#which not the ones I need can fit in there

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

By The Pool

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???

wc: 2.5k

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, pinch of degradation, reader is called 'slut' once, cum tasting, creampie

a/n: since i found out he has a lifeguard license on skz code i needed to write this🫠

masterlist

You thought it was going to be another boring month at the resort.

It was a place you knew very well ever since you were a child, your parents always took you there, every summer was the same.

Even now, when you were a student and no longer living with them, you couldn't escape the three weeks they wanted to spend there with you and your brother as a family.

But, there was nothing boring about the eye candy you noticed by the pool.

Every year, there was a new lifeguard on duty and though they were all fit men and women, no one captured your attention like he did.

There was something about him and you made it your mission to seduce him, wanting to have some fun and spice up your summer.

Quickly, you asked around since you knew the staff well, finding out his name is Hyunjin, he's your age and here on a student job, and most importantly single (though you have no idea how no one has snatched him up yet).

You came to the pool every day, happy that you bought some cute swimsuits that revealed more than they covered.

You made sure to be right in his view as you put on sunscreen, slowly spreading the thick liquid all over your body.

You saw him staring and gulping, before averting his eyes and acting unaffected but the tips of his ears matched the red color of his swim trunks.

Of course, you amped it all up with bending over as you spread your towel over the deck chair, showing Hyunjin your cleavage.

Giggling to yourself when you saw his eyes twitch as he adjusted in his lifeguard chair, you lay down with your sunglasses on so you can feast your eyes on him the whole time.

Hyunjin did his duty well and you watched him like a hawk, any time he had to jump in, he would toss his shirt off and you loved to admire his muscles.

He was made to be in water, looked so natural as he swam and he did his job perfectly, making it obvious why he was hired.

By the fifth day, you got fed up with exchanging looks and nothing else so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

If he wasn't gonna approach you, you were gonna do it yourself.

It was a nice sunny Friday, not that you really cared what day it was since you were on vacation, the day was only important because you planned on having Hyunjin all to yourself today.

As per usual, you watched him work and he stole glances at you as much as he could.

After some kid was making a mess in the water and Hyunjin had to jump in to stop them, you watched his wet body, the clear droplets of water running down his back and shoulders as his muscles flexed.

The summer heat was nothing compared to the heat erupting inside you.

You waited patiently for another hour before his shift ended.

The other lifeguard then came to take his shift and you saw him and Hyunjin talking, which was your cue to stand up and run to the pool house where lifeguards usually leave their things and change.

You made sure no one was there and waited for Hyunjin to make his way to you.

You heard footsteps and with bathed breath you hid behind the wall like some stalker and almost laughed at yourself for doing so much for just some dick.

But it wasn't any dick.

You've never wanted anyone as much as you wanted Hyunjin.

Ever since you set your eyes on him, you couldn't stop fantasizing about him, every night when you touched yourself you imagined different scenarios and they all included Hyunjin.

You peeked and saw him get in and then you waited a few moments before knocking on the door and coming in just as he called out.

He probably thought it was one of the staff members, judging by the shocked look on his face when he turned around and saw you.

You giggled, as he gave you the elevator eyes, you were wearing your skimpiest bathing suit yet.

He quickly looked up as you cleared your throat, struggling not to look down at your breasts again.

"D-did you need something?" he stutters, clutching the towel in his hand.

Oh he is simply adorable, you just wanna devour him whole.

"Yes, you." you answer without even blinking and his face becomes red.

"Excuse me?" he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing up and down deliciously.

You chuckle and make your way towards him slowly and he takes one step back, colliding with the table behind him.

He quickly looks back at it, and you find the way he put his hair up in a little ponytail so endearing.

"I think you're hot." you state, standing in front of him now and his lips open and close a few times before he laughs awkwardly.

"Thanks. I- um think you're hot too." he says rather shyly, driving you even more crazy to taste him.

Your hand lands on his arm and you squeeze a little, before slowly dragging it up and down.

"Then, there's nothing else to discuss, is there?" you smirk and lean in, so close to his lips that you feel the shaky breath he lets out on your face.

"I- I- someone could walk in." he whispers and you chuckle.

"I don't care." you're quick to cup his face and crash your lips into his.

A surprised exclaim from Hyunjin gets muffled as you start kissing him and his eyes go from wide to fluttering closed as he returns your kiss eagerly.

Yes, he saw you by the pool every day and he knew what you were doing.

He wanted you just the same as you wanted him but he enjoyed watching you struggle and try hard to get his attention even though you already had it.

He smirked to himself as your bathing attire became more revealing every day and he knew you were slowly losing patience.

Hyunjin wanted you to hunt him down and now that you were here, he decided to reciprocate and show you how much he's been wanting you too.

As the kiss deepens, Hyunjin's tongue swiping over yours and tasting you, his hands slide to your waist and he squeezes before gripping you and swiftly moving the two of you until you were pressed into the wall.

You gasp as he leans back to look at you, a sly smirk on his face.

"You were tempting me on purpose, weren't you princess?" he said in a sultry voice, his hand caressing your cheek, fingertips sliding down to your neck to touch your sensitive spot.

"Was I that obvious?" you tease, letting your hands finally roam free on his hot shoulders, arms and chest.

"Mhm. Waving those tits in my face constantly. Wiggling your ass. What if some poor soul drowned because of your distractions, hm?"

"That wouldn't happen, you're too good at your job." you smirk and he chuckles.

"Sweet talking me won't get you out of this. You're gonna get exactly what you wanted, princess." Hyunjin smirks.

Before you could even realize what's happening, he grabs the strings of your bottoms and swiftly undoes them, letting it fall down and reveal your wet cunt to him.

You gasp, your heart beating hard in your chest in thrill as he hoists your leg up and you hook it around him.

"Is this what you imagined, hm?" he asks with the same smirk as he runs his fingertips on your wet folds, pressing them into your clit every time he comes up.

"Y-yes." you moan, chasing his touch as you rub against his hand and he chuckles, his other hand gripping your breast harshly.

You slide your hands back and undo the strings on the top part of your bikini and Hyunjin helps you with the strings around your neck, the item falling down on the floor as you keep staring into his eyes.

Hyunjin hovers over you, leaning in to kiss you passionately, his lips are so soft but desperate against yours, his tongue is wild like he is trying to remember the way you taste forever as his teeth nip into your bottom lip.

You moan when he starts pinching your nipples and playing with your tits, his fingers pressed into your sensitive clit, massaging it in circles.

You're going crazy as his lips lower to kiss your neck and you can't help grinding against his hand, your wetness spreading all over his fingers as Hyunjin bites into your skin, squeezing and fondling your breast.

"You want my fingers, princess?" he says into your neck before licking a stripe over the bite mark he left on your flesh.

"Yes." you whimper, gripping at his arm.

"Beg." he leans back to look at you and you want to slap him but you know you're too far gone to be snappy.

"Please, fuck me with your fingers." you bat your eyelashes at him and he smirks again, pushing his fingers into you immediately.

"Ah!" you moan as you take him in easily and he lets out a low chuckle.

"You're such a desperate slut. Letting some stranger finger you in a pool house." he laughs, fucking you semi-fast immediately and you moan loudly, meeting his thrusts and not giving a single fuck about someone hearing you.

"So good that you can't even speak?" he fucks into your sweet spot, his thumb pressing into your clit as he presses you against the cold wall, a contrast to your heated body.

"H-Hyunjin." you moan and he chuckles, of course you know his name.

"Say my name louder." he looks at you with a cocky smile and you stutter for a moment as he fucks you harder and faster.

Your legs shake and you hold onto him as he keeps scissoring you open for him, nothing coming out of your lips except his name.

"Cum on my fingers, princess." Hyunjin whispers in your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders, your whole body shaking against him as he keeps plunging into you, the squelching sounds of your arousal filling up the room.

"Ah! Hyunjin!" you whimper loudly as you squirt all over his hand, grinding against him to ride your high as he observes you.

"Taste." he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty as he brings them to your trembling lips.

You wrap them around his digits instantly, sucking on them and licking them clean as he keeps eye contact.

As soon as he pulls his fingers out, his lips are on yours again, kissing you hungrily as he grabs your other leg, effectively lifting you up and making you squeal as he leads you to the couch.

You're thrown down on it, albeit gently before he quickly takes his swim trunks off and your mouth waters at the sight of his dick.

He is perfect everywhere, you think as your eyes roam all over his sexy body.

Hyunjin is quick to kneel between your legs with a smirk playing on his lips.

"I don't have any condoms." he chuckles at the reality of the situation.

Even though he knew you were trying to seduce him every day, it's not like he thought you were actually going to come in after him today and kiss him so he wasn't prepared.

"I'm clean. Please." you whine, your legs wrapping around him and bringing him closer.

Hyunjin chuckles again, he can't believe you are so desperate to have him.

"Okay, princess. You think you can take it?" he gives you another smirk, sliding the head of his hard cock on your soaked folds.

You whimper as you look at his length and nod quickly.

"Yes, I can take it." you're almost breathless and Hyunjin pushes in, making you moan at the feeling.

His fingers couldn't prepare you completely for his cock but the stretch is delicious and your pussy welcomes him eagerly.

"Shit, you feel so good!" Hyunjin whines as he bottoms out, pushing his entire length inside you and filling you up perfectly.

He leans down as his arms cage you, kissing you sloppily before he leans back and starts fucking you at a steady pace, making your orgasm build up already.

You gasp and moan, spreading your legs more as you take him, the sound of skin slapping against skin making you feel even hotter.

You've never been this wet, your pussy pulsating in arousal as you moan loudly, your body shaking and feeling like you're going to explode any second.

Hyunjin looks down at you darkly, low moans escaping his lips as he keeps trying to bury himself deeper inside your warmth, so close to losing control over himself as your pussy constantly clenches around him, gripping his hard cock.

Hyunjin grabs your breast and your thigh, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder as you whine loudly, the new angle making you feel like he's fucking his cock even deeper inside you and his eyes roll back as he fucks into you harder.

You're so loud that if someone passes by they can 100% hear you moan Hyunjin's name as you grab his ponytail and pull on it while you cum all around his throbbing cock.

"Fuck!" Hyunjin almost growls as his hips stutter, fucking you with even more fervor as he chases his high, his hand leaving bruises in the soft skin of your thigh.

"Gonna cum." he whines, wanting to pull out but you grip at him.

"Cum inside me, I want it so bad." you groan, your eyes filling up with tears of pleasure as the head of his cock keeps brushing against your cervix.

"Fuck, you're so dirty, princess." Hyunjin pants, the sight of him all sweaty and flushed above you takes you over the edge and you cum again, clenching hard around him, his name slipping off your lips once again.

His eyes widen as his cock twitches and he unexpectedly cums hard inside you, spurts of the hot liquid painting your insides and filling you up.

Hyunjin collapses on top of you as he feels you still clenching around his now soft member.

It's quiet for some time and just then you realize that you can hear all the sounds from the pool and some people walking and talking next to the pool house, making you realize that everyone probably heard you fucking.

Hyunjin lifts up to look at you and something tugs at your heart, making your stomach fill up with butterflies.

"What's your name?" he asks and you burst out laughing, realizing you never even introduced yourself properly.

"Y/n." you answer and he smiles.

"Y/n. Pretty name for a pretty girl." Hyunjin leans in to kiss you, his cock slipping out of you and you feel the trickle of his cum seeping out of your pussy.

"Are you free tonight?" he asks, his lips traveling on your cheeks, you jaw and your neck, making you shiver as you caress his upper back.

"Depends what you're offering." you smirk and he looks at you.

"Dinner, movies, a walk on the beach?" he asks and you giggle.

"With a happy ending, of course." you say.

"As many happy endings as you want, princess." Hyunjin chuckles.

"Then I'm free." you say and he smiles before kissing you again.

This is going to be a fun summer.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun

[loulovingho]

tags: violence (gay bashing), homophobic slurs, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, healing, heading toward getting back together, happy-enough ending

(ao3 link or read below)

Like Fine China

“Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay? You hear me? Try to keep your eyes open.”

He recognized that voice. The last time he'd heard it was just a few weeks ago, at the hospital. Who was it for though? Why was he at the hospital that time?

His brain felt like a jumbled mess. His body felt even worse.

He just wanted to sleep.

“Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?”

Athena! That's who was speaking to him.

He opened his mouth, cracked one eye open. God, it hurt!

“I- I'm,” the words felt foreign as they escaped him. His voice didn't sound like his own. His mouth was dry, and held a bad taste.

Whiskey and... and metal.

Blood.

“Tommy, paramedics are on their way, okay? I just need you to stay with me until they get here.”

It was dark, but something was shining bright in his face.

“Flash... Flashlight,” he managed to get out, squeezing his eye back shut.

“Eyes- Eye open, Tommy. I'll get the flashlight out of your face, but I need to know you're with me.”

Wait. Had she said paramedics? They couldn't. He couldn't let them- let him see.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled out, shaking his head a couple times until a sharp pain shot through it. “No, h- he can't. I don't-”

“They're not on shift, Tommy.”

He tried to push himself up, away from where she hovered over him. He didn't manage to get very far before she placed a hand on his chest.

“Tommy, you cannot get up. I need you to stay still, and stay conscious. Those two things are your only jobs. You hear me?”

“I can't,” his words were so garbled. He coughed up the blood that'd been dripping down his throat.

I can't let him see.”

“Listen to me, Tommy!” Athena exclaimed, getting right in Tommy's face. He could barely see her, but he could feel her breath on his face. “They're not coming. Buck isn't coming; it'll be someone else.”

In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens. He didn't feel relief. Didn't feel much of anything at all. He was fading, fast. It took all his energy to force out one last sentence before he lost consciousness. “Don't... Don't tell him.”

*****

He just wanted to go out for a drink. Something a little stronger than craft beer.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Evan- no, Buck. He was Buck now.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Buck and the ache in his chest felt the same way it did the second he walked out of the loft.

