#and on one hand im like. people should get to experiment and try writing as much shit as possible

[feminurge]

unrelated to anything i just spent too much time reading strangers' posts on the for you page. when people complain about other people's depiction of a certain trigger... how do you know other people haven't gone through it. if it makes you uncomfortable it's one thing, block and move on? but. why would your opinion on it be better than anyone else's, considering they might be victims as well. and by asserting they don't have the lived experience to justify their writing/expertise, aren't you forcing them to come out. isn't that much worse and harmful than a wrong starter on a dumblr blog

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Human pet guy showed up on my dash again (via puppy play sick skateboard tricks post) and I decided to look at what he was up to these days, and

what do you mean he was born in 1995?

[mariasont]

maria's fic recs

i have realized how most of these are smut & idk what that says about me but alas this are some super super amazing talented people who write crazy cool stories!!!! check them out!!!!! make sure to follow, reblog & comment on these fics if you like them!!! these incredible fic writers deserve it! i will also probably be adding more as i read follow my fic rec page for more @mariasficrecs if anyone mentioned in this post wants to be removed let me know <3

spencer reid

cedar - @parfaitblogs summary: in which compatible bodies does not always mean compatible minds, but spencer reid is all too kind when you're like this, so perhaps you're allowed to forget that for a night. 

this is the fic for the girlies who have loved someone more than they should, more than they loved you back and more than was ever remotely healthy. this is the kind of fic that makes you reread certain lines just to punch yourself in the chest a second time. masterpiece in pining, delusion, and tragic devotion. genuinely one of the most beautiful, brutal things i've ever read.

in my dream im fixing your crutch - @notlongtolove summary: most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

this and everythingggg p writes is so incredibly SHATTERING in the best way possible. i truly need everyone to follow rn! and reader everything written by them! but this one specifically wasn't just a fic it was an experience. it's so painful and beautiful and so unfairly written. the duality of intimacy and violence is insaneeeeee like shakespearean level.

into the rose garden; for evermore - @notlongtolove summary: months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

might be my favorite fic ive ever read if im being honest. everything about it had me sobbing like a baby. it's not even angst at this point it's a biblical reckoning. p has made heartbreak into a single character, personified pain and i felt every freaking piece of it actually! every single line was freaking perfection & you get to choose your ending!!!!!!! because user notlongtolove is so cool and so creative.

i can do a lot with fifteen minutes - @reidrum summary: in which you and spencer don't make it out the door on date night

i love a sabrina reference (clearly) and this was just the perfect smut fic literally like poetry disguised as desire. i have read a lot of smut (u got me). but nothing compares to a good intimate zipper scene. i will eat it up everytime!!!!!!! and a mirror scene!!!!! double whammy. fantastic 10000/10

hypothalamus - @reidrum summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

godddddds to have spencer reid talk nerdy to me in bed. so in character. essentially the anatomy lesson of the gods actually. so amazing

sobriquet - @siriuslylantsov summary: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

so sweet, so fluffy, a love letter to everything good in the world, essentially love seeping into mundane which is my favorite genre!!!! waking up with spencer!! being in love!! angel!!!! i love spencer calling the reader angel girl!!!!! <3

sweeter - @siriuslylantsov summary: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

whipped cream!!!!!!!!! i dont have many words other than that! must read

white noise - @brattyspence summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

visceral, soul-shattering, gut wrenching agony. that's about it. slow burn destruction that will have you crying. no doubt. this fic literally lulls you into a false sense of security and then u realize that spencer is white noise and that you'd rather have whatever this is than nothing at all. LOL! definitely did not almost kill me while reading. most accurate portrayal of a situationship

chateau lobby #4 - @burymagdalene summary: Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

so as you might be able to tell i have a pattern of reading situationship spence! call me a masochist! but this one had a happy ending okay!!!!!!!! and a reference to father john misty? yes. immediately. i also just love post prison reid because he's so complicated and different but still him and he doesnt think he deserves soft things and soft love and it's so devastating. reading the date literally felt like falling in love in real time. so good.

a closed mouth doesn't get fed - @burymagdalene summary: When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

one of the best portrayals of sleep-deprived, love-drunk, desperate sex. that's it. that's the tweet. also when he switches the reader's straw like why was that so sweet to me im crying

xoxo - @pathologicalreid summary: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

peak domesticity. i love girl dad spence so much it's not even funny. it's everything he deserves. like i can only hope in some alternate au this is the ending reid got <3

to talk is to bare - @esote-rika summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately

one of the most painfully real depiction of navigating self worth in a relationship with spencer. like exactly what i feel like it would be like to be with someone so brilliant and like so unattainable-seeming, while feeling ordinary and yet spencer makes the reader feel so special ugh

in infinite universes - @nereidprinc3ss summary: in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

there is not a single thing (cannot emphasize this enough) that i won't read from nereidprinc3ss okay? everything she writes is actually literary gold. but this one was so beautiful it almost hurts to reid because it's literally a love letter to inevitability!!!!! and the dialogue is so funny and flirty and so spencer and ugh it's so raw and real.

spencer reid & aaron hotchner

unknown territory - @minswriting Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

had to take multiple breathers after reading this! everyone knows i love hotch and reid and even more so i loveeeee a why choose. also everything min writes is so hot, 10/10 recommend checking out her account. "reid, if you're going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door" hello????????? immediately yes.

aaron hotchner

crazy - @kimstills summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

i did in fact read this bad boy like three times because it's that good. it perfectly mirrors hotch's mental state which i love love love. and i just love a smutty fic that has the best escalation of tension, like it builds until hotch physically cannot take it anymore and shewwwww so hot. exactly what i want in a hotch smut fic

savor - @kimstills summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

maddie is just always going to make the hottest aaron hotchner smut. the fact that this idea comes to aaron mid fuck is wild and i love it LOL.

morphine - @luveline summary: you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

so if you follow my fic rec blog you know i literally reblog absolutely everything jade writes because it is just that fantastic. and this one is just soooo tender and so perfectly in character with hotch. if you are looking for truly amazing characterizations of hotch and reid !!!!! right here besties !!!!

filthy flat-pack thoughts - @alinathinkstoomuch summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand.

hey so firstly im just obsessed with the title, idk why it scratches something in my brain. and i feel like this fic should be illegal because it's not just smut-adjacent, it's foreplay with no touching, sexual frustration in furniture assembly and poor decisions lolol and again everyone who knows me knows i eat upppppp sexual tension and this fic was just that. there is literally no kisses no sex nothing and it's still one of the hottest fics i've ever read (there is also a smutty part two so go check that out as well)

can't lose when i'm with you - @aureatelys summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

dbf hotch is my weakness. the slow burn!!!!!! possessive hotch!!! daddy hotch!!!! this is the gold standard for dbf hotch truly. felt like i needed a cigarette after and i don't even smoke

red light kiss - @aureatelys summary: You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

hey yeah so i was positively feral after reading this actually. that damn kevlar vest is right. idk how you managed to make a blowjob in a government vehicle feel romantic but you did so bravo

tyrant - @solardrop summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case.

my favorite genre !!!!!!! making hotch shut up by sitting on his face! mhm mhm mhm. absolutely amazing use of free will was you writing this because i've read it at least 5 times minimum. i was forever changed

salt & pepper - @dudeitiskarev summary: dad bod and insecure Hotch. That’s it.

everything cat writes is just so crazy good but everyone knows i have such a weakness for dad bod hotch & this is the absolute perfect fic for it.

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - @cerisereids summary: down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

there are three parts to this masterpiece and i need everyone to read them all okay? because it's just so good. hotch flustered is my roman empire and grrrrrr this man was literally on his knees for the reader internally through out the whole thing & once again dbf!hotch!!!!! arghhh obsessed

[ava-starrs-girlfriend]

Corner Store Sock Aisle Angel

Bob/Reader, post Thunderbolts* movie ending.

Summary: You met the cutest guy in New York City at a corner store while running an errand. And while he wouldn't call himself an angel, would you? Beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that?

Warnings: none, just a TON of fluff. Spoilers for the movie's ending!!!! Do not read if you haven't watched! No Y/N usage or pronouns for reader.

Word count: 3.5k ish

Author's note: i watched Thunderbolts* in IMAX on Thursday with Rachie and left the theater incredibly compelled to write a fic where i got to kiss Bob. Now have this!

Thunderbolts* movie spoilers under the read more!!!

A week in New York City for work was only half ideal. Half, because you'd have to work, but half because when you werent working, you could explore one of the biggest and most iconic cities in the world.

You hit a couple museums, and then decided you wanted ramen in your hotel on the second night instead of eatting out. The day had been long and exhausting, with your co-workers and people you were meeting being demanding in the most classic office-job ways possible.

It paid well, and you had a nice hotel room, but really, you just wanted to cozy up for the night with something familiar and watch a movie.

But first, you needed ramen.

Of course, you could stop at an actual ramen place, get real noodles and a more authentic experience, but tonight, instant noodles was the desire. Plus, you wanted some candy, and maybe some new socks since you somehow forgot to pack some.

To the corner store it was! Or maybe it was called a bodega?

You pulled out your phone as you waited to cross the street and texted your friend.

"Wtf is a bodega" followed by "isnt it just... a corner store...???"

Your friend responded "how should i know? Im not from NYC!"

You laughed and crossed the street.

It didnt take you long to find a store that looked familiarly safe enough to venture in to. Plus, there were a couple other people in the store.

You walked in and found the instant noodles you were looking for.

Now just Sour Patch Kids candies and socks.

How the hell did you forget socks?

You sighed and turned a corner, nearly running right in to someone.

"Oh! Sorry!"

"Its no problem," he said.

He was *so* cute. And tall. And looked like a dork. He was in a sweashirt and jeans, with worn black converse. Oh, so cute.

"You looking for something?"

"Do- do they have socks here?"

"Yeah!" He said, smiling again, and gestured over to another aisle. "Over there."

"Thanks. I forgot to pack some," you said, passing him. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut. That was dumb. All you needed to say was thanks.

"You from out of town?"

"Yeah," you turned back to face him, holding the noodle package awkwardly in your hand. "Here for work."

"Ah, not vacation."

"Not quite."

"Bummer. It's a great week for weather, you should try and get to a park or something at least!" His eyes lit up with an idea. "Maybe lunch, or something? Fresh air?"

You laughed. "Not sure how fresh the air of New York would be, but yeah, that sounds nice."

"Cool. Well, um. Good luck!" He said, and gave you two thumbs up.

Who the hell is this guy. Two thumbs up?? What a dork.

It was adorable.

You gave him a wave and nod, before saying thanks as you turned away, hoping he didnt see you blush, or heard you giggle.

You got over to the sock aisle safely and found a set of pairs that would just have to work.

Finally, you made your way to the candy aisle and saw there were more than one kind of Sour Patch Kids available. What kind of monster gives that many options of basic sour candies?

"Lots of options," a familiar voice said to your left.

You lookes up. The cute guy again.

"Pff. Yeah. For real," you sighed and looked at the options again. "Already a long day and now... more choices."

"These are my favorite," he said, reaching forward and picking up a package of gummy peach rings. He held it toward you. "If, yanno. You didnt want to choose."

"Definitely. Those would work great with my-" you checked the noodles in your hand. "Kung pao chicken instant noodles."

You laughed a little together as he handed you the package.

"Cool," he said. It was kind of pathetic. But also really cute. He offered you his favorite candies so you didnt have to decide. Absolutely adorable.

"Well, thats all I was looking for tonight," you said, looking up at him. "Thank you, corner store angel."

He laughed. "Oh, no, not an angel. Just a guy."

"Just a guy, huh?"

He shrugged, and shyly didnt look you in the eye. "Yeah."

"Alright, just a guy," you said, and, on a whim, handed him one of your business cards. "Text me, maybe. If youre not a serial killer, or anything."

"God, no," he laughed, and looked at the card as he took it in his hand. He smiled and then looked at you. "I like your name."

"Thanks," you said.

Just a moment later, you were walking back to your hotel, feeling like you were floating on a cloud.

You'd met the cutest guy New York City could have possible offered, and randomly gave him your business card.

Not something you usually do.

But how could you not?

~*~

The thought of his cute face and kind laugh diatracted you through the next few days on your work trip. But just as much as it distracted you, it softened the blow of the blunt demands and requests from your team and the business you were hosted by. You felt productive, even if your friend requested Corner Store Angel Boy requests every half hour.

Of course you'd told them. They gushed and were so excited, happy to soak up every little detail that you could remember about the stranger.

But you hadnt asked him what his name was. And you'd forgotten to get his number!

So you were just relying on hoping that he would actually text you. Before you left.

