he always thought he had to go through everything alone, even when it was clear he needed help.

You promised him you’d be back tomorrow.

“I'll come back tomorrow. i’ll come back, and we’ll talk, okay?”

Ford didn’t answer right away, j ust stared at his plate. “okay.”

You didn’t like how he said it, like it was better if he was alone. Like he wanted to be alone even when he clearly shouldn’t be. And it made you sick, the way you left. Like abandoning a ship you knew was sinking, stepping away from a person you knew needed help. You hated it. Hated the way Ford always pushed everyone away, even when he was fucking drowning.

You and Stan stepped out into the cold, your breath coming out in little clouds into the biting winter air. It was getting dark already, sky looked gray and heavy, as always. Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. You pulled your jacket tighter as you shivered, rubbing your arms.

“Cold?” he glanced over at you.

“Genius observation.”

The streets of Gravity Falls were quiet. Before long, you were near your place, the porch light shone warmly in the early twilight. You turned to Stan, about to say goodbye, but then you got a good look at him.

The dirt on his jacket, he probably hadn’t had a chance to properly wash it. The exhaustion on his face. And you remembered th e way he’d been staring at food all day, watching Ford eat, practically salivating.

“So uh, you have a place to stay?”

Stan blinked at you. Then scoffed. “‘Course i do.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I do!”

“ Oh, okay. Where ?”

“Uh, y ’know. The— uh. The, uh . . . ‘lakeview inn.’”

You stared at him. “Well. . . okay.” and Stan seemed relieved that you weren’t pushing.

He coughed into his fist. “yep, great place, real fancy.”

You sighed. You didn’t have it in you to argue. Not right now. You just exhaled, gave him one last look as you told him to take care and stepped inside.

Your dog was waiting for you, so excited, wagging her tail. You knelt down, ran your fingers through her fur, whispered, “missed you too, girl.” Fed her, sat with her on the floor, talked to her, absentmindedly, about Ford. About his brother. About the way Stan was kinda . . . cute.

Meanwhile, across town, Stan climbed into the front seat of his car. He was cold. He curled his jacket around himself, stuffed his hands under his arms, tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d last had a real bed.

Or a real meal.

He should’ve expected this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. Sleeping in cars, parking lots, the occasional cheap motel when he could swing it. But somehow, after that meal, after you, this felt worse.

He stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about Ford. About how he looked tonight, half a breath away from collapsing. What kind of shit his brother had gotten himself into?

And then Stanley thought about you. You, who offered him food, just like that, like it wasn't some big deal. You, who told him to eat and watched him at the dinner table.

He exhaled, breath fogging up the air.

Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

***

The dorm is a disaster zone, but it always is when the three of you get together for all-nighters. Coffee cups, half-empty energy drinks, a plate of toast that no one’s touched in hours, and papers. . . so many fucking papers covered in chicken scratch equations and half-finished blueprints.

It was past three a.m. now. The window was cracked open a little, letting in the fresh night air, but none of you noticed the cold, too deep into the work.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Fiddleford said, running a hand through his hair, “if we don’t take quantum decoherence into account, this whole thing’s gonna be about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

“Decoherence isn’t the issue,” Ford shot back sharply and impatiently . “if anything, it’s the entanglement equation that needs work. if we—“

“Oh my god, would you two shut up and let me think?” you groaned, gripping your hair. “you're both wrong. so wrong. like. fundamentally flawed.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ford pushed up his glasses, squinting at you. “care to elaborate?”

“Not really,” you muttered, blinking slow, yawning.

Fiddleford chuckled. “looks like we’re losin’ you.”

“Honestly, i think i’m about to collapse on myself. I need something stronger than coffee. Anyone got any adderall?”

“University rules strictly forbid unauthorized stimulants—“

“Fidds has moonshine in his bag,” you cut Ford off, grinning. “saw it an hour ago. Was wondering when he was gonna crack it open.”

Fiddleford looked deeply offended for all of two seconds before sighing. “Knew i shouldn’t have let you rifle through my things. . .”

You flashed him a grin before reaching for your tea, now stone cold and bitter as hell.

Fiddleford nudged his glasses up his nose and look ed over at Ford’s notebook, squinting at the formula again. “Alright , maybe you got a point there, buddy.”

Ford let out a smug little noise, proud of himself, but before he could open his mouth and gloat, you yawned again, barely muffling the sound with your sleeve. “Shit, i’m crashing.”

You tried to keep up, you really did, but god, your eyes were so heavy. That's why you took the right decision, somewhere between staring at Ford’s notes and trying to comprehend whatever the hell he was writing, you leaned, without even thinking.

Your head found his warm shoulder and that made him stiffen as if he’d been electrocuted.

Fiddleford went completely silent, stopping drumming his fingers against the table.

It was funny, really. You’d spent the whole night laughing with him, throwing paper balls, joking and teasing Stanford. Now, the moment your breathing evened out, everything got real quiet.

Ford. . . didn't move. Didn’t push you away, even though his shoulders were tense, his pencil hesitated, but then he just kept writing, like nothing happened. Just let you stay there, pressed against him, breathing softly in sleep.

Fiddleford didn’t stop staring, observing Ford's reaction, not in the way he expected.

He looked at you first, your face half-buried in Ford’s sweater as you sighed in your sleep, how easy it was for you to just fall into him like that.

And then he looked at Stanford. At his handsome face, which somehow seemed even better in the lamplight. The furrow in his brow, the six fingers wrapped around his pencil, so concentrated.

Fiddleford looked at all of it. Ford was a genius. A goddamn once-a-generation mind, sharper than a blade, but completely fucking useless at anything to do with feelings. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see things the way other people do, the way Fiddleford does.

Ford must’ve felt the stare, because after a while, he sighed and glanced up. “what?”

Fiddleford shook his head, smiling slightly. “nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“About?”

Fiddle ford took a sip from his flask and it definitely wasnt coffee. Something stronger. He swirled it, watching the liquid catch the light. “love, i guess.”

Ford scoffed, going back to his notes.“love? shouldn’t you be thinking about our project?”

“Oh, c’mon, ain’t you ever thought about it? bein’ in love? how it feels? ”

Ford didn’t answer at first, just kept writing. “love is. . .” he started, trying to find the right words. “it’s complicated. Distracting, even.”

Fidds hummed. “but good, no?” he grinned, taking another sip. “s’pose you think it’s all just chemical reactions, huh?”

“Well, technically, it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, dopamine, oxytocin, blah blah blah,” Fiddleford waved a hand. ”but it’s more than that.”

They were talking quietly so as not to wake you up. Ford didn’t answer as he shook his head, returning to his work.

So Fiddleford kept going. “i guess it feels nice, y’know? havin’ someone who understands ya, c ares ‘bout ya. Even when you’re difficult.”

Ford stopped writing again, listening intently to his friend's words.

“It’s when you’d do anythin’ for someone, even if it doesn’t make sense. When seein’ ‘em happy makes you happy. When you’d give up everythin’ just to keep ‘em safe. ”

Ford gave him a tiny smile. “you’re being sentimental,”

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe i just get it.”

Stanford finally turned to him, frowning. “get what? ”

“Doesn’t matter.” Fiddleford leaned back, stretching. “s’pose it don’t make much sense for a guy like me to be talkin’ ‘bout love anyway.”

Ford frowned deeper. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Fiddleford shrugged, suddenly looking a little too interested in his flask.

“Are you saying you don’t think anyone will love you?”

“Oh, i know i ain't exactly a prize catch, Stanford.”

Ford settled his pen down. “that’s not true.”

and that made Fiddleford's eyes fill with hope “yeah?” he quirked a brow.

Ford hesitated, surprised at his own words and initiative, but then, because he was a good friend, because he meant it, he nodded, “You’re smart. Funny. Resourceful. You’re one of the most brilliant people i know and you're—“

“Handsome?”

That made Ford smile. “sure, yes! handsome, even.” Fidds thought he had imagined it. Did Ford really find him so? “so, im sure you'llfind someone. You’ll probably settle down, have a family. A kid, even.”

Oh. . . oh, okay.

And that’s when Fiddleford knew .

His smile did not drop, but he took another s ip of alcohol, letting the warmth burn his throat .

Ford kept writing, pleased he managed to lift his friend's spirit, while you doze quietly against his shoulder. He doesn't even notice Fiddleford getting up, leaning in close enough that Ford finally glances up from his notes.

“Yer my best friend, Ford, guess i’ll just love ya forever.”

Ford stopped writing. The pencil slipped from his fingers

But before he could ask, Fiddleford pushed himself up from the chair, stretched and yawned deeply.

He patted Ford on the shoulder, then grabbed his jacket.

“Whew! man, i need a walk. i’ll be back.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving Ford alone with the papers, the cold coffee and with the equations that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

Alone with you, asleep on his shoulder.

Ford didn’t move for a long time.

***

The morning air was cold enough to wake you up, even though you were still in the fog of sleep. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly bustling this early, just a few cars passing, an old man walking his dog, the slow shuffle of someone dragging a garbage bin to the curb.

You pulled your coat tighter, holding your grocery bag. You'd only meant to grab something quick for yourself, but somehow, without even thinking, you'd ended up picking up something for Ford, too. Something that wasn’t just instant noodles and coffee.

He wouldn’t eat properly if left alone. You knew that, you knew him too well. You sighed, adjusting your grip on the bag.

Stanley Pines woke up in hell. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

His entire body ached, joints were too stiff from sleeping in one uncomfortable pose whole night, cold burrowed so deep in his bones that even curling tighter into his jacket wasn’t helping anymore.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, just a few more minutes, ma, please, but the cold gnawed at him, dug under his skin, made every breath feel like ice in his lungs.

He was so fucking tired.

But sleep wouldn’t come back so he lazily cracked one eye open. Fucking hell.

Still the car. Still parked in the same damn spot he’d been in since last night. The windshield was fogged up from his own breath, the windows covered in a thin layer of frost.

“Mmmgh,” he groaned, trying to stretch, but back screamed in protest. God, sleeping in the driver’s seat was not good for his spine.

Cold. Everything was so fucking cold. His toes were numb in his boots, fingers barely flexible enough to work as he rubbed warmth into them.

“Good morning, Stanley,” he muttered to himself. ”what wonderful luxury awaits you today?”

He yawned, running a hand through his brown hair. His mullet was a mess, so tangle d, flattened weird on one side.

First things first, he fumbled for the glove compartment, rummaging through loose receipts and absolute trash until he found the old bottle of cologne. He sniffed it once, it was not fresh. But hey, better than nothing. He rolled it over his wrists, rubbed it against his neck.

Second, he grabbed an old comb, barely dragging it through his tangled mullet before giving up and stuffing it back into the glovebox.

Third, he adjusted the rearview mirror, squinting at his reflection, and groaned again.

“Oof.“

Looked like absolute shit. Dark circles, unshaven, face puffy from sleep. But whatever. Not like he had anyone to impress.

He reached down, adjusting his coat, when—

THUMP.

A hand. A fucking hand slapping against the driver’s side window.

“GAH!” Stan jolted so hard he smacked his knee on the dashboard. He panicked instantly, his hands flew to the wheel. “no, no, no, por el amor de dios, madre santa, no me lleves!” he spat out in rapid-fire spanish, already prepared to beg for his miserable life. “lo juro, no tengo nada, no me arresten, por favor, dios, maria, nadie, por favor!” his mind was a blur of oh shit oh shit oh shit, picturing cops and maybesome pissed-off local ready to drag him out, picturing—

Someone was writing on the window, through the fogged-up glass, a finger traced out two slow words:

It’s me.

That made him froze as he squinted suspiciously, still gripping the wheel tight. Hesitated. then, slowly, he rolled the window down.

You stared at him.

“So,” you said flatly, flicking your gaze between him and the car. “this is the lakeview inn?”

Stanley looked around, hoping a better answer would suddenly appear.

You crossed your arms.

“Technically,” he started, “i do live here. You ever heard of a little thing called, uh, mobile homes? Very trendy and, um, modern.”

”Uh-huh.” your eyes narrowed.

“Alright, alright, fine, ya caught me. I’m actually a millionaire, this is just my vacation home. My actual mansion’s up in the hills, but y’know, i like to stay humble”

“Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“You lied to me.”

“No, listen,” he started, already preparing some dumbass joke to get him out of this.

“You fucking lied to me.”

Stan threw up his hands. “hey, now, let’s not throw around ugly words like—”

“You told me you had a place , Stan.”

He stopped talking, and there was silence between you.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you look horrible.”

Stan bristled. “hey!”

“And you smell horrible.” not like you were lying though.

“Hey now, hold on!”

“Do you wanna take a shower at my place?”

Stan’s brain short-circuited. “what?”

“Then we’ll get you something to eat,” you continued, ignoring his slack-jawed expression.

He stared at you like you’d just spoken an entirely different language.

You. . . you were offering? Just like that?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

His brows drawing together, mouth pulling into a frown, jaw working as he was trying to find the right words. But it it didn't take long as he smoothed it all over in a blink, replacing it with serious face. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“What, you pity me now?”

“No,” you said simply.

“Pfft, i dont need you takin care of me, alright? Go waste your charity on someone else.”

“Yeah?” you tilted your head. “so if Stanford was sitting in this car right now looking like this, you'd just walk away?”

Stan stared at you, surprised. You restrained yourself from laughing at how fast the smug confidence drained from his face.

“Thats different.” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh wait, wait, wait, i see how it is,” he grumbled. “you got tired of dealin’ with sixer, huh? figured you’d switch to fixin’ me instead?”

“What does this have to do here? Take the offer, dumbass.”

“Nah, i the natural scent.”

“You literally smell like a dumpster.”

“Okay, rude.” Stan putted a hand to his chest, feigning resentment.