He'd thought he was saving himself from future heartbreak, and maybe he was, but it didn't quite make it hurt any less.

Georgie's wasn't exactly a gay bar, but Georgie was gay and the bar itself became a sort of unofficial hang out for older people in the lgbtq+ community. No loud music and everyone left each other alone. A perfect place to decompress while still allowing yourself to be free.

After a couple of whiskey sours, and yeah, a pitcher of craft beer, Tommy was ready to go.

He waited outside, near the alleyway, for his Uber. He found himself going to his messages, hovering over Evan's name. He hadn't had the heart to change it to Buck yet.

He'd been wanting to text him since the breakup. Talk about it some more. Actually give a reason for why it- why he- fell apart so fast. How Buck's words triggered some terrible memories for him. How he suddenly realized there was no way he could be everything he thought Buck needed. Everything Buck deserved. Not to mention they hadn't even exchanged I love you's. And it was insane to think all of Tommy's things could fit in Buck's loft. Buck's things could fit in his house so much easier!

He clicked on Evan's name, started to type something out, erased it, started again, erased it again.

He was usually so aware of his surroundings. His time in the military did that to him. It did a lot of things to him actually, many of which he wasn't very thankful for. However, he prided himself on not being oblivious.

Tonight he was oblivious.

He didn't expect five men to jump him at once. He was a strong guy. Had taken on three men about fifteen years earlier. Did it with ease too.

But not five men. Not when one had a bat, and one had brass knuckles, and one was at least 6'5 and three hundred pounds. Not when they dragged him to the ground and into the alley before he had a chance to react. Screaming slurs at him as they took turns using his body as a punching bag.

He tried to fight. At one point, he was sure he kicked one of the guy's in the face. Heard him yell something like, “The fag broke my tooth!”

It only made things worse.

He wasn't sure when he first lost consciousness, but he knew they were still on top of him. Still laughing as they hit and kicked. He heard the sounds of someone spitting at some point. Felt wet on his face.

Then there was nothing.

Until someone stepped out from somewhere, and maybe they heard him groan? Maybe it was his Uber driver wondering where he was? Maybe it was an employee taking out the trash? He wasn't sure. He could barely hear someone telling him they were calling the police. There was a ringing in his ears, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Someone said something about wheezing, barely breathing. He wondered what that was about.

Then there was Athena. Then nothing again.

*****

The next time Tommy opened his eyes, he was in a dimly lit hospital room. He was confused. Could barely see out of one eye and everything was blurry out of the other.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and maybe some tiny humans hitting his brain with hammers.

“Are you... awake awake or not really awake?”

The sound of a man's voice startled him. He couldn't hardly move, but he was able to focus his eyes across the room at the figure in the corner.

“Ed- Eddie?”

God, his voice sounded weird. Why did it sound like that? Like he'd spent the last 30 years smoking a pack a day.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

He sounded hesitant. Maybe they'd had this conversation before? If they had, Tommy certainly didn't remember it.

“Wha- Why?”

Eddie stepped closer. “You're in the hospital, Man.”

Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. No duh.

He settled for clearing his throat, which turned into a burning sensation running down his chest. “Why're you... here?” he tried. Hoped Eddie understood that much.

“Tommy-”

“I t- told Athena-” he had to pause to take a breath. “Told her not to tell.”

“Actually, you told Athena not to tell him. And she assumed, correctly, I'm sure, that him was Buck. So she called me instead.”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Why?”

“Why'd she call me? Oh, maybe because you don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact and you were nearly beat to death so she figured you might need someone to be here when you woke up.”

Tommy's jaw clenched at Eddie's harsh words.

Nearly beat to death.

He was nearly beat to death.

Eddie either noticed Tommy's heart rate going up on the monitor, or his eyes filling with tears, because he was right beside his bed in two strides. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I- I'm kinda pissed, Man.”

“S'okay,” Tommy replied, swallowing hard. “I deserve it.”

Eddie looked taken aback. “No, I'm not- Tommy, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at this,” he said, gesturing over Tommy's body. “I've never seen...” Eddie's voice trailed off and, through Tommy's own blurry vision, he could see that Eddie was close to crying.

“What'd they do to me?” Tommy asked, barely able to take in all his injuries. His entire body hurt, no part any worse or less than the other. He could feel something on every limb, but he couldn't quite move his head around enough to see what it was.

Eddie took a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes with his fingers, sniffling before getting started. “You've got bruising on about seventy-five percent of your body. You had surgery for a busted kneecap on your right knee. Your left arm has a fracture, and your right one has thirty stitches, I think. They broke a few ribs, so it's gonna hurt like hell when you take a deep breath or cough. Um, you had some internal bleeding, but they got that under control pretty fast. You've got a fracture in your cheek, which may cause some extra pain when you talk. You've got a few broken fingers too, and lost a couple fingernails during your- when you were defending yourself.”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed once Eddie was done. “S'that all?”

Eddie shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I'm sure I missed a couple things, actually, jackass.”

Tommy let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan. “Thanks for coming, Eddie,” he said, trying and failing at moving himself into a slightly more comfortable position. “You don't have to stay though. I'll be fine.”

Eddie stared at him incredulously. “You're kidding me.”

Tommy shifted his eyes back in Eddie's direction. “No, I- I'll be okay. I've got it. Just,” he paused to take a breath, “don't let Buck know, please.”

Eddie raised a finger toward Tommy. “Well, see, about that. You only told Athena not to tell him before, and-”

“You didn't.”

“-and see he was already at my place when I got the call, so-”

“Please tell me you didn't.”

“I have one with cream and one with sugar and- Oh my God, you're awake!” The sound of Buck's voice had Tommy's head twisting toward the door so quickly that a pain shot from the bottom of his back all the way to the top of his head. “Ow!” he yelped, clenching his teeth and tossing his head against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh my God. Has the nurse come in yet? Have they checked his vitals? Eddie, you said he'd be out for a while! Tommy, do you feel any nausea? Do you remember who we are? The nurses said you might have-”

“Buck!” Eddie exclaimed. “Stop. He's okay.” He glanced over at Tommy, “I did forget to mention the head trauma.”

Tommy groaned, giving him a glare.

Eddie walked over to Buck and took the drink carrier from his hands. “I'll go find a nurse, you stay with him.”

Tommy wanted to yell out to Eddie to please not go, and also screw you, and maybe throw a couple hand gestures in there too. He stayed silent instead.

Buck looked Tommy up and down, hesitating slightly before walking up to the side of the bed. “So, you're-”

“I want to see myself,” Tommy blurted.

“Oh, um, I... Tommy, I don't. It might be better to wait.”

Tommy managed to move his head enough to look up at Buck. He could see the fear- no, the panic- in Buck's eyes.

“I wanna see," he repeated.

“Tommy-”

“Buck!” It took a lot of strength to get his name out so forcefully, and he didn't quite mean it to sound as angry as it did, but this wasn't Buck's decision. It was his. And he wanted to see what he looked like.

Buck pulled his phone from his back pocket, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled up the camera.

Slowly, he lifted the phone up to Tommy's face.

The second it registered that he was looking at himself, Tommy sucked in a breath. He grimaced as pain radiated through his chest but, when Buck went to move the camera away he stopped him. “No,” he said. “Just. Just wait.”

He knew his eyes were swollen by how out of focus his vision was, but he had no idea just how bad they looked. The right was worse than the left, but both were an angry mixture of black, purple, and green. The bruise on the left side of his face ran down his cheek to his jaw, circling underneath his chin like a half moon and fading into his facial hair. There were marks on his neck. Looked like someone's hand. He could understand Eddie's hesitancy on mentioning that. He didn't remember anyone gripping him there, which was probably for the best.

His forehead had more bruises, and cuts too. There was dried blood at his hairline, some stitched up cuts. His curly hair was nearly matted to his head, his scalp a brutal crimson.

“I tried to wash the blood out of your hair with a washcloth,” Buck explained anxiously, “but you have some lacerations on your scalp and I didn't want to bother them until they healed a little more.”

It was all so overwhelming. There was a whirring sound in his ears that made him feel dizzy. His eyes burned as they filled with tears that he didn't have the strength to wipe away.

“Okay,” he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat. “Can you- You can go, please. I don't... You can go.”

“Tommy-”

“Ev- Buck, I'm awake, I'm fine, I don't need anyone here.” He stared straight ahead, unable to look Buck in the eyes. “Please.”

“No.”

Tommy really didn't feel like dealing with stubborn Evan right now. “I don't-”

“I don't really care, Tommy. I'm not leaving you here. I've been at this damn hospital for three days now and I'm staying until you go home. I don't care what-”

He was cut off by the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Got the nurse,” Eddie said, an awkward smile on his face. The nurse, to her credit, ignored all the tension in the room.

“Let me get some hand sanitizer and gloves and I'll be right with you, Mr. Kinard.”

Buck sighed. He stepped even closer to Tommy. “I'm gonna go into the hall long enough for the nurse to check you out,” he said, maneuvering himself until he was halfway leaning over the bed, his arm on the other side of Tommy to prop himself up as he forced him to make eye contact. “I will be back in a few minutes. You have people who care about you, Tommy, whether you like it or not.”

With that said, Buck stood back up and left the room.

*****

Tommy spent a few more days in the hospital before he was released. There were only two times that Buck left long enough to get a shower and get a little rest in a real bed. Both of those times, he made sure Eddie was there the entire time.

Athena had come in to get his statement. Asked him all sorts of questions, most of which Tommy couldn't answer. He hadn't really gotten a good look at them. Only had very basic descriptions. He remembered the slurs they had hurled at him, knew they attacked because he was gay. He couldn't really figure out how they knew though. Besides being outside of that bar, it wasn't like Tommy ever did anything that screamed gay. Not that it mattered.

She'd been honest with him. There were no cameras at that part of the street, or in the alleyway. No one got a good description of the attackers, and the person who called the police only saw their shadows as they disappeared into the night. She'd do everything she could, but it wasn't likely they'd find these men. At least, not until they did this again.

Bobby stopped by once with some homemade chicken noodle soup. Buck had to feed him every bite, which made Tommy feel like he was about to cry the entire time, but he managed half a bowl before he had to stop. It was a million times better than anything the hospital had been feeding him, and he was glad to know Bobby had put some in his freezer to give Tommy when he got home.

Chim and Maddie came one evening. He'd been asleep when they got there, woke up some time during their visit, but he kept his eyes shut until they left.

Honestly, every time someone walked through the doors he felt more and more like running out of the hospital and finding a hole to fall into. Then, if he were lucky, someone would just shovel some dirt over him and let him rest.

These weren't his people. They were Buck's people. They didn't need to be there for him. They needed to hate him. They needed to laugh at his bruises and tell him he deserved every last one. They needed to yell at him for breaking Buck's heart to try and save his own.

That'd be a lot easier than this.

Thankfully, Hen and Karen didn't come by. They did send flowers though, and a card that explained both kids had strep throat and they didn't want to risk bringing that to the hospital. They'd come by Tommy's place once he was home.

He and Buck didn't talk about anything that needed to be talked about. All the unsent messages that had swirled through Tommy's mind didn't matter right now. It was like an unspoken rule between the two of them. Right now was not the time to try and fix whatever happened between them. Right now was about Tommy healing.

*****

As soon as they got Tommy home, Buck left Eddie with him so he could go to the pharmacy and pick up his medications. When he got back, Eddie headed out to go home and rest, promising to come back later with a variety of foods that would be easy on Tommy to eat.

The silence felt more... silent at Tommy's house. It was different now that they were at home instead of a hospital with people coming in and out at all times.

Tommy needed to do something, say something, to break the silence.

“I wasn't on a date,” he muttered out as Buck organized his pain meds on his nightstand.

Buck paused briefly before getting right back to it. “Didn't think you were.”

Tommy nodded. “Okay. I just, I don't know, didn't want you to think that.”

“You go to Georgie's when your brain is working overtime and you need it to quiet down.”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “I didn't know I ever told you that.”

“You didn't,” Buck replied, handing Tommy his pills and a glass of water. “I just know you.”

Tommy swallowed the pills, wincing slightly. His throat still felt scratchy even a week later. “I don't know how they knew,” he said as Buck took the water from him and set it on his nightstand.

“Who knew what?”

“Those guys that-” he stopped. “I don't know how they knew I was gay.”

“A lot of queer people hang out at Georgie's,” Buck answered. “They probably took a guess.”

The thought of it made Tommy's stomach lurch. “I've spent most of my life trying to make sure people couldn't guess.”

Buck watched him for a moment quizzically. “Tommy, you're not... You don't blame yourself for this, do you? You know this wasn't your fault, right?”

Tommy avoided eye contact with Buck. He felt so small right now. “I know I didn't do anything to provoke them.”

“That doesn't really answer my question.”

“I just... I don't know what I could have done differently. I know I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I... I should probably go to a different bar, maybe. I don't know.”

“You can't be serious right now.”

“This is everything I feared my entire life, Buck,” Tommy admitted and, God, he wished he could shut up right now. The pain pills were starting to make him a little loose lipped, mixed with him truly being alone with Buck for the first time since they broke up, mixed with an undeniable fear every time he thought about that night, seemed to make it impossible to close his mouth. “I did everything to make sure nothing like this would ever happen to me and it still did. I keep thinking about it and wondering how it could have been different. How I could have been different.”

“Tommy, can you look at me?”

Slowly, Tommy looked up at Buck, his eyes shining with tears.

“This was not your fault. There's nothing you could or should have done differently. You cannot let those five men shove you back into a closet.”

“I-” Tommy cleared his throat. “They're not. It's just... a lot right now.”

“I get that, I- I do. You look tired. Why don't you rest for a bit, okay? I'll be here when you wake up.”

“Buck, you don't-”

“If you tell me I don't need to stay I will force feed you bone broth when you wake up.”