It was kind of hopeless, but at least you hadnt forgotten his face yet, and it kept you looking ahead instead of at the ground as you walked through the city.

On the fifth day, you got a text.

"How are those socks working out for you?"

You couldnt help but smile and swallow a squeal of excitement.

"You good?" One of your co-workers asked.

"Yep," you nodded, and quickly started typing back.

"They're doing the job!" And then "peach rings were the best choice."

"Nice! :D"

Of course.

"Work ok?"

"Would rather be at a park tbh"

There was a moment of watching the little three dots appear and then disappear, then reappear.

Finally, another message.

"There's plenty of parks by good dinner places."

Was- was he actually asking you out?

"Nothing too fancy?"

"Maybe just some pizza?"

You couldnt help the thought that flashed through your mind- *anything with you sounds amazing.* But you didnt type that.

"Send me the time and address"

He sent both a minute later and you could not believe your luck.

You immediately changed over to the chat you had with your friend and told them about the date.

After they sent you a voice note screaming, they made you promise to share your location.

~*~

You had a little time before meeting with the cute guy, so you got back to the hotel to freshen up a little.

Of course, you'd already been in work clothes when you met him, so he'd seen you when you looked pretty good, but at the end of the day.

At least now you could change into something a little more comfortable, and freshen up or touch up your hair. Anything to make you feel less anxious.

You got to the pizza place a little after the suggested time, but he was there, waiting.

You couldnt help but snap a picture before he looked up from his phone.

His face broke out into the biggest grin when he saw you coming. He waved at you, too.

"Hi!" You said, waving and smiling back.

"Hi!" He answered. "How's- how's your week been?"

"Its actually been ok!" You said. "Kept thinking about this reallg cute guy i met, hoping he'd text me." You looked at him, and couldnt help but laugh when he looked uncertain. "You, dude. Im talking about you."

"Oh, duh," he laughed. "Wasnt sure."

"Its not every day i meet corner store angels."

He laughed again, then the smile fell from his lips. "Oh, shit, i never told you my name!"

You laughed again, your hand landing on his forearm. "No, dude."

"Ive known your name and had your number! Im so sorry!"

"You know what'll make it up to me?"

"What?"

"Your name," you said.

"It's Bob."

"Bob?"

"Yeah. Yep," he nodded. "Mhm."

"Cute," you remarked, and looked toward the pizza place. "Well, Bob? Shall we get some slices?"

"Sure!" He agreed and followed behind you into the pizza place.

It still amazed you how the pizza could afford to be just a couple dollars and taste so good. Or maybe you were just hungry. Either way, well worth it, especially to watch Bob get pizza grease down his chin.

He was incredibly cute. Not that you hadnt not thought that before. It was just impossible for you to not think that. And he had the sweetest laugh, and nicest smile.

Maybe he was just new, and it was nice to start learning things about someone.

After finishing the pizza, you asked him about the park he was thinking of showing you.

He opened the door for you and held it as you left the pizza place, and only stared a little as you hooked your arm in his.

You realized as you walked to the park that maybe you shouldnt just walk arm-in-arm with a man you barely knew, at night.

But you also figured that if your friend saw your phone's location in one place for too long that she'd definitely call the cops. FBI, even. National Guard.

The stroll through the park was blessedly uneventful. Bob asked you questions about yourself, happy to listen and hear your stories. He asked clarifying questions and follow ups, and made you laugh with his reactions.

He didnt seem to want to talk about himself too much, but you werent going to press it- a guy who asked questions and was engaged in conversation? Crazy. You weren't going to change that if you could help it.

He also seemed like such a nice, genuine guy. He was sweet, and laughed at your bad jokes.

Part of your brain wanted to process the part that maybe he was still a serial killer, or at least an asshole, but when he smiled at you, you really couldnt see it.

Before you knew it, the time had flown. You checked the time on your phone and it was almost nine p.m.

"Oh, shit! Later than i thought it was," you remarked.

You were sitting with Bob on a park bench, watching the last of the Summer sunset.

"Do you need to go?" He asked.

"Yeah... one more day of work tomorrow, then heading out on Saturday."

"When?"

"The afternoon."

"Bummer."

You looked at him, leaning your arm on the back of the bench and head against your hand.

"I mean, well, i'd really like to see you again, before you go," he said. "Go home."

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I figured you'd be?"

"I was working today, Bob," you said. "But I was able to come meet up with you. You're worth that to me, at least right now. And i'd like to see you again, too."

He glanced at your lips before licking his and sighing, looking across the park's path. Then he looked at you again. "Do you think... we could meet up tomorrow?"

"Unless my boss drops a ton of work on me? Yeah, Bob, I'd love to!" You smiled. Your face was going to hurt tomorrow from how much you'd been smiling.

"Really?"

"Yeah, dude," you laughed, and caught him looking at your lips again. You hummed. "You look like you might want to kiss me."

He blushed and looked down at his hands in his lap.

"You can ask, you know," you offered. "Knowing me, I'd probably say yes."

"Ive, uh, just..." he mumbled something you couldnt hear, even though you were sitting right next to him.

"Didn't hear that," you leaned closer.

"I've just never, uh... ive never kissed anyone."

That broke your heart a little. Had no one given him a chance?

Was he a little slow? Yeah, maybe? But you barely knew him, and you couldnt help but like him. Besides, in this world, who isnt a little slow sometimes? He hadnt chosen to talk about any of his own passions, like he'd asked you. There's something that lights his fire, and you were going to find out what that was.

"That's ok," you said, gently. "It's been a long time for me."

"Really?" He scoffed- not in an assumption you were trying to be nice, but just in pure disbelief. "But you're... you."

You hummed and nodded. "Exactly what I thought about you."

He looked at your lips again.

"I'll warn you, my first kiss was not like the movies make it out to be," you said. "No pressure. And if you dont want to-"

"I do want to!"

"Then by all means, Bob, whenever you might be ready."

He couldnt stop looking between your eyes and your lips, and he moved closer to you on the bench.

You met him halfway, reaching over to put your hand over his.

He quickly took your hand in both of his, like he needed the grounding, and then he closed his eyes and leaned in.

You kissed him, just expecting a cute little peck.

But then you felt his warm hand on your cheek and he grew confident, like all he needed was a chance.

You hummed against him, smiling against his lips as he took your top lip between his.

"Woah, Bob," you said, your heart racing as he moved his face a centimeter away from yours. "That was kind of a movie kiss."

"Was it ok?"

"It was great!"

"Can i have another?"

"Well, sure," you agreed, and he enthusiastically kissed you again, his lips soft and touch gentle but curious.

After the second kiss, he looked bubbly.

You couldnt help but mess with his hair a little with your free hand. "Thank you."

"For- oh. Youre welcome. And thanks."

"My pleasure."

He smiled nervously, then glanced at his watch. "Oh, you- you needed to go, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. Well, I'll text you? Or should we walk to the train?"

"You can walk with me," you said, and stood up from the bench. You held out a hand, and he took it, standing with you.

~*~

You texted all day with him, and still managed to get the extra work your boss assigned to you that morning done.

Your friend didnt know about the kiss yet. They would have called every five seconds if they did.

But you had enough time to meet Bob for dinner again, this time at a sit down place, but still not too fancy.

He even paid.

He had a job? He hadnt seemed employed.

Bob opened up a little more at dinner, and you were happy to take your turn listening to him.

He avoided talking about a lot of things, but seemed to have a few interesting stories from his past.

You tried not to push anything, however much curiosity you felt. You didnt want to break the bubble that was forming around the two of you, hoping the dreamlike feelings of safety and luck and reality wouldnt burst and come raining down.

It seemed natural at this point to link your arm in his, and he didnt seem as startled about it as he had the night before.

You also secretly loved how solid he felt. As much as sometimes you were curious how his mind worked, he wouldnt blow over with a breeze. When you werent paying attention and stepped out onto the street too early, you were surprised to feel the strength he used to quickly pull you back against him as a car honked and passed by.

He was someone special. You hoped he would be someone significant to you.

After dinner and walking a little aimlessly around Manhattan, he said, "do you want to come over?"

For a guy who'd never kissed anyone before last night, that was awfully bold.

"For what?" You decided to ask.

"Oh, um, just to show you. Also, there's a bowling alley in- in the building."

"You remember that?" You had mentioned bowling when you were younger, and enjoying it even if you were bad at it.

"Yeah!"

"You know what? Sure, lets go bowling."

A few moments later, you could not believe where he stopped.

You looked up, feeling tiny in the building's reflections and it's iconic history. "This- this is the Avengers tower."

"Yeah. Cool, huh!"

"You- do you live here? I didnt know they have condos."

He squinted up at the building. "They have condos? Thats cool."

"Bob, where do you live?"

"Here."

"Like, where?"

"Oh! At the top!" He said, then looked concerned. "Are you ok with heights?"

"Th- the top? Thats where the Avengers live."

"Oooooh." He nodded, pointing at you as if he understood your confusion. "Yeah! Im one of them. Sorta?"

"You- youre an Avenger?" Your confusion quadrupled.

"Sorta! Im kinda their roommate."

You looked at him in disbelief. Then you smiled. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, how good of roommates are they?"

He chuckled, then shrugged. "Well, they almost never do their dishes. But, hey, they save the world sometimes, so, thats cool! And we play video games. I beat Bucky all the time. Beats being high on meth, heh."

You laughed with him, head sort of spinning as you reached up and brushed hair out of his face. "That's good. That you're- You dont get high on meth anymore?"

"Oh, no. Nope! Ive been reading a lot."

"Like what?"

"I finally finished Pride and Prejudice. Ava really wants to watch Bridgerton and said i should read Jane Austen's books."

"Pride and Prejudice, huh," you smiled.

"Yeah! It was really good, have you read that?"

"I think so," you lowered your hand and entwined your fingers with Bob's. "You gonna take a girl inside? It's getting windy."

"Oh! Yeah, sure, of course," he nodded and opened the door for you, letting you go first.

He lead you to the elevator, waving at the security, who smiled and waved back at him.

"Who's this, Bob?" One asked. His nametag reads Bob, too.

"Oh this is a friend!" He said, and explained who you are and where you met.

"That sounds like a meet-cute," the older, Security Guard Bob smiled and nodded. "Nice to meet you, honey."

"Nice to meet you too," you responded, smiling back at him.

"Go on up, kids," Security Bob said, and opened a gate for you to go to a special elevator.

As soon as the doors of the elevator closed, you turn to Bob.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"May i kiss you again?"

He smiled. "Yeah," and he leans close to kiss you as you cupped his cheek and moved in against him.

Your friend was *never* gonna believe this.

[whereforarthur]

You’re The Only Man I Want to Kiss

Request: hello!! i saw you were taking requests and im just wondering if you’re able to write an Italian Bach fic, were him and the reader are together and they make a youtube videos on his channel and they’re like reacting to some video? like could you place the character into one of his videos???

Pairing: ItalianBach x gf!reader

Rating: PG-13

Category: Fluff with some light smut

Word Count: 2.2k

*****

Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

One evening, after a particularly successful day of filming, y/n and Isaac decide to react to "Women Rank Men by Kissing." The video was a montage of women giving their honest opinions on men's kissing abilities, which ranged from toe-curling passion to awkward pecks. Isaac looked at Y/N with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, suggesting they should make their own reaction to the video, having already made several similar videos, he finally wanted to feel a reaction with his girlfriend.

Y/N was a bit hesitant at first, but the more they discussed it, the more she warmed up to the idea. They set up the camera and hit record, their laughter echoing through the room as they watched the first few clips. As they reacted to each kiss, they couldn't help but lean into each other, their own connection growing stronger with every shared giggle and eye roll. The tension in the air grew thicker as they reached the part of the video where the women began to praise the men's skills, and Y/N couldn't help but blush at the thought of what they might say about Isaac's own kisses.

One particularly awkward kiss had them both cringing, their hands shooting up to cover their faces. "Oh my gosh, what even was that?" Y/N exclaimed, peeking through her fingers. Isaac chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I promise you, I've never kissed anyone like that," he reassured her, gently placing a hand on her arm. The next kiss was even worse, a sloppy mess that had them both writhing in their seats. "Ew, no, no, no," they both said in unison, shaking their heads vigorously. Their bond grew stronger as they shared in the embarrassment and second-hand awkwardness of the strangers on the screen.

The room filled with their laughter as they watched the reactions of the women, who were equally appalled by some of the kisses. It was like they were in a club of shared experience, nodding along with the strangers' pained expressions. "How do people even do that?" Y/N whispered to him, her eyes wide with disbelief. Isaac just shrugged, smiling warmly. "Some people are just… special," he replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. They continued to watch, their shoulders touching, their knees bumping together under the table.