But you only waited, waited and waited and that silence made him clench his teeth, grumbling under his breath. So when he finally let out a sharp sigh, dragging a hand down his face, you knew he’d given in. “you got hot water?”

That made you raise an eyebrow and smile. “Of course i have hot water.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “but only ‘cause i got nothin’ better to do and you begged.”

“Right,” you said, unimpressed. He shot you a glare, but you were already walking away, expecting him to follow. And, grumbling all the way, he did.

***

Early autumn. The bus stop bench is cold beneath you and you wish you’d worn something thicker. Clouds rolling lazily in the bright sky, October sun spilling through trees, gold colour caught in Ford's brown hair. He sits beside you, one knee bouncing, a habit of his, nervous tick, always. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets, and his breath fogs in the air when he exhales.

You bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale, one leg over the other, foot bouncing absently, meanwhile the tip glows warm for a moment, ember-orange in the afternoon light.

“It’s just a cigarette,” you say, watching the smoke curling from your mouth, but Ford, who's stiff like he's resisting the urge to snatch the cigarette out of your fingers, doesn't seem satisfied with that.

“Yeah and it hurts your pretty lungs.”

Oh. That tone. That damn tone, which means he’s about to start. Again.

He pulls his coat tighter. “Do you know how many carcinogens are in that? the tar alone is—“

You groan, tipping your head back. “oh my god Ford.”

“No, i’m serious. You don’t even understand what that’s doing to your body.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, cutting him off, waving him away. “you’re acting like i’m chugging cyanide.”

“You might as well be,” his glasses slip down his nose, and he shoves them back up in agitation.

You've heard it all before, the lecturers, the statistics so you roll your eyes, amused, flicking the ash into the pavement. “When i wanna stop, i can.”

Ford scoffs. “that’s what they all say. . . I don't know if you know this, but cigarettes contain over seven thousand chemicals, many of which are—“

You blow smoke into his worried, but serious face and he immediately recoils coughing, waving his hand to dispel the haze. You laugh, reaching over to run a hand through his beautiful golden colored hair to smooth away his frustration.

“Honey,” you barely get time to say before Ford scoffs of. Oh here we go, petnames are back in circulation. You're using the secret weapon, you know exactly what they do to him. “Cant you trust me? when i want to stop, i can.”

Suddenly Ford is twelve years old again and Stanley smells like smoke.

He swears he can hear their dad in the other room, muttering at the evening news.

His brother leans against the windowsill, awkwardly rolling a cigarette between his fingers which he bummed off the older kids at school. There’s a hole in his sleeve. A bruise on his jaw.

“You know dad will smell it! He's gonna know. He's gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah, he'll tan my hide, blah blah.” Stan rolls his eyes, sliding the cigarette between his lips , lighting it with exaggerated flick of the lighter. The first puff is taken in a deep, inexperienced breath before he exhales through his nose. “seriously, Poindexter , would you stop being paranoid? when i wanna stop, i can.”

But he doesn’t, he lies, because Ford hears him cough at night sometimes. Watches him light another in the schoolyard.

He knows it’s bad. But Stan doesn’t listen.

Why does his brother do these things? Why does he always push the limits, cross the lines? Why does he always seem so desperate to do the things he knows he shouldn't?

That day, when they returned from school with large backpacks at the ready, Stanford glanced towards their house. “seriously, Stan, put it out. If da smells it—“

“What, you're scared he'll ground me?” Stanley smirked. “big whoop.”

“Stanley!”

Stan rolled his eyes at his twin's dramatic behavior, but stubbed it out on the pavement, flicking the butt into the bushes what made Ford exhale, relieved.

But the relief didnt last long.

Because week later, their dad does find out.

And Ford watches as his own twin, for all his bravado, gets actually scared. Ford hates that look. He hates it almost as much as he hates the sharp crack that follows.

Ford doesn’t like thinking about what happened next, doesn't like remembering the way Stan screamed. Doesn't like remembering how loud their father’s voice got, making the walls sh ake, how the belt cracked sharp as thunder, how Stan tried to act like it didnt carve its place into his skin.

But Ford remembers. He remembers the way Stan didn’t fight back, how he flinched at sudden movements for weeks. How he hissed through his teeth when he sat down too fast, and how he lit another cigarette anyway.

Ford opens his eyes. He's back in present now, back at the bus stop with you watching him with frustration in your eyes.

“Ford?”

He swallows, shakes his head, forces his thoughts back into place. He doesn't tell you any of that. “just. . . promise me you'll think about it.”

You groan again. “jesus, you sound like my dad.”

Ford flinches and wonders, distantly, if you notice. If you know what that comparison does to him.

“I told you, darling, when i want to stop i can,” you add, caressing his cheek.

He doesn't argue anymore, because he already knows that line. Heard it before. Millions of times. And he knows it's a lie.

***

Stanley Pines doesn't know what to do with kindness. Not the real kind, anyway, where someone takes him out, sits him down and actually pays for his meal as if some random knucklehead like him is worth the damn trouble.

He can't help it; he feels awkward because he is not used to people being nice to him. He's not used to much of anything, except scraping by, finding the next scam and eating cheap food out of plastic wrappers. So when you dragged him to the Gravity Falls diner, promising him a real warm meal, he was suspicious.

The waitress barely had time to finish setting down the menus before Stan barked out an order. “Burger, double. Extra fries. Chocolate milkshake. And gimme some bacon on the side.”

You're an idiot, he thought, the hell are you getting the money for all this?

Your brows shot up, but you didn’t say anything, just smiled and told the waitress to put it on one tab. That’s when Stan’s gaze snap s to you. “One tab? wait, you’re payin’?”

“Yeah, why not?” you answer casually, because it's not a big deal for you, but Stanley frowns.

“You sure about that? ‘cause, uh, i don’t exactly have, you know. . .” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. Just eat, Stan.” and that’s what fucks him up. Because nobody’s ever wanted to spend their money on him before, not unless they were expecting something in return. But you just look at him with those soft, genuine eyes and tell him to shut up when he starts talking about returning money.

When the food arrives, Stanley attacks it like a man starved, which, honestly, he definitely is. The burger disappears in minutes, followed by the fries, then the bacon. Grease smears his chin and he doesn't even bother wiping it off, too busy slurping down his milkshake like his life depends on it. Not a single goddamn cru mb left. You swear he licked it. “Well, shit, if i knew you were gonna feed me like this, id have showed up beggin' at your door ages ago.”

You watch in both amusement and horror at the starved man in front of you, who barely stops to chew, talking with his mouth full .

“Yeah, yeah. You eat like a starving stray dog.”

That makes him choke on his milkshake, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at you while you laugh. “jesus, toots, the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” you wave a vague hand, smirking. “you're scruffy, hungry all the time, you look at people like they might kick you if you get too close.”

“Hey, don't insult dogs like that.” He cuts in, effectively ending the conversation as he goes back to his food, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“Damn, Stan, you wanna slow down before you choke?” you tease, propping your chin on your hand, watching him shoveling food into his mouth with the single-minded desperation of a man just let out if a cage.

Stan grunts, barely acknowledging you. “’s good.” you notice the ketchup on his cheek and chuckle.

“Yeah, i can tell.”

After couple of minutes, he finally pauses, chewing slower, he swallows hard and taps his finger on the table, avoiding eye contact with you. Leaning back with a groan and patting his stomach with one hand, Stan smears a little grease with other. He exhales, heavy. Then, as if realising how fucking feral he just looked, tries to play it off.

“Whew. Almost forgot what real food tastes like. Jail slop, y'know? Not that I've been to jail. Ha, kiddin.” he pauses and grins. “unless?”

Silence.

You stare at him, blinking. He watches your face, waiting for laugh or well, some kind of reaction that doesn't make him feel like a goddamn idiot , but you just look at him like. What. The fuck.

Stanley throws his hands up. “Okay, tough crowd. Coño. . .” he mutters the last word under his breath, shaking his head

“Was it Spanish?” your eyes perk. Stanley tenses , but you squint at him. “how do you know Spanish?”

“Uh, picked it up.”

“Picked it up where?”

“Places.”

“ Uh-huh, ” you lean forward. “cmon, teach me some.”

“Nah, i aint exactly fluent, sweetheart.” Stan laughs forced.

“But you sounded pretty fluent just now.”

“Yeah, well,” he rubs his neck. “i picked up the good words.”

You let it go, for now, because you notice the way his eyes dart and how how tries to make himself look just casual, enough for it to be convincing.

***

The dorm hallway was too bright and loud, full of students shuffling papers, setting up models and diagrams, nervously practicing their presentations to each other.

Ford stood off to the side, as always stiff and uneasy, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoulders tight. His fingers fidgeted uselessly, six of them curling and uncurling.

The project was ready. The calculations were perfect. He should’ve felt confident.

Then why did he feel so out of place?

He scanned the room, seeing students, professors, familiar classmates. Goddamn. Ford hated how nervous he was, hated that his mind was half on the project, half on—

“G'mornin’” your lazy voice broke through the noise. “or, well, g’afternoon? god, what time is it?”

Ford turned. Oh, you were a mess with your hair wild, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. A coffee cup dangled from your fingers, mostly empty. You yawned, covering your mouth halfheartedly.

Ford gave you a quick once-over, barely holding back a sigh. “you look— “

“Beautiful?” you grinned.

“like you rolled out of bed five minutes ago.”

“Aww, you noticed,” you laughed , stretching. Then, with absolutely no preamble, “so i fell down the stairs today.”

“What?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

“Yup, just,” you made a vague flailing motion with your hands. “ Wham, right down ‘em. It was very tragic. A true fall from grace. ”

You expected him to at least huff a laugh, maybe shake his head or give you that exasperated, fond sigh. But Ford didn’t. Instead, his brows drew together, and his eyes quickly swept over you, scanning for damage.

“Are you alright? do you need to see the nurse? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“ . . . you’re not laughing, ” you pointed out. “normally you at least try to pretend i’m funny.”

“You fell down the stairs, and you expect me to laugh?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“

“Are you hurt?”

That care, honestly, took you by surprise. “uh,” you looked down at yourself, then shrugged. “probably? i dunno, i was too tired to check. ”

Ford exhaled slowly, clearly trying not to engage, but you just kept going.

“Man, i am not ready for this presentation,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “seriously, i have no idea what i’m gonna say. But hey, i’d do anything for my two lovely nerds. even stand in front of a bunch of judgmental geniuses and pretend i know what i’m talking about. Right, Ford?”

Nothing.

“ . . . Ford?” you waved a hand in front of his blank face. Obviously, he wasn't listening, judging by how distant his gaze was, he was somewhere else entirely.

“Hellooo? Earth to Sixer?”

Ford blinked, snapping back. “What? Oh, sorry.”

You gave him a look. “man, you’re the one who’s supposed to be all focused and sharp. i m the one running on three hours of sleep and caffeine fumes.”

He barely heard you. “have you seen Fiddleford today?” Ford asked abruptly.

“What?” you paused.

“Fiddleford. Have you seen him?”

You frowned, thinking. “um. no? now that you mention it, i don’t think i have. But i just woke up like an hour ago, so last time i saw him was when we were working on the project. Why?”

Ford looked away and pursed his lips guiltily. “he said he was going for a walk. I remember he had a drink, said he’d be back. But he never—“

“You don’t think . . .?”

Ford shook his head quickly, Interrupting your thought. “ No. No, he’s fine. He’s probably just, well, late.”

But you both knew that wasn’t like him. Fiddleford was always there on time, cracking jokes and filling the space with his presence.

And now he wasn’t.

The noise of the hall seemed to fade. Ford exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He said your name, nervously slipping a textbook into your hands. “We should focus, he’ll show up.”

***

The ride to the shack is cool, winter sun setting earlier than youd like, same as always. Your dog is curled at your feet, eyes flicking back to Stan at the wheel. He grumbled about the fur at first but you can see it, he likes your dog, likes her a lot. He's just being difficult, pretending, putting up a front.

Stanley drives slowly, you don’t know if he always does, but right now, you wish he’d go faster. You want to see Ford as soon as possible.

But Stan doesn’t seem nearly as excited as you. There’s a knot of unease sitting somewhere inside him, but mostly, he just isn’t sure what to say when he finally sees his brother again.

“Hey, I’m bothering you again because I’ve got nowhere else to go?”

After a beat of silence, you glance at him. “you ever think about calling Ford before he called you?”

Stan's eyes are fixed on the road as he speaks, “thought about it. But i figured he’d just tell me to drop dead.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” he glances at you now , twisting his mouth. “pretty sure he told me worse when i got here.”

When you reach the shack, you knock. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing

Stan squints. “maybe he’s sleepin’.”

You huff, shifting your grip on the grocery bags. “actually, i lived here sometimes, so i’ll count it as my home too. And if Ford doesn’t wanna open the door for me, i’ll open it myself.”

Stan smirks. “yeah, that tracks.” but then his smirk fades as he narrows his eyes slightly. Lived here before.

You unlock the door, steeping inside and the first thing you notice is quiet the shack is

“Ford?” you call, but you don't get an answer.You exchange a worried glance with Stan. Ford seems nowhere to be seen.

“Should we be worried?”

“Nah,” Stan says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “he's probably just. . .”

You step into his room and you see Ford sprawled out, dead asleep, hair a mess, glasses off. He's curled slightly inward, breathing deep and even, absolutely gone to the world.

Stan smiles. “Told ya he’s fine. Nerd just passed out.”

“I'm still worried, should we wake him? ”

Stan eyes his brother. “Nah, let him sleep. Dude probably hasn't in days.” he tells you, already leaving the room.

You nod slowly, still focused, studying Stanford's face. Okay, yeah, Stanley is right. You should let your poor n erd sleep. You turn, stepping back into the hall.