Tommy shivered. “Ugh! I hate bone broth.”

“I know you do.” Buck gently pulled a pillow out from under Tommy, allowing him to lie back easier. “Close your eyes, get some rest. I'm here when you need me.”

*****

They were bound to fight sometime. Tommy had honestly expected it to happen sooner. Buck had been staying with him for three weeks now, only gone when he was working a shift. Bobby had let him work part time for now, with Carla caring for him when Buck was gone.

They'd managed to get past the initial awkwardness. Buck rambled about any and every subject he could think of. They'd watch movies together on the couch, with Tommy falling asleep halfway through due to his pain meds.

Buck would get Tommy tucked in bed, then set himself up on Tommy's floor in case he was needed during the night. Tommy had tried to insist he use the spare room, but Buck wouldn't hear of it. He knew Tommy wouldn't call for him if he needed him through the night.

Then Tommy tried to suggest he sleep in the bed. But that was a no go because, “I kick, Tommy, you know this. Do you really want another knee surgery?”

They'd been focused on Tommy getting better. And they'd been ignoring the many, many elephants in the room.

So, a fight was expected.

What wasn't expected was for the fight to start because Tommy needed to pee.

Buck had seemed a bit more on edge today, but Tommy chalked that up to a shift that ran longer than expected.

Tommy had grabbed his crutches, which he'd just been able to start using to go short distances. He still didn't quite trust himself to use them at night, but he was working toward relying on them more and relying on people less.

When he stood, Buck immediately stood with him.

“I'm fine, Buck. I just need to go to the bathroom.”

“I'll help you there.”

“I'm really fine. I can get there by myself.”

Tommy was sure he had kept his tone neutral. He definitely didn't want an argument tonight. But, before he could even make it two steps, he heard Buck scoff. “Not surprised.”

And maybe it was the full bladder making him extra bitchy, but Tommy couldn't help turning around and asking, “What's that mean?”

Buck shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing.”

“Obviously it's not nothing. If it were nothing you wouldn't have said anything in the first place. What doesn't surprise you?”

“Just you, ya know, pushing people away. It's what you do.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed out. “If I'm pushing people away then I really suck at it because you haven't left my house in three weeks. I just need to pee.”

“I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about me telling you that I loved you and you breaking up with me.”

How in the hell did they end up here?

“You didn't tell me you loved me, Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, unbelievably confused. The sudden change in tone caused Buck to take a step back.

He was only thrown off for a second, quick with a retort. “Of course I did!”

“No, you absolutely did not! You asked me to move in with you, but you did not tell me you loved me.”

“Wait. You asked him to move in with you?” Eddie's voice had them glaring in his direction. Both had forgotten he was even there in the first place. He raised his hands. “Sorry.”

“Well, I- it was obviously implied,” Buck argued. “I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't love you.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?! You were making it sound like I was some gay hero that sewed the first pride flag! I don't even go to pride events, Evan! All the colors are far too bright and the glitter never leaves you.”

“Glitter is really annoying,” Eddie agreed.

Tommy pointed a crutch at him. “Thank you.”

“I was not trying to make you out to be some gay hero, Tommy! I was telling you that I was comfortable with you. I was telling you I wanted to spend all my time with you. I wanted us to be together!”

“You didn't even think it through, Evan!” Tommy motioned around the room. “I own a home. It comes with two bedrooms that have doors, a garage, a back yard, and two and a half bathrooms. You asked me to move into your loft.”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh, Buck.”

Buck's eyes shot over to him. “You're still here why?”

Eddie stood from his spot on the couch, grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I'm going. Later.”

They both stayed silent until they heard the door open and close.

Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “This is our first fight, isn't it?”

Tommy nodded. “It is.”

“Took us long enough.”

Tommy managed a small smile. “Probably should have fought you that night, honestly.”

“I think I would have felt better if you did.”

“Me too.” Tommy took a deep breath. “I actually really do have to pee,” he said, shifting from one crutch to the other. “Can we pause this until I'm done?”

Buck nodded. “I'll be here.”

They didn't actually fight anymore after that. It was time for Tommy to take his meds, which made him tired, and Buck was tired himself from his shift. Tommy laid in bed, Buck snoring on the floor beside him, thinking it all over. All the things he still felt like he needed to say. The unfinished business they had between them.

The fight wasn't much, but it was something.

It was enough.

For now.

*****

“Are you sure you're good on your own?” Buck asked as Tommy limped behind him toward the door.

“I'm sure. I can successfully do everything on my own now with minimal to no pain.”

Buck turned back to him quickly, eyes wide. “But there's still pain?”

Tommy smiled. “I'm fine, Evan.”

Buck didn't look so sure. “Okay, I... Okay.” Instinctively, he moved forward to wrap Tommy in a hug. He stopped himself before he got too close, but Tommy responded by opening his arms.

Buck's posture relaxed as he gently wrapped his arms around Tommy, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "I was so worried about you," he whispered in the space between them.

"I know."

“You'll call the number I gave you?” he asked.

“I already did yesterday,” Tommy admitted. “When you went out to pick up dinner. My first session is next Monday.”

“Good. That's... That's good.”

“Thank you, Evan. For everything you've done for me. You didn't have to do that.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulled himself away from Tommy.

“Did you realize you've been calling me Evan since our fight a couple weeks ago?” he asked, lips upturning into a smile.

“Oh, um,” Tommy shifted on his feet, taking the pressure off his bad knee. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Don't be sorry. I hate when you call me Buck.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I'll always- I wanna be Evan, to you.”

Tommy nodded, staring into Evan's eyes. “Okay. That's. I'd like that too.”

Buck continued toward the door, stopping again as soon as his hand touched the handle. He looked back. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you think about texting me... hit send, okay?”

Tommy had never mentioned that before. But he'd caught Buck's near-texts to him too, so it didn't quite catch him off guard. “I'm kinda a mess, Evan. I'm not as comfortable as you think I am. I'm not... I'm still figuring things out.”

“That's okay. I am too. Text me anyway.”

“Even if I'm asking you out for a coffee? So we can talk? Really talk?”

“Date and time, I'll be there.” Buck smiled softly at him as he opened the door to leave. “I'll get your order right this time.”

[astral-lucy]

your next partner (PAC)

hello beautiful creatures! i'm excited to be back with another pick-a-card reading. i've been feeling romantic lately, so here goes a reading regarding your next partner. hope you enjoy it!

as usual, pick the picture that you feel most connected or drawn towards (pile 1 - up and left / pile 2 - up and right / pile 3 - down and left / pile 4 - down and right)

happy reading!

#pile 1

wheel of fortune - eight of wands - knight of cups - six of swords - seven of coins

when i started to shuffle for this pile’s reading, “so high school” by taylor swift started playing, so maybe that means something to you. although this is a person i think you’ve known for a while, the wheel of fortune here shows a new stage of this relationship, and paired with the eight of wands this shows a period of excitement, passion - the typical honeymoon phase we all go through once we start a relationship. maybe you have been through a rough period emotionally, things haven’t been great for either one of you, and here comes a calmer time, you’ll have someone to rely on that’ll help you with all the love in the world. this relationship seems ideal, but there are a few cards here that advice making an effort to communicate correctly with each other. 

when i asked about the appearance of this person i got freckles! i also see that this person has a baby face or is a pretty childish person, someone with a lot of energy. i feel like they have lighter hair as well.  you can also expect this to happen literally at any moment now! this is something that is already happening and in the works. 

#pile 2

the hanged man - queen of cups - knight of cups - six of coins - nine of cups

“only love” by ben howard started playing when i started writing, and i feel like that’s how this connection feels like! this is someone new in your life, and your day to day will start to feel like this song. with the hanged man opening this reading i feel like this is someone who came in to change your perspective and opinions about love, and even about self love - but this card also tells you to be patient and advises not to rush into new relationships without being sure first, as not everyone will fit you. love is definitely on the horizon, just wait for it to come to you, as someone who is willing to listen to you and that will offer you all the attention you need is on the way. the six of pentacles here is asking you to give without expecting anything back, it advises you to be generous with yourself and the universe will be generous to you as well! a strong connection is coming 

when i asked about this person i got the five of coins, so this is probably someone who has gone through hard times and knows that feeling cared for is important. this is someone who has dark eyes, probably darker skinned as well. 

when i asked for timing, i saw that the winter time may be of significance, but this still may take a while to come to you. 

#pile 3

two of swords - ace of cups - six of coins - queen of swords - five of swords

wow, you may be indecisive regarding a relationship or taking a new step into a relationship, and you may be looking for advice. i think that this relationship has a great potential of being a safe space, somewhere you’ll feel loved and supported. you may be indecisive because you don’t want to lose your independence - but your partner understands how that is important to you and will respect it. there’s an emphasis on the important of communication, as you may have problems due to a lack of it, and what i see here is that you’re struggling to make things official because you’re afraid - talk to them! have the scary conversation. they understand. 

when i asked about appearance i got the emperor, which makes me think this is a person who has a lot of authority. i also think they’re someone with dark eyes but lighter hair. 

timing wise, regarding having a conversation or taking a new step, i’d say something will shift within the next ten days or the next two weeks. 

#pile 4

three of coins - three of wands - six of cups - king of coins - page of wands

i think someone you’ve had a crush on has looked your way! someone you’ve liked for a while is now noticing you in a romantic light, or maybe someone you tried to have a relationship with in the past is back. whoever this person is, they’re not 100% committed to you, they want to be your one and only. you may feel sparks, have a lot of passion and fun with this person, but you need to avoid being clingy or too jealous of this person, reminding you both how everyone needs space. the three of wands is an amazing card here, as it shows you good luck on your romantic choices. 

i think this person takes a great care of their appearance, especially their hair. 

i think this is going to become official in a few month, maybe around pisces season.

hope you enjoyed reading!

[pastel-peach-writes]

hello!! i love your writing, so may i ask? may you write about fem!reader x caitvi with a reader that does ballet? thank you!🌷🌷💋

Sure! I'm a ballet dancer myself so I'm happy to do this request!

En Pointe | CaitVi x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of CaitVi with a ballet dancer girlfriend!

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: No Spoilers(S2), She/Her Pronouns, Not Proofread, Suggestive Themes (Second to Last Paragraph)

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

– As someone who's also physically active, Vi makes sure you're taking care of your body after long nights of rehearsal.

– She gives you supplements that help with muscle recovery, makes you protein shakes or smoothies that help you last throughout dress rehearsals or performances, etc.

– She also will invite you to work out with her when your teachers tell you that you need to work on conditioning or stamina.

– If you're running late to practice and your hair is a mess, Caitlyn will always be there to help you with it. Whether that's putting it in a ponytail so you can put it in a bun later or flat-out doing the bun for you while you prepare snacks and waters for class.

– Furthermore, the girls love to attend your rehearsals to watch you dance or to get familiar with your dance studio/school. Sometimes they come during late-night practices with dinner or during early morning practices so they can take you out for brunch later.

– When the time comes for pointe shoe fitting, trust that Lady Caitlyn and Vi are right there at your appointment. The two of them are astonished with how pointe shoes work and never knew how much care and preparation goes into them.

–––

"What do you mean you have to sew them yourself?" Vi asked after her first fitting with you, appalled to hear that the ribbons and elastic come separately.

"Some teachers and dancers prefer different styles of ribbon, elastic, cut, and placement so to make things easier on the pointe shoe makers, the dancers sew the shoes themselves," you informed Vi but Caitlyn was nearby taking notes.

–––

– On days when you forgot a certain pair of shoes or tights, one of the girls would rush home to grab them for you. Even if they were in the middle of work.

– And on the off chance that they can't leave work to help you out, Caitlyn either finds or hires someone to purchase a new pair of shoes for you and then deliver them to your location.

– Safe to say you have many pairs of canvas ballet shoes and even contemporary/jazz shoes if you dabble in those genres too.

– Upon supporting you through your practices and giving you motivation on hard days, Caitlyn and Vi are always there at your shows and performances with flowers or a stuffed animal if you don't like flowers.

– They've told their family and friends about the show too so you have at least two rows, or one really big row, of supporters at every one of your performances.

– Caitlyn would get her family, Jayce, Mel, maybe even Viktor while Vi gets her crew (Yes, including Vander, Mylo, and Claggor), and her sister to attend. Even some of the coworkers Vi got close to attend your shows sometimes.

– After every show, they make sure to feed you. So if you're in between shows, for instance you finished a morning show but you still have an afternoon and evening performance, they would quickly get you food from a nearby restaurant if craft services wasn't provided or good.

– If you only had one show that didn't cut too late into the night, they take you to whichever restaurant you want.

– It could be a restaurant you saw on the way to the venue that you wanted to try or your favorite one back home. Either way, you're getting fed and they're happy to pay for whatever you want.

– On days when practice was an absolute ass and your body was a mess and too sore to function, Caitlyn offers to draw you a warm bath while Vi offers to draw you an ice bath.

– Sometimes they get into petty arguments about which bath is better and what you truly need at the time but usually, they come to a decision on their own.

– After your bath, warm, ice, or both, a meal would already be ready for you and the bed open for your laying.

– If you were too tired to eat, one of them would feed you in bed while the other massaged your sore muscles and applied muscle repair cream.

– If you're one to enjoy adult activities, sometimes the massaging gets carried away. Especially if you're just in your towel. But trust, it's all consensual and if you're not in the mood for such activities, the girls don't even encourage it.

– Okay, that's all! Hope you guys enjoyed <3

WC: 732

[pomrania]

Holiday Cheer! (Which Holiday? Don't Worry)

Time to decorate for the season! Unfortunately everything you have is for the wrong holiday, so you'll need to get creative to make something good.

Assign -1, +0, +1 to ART, SKILL, and CRAFT. When asked to roll, d6 + applicable modifier. 5+: gain point 3-4: no change 2-: lose point 0: flip coin; if tails, "so bad it's good", gain point instead

Design what your display looks like. Roll ART. You can choose to reroll, but must take the new result (you only have so much time to plan).