As the montage went on, the kisses began to improve, and their reactions grew more playful. Y/N leaned in closer to the screen, scrutinizing each one, while Isaac playfully poked fun at the overly dramatic ones. "Look at that guy," he said, pointing at a man who was practically devouring his partner's face. "I bet he thinks he's in a romance novel." Y/N giggled, slapping his hand away. "At least he's enthusiastic," she quipped back. The tension between them had shifted from awkwardness to something more electric, their teasing banter charged with a hint of flirtation.

Isaac took advantage of the moment, leaning in closer to whisper in her ear, "I bet you're wondering if I'd rank high in this video, aren't you?" His teasing tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she playfully swatted his arm, trying to hide her smile. He knew just how to get under her skin, and it was part of the reason she loved him so much. She shot him a playful glare, her heart racing with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

They watched as the women on screen gushed over one particularly steamy kiss, and Isaac couldn't resist the urge to lean in and press a gentle kiss to her cheek. "How was that?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Y/N rolled her eyes, feigning indifference, but her cheeks betrayed her. She felt the heat spread across her face as she replied, "It'll do, I guess."

Their banter continued, each trying to one-up the other with their sarcastic comments and exaggerated facial expressions. The room was filled with the comforting sounds of their laughter and the occasional clinking of their glasses as they took sips of their drinks, the perfect pairing for a light-hearted evening in. As they delved deeper into the video, the kisses grew more intense, and so did their teasing.

The video took a turn when a particularly passionate kiss came on screen. The woman's eyes fluttered shut, and the man's hand was tenderly cradling her cheek. It was clear from their expressions that this was not just a peck for the camera, but something real and intimate. Y/N's cheeks grew rosy as she watched, and she felt Isaac's gaze on her. She looked over to find him staring at her, his eyes dark and intense. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and kissed her, mimicking the tender moment they had just seen. The kiss was soft and lingering, a stark contrast to the ones they had been mocking.

"Look at that," Isaac said, pointing at the screen with mock seriousness. "That guy's got nothing on me." Y/N couldn't help but laugh, knowing that he was just trying to get a rise out of her. She took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his as she responded, "Mm, maybe you're right. But you'll have to remind me later." Her voice was light and playful, but the underlying flirtation was clear.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll take that as a challenge," he said, setting his glass down with a thud. "We'll have to do some… research after this, make sure I'm up to par."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, playing along with his game. "Oh, really?" she quipped. "Well, I suppose someone has to keep you in check."

Isaac chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Someone has to, otherwise, I might just become unbearable." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, "But you love me that way, don't you?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, feeling the heat of his proximity. "Unbearable is your middle name," she replied, her voice barely above a murmur. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the laughter in the room faded away, replaced by a silent understanding that spoke louder than any words could.

They both knew where this was heading, and the excitement grew. They turned their attention back to the video, but it was clear that their hearts weren't fully in it anymore. With a dramatic sigh, Isaac leaned into the camera and addressed his viewers, "Alright, bachlings, we're taking a quick break from our scholarly analysis of the art of kissing. We've got some… personal research to conduct." He winked, and Y/N's cheeks burned even hotter.

The screen went black for a moment before flickering back to life. Isaac cleared his throat, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We're back," he announced, his voice a little deeper than before. Y/N sat next to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Before we dive back in, I just wanted to apologize to all the single folks out there," he began, "For flaunting our love so shamelessly."

Y/N playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't you dare," she whispered, her voice low enough that the camera wouldn't pick it up.

Isaac's smile grew wider, and he took her hand in his. "But, my love," he said, his voice dripping with faux innocence, "We can't keep our adoring fans in the dark. They need to know what true bachelor perfection looks like."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks deepened. "Fine," she conceded, her voice a mix of amusement and affection. "But only because you're irresistible."

Isaac leaned in closer, his gaze locking onto hers, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, bachlings," he said, his voice smoother than the wine they'd been sipping. "But true love knows no bounds, and we just couldn't resist the urge to… compare notes."

Y/N couldn't hold back her giggles any longer, the tension between them breaking like a dam. "You're terrible," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

Isaac leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you love me anyway." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "Don't you?"

Y/N couldn't help but smile at his antics. "Always," she murmured, her heart fluttering in her chest. They shared a soft, lingering kiss, the kind that made the rest of the world fade away. The camera captured it all, the intimacy of the moment unfiltered and raw.

When they finally pulled away, their eyes remained locked, the love between them palpable. "Well, I think we've found our new favorite video genre," Isaac said, his voice thick with emotion. Y/N nodded, her cheeks still flushed from their shared moment.

They decided to keep the camera rolling, their authenticity being a key component of their channel's charm. They turned their focus back to the screen, watching as the women continued to rank the kisses. Each time a particularly passionate kiss played, they'd exchange glances, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. They laughed and joked, but there was an underlying current of something more profound, something that only they understood.

As the video progressed, the kisses grew more sensual, and their playful banter evolved into gentle touches and lingering gazes. Y/N leaned into Isaac's side, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. It was a dance they had perfected over time, a silent conversation that needed no words.

The final kiss played on the screen, and the women on the video erupted into a chorus of approval. Y/N looked up at Isaac, her eyes filled with a mischievous glint. "Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Your turn to be judged."

Isaac grinned, leaning in for a kiss that was anything but a mere peck. It was a kiss that spoke of love and desire, a kiss that held all the promise of a thousand more. The camera kept rolling, capturing the intimate moment, but they were too lost in each other to care.

When they finally broke away, they were both breathless, their eyes shining with excitement. "Well," Y/N said, her voice a little shaky, "I think we've set the bar pretty high."

Isaac nodded, his hand still resting on her cheek. "We've got to end this before it gets too steamy for our innocent audience." He leaned back in his chair, and with a dramatic flourish, wiped his brow. "Phew, that was intense."

Y/N giggled, her eyes sparkling. "You know they're going to love this," she said, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Isaac nodded, his own smile mirroring hers. "Let's wrap this up before we get carried away," he suggested, his voice a low murmur. He reached for the camera, his thumb hovering over the stop button. "Thank you all for tuning in," he began, his tone playfully formal, "We hope you enjoyed our… thorough analysis of the art of kissing. Remember, folks, practice makes perfect."

Y/N giggled, her cheeks still flushed from their private interlude. "We'll see you all next time," she chimed in, her voice light and airy. "And don't forget to hit that subscribe button if you want more exclusive content like this."

Isaac gave the camera one last charming smile before hitting the stop button. The red light faded to black, and the room was filled with the sudden silence of their reality, no longer amplified by the digital world. He turned to Y/N, his eyes searching hers. "How was that?" he asked, his voice now devoid of the playful bravado he'd had moments ago.

Y/N's smile was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. "Perfect," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned in, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek, and they shared another kiss, this one slower, more tender than the last. It was a promise, a secret shared only between them.

When they pulled away, the energy in the room had shifted. The playful banter was gone, replaced by a simmering tension that was undeniable. "I think we should save the rest of our… research for later," she suggested, her voice a sultry purr.

Isaac nodded, his eyes dark with desire. "Mm, I like the way you think," he murmured, tracing his thumb along her jawline. They both knew that the chemistry they shared on camera was only a fraction of what they had in private. The thought of exploring that connection further sent a thrill down his spine.

They turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the computer screen to illuminate the room. The air was thick with desire, and their eyes were locked on each other as they moved closer, the anticipation building with every shared breath. The playfulness of their earlier banter had evolved into something much more intimate, a dance of passion that only the two of them knew the steps to.

[loppezz]

Journal

[LOG #1]

Hi to whomever is reading this, probably myself LOL. I found this journal in the wreckage of jadens castle when we left, so i thought i would take it to sort of, log to myself and just keep note of whats been going on. stuffs been crazy recently, gosh.

The abandoned civilisation was an experience... it was beautiful, but honestly. i never want to go through that again. I cant believe Jaden sent me there to die. Lettuce stabbed me in the back. Arcn didn't even come down to help me. I can't believe wemmbu was my only hope for salvation, It could have been worse tho. Some part of me thinks he cares behind his mask of war, But who knows these days. Id say eggchan is the closest thing to human in that duo.

After the events that happened in the abandoned civilisation i was a lil lost. Rejoice was so nice! he was kind and thoughtful, it really sucks not having him around anymore tho. Our group we had felt whole, and now there was a void spot left where he stood. Sigh.

Yknow. Fuck you wemmbu. He could of done more to save him... But screaming about him wont bring him back. Dwelling on it won't be helpful either. anyways...

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHWAT WEMMBU DID TO ME AFTER HE SAVED ME.. this is so stupid. HE LEAVES ME BEHIND. AGAIN. part of me thinks this is some punishment ive been burdened with. constantly battling with a belonging in this server. I understand. he wants to conquer, and he knows he cant do that with me. which is fair. but it hurts. I felt like i helped. But i dont get to choose. Maybe i should stop accepting the hand that is dealt to me yknow?

But after leaving the abandoned civilisation and being left behind once more. i figured i would divert my focus back onto rebuilding something for myself. This server lacks any sort of community i find. theres just assassins and, bandits everywhere. no one is actually trying to LIVE. I want to rebuild snow civ again. that was the closest thing to home ive ever felt. So after writing this in the middle of the ocean, im gonna set sail back to this amazing place, try to remove all the mafia propaganda and damage they caused when that was a thing. I just hope some people will join me this time. Wish me luck.

signed loppezz

idk why i signed this, this is a book haha!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

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

chapter 2 | chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expedited the process. Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

“That’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stanford just ignores that.

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

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

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

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

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

A deep, sinking feeling twists in your gut.

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

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

“It’s just an observation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ford is the only one who doesn’t react.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare after Ford, then back at Stan .

“Oh, um,” you say. “what the hell.”

Stan looks down. “yeah, no shit.”

***

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

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

***

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

The harbour always smelled like salt and fish.

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

“What happened?”

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

“Dunno, pa just gets mad.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t. It looked awful.

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

“We should run away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d get seasick in five minutes.”

Ford scowled. “i would not.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s already happened.

It’s always happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . Any second now.

. . . Any damn second.

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

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

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

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

Footsteps, exactly. Your whole body goes rigid.

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

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

Meanwhile these sounds too slow, intentional.

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember running back to bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ghost of hands on your body.

And you don’t sleep.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was very persistent,” he admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed. “of course i did.”

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

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

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

“I’m gonna miss him,” you whispered.

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

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

Ford's hand stayed in your hair.

***

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

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

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

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

You blink, glancing towards it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill was always there.

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

Over. And over. And over.

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

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

Stanley's eyes

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

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

And his voice so small, so weak.

“Sixer?”

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

Gosh, he feels sick.

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

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

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

DON’T WORRY, POINDEXTER!

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU! HAHAHA!

HOW’S STAN, BY THE WAY?

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

REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE? YIKES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did this.

You did this.

You did this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ford, Ford. Hey—”

The deer.

The deer, the deer, the deer—

“ Ford!”

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

Not his.

Not Bill’s.

Yours

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

Not seeing you.

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

You're on your knees in front of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Your brow furrows . “Ford?”

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

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

“Warp theory— symmetry breakdown — proton decay—“

You squeeze him. “Ford, hey—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his face stays hidden.

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

His shoulders stiffen. You keep going.

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

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

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

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

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

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

You don’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ford stiffens.

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

He deflects.

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

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

Ford’s whole face twitches.

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

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

“Just not now, okay?”

Stan grumbles, but doesn’t argue.

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

You soften your voice again.

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

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

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

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

You exhale when you hear the water running.

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

“Noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “we studied together.”

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

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

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

You glance at him again. “what is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure you’re alright?”

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

“It’s nothing.“

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned at him. “why?”

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

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

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

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

But you had a dog waiting for you.

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

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

You promised him you’d be back tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

“Cold?” he glanced over at you.

“Genius observation.”

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

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

“So uh, you have a place to stay?”

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

You raised an eyebrow.

“I do!”

“ Oh, okay. Where ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or a real meal.

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

He stared up at the ceiling.

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

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

He exhaled, breath fogging up the air.

Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“University rules strictly forbid unauthorized stimulants—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, technically, it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe i just get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Handsome?”

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

Oh. . . oh, okay.

And that’s when Fiddleford knew .

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

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

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

Ford stopped writing. The pencil slipped from his fingers

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

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

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

Alone with you, asleep on his shoulder.

Ford didn’t move for a long time.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was so fucking tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oof.“

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

He reached down, adjusting his coat, when—

THUMP.

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

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

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

It’s me.