“You shouldn't have come back.”

And that makes you freeze as you quickly turn your head to the sound to see Ford sitting up. Staring at you, his eyes are open now, fixed on you.

You blink, thrown off, eyes flicking to the person sitting in front of you. Then, before you can think about it, you step forward, reach for his hand and—

Picture passes. Ford is still in bed, asleep.

You swallow. A slow, creeping dread curls in your chest. Who or what did you just see?

….

“Nerd looked bad. Needed sleep.”

That was the verdict. So you let Ford be.

“He always was a bad sleeper,” Stan grumbled, stepping past you, glancing around the shack, still having hard time getting used to it. “musta gotten worse over the years.”

Just let the man sleep. He'd wake up eventually.

You had to do something to keep yourself busy. Giving your dog a quick scratch behind the ears as you walked past, you figured she deserved a proper meal after all the traveling.

Stan, though, stayed behind and damn, it wasn't like he was snooping. Not really.

It was just this place felt weird.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around, taking in the clutter, the books, the walls covered in notes and sketches, and hell, even that weird curtain draped over the entire back wall like Ford is hiding some secret government operation. It's just. . . odd.

“Guess some things never change, huh, Sixer?” Stanley sighs. And that’s when his eyes accidentally land on the lighter what makes him tilt his head.

Since when did his goody-two-shoes, anti-smoking,'your-lungs-are-a-delicate-system-Stanford' brother have a lighter?

Stan picks it up, turning the little thing over in his hand. Metal. Decent weight.

Not some cheap thing, either.

He wants to call out to you, “hey, did you know Ford's got a lighter in here?” but he remembers, at the last second, that Ford is still dead asleep in the other room and screaming that loud would disturb him.

So instead, he just holds it, closing his fingers around it, turning it in his palm, flipping the lid open with a soft metallic click.

Weird.

Stanley's curiosity itches. So he looks around again, just in glance, just to make sure you aren't watching.

Then, his gaze drifts lower to the small pile of books near the armrest.

He chuckles. “Nerd books,” he tells himself, but his hand reaches down anyway.

One of them catches his eye. Heavy thing with a lot of pages.

Gravity's rainbow.

Oh yeah. He’d heard of that one.

Didn't seem like the kinda book Ford would normally read, though.

Stanley carelessly flips it open, barely glancing at the pages. Blah, blah, blah. Too many damn words for someone as impatient as him.

Suddenly, something slips out of page 69.

A bookmark?

Stan makes sure to catch it before it can land, brushing his fingers over the glossy surface before he turns it over.

Huh.

A photo.

It was you and his brother. From college, clearly, you both looked so much younger, holding some kinda trophy.

Some nerd award, Stan assumes.

Ford had that same awkward, stiff stance he always had in photos, but you looked too happy, excited, eyes shining. Laughing, hair a little windblown, standing too close to Ford, who had lipstick mark on his cheek.

What?

Stanley squints, fuck. . . he really needs to buy glasses.

You never really expect to see your nerdy brother like that. Looking. . . well, normal. Young. Happy.

Stan continues to stare. At Ford’s unsure smile. At your beaming one.

He turns the photo in his fingers again and glances toward the hallway where Ford is sleeping.

And then, a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Mierda!” Stanley jumps, nearly throwing the book across the room. He barely had time to shove the polaroid away before he turns, swearing under his breath, “por el amor de dios, you tryna give me a heart attack?”

You, startled, take a step back and raise your hands. “shit, sorry!” then your head tilts, “wait. Was that, was that Spanish again?”

Stan is still catching his breath, clutching at his chest like he just lost ten years off his life. “Si. Yeah.”

“What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Smooth, effortless. Completely unconvincing, but before you could say anything, his face twitches as he makes a sharp inhale through his teeth. “fucking hell.”

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, where your hand had landed.

A burn.

“Stan.” he swears he hears the shift in your tone before he even sees your expression. You reach forward, touching his arm again, but softer this time, brushing your fingers against the fabric of his jacket, near the burn. “You never treated it.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “it’s fine.”

“Bullshit. ”

“ It’s. . . oh, damn, it ain't like it's infected. ”

“That's not the point.” you pull, planting your hands on your hips. “you let it heal like that? No treatment at all?”

“Ain’t like I had a whole damn first-aid kit on me, sweetheart.”

You frown. “you could’ve at least—“

“It’s fine.”

And so it goes, the familiar dance of grumbling and resistance, before he finally gives in with a gruff and let you do your thing.

“Okay, fine. Fine. Do whatever.” he sighs, groaning, rubbing his face.

You mutter something about stupid stubborn men under your breath before reaching for the first aid kit on the nearby shelf.

But before you could even open it you hear your dog growling low what made your head snap toward her. She’s staring at the hallway that leads toward the front of the shack.

“Aww, shit.” you hear Stan say.

“What?”

He gestures toward the hallway. “you got ghosts in here, too?”

You give him a look, but your dog won't stop growling and that's when your eyes widen because you just hear the front door creaking slowly. Next thing you feel is a gust of cold air sweeping through the room.

Stan turns, the door is open what made fresh snow carry inside, dusting the floor in uneven patches.

You and him stare at it, realising that neither of you had opened that door.

After a long pause, Stan walks over and slams it shut, clicking the lock in place.

Then turning back to you with annoyed face, “so, anyway, how the hell is everyone in this town so damn weird?”

“What?” Stan plops back down next to you.

“i mean, you know,” he gestures, winces a little when the motion tugs his injured shoulder. “this place. Gravity falls. It’s weird. Fuckin’ weird. Like,” he tilts his head, looking at you, squinting. “theres so much paranormal weird shit here, and i aint even talking about my brother.”

“Now you sound paranoid.”

“See? That’s what i mean!” he points at you, triumphant. “exactly what i’m talking about! Everyone’s just, like, casually fine with all the weird shit, but if you point it out, suddenly you’re the crazy one. ”

As you work, carefully dabbing at the burn, he hisses through his teeth, every touch of yours is met with some kind of protest or mumbled curse or half-hearted complaint.

“You’re a goddamn baby.”

“And you’re a goddamn sadi—“ he doesn't have time to finish as he gasps dramatically again, throwing his head back like you just putted him through the worst pain imaginable.

“Oh, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Acting like you’re getting tortured.”

“Hey, you don’t know, you could be really bad at this.”

You press the gauze down harder, and Stanley hisses, jerking away.

“Fuck, watch it, would ya?”

“Oh, sorry, am i hurting you?” you deadpan. “maybe if you’d taken care of this in the first place, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem—“

“Oh, no, of course not,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “burns are fine. Totally normal to just leave them alone and hope they magically heal on their own.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy being dumb?”

“Oh, fuck that, really,” he says flatly before he looks away.

You sigh through your nose, gentler this time as you go back to work, cleaning his burn around the edges. Stan's eyes flick to the coffee table and he remembers the lighter he’d found earlier.

“So, since when does Sixer smoke?”

You stop, freezing.

Stanley raises an eyebrow, watching the way your whole body goes rigid. “what?” he drawls. “hit a nerve?”

“Ford doesn’t smoke.”

“Yeah? that his lighter, then?” he gives you a look, nodding toward the thing. Wait. . . The realization hitting you. Fuck. You’d left it here? At Ford’s? “found that lying around. And i know that stick-in-the-mud was always on my ass about it, so unless he suddenly decided to turn into the marlboro man—“

You swallow. “no.”

“Huh.” his smirk widens. “so you’re tellin’ me— “

You scowl. “it’s mine, okay? I used to, but i’m trying to quit.”

After a beat of silence Stanley bursts into shameless laughter.

You glare at him. “what the fuck is so funny?”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, slapping his knee. “holy shit, lemme guess, did Poindexter give you the whole ‘your lungs will rot’ speech? Went full psa mode?”

Your scowl deepens. “so what if he did?”

“No , no—” he’s still laughing, wiping at his eyes. “it’s just, you sound exactly like me when i was like twelve. Swear to god. He gave me the same fuckin’ speech. Like, word for word. Bet he even did the disappointed sigh.”

“He just cared,” you admit, looking away. “cared about my well-being. I used to think the same as yo u, that he was just being a nerd. But, y’know. Some things never change.”

That shuts Stanley up. So you use that moment when he seems to think or remember something, and clear your throat. “anyway, since you’re his brother, i wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Was he always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Paranoid. Weird. Off.”

He gives you a look. “uh, i met the guy for the first time in ten years, like, yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.”

Stanley scratches his chin. “but, i mean, i dunno. When we were kids, he was always kinda anxious. Worried about grades, the future, that kinda shit.”

“Yeah. He was the same in college.” you nod, something clicking into place.

You fall silent, rubbing your chin, thinking. If even Stanley, his own twin brother, has no idea what’s going on with Ford, then who does? Who the hell would know what happened to make him like this?

There had to be someone. Someone who saw him a lot during those years, who knew what changed, who was here when that happened. Who knew what had made him—

Your eyes widen.

“Fiddleford.”

“Who?”

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGucket. Our good friend and Ford’s old lab assistant, he quit before everything went to hell, but if anyone knows what’s up with him now, it’s him.”

Stan stares at you. Then his entire body shook with laughter.

Ignoring that, you snap your fingers as smile appears on your face. “right! he should know!” you look at Stan, pausing. “what?”

“Fiddleford,” he repeats, grinning widely. “holy shit, that’s his real name?”

You cross your arms. “Yeah?”

“That’s fucking hilarious.” he shakes his head. “Ford and fiddle. Jesus.”

You shoot him a glare. “are you done?”

“Nah, nah, i need a second,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Fiddleford. God.”

You ignore that dumbass, grabbing the phone, its rotary dial familiar under your fingers. You dial the number, tapping your fingers against the table, pressing it to your ear as the static hum of the line comes to life.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is unmistakable and it makes you smile, hearing your friend again.

“Fidds , it’s me,” you name yourself.

There’s a pause. Then, carefully, he repeats your name.

“Yeah! listen, i know you said you wanted to forget whatever happened when you were working with Ford, but—”

You don’t get to finish, because across from you, Stanley starts laughing again, shaking his head like he just can’t believe what he’s hearing.

You glare at him.

“Fiddleford,” he says under his breath, wheezing. “holy shit!”

You roll your eyes, bringing the phone back to your ear. “so, anyway— “

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Fiddleford cuts in, confused. “who’s that?”

Stanley, still grinning, leans in toward the receiver and says, loud as hell: “your parents named you what?!”

“Who in the sam hill is laughin’ at my name?!”

You turn away from Stan, pushing him. “ignore him.”

“Who’s laughin’?”

“Nobody.”

“I'm gonna die. Man, your name is awesome. And here i thought my parents had zero imagination.”

“Uh,” Fiddleford sounds even more confused.

“Don’t listen to him.”

But Stan just keeps laughing. “Nah, seriously, what kinda— “

You hear Fiddleford's voice going defensive. “now listen here, i’ll have you know Fiddleford’s a perfectly respectable name—”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. Jesus christ. This was gonna be a long conversation.

Ford sleeps like the dead, the weight of exhaustion so complete that he might as well be a corpse until his chest lurches followed by painful gasp, his whole body jerking upright, pulling him back into the waking world.

His breath is coming too fast and shallow and Ford can't quite catch it. His heart is beating as if it wants to burst out, no longer belonging in his body. Cold sweat clings to his skin, dampening the sheets beneath him.

Another fucking nightmare.

Ford drags a hand down his face, through his hair. Inhales slow, exhales slower and forces himself to move.

The floor is cold when his bare feet touch it, but even that doesn't ground him, reminding him that he’s here, in the Shack, with him watching his every move.

He needs water, so he stumbles towards the door until he steps on something that makes too loud a sound.

Squeak.

Ford looks down.

A dog toy, a bright, rubbery, ridiculous thing, right there beneath his heel.

Oh he knows what it means. Happened quite a lot. You're here. And you brought your dog.

Ford sighs. Deeply. He sets the toy down on his desk and finally steps out into the hallway.

He hears your voice, unmistakable, and Stanley’s.

And then he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

[kenziesimsblog]

SIMS 3 HIGH SCHOOL STEROTYPE LEGACY

hi guys! I decided to make my very own legacy for sims 3! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

some traits are repeated because they fit!

GEN 1-EMO

you never really fit in when you lived in your small town so as soon as you became a young adult you moved to the bustling city where you began a new alternative band.

traits - over-emotional, loner, virtuous, shy, and night owl

lifetime wish-rock star

career- music

requirements

must fall in love with another emo. -must name kids after alternative band members / singers, albums or songs.

must have fun colored hair. -must have piercing (s)

dye hair at least 3 times during each life stage

must complete lifetime wish.

master guitar skill

start a band. -must be close to bandmates

perform every or most gig you get. -reach level 5 celeb status

GEN 2-POPULAR

you are the exact opposite of your parent but hey when you're the kid of a famous band member you're bound to be popular.

traits- diva, irresistible, social butterfly, party animal, and flirty

lifetime wish- super popular..

career-any

requirements must have 2 best friends. choose either being a mean popular or a nice one. throw tons of parties be in at least 3 relationships before finding the one. marry the nerdiest person. master the charisma skill. don't lose any friends. chat with friends at least once week have at least 1 boy and 1 girl

GEN 3-NERD

your parent always taught you to be yourself and to show how smart you are!

traits - genius, bookworm, socially awkward, eccentric, and loser

lifetime wish- perfect student

career- scientist requirements always have an "A" in school go to university. earn your degree with a perfect GPA. earn a scholarship. be a strict parent. if kid has lower than a yell at them meet your partner in university. make kids have daily chores. make kids have curfew of 7. master logic skill master inventor skill

GEN 4- THE CLASS CLOWN

your parent was super strict and you vowed to never be like them

traits good sense of humor, rebellious, easily impressed, inappropriate,and friendly.

lifetime wish- distinguished director.

career- director

requirements have a bad relationship with your parents. have a "D" in school. always pull pranks on school and home become a director for comedies (pretend) master street art skill have at least 1 girl steal partner from someone else

GEN 5- HORSE GIRL

horses, horses, horses that's all you talk about traits - equestrian, loves the outdoors, ambitious, athletic ,and lucky

lifetime wish- the jockey

career- none all your time is spent with horses

requirements have a horse as a child. must be female. have at least 2 horses ride them every day. marry a cowboy/cowgirl. enter racing. live in a farmhouse. master riding skill have 1 kid that you have a bad relationship with.