Get everything set up. Choose if you're going for simple or ambitious. Roll SKILL; if you chose "ambitious", gain/lose two points instead of one (but only gain one on a lucky 0).

Explain how actually this totally fits the holiday. (You can choose to not roll, and let the display speak for itself.) Roll CRAFT. You can choose to reroll with a -1 penalty, but must take the new result.

Reactions by point total: -4: remembered forever, in a bad way -3 to -2: mockery -1 to 1: pity, you did what you could with what you had 2 to 3: mild respect 4: admiration

This is okay to archive off-site. I didn't have enough words available to say that it can be played solo or with a group, and that for group play it's like everyone is doing their own individual display, but I feel it's obvious enough to figure out how to do that, especially if you're the type of people who are willing to play random indie TTRPGs.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[faeylayn-blog]

"You humans confuse me. You try so very hard to be as boring as everyone else, and, when some gifted soul is born that has some small degree of uniqueness to it, you beat and break it until it fits into a dull little box that you can understand. Explain this to me, if you please."

The glowing figure across the table illuminated the void gently. It's clear the abyss and the furniture weren't actually here, but the tantalizing way their shadows and the darkness intermingled was almost spellbinding, distracting enough to almost lose the train of thought about how to explain.

“I don’t think any mortal being has found a way to live up to their ideals, but that’s just distracting from the point isn’t it? I could give you what we know about biology and instinct and evolution, but that doesn’t really do more than give points of information, not an explanation.” 

The figure remains silent, perhaps knowing that the thought isn’t complete and there’s more for you to say. It’s easy when you have all the time in the world possibly.

“I think if you asked a hundred different humans why it’s this way you’d get a thousand different answers, so all I can really offer is my explanation. And the truth I see is this, humans are built scared. We spend all our lives being scared of mistakes, of  being left behind, of being alone. Part of that is biological, but I think it’s more the hardness and greed that has been taught from generation to generation, line to line. It might be that we’ll never be rid of it, and it might be that being rid of it simply opens us up to being devastated, but that fear is taught in every interaction, every time a scarce resource needs to be distributed and it’s up to people to decide who is more like me, ie who deserves it.”

With no frame of reference it’s simple to lump humanity together, isn’t it?

“The truth is that everyone deserves it, no one deserves it, no one deserves anything. And even still we are forced to make these value judgments because lives hang in the balance and tribes fulfill so many needs that we cannot give them up. Even if we wanted to, which I guarantee you most do not. So we mold ourselves, we mold each other to fit into the box that is the most like our tribe, from the left eating it’s own to the right threatening anyone too different. We focus on our differences because that makes each of us special and unique, but also terrifying and terrified.”

The table is getting fuzzier, almost like it’s struggling to maintain some form. The aura emanating from the creature opposite might be getting brighter, or it might not; it's hard to tell. It does speak after a moment of silence, “Fear is a powerful motivator, and perhaps it’s only when you can move past that fear that there will be no need for that box.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps when we move past the need to understand something to not fear it, there won’t be any more boxes at all.”

“You humans confuse me. You try so very hard to be as boring as everybody else, and, when some gifted soul is born that has some small degree of uniqueness to it, you beat and break it until it fits into a dull little box that you can understand. Explain this to me, if you please.”

[pricegouge]

Eirēnē

price x reader one shot

cw: femme, soldier reader. implied fit body type. pegging. slight spit kink. mild angst but a happy ending. MDNI

"Oh, big stretch." It's playfully patronizing; an affected air to hide the undercurrent of genuine pride. John's always liked watching you push your limits, but raw affection has no place here in his bed - always kept carefully at bay, dropped with his tac gear by the door, or maybe even further back, in the field, when he ducked his helmet against yours with a quiet 'well done, love,' barely audible over the din of exfil, ripped away in the impending whorl of hele blades. 

He praises you here as well, but never as an equal. You're a plaything when he's got you pinned under him. He toys with you the way you imagine he's toyed with cute little things all his life. John doesn't strike you as a bully by any means, but you've seen first hand how he can turn a compliment into a debasement by simply dropping his pitch a few octaves. It leaves you unmoored, dragged in and out of your arousal by self-conscious turns which he soothes with sweet kisses and gentle touches.

They sting worse than the words.

He's got his thumb against the seam of you now, pushing at the tender skin where it is indeed stretched wide around his cock. He's overconfident when he mouths off about how good it must feel, but his eyes betray him as they always do: reverent, tender, yes. And envious.

It took you months to see it. As a rule, by the time he got like this, you were already too fucked out to notice. You fear you never would have, had this slippery slope you'd both found yourselves on not started declining further by the day. You might slip more often, but he's bigger. Falls harder.

It's the vulnerability that tips you off. 

'You're only ever satisfied when you're taking my cock, aren't you darlin'?' it began, a mocking smirk pressed against your lips as you pouted about being given nothing but his fingers. 'That feel good, love?' he'd ask, palm grinding into your sex as he fucked you shallowly, watching himself disappear within your body. Then 'tell me how good I make you feel,' turned into, 'tell me how good it feels,' while 'need me to fix it?' became, 'fuck, sweetheart, please.'

Now you watch him back, entranced by the way he cannot look away from where your bodies meet. It's early yet. He has all his faculties. Still, his gaze is anchored to the stretch of your cunt. "You could cum like this, couldn't you?" he asks, thumb tracing up to your clit. "So full I don't even have to work for it. Just stuff you up and press this button, eh?"

You nod but he's not looking. His thumb pushes against you cruelly as punishment for your perceived silence. "Yes," you hiss and he hums, eyes bright with mischief.

"Show me, then," he says casually, rocking himself that final centimeter deeper as he starts playing with your clit exactly the way you like it. You bear it in stillness and silence for as long as you can, but the quiet sigh he eventually earns himself is like a floodgate. Once your mouth is open, jaw relaxed, your soft noises continue, and then your hips are canting just enough to work against his rhythm. You don't last long enough to test your theory that night, not when John stays as buried deep as he can get, rocking shallowly into you just so he can feel the head of his cock drag under his palm where he keeps it pressed into the soft flesh of your belly. It's vulnerable, makes you feel field dressed, gralloched. 

His own tummy jumps when you palm him there in turn, his cock twitching within you as he groans like he's been gutshot, falls limp over you just the same.

You find out days later that you can make him a desperate, gasping mess by just leaving teeth marks there, working him in your fist while you hide your bite among the soft hair of his underbelly, the most defenseless part of him - too low for his vest to cover; mobility at the cost of exposure. But he trusts you here, holds you close after the first few flutters of his panic settle. His cum stripes your chin when your free hand palms his heavy sac, one finger settling lower, along the seam of him. 

John does not ask you. You wonder sometimes if it would be a bridge too far, playing into the role more than he is comfortable with. Then, John being comfortable with any of this is a stretch, as evident in the tension of his brow when you finally get him on his back, the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat when you work your second finger in alongside the first. You think it's more than he can take, but he outright whimpers when you go to pull back and you can't help but laugh when he wraps a strong leg around your waist to hold you close, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer when he chokes out a quiet, 'don't you dare.'

Don't laugh, don't stop - you're unsure so do neither as you settle yourself deeper within him, fingers probing, just exploring. Taking your time.

The toy he'd bought you - ostensibly - is bigger than he is. Will sit deep within him, proportionate to how he fits inside you. You're not worried it will please him, but it's hard not to be at least a little jealous of his big hands when your fingers can't reach deep enough to do anything but press fluttery pulses against his prostate, only make him tense and sweat when you want to make him cry and beg. It's an instinct that grows with each passing minute, John's impatience - and ability to articulate it - damn near hurting your pride.

He wants to be made vulnerable, has entrusted you alone with the task, though you can do little more than tease him on your own.

But you've always been resourceful. Learned from the best.

When you do pull away, John's hole tightens around your fingers so hard you imagine you would be unable to escape if not for the copious amounts of lube you'd used while working him open. He doesn't pout the way you would have, his frustration instead leaving him with a strangely bull-like huff. You shush him anyway, soothing the emptiness with two thumbs quickly hooking into his rim, testing his stretch with a quiet, disapproving hum.

"I don't know, cap. Don't think you're ready for this cock."

John's neck flexes when he tilts his head back, the thick cords on full display when he swallows heavily, jumping past the strain in his throat. "Oh, fuck you."

"Not tonight," you counter absently, sinking your thumbs to the knuckle just to watch his hole try to wink around them. When you remove them completely, you drag slick trails of lube through the coarse hair there. "It's these little fingers of mine," you pout, wiggling them at him illustratively. "Not gonna cut it, I fear. Be a doll and open yourself up for me, hm?"

He looks like he has something to say to that, but it gets caught behind his teeth and to your surprise he only rolls, gets his knees up under his hips so he can kneel before you, brace most of his weight on his left hand which he plants firmly on the bed. You don't comment on the practiced ease with which he reaches back and coats his fingers in the sticky lube which drips from his hole, nor the way his breath catches when his fingers do. Whatever this is, this practiced confidence, this was never intended for you and you're loathe to have taken it from him.

You're more loathe he's kept it from you at all, but you stay just as silent as him.

John works efficiently, doesn't even take enough time to let the pleasure build. You think about guiding his hands but falter, too scared to take too much control. Instead you keep his cheeks spread for him, warm extra slick between your fingers before letting it slip from your grip, watch as it slips into his greedy hole. You want to tell him how good he looks, but you don't want to embarrass him, either, and your words die in your throat, dry and brittle, because John is not usually so quiet as this during sex and if he needs the silence, you will not be the one to break it.

He doesn't speak when he's decided he's stretched enough, either. Simply lays down on his belly with his legs stretched out between your own. You hum appreciatively, chance to ask if he's ready for you with a quick, assessing swipe of your finger across his loosened rim. With the muscle lax and unfurled, your digit catches and tugs, draws a low, startled grunt from him before he clears his throat and nods, voice thick when he says he is.

You remember the way his stomach tensed under your palm, the way he cradles the back of your head when you get his balls in your mouth, pressing the ring of your teeth closer. John does not ask for this, at least not verbally, but you know what he wants. John's never led you astray before, and he doesn't now, so long as you know what to look for. He does not want to be responsible for this, to tell you when he's ready. The added tension of it, your expectation that he make a decision at the one time he wasn't expecting to, it collects tangibly in the iron of his spine, the clench of your jaw. In the silence of the room, you hear the spiderweb break of the fragile gift he's given you and you still, coltish legs on too-thin ice. Misguided. Not a concept you've had to worry about since coming under John's captaincy. You've grown lax

"Tell me how good it feels."

And maybe it's okay that you've let him crumble, just a bit, because he shatters beautifully when he knows you'll keep him together.

John's voice is still tight when the head of your cock catches on his rim, the words pulled from him like tangled fishing line, each confession pulling clotted debris from the silt of his vitals. It's good, a stretch, he's full.

You can't help the cruel laugh that builds at that last, flex your hips down into his to sink incrementally deeper. "Not yet, you're not."

The quiet snarl is the only warning you get, John's palm reaching back to wrap around your hip with the same quick reflexes that have kept him whole so long. He rips back whatever control he's ceded with just as much ease as he pulls you into him, a rough grunt the only indication he gives of any potential discomfort from the sudden intrusion. Still, you lean against him heavily so he can't move you manually again, create a rhythm for himself that you haven't authorized. You don't let the doubt overcome you, know this is no less than the last desperate gasps of any bound animal. 

You settle him just the same, warm hands on his flank and soft reassurances, your low murmur spilled across his shoulder because he's far too tall for you to lean over properly. "Easy, baby. Give yourself a minute to adjust."

A dog that's slipped his muzzle, John still shows his teeth. "I can take it."

"Don't care what you can do," you counter, bearing more weight down on his back as you slip your free hand under his thick chest - a poor approximation of the way he effortlessly comforts you in this position, the tenderness he doesn't even mean to give. "Just care about what you want to do."

Though he remains unsettled, John's voice is less clipped now despite his words. "I want you to move."

Impertinence sits on your tongue - begging for it already? - but you know better than to test his patience when he's already got himself so wound up over nothing. He's a man unused to this position, figuratively and literally, and you take pity on the perceived bruising of his ego, even if it is self-inflicted. "I'll take care of you," you promise instead, and have to bite back the swell of pride in your chest when the tension of his back slackens incrementally.

"Know you will, love."

The first slow pump of your hips is shallow, experimental, your body acquainting itself with this new movement. John offers no encouragement, but you take his lack of objection for it anyway and gain confidence with each thrust, your strokes growing longer as you learn how to properly brace your weight. 

The harness you've chosen rests low on your hips, the base of your cock digging into your mons each time you bottom out within him. It's a low simmer of pleasure, not distracting enough to keep you from your main aim, but enough to get your hips snapping slightly into him, a rhythm you double down on when John's breath stilts and he shifts subtly, bracing himself to ensure your movements are well met. It's unnecessary - his bulk far too much for you to move with so little engagement - but appreciated all the more because of it.

"Feel good, John? You like having me so deep inside you?"

When he looks over his shoulder, you can see the pinpricks of sweat collecting on his temple. "Let you know when you fuck me proper."

You laugh catches in your throat, more a startled breath than true amusement. "Cheeky," you grumble, then shift up onto your knees and brace your feet over the backs of his calves, using your too-wide stance to your advantage when it means you can't hold your weight on your own. You sink further into the clutch of him, the base of your toy flush tight to his rim, and John swallows thickly, throat flexing. 

The angle is difficult to work but worth it, the way John's head hangs limp between his shoulders the only encouragement you need to plant your hands on the back of his tight waist and feel the way his abdomen flexes each time you let your weight drop back into him. You keep a steady pace even when he tries arching back up under you, inviting you deeper without speaking.

He didn't ask, but you knew.