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

You stared at him.

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

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

You crossed your arms.

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

”Uh-huh.” your eyes narrowed.

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

“Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“You lied to me.”

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

“You fucking lied to me.”

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

“You told me you had a place , Stan.”

He stopped talking, and there was silence between you.

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

Stan bristled. “hey!”

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

“Hey now, hold on!”

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

Stan’s brain short-circuited. “what?”

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

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

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

“What?”

“You heard me.”

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

“What, you pity me now?”

“No,” you said simply.

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

“Nah, i the natural scent.”

“You literally smell like a dumpster.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Yeah and it hurts your pretty lungs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stanley!”

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

But the relief didnt last long.

Because week later, their dad does find out.

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

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

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

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

“Ford?”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, i can tell.”

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

“Uh, picked it up.”

“Picked it up where?”

“Places.”

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

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

“But you sounded pretty fluent just now.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

Then why did he feel so out of place?

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

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

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

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

“Beautiful?” you grinned.

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

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

“What?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, when you say it like that—“

“Are you hurt?”

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

“Hellooo? Earth to Sixer?”

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

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

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

“What?” you paused.

“Fiddleford. Have you seen him?”

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

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

“You don’t think . . .?”

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

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

And now he wasn’t.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wouldn’t.”

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

When you reach the shack, you knock. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing

Stan squints. “maybe he’s sleepin’.”

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

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

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

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

“Should we be worried?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn't have come back.”

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

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

Picture passes. Ford is still in bed, asleep.

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

….

“Nerd looked bad. Needed sleep.”

That was the verdict. So you let Ford be.

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

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

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

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

It was just this place felt weird.

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

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

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

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

Not some cheap thing, either.

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

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

Gravity's rainbow.

Oh yeah. He’d heard of that one.

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

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

Suddenly, something slips out of page 69.

A bookmark?

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

Huh.

A photo.

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

Some nerd award, Stan assumes.

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

What?

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

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

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

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

And then, a hand lands on his shoulder.

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

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

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

“What were you looking at?”

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

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

A burn.

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

Stan rolls his eyes. “it’s fine.”

“Bullshit. ”

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

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

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

You frown. “you could’ve at least—“

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Aww, shit.” you hear Stan say.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you sound paranoid.”

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

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

“You’re a goddamn baby.”

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

“Oh, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Acting like you’re getting tortured.”

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

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

“Fuck, watch it, would ya?”

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

“It ain’t a problem—“

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

“I was busy.”

“Busy being dumb?”

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

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

“So, since when does Sixer smoke?”

You stop, freezing.

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

“Ford doesn’t smoke.”

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

You swallow. “no.”

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

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

After a beat of silence Stanley bursts into shameless laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shoot.”

“Was he always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Paranoid. Weird. Off.”

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

“Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen.

“Fiddleford.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

You cross your arms. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“Fidds , it’s me,” you name yourself.

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

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

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

You glare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s laughin’?”

“Nobody.”

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

“Uh,” Fiddleford sounds even more confused.

“Don’t listen to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

Another fucking nightmare.

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

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

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

Squeak.

Ford looks down.

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

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

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

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

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

[majoryeager104]

𝐀𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒!

my fave anime/manga omg I’ve been wanting to write for it for a while but I’ve had no idea where to start but then I was like ‘I should probably start the way I start everything else lol HEADCANONS!!’

so here’s some Relationship + Random hc’s of some of my favorite AOT characters! If you want a part two or a specific character added in the next one, lemme know!

Featuring: Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Levi, Hange, and Erwin

𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧

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An amazing soldier, but a dumb boyfriend

Like, on the field, fighting, he’s brilliant

its not to say he’d be a terrible boyfriend

im just saying he’d have no idea what to do half the time

like if ur upset he’s just like “um don’t cry 🧍”

*awkwardly pats ur back*

but he’s pretty much clueless otherwise

as you can tell in the series, he’s not good at processing his emotions

and if he thinks he can’t process his OWN emotions, just wait till he tries to process yours

ngl tho it would get to a point where he’s so good at understanding you and how you’re feeling that it’s like ‘stfu Eren you’ve got ur own problems’

like bros so invested in just TRYING that he pushes his own emotions to the side

on a random note

he snores like crazy

if he’s not awake that is bc if he’s awake he’s like being silly at fuckin 1 AM

either talking with Armin, or just yapping

or maybe practicing melee moves in the middle of the floor

or working out

Or snacking

you get the idea

hes also a chocoholic bye-

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𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐚

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sweetest shyest pookiest gf ever

shes got so much emotional depth, but she has a hard time expressing it

but when she does

shell tell you the sweetest thing ever

or like give you the most thoughtful compliment you’ve ever recieved in ur life

and then she’ll get shy and run away

not only she’s like ‘omg why did I say that’

buts she’s also like ‘oh god I probably made them uncomfortable was that weird?’

and then u reassure her like ‘nah that was actually the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me’

and verbally she’s like ‘oh ok 🙂’

but internally she’s like ‘yay 🙂’

on a random note

when she’s nervous in public cos there’s a lot of people

shell subconsciously hold ur hand

it’s not like she’s like scared, bc u know she’s Mikasa

but big crowds make her anxious and the noise gives her a headache

so most times she just prefers hanging out somewhere quiet

like a boba shop or a library

And I also hc that she’s actually really good at drawing and has this sketchbook that she carries with her and draws in when ur at boba shops

And while you’d think it was full of quick doodles it’s actually all ART. (maybe I should do hc’s on each characters art styles if they have one lmao)

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𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧

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this Barbie is a sweetie pie bitch

honestly he carries the dates tho

and by that i mean he’s PLANNING THEM ALL MONTHS IN ADVANCE

freakin loid forger ahh

he’s got most of it written down but he’s also still got some date ideas stored in that big head of his

bc he’s an over thinker and an over achiever so he wants to like maximize the experience ig

like a nerd 🤓

(im sorry im bullying him i swear i love him)

so he plans all these dates, and everything is going well until he’s actually on said date with you

bc he rehearsed a few little one liners and flirtations for weeks on end but upon seeing you he immediately forgot them 😅

so he’s a stuttering blushing mess the whole time

freakin cutie

random hcs

he hates spicy food

it literally makes him cry

but he also doesn’t really like sweets much

so he usually resorts to really simple foods or something savory

basic like him (I’m sorry)

I also hc that he’s self conscious about his forehead (same bro)

hence the thick bangs lmao

but yk what big head big think is what I always say

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𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧

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everyone knows he’s respectful

A true gentleman

but if you recall that scene with Mikasa in the cadet corps

He’d also be super nervous around u

blushing and smiling

(Ohh my god my heart)

he tries so hard to play it cool

but no amount of flirting and smirking can hide the fact that he’s stuttering and blushing like an idiot

and oh god if you flirt back

he’s like actually gonna pass away 🫠

and I am too bc he’s so cute

random hcs

he talks in his sleep

hes a thigh guy

hed walk on the outside of the sidewalk w u unprompted

he’s reaaaally good at impressions

he once did a killer impression of captain levi

and everyone laughed until they spotted Levi a little ways behind him

and then they had to hold back their laughter while Levi yelled at him for it 💀

he once tried to cut his own hair growing up

and it was so bad that his mom ended up shaving his head

He swears he looked handsome w it tho

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𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢

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omg this man

no one would ever know you two were together

except for Hange, Miche and Erwin bc they sniff out this shit like crazy

but when yall are alone

he holds your hand like all the time

hes super clingy

but won’t admit it

like

hes laying on top of you with his arms and legs wrapped around you like a koala

and he’s like “you’re so clingy y/n 🙄”

random hcs!

we know he doesn’t sleep

but what’s weirder is when you wake up and he’s just staring at you

”hey”

and scares the shit outta you

like Jean he walks on the outside of the sidewalk unprompted

and he’s also a sidewalk karen

like if someone else is walking by he’s giving them a look like “try and move me bitch”

”you can’t”

My stronk scary boi

And because he’s old as rocks I also hc that he probably knits as a hobby

idk why, but I can absolutely see him knitting scarves and shit for Eren and the others (and u ofc)

like its winter and everyone is training and he’s out here passing out scarves he made 😭

Hanged like ”where’d you get all these scarves Levi?”

and he’s just like “mind your damn business”

and his ears get pink when he’s embarrassed so that kinda answers the question

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𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

AHHHHH

as a Hange Kinnie I’m not projecting whatsoever 😌

but they’d totally be clingy

in like the most extroverted way

yapping about you to everyone

till Levi tells them to shut up

They’re out there fighting titans like “you know y/n usually kills titans like this”

and Levi’s like “Y/N IS RIGHT OVER THERE”

Brings u pretty rocks

cant flirt to save their life but it’s the thought that counts 😌😌

random hcs!

asks the most random and way too personal questions

“I’m not gonna dignify that with a response” said a shocked and disgusted Levi

Hange absolutely points out animals they see

like, in the middle of a fight they’re just like “CAPTIAN LEVI Y/N!!”

and you both look over scared bc you think Hange is hurt

and they’re just like “LOOK THERES A SQUIRREL! 🤩”

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𝐄𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧

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we know he’s a gentleman

and I see so many ppl making him out like he’s “daddy”

to which I say

Nah

hes ‘father figure’ 😌😌😌

he’d actually be an amazing partner though

buys you flowers on a regular basis

dates might not be as often

hes a busy man you know 😏

but he definitely treats you to a date whenever he can

if you’re self conscious

no you’re not 😶

he’s got the most random, deliberate, sweetest, kick your feet and giggle compliments stored up for you

and he’ll tell you all of them if it makes you feel better about yourself

random hcs

another loud as fuck snorer I fear

but that’s heard on the occasion that he actually sleeps

bros obviously a workaholic so

he also forgets to eat

you and Levi have to remind him

when he’s not on the job and completely focused

hes actually kind of scatterbrained and loses random stuff like “where are my glasses” and they’re on his head 💀

he’s so old istg I love him so much

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[harpskae]

THE successful shifting mindset

These days I have developed a very passive mindset towards shifting. I don’t even know how to describe it, but I guess I have just accepted the certainty that as long as I have the purpose of shifting to my DR in mind, whether or not I actively “try”, I will inevitably wake up in my DR.

I can’t know right now if it will be tonight, in three days, the night before my histology exam, or maybe next month. There is simply no way in the world for me to know before hand when that will happen. But it will happen. Because all the pieces are where they should be, and really, for once in my life, for once ever since I was 14, I have no doubts about it. What I am writing right now are my genuine feelings on this process, I no longer feel like im trying to convince myself about this. Speaking of which. My outlook on this being a process has also changed. Let me tell you about it. When I first got into shifting, and for years really, I believed this was a journey. I unconsciously thought that I needed to fail before I succeeded. I associated those stupid symptoms during my attemps to being “close” to shifting to my DR. It was as if I expected to experience failure, because that’s what’s natural, right? In the same way I cannot play a guitar solo right now because I have never played the guitar before, I thought I should be “bad” at shifting before I was able to “be good” at it. Somehow. bc that’s not a great way of putting it but hopefully you get the message. But truth is, shifting is not a journey. It’s a phenomenon, an act. A deliberate act just as brief as snapping your fingers and as imperceptible as the beating of your own heart. Let me further develop this idea, bear with me jeje.

You see, the first time an ever shifted happened on a random night when I didn’t know reality shifting was a thing. I went to bed as I always did, and I woke up in an alternate version of my room. I didn’t know what shifting was, I didn’t know that it was possible and therefore I didn’t believe in it. Because you cant believe in something you don’t know exists. I didn’t have any intention of shifting, again because I didn’t know anything about it. I literally did nothing and didn’t believe. And I still shifted.

Lately ive been thinking about that and my other past shifting experiences and I have come to a few conclusions. Firstly, I literally don’t need anything to shift. Nothing. Not belief. Not intent. Shifting, as I have been reading in scientific investigations, is the result of a physiological change, or trigger in our brain. As shifters, we are learning how to trigger that so that we can use our brain and the ability to shift our consciousness to a reality to our favor and will. The fact that im using “big words” isn’t in any way with the intention of complicating the concept, it is just to express my own idea of it, but I will return to more basic statements. So. Since I don’t need absolutely anything to shift to my DR, that can only mean one thing. I already have what I need to shift. Because I don’t lack what I don’t need. In what this matter regards ig. That’s why, there is no process, there is no journey. Yes, for years I have been learning about all of this, trying to do it on command, and shaping my mindset to what it is today, but really, I could have shifted on the first try, because not even a good mindset is needed. It is helpful to shift on command, but if it were a requirement to shift, so many people wouldn’t have shifted on accident, unknowing of what shifting is, or even, as anti-shifters (who were then, by their own experience proven wrong). I don’t even know if I am making sense but I am making sense in my mind. Anyways, so since we don’t really need anything to shift, why not just shift, why not just choose to shift. Though I am not implying by any means that us shifters that have been in this for years have not been choosing to shift all this time. That would be cruel. We have been putting effort and intent, but now I am referring to the change in mindset that views shifting as an instantaneous shift in our perception not as as process that will lead us to achieve "what we need" to shift, because thats what it is. That’s why im doing these days, I know I don’t lack by any means anything that could make me shift. There is nothing different between me, you and those who call themselves master shifters because they shift to their DRs whenever they want. And I am the version of myself that shifts whenever I want. I could shift tomorrow to my DR and nothing would have changed really. That future version of me is the exact me as I am right now as I am ranting on my notes app instead of studying fucking histology.