GEN 6-BULLY

your mom only paid attention to her horses and not you resulting in a bully

traits- evil, mean spirited , grumpy, brooding, and coward

lifetime wish- ceo of mega corporation

career - business requirements be hated by everyone. have one "friend" that is a sidekick. get pregnant or impregnate a one-night stand. have baby in your household. co parent with one night stand even though you hate it. marry one night stand at middle/end of adult life. have one more child/ or multiples before you reach elder status. at least perform two mean actions a day

GEN 7- GAMER

your parents didnt care what you did they spent to much time hating each other so what better way to distract your self then video games

traits- couch potato, computer whiz, heavy sleeper, night owl and loner

lifetime wish- blog artist

career - video game developer

requirements attend university to master nerd social group. drop out when maxed nerd group. marry college sweetheart. cheat on college sweetheart with person you met online. have one kid with college sweetheart.

have more with new partner play video games every day. run a blog about games. master logic skill

GEN 8- THEATER KID

you spent all of your childhood watching plays dreaming one day it would be you

traits- star quality, natural born performer , hopeless romantic , dramatic, and ambitious

lifetime wish- superstar actor.

career- actor

requirements name kids after real life actors woohoo 5 celebs. complete lifetime wish. get pregnant by 3 different celebs. have at least 3 kids have a bad reputation. ruin your reputation at least once. never get married. spoil your kids.

GEN 9- JOCK

you lived in a booming town with a big gym where you spent most of your time

traits- handy, athletic, vegetarian, green thumb, and daredevil

lifetime wish- become a superstar athlete.

career- athletic

requirements master lifetime wish. be a vegetarian. have a garden of healthy vegetables. workout everyday max gardening skill max handy skill max athletic skill meet partner at gym. have a big family (4 kids)

GEN 10-ARTSY

traits- artistic, avant garde, adventurous, perfectionist, virtuoso

lifetime wish-master of arts

career- self employed artist

requirements master guitar skill master painting skill travel to different countries for inspiration meet partner in another country. perform for tips. sell paintings. at least always have one animal in house house is very colorful. do photography on the side. master lifetime wish. go out with family every holiday.

be sure to tag me in posts if you decide to play!

[reidbae]

DAY 2: Drenched In You — shower sex w/dom!spencer reid

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

summary: After spending some quality time with your husband, the two of you shower together to clean up. But, cleaning up isn’t the only thing that the two of you have in mind while you’re in there.

pairing: dom!husband!spencer reid x sub!fem!wife!reader

warnings/mentions: vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (pls do not do this), use of pet names (honey, my love, angel, baby, sweetheart), praise, fondling, titty sucking, thigh gripping

wc: 1.6k

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1

"Come on, honey. Will you please let me clean you up?" Spencer asked you with a soft smile.

You were cradled in Spencer's lap with your face buried in his chest, having just made love with him. Spencer had been asking if the two of you could get up and shower for a short while now, and while you did feel a little unclean, you were too comfy where you were to want to move even an inch.

"Mmm, but I'm so comfy here," you voiced to him, only burying your face further into his body. Spencer chuckled at your behavior, running his hand softly over your hair.

"Yeah. But you're going to feel better after you clean up, sweetheart," Spencer whispered to you as he played with your hair. "Showers can decrease one's anxiety, as it relaxes the muscles and reduces tension, relieving stress from the body as a whole," he explained.

"And, it can also increase the production of mood-improving hormones, like serotonin and norepinephrine," the genius rambled on.

You grumbled a little, because as much as you didn't want to admit it, he was probably right.

You weren't one to doubt the words of a genius, especially when that genius was your husband.

"Okay, okay," you muttered. "We can go shower."

Spencer kissed the top of your head, bringing you closer to him before getting up, with you in his arms. "There's my good girl," he praised you in a warm tone of voice.

You felt your face heat up as Spencer carried you to the bathroom, setting you down on the counter. You were already naked from your time with Spencer earlier, with him being in just his slacks.

Spencer ran the water until it was warm, then removed the rest of his clothing. You tried not to look down as he did, but your eyes weren't too fond of the idea. You skimmed over his body, biting back a smirk.

Spencer was too preoccupied with the idea of getting you clean to notice the look that you were giving him, and took you back into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his torso, laying your head on his shoulder as the two of you got into the shower together.

Spencer wasn't joking when he said he'd clean you up. He made sure to get every bit of your body, pressing kisses to your skin before washing down each area. He asked if he could wash your hair, too, to which you let him.

You closed your eyes as he rinsed conditioner out of your hair, relaxing into the affectionate manner in which he was handling you.

If there was one thing your husband was, that was just it: Husband material.

After finishing up with washing your hair, Spencer wrapped his arms around you, hugging you from behind as he kissed your neck. "Do you feel better now, my love?" he asked gingerly.

Your eyes were still closed as you let out a happy sigh, muttering, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

After a short while of silence, you then spoke up again as you opened your eyes. "Well—"

Spencer's eyes met yours as you tilted your head back to look at him, giving you a curious expression. "Well, what, honey?" he asked, running his hands over your torso.

"I- I'm still—Needy for you," you responded shyly, turning your face away from him.

You could see Spencer smile out of the corner of your eye, raising a hand up to tilt your chin, so you were gazing at him again. His look was loving as he rubbed his thumb under your face. "I'm always happy to please you, honey. You know that," he murmured. "No need to be shy about it."

"I- I know," you said in a timid voice. "Still, though."

Spencer shook his head and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "You're too cute, baby," he said in a sweet voice. "What do you want me to do to you, my love?"

You considered it for a second, blushing as you gazed up at the taller man. "I want to feel you again. If that's okay with you," you said, like you even had to ask for permission.

Even after years of being married to Spencer, you still felt so shy around him. It wasn't what he did, really. It was just who he was.

But Spencer had grown used to it, and he knew exactly why it was the case.

And, of course, he also knew how to handle it.

"Of course it is. I want to feel you again, too," Spencer smiled down at you, moving a piece of your own damp hair away from your face. "Can I pick you up again, angel?"

You nodded your head quicker than you meant too, causing Spencer to laugh softly. Handling you as if you would break like glass if he dropped you, Spencer took you back into his arms, to which you then interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

Warm water fell over your backside as Spencer's lips met yours, bringing you in for a soft and sensual kiss. He was incredibly slow and gentle with you, knowing that there was no need to rush a thing when the two of you were together like this.

Your hands played with his wet hair as your lips moved with his, his hands rubbing your back with a gentle touch. You could feel him smiling against your lips as he kissed you, sinking deeper into it as the time went on.

You felt the cool surface of the shower wall on your back as Spencer pushed you up to it, veiny hands gripping your thighs to hold you up. He then managed to move a hand away, now only holding you up with one. His free hand moved down just to feel his cock, that had since become hard.

You opened your eyes as water ran down your faces, gazing at him with needy eyes as you looked down. You could feel yourself growing wetter as you eyed him, and that wasn't just because of the shower.

Spencer moved his hand up and down for a few more seconds, then guided his tip to your cunt slowly. Gently, he pushed himself inside of you, and you quickly melted into the feeling that you'd been craving ever since your time together earlier.

Spencer moved his hands back down to your thighs, gripping them again as he moved himself into you, your back still pressed into the wall.

Spencer set you down to your feet, taking one of your legs into his hand and lifting it up for better access as the two of you made love. "You're so beautiful, my love," Spencer whispered.

You smiled, meeting his eyes with a needy expression. "Mmm, am not," you said in response, your brain too messy with pleasure to say much else.

"Yes, you are, baby," Spencer said, bringing his free hand up to cup one of your tits. He ran his thumb in slow circles over it and squeezed down with force, causing your head to tilt back on the wall in pleasure. "Especially when you're needy for me like this," he teased.

You only grumbled in response, allowing your eyes to close, and your body to refocus on the feeling of Spencer inside of you once more. You weren't quite sure how the taller man did it, but the hand that was fondling your breast was suddenly replaced with his mouth.

You couldn't miss the gorgeous view of your husband with his mouth full of your tit. You opened your eyes again to look at him, whimpering at the view of him bending down just to pleasure you.

Spencer's tongue swirled around your nipple as he pounded harder into you, holding your gaze as he did so. You couldn't help but moan out his name in a soft tone, muttering, "Mmm, Spence, please, keep going."

Spencer indulged you as rapidly as you had asked, his pace never slowing down.

He pulled back after a while to lean back up again, meeting your mouth in one more passionate kiss. His free hand moved down to rub your clit this time, moving in hard circles.

When Spencer heard you whine out at the new feeling, he looked at you, face still shiny with water from the shower. "You like that, huh, angel?" he asked in a teasing tone. "You like the way my fingers feel?"

You nodded, moving your lips up to kiss him with a passionate need. "So much," you whispered in response. "You have no idea how much."

"I think I have a clue," Spencer chuckled as he continued. "I like making you feel good, honey. I'll never get sick of it."

"Please don't," you groaned out.

That was the last thing you could ever want.

Spencer could feel your climax closing in after a short while, which only encouraged him to get you there quickly, so long as that was what you wanted.

Of course it was. It was what you craved, at that.

Spencer's tongue moved with yours as the both of you soon rode out your highs. You allowed both the water from the shower and pure bliss to wash over you as you reveled in the tang of Spencer's lips, the feeling of his cock, and the way he was moving his hand all at once.

You soaked Spencer's dick with your release as he filled you with his, the feeling being the final touch to fulfilling your needs when it came to having sex with Spencer.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down as Spencer lowered your leg, taking a second to relax as well. When he did, he used both hands to cup your face gingerly, and pressed soft kisses to your jaw, nose, lips, and cheeks.

You giggled as he peppered you with kisses, smiling breathlessly up at him. "Thank you," you said.

"You don't have to thank me, angel. Making you feel good makes me feel good, too," he smiled down at you. It was clear that by that, he didn't mean only in the physical sense of the phrase.

"Now, for the second time today," he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose again. "Can I get you cleaned up?"

–

reblogs are very much appreciated <3

–

please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

–

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

I'm so glad you're doing well!

Could I perhaps ask for Damon and his darling nerd? Maybe something really good happens to her that she's excited about and when she tells Damon about it, she hugs him without thinking because of how happy she is. I'd imagine him getting drunk off of the physical contact and just wanting more

Yandere! Jock x Honor student! fem! reader everyday tidbits: achievements

Damon was nervous.

He's rarely nervous.

And, the fact that he's nervous for another person is weirder.

But, at least he's nervous for you. That made it more excusable as he watched you from afar on the bleachers, biting his nail while praying to whoever God that still didn't give up on him.

Sweat riddling down his temple, he watched as you raised your whiteboard with the words "300 to 3,000 Mega Hertz". Your eyes focused on the screen projector up above the University stage, with the question reading "What range of frequencies are usually referred to as the Ultra High Frequency (UHF) Band?"

It was your University's Intramurals week, with today being the Academic night. You were assigned to be the representative of your college's individual science quiz bowl, and that meant that Damon didn't get to have that much tutoring off of you.

Other than being pissed that you just had to join the quiz bowl, he felt somehow proud. You, the academic genius, the introverted yet blunt student of the Education department, is in a competition in front of such a huge crowd like this? It was unbelievable.

And yet, his unfounded jealousy trickled down his spine when the people cheered for you once the proctor beside you raised the green flag, signaling you got the right answer.

He may be cheering for you, but others are too. Just thinking about how other people can see your brilliance other than him was boiling his blood under his skin.

"One more round..." He whispered, gripping his fist. "Just one more, and she's for my eyes, and my eyes only once again."

His muttering scared his friend beside him, not used to seeing Damon so... ??? What is Damon's face projecting? He doesn't know. It was foreign to him.

Damon's heart jumped once he realized it was the last round. This is it.

The projector flashed once more, with the last item of the hard round. If you got this, then you'll be the champion of the individual science quiz bowl. If not...

"Which prefix is often used with scientific terms to indicate that something is the same, equal or constant?"

Hmm? Why did language studies came here?

Anxiety riddled his body for you.

What is it?

Whispers got out on the surrounding stadium and from the bleachers, wondering what the answers are. Some students are trying to mouth the answers to their representatives, but to no avail.

He found himself clasping his hands together, eyes wide as he leaned forward and bit his tongue.

"Come on, y/n... You know this... Wait? Do you? Whatever...." He whispered under his breath, watching you turn the gears click and clack on your pretty head.

Then, your hand started to move on the whiteboard you're holding.

As the timer ran out, you put your marker down with a shaky breath and an unsure frown, making your college groan in defeat.

Damon almost lunged at them. How dare they? How can they not believe in you, sighing in defeat-- do they not know it affects your morals too?

As murder plays on his mind, the projector flashed, showing the answer.

"iso"

His breath hitched, watching you put up your whiteboard marker.

iso

"OH MY GOD!"

"YES!"

"LET'S GOOOO!!"

"LET'S GO EDUCATORS LET'S GO!"

As the College cheer and the defeaning beat of the drums wafted from the bleachers, your eyes widened in delight, covering your mouth from disbelief. You actually got that right?!

