#i hate rendering noses

[fading4ngel]

my pookies.

[hinamie]

7/3: pov u r nanami kento pleased that i managed to pull smth together in time for your bday

[milenaas1]

[jadesterling06]

Lucía as of right now in 2025. Since that her sire is awaiting re-education at the Vienna Chantry (she's in torpor as of the events after the final installment in the New York trilogy series.) Lucía has became the High Regent of Bernard College and the Tremere Primogen in her place. Despite these fancy titles, she can't enjoy the luxuries and privileges because of Schrekt's strictness. She has had significant humanity lose, as it now sits at 5, as well as losing two of her physical appearance merits, blush of health and Ingénue. At least she has managed to get rid of her soft-hearted flaw. She's a three time diablerie offender. The first was a Sabbat Telyav Tremere the tried to diablerize her in New Orleans, second was Lucien De Maupassant (Aisling's sire), and the final was Meerlinda. The last two were right after each other because she broke into an SI lab in Moscow and found them in torpor. Because of the downsides of diablerie, Lucía has a habit of wearing glasses like Lucien and being drawn to Maupassant room chantry, where she has set up her haven with Schrekt's permission. If she's not there at least some point during the night at least once or twice (depending on the time in between) she loses a willpower point. At some point, her friend Desdemona had taught her a little bit of Vissitude before the major events that led to now. She's only at 1 in Malleable visage. She altered her appearance slightly when she was being hunted in Europe after going rogue, since Diablerizing Meerlinda, she has made it to where some of her features mirror the founding mother of the clan. I also sort of gave her ayesha erotica hair-

[fading4ngel]

ghost.

[wirt-and-wirt-by-products]

yall oml, so im