Also, about the moment itself of shifting, to put is simply, both of the times I have fully shifted were on accident, I just fell asleep. I didn’t feel anything weird, I didn’t even know I was in a different reality until I proved it to myself. That’s why I no longer seek for any symptoms while shifting. After all, we describe these symptoms —dizziness, tingles, buzzing sounds?, spinning— as physical sensations, and although I myself have experienced those on multiple occasions, even while shifting back to my CR (though that’s a whole other story), they mean nothing, because we are perceiving them, or at least describing them through our senses. And I know some of these symptoms are not perceived exactly by our physical body, but still, choosing to focus on them is just a way of anchoring ourselves to the fact that we are not yet in our dr. that we are halfway there. And do we want to be halfway there? No. We want to be there. That’s why it’s no use focusing on symptoms. Plus, I know that senses shift last. 

I might post this on my blog, I decided to do so halfway through this, but it is still my diary so this are all my genuine thoughts which I am only writing digitally instead of in my journal bc I write quite slowly and I don’t have enough time to write down all of my thoughts. If it weren’t for that I wouldn’t post this. I didn’t proofread and English is not my first language, having said that thank you to whoever read through all this.

[drdemonprince]

im really envious of u. I like reading your writing and the stories you tell about sex and stuff and it sounds like u have a lot of fun. I don’t no if I will ever be able to live like that. im autistic and very inhibited is probably the best word. I find it hard to meet new people and go new places. a few times I have gone to local munches but been too introverted to say anything to people and I just sit there feeling self conscious and silly. they have been really nice. but I haven’t made any friends or anything. I feel like I need someone to take me under their wing kinda and give me an in. It seems like I’d really enjoy it a lot but don’t no how to make my way in. I don’t feel confident enough to just use apps and hook up. especially as im so new to it all and dont no what im doing really. I’ve read what you say about going to the social gatherings and stuff but what if im too shy to say anything? I don’t no how to be more uninhibited but I feel like that’s what I need.

please keep in mind that I was not doing any of this shit until I was like 32 years old. up until then I was in only a handful of relationships, mostly ones I had stumbled into through no agency of my own, and I had never really lived out any of my kinky desires. hell I had barely even gone out to a club or a concert or anything on my own, certainly not very often, let alone a sex club or something like that. I had to practice socializing on my own terms, and trying new things alone and scared and finding what was valuable in them despite those feelings a lot. like many many years a lot.

I didn't really venture out into the gay bath house or any of the cruising bars until I had a partner who was interested in taking me to them. that provided me with an in and an emotionally safe anchor with which to explore. I am also indebted to friends who showed me around places like steamworks and explained to me the nonverbals of cruising, which I then went ahead and put in my own cruising guide.

to this day I still have a much better time at events like puppy play night when I go with some homies and can spend some time joking around with them and using their support to help meet people before eventually breaking off and wandering into a back room to get laid. I still routinely have nights where I will go out on my own and do very little but sip from my drink and stand around awkwardly for four hours, maybe dance a bit, and go home.

cruising is an exercise in patience. you are never guaranteed any particular outcome or experience. you work with what nature gives you, and you learn to find some appreciation in simply being there and bearing witness. 9 times out of 10 you get turned down or there just isn't a spark. happens on the apps too.

shooting your shot and getting turned down is a successful consent negotiation. everybody has done everything correctly and it ended the only way that it should have. there's nothing to do but dust yourself off, not take it as some dramatic declaration of your life worth, and go at it again.

I recommend visiting cruising spaces with a friend. and just going purely for voyeuristic and anthropological reasons the first couple times. The only way you become a person who can do this stuff is by doing it, a fuck ton of times. message a lot of people. Go to a lot of events.

at some point you have to find the very act of going to be motivating and enjoyable in some way. thankfully I am fascinated by humans, enjoy dancing, like having a little drink or an edible and wandering around, and treat it all as very valuable writing fodder. you have to find what set of motivations work for you. because it's not about instant success or gratification ever. It is always a lot of waiting and watching and wondering what the night is going to bring, and making peace that often it will bring nothing at all except for being alive amongst others.

keep at it though. start really small. I am so glad that I got to this point, because yeah my life is really interesting and sexually gratifying and fun. but it also is entire weekends of just standing around nursing a drink and doing nothing and looking like an NPC. happens to the best of us

[oh-no-its-bird]

your uchiha houhua au is living in my brain rent free....im sleep deprived today bc i was reading/thinking about it late last night lol, its so good!!

after the massacre he would essentially be sasuke's guardian, right? maybe not officially but still, he'd be in charge of sasuke as the only older family around? idk if he'd be a GOOD guardian but i can see his paranoid ass just always handing sasuke more weapons and money, just in case

i need to know more about sasuke finding out about houhua and itachi's thing for each other!! and does sasuke still end up going to orochimaru in this au?

YEAHHH IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT !!! Uchiha Houhua remains one of The Favorites(tm) I really need to finish writing chapter 1, I'm like. So so close. So close.

I also need to update my tumblr vault fic with all the more recent Houhua au posts, since theres been a good amount of new content, but I'm putting it off till I'm done writing chapter 1 for the actual fic

No but I'm honored it could take up space in ur brain !!

YES! After the massacre, Houhua basically becomes Sasuke's officially unofficial guardian. There's no real paperwork for it done, but like, they really only have eachother

Sasuke flocks to him as the only other Uchiha, and Houhua takes him in both out of pity + not wanting him to be alone, and also partially because he knows Sasuke is a main character and his survival heavily depends on sticking close to main characters in the hopes that it'll help bump his character importance points

Houhua and Sasuke are stupidly rich now just because all of the Uchiha belongings and funds are theirs now.

There's a bit of trickiness bc technically, most of it should go specifically to Sasuke (as he's now default clan heir, though that isn't exactly worth much now) but Houhua is older than him

Houhua will probably end up splitting things between them, and Sasuke will trust him enough to do it (+ be too young to really realize that's something as important as it really is)

I think in canon, and lot of Uchiha shit got stolen or went ""missing"" in their death, mostly bc Sasuke... wouldn't know what to watch out for / prevent people from trying to take. But with Houhua here, it's going to be way hard for anyone to do any sort of grave robbing

Houhua is absoloutley gonna be taking inventory and his past life's experience means he knows to be on guard for people looting the compound when he's not looking !! There might even be some fun drama w that in the future ,,,

Houhua is stuffing weapons and money into Sasuke's pockets, very much fussing over him every chance he gets.

(Because Sasuke is his meal ticket!! He insists to himself, going out of his way to demolish anyone who looks at Sasuke even a little bit funny)

I honestly think Houhua would make for a good guardian for Sasuke overall, tho he'd for sure have his faults. The key word here is 'guardian', not anything like a father— Sasuke is gonna end up seeing Houhua as his (new, better, real) big brother over shitty Itachi over there

Houhua, as Shang Qinghua, lived to be very old (for a human, not for a cultivator) and had a hand in raising and training many disciples.

I like to reference Pride Is Not The Word I'm Looking For (aka the single best Shang Qinghua fic of all time) for my characterization for him, so he's like. Genuinley a good teacher and uncle, when he tries to be. He is just also burdened with crippling self doubt and likes to insist that every nice thing he does is canceled out by his own selfish reasoning behind doing those nice things

In Naruto world especially, filled with shitty murderous parents and a government that churns out murder babies, I think Houhua will be winning awards in his own parenting skills

Then there's also the fact that Houhua did know and interact with Sasuke before the massacre, just not too often. He was Itachi's weird cry baby friend, he'd hang out with him sometime

They just were never really close, and never really got to interact 1 on 1 for long— till, ofc, the massacre happens, and now Sasuke is latching on to Houhua and hyperventalating if anyone so much as looks like they're going to try and separate them

Houhua's existence as a whole allows Sasuke to be a lot more vulnerable, both because he is not "the last Uchiha" and also because Houhua will no doubt try to piggy back off of his revenge quest or even try to steal it entirely (to try and become a more important character, he insists to himself)

So Sasuke is just. Nowhere near as alone as before. And Houhua's own relationship with Itachi helps Sasuke believe Houhua might get it... more than other people, at least.

Ofc, there's also conflict in Sasuke maybe not thinking Houhua gets it "enough", or like Sasuke himself does, because Sasuke was, ofc, Itachi's little brother.

^ I think that would inevitably come in to play later, when Sasuke realizes Itachi and Houhua might have feelings for eachother. Sasuke would be so fucking hurt and feel so fucking betrayed, believing that maybe Houhua never "got it" to begin with

Things get even more complicated depending on when Sasuke learns this tho, because eventually Houhua is going to share his suspicions about the massacre being not as simple as it looked. So Sasuke's own feelings on Itachi are gonna go on a roller coaster of their own, trying to figure out if he himself can or should forgive his brother or no

Its all just a mess tbh, I love to see it

I HONESTLY DUNNO IF SASUKE WILL GO WITH OROCHIMARU OR NOT !! On one hand, mmmayybe ,,,, if he does, Houhua will go with him, full stop.

But there's also a chance that Houhua might try to take his place too! And he and Orochimaru are inevitably going to interact eventually, bc I have plans ,,,

(I mentioned it in another post, but if Houhua ever shares about the system and his past life with literally anyone, I would choose Orochimaru to find out. I think I could get the most milage out of him, and Orochimaru would absoloutley try to hack into the system for immortality and power or some shit)

I think whatever route I go with w Orochimaru will just depend on what I'm feeling when I get to that point in writing the fic. We will have to see where the story naturally leads me, you know? All of the options are so good, so it's hard to choose

ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASK !!! I love Houhua au so much, I think its so much fun. Ur ask actually reminded me I really have to keep writing chapter 1, so this has kind of spurred me on to go do that

Hopefully I finish and post it soon!

[rose-pearls]

Hi there!! If your requests are still open i’d like to make one, btw Im not very good at requesting, so im sorry if this doesn’t make any sense.

Could your possibly write a Clairrise x Hephaestus’s Nb kid reader. Like we’ll make/repair weapons for her, and we weld her flowers with nuts and bolts and cute stuff like that!!

Feel free to skip this request!! Have a good day/night!!!! :D

Hi!! Thank you so much for your request, it was so cute and I loved the fact that it was a reader from another cabin then the Aphrodite cabin! I hope you like it and that it is what you wanted! My requests are open for every fandom I write for!

Main Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989

Percy Jackson Taglist: @niktwazny303

Clarisse La Rue Taglist: @peanutbelley, @abbersreads

Non-binary reader, if there is a mistake somewhere please tell me and I'll fix it! I am always open for feedback :))

When you started dating Clarisse a lot of people were surprised, it wasn’t often that a child of Hephaestus and a child of Ares got along, let alone date each other. But it had just made sense when you had met her during your first day of camp. You had tried to find what you were good at, with the help of Luke, and as you were trying to figure out how to use the spear he had given you a beautiful girl had arrived.

“Why don’t you let the expert teach them, Castellan?”, the brown-haired girl says with a confident smirk, making you blush. Luke had just rolled his eyes at the words before telling you that he would get you at the end of the hour to try something new.

“Now, you should watch your grip when you wield it,” she says before starting to show you how to adjust your hands, making your skin tingle at the touch.

It wasn’t until later that you realized why so many people had been watching the two of you, Clarisse wasn’t really the type to help someone out or to be patient with anyone. When your father claimed you after two days of being at camp the whole camp had been waiting with anticipation how Clarisse would be reacting to the news, after all she was a proud daughter of Ares.

“I don’t care about who your father is and what beef he has with mine, Ares always has beef with everyone. So, what do you say of ignoring who our parents are and just moving along?”, Clarisse had seemed unaffected, but she had been preparing the speech in her head since last night, when one of her siblings had told her who your parent was. She was hoping that Ares wouldn’t ruin this for her either, she only knew you for three days, but you were someone she cared about, whether she liked it or not.