Damon was suddenly buzzing with energy. His eyes wide, mouth a small "o". He stood up, and as if time stood in a slowmo, he vaulted over seats, and down from the bleachers. Ignoring the shot of pain on his feet, he ran through the barriers and ran past shocked people.

But before he could scoop you up in a hug, your eyes found his and with a huge grin, you ran to him and embraced him first.

Your soft body on his hard one, your arms giddily wrapped around his neck, your head buried on his shoulder.

He froze, not knowing what to do.

"I-I did it! Damon I did it!" You giddily whispered. Your voice, usually laced with shyness and a bit of ridicule, was full of elation and happiness. You felt so light, free from the pressure that you were placing on yourself. Tears of happiness trickled down your cheeks.

Damon trembled. His senses were overwhelmed with yours. Your scent, your body, your warmth... It was too much.

His arms shakily wound around you, gripping you tightly as his nose buried on your neck, inhaling your scent and calming down.

He can't be too worked up. After all, he's in front of countless people.

He reluctantly let go of you, wiping your tears away from your cheeks.

"I'm so proud of you, y/n." He whispered, eyes filled with so much affection that even your blindness to his advances got shunned away for a bit, making your heart race.

"Thank you, Damon..."

Meanwhile, everyone at your college were shocked, and other students let out high pitched coo's and aw's, thinking that you and Damon are together.

"What the fuck? Damon?" His friend was bewildered. Sure, he knew that Damon had the hots for you. But this?

It was too cheesy for him. Blegh.

Sure, maybe Damon took advantage of the crowd, vaulting over people to hug you and make it seem that both of you are dating. Will he deny it? Nah. Maybe even vaguely insinuating and egging these people to believe more.

At the very least, with him being your "boyfriend" nobody will try to snatch you away from him now that people saw your brilliance.

And as he buried his face on hair once more and spun you around happily, he knew the next few days and weeks will be one hell of a ride.

[mandatory-blog-stop-asking]

my favorite stand-alone star trek episodes

someone in bluesky asked around my sphere what are the best Star Trek stand alone episodes for each show and I thought it was a cool exercise. My list and specifications are below. Long post so click the button to check it out.

Rules: Can't be super dependent on other episodes of the show, can't be a two or multiple-parter, can't just be every season finale just because it made me cry or anything; it has to be something that showcases how the show works its own individual aspects in a relatively ideal stage. Think of it like the episode you could show someone to prime them to like any of these shows if they don't even know the show exists.

The Original Series - The Corbomite Manuever

It's one of the first times Star Trek talks about peacemaking and looking before shooting as something you're supposed to do even in a situation where an overwhelming power is bullying you. Kirk comes out of this as a genius who knew better than to take a situation at face value, and has one of my favorite lines in the show:

What's the mission of this vessel, Doctor? To seek out and contact alien life, and an opportunity to demonstrate what our high-sounding words mean.

Banger idea, banger execution, iconic alien, cool shit all around, 10/10

Runner ups: Balance of Terror, Court Martial, The City at the Edge of Forever. Didn't make it because I like this one more.

The Animated Series - The Magicks of Megas-tu

I think it's probably the wildest episode in TAS? Kirk & Crew meet the devil and he's like, a swell guy you should be friends with. Spock learns magic. The devil tells the audience of mostly children to not have prejudices against those oppressors have deemed unworthy of attention. There's a magic duel at the center of the galaxy that is then tailored after the Salem Witch trials. If you haven't watched TAS, it goes fucking crazy.

Runner ups: Yesteryear, The Lorelei Signal, The Time Trap. Overall just think Megas-tu is more interesting and more incredibly fucking wild, how did that air in the 80s, oh my god.

The Next Generation - The Measure of a Man

While it is pretty early on, I think it's a very good example of what TNG does best: single-issue stories using its main cast as a vehicle for drama. This has a little bit of everything people love TNG for: Data's struggles as an android, Picard's struggles as a reinassance man occasionally having to face the dumbest motherfuckers in the entire Federation who would be burning witches at the stake if they could, a Badmiral, Riker vs Picard, Guinan taking Picard by the hand and gently reminding him the human condition includes some unpleasant elements, a farcical trial...

it's not perfect but I do think it holds up, and whenever I recommend Star Trek to people, this is always an easy case study to check if they're interested in the project.

Runner ups: Elementary Dear Data, Yesterday's Enterprise, Sarek, and honestly a lot of other episodes that just don't quite work if you don't have all the context of watching more of the show. Either that or they have weird characterizations that I don't think work super well for the episode.

Deep Space Nine - The Ship

I think Deep Space Nine has a ton of great episodes, but I do believe that show shines brightest when everyone involved is stuck in a bottle episode having to fight their way out of it. In TNG they would talk, in VOY they would trick people, in DS9 they use violence!

I think The Ship is the best version of a good DS9 episode that doesn't need so much preamble to understand. You have a tight cast, a very clear drama point, and the slow build up into a horrific ending where nobody is happy and everyone wishes war wasn't such bullshit.

While there's literally better episodes, I think this works really well for this "challenge."

Runner ups: This list literally had Homefront/Paradise Lost as my pick, but I ended up deciding two-parters don't count. Other than that, The Wire, The House of Quark, Badda-Bing Badda-Bang and my favorite episode of Star Trek of all time, It's Only a Paper Moon, that unfortunately only works if you've spent 7 seasons watching Nog go from the worst character in Star Trek to the best character in Star Trek.

Voyager - One Small Step

I think Voyager is very flawed and that season 4 is the highest peak the show comes to, but even then, I think One Small Step is my favorite episode. It has the BIG VOYAGER THINGS: Seven of Nine trying to wrap her head around human emotions, an old-timey feel (literally, it's about an old Mars mission), it has the Delta Flyer, and it ends with an absolute emotional gut punch that I haven't really recovered from to this day. It's a love letter to space exploration that really fits a show named god damn Voyager a lot more than it would any of the others. I really love this episode.

Runner ups: The 37s, Living Witness, Death Wish, and DISTANT ORIGINS, OH MY GOD, THE LIZARD PEOPLE ARE REAL; all episodes i like but that either don't quite get me where I want to go, or I just personally feel aren't as strong.

Enterprise - Dead Stop

So like, this list is awful for Enterprise, because every single episode of that series builds on the previous ones somehow. Season 3 is impossible to watch out of context so I can't use any of it, and my no-multiple-parters rule means Season 4 (which I don't even like anyway so I guess it doesn't matter ) is mostly out. But I really do think Dead Stop excels at what Enterprise is good at: making the galaxy look fucking weird again.

Dead Stop feels like a really good sidemission from a game you've played a lot but never did 100%. It proposes some things about the state of the galaxy that you never really consider and never comes back, and it acts like this really interesting bottle episode that, while relatively predictable (this is Enterprise), is also effective. I think everyone shines in this and I think the situation is very unique. Worth a shot if you've never seen Enterprise.

Runner ups: E², The Catwalk (lol), it... look, I'll be real, Enterprise is not made for this.

Discovery - Unification III

Speaking of shows that aren't made for this, Discovery wouldn't have made it if it didn't get a soft-reboot halfway through. I'm one of the people who likes the second half of Discovery, sometimes a lot even. And while I think it should have gone way crazier with its own stuff instead of wasting its time with references (season 4 is probably the moment I was happy saying I like Discovery), I think Unification III is the first time I actually liked Michael's character.

It still has Discovery's major problems of being overly melodramatic in the wrong places, wasting a little too much time with dramatic camera shots and monologues that don't always hit, but I think Unification III is Discovery deciding it can stand side by side with other shows: it fundamentally changes the Romulan/Vulcan dichotomy, it takes something old and makes it new again, and it for the first time in years doesn't feel embarrassed of itself.

I don't know if it would make a Disco hater become a Disco enjoyer, but hey, I enjoy the episode, and it's my list.

Runner ups: Forget Me Not, and.... that's it actually. Don't watch Discovery on random, it doesn't work. Picard isn't in this list.

Lower Decks - wej Duj

Lower Decks rules and wej Duj is the best episode of Star Trek released in the year it came out. It takes its premise and allows it to breathe, shows you parts of the universe you'd never see, introduces great characters you could make a mini series about if you were crazy, and it looks and sounds great. Lower Decks was too good for this world and cancelling it characterizes cruel and unusual mistreatment of an audience.

Runner-ups: First First Contact, Empathological Fallacies, a couple more but Lower Decks is so referential in nature that it also makes it hard. But this wasn't really a contest. I wrote wej Duj without looking up other episodes.

Prodigy - Time Amok

Prodigy is a weird one because it's less "Star Trek" and more "Voyager 2". It has a different idea and execution for what it wants to do, so it doesn't really adhere to structures other shows have. That being said, I think Time Amok is the first time the crew really comes together and shows why they're a good cast, what their specialties are and why you should like them. I would probably not have continued the show without an episode like Time Amok, and genuinely, it goes great places. Season 2 is one of my favorite seasons of current Star Trek. It just, you know, isn't the same.

Runner-ups: Honestly for my specific rules, this is it. But I want you to know Prodigy fucking rules and you should watch it. "Now... go boldly" still gets to me every time I think about it.

Strange New Worlds - Ad Astra per Aspera

I like Season 1 of SNW a lot more than Season 2, but the S2 opener really is the show at its best. It doesn't pull any punches when exploring the subject of what's essentially Federation-approved apartheid, and it might have the best performances in the show so far. It would have probably interested me more if this wasn't another prequel that can't change things too much, but, still. If you've never seen SNW and don't want to just watch it from episode 1, give this one a try.

Runner-ups: Strange New Worlds the pilot! It's a very good pilot! Also "Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow" and "Those Old Scientists", but like, a crossover wouldn't really fit here very well.

And there you go, that was a fun little exercise. How about you make your own? Add any of the shows you want, I just happen to be a freak who wanted to do it with all of them.

[fatuismooches]

omg i’m super sick rn to the point i had to be sent home but like it just reminded me of fragile reader sm 😭 like fragile reader was def sick before it was really bad. like isolated flus and colds that dottore was always able to fix up medicine for. it must have been so jarring the first time he’s never been able to find a solution for it.

also i js realized that akademiya segment would not realize that reader is sick until he gets shown that they are. like he probably only carries memories of healthy reader so when prime shows him reader so they can be taken care of he looks like this:

🧍

- 💌 anon

AHH 💌 ANON I HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER BY NOW :(( *hugs* make sure to rest a lot and take it easy okay? But yes Dottore definitely (begrudgingly) took care of you during the Akademiya whenever you fell sick (under the premise he wanted you to hurry up so you could help him with his work again, but in reality he genuinely wanted you to get better, he's grumpy and always contradicting himself like that.)

No one likes being sick, especially not you as you hated the feeling, but at least you had your Zandik to concoct his own little medicine and remedies that somehow worked far better than the other stuff. Perks of having a genius boyfriend you guess. The cuteness is also a mega bonus. He's still his grouchy irritable self when you're sick but like... in a good way? For example, if you try to get up to do chores or whatnot, he'll force you to go back to bed (verbally and physically are both possibilities.) On those days when you're too sick to get out of bed and do basic tasks, he'll help clean you, feed you, change your clothes, etc... you feel bad because he's doing all this work while mumbling how he told you to be more careful, but deep down he doesn't like to see you so defeated so he doesn't mind. Although this is his first time taking care of someone (he doesn't even take care of himself sometimes) it may seem a bit lackluster in the beginning but he grows into it. (He's still not cooking though.)

But YEAH when the numerous medicines he whipped up did not work he was thrown in for a LOOP. Like all of a sudden, the routine he's held for so long is broken? He's lost, he's confused, he's annoyed and he's frustrated (at himself, not at you) for being unable to make you better again.

ALSO OUCH... well it really depends on when actually he cloned the Akademiya segment. I always hc he cloned him after you fell ill, like i guess the age when Pierro recruited him in the desert, but mhm... cloning him before gives me angsty ideas. Akademiya Zandik segment thinking everything is normal, and that the one person he cares about is alright but... then he sees your sleeping body and well it takes a few moments for it to click and for him to realize those memories are nothing more than in the distant past...

[fmajorenthusiast]

Omg HIIIII!!!! Just found your blog- I LOVE Rocky Horror so this is a dream come true!! If you see me liking all of your rhps posts in rapid succession I’m so sorry lmao-

How would the Rocky Horror cast react to meeting the cast of Clue 1985? (I’ve always loved both films, they were my first big introduction to Tim Curry aside from Muppet Treasure Island). I like to imagine Wadsworth would HATE Frank. Also I’m being professor plum in clue the musical soon so I’m in a clue mood as well as rhps!

Thanks! <3

HIIIII!!!! :D TYSM TY TY TY TYSMMMMM!!!!! I'M SO HAPPY UR HEEEERE Also dw I love all ur likes it makes me feel like my work is doing good awesome things and it makes me happy!!!! :DD

OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA!!!! I LOVE CLUEEEE!!! ahhh I haven't seen Muppets but I have seen his number in it and Clue is SOOO GOOOODDDD!!! AAA I bet you're gonna break all the legs in the world as Plum if you haven't already!!!! :DD

Frank: Oh you are SO RIGHT! Wadsworth would fucking DESPISE Frank!!! Wadsworth would be trying to give everyone their code names and Frank would NOT! CATCH! ON! He'd just be like, "That's Frankenfurter to you, BITCH!" then just name everyone else in the RH cast in rapid succession, fucking up Wadsworth's whole set up!!! Also, he'd get right under most of their skins for trying to fuck ALL of them. (This would be especially funny with green since he's pretending to be gay I'm imagining this so much rn LMAO and also plum being so into all the girls and then Frank's just like "hey ;)" LOLL) He'd pretty much fail with everyone and be pissed that he's not as much of a hit here as he was at the castle! He also wants Peacock and Scarlet's outfits!!! Wadsworth and Riff probably team up to kill him at the end of the day so that they can both feel the satisfaction!