You don't give him what he wants until he's biting back moans, his voice so low and shot you'd mistake them for the traffic outside if not for how acutely attuned you are to him, your pace quickening just to chase the harefooted pulse in his neck higher. 

When he bites your name out through clenched teeth, his breath condensing in the hairs of his forearm, you tell him to beg. 

"Shit… fuck." You see the muscles of his back bunch when he plants his hands under his shoulders, the tension in his spine when he debates bucking you off of him. And then you plant your feet under yourself, sacrifice depth for power on your next thrust and he whimpers, dropping back to the mattress with a reedy whine. 

You give him a few more, exact copies - the movement already imprinted on your mind like a ballroom basic (Quick learner. Lethal. Brutal. You'd read his reports on you) - and peter off you hear him choke off the next thin groan. 

"If you're not gonna beg for me, at least let me hear those pretty sounds." To prove your point, you grind in hard against him, hips angled to hit that spot that had earned you a whine to begin with. You chuckle when it works again, voice dripping with a cruelty you didn't know you were capable of when it came to your captain. "I've earned 'em, haven't I?"

Another noise bubbles in his throat, pops with a breathy huff. You slip away from him, snap back, and revel in the clench of his thick fist against the sheets. "Fuuuuck. Yeah, love. Just like that. Alright. You've earned it."

He's a veritable font after that, tongue loose and spilling every thought. You feel carbonated, fizzy and staticky, listening to each noise and bitten off praise tumble past his lips. You want to kiss him, get frustrated when you can't reach him. The hand around the column of his throat to arch him backwards surprises both of you, kiss forgotten as you pant against his lips, your glutes burning as you try to maintain your pace. Silent now, John's throat can do little more than flex weakly under your palm as his jaw works, swallowing the spit you want to drink from him. You can't help a whine of your own when the harness grinds too low, too hard, and you bunt your forehead against his cheek, spine sagging just slightly.

"'S'it good, love?"

He doesn't even sound like your captain anymore, voice too quiet, vulnerable. Sinking for a moment into that soft space with him. But when you open your eyes and see his own looking back at you, expectant and eager, you steel yourself again, lips feather light against his ear.

"So good, baby. Taking me so fucking well. Look pretty like this, John," you admit, rambling on over the whine it incites. "Should get you under me more often, hm? Let you take this cock the way I know you want?" He slinks back to the bed when you let him, your palm petting heavily along his spine as he slips away from you. He doesn't try to muffle his noises in the pillow this time, breaths heavy and high as you build your rhythm back up, ignoring the way the harness slips against your sweaty skin. 

With your hands braced against his waist again, it's easy to watch the stretch of his hole where he accepts you so greedily. Even now it glistens in the low light, hair matted with the generous amount of lube you'd plied him with. Your cock is skin-toned, natural, glistening as if with slick when you work it free of him. You make it as loud as you can manage when you spit on him, delighting in the way his hole winks around the tapered head of your cock when he flinches in embarrassment, making it worse by taking the base in hand and slapping the head against the wet of it until he can't take it anymore, reaching back to try and grab your hip again. 

You're ready for him this time, slap his hand away easily, an odd contrast to the way you coo filth at him, call him greedy and just to watch his hole clench down again, a futile attempt to keep you out. When you spit on him this time, a half-hearted bid to ensure he could still take you despite his tension, he groans unabashedly and flops back down, boneless.

"Whore," you chide, and slip back to the base in one steady move, filing the way your gamble makes him keen for later.

Despite his submission, rigidity coils low in John's spine as you work yourself deeper, the muscles under your hand pulling taut as he accepts you. It pools in your own as well, a baseline pleasure you've done all you can to ignore. Your thumbs trace his ilium, feel the tightness of his fascia. One palm pulls the meat of his cheek away to bare his hole to you and then that same thumb slips lower, past the seam of him, and presses softly against his rim. 

You accuse him of being greedy and bite back a smile as John accepts this new intrusion with a slack-jawed moan, drool pooling on the pillow beneath him. You tell him he's being so good for you when your first knuckle slips past his slack hole, but you don't think it even registers, given the fucked out look on his face, the tight pinch of pleasure between his brows. You keep praising him anyway as you begin to fuck him again, your words a low undertone to the high pitched grunts he emits each time you slam home. With your hook him, John can't help but work his hips against yours, aborted little thrusts which you allow because there's not much you can do to stop him, not when he's so far past listening and you're no match for the powerful contraction of his thick thighs. It's a struggle to stay atop him but you manage, pushing him back down as much as you're able with your palms planted on his flexing glutes. To his credit, he regains some sentience when his cock receives sufficient stimulation, tucking his arms up under his chest to better work down against the mattress, slurring vague encouragement through spit-slick lips.

"C'mon, sweetheart, give it to me, please - fuck."

"Need more?" you ask, unsure how you could even give him what he needs when you're on the verge of collapse, untested musculature flagging by the minute.

"Just like that. Shit -!"

He cuts off with a cry when your second thumb slips lower, prods threateningly at the tight ring of muscle you've already worked too loose. "Big stretch," you warn, but make it no further than your nailbed before he's cumming with bitten off shout, hips stuttering as if he can't decide if he wants to fuck down into the mattress or back onto you more. You take the choice from him, bearing down with enough force to work your mound against the base of the harness, taking the edge off your own pleasure with deep grinds that have John babbling beneath you.

In the silence that follows, you slip free of him gently, massaging his glutes as you lay your toy between them, just listening to his breathing even out. For a moment you think it won't, and you slink down to lay across his back again, chest pressed to the lax muscles there to give him the same kind of grounding weight you love so much from him. John just reaches back to sink lazy fingers along your scalp, though, a satisfied hum leaving him when you tip off him sideways to spoon up next to him. Between you, your cock bobs ungainly, an unwelcome intrusion that keeps you from clinging to him. He laughs when you huff in frustration, watches you with one eye open as you fiddle with the clasps until you're free. He's good enough to roll onto his side when you lay back down, welcoming you into his chest with a warmth you're not used to seeing post-coitus, and despite the easiness of his hold on you, it puts you on your back foot, sends you spiraling back into reality - to your place behind him in the field, never his equal. 

He mistakes your stiffness for dissatisfaction at first, his palm sliding down your front unprompted despite his obvious exhaustion, his whole body wrung out and relaxed. It fills you with pride that you were able to do that for him, but it's a sour sort of pride, a noxious gas which bubbles within you, has you pushing his hand away before he's even grazed the thatch of hair above your sex. John grumbles, peeks down past his nose to look you over. His free hand finds the nape of your neck when you avoid him, tilts your face for his inspection.

When he asks if you're broken, your throat constricts, the words like a mallet knocking your panic loose. Your voice falters, stuttering past a protest which you can't quite form. John frowns down at you and that insufferable feeling of disappointment, of having let him down yawns beneath your feet, your axis tilting you over the edge -.

"What's wrong, love?"

It's too quiet to be the voice he uses in the field, too soft to be that patronizing tone he adopts when he's got you underneath him. Closer to the quiet murmur he imparts on you when he drags you close before exfil, those secret words meant just for you, his softest soldier who needs the gentle touch. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, but he's not having it, dragging you closer so you've no choice but to hitch your leg up over his thigh, expose yourself to him fully.

"Can't fix it if you don't tell me," he reminds you, and even that aches - the knowledge he'd trusted you with all this, and he still has to keep you together. 

"It's nothing," you assert, desperate to let him enjoy his come down. "I'm just being silly."

John just squints at you, testing. When he moves your hips down against his own, he tracks the slight flinch in your expression with open interest. "Doesn't seem so silly, lovie."

You still his hands, ask him to stop with regret tinging your voice. "I'm sorry, it's just -. I just -."

"You what, sweetheart?"

"Oh, don't call me that," you blubber, floodgates opening despite your best effort. 

To his credit, John seems to take it in stride, pulling you into his chest and tucking you under his chin. His hands are heavy and warm on your back where they soothe along your spine. "Okay, no sweetheart. How 'bout lovie? Or honey? Or -?"

"John," you whine, pushing yourself away from him with a firm hand on his chest. "I can't take it anymore! You're so… so…"

"So what?"

"So sweet! And it hurts too much, knowing I can't keep it, and -."

"Can't keep it?" he mutters, but you're too wound up to listen, rattling on about not know what this is, spilling your heart out about how you keep blurring the lines. 

John silences you with a kiss, far too slow and sweet to have been listening to a single one of your concerns. When he pulls away he doesn't let you go far, keeping you in the tight ring of his embrace so he can pepper bittersweet kisses across your cheeks. "You were being silly, weren't you, love?" he starts, and chuckles meanly when you swat at him, trying to squirm away. "Easy. Listen to me, sweetheart, okay? It's important." He waits patiently for you to settle, heat boiling under your collar as you meet his eyes. "Do you think I'd have let you do all that if this were just casual? Hm?"

Clarity swells in you like ocean tide, briny and bitter where it creeps up your throat. You open your mouth to answer but close it just as fast, afraid of what might come spilling out. 

"Just casual," John scoffs, pulling you closer and saving you from further embarrassment when he tucks you back under his chin. "If I find out you've been casual with any of the other lads I'm going to be quite cross."

You want to tell him it would be his own fault, or lie just to teach him a lesson. Mostly, you want to be offended. Instead you just shake your head adamantly, lips dragging across the coarse hair of his chest. 

"Good girl," he rumbles, and must feel the clench of your cunt against his hip because his hand drags down to your rear, pulls you impossibly closer. "Now, let's drive those nasty thoughts out of your head, shall we?"

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

[writergirlll]

can you write something about F1 driver (doesn't matter who) x reader, when they were best friends since childhood, but then suddenly they become strangers. no one knows how, why, and not even themselves, until they meet at the Las Vegas GP after a long absence..

Yeah suree. (I know this is pretty bad, but I wrote this late at night, so sorry, I'll just get better!!)

CHILD MEMORIES /LH44

Lewis Hamilton x reader

I don't know why I put Lewis, but somehow he fit me there..

words: 2k+

You were everything. You brightened up anyone, you laughed at everything, you were the sun of Mercedes. Everyone loved you, you were inseparable.

You and Lewis have been best friends since birth. Your families were close, so you practically had no choice but to hang out with each other. But the decision was great!

You spent whole days together, the same kindergarten, elementary school and then high school. You weren't even separated when Lewis started driving F1 because you followed him to EVERY race. Everyone knew how close you were. Journalists, fans, co-workers of Lewis, your families and you.

That's why you just didn't know what happened. Four months have passed since Lewis' last race. And you haven't seen each other in four months. You didn't know why, you didn't know how.

Lewis stopped texting you, stopped answering your calls, and blocked you pretty much everywhere. You couldn't comment on his posts, you couldn't do anything. When you were waiting for him three days ago after the race, you didn't even get to see him because Russell kicked you out saying that Lewis definitely didn't want to see you.

You didn't understand it at all because you were inseparable and the worst part was that everyone asked you about it. Your whole family asked you, your friends, fans of you and Lewis, or even the press. But you just couldn't answer. You couldn't tell them that you had absolutely no idea what was going on and you wanted to know. You couldn't tell them it was Lewis who cut you off because he would be blamed. And okay, maybe he's ignoring you right now and you don't know why, but you're definitely not a bitch who would betray him and take the blame on him. Yes, he was at fault, but not everyone needs to know that..

And that's why you decided to go to the race in Las Vegas, to find out the answers. You knew it might not be a good idea because you might get fired again and it would be even worse for your psyche, but you had to know the answers. Just had to.

“Y/n no! You're not going to the movies with him” Lewis started yelling at you when you were nine.

,,Why? You are not my mom to order me around. He's nice to me and he doesn't yell at me unlike you" you stuck your tongue out at him and started putting on your mom's lipstick.

"He's not nice. He's just using you" he shook his head and stepped closer to you.

"But he's handsome. You don't know him at all” you mumbled as you concentrated on putting red on your lips.

"I know him. He doesn't do homework at all and his dad is said to have been in prison. He's not nice to me at all" he explained and you turned to him.

“Is it true?” you asked and he nodded quickly, his head almost falling off. "But I already have the tickets and I've made an appointment with him" you whined.

"Then you will come with me and we will write him a letter on the way. He only lives a few minutes away anyway" Lew thought up and you finally went along with his solution.

You took off your lipstick and pulled out a piece of paper and started writing - which looked like a scratch that you weren't going anywhere with. Then you put it in the envelope Lew had made in the meantime, sealed it with saliva, and dropped it in his mailbox when you went to the cinema.

At home, you packed some things, bought tickets and booked a hotel. You told your parents and everyone close to you about your plan and got on the plane.

After a few hours of flight, you finally flew to Las Vegas, called a taxi and went to check into the hotel.

When you did this, you decided it was time to go get answers. You didn't know what you would say to him when you saw him in four months, or if you would see him at all, but you wanted to at least try.

You've been pretty sick these past few months and weeks. You were constantly wondering if it was your fault and what you did wrong. The family told you that it might not be your fault but his, but you just didn't want to believe that Lewis would do something like that. Certainly not the Lewis you knew.

You cried for days and nights and it took you a long time to sort of recover from it. You knew that if Lewis ignored you even today, or didn't let you see him, it would be even worse. But why not give it a try?

You left the hotel straight to the track, where the qualification was supposed to start in an hour so you were hoping to catch Lewis before quali started.

You showed your VIP ticket at the entrance to the track, even though the people at the gate already knew you very well and would have taken you without a ticket, and you headed to the Mercedes garage, more nervous than ever.

You slowly shuffled there, already having several journalists on your neck, which you successfully ignored. And you also successfully ignored the feeling that told you to turn around and not go there at all.

It wasn't long before you saw a boy in a blue jumpsuit who revealed himself to be George Russell. As soon as you approached him, he noticed you and frowned at first before smiling slightly when he saw your expression.