“I would love that,” you had told her and after that the two of you had stayed close friends, much to everyone’s shock and your sibling’s dismay. 

Getting together with Clarisse had been the most difficult part, she didn’t see love as something good or worthwhile. She had seen her mother getting into depressive episodes after Ares left her to raise Clarisse alone and she didn’t want to ever experience that, let alone be that cause of someone’s pain. It had taken you a while to try and convince her that you could be something more than just friends and that love was something incredible to experience. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you or lose you, it would hurt far too much,” she had told you once, when the laughter of the campers could be heard from far away.

“Wouldn’t it hurt more to know that we could have been something but that we just didn’t try? I know that we are demi-gods and that we could die any day but I don’t want to die and regret not having had a chance to spent every single day with you and showing you how much I love you,” there were tears in her eyes at your words, and you could see the conflict in her eyes before she brought you into a soft kiss, as if she was scared she could break you.

“You’re right,” she had whispered before bringing you back into a kiss, this time more fervent as she showed you just how much she loved you.

It had been two years since then and you couldn’t be happier, watching Clarisse spar with her siblings and preparing for Capture the flag while you made some flowers out of a few things you had found around your working area. 

“That for me?”, you hear behind you before your feel a soft kiss on your cheek.

“It is,” you tell Clarisse as she sits next to you, watching the intricately woven nuts and bolts you had found around.

“I love it, thank you,” she tells you before bringing you into a kiss.

“I’ll add it to my collection,” she says with a bright smile, already trying to figure out where she was going to put it.

“I’ll see you after capture the flag?”, you ask her, and she nods in agreement as a pout forms on her lips.

“I can’t believe you aren’t going to be playing capture the flag today,” you smile softly at her words before taking her hand in yours.

“Well, I need to teach every single thing I know to my new sibling but next time I’ll be there,” you promise her and enjoy the satisfied smile on Clarisse lips.

“Fine, but I need a good luck kiss first,” she whispers, and you quickly do as she requests, smiling as she deepens the kiss.

“See you later sunshine!”, she tells you before joining her siblings, making you smile as you watch her putting on her armour. 

It was just an hour later when you heard the door of your cabin slam open, your new sibling looking scared at the sound, as if he was expecting a monster to come in. But it was Clarisse, tears in her eyes and a broken spear in her hands. 

“Why don’t you go to your station and work a little bit on the things I taught you?”, you quickly ask your sibling, who quickly scurries out of the room. 

“Clarisse?”, you whisper as you look at her trembling form, she looks like she is desperately holding back her tears but as you carefully put your hand on hers, she breaks down.

The tears are falling down her cheeks as you bring her into a comforting hug, holding her close as she holds on to you for dear life.

“What happened?”, you ask her softly, hoping not to make her cry even more at your words.

“That new kid, he broke my spear,” she whispers, and a sob leaves her lips at the words, making you hold her tightly. 

“Gods, I’m so sorry Clarise, I know how much it meant to you,” you whisper in her hair, wishing you could go back in time and save it.

“It was the only thing he ever gave me, to show me he cared and now it is gone,” she says, tears falling into your t-shirt, but you don’t care as you try to calm her down.

It takes a moment to calm her down, stroking her hair and letting her talk it all out. You know better than to say it was going to be okay, she had just lost something incredibly valuable to her and you didn’t know what to do. 

“I can try to fix it,” you whisper softly, and it takes a few seconds before she moves her head to look at you, teary eyes looking into yours.

“You can?”, she whispers, hope appearing into her eyes, and you smile lovingly at her.

“I can try, I can’t promise anything about it still being able to burn someone, but it can be repaired. Nothing is too broken to be fixed,” you tell her, and she takes a deep breath, like she is trying to get herself back together.

“If you can do that, I think that I will marry you,” she says with an emotional smile, and you laugh softly at her words.

“Common let’s see what we can do,” you whisper before taking her hand and bringing her to your station. 

It takes time to put it back together, as the metal had been broken by Percy’s sword but after finding the right metal to fix it you manage to bring the two pieces back together.

“And there we go, nearly as good as before,” you tell her as she looks over the spear, watching how it was once again a whole spear and not two broken parts.

“Thank you,” she whispers with concealed tears in her eyes, but you just shrug your shoulders.

“It was my pleasure, now I can watch you train with it again,” you tell her, and she looks excited at the words, she kisses you lovingly on the lips before dragging you to the training ground, an excited smile on her lips. 

[atalana]

so i finally got the chance to read the book of bill! and man those journal 3 pages, i could write a million essays on those, but the principle one that i can't get out my head is the new insight on ford's whole fucked up paradigm of what love is

like, neither of the stan twins really know how to experience unconditional love, because they never really had it. their dad was constantly comparing the two of them and really just stamping down stanley's self worth at any given moment. and even for ford who was praised, he's not an idiot, he saw how stan got treated all the time, and their dad was very explicit as to why. ford's praise and attention hinged on him being the family genius who could make them all a lot of money, and he knew very well if he failed to live up to that, he would also lose his father's love

and you see this in stan in his desperate need for everyone to like him, but also how he doesn't really believe anyone ever truly could love him, so whenever he gets the chance with anyone he clings onto that relationship as tight as he can, terrified it's going to disappear at any second

ford, meanwhile. the more direct threat to him was the bullies and the people that made him feel lesser for being abnormal. and no kid likes feeling like that, we know it's a spike buried deep in his psyche, which gave him a reason for the dichotomy he ends up forming.

when he was a kid, people tended to fall into two categories - those who were really impressed with him and his potential, and those who saw him as a freak and wanted to drag him down for it. the love he got and the hate he got are directly related to both.

and as a result ford is constantly looking for people who will give him intellectual gratification (what he thinks love is), and he categorises everyone else as "unimportant obstacles in my way" (because that's how he thinks about those bullies, so their words won't hurt anymore)

stanley was the first category, until he sharply became the second

and splitting the world into those two categories makes him an absolutely horrible person! like, one hand yeah, you do have sympathy for ford bc that is straight up torture bill put him through and no one should have to experience it (and i do wanna make clear this is not a ford hate post, he does have good qualities im just interested in the bad rn)

on the other hand though, god, i'm always struck by just how hateful he is towards so many unimportant things (just one of many examples, christmas songs are fake and stupid bc rudolph didn't burn santa's workshop to the ground as revenge for ostracizing him like jesus christ dude)

or the bit where he sees one of stan's shitty product ads and considers calling him and pretending to be a cop just to scare him, because in ford's mind that's a punishment he deserves for daring to look so stupid while sharing ford's face

and it just drills in how much ford is not willing to see stan's side of this in any way, because what do you think would happen if you went through with that plan? don't you know stan's already scared enough? you saw him get kicked out, you saw the ultimatum that came with it, and hell thanks to the book of bill we know you were also scared to go home until you had something to show for it. he's trying his best, and you understood that once. but then stan throws your journal back in your face and you yell that you're giving him the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in his life.

everything he did to try and make something of himself, to try and prove himself worthy of literally any love at all, you didn't care about that. now he's in a position to help you, so of course he should just drop everything and obey your orders to the letter without question. that's the only way to redeem himself for getting in your way, why won't he take it?

by the time bill shows up ford felt fully justified in going "this isn't about me, and therefore it's stupid and unimportant and should be destroyed". and i know exactly why, it's because again you think intellectual gratification and love are the same thing and you're running low on both right now so you're trying to make up the difference by affirming how right you are in your goddamn diary, but right does not make you good or kind or wise

and that makes it kind of a self fulfilling prophecy, because loving you is hard, and the one person genuinely willing to do so unconditionally you're keeping at a very aggressive arms length. but you fall for bill so easily, because he understands how important you are, which must be love, and all of these other people worried about you just aren't smart enough to get it

and not even realising bill's lies could cure him of that one. hell, 30 years spent dimension hopping didn't cure it. when ford gets back he is still just as self righteous, and still willing to categorise dipper as "will give me intellectual gratification" and the rest of them as intrinsically less valuable

which is why dipper can't take the deal ford offered him. if he had, he would have turned out exactly like ford, stuck in his own echo chamber unable to tell the difference between love and praise

mabel says at one point in the comics that the reason the two grunkles are bad at looking after kids is because they still are kids, and that's a really accurate insight. that old wound cut so deep neither of them had the chance to actually move past their childhood, and discover what it was they were missing

stan never stopped wanting his brother back, but ford didn't realise that was what he needed too, until he saw mabel and dipper working as a team against bill. he's acknowledged his mistake in trusting bill before now, but "we used to be like that" is his first time acknowledging that his whole approach to people is wrong.

you've always had one source of unconditional love. you didn't need to be better than him to be worthy of it. and now you've got an entire new family, hopefully you'll realise that can come from multiple fronts

(and it's okay stan shall have his revenge for how you treated him by commiting just. so much tax fraud in your name)

[lordgeneralsix]

i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on isterik so if you wanted to ramble..... <3

you're probably gonna regret asking unless you actually enjoy hearing my incoherent thoughts but regardless I am holding your hands so tight rn thank you for asking<3

I have a lot of thoughts about them and I'll try to untangle some of them here .. I guess I'll just start w the obvious and say I feel like watering down isterik to "toxic bc Istvan groomed erik" is a pretty dismissive way to talk about such a raw and volatile display of love. people are once again doing what they did with hansry and trying to understand their relationship through a modern lens when it's not that simple, especially since we're missing a lot of information from two very unreliable narrators. I'm not saying istvan didn't foster an unhealthy relationship with erik by taking him in, caring for him like a father would, and being intimate as lovers - he absolutely did. i'm just honestly bored of the discussions around Problematic relationships starting and ending with "that's toxic" as if Bad People aren't capable of loving just as deeply as anyone else especially if their circumstances are a bit... unusual. I mean, why do people do anything? to live and love, right? and no im not saying it's all okay bc they love each other, it's still bad but both can coexist.

it's interesting that we hear different accounts from both on how they met - istvan found erik during a raid and took him in, but we don't know the details. we don't know what situation erik was in, why istvan was so drawn to him, or hell, if maybe erik killed his own parents instead and istvan is just saying that to protect him. this is the story we hear from istvan, but we get two different recountings from erik. one is in kcd1 where he tells henry point blank that istvan killed his parents and he's stronger than his parents ever were, but then in kcd2 he calls henry a liar about istvan killing his parents. this confused me when I first heard it bc I could've sworn he was aware, so I thought maybe it was a retcon. all well and good I guess, but I thought,, well what if it isn't? as far as I'm aware nothing else has been retconned, so why would this be?

so I try to think of it a different way, just to see if that would even work. maybe it might be a key inconsistency of erik's mental state, showing how he's still trying to grapple what the fuck happened that day. I mean, it's hard to recall all the details of a traumatic event, right? especially if it happens to you so young. maybe erik has no recollection of what really happened and trusts what istvan told him. or he knows and he just doesn't need to justify anything to anyone, especially not to henry. maybe in the first game, since istvan is still alive, he plays up the hardened bandit face and says "yeah, istvan killed my parents in cold blood - know that he doesn't fuck around", but after he dies, well, we've seen him. he's thrown into a rage that will eventually consume him. his entire reason for fighting is gone, and henry bringing up something he tried so hard to ignore... well, yeah, id be pissed too.

again... I'm just speculating. in the end it could just be a retcon and I'm going insane over such a minor detail, oh well. we just don't have enough information to make a conclusion, but I guess that's the point. it's like they both said, we don't understand their relationship and we never will.

moving on from that.... since you were so kind to ask I'm gonna throw in a bit of rare lore about myself to kinda connect why isterik is like the light of god to me - in my own writing I try to explore a wide variety of relationships and character behaviours, almost anything goes really because I do believe fiction should be a safe space for writers to explore concepts without it being reflective of them as people.. some of the best stories I've been lucky to experience have been generally pretty dark, unafraid to explore beyond the boundaries of what we're comfortable with,, because well, it's real. and why not. isterik reminds me of one relationship I have - similarly a relationship that can't easily be defined because of the parties' roles in society, the circumstances of their meeting, and of course as two men. so, my understanding of this relationship does stem from my own experience writing these kinds of relationships, which in turn stems from my observations of people around me.

and I do love that honestly. can't give warhorse enough credit for making their characters so believable. what fascinates me about isterik is that they very obviously love each other and treat each other as equals. its obvious that istvan isn't using erik. he doesn't try to hide how much he cares for him.. why would he beg for erik's life instead of his? istvan has been playing the theatrical villain this whole time, but the moment his right hand man is threatened, he breaks. i've briefly mentioned this before but its unnerving how he begs for erik's life. this game once again shows you how your enemies are just as capable of love and fear whether you like it or not, they're people too.