Brad: Brad is terrified to be surrounded by a bunch of rich and important people who all seem sophisticated and scary! He feels a true sense of connection to the cop. He's never related more to anybody in his life! He comes on a bit strong and definitely scares the cop at least a little bit! He spends the whole time awkwardly trying to make small talk whilst everyone hits him with something he doesn't know how to respond to! I feel like Wadsworth, White, and Scarlett would be the worst in this regard!!! Basically, he's scared out of his mind and he spends the entire show trying to be gentleman enough for these people! Were he left alone with these people, I'm all but certain, and I say this with love to Brad, that he wouldn't make it out alive! And hey! We love him for that energy!

Janet: Janet would also be terrified but in her own unique way!!! She would scream when confronted with any sign to fear most of these people!!! She'd be really intimidated by the other women except for the singing telegram girl!!! I feel like, and I mean this in the most excited way possible, there might be a contest to see who can make Janet scream the most! Also I TOTALLY have a vision in my head where White is mentioning her having had five husbands and Janet just goes "but they were all your husbands, yes???" And everyone else is looking around at each other like "OK we now know what kind of a person she is!" Also, she'd really want to be as sexy and mysterious as White and Scarlet but since these women scare her so much she doesn't really have it in her to try! She's afraid of most of the men as well! She does trust Wadsworth, though!!! Which isn't a mega genius move, but she trusts him! (I remember watching the movie for the first time and being SO SHOCKED omg!!!)

Riff Raff: Riff Raff is SO on top of his game that if any of these people tried to kill him or damage his reputation, he'd already have a counter attack!!! He'd have the same command and self control that the rest of them do and he'd be prepared to take some of them DOWN! He would make it out of the building unscathed and he wouldn't attack anyone new unless he was attacked first! If he is attacked first however, he will kill! He'd slyly take a moment with both Green and Wadsworth to be like, "I see your game. Don't you try anything fucker" and then walk off! Also, he'd totally hate Mustard! Mustard would come up to him trying to be all like *trying to make some grand and profound accusatory claim at Riff* and then Riff would be like "I just work here. And I don't actually care quite as much as you think I do." And just walk off!

Magenta: OMG she'd be so delightfully blunt and cutting! Scarlet would say something rude like, "I thought that Transylvania was just another part of Romania now" and Magenta would just be like "Vell I thought zhat your tits vere real until I realized zhat you can afford a pushup bra" and it would be INSANE. She'd also laugh upon figuring out how wild these people's lives have been. She'd be begging them for so much information and laughing the whole time, especially when it gets to the murder part! I feel like she and Yvette would have a bit of an awkward relationship given that there's never actually been a second sexy maid in the room like that! Also, I feel like she'd definitely catch Plum's eye as so many women in this show do!!! She'd definitely find it amusing and NOT be interested, though. She doesn't tease him because she wants to leave him desperate! She'd love the whole experience of meeting these people honestly!!! She finds them amusing!!

Columbia: Columbia would be BEST friends with the singing telegram girl!!! I know. She's onscreen for all of 5 seconds before getting shot but can you IMAGINE this???? Holy shit omg. They both had wild affairs as well!!! I feel like they'd have the world's greatest double act! Also, Columbia would have a lot of "HA! Bitchy old lady!" Humor with Peacock where she keeps one upping her!!! Also, I feel like Columbia would think that Wadsworth is quite charming, all things considered! I also think that she'd offer some personal information rather freely because she doesn't really have anything to lose with these people!!! She'd be like, "Really? My man's been to jail too!!! I do love him, though!" And Wadsworth would just be like "Interesting indeed! Thank you Columbia!" Whilst ushering everybody onwards! It'd be amazing!!!

Rocky: It's a very good thing that Rocky is pretty much invincible!!! I can just imagine any and all of them trying to shoot him to no avail and Rocky not even realizing what's going on in the first place!!! Also, he'd just smile and think that everyone is so unique and good, much to their confusion! He'd follow all of them around and I can see him accidentally passing up on flirtation attempts because he has no idea that someone's flirting with him if they aren't really blunt like Janet and Frank were!!! Basically, I think that Rocky would think everything was really pretty and that he'd not be able to communicate with these people because they're all too sophisticated for him!!! Wadsworth would really have to hold his hand the whole time and he'd just be like "I don't know why but I feel like I should trust you!!" Everything winds up working out ok, though!

Eddie: I feel like Eddie would see a bunch of rich people in a room and attempt to steal from all of them! In the best world, he escapes victorious! In the worst world, all of them team up to kill him!!!! Eddie stops learning about these people once he sees that they're rich! I feel like he'd fully get into a massive fight with Plum and or Mustard that results in Eddie scratching and biting them! I can see him getting killed with the candlestick, but I can also see him killing somebody with a candlestick, so it all comes down to who's feeling more vicious! I think that he wouldnt go for it at ALL when these people start talking all sophisticated at him! Someone would say something passive aggressive and he'd just be like "Fuck off!!!" Also- he would run away so fast when he finds out that Green is a plant!!! He would BOLT out of that place like there's no tomarrow! Everyone would just be so confused until it comes out later that he's also got some secrets!

Doctor Scott: He 100% spends the entire time promising himself that he is not like them! Basically, he finds out about all the blackmailing that goes on here and is desperate to not let anybody find out that his job is aliens!!! He could NOT handle the risk of that!!!! He enjoys talking with these people at first before he realizes how unhinged they are! He's like "finally! Some other people with class- wait nevermind they're all killers. Every last one of them's a killer-" and then he'd try his best!!! He'd enjoy talking with some of them, though!!! He finds Wadsworth to be an interesting individual!!! He tries to get a few upbeat stories out of him!!! And he does a pretty good job!

The Criminologist: He's like... frothing at the mouth for the chance to expose all of these people! Like, in a BIG way!!! When he meets these people, he's so obvious that the only thing protecting him is his narrator plot armor! (Which we LOVE) but he's just swooning upon learning about every single scandal! Obviously some will tell him more than others, but I feel like his enthusiasm wouldn't do him too many favors in the wrong universe! However, were the secrets already out, he'd pester them for info and I feel like some of them would fold! I don't think that Peacock would ever tell him too much but White might admit to some stuff! Of course, when Wadsworth is asked, he hits him with a classic. "Can you keep a secret?" "YES" "so can I" He's a bit upset, but he just thinks that that guy is so fascinating!!!

[athene-owl]

Seriously - as a Pokemon fanatic myself, wtf is with Pokemon fans insisting that:

1. Pokemon's success is solely due to it being perfectly designed game and character-wise

2. Every other monster taming series that doesn't blow up to the degree that Pokemon did is a fucking failure because it doesn't follow what Pokemon does????

I don't know how the fuck to explain this to some of y'all, but Pokemon's success was in large part due to pure luck. It came out at the optimal time, it was brought overseas and it struck gold. Of course it has a lot of great elements that helped it be so popular, but to act like it's success was due to it being so uniquely genius and perfect is a slap in the face to its predecessors. Pokemon had a capitalist juggernaut behind it that had the means to pump money into it and if you seriously think that it won by its own merits purely then I think you are very naive.

If it came out today, do I think it would be popular? Sure, I can see that. But it would not be guaranteed to blow up the way that it did in the 90's. Again, this is coming from a diehard, lifelong Pokemon fan.

And the absolutely bullshit idea that every series remotely comparable to Pokemon is a failure for not being Pokemon 2.0 is worse. OF FUCKING COURSE NOTHING ELSE COMPARES TO POKEMON'S SUCCESS. Pokemon is an established, centralizing, multimedia powerhouse which makes more money than any other franchise on Earth. We don't say that indie animation is lesser than Disney for not getting the same box office sales, but Pokemon fans LOVE throwing this idea around. To insist that capital success = artistic merit and flawless design philosophy is honestly just disgusting.

It's easy for Pokemon to dominate other franchises when it was one of the first to blow up on an international scale. Of course, when you can buy Pokemon merch of anything, it's gonna gather more focus and money than an indie game. When you have a prestablished fanbase of over 20 years, yeah you're gonna sell better than new franchises. So what - no other monster taming series should even bother? Because nothing will ever dethrone Pokemon, it can't.

I am so sick of watching unique and creative works with a ton of passion behind them get shit on for daring to not follow the Pokemon formula and their inability to outsell it being used as proof of their deficiencies. God forbid a piece of art have its own goals, intentions and meaning behind it.

And how hypocritical too, to ignore the serious design flaws in early Pokemon generations. Pokemon's first gen had a lot of weak designs and major flaws BUT it had the financial backing to continue on and define it's own style and formula over time. Watching Pokemon fans lambast new franchises for not having everything perfectly worked out in their first entries is laughable.

And can I just say how depressing this shit is? I am not a game designer, I will never make a monster taming series, but watching indie creators' works get disregarded for not being Pokemon is so disheartening. 99.99999% of artists will never make anything comparable to these giant media franchises. Our works will never gain even a fraction of these series' fanbases and success and enthusiasm. In my experience, this is something a lot of creatives struggle with - if I'll never be as successful as this huge thing that inspires me, if no one will ever see my work, if I can't create the single most original thing, why bother creating?

That doesn't mean our work is intrinsically worse or useless, its just the cold hard reality of living in a capitalist hellworld. Mega franchises established 35 years ago dominate the media landscape. They make money on brand recognition alone, they set the industry standards and if you equate that with them intrinsically being better, more worthy of success and shit on indie creators for not reaching those impossible standards then you're a piece of shit. And this attitude is so rampant in the Pokemon fandom, so unquestioningly pushed, that it drives me up the wall.

[georgegraphys]

Let me fucking tell you that what Adidas did might be such a genius move of marketing that I just noticed

Warning: everything in this is not confirmed, this is just a speculation based on my observation and my previous knowledge/experience with marketing strategies implied in real world. Feel free to not read. This is a very long ride.

Have you noticed that all of these Adidas : George Russell x RMadrid collaborations are only posted through RMadrid's official accounts and all the publicity works are carried out by them?

There are a total of ELEVEN publicity works here (twitter (4), facebook (1), youtube (1), RMTV (1), instagram (2), RM Web (1), Weibo (1))

Those ELEVEN works are all published and done by RMadrid. All by RMadrid. Nothing individually from George. Nothing from Mercedes. Nothing from Adidas/Adidas Motorsport/Adidas Football. Nothing from George even when the club legend, Roberto posted George thrice in his instagram story (I only captured two sorry) and once in a post while George only posted the picture on his story. Does that not click something? It's a bit weird, isn't it? For a club as big as RMadrid to be the only one who does all the publicity through 9 different platforms in which the accumulation of the engagement can rise as high as tenths of millions in total. If you said that this does not make any sense, their instagram followers is 171 million. Only instagram. And these are posted across all platforms. It will amount to tenths of millions I promise you. Now, the question is what are we cooking behind all this?

A very genius strategy from Adidas, i might say. Why genius? Let me explain my speculation and thought process here.

There are millions, or even hundreds of millions fans of RMadrid all around the world. If you say "I love RMadrid! HALA MADRID" one day, no one cares. No one gives a fuck. Even if you're popular with tenths of millions of followers, no one cares because it's an 'as you should' moment. BUT if RMadrid was the one who showers you with attention, them saying "We LOVE you" and the players are all showing positive reactions towards you, those millions of fans WILL care. Those mega RMadrid fanaccounts like MadridXtra and many others will react to that out of loyalty. They are a fanbase with loyalty, whoever is seen positively by the club and the players (especially a legend like Roberto Carlos), will also land a place on the fans' good side. These are probably not motorsports fans, some of them probably never watched F1 but they will surely have a positive impression of George and later it will benefit the brand that George and RMadrid are collectively representing, Adidas and specifically their growing new branch, Adidas Motorsport.

This is exactly what I see as what Adidas is trying to achieve by making RMadrid do all the publicity. Notice how George met a lot of players aside from Jude and Roberto, he also met Mendy, Alaba, and Endrick then he also followed Modríc but he didn't post anything. Whereas his previous football sponsors link up like MUnited or MCity has got him posting something on his personal account in relation to the clubs he visited. And what happens then? I'm sorry but it didn't really generate a big ripple if I must say from a marketing perspective. Because as I said earlier, it's an "as he should" moment when George is the one who posted it. No one bats an eye because there are millions of other MCity and MUnited fans. But in this situation, Adidas turns it around. Madrid was the one who "gave the love" to George through the nine publicities they did and safe to say, things shifted in a better trajectory.

I will not say "yaaayy it works" as it's just one collab and nothing is showing at an instant but if I'm right about this strategy, then it's going to be a genius move. You can't expect tens of thousands of RMadrid fans to follow George or Adidas Motorsport in one night. Their loyalty doesn't lie with George/Adidas Motorsport and Adidas will not expect that either because if my speculation is correct, this first step will be an "introduction and discovery" step to see if 1) the perception and engagement of the football audience to a, specifically RMadrid led (we all know it's Adidas pulling the strings though) collab, with Adidas Motorsport and George Russell. Here they will see whether George is perceived positively or negatively amongst football fans 2) a bait thrown so that more people would discover the existence of Adidas Motorsport (and George Russell). This is partly why I think they chose Jude Bellingham and RMadrid instead of LYamal and FCB. Jude is closer in age, image, and nationality wise to George than LYamal. I know my fellow FCB-George fans are disappointed but it's a big difference in age and there are very few similarities that could connect them. For a new duo to make sense, they should have a similarity in backgrounds as well or it'll be a forced nonsense. "Why not Messi?" 1) They are not gonna fly George to Miami to meet with Messi 2) The "gap" is too wide and Messi is "too big" of a name. Too big of a name might come out as overshadowing or again, will be unrelatable as well. Maybe George might collaborate with Messi gradually but not now. Not in the moment where they are trying to introduce him first to the Adidas audience and market. Not the right place and timing. Their choice of Jude is a very right one in my opinion.