“Y/n hi. You haven't been here long" he said as he walked up to you and gave you a quick hug.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much reason to walk there" you smiled firmly and looked around for Lewis. "Don't you know where Lewis is?" you asked and George's smile immediately disappeared from his face.

"I think he doesn't want to talk to you much. Besides we are going quali in a bit” he said quickly and you frowned.

"I absolutely do not see why you are bodyguarding him, but I want to know the reason why he did this to me. I have a right to know” you got angry.

"I know, I know but..-"

"No, no but. Just let me go to him. I need to know” you whispered the last part of your sentence and with that George pulled away from you leaving you to search the area.

You searched for quite a long time before you finally caught sight of his head. He was already dressed in his racing suit and was looking for something on the table, among all the things. You stopped for a moment before taking a deep breath and stepping forward..

Either it will ruin your life or you will find out the reason..

“Lewis?” your little six year old self whispered and patted little Lewis.

“Yeah” he turned sleepily in his bed and looked at you.

"Could I sleep with you? I'm scared on the floor" you whispered and desperately hoped he would say yes. You were supposed to sleep with him, but since his bed was small, you had to sleep on the floor, which you didn't like.

Little Lewis didn't answer, he just shifted on the bed towards the wall and lifted the covers. You quickly took advantage of this and crawled under the covers, where you snuggled up.

"Thank you so much" you smiled a little and felt tiredness wash over you. Lewis barely nodded, himself already in dreamland and put his arm around your small body and hugged you.

"I love you" you kissed his cheek and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Me too" Lewis smiled, pulling you closer and together you slowly returned to the realm of dreams..

“Lewis?” You asked cautiously, stepping a fair distance away from him to give you some space. You could see a light bulb go off in his head that it was you and he tensed slightly before turning to you.

"What are you doing here?" he asked without a greeting and glared at you. Okay, maybe you really should have stayed home..

"I came to watch the race" you replied because you didn't want to argue right now even though you knew it would most likely end up like that.

"And did you buy VIP tickets?" he rolled his eyes at your stupidity and you couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are you ignoring me? Why did you just do all this overnight" you asked him and even though it was only the first question, tears formed in your eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Lewis shook his head and went back to looking for things.

"Lewis, you know it very well. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? Because I really don't know why you just left me without an explanation after more than 30 years of knowing each other" you frowned and you made him turn around.

"I don't know okay" he started waving his hands and sighed.

“So you don't know?” you whispered, a single tear falling down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away, but Lewis seemed to see it. "After all four months, when I cried constantly because I didn't know the fuck reason why you did it, you're going to tell me that you don't know? You don't even know how much I've been worried about this because how could you when you blocked me everywhere and when I followed you George dumped me” now you started crying.

Looking at your tear covered face, Lewis softened slightly and moved a little closer to you. "I couldn't see you" he only said and looked sympathetic. "I really wanted, I wanted to hug you and explain everything to you, but I couldn't".

"But why"? you sniffed and wiped away the stray tears with the back of your hand - and that there were a lot of them.

"I" he started and ran a hand through his hair without continuing. "Maya, my ex-girlfriend. I started dating her shortly before I cut you off, you didn't even get to know her. She was very angry that I was talking to you and on top of that the whole team said that I was fired by you because I wasn't winning so many races, so I thought this would be the easiest solution. I knew it was definitely wrong, but it was the easiest. But when Maya broke up with me a month ago because she found someone else, I didn't have the strength to go to you. I knew you'd be mad. I knew I messed up terribly. Please forgive me. Please" now he started crying too.

His explanation left you completely shocked. You didn't know what to say to that. You may have understood Maya because you yourself have experienced that a person behaves differently under the pressure of a loved one, but that his team said are you distracting him?

“So this was the easiest solution?” you finally asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I really don't know, please forgive me. I understand what you had to go through and I don't want to lose all those years when we were kids and teenagers" he begged walking closer to you before wiping your wet cheeks with his big hands.

"And Mercedes thinks I'm distracting you"?

"Well, George doesn't. The other teams didn't either, but we really had a tough season, everyone thought differently, they certainly didn't mean it" he hugged you tightly and didn't want to let go.

You wrapped your arms around his back and he wrapped his around your waist. "Let's not lose all our friendship, please. I'll do anything" he whispered in your ear and you nodded.

He might have done a bad thing that cost you an extreme amount of tears and everything, but he was still Lewis, who you had loved since birth and who would never knowingly do something so horrible.

"Lew i don't want to lose our friendship either. But I will remember what you did. And I also hope that your Maya, who is probably a nice bitch by the way, doesn't show up in my life" you laughed lightly and Lewis too.

So in the end it turned out to be a good decision to go to Las Vegas...

“What if we never see each other again?” you sighed and looked deeply into the eyes of your best friend of 15 years.

"We'll see. I'm only going there for a few days for now, but you'll be able to go to my races. I'll give you a discount" he smiled at you seeing your concern and you shook your head.

Lew got an offer to F1, when they invited him to an audition and if he succeeded, he would go to junior competitions for a few years in Italy.

"You can't leave me here" you shook your head once more and pulled him into a hug.

"I won't let. Never. Best friends forever"?

"Best Friends Forever".

[greniza]

One of the consistent elements of Human Domestication Guide is that the setting's core kinks are, in-universe, institutionalized and enforced to a greater or lesser degree depending on the story. To many people, those kinks are strange or off-putting, and the premise of being forced into such a situation is (understandably) horrifying. My first introduction to the universe was the original story, which can be (and was, by me) read as a character's life and mind being wrested from her control and sculpted by a malignant and alien entity with total technological and social power, transforming the previously defiant main character into a puppet whose new master could play with or discard as she saw fit. This is not to say the story is problematic -- fiction is fiction -- but it left a lasting impression of the canon that I'm sure others share. Such is the bitter taste present in-universe.

There are people that, upon hearing someone say "I like this" about anything, will turn around and say, "Wow, you like this? You want everyone to have this? I don't want this, and therefore you are a bad person for wanting to force me to have this." These people fail to appreciate that someone could conceive of having different preferences from them. The "but" is that, as mentioned before, the bitter institutionalization of the human domestication guide universe loads the statement "I want to live there" with subtext of allowing the HDG universe's subjugation upon the unfortunate listener so long as the speaker gets to live there too.

The speaker's belief is that the subjugation of the HDG universe would be an abhorrent experience. I would agree with previous' post that it is about control, and that evaluating control and self-determination as moral goods isn't necessarily correct. I propose that while seeking control or it's simulacrums may be irrational, it is a survival instinct. If I had the ability to wave my hand, say "abracadabra," and cause anything material I imagined to come to pass, I might not be happier, but I would definitely never go hungry, and things that I noticed hurting me would evaporate. With more money, more time, more this, more that, one is necessarily able to do more. In previous's example, they trade their choice of food for automatic, free, and instant preparation; this is an increase of agency for previous and a loss of agency for another. So, previous would opt in, and someone else wouldn't.

This survival instinct extends to hypothetical considerations of the HDG universe. "What if," a skeptic might ask, "I was assigned an affini who's just sadistic and likes it when I suffer? In-universe, I'm powerless. I have no recourse! That would be awful!" and that skeptic would be correct! They would have no recourse. Such is necessarily the framing of the setting. The problem, reassures canon, is the premise of the hypothetical. There are no evil affini. All are very long-term thinkers with the happiness of the organisms they care for as the top priority. There are no need for checks, balances, or anything that could impede them, as they are as pure as angels while working in groups. This is almost paradoxical; the affini are characterized as big, weird-looking plantpeople, but still people. People, as you or I know, tend to suck and be awful, to take things for themselves at the cost of others. They’re so like us in some ways that they must be like us in every way. Furthermore, the individual characterization of affini often comes to friction with this overarching premise, as individual affini are clever and good, but still undeniably people and still undeniably flawed.

Truthfully, subscribing to the paradox of affini being both comprehensible and benevolent requires effort and a willingness to suspend disbelief for the sake of fiction. If the affini are truly people with flaws and shortcomings, as compelling narratives often require them to be, then they cannot be perfect in the way that canon demands they be. But, in order for canon to not be a narrative idealizing giving "good-intentioned" authoritarians unchecked power, the benevolence of affini must be the case. To quote, of all things, the Federalist papers, "If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary."

HDG critics do not have investment in the setting sufficient to justify upholding suspension of disbelief in the face of narratives they view as unsettling, while fans of the setting are able to justify this suspension due to their enjoyment of the works therein.

Is HDG problematic? Again, it's a work of fiction with a subjective interpretation. The setting explores a reversal of the survival instinct to seize control, with payouts to protagonists for doing so. Equally, the setting explores a universe where throwing oneself prostrate at the feet of an imperialist conqueror yields great rewards. It serves as a vehicle for critique of the modern system where your choice is to either submit or suffer; a system which advertises itself as at least having a choice. Ultimately, though, the core of Human Domestication Guide is the kink. It's fiction, not reality. Judging engagement with a fictional work, especially one centered around kink, is silly.

A critique I've seen of HDG is "you'd have no control over your life" and idk, I feel like I have so little control over my life now.

the main difference is here it's due to capitalism, ableism, and transphobia and I have to largely take care of myself. Whereas in HDG, I would be fed, clothed, my disabilities accommodated for, my transition would be done in a week And I'd have a large hot plant person caring for me the entire time.

If I'd have no control over my life, at least HDG is safe and sexy

[ilyrafe]

𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒕 ✧ 𝒅. 𝒔.

pairing: drew starkey x f!reader

warnings: miscarriage but its so fluffy yall :((

word count: 1.2k

a/n: this is so shitty y’all i’m sorry djfjdk

pls he looks so cute here

when you said you wanted him to enjoy the moment with his family, he thought it was strange, but he didn’t argue. you’ve always understood how close he is to his family, and this moment in his career is important, you want him to celebrate with his parents, siblings, and closest friends.

you’ve only been together for a short time, and you’re not close enough to his family to be at family gatherings, you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

“we can celebrate later, just you and me.” you said, sealing your promise with a kiss, before you left his apartment, three days ago.

drew found it strange, but he thought you were just giving him space, which he appreciated. after a lot of family celebration, he went to your place, ready to spend at least a whole weekend, which you loved. there’s so much to talk about.

when you think about it, you didn’t think this thing with drew would go as far as it has been, because his schedule is chaotic and so is yours. when you first met, he was about to go to morocco to shoot outer banks, but he kept texting, calling.

“i know this is kinda all over the place right now, but i wanna see where this is going. do you?”

“i do.”

and that was it. you knew then and there, with only three weeks of dating (online dating for the most part), that you were in love. he’s so sweet, and so silly, too. somehow, you trust him. after being let down so many times, he’s made you feel safe from day one.

you’re not scared to tell him.

you’re on your bed, just waiting for him to get out of the shower. you’re barely paying attention to the tv, you’re just mindlessly scrolling through reels on your instagram, just waiting.

he comes out, shirtless, with damp hair and wearing the sluttiest thing a man can wear - black boxers that fit him just right. he’s such a beautiful man.

“d’you wanna take a picture?” he jokes when he catches you staring.

“you do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“of course i do.”

he gets under the covers and immediately latches onto you, resting his head on your chest. all he really wants is to feel you near him. it turns out, he wanted you with his family. he wanted you there, he wanted to properly introduce you to his loved ones, but maybe you’re not ready and he’ll give you all the time you need.

“i’ve missed you so much,” he says, his voice muffled by your skin.

you smell like french vanilla, and he loves that scent on you. he delights himself in your touch, when your nails lightly scratch his scalp and the nape of his neck.

“i’ve missed you, too. very much.”

he smiles against your skin and takes a long, deep breath, finally allowing his body to relax.

“um… so, i was kind of wanting to talk to you.” you say, trying to sound calm. well, you are calm, but you are also just a tad nervous.

he sits up, no longer relaxed.

“what is it?”

you sigh, look down and extend your hands, as a silent request for his. drew understands and places his hands on yours. your face is serene, but he can tell something is wrong.

“babe, tell me. i knew something was wrong, you were too distant these last couple of weeks.”

you chuckle - you can’t hide anything from this man.

“i’m gonna preface it by saying that i am okay, i am fine, but something did happen, and i’ve debated whether or not i should tell you, and i thought that you deserve to know.”

“you’re scaring me.”

“no, please, it’s… it’s okay. just let me say it all first and then you can speak, okay?” drew doesn’t respond, but you take his silence as a nod. “so, a few weeks ago, i was taking a shower and felt a weird abdominal pain, and then there was blood. i wasn’t on my period, so i got a bit scared and went to the hospital. i had a few tests done and found out… um…” you trail off, because this is surprisingly hard to talk about. he lightly squeezes your hands, encouraging you to keep going. “i had a miscarriage.”

oh.

wait.

what?

“a miscarriage?”

“i didn’t know. the doctor explained that it was common for women to have a miscarriage before even knowing they were pregnant.”

drew is quiet, absorbing the whole information. you were pregnant, and didn’t even know it. you had a miscarriage and he wasn’t there for you.

“why didn’t you tell me? i would’ve taken the first flight back to be here with you.”

“i know you would, that’s why i didn’t.” you explain, kissing the back of his hand right after. “also, i needed to figure it out by myself first. i was shocked to learn through a miscarriage that i was pregnant. it was a lot to process.”

“i can’t even imagine. but… how are you now?”

“i’m okay, i promise. i have one last appointment next week.”

“i’ll go with you.”

“okay. that’d be great, actually.”

he sighs, a bit relieved. at least you’re okay.

“i thought you should know because, well, i was pregnant. and if nothing had happened, i would still be pregnant, and i know it’s early, we haven’t talked about these things and i’m not pressuring you to do or say anything, but i still wanted you to know. felt really wrong to keep this from you.”

“no, you did the right thing.” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “i’m just sorry you went through all of this alone.”

“it’s okay, though. i wanted you to be the first person to know. and maybe the only one. i don’t think we should tell anyone else about this. like, it’d be just… pointless.”