erik is more than some pawn. if istvan wanted to, he could easily replace him. but erik isn't disposable. istvan saw something familiar within erik and only he could drag it out - he built erik up and protected him the way he wished someone would've done for him after his parents were killed by the turks. he was alone and suffered god knows how long until he finally gained some semblance of control in his life, and then he taught erik to never let anyone take that control away... but who was the one who did that to him in the first place? is he talking to erik or himself? istvan himself has a lot of issues, but if you look past his mad rambling there really is some truth to it (a whole other thing to get into on my istvan analysis... somewhere in the future)

along w that i don't believe erik is entirely some helpless thing that doesn't understand what kind of situation he's in. the tragic thing is he was, but that boy is long dead and buried (and something I won't ever forget is how we see a glimpse of erik being normal through godwin's eyes... horse racing? really? that entire sequence was uncomfortable, erik is completely void of emotion, aside from rage of course, I honestly don't believe all of this was istvan's doing. something must've already been wrong with him, which could explain why istvan kept him and fed that hatred). at the same time, I don't believe erik is any worse than istvan, at least not when he's alive (like i found it interesting that when erik freed istvan, he begged him to flee when istvan wanted to kill henry.. idk how to explain, i feel like istvan was the reason he was even able to 'control' his anger. another thing i need to think on more).

istvan is clearly the one pulling the strings of everyone around him - the enabler - while erik is the muscle (no I'm not saying he's not smart but he's not capable of being manipulative like istvan, check their respective roles in society). he won't last long without istvan. his guiding light is gone. istvan and erik make each other stronger (better for them, worse for us), they fight for each other and for their place in the world - just like henry and hans do. they're really not so different, it's true. henry goes to great lengths to avenge his parents, believing it is the righteous thing to do, but so does erik. they were both horribly wronged and will fight to get that control back no matter the cost. they are products of war, extensions of their lords to be used and discarded. they're lucky if anyone cares about them at all in the end. and this is what istvan was trying to protect erik from and warn henry about. they're the same, but morality separates them in their ultimately selfish actions.

morality. that's the difference. hanush said this exactly in the first game - if i recall correctly, that their honour is what separates them from the common bandit. henry and hans believe in honour, it's what stops them from going too far even if they feel otherwise it in their hearts. henry especially can act on these darker thoughts - taking his revenge too far by taking his anger out on his allies and treating his enemies as subhuman... but isterik aren't caught up about imaginary concepts of mortality and honour, or especially in istvan's case, he doesn't fear god. they revel in their daily routine of pillaging and killing those they deem lesser, a threat. more importantly, they're doing it together (cute date ideas or whatever). anyone who threatens the other is in for a world of pain - I mean of course, no one would let their loved ones be threatened, but to the degree to which istvan and erik will go for each other is what most people would consider extreme. istvan was willing to let his hostages be violated just at the mere thought of erik being harmed, erik is hellbent on skinning henry and by extension hans.. and anyone who gets in his way.... which is why I do expect him to be in kcd3 if it happens, probably not as a major antagonist, but like how henry hunted istvan, erik will hunt henry. i don't see erik's story ending well, whatever he ends up doing to henry or even hans. his entire reason for living was taken from him, he'll burn the world and himself with it because that's the kind of person he is (which yk.... as a tragedy enjoyer.... evil emoji).

despite people thinking in terms of extremes with them, i do think they are capable of being normal with each other.. i mean, we've seen it. how tender istvan became when he said goodbye to erik. how erik was hesitant yet calm in his presence. so much left unsaid, we can't even begin to understand what was taken from erik that night. i wonder how long he stayed at istvan's grave after burying him, how often he went back to talk to him or just sit in silence. maybe he never went back at all. im normal about them. and i will be very normal about kcd3.

so anyway tl;dr I'm incredibly biased and I love when love is so so messy and passionate. they do not need a redemption arc or any kind of justification on Why This Relationship Is Ok Actually or why people who enjoy it are also bad people or whatever juvenile discourse people r having. they're unapologetically fucked up and I love them for it. they don't need to change people need to expand their minds and find enlightenment through isterik. or something

but who knows maybe I'm entirely wrong, this is just rambling off the top of my head bc its 2am now and I'm definitely missing a lot that would usually go in a more well thought out post but... I'll get around to that at some point lol. I would love to hear your thoughts as well or if anyone else feels like discussing this further . go crazy with my blessing

[gogomatthew]

You’re mine

KINKTOBER DAY 2: Mutual masturbation

PAIRING: SPENCER REID X READER

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST HERE🎃💗

warnings: stalking • mutual masturbation • semi public sex • humiliation • phone sex • paranoia? • mentions of violence • let me know if I missed any •

A/N: sorry about the KTOBER delay.. this ones a little dark but ill make up with a sweet one next week! reminder english isnt my first language but feel to correct any grammar mistakes

summary: Spencer fears he is being stalked after receiving gifts from a secret admirer only to fall for her • MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 18+

“Hey whats wrong?” Morgan stops Spencer as he rushes into the BAU frantic with an orange envelope at hand “Gather everyone in the conference room please” he gets out of morgans grip and makes his way there. “Whats this about?” Hotch walks in confused on the whole situation, raising a questioning eyebrow at Spencer “Ive been on edge the past month and yesterday I received this..” he hands the envelope to Hotch. Inside theres a handwritten letter with the words “I know you were thinking about me” and multiple photographs of Spencer jacking off in his room.

Truthfully he didn’t want to show anyone but this was getting out of hand. In the photograph his room was illuminated by warm toned lamp, his mouth hung open and anyone with half a brain could assume he was letting out sounds of pleasure, his head was thrown back and his eyes were shut tightly, while his hand wrapped around his leaking dick as he lazily sat on his desk chair with his trousers hanging around his ankles. Hotch’s eyes go wide for a second as he quickly puts the pictures away only making his subordinates blush grow a burning pink. The team share a few glances and connect the dots in an instant. “Morgan you have experience in obsession crimes.. what do you think this is?” Hotch asks after analyzing the letter he spoke up “Are these the only “gifts” you’ve gotten? any other notes we should know about?” morgan glances up at him making sure to put emphasis on the word “gifts”

“I-I mean theres always a lingering feeling im being watched and I got a bouquet of flowers last monday along with a letter every other day from a “secret admirer” but I didn’t think much of it.. I just assumed some neighborhood boy was playing a prank on me..” he says running his fingers through his silky brunette hair, clearly stressed out “looks like you’ve got a groupie” spencer looks back down to morgan “HUH?” morgan hands the letter back to spencer “The writing is clearly written by a female, its dainty and not aggressive.. almost as if to show her love and devotion to you instead of threatening you. That isnt to say she wont get violent later on.. it may trigger her to see you with another woman around her age maybe something set her off and decided to finally make her move.” hotch lets out a breath “Morgan, Reid, you stay here and find a motive, Prentiss and I will go to the scene and try to get more geographical information on how they even managed to take these photos.. wheels up in 30” and with that everyone’s getting to work.

They made a geographic profile, retraced steps, came up with a profile and even a plan on how to catch the unsub. “We think our unsub is a female in her mid 20s, if you were to cross her path shed blend right in, shes not very confident or careful but she is smart, if you bumped into her she’d apologize even if it wasnt her fault, she has an obsessive personality though she probably doesn’t even realize it odds are if she were to go through a psychotic break she would only go after Spencer or people close to him so we don’t have to worry about civilian safety” after notifying the local PD they develop a plan.. Emily was going to pretend to be Spencers girlfriend, holding hands on the subway, walking him home, spending time in his apartment ect, to get a rise out of the unsub, it was a long shot that youd even buy it if youve been stalking spencer but it was worth a try “you sure you got this?” she looks up at Hotch as he adjust her mic pack and silently nods as Spencer copies her movement.

That afternoon he and Emily walk out of the subway station hand in hand making their way to his apartment, god Spencer wasn’t lying.. Emily could feel eyes on her but couldn’t pin point where they came from but they managed to make goosebumps arise from her. That night there was no love letter at his door. This was either the start of a psychotic break or you backing down. Morgan was stationed at the location they assumed the photographs were taken, assuming you’d come back. Emily spent the night at spencers place and left during the early hours of the morning to make it all the more convincing. After she left Spencer did his morning routine like usual, a shower, setting the coffee pot, changing, grabbing his satchel and heading out but he was stopped by a piece of paper that was stuck between the front door and the frame, falling onto the ground. The note was different, it seemed messy and rushed. It read “Im still here” a shiver ran down his spine. His gut told him to just get on the subway and go to work and develop his highly intelligent team but his brain told him to take matters into his own hands. He stormed out of his building and made his way onto the sidewalk hoping to be able catch you before you got too far. He had the profile now all he needed to do was find you and he knew just how to do that. He stormed into the subway station proceeding to walk a little faster than usual. He felt eyes on him and immediately he turned around and met your eyes by sheer luck. He kept his eyes on you and you stayed frozen in place looking away from his gaze but not moving an inch.. could it be you? He knew morgan always trusted his gut and maybe it was time he did the same. As he started approaching you your eyes went wide and you sped walked away. You fit the profile, the only thing they didn’t mention was how attractive you were. He caught up to you quickly having the advantage of long legs “hey” he puts a hand on your shoulder giving you goosebumps “im meeting my girlfriend for coffee but I dont know which track to take.. do you think you could help me?” he give you a nice smile that you return but he notices your demeanor going cold at the word girlfriend.

“yeah totally! where are you meeting?” your fists are clenched at your sides, this was almost too easy “Virginia coffee house” he says simply “you’re gonna want to take the 53, it should get here in about 10 minutes.. that’s actually where im heading too” he smiles a little wider “I don’t suppose you mind waiting with me then?” you nod “not at all!…” you fidget with your fingers “actually im gonna go to the restroom” you turn to rush off with him hot on your heels, he wont forgive himself if he lets you get away.. he has to trust his gut when it’s screaming right at him he needs to know more. He follows you into the bathroom at the station which is thankfully empty and locks the door behind him “Spencer what are you doing?” you say and quickly realize your mistake as his expression falters “I never said my name was spencer..” your eyes widen as you start to back up into the sink “sorry I- my brains all scattered” you try to play it off with a laugh but hes not laughing. He starts to get closer and closer to you as you continue to step back “heres what I think and feel free to correct me if im wrong, but just know ill know if you’re lying, I study human behavior for living but of course you already knew that” your backed up completely into the sink and have nowhere to run as he continues to get closer until he finally towers over you face inches apart “I think you’re my little groupie.. I think you watched me get off and took pictures to touch yourself too.. I think you leave love letters at my door.. I think you’re jealous of my fake girlfriend and I think..” he whisper the next words right into your ear “you’re desperate for me” he hates to admit it but some animalistic part of him just wants to take you right there in the bathroom and make you scream his name to humiliate you just as you did to him. You’d proudfully admit that his accusations made your panties soaking wet, having to squeeze your thighs together for any friction.

Just then a loud knock at the door interrupts you both breaking away “whys the door locked?” you hear through the door “you’re right” you say before speeding off and disappearing into the crowd as soon as the lady at the door gets it open. Spencer rushes out ignoring the strange looks he gets but ultimately looses you. He lets out an exasperated sigh and with that hes on his way to work.

Coming back to an empty apartment was never fun but he couldn’t shake his head off with what happened just a few hours prior in that bathroom. He starts palming himself through his trousers and groans wishing it was you. He unbuttons his jeans and pull out his dick, stroking it as it fill the room with the wet sounds of his precum smearing all over his shaft “fuck” he sits at his desk and there he sees you. You’re on the balcony of the building across the street. The complex next to the one morgan was previously situated at the day prior. Camara leaning next to you, phone in one hand as your other hand starts to glide down your abdomen between your thighs successfully getting a whimper out of Spencer.. hes never been this exposed. He hears his phone ring and you mouth at him to answer it and he obeys. You let out breathy whines as you start to circle your clit matching the pace of the hand wrapped around his dick. His eyes are open staring straight at you, he dosent want to miss a single second of this. His own morality not even bothering him anymore, not when he feels this good and has this view. “Fuck” He stands up from his seat and walk closer to the window, he starts to glide his hand faster even teasing himself by running his finger through his slit “mmm” he knows you can hear him but he cant hold back his sounds god hes never felt this good under his own touch, he thinks it’s pathetic he has to imagine its your even though you’re only a few feet away. “faster” he demands. His ty is loosened but his shirt is still on and how you wish you could just see all of him, you insert 2 fingers into yourself struggling because theyre not long enough to give you as much pleasure as you need, you lean over the edge and hold on to the railing of the balcony giving spencer a better peek at your tits “you’re fucking c- crazy” he says with heavy pants inbetween every word “me? im not the one stroking my dick to my “stalker” god you hated that word but you heard him refer to you as that before, he lets out a deep growl “yeah well im not the stalker” the call is filled with whines and moans from both ends, you start nearing your climax “im gonna- hah-“ your words are cut off by your loud whimpers “aww cmon baby- you can write someone whos never even seen you heartfelt love letters but cant- ah finish- mm your own sentence” hes teasing but in reality hes in the same position as you “fuck- you” his open mouth turns into a smirk “bet youd like that” thats it, something in you snaps and your practically screaming and writhing in place as Spencer delivers his final pumps to his cock before he’s leaking cum onto his own chest with heavy whines as he tries to catch his breath with his eyes closed.