And here is another small point I'd like to highlight as the cherry on top of this collab. They don't only use Jude. But they also bring the likes of the beloved President, Florentino Perez and the likes of a Madrid legend and one of the greatest full backs in history, Roberto. The existence of these people in the collab solidifies RMadrid's "approval" or "support" towards George. One thing about football clubs is that no players are bigger than the clubs so Adidas brought in the President and a legend to back the "support" up. Very smart. Not only the players but include the legend and the club officials.

The other "sweet" point about this collab is how the Madrid players are actually, surprisingly even, supportive.

Alaba and Mendy (first pic) are Adidas athletes (understandable for their support). But Endrick is a Nike athlete. If you peep in the likes, Lucas Vázquez and Fran García (another fellow Adidas athletes) also liked the picture while Luka Modríc (Nike athlete) also gave his support the same way. It's very nice. It's a nice act because this shows that this isn't just business and it helps out the audience's perception side a bit. We don't know how George is with the RMadrid players or vice versa. The only hints we can grasp on? Through these things. I pointed out several times that George is not really the type to follow everyone once he met them except if they're his friends or he idolized them to a certain degree and that's how those football fans see George too. If he gets a positive reaction through these small things, it's a "plus point"

Lastly, the question might be "will we see Adidas pulling this strategy on George and other football teams?" Yes. It succeeded with RMadrid and a second "trial" will have to be done to see things through. Which club? I don't look like Adidas to you right? So I don't know. I can only predict things at certain parts but not that far ahead. It is out of my knowledge and work experience. BUT if I have the place to give suggestions? (I absolutely don't so I'll just put it here) I would love to suggest that Adidas don't try it out for a club in the Premier League. This is not because I dislike Adidas' PL clubs like Arsenal or MUnited (they're fine, i tolerate them) but it's oversaturated? Like George has already had previous ties with MCity, Wolves, MUnited. Another club to add to the list like Arsenal would have people raising their eyebrows and bring a negative image towards George if they figure out George has ties to those clubs as well. We already have some people questioning why George is with Madrid when he is friends with City linked players (Joleon, Jack, KDB, Aymeric) and idolized MUnited and Wolves in the past (I'm not waffling, it's under Roberto's post). We don't need more people to raise their eyebrows again if George comes to Arsenal. Maybe a private collaboration with the likes of Declan Rice or other Adidas backed Arsenal athletes would work but I REALLY do not recommend or like to see a George collab with another EPL club. It's too much. Especially when he showed his support publicly to MCity, Jack Grealish, and Pep Guardiola. It just doesn't sit right. MUnited might get the pass because it's another sponsor's event (INEOS) but another club like Arsenal? Especially knowing they are quite heated with MCity and George has a pretty strong personal and past sponsor ties to them? Nah... Not recommended. Pep visited George's garage in Abu Dhabi, Jack and Aymeric has been his friends since '21, and George was there partying at their treble party and watched their UCL final. A big no for a club collab with Arsenal or other EPL clubs in direct rivalry. IMO, it's better if Adidas put George in another league if they want an Adidas Football club collabs like Serie A, George could do it with Juventus or AS Roma or Bundesliga, like Bayern München but EPL is a big no no.

So yeah that's all to this. Sorry for being so long and detailed. This is just my rambles and again, everything is just a speculation based on my education and work experience in the marketing field regarding marketing strategies!

[angelthemanspanker]

have you been getting a lot of asks about guys xander may or not have fucked? LOL. also curious about 8, 18, and 19 either in terms of xander's bodycount or the ask game, up to you

I might have if my ask box was open for more than 15 seconds but in my genius I rbed an ask game and Then got around to it so hopefully asks about xander doing guys will start flowing in now but anyway ask game lmao

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

no Jonathan should Not have joined the scooby gang I'm sorry you like him but he has nothing to add to the group dynamic like good god at least Andrew is gay

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

my kneejerk on this one is Lindsey/Langel, like this horrid little cowboy lawyer who has a crush on Angel and Angel's ex-momwife and the potential of inserting him even more directly into the season 2 Angel/Darla Mega Divorce Arc with him not sure which of them he wants more is just. Too good. Angel and Darla are playing their evil sexy mind games and he alternates between which one he's poking in the arm like hey can you kiss me like you'd kiss them and Angel or Darla is like you'd die and he's like I accept that and they both only agree to it on days when the other one is really pissing them off. so maybe not Lindsey even but maybe we'll say people are sleeping on the comedy potential of a complete Angel/Lindsey/Darla triangle making everyone involved in it bitchier

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

I thought about it as a joke like it always starts but the past few days I've been endlessly entertained by the idea of Xander's post-series travels finding him dating a normal-seeming-if-very-strong Stanford student for a bit and it's going alright and one day his boyfriend is like oh hey my dad's visiting why not say hi and Xander's like shit okay meet the father I can do this how bad can he. Hi Angel.

thanks for the ask 👉

[reidbae]

DAY 11: Wind Me Down — degradation w/sub!spencer reid

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

summary: You've been feeling stressed out at work as you and your team battle tirelessly to solve a case. When you get back to your hotel room after a long day on the job, you turn to Spencer to help you unwind.

pairing: sub!s2!spencer reid x dom!fem!reader

warnings/mentions: vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (y'all know what i'm going to say.), praise, degradation (obv), use of my love before smut and miss during, reader calls spencer "baby," "honey," and "angel," hair pulling, choking

wc: 1.6k

a/n: SORRY this was so cut off, i literally am falling asleep as i'm writing this LMFAO but i hope y'all enjoy my half-awake writing anyways <3

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1

You were walking into the hotel room that you and Spencer were sharing for your ongoing case, shutting the door annoyedly behind you.

You and the team had been on a case in New York for the last two weeks now, and it was safe to say that you were already sick of it. Sick of the lack of progress, sick of the officers you were working with, sick of the pressure that was coming down on you and your team. Sick of it all.

It was 2 A.M., and you had just gotten back to the room after a date with the case, being the last one to leave. You tried to open the door as to not wake your boyfriend, who you assumed to be asleep, shutting it with little noise.

But it didn't matter, because a face met yours the second you walked into the room.

Spencer was sitting on one of the beds in the room, a book in his lap. His glasses sat on his face flawlessly as he looked up at you with a smile. "Hey, you," he said.

"Hey," you said in a bit of a confused tone, looking him up and down. You set your work bag down and crossed your arms as you asked, "What are you still doing up?"

"I can't sleep without you," he told you with a shrug, like the phrase was common knowledge. "So I just chose to read until you got back."

You smiled at him and shook your head, walking over to him. "And how many books did you get through?" you asked.

"Two. And a half, I guess, if you count this one," Spencer smiled, holding the book up for you to see. Spencer then moved it away from him, opening his arms up for you. "Come here. You look tired."

You quickly fell into his arms as he pulled you into his lap, your legs on either side of him. Spencer ran his fingers through your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other.

"You need to stop working so hard, my love. You're going to burn yourself out," Spencer said in a bit of a worried voice. You sighed, burying your face into his shoulder.

"I know, it's just—" you began. But Spencer cut you off.

"You want to solve this case. I know. I do, too," he said, taking the words out of your mouth. "But you need to think about yourself, too. Just—Promise me you'll take a break at some point."

You nodded. As much as you didn't like to admit it, he wasn't wrong.

"I will. I promise," you said.

Spencer pulled back to smile at you, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "Good," he grinned as he went on with rubbing your back. "Do you want to rest now? Or do you want to stay up for a bit?"

"Actually..." you said, trailing off with a smile across your face. Your hands went down to the hem of Spencer's joggers, tugging them before you even had time to think it through. "I had a little something in mind."

Spencer's face went pink immediately as he took note of what you were getting at, and he looked up at you. "O- Oh, really? And what would that be?" he asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

"You know how stressed I've been," you said lowly, beginning to press a few kisses to Spencer's neck, causing him to whine out above you. "I was thinking you could help me with that. Relieve me a little, you know?"

"Y- Yeah, I know," the genius stuttered out, pulling you closer to his body by your hips. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."

"There's my good boy," you cooed with a smirk across your face. You didn't hold back from leaning in, crashing your lips onto Spencer's. His answer came in the form of his tongue, which quickly moved into your mouth.

You didn't waste time, pulling the white tee Spencer was wearing up and over his head. You ran your hands over his chest before attaching your lips to his again, moaning at the way his tongue felt as it moved with yours.

Sometimes, it was better to take things slow. Others, going fast just made it better.

And this was one of those times.

Spencer helped you to unbutton your work slacks, then pulled his joggers, and boxers, down and out of the way. The view you were met with was one of his long cock, that seemed to already be aching for you.

You smirked down at him, taking his dick into your hands as you shook your head. Spencer let out a small whine at the feeling, squirming a little under you.

"Already this hard, huh? It's been, what, five minutes?" you teased him, chuckling at the messy view of the man under you.

"I- I'm sorry," he said in a voice that was nearly begging you not to tease him about it. "You just have that effect on me, miss."

"Oh, believe me, I know, baby," you cooed, moving your hand up and down on him slowly. Spencer's eyes closed as you did. "I know how much of a slut you are for me. Aren't you?"

Spencer gave you a nod without looking back at you, holding back a groan as he said, "Y- Yes, miss, I am."

You moved up to your knees for a second to pull your slacks down fully before moving the tip of his dick to your cunt. You couldn't help but moan out at the feeling, your need being easily on display for Spencer as he saw how wet you already were.

"Y/N, what are you, fuck, what are you doing?" he asked in a confused voice, as several seconds had passed with him not yet being inside of you.

"Watch your language, honey," you said, pulling his hair a bit as a means of bringing him close to you. Spencer let out a small whimper, but didn't say another word. "I wanna hear you beg, baby, like the slut you are. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

Spencer's whines only grew more broken at your mean tone, but he was quick to comply, squeezing your hips as he said, "Please, miss. Please let me inside of you. I- I've been so good."

"Oh, have you, angel?" you teased him a little more, moving your hand down to cup his chin. You dragged him even closer. "I'm going to need more than that."

All the while, the head of his cock was still on your cunt, and as you moved his dick around even more, Spencer let out an annoyed sigh. "I just—Please, miss. I want to feel you so bad. I- I've been craving you all day."

"And what else?" you asked.

"I want to be your toy. I- I know you like that," Spencer whined. "Please, just—Don't leave me like this. I can't handle it," he huffed.

Feeling bad for the poor boy, you kissed his cheek, before whispering, "You won't have to, my good boy. That's just what I wanted to hear."

You lowered yourself onto his cock, letting out a low mewl at the feeling. God, was he big. Spencer's hands were on your hips again as you rode him, the both of your moans filling the room.

"You like that, huh?" you asked. You moved your hand up to settle on Spencer's neck, squeezing down. Spencer's glasses fogged up with his need as you did so, nodding eagerly.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Please, harder," he whispered.

You obliged him, squeezing down harder on his neck; Not enough to harm him, but enough so that he would surely feel it. Spencer's face was all the approval you needed to keep going.

"Look at how needy you are. How much of a slut you're being," you degraded him in a rough tone of voice, shaking your head. If there was any place to get out the anger you had built up over the last two weeks, this was the one.

You grabbed Spencer's face to turn it towards a mirror that laid above the dresser in the room. The view was pornographic, you on top of Spencer as you rode him, his lips wide open as a series of moans fell from it. "You see that, baby?"

Spencer shyly gave you a nod, looking down. "Y- Yes, I see it, miss."

"Yeah? And what do you look like?" you asked.

"A- A whore, miss," Spencer admitted, his cheeks flaring up in a blush at his own words. He turned his head away to look at you, gazing up at you with needy eyes. "B- But I'm your whore, miss."

You pressed kisses to his neck, your look one of approval. "Fuck, yeah, you are," you moaned.

Your high danced dangerously close a short while later, and Spencer, picking up on this, lowered a hand down to rub your clit to help you along. You buried your face into his neck, leaving hickeys on him wherever you could.

"Fuck, baby," you moaned out. "That feels so good. Keep going, just like that," you were saying without even thinking about it, your brain far too clouded with desire.

The room smelled like sex as you both came at the same time, Spencer filling you with him cum like he'd done so many times before. You lay limp on his shoulder as you came down from your peak, eyes closed.

"God, I love you," you told him breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Spencer chuckled at your words, settling his hands onto your waist.

"I love you, too, Y/N."

–

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[moviememokeeper]

HI ITS DREAM this is gonna be a long one im sorry-

i got into pokemon again and i thought of a team for reca, and also my oc (who ive decided to name abezethibou aka zeti for short). i read so many pokedex entries for this... heres the teams and explanations.

RECA: in my head he's not that strong or serious as a trainer, so he just has pokemon he likes most, or for real life utility.

1 Rotom: yknow how rotom phones exist? yeah, so that, but assistant director. its genius.

2 Beheeyem: it can manipulate memories of others. perfect.

3 Palpitoad : amphibian :). also it can sorta sing apparently.

4 Smeargle: dog that draws lmao. literally. the dex doesnt say much else.

5 Mr. Rime: i didnt even need the dex entry for this choice, but its a dancer and comedian.

6 Lurantis: idk, just vibes, but the dex says collectors like to maintain the vibrance of their colors which is apparently very hard. in my head that registered as like: oh, exotic rich guy pet. yeah put it there.

ZETI: theyre a pretty paranoid person so they feel better as a stronger trainer. my game knowledge is limited so this team probably sucks but theyre strong cause i said so hehe

1 Absol: it appears to people just before disaster strikes. this is def not canon in the games but iirc in an anime ep or movie it was that they predict those disasters and try to warn people, and it resulted in them becoming a bad omen instead. zeti relates

2 Metagross: it doesnt really have a reason to be here but i love metagross so i had to.

3 Grimmsnarl: its apparently pretty mischevous and likes pulling pranks. zeti likes to tease others just so see their reaction sometimes so i had to give em this

4 Ceruledge: theres not much to say except the vibes matched.

5 Spiritomb: the dex entries say such different things abt this pokemon but i understood it as this. its made of 108 evil spirits who were imprisoned in the stone below it for their misdeeds. anyways, my reason for this was something-something the pull between wanting to not give a fuck but also eternal grief and regret

6 Urshifu (rapid strike): i hc this is the pokemon they got specifically to ease their anxiety. it also kinda fits though. its implied that it seeks to exterminate those with evil hearts, so in my head it aligns with zeti's one belief that is a constant in their life -never fw evil people- and also this makes it a good protector.

OKAY THAT IS ALL im sorry again that this is so long.... if tumblr somehow deletes this ask i will DIE. to anyone reading this, esp those that know better abt pokemon, feel free to give ur ideas. im just a filthy casual lol

-dream anon

I don't really have much to add I just love this idea alkzfcuqb

be prepared for a lot of rambling

the absol thing is canon in game btw - you can find the dex entries on bulbapedia (said you're a casual so I don't really know how much you do know, bulbapedia is a great source for pokemon stuff in general)

from:

firered/leafgreen: It appears when it senses an impending natural disaster. As a result, it was mistaken as a doom-bringer.

diamond/pearl: It senses coming disasters and appears before people only to warn them of impending danger.

Black2/White2: It appears from deep in the mountains to warn people about upcoming disasters it has sensed with its horn.

(it's in pretty much all games, I just picked a few to write in the post lol)

it can also mega evolve, might fun to look into :3

do you think either of them would use any gimmicks?

my oc uses mega evolution for his lucario, he has a couple z-crystals but doesn't use them often, he also has a dynamax bracelet he doesn't use at all lol - Leon gifted it to him and he kept it because it looks cool (also he can't just get rid of a gift from a friend)

I can imagine Reca using mega evolution, but you didn't give him any pokemon with that ability lol.

it mostly comes down to:

looks really cool

requires a strong bond between trainer & pokemon

I know gen 7 rewrites mega evos as something hurtful to the pokemon but I always despised that retcon so I'm ignoring it <3

just to be clear; I also imagine him to be a casual trainer, but if someone were to challenge him I think he'd try this

I was thinking maybe a gardevoir?

partly because Diantha has one and she's an actress...

mostly because of the fairy/psychic typic and it's protectiveness of it's trainer

the part that kinda throws me off however is Gardevoir's ability to look into the future, when a memokeepers whole thing is looking into the past

also about Zeti's team (I love the name btw) - it's not as bad as you might think it is, in fact I think it's pretty good

I put it into marriland to take a look at the weaknesses & resistances and (you can skip this part if you don't care too much for it lol)

There's have a bad weakness against fairy, but that can be easily fixed by giving metagross & ceruledge the right moves. you could probably give the others something as well if you think it's necessary

overall the team is looking really good honestly imo. if the ceruledge has the ability flash fire it would be immune to fire type moves as well (won't change the total weaknesses, just fun to know imo)

the pokemon you chose look pretty intimidating as well, really gives off the vibes of a powerful trainer :3

also, "they're strong because I said so" THATS SO REAL

I mean my oc uses a pikachu for fucks sake

it's quite literally the pikachu I had in my playthrough of Let's Go Pikachu, his name is Lightning and his favourite outfit is his suit with his little bowtie because he's a distinguished gentleman.

anyway back to ask

I used a ceruledge in pkmn violet, absolutely loved it here's it's dex entry

I don't know everything about your oc, but I do feel like it kinda fits them, you be the judge :3

I have so many thoughts let's go back to Reca for a second

I am IN LOVE with the rotom idea. especially because I imagine AD to be a bit mischievous and Rotom are kinda known for it lmao

from Legends Arceus: This bizarre Pokémon appears to be a will-o'-the-wisp powered by electricity. Be wary, as Rotom is both smart and mischievous.

it just fits PERFECTLY

for some reason I can imagine him with a joltik... I just feel like he'd love tiny bugs in general

also about lurantis - I agree with you don't get me wrong - but on the topic of rich people pets: Meowstic or espurr

tell me that's not a rich people cat

no I'm not biased what do you mean

okay perhaps I'm a little biased it's one of my all time favourite pokemon....

and also I just see Reca as a cat person

okay, one more thing I'm done, consider: Mimikyu

from pokemon Moon: A lonely Pokémon, it conceals its terrifying appearance beneath an old rag so it can get closer to people and other Pokémon.

a few reasons why I think this works:

Imagine Reca as a lonely person in general (headcanon that he built AD bc he needed a friend), so it's like him and mimikyu finding each other and becoming companions... ack. my heart

ghost quota. I don't know. for some reason memokeeper just makes me think ghost. would want black swan to have one as well

I KNOW ROTOM IS A GHOST AS WELL I just never think of it that way. he needs a ghostier ghost.

I don't know if this one is a reach but. Mimikyu isn't what it looks like right? it's not the cloth, it's the mysterious being underneath. Now think about reca being a memokeeper and how he keeps that secret from the public

I don't know, I feel like it fits

and now I'm gonna stop because this post is already way too fucking long

[fallen-symphony]

Who do you guys like the most on your team? Who do you hate the most on the enemy team?

"An interesting question... Although I'm not one for relationships since I'm a superior being... I must admit that Obake's intellect and Motivations truly seem to resonate with me. He's like a more intelligent Dr. Regal.

"As for who I hate on the enemy team... Probably my stupid brothers... Especially RiFT. So much power, yet he uses it to serve lower beings. What an insult..."

"Glad to know we can get along, Slur. I have always found you fascinating... But as a brilliant mind who loves potential, Eggman Nega is a man after my own heart."

"The feeling is mutual, Obake. I do have respect for Dr. Starline and the Analog Man as well."

"Oh, it's such an honor to hear you say that, Mr. Eggman Nega, sir. Know that you are my favorite here as well."

"As for who I hate... Though I haven't met them in person, that Peni Parker and her robot, SP//Dr remind me too much of Hiro and Baymax, which remind me of my past Failure! If I can't get my revenge on Hiro, then Peni will be the next Best thing..."

"I feel the same way about that key wielding Sonic that showed up not too long ago! Dimensional variant or not, he's still a Sonic, and Sonic ruined my plans many times! I want to destroy him personally...!"

"Hey! You lay off him, Egghead! That Sonic is mine, ya hear me!? I'm the one who's gonna destroy him! I hate him and every other Sonic out there! I'll destroy them all until the only one left is me!"

"You tell 'em, Scourgey! Now, tell them how I'm your favorite person here!"

"If by that, you mean my LEAST favorite person here, then yes, that's you, Rosy."

"Awww! You say the meanest things, Scourgey! You're one of my favorite people here, too..."

"But her... This one right here... She's my girl..."

"Aw, thank you, Rosy. I like you, too. Such an adorable little psychopath ready to smash some heads... It's like having a little sister... But of course, my favorite has to be Dark Mega for obvious reasons."

"You're my favorite, too, Dark Empress! A beautiful Darkloid queen like you has stolen my heart..."

"As much as that Empress chick terrifies me almost as much as Rosy does... Gotta agree with her. Dark Megz is my favorite member here. We both got beef with our goodie-goodie two shoes doppelgangers, and we both want to live in a world of chaos."

"Yeah... I'm disliking that Megaman more and more each day. He gets to keep his Lan, while I was rejected by mine when I became the ruler of the Darkloids."

"I feel the same way about Roll. She gets to keep her Mayl, but mine wouldn't accept the new me..."

"Can I help you smash that good Roll that makes you look bad, best friend?! Can I, can I, can I?!"

"Sure... As long as I get to land the last blow."

"Deal!"

"Obake and Eggman Nega are inspirational. Their genius far exceeds mine, and I have much to learn from them. I don't have any personal beef with anyone on the enemy team... Yet... But that ARiA and her army of Guardiangemon might be a problem."

"CHYA HA HA HA HA HA!!! My favorite person here is obviously the Great Lord Brevon! No one can compare to his greatness...!

"As for who I hate the most, obviously it's that blasted Commander Torque! He and Squid Head have been getting in Lord Brevon's way far too many times! I promise to destroy them!"

"I can always count on you to praise me, General Serpentine. I, too, can't stand Commander Torque. That blasted dragon girl might not be with him now, but he can still be a problem... Especially with that new squad of his."

"My favorite member is Ophelia! Even if it's not official, she's awesome!

"And my favorite member on the other team is my beloved Nana..."

"You're supposed to be talking about the enemy members you hate, lover boy. Anyway, probably no surprise to anyone, but Mr. Tinker is my arch nemesis on the enemy team. I got over the grudge of him 'murdering' Dr. Eggman ever since meeting the superior Eggman Nega. That doesn't mean I don't want to show him up. What about you, Sync?"

"..."

"Gee, nice choices there, chatterbox."

"I think we can all assume he hates everyone equally, teammate and enemy alike. Anyway, it seems we reached our limit, time-wise. We need to get back to our plans of taking over the Multiverse."

[oneatlatime]

The King of Omashu

I confess I've already taken to skipping through the intro. I wonder what I'll do with the whole 45 seconds that saves me.

Why wear one tie when you could wear three? Actually I learned a couple of days ago (thanks to *gasp* a follower! Never thought I'd have those!) that Katara's hairstyle is an authentically Inuit thing, so maybe Sokka's triple tie is too? Then again, boomerang isn't.

Not subtle. Still gorgeous.

The cart! Maybe the cabbages were rotten, but the cart was fine!

This guard has absolutely massive hands. Also props to Katara for getting that mouthful of a cover name out on the first try. Do you think they rehearsed?

Nice to see bending used for something other than fighting. Also, I would have ridden the hell out of those slides.

It does not take a mad genius to figure out that slides are for sliding.

Are we sure that's the most efficient way to package spears?

Oh my god these poor kids have no tailbones left. Their spines!

This guy restocked fast.

This whole set piece with the slides is really fun. I love the music, and the timing on the jokes is great.

SPINES!

"Malicious destruction of cabbages." The throwaway lines in this show are great. How did they determine intent?

Look, none of you have room to talk. Maybe the king is weird, but you all just went on a city-wide destruction spree. You're lucky his crown is crooked.

I like whoever is the King's voice actor. He reminds me of Dudley Moore. Dating myself a bit there. Also this is totally Aang's friend but old. And I'm not even going to try to spell his name until I've seen the credits, given my previous track record with spelling.

I like the guards' hats. They look cozy.

And the king gets it first try too! Pippinpadolopsicopoulos? My best guess.

I think he can keep you here Katara. You're not the one with spears. And he's also the king.

This king is living his best life. Feasts, mindgames, renovations. And fashion!

All of Momo's noises in this whole sequence are so expressive.

Never before have I seen a butt convey such disappointment and resignation.

So did they leave Momo in the wall?

Creeping crystal is a nifty maguffin.

Does the king just have these challenge chambers for whenever he's bored enough to mess with people? So, daily?

You're right Aang - sabre tooth mega rabbits are way more on brand than fluffy bunnies.

Earthbenders get airbender levels of air when they jump. I guess they make the ground kick them up into the air?

This episode is really a showcase for earthbending.

The king is so unbothered. He also seems to be anticipating every single one of Aang's strategies. Almost like he knows what to expect from an airbender.

This is neat. Turning solid rock to sand or dust. It's like waterbenders and freezing stuff.

Can we call this a tie?

Earthbenders are mole people.

Or maybe you figured out who he was because you talked about him twice at the beginning of this episode and his mannerisms haven't changed in a century.

Every time Sokka or the king make jokes that don't land in this episode, there's this disembodied coughing off screen. But they're all pretty funny! That being said, if you lived in this city with that guy as a ruler you'd probably develop humourlessness as a defence mechanism.

The first part of Aang's world (apart from Appa) that still exists. That's sweet.

Creeping crystal must be seriously light if you can walk around while encased in it. Also, rock candy is indeed delicious. But you can't bite into it like that without losing a few teeth.

"First of all, it's pretty fun messing with people." Perfect one sentence summary of this guy's entire personality! Also, points for self-awareness.

Some nifty exposition, reassurance & guidance, and a reminder that Aang doesn't have to do it alone. The king knows his stuff.

Poor cabbage man. This is going to become a thing like Sokka getting ragdolled isn't it?

It is spelled BUMI.

Final thoughts

I don't really have much to say about this episode. I think it's for introducing the audience to earthbending. Also for wacky hijinks, of which I am always a fan.

Sokka's voice actor, who has been consistently excellent for me, got his first meh line reading this episode, with the laugh after the kangaroo island joke. It didn't work for me.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the guard who talks to Bumi about the good and bad prisons is the same voice actor as Bumi himself. Just a guess, but I love it when that happens. Both because I get to hear a talent showcase and because I get to picture some random guy in a sound booth somewhere having a whole conversation with himself. I don't know how voice acting works, it's just a funny visual.

There's some serious angst potential in Aang and Bumi meeting again, but I am not feeling angsty today, so that potential will go unexplored. Which is also why I'm happy there was no Zuko this episode.

This episode wasn't as pretty as the Southern Air temple, but it was mostly indoors, so there wasn't a chance to have sweeping clouds and sunsets. And the Southern Air Temple did set a really high bar.

This episode was consistently fun and goofy. I liked it. Would have been nice to have more Appa.