“right. but, uh, if you do want to talk about kids, we can.”

“oh?”

“i mean… i’ve thought about it.” he admits. “i’m the eldest of the family, my mom has already started asking me for grandbabies, she says liliana needs a cousin.” you giggle. “but at the same time, the life i live today wouldn’t be possible with a kid, if i’m honest. i barely have time to sleep, let alone raise a child, and if i’m meant to have kids, i want to be there.”

“when i would think about children, i thought about pregnancy and how i needed to avoid it like the plague during my teenage years,” you laugh. “even when some of my friends got pregnant, i never really saw myself in their position, you know? i guess it wasn’t a priority for me, and still isn’t, but… i’m not ruling it out.”

“i’m not either.”

“so… there’s that.” you shrug, relieved that it all went well. “thank you for listening, i was a bit nervous.”

he nods, completely enchanted by you. he wishes he could navigate difficult topics the way you do. so natural, so easy. you seem to have your shit together and he’s so jealous of that.

“you can always tell me anything.”

“i know.”

“if something like this happens again, tell me. i don’t want you to go through anything bad alone ever again, okay?”

you nod, letting him hug you. oh, you love him.

“we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it and other stuff, too.”

i love feedback! let me know what you think!

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[no-thanks-im-stuffed]

I have a Gravity Falls Theory I've been meaning to write down for a WHILE so here goes:

Stanford Pines is no genius and I'm gonna pick apart every single one of "Ford's" scientific inventions/accomplishments to prove it.

Grab a beverage, this is gonna be a long one

[Gravity Falls spoilers, a little bit of The Book of Bill]

Contents:

Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

Codes and Secrets

Inventions

Ford's Tragic Backstory

McGucket

Why Would He Do This??

After Weirdmageddon

TLDR

1. Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

I can support most of my claims with the help of Journal 3. Unless Ford had actual, scientific research papers, this is the only research we have from him and it's... not scientific in the slightest. Ford treats his "research notes" like a personal diary. I get that they had to design the Journal to be entertaining to kids, but from a scientific lense (which is what he wants to be perceived through), most of Ford's discoveries are very surface level and sometimes (especially later on) border on paranoid conspiracy theorist rambling.

His Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness is the reason he came to Gravity Falls in the first place. His goal is clear:

but, on the very next page, the ramblings start.

It gets worse once he finds the invisible ink.

"The pyramids were built to appease Bill!" sure, buddy.

(And yes, Bill confirms most of these ramblings about his history in The Book of Bill, but a) he too could be lying about this and b) I don't think he had a nice chat with Ford about who he tricked and tormented to build his portal. It wouldn't really fit into the timeline.)

The one bit of "science" I found him doing was his experimentation with the Bottomless Pit. He threw objects in the hole and only saw some stuff coming back while other stuff went missing. Ford hypothesizes it might be a "Möbius Pit" and even spends enough time experimenting on it that he found out "nothing ever seems to get lost on Friday the Thirteenth". Credit where credit is due.

Anyway, he's documenting all kinds of fantastical creatures in the Journal - adding his whimsical commentary and making random assumptions about stuff without any scientific basis. As he admits himself later on, this is getting him nowhere to actually start his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, let alone finish it. It's been SIX YEARS.

BUDDY WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

It took a spark of "divine intervention" to even start doing any meaningful research and it was just Bill telling him "hey there's a weirdness dimension btw".

Ford even admits that he didn't come up with it himself. The next pages are the first actually scientific looking ones so far, but more on that in the Inventions section.

He doesn't really advance on his Weirdness Theory for a while (see McGucket chapter for more), but later in the Journal, Ford has a little adventure with Dipper, talking about "The True Theory of Weirdness". He drops a "weird" jelly bean on the floor and watches it roll uphill towards Gravity Falls. He then states that Gravity Falls is a "Weirdness Magnet" and every oddity is eventually drawn to this place. Which is not a theory scientifically speaking, more like an unproven hypothesis. He didn't develop a model to, let's say, predict which oddity will find its way to Gravity Falls next or when it will happen.

"I explained that I felt in my bones that my arrival at this town, and perhaps Dipper's, too, was not an accident. That we were part of some greater fate the town had in store for us." Very scientific.

2. Codes and Secrets

The Journal has several hidden messages from a good handful of characters, some more encoded than others.

We all know about the Map leading to the secrets of Nathaniel Northwest's fraud from the show. Ford found it somewhere in the library.

It just needed to be folded. Layton ass puzzle. A 12 year old figured it out. Ford couldn't do it. Even Mabel is poking fun of him.

Now on to the ciphers.

One of them is a letter from Blendin, encrypted with the Vigenère cipher. To this, Stanford "aced cryptology" Pines says the following:

He was given the key and still couldn't make sense of it. Of course a cool puzzle for people reading the Journal, but not really helping Ford with upholding his image of being an undeniable genius.

Ford himself mainly uses the Atbash and Caesar ciphers, both being a) literally thousands of years old, b) incredibly simple and c) not his own invention.

Bill uses two symbol substition ciphers.

Now I don't know about you, but if a divine being chose me as the genius of the century to inspire me and said being left tiny hidden messages in my diary, I would stop at nothing to try and decipher what they're trying to tell me. For some reason, Ford did not do this. The first message Bill leaves says "I'VE BEEN INSIDE YOUR MIND SIXER, I KNOW YOUR SECRETS". He could have seen all of this coming wayyy earlier (or just had yet another red flag to ignore).

Anyway, I accidentally solved the code before finishing the Journal just to discover that Bill is literally handing him the solution on a silver platter towards the end.

Girl, what do you mean "???" ??

Now, I know Ford at this point is incredibly sleep deprived, paranoid and traumatized. But come on. If I can solve it 6 coffees in while dissociating, our genius can find the solution to Bill's alphabet using the A1Z26 cipher that he put in the journal himself. Plus, as mentioned, he could have deciphered his alphabet way before The Betrayal when his mind was still sound.

So again, not a good look for Ford in the whole genius department.

3. Inventions

Now let's take a look a the inventions which are most commonly associated with Stanford:

The Portal

The Bunker

The Magnet Gun

The Quantum Destabilizer

The Perpetual Motion Machine

The Portal is not one of Ford's inventions, that much is pretty clear. He "comes up with the idea" after Bill told him about some kind of "weirdness dimension".

Now maybe Ford built the portal. Or McGucket built it (which I find more likely due to his tendency to build large scale metal structures) and Ford helped him. We can't really say for sure.

What we CAN say for sure is that McGucket left the day before the big test, which means the portal was basically finished at that point. So if there was still any work left to be done, it would have been minimal and "even Stanley" could figure it out without help, so Ford probably could have, too.

The Bunker. Designed and built by McGucket (and possibly the lumberjacks before zapping them with the Memory Gun), including the death trap of a security system.

Notice the wording. McGucket insisted he could do it on HIS own. But then went out of his way to ask the lumberjacks and not Ford to help excavate the whole thing.

Why? Why not include Ford? Maybe because McGucket could tell Ford was overworked. Maybe because he thought even with Ford's help, they wouldn't have been able to do it in a timely manner and he didn't want to memory zap more people than neccessary, I'm not sure.

Anyway, the Bunker consists of the Bunker itself, a Security Room, an Observation Room and a Storage Room. On top of that, a Temperature Control Apparatus, a Cooling System and a Cryogenic Tube.

Again with the phrasing. "HIS skill for construction". "telephone HE built". "my assistant really topped HIMSELF with the security precautions". "once F starts inventing, HE can't stop".

A man like Ford wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to tell the world about his own accomplishments, yet they are strangely missing in these pages. However, the sketches documenting McGucket's work have become more technical than they've ever been. They even have small annotations that seem as if Ford asked McGucket what he was currently building.

"F has explained" implies McGucket was once again doing this on his own. Why else would he need to explain anything to Ford if they were doing this together? Plus, again, surely Ford would have mentioned something, anything, if he had participated in any way.

The things he DID mention is that he found a mole man skeleton and "Shifty", the shapeshifting creature. And he saved McGucket once Shifty broke out of their cage (Remember this for later, it'll come in handy). And he conducts tests on Shifty (remember this as well).

On to the Magnet Gun.

Again, passive form. If Ford had modified the gun himself, he would have told us. Chances are it was once again McGucket. Or it was just taken from Crash Site Omega as Ford says in the show that he and McGucket came down there often to loot the UFO for tech.

Lastly: The Quantum Destabilizer.

He actually admits he worked on it. However, he spent 30 years between dimensions. In these 30 years he couldn't find anyone (including himself) to get the Destabilizer working. The Other McGucket, however, was able to do it in less than a week.

Ford claims he was missing a suitable power source which The Other McGucket found, but there's no way of knowing if there was more to those "minor adjustments" to Ford's blaster than Ford would like to admit.

The only invention left is the Perpetual Motion Machine which I will save for the "Tragic Backstory" section.

Honorable mentions:

The Hyperdrive needed to power the portal:

While between dimensions, he was given a Dimensional Translator. Also not his own invention.

"F's mechanical know-how" vs. "my keen intuition." implying Ford merely found the Hyperdrive, but McGucket extracted it safely.

So the Hyperdrive was looted from Crash Site Omega. Plus, McGucket was the one to realize it was even needed in the first place.

The metal plate in his head? Not his invention. Not even his idea. The Oracle did that for him.

The Book of Bill has another example that Ford can't invent for shit: He found the blueprint of Abigale Blackwing's Anti-Bill-Suit in the library (once again, not even his own invention) and drafted a more modern blueprint. And either he completely failed to build it or it didn't work because we never hear from it again. Instead, he installs a retina scanner to keep Bill out of the lab. Which he (probably) ALSO didn't build himself.

In summary:

Portal: blueprint by Bill, (probably) built by McGucket.

Bunker: designed and built by McGucket (probably with the help of the lumberjacks).

Magnet Gun: likely looted from Crash Site Omega.

Quantum Destabilizer: a mess before McGucket fixed it overnight

Perpetual Motion Machine: see below.

Dimensional Translator: Not Ford's invention.

Metal Plate: thought of and installed by The Oracle.

Anti-Bill-Suit: invented by Abigale Blackwing.

4. Ford's Tragic Backstory

In fact, he mostly doesn't even say that he did any of this. He openly admits whenever he took something or McGucket built stuff, and barely calls any of the inventions his own. We just assumed that he can (on account of him being a genius), so we assumed he did.

would only make sense if he ACTUALLY couldn't get the Perpetual Motion Machine to work. We already know Ford is an unreliable narrator and I'm probably not the first one to point out that it doesn't make sense that Stan supposedly cost Ford his entire scholarship by breaking his Perpetual Motion Machine (accident or not).

Think about it from a college's point of view: You hear about a young man who apparently built a machine that violates the laws of thermodynamics. You don't just pass up on something like that just because it didn't work the ONE TIME you came to visit. That would be an exceedingly stupid thing to do. I think they would have given him that scholarship if he even got close to achieving such a feat.

Does he even have 12 PHDs as he keeps claiming? In what? For what reason? Wouldn't he get a scholarship for his dream school at some point given his seemingly endless potential? It all seems like overcompensation to me. Reminds me of Tommy Tallarico and his ever-increasing number of Guinness World Records.

Now let's briefly assume Ford IS a genius whose invention got sabotaged. Ford could have easily fixed it and asked for a second appointment with the judges. This did not happen. And even if he didn't get into his dream school, he could have used this perpetual motion machine for the good of humanity. He didn't do that. If the Machine had ever worked, it would have made international news. It didn't. He would have been world famous. He isn't.

What does that tell us?

However, there is a reason Ford is like this. It is connected to his tragic backstory, but I will include this in the final chapter for narrative reasons.

Also note how even in A Better World, he did not go do his dream college. The science center was built around the Shack that he went to later in life:

And even there, he only manages to make a name of himself with McGucket's cooperation. We already established he couldn't build the portal on his own. My guess that McGucket once again did the heavy lifting and didn't mind Ford taking the credit (as you will see in the McGucket chapter).

5. McGucket

At this point we've already gone over how McGucket built (probably) most of the Portal, the Bunker and everything in it, and got the Quantum Stabilizer to work. We also know that in his free time, he loves to tinker. He canonically built a laptop (with extra keys for Fords fingers), a cellphone, the Memory Gun, several killer robots, the Shack-O-Tron and started an entire ass cult along the way.

And that's just what I picked up on from skimming the Journal.

I think Ford was McGucket's assistant. He didn't get ANYTHING done before he called McGucket over for help. In the bunker, all he did was find a skeleton and conduct "experiments" on Shifty (by showing them pictures of creatures and documenting what happens). He led McGucket to the UFO crash site, McGucket was the one to actually extract the Hyperdrive. All of the stuff Ford does sounds more like an assistant's job to me.

We only see McGucket make stuff on screen. All this time he's welding together contraptions, piloting giant killer robots, having a blast.

We never see Ford tinkering ONCE. Still, he constantly praises McGucket for his "brilliant mind", "mechanical knowledge" and "skill in construction".

I'm also pretty sure McGucket knows that Ford isn't the genius he claims to be. Upon seeing Bill's blueprints, he immediately gets suspicious:

Why would he say this to a fellow genius?

And he's the one who recognizes something is wrong with the portal earlier than anyone else.

The day before the test, he meets Ford at the diner to warn him cause he knows something is deeply wrong - and offers him a thesis paper.

Now here is where things get interesting.

Ford gets angry. But instead of saying something like "How dare you insult my scientific integrity / intelligence", he thinks McGucket wants the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness to himself, which obviously couldn't be further from the truth. But Ford is too insecure about his intelligence and too curious about the portal to care.

This makes me wonder if McGucket had done this before. They went to college together. What if McGucket wrote Ford's final assignment as well? What if he'd seen him have a meltdown over the introduction and whipped up a fantastic final thesis in an afternoon?

We know McGucket cares deeply for Ford, and we can tell his intentions at the diner were sincere. He doesn't really want or need any credit - meanwhile Ford is starved for it. This is probably also why he's fine being "Ford's assistant" even though he's the one putting in most of the work.

6. Why Would He Do This??

Before we talk about Ford's plans after Weirdmageddon, I have to mention that there's a good reason Ford is pretending to be a genius. This is pretty speculative territory, but I think it makes sense given what we know about the Pines family.

When you're a twin, at least in the Stan Bro's case, you're constantly being compared to one another. Once it has been established that Ford is the "smarter" of the two (true or not), their father latches onto that and soon Ford's intelligence becomes his entire identity. I think just like Stan was looked down upon and neglected for being the "stupid" twin, Ford was burdened with expectations for being the "smart" twin. "You're gonna go far, kid. You're gonna make us so much money, you're gonna get us out of this dump." An INSANE thing to burden a child with.

This goes well for a while - Ford gets straight As and is the pride of the family. His ego inflates. But then something strange happens which I'm sure many "gifted kids" can relate to - he hits a wall. At some point he can no longer brute force things with his intelligence and he has trouble keeping up with his family's expectations. His massive ego gets damaged beyond repair.

Soon, he starts questioning everything. "If I'm not the smart guy, who am I? What's left?" He's been living like this his entire life. It's way too late to turn back so he moves forward. And if intelligence can't get him there, at least he can use the smarts he does have to make sure nobody else ever finds out. It's not unlikely for him to develop this attitude and it's the same kind of mindset he brings to taking the Hyperdrive from Crash Site Omega:

In a way, this makes him a con artist like Stanley. Which, after everything that's happened between the two, must feel like such an insult to Ford that he'd rather live in denial than face reality. The reality being that he is about as intelligent as Stanley, too. This doesn't mean that Stan is dumb (he managed to get the portal to work with barely any help, after all) - just that Ford is not as intelligent as he (and everyone else) thought / expected of him. AND that Stanley isn't as dumb as everyone always told him he was.

I think while yes, Stan broke the Machine, Ford couldn't fix it. Or it was never even a Perpetual Motion Machine to begin with. Yes, Ford couldn't go to his "dream college", but was that really his dream? Or his father's? Remember when McGucket offered him the Weirdness Thesis on a silver platter, saying with this he can finally "get his life back", and Ford still refused it? Maybe he didn't want his old life back. Because his old life SUCKED without Stanley in it.

7. After Weirdmageddon

Now that we established what Ford's dad wanted him to be, let's explore what Ford actually likes doing.

Obviously journaling and sketching what he sees, but what else?

Ford loves exploring. He goes on hikes, climbs mountains, visits caves, goes ham on Crash Site Omega. In the Bunker he looks around and discovers a mole man skeleton and Shifty while McGucket did the inventing/building.

He's also great at action hero stuff. He saves McGucket from the Gremloblin, and later from Shifty, he's jumping around the UFO with a magnet gun as if it's the only thing he's ever done, and saving Dipper from the security system, just to name a few.

He even says this in the episode: "I need to train an apprentice to help me fight monsters, solve mysteries, and protect this town." This doesn't really sound like science stuff to me.

So yeah I think Ford lied about being a genius to compensate for his (self perceived) lack of other qualities, he lied about his 12 PHDs, his scientific accomplishments, maybe even some inventions. He sucks at decoding things despite claiming to have "aced cryptology". Instead, he spends most of his time exploring, fighting monsters, stealing shit and getting in all kinds of dangerous situations. Truth is, he is much more similar to Stan than he'd like anyone to find out.

He also doesn't even WANT to do science. He likes the idea of science, like in Sci Fi movies, but not the actual labor that comes with it. Ford has been travelling between dimensions for 30 years. He probably is the only human to ever have done that in his dimension. Surely he spent these 30 years on research? Well...

There's only a single line mentioned in the Journal about doing anything scientific and he didn't even dedicate the entire sentence to it.

He "compared notes with scholars". That's it.

But surely he has so many papers and theories he can finally publish to fulfil his initial goal to "join the ranks of Newton, Tesla, & Einstein in the pantheon of science"?

Nope. He goes treasure hunting with Stanley. Ford seems to have forgotten all about his research. And I think that's not just because he wants to make up for lost time, but also because this is what he truly wanted to do in the first place, before he was forced into the "genius" mold.

To go adventuring, to be creative, to spend time with the family that matters.

8. TLDR

Ford didn't manage to write his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.

His Journal is entertaining, but ultimately full of unscientific ramblings.

He didn't build the portal, bunker, magnet gun, quantum destabilizer, or any other invention I could find.

All of his accomplishments can be traced back to either Bill, the town library, or McGucket.

He didn't write his own codes, he couldn't decipher any of the codes or secrets he found, including the ones he was given a solution to.

The Journal makes it look like Ford is McGucket's assistant and not the other way round.

McGucket is amazing and needs to be protected at all costs.

The tragicness of Ford's backstory makes no sense if he actually WAS a genius.

He needed to keep up the genius act because that's what his family expected of him and now he's con-artist level good at it.

He spent 30 years between dimensions committing crimes and preparing for revenge instead of doing science.

he seems to not even LIKE doing science. he prefers exploring, drawing, and getting into dangerous situations.

Once back in his home dimension, instead of doing anything science related, he goes adventuring with his brother.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against Ford, if anything this adds to his character cause I haven't seen anyone even so much as question his status as a genius yet. I just needed to get this out of my system cause this has been brewing in my brain since JULY.

This took me 10 hours to write. Thank you so much for making it this far, this post was brought to you by Autism™

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 3

Writer's Note: A short one for this evening! More to follow tomorrow. Sending all the love X

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear (nothing descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Part 1 // Part 2

After the dining festivities, Aurelia retired to her quarters. She was guided back by Alba, who asked her, “My Lady, did you enjoy your evening?”. Aurelia nodded toward her maid, “Yes, it was nice to spend some time with the Emperor.” Alba smirked, “My Lady, do I see a blush forming on your cheeks? I do not recall adding some before we left for your evening.” Aurelia giggled in return, “Alba, please behave.”, almost crawling into a shell of herself. Alba left the subject alone, and opened the large door to the living quarters.

“Lady Aurelia, please allow me to help you change into your bed clothing.”

Aurelia followed Alba to her dressing room, and saw the silken robes laid out for her. They were a beautiful peacock teal colour, with embroidered flowers along the edge. Aurelia was astonished how the dressers had managed to sum her sizing up precisely without so much as a consultation, with the robes fitting her to a tee. The robe reached floor length and appeared to float in the fine wind with her every step.

“Alba, I am exhausted. Is it okay if I am to retire to my bed chamber?”

Alba looked in astonishment to her instructor, “My Lady, please do not ask of my permission. It is for you to do as you please. I am here to see to your every need. Can I get you anything before you retire?” Aurelia shakes her head gently. “Well then, let’s get you to bed.”

Before the ladies made their way down the hallway, a knock appeared at the door. Alba ran to reach the handle, but before she could arrive, the doors burst open. Emperor Geta stood with great poise.

“Thank you for your service, you are excused.”

“Caesar, I-”

“Excused.”

Alba nodded curtly, and swiftly exiting the room, closing the door behind her. Aurelia swallowed a firm gulp. Geta made his way toward her, pawing at the silken sleeve which draped slightly over her hand. Aurelia shuddered at his close proximity. Looking down into her eyes, he said “This colour complements your complexion so very well. Soft. Hm.” Aurelia stood silent, not knowing how to respond.

He walked away, “I am here to speak with you on a one-to-one level. We have not had the opportunity as of yet and I’d like to get to know my future wife better.” Waltzing over to the sofa area within the quarters and spreading himself across the vast majority of the cream-coloured sofa, he stated “Sit.” Like an obedient dog, Aurelia followed swiftly perching herself on the sofa adjacent to him. Maybe Caracalla had a point, she thought briefly.

“So, who are you?”

“Where do I begin?”

“Anywhere, the very start preferably. I have time.”

Aurelia saw that flash of genuine care again, before it returned to the icy front.

“Well, I am the daughter of a farmer father and vendor mother. I have two brothers and we lived on the outskirts of the capital. We are a hard working family and very close knit. I miss them very much already.”

Geta leaned back, “Go on.”

“I help out on the farm, gathering crops and any harvesting fruits to give my mother. I keep our home clean and tidy. I make dinners. That’s all really.”

“Hmm… Aurelia that’s all very well and good but that’s not what I asked. I asked, who are you? Not ‘what are your family like?’, not ‘what do you do every day of your monotonous life?’”

Aurelia was taken-aback. She didn’t know how to answer his question. Who was she? What had she achieved in her lifetime? What did she enjoy? What did she dislike? She was truthful, “Emperor, I do not know. I can’t answer your question.”

Geta got up from his seat, afraid she had disappointed him, he said “Aurelia, two things. Firstly, it’s rather sad you don’t know who you are.” He took her chin into his pointer finger, tilting her head up toward him, “But fear not, we’ll work it out together. Secondly, when we are in private, do not keep such formalities. No Emperor, No ‘Sire’ – just Geta.” Aurelia simply nodded.

“Say it.”

“Sorry?”

“Say. My. Name.” He started to pinch her chin, tilting her head further back.

“Ge-e-eta.” She stuttered out, feeling confused with her feelings as this was going on. Was this fear? Fear, with a degree of lust? She looked into his brown, verging on red-hued eyes, feeling as though she was being sucked in by some form of enchantress. They were like pools of pure chocolate, and she felt like she could dive in and wallow there all day. Snap out of it – she tells herself. She hardly knows this man – this dangerous man – yet the danger was what intrigued her.

“Again. Say it again.”

“Geta.” She stated much more confidently, not breaking eye contact from the fierce ruler.

This seemed to appease him as he smirked at her, abruptly dropping her chin and turning on his heels. Walking toward the door, he stopped in his tracks, turning over his shoulder “Tomorrow morning, you will meet with one of the palace’s designers. They will begin to sort the materials for our wedding. You can pick and choose what you like. I will review and that’s that. Good night Aurelia.”

Aurelia curtly nodded and half-bowed, “Goodnight,” she remembered what he said “Geta…”. He paused for what felt like an eternity, but said nothing and exited without saying a word.

She stood there dumbfounded. What was this feeling, so sudden and new? Rushes of what felt like light shone through her, blood travelling to anywhere it can flood, mind racing at 110 miles per hour.

How was she to sleep now?

[lunarsilver]

How will you meet your next partner?

I've got a new deck and so I had to use it! Here's a short Lenormand reading.

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

4 ~ 5 ~ 6

PILE 1

Key - Anchor - Moon - Snake - Stork

Openness for stability grounds one’s feelings and evokes the desire to start anew.

With the Moon in the center, the main themes of this reading are predictably your fears and feelings. It’s more about your mindset than anything else. I feel like people here either had only short or casual relationships, or never dated. You’ll meet your next partner when you’ll be open to the possibility of starting a new cycle and want something durable and secure. This suggests it will be a long-term relationship. 

PILE 2

Fish - Book - Heart - Woman - Sun

Wealth of knowledge makes the heart of a woman happy.

With the Heart in the center, the theme of this reading is, of course, love. We’re talking here about a romantic relationship. The Woman represents either you (if you are a girl/feminine) or your next partner. A lot of happiness comes from being well-read and well-informed. You’ll meet your next partner thanks to the abundance of your knowledge. Education is pretty important here.

PILE 3

Key - Cross - Ship - Crossroads - Bear

Liberation from rules and ideologies starts the journey of discovering the path to one’s own power.

Freedom. I have this word in my head while looking at the cards. With the Ship in the center, the theme of your reading is exploring your choices. After setting boundaries with a leader figure and making the painful choice between your responsibilities to this figure and your own freedom, you’ll start to choose what you think is right for you. That’s how you’ll meet your next partner - by becoming independent.

PILE 4

Bouquet - Owls - Mice - Anchor - Snake

(In the deck I use, there are two cards with the number 12 - Owls and Birds. I choose to interpret Birds more as gossip, anxiety and communication between a group of people, while Owls as more private, serious or intimate communication).

Flattering flirt weakens the fundamentals of desire. 

Sooo, do I have people here who are currently in a relationship but feel like it is crumbling and start to think about finding another one? If so, someone will go after you while you’re still in this relationship, which even further will weaken your desire for your current partner, and you’ll get into a new relationship. You know, pile four, better come clean with your current partner as soon as possible and don’t drag it more than it’s needed.

If you’re single, I think you’ll have some situationship that will lead nowhere. Like, it’ll start so nice, some flirting and maybe even some deep conversations, but there are skeletons in the closet of that person; or maybe they’re just all talk, no action. You’ll meet your next partner after this situationship ends.

PILE 5

Sun - Ship - Mountain - Tower - Coffin

A happy journey is slowed down by an obstacle of dealing with one’s ego/loss/loneliness.

Just saying, I find it pretty interesting how mirroring cards have the same signs - Sun and Coffin are Diamonds (Earth), Ship and Tower are Spades (Air) and Mountain is a club (Fire).

The theme of your reading is overcoming an obstacle - only after dealing with it will you be able to meet your next partner. You were going through life smoothly, but here it is - a problem. I’m not sure which meaning of the Tower will fit you, but you’re either too arrogant and have to work on your character (most likely someone will call you out on this), you’ll lose something or someone, and only after grieving and moving on you’ll meet your next partner, or on the way to meeting your partner stands the need to be more social.

PILE 6

Garden - Anchor - House - Fish - Dog

Well-known social conventions value devotion.

With the House in the middle, the theme of your reading is tradition. You’ll meet your next partner the old-fashioned way, maybe at some party or through your family. This relationship will be approved by most people around you. You and your next partner will start out as friends, and from there, loyalty and support will grow. This will be most likely a long-term relationship, maybe even marriage.