When he finally opens them to see you shock is evident in his face when you’re already gone and the line is left ringing. He buttons his pants and runs to his front door trying to catch you but instead his eyes land on another envelope. He opens it expecting it to be another love letter and pictures of him jacking it only to be met with photographs of YOU touching yourself, your mouth dropped open, hand on your pussy, only showing the bottom half of your face, the note attached reads “you have my phone number now.. id appreciate going on a date with you before you turn me in - your dearest Y/N” god this was going to be fun.

[pinksugarscrub]

Since all I need to do is to ask, here I am 😎

Would you write a part 2 for Deja Vu? 🥺🥺

Pretty please? 🥺🥺

[eng it's not my first language]

I can imagine already, reader avoiding Hobie a little, but their job is their priority (at least for her) and cant really refuse missions which they need to work on in together. At some point Hobie somehow catches a glimpse of the faded scar and asks the reader how she got it.

Would reader tell him that "he" was their canon event? Would she be able to get closer to him? Would something happen?

Oooh, Im curious ~( - o-)~

“the experience of feeling unfamiliar with something that is actually very familiar” - Jamais vu

parts: 1, 2 (current)

word count: 1,959

warnings: angst, near death, heavy themes, grief

beta reader: @hyperfix-wip

~

The pain, the anguish. Hobie’s seen it a hundred times over. A gaping wound worse than heartbreak because at least with heartbreak you could move forward. Try new things, become a new person but grief? 

It’s as simple as a slip of his fingers. A crack in the foundation. 

It hurt so much worse when there was a possibility something could have been done. Something he could have prevented if he was just an inch closer, a hair fast enough.

Death was a different concept depending on who you asked. Hobie liked to believe people weren’t afraid of dying, they were actually just afraid they hadn’t lived their life to the fullest.

He wasn’t a hero, not by any means but—if he could prolong someone’s life. Give them a chance to wake up in the arms of their loved ones again. If he could be who Spider-Man was meant to be. Hobie considered his life fulfilled.

Now, Hobie knows he isn’t dying but falling from a two-story building isn’t exactly a walk in the park. His lungs hurt, in fact his whole body aches but his lungs are the most pressing matter.

He lays there wheezing. Silently cursing and staring at the ceiling. Miguel will wring his neck for this and he doesn’t even want to think about how disappointed you’ll be. Maybe not disappointed because Hobie can rarely get a reaction out of you that isn’t annoyed or dissatisfied. Right now he isn’t in the mood for either.

He’ll just wait in this pile of rubble and he’s not at all opposed. You’ll finish off medieval Rhino, capture said anomaly, and then call for a medic. 

…Maybe he should call for a medic.

“Hobie!”

A voice rings out loud and clear but how do they know his name? His fingers twitch but he can’t bring himself to raise them high enough to check if his mask is still intact. When had his eyes closed?

Through the murky fog of his mind Hobie can hear concrete shattering. A weight lifting from his chest then pressure.

“No, please—” 

Water? On his cheeks?

“Wake up, wake up!”

His eyes feel so heavy. Maybe he was dying.

“Hobie don’t leave me again! Hobie!”

It would explain the pain in your voice. 

Fuck he was tired.

-

“Hobie!” Your voice breaks again. 

His heartbeat is slow, way too slow. You could shock him. Enough adrenaline in his system would shoot him awake but you can’t. You could hurt him. Make things worse. Kill him, again.

You can’t stop the sobs that rack your body or the tears streaming down your face. You can’t think about what the right thing to do is. Had you doomed him by even being associated with him?

How could this mission have gone so terribly wrong? You were watching him. You were always watching him. 

He was happy. He was healthy. He was living without you. What more could the world want from you? 

“Stay with me,” you beg. Shaking his shoulders with another sob before you lay your head on his chest. “Please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you again.”

“Spider-Woman.”

It barely registers in your mind Jess and a few other spiders have arrived, including Miguel. 

“Hey,” Jess whispers. Gently placing a hand on your shoulder but you don’t move. “You need to let us help him (y/n).”

You shake your head furiously. Holding onto his body with a grip that was sure to leave bruises. 

Jess sighs, glances over to Miguel, then steps back. Ushering the team she had gathered after your distress call a little ways away. “Scan the wreckage. Rhino is still on the loose.”

“Now,” she commanded. Watching the pitying looks vanish as they scattered.

“Kid.” 

You shrugged off Miguel's touch but he was quick to grab onto your arm regardless. Shaking you harshly. “Kid if you don’t let go he will die. You have a choice to make here.”

“I don’t want to leave him,” you blubbered. “Please don’t make me leave him.”

“You have to. Right now I need you to be strong.” Miguel’s tone softened as he leaned closer. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you apart. You have a chance to fix what I couldn’t. Take it Spider-Woman.”

A beat of silence then two as your hands slowly slide away. You don’t hesitate to stare down the spiders assigned to him. On wobbly legs you stand, prepared to follow—

“Fuck him up, (y/n).”

That gut feeling, that hopelessness turns to anger. A fire you’ve quelled every time you pass the R.A.F.T. You turn, fist clenched and shoulders shaking. “Where’s Rhino?”

“That isn’t going to solve anything,” Miguel warns sternly.

“Where’s Rhino?” You repeat. Prepared to yell at the top of your lungs. “I’ll find him with or without you so where’s Rhino!?”

-

Four days later 

“Fucking hell…” Hobie groans. Holding the side of his head. 

Bending his finger he pauses. Bending it again he opens his eyes to find a pulse oximeter. It’s then he hears the beeps of a heart monitor. He isn’t in a hospital, though.

Squinting around the dark room Hobie recognizes this as the medical wing next to the training simulators. He didn’t even know this room had more than cotton balls and band-aids. 

“What happened…?” He whispers under his breath. 

“Good, you’re awake.”

“What the shit!” Hobie screeches. Clutching his head when it pulses at his temples. 

“Right,” The elderly woman sighs. Sitting down in a stool much too small to even be called a stool. “You’re forbidden from any extraneous physical activity for two weeks.”

She flicks through a clipboard. Tapping on the second page with another sigh. “You may not be present in spaces where the decibel level will exceed eighty—” 

Hobie sits up straighter. Ignoring the gap in the thin hospital he wore, it was grating against his skin. “What? I have a concert on-”

“Friday,” she finishes. Looking down her nose through rounded glasses. “Considering it’s now Tuesday you don’t have to concern yourself with the matter.”

He scoffs, profanities at the ready—

“For (y/n)’s sake, I suggest you adhere to these rules before she busts a fuse.”

Hobie’s head spins and the woman must take it as confusion as she speaks her next words slowly.

“(y/n) (l/n), the girl you nearly killed by dying yourself.”

You?

“Hobie don’t leave me again!”

You.

“Where-?” 

“She’s resting, same as you. Neither of you need any excitement right now but seeing as you’re going to ignore me—” She gestured half heartedly in another direction. Bracing her hands on her knees she stands with a huff. In the light Hobie can see the deep circles under her eyes. “Come with me.”

Hobie doesn’t hesitate. His knees almost give but the woman shoves a surprisingly strong hand in his direction. Steadying him which he greatly appreciates and voices with a grimace.

“Cassandra, Doctor Webbs is adequate.”

“Webbs?” Hobie chokes. 

“I will let you fall.”

He corrects himself with a loud clearing of his throat. “Webbs it is.”

The medical socks stick against the tile. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. One reminiscent of cotton candy between your fingers.

Every step he takes just brings up more questions. How could someone who couldn’t even stand the sight of him cry so deeply for him? Only staying in the same room if you had to. Smiling to keep up false pretenses of politeness.

Hobie remembers the painful constriction in his lungs. The pressure on his chest. The absolute panic in your voice. 

Did you feel guilty? Did you regret treating him so poorly when he couldn’t understand what he had done to deserve the cold shoulder?

Please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you again.

Whatever it was, he was getting answers.

“Be gentle.” 

Cassandra spoke with a quietness that had Hobie's heart dropping to his stomach. Her heels clicked into the hall before they disappeared. For privacy he supposed.

He held his breath. What was stopping him now as his hand hovered over the curtain? 

Hobie!

Was there something he didn’t want to hear? 

“She’s got her head up Miguel’s ass is what she does,” he scoffed quietly. He almost felt guilty at the disapproval on Pavitr’s face.

“She hasn’t told me much but you can agree that this job isn’t easy. Sometimes we cope in ways we don’t understand.”

He wanted to hate you. 

He wanted to hate how respectful you were to Miguel that enough of it caused you to tolerate him. He wanted to hate how you dictated every action taken on missions you were assigned on together. He wanted to hate the curves of your face, the softness of your skin but he couldn’t bring himself to hate someone who could look so broken when they thought no one was watching.

He couldn’t explain the love he had for you. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t pity. You weren’t friends. But he wanted you to be happy, safe. It was his life’s purpose, his duty as Spider-Man to save people.

Why did you look so sad every time you looked at him?

His lungs burned so he slowly exhaled. Peeling the curtain away he finds you already looking at him. The flimsy hospital gown you were given limp beside you.

You’re the first to speak.

“You’re ok.”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff. He hadn’t realized how dry his tongue was.

Hobie’s eyes wander to your side. A scar runs from your rib to your hip. He takes the first chance he gets at conversation.

“Did that happen today? Not today-” he stutters. “I mean, Thursday. The- it was Thursday.”

The shake of your head is barely noticeable. “No, this was from a long time ago.” Tracing a hand over the old wound you hold his gaze. “See?”

“Right.” He swallows. Shuffling awkwardly until he sits beside you. “So…where did it come from?”

You take a moment. Like you’re calming your nerves. Like you're preparing to give him all the answers he wants.

“Doc Ock.”

“Ah.”

Finding interest in the bandages around your knuckles he looks there. Those must be fresh and definitely from Rhino.

“Hobie?”

He snaps his eyes up to your face again. “Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry.” Licking your cracked lips you continue. “For everything.”

“Everything?” He chuckles. Hoping to break the tension. “You have to be more specific shortstack.”

You look away. Letting out a barely restrained snort.

Hobie is of course, elated. “Was that a laugh? Did I just hear a laugh?”

Rolling your eyes you turn back. Wringing your hands together when they grow clammy. “Shut up. No one asked.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I just did,” he grins. Hesitating before placing his hands over your own.

“Smartass.”

“Just admit you think I’m funny and I’ll leave you alone.”

“In your dreams stickbug.”

“Oh, we’re resorting to name calling now?”

“I am.”

“Look who’s the smart ass now.”

“Hobie!” You laugh. A real laugh that shows all your teeth and the wrinkle between your eyebrows. 

It feels natural, this feels natural yet Hobie knows he’s never experienced this before. Not with you.

“Listen,” he exhales. Biting the bullet. “Whatever there was between us, it’s history. All I care about is now.”

You look at him with such…relief. It makes the feeling in his gut vanish. 

“You mean…we can start over?”

“Till we get it right,” he promises. Moving his hand to poke your side. He doesn’t know why he did it. He blames it on these new churning of his stomach. “I’ll even be your nurse until we’re out of this place.”

A smile slowly returns to your face.

“I think I’m already starting to heal.” 

~

I hope this was up to your expectations! This was giving me a lot of trouble because I couldn't decide what the "right" pathway to go was. R herself went through something traumatic so it wouldn't have been easy to share what happened in her dimension so I decided to let her tell some truth to her injury but not the whole situation. It wouldn't be fair in my mind to project expectations on Hobie because he is an entirely different version of R's Hobie which is exactly what R did. She let her guilt create a complex where she did not deserve Hobie's friendship because she failed her own Hobie. By the end of the story that changes and now they can truly see each other as people and eventually friends. In my mind she'll eventually tell him but when they're much closer and there's a possibility they feel more for each other.

Thank you for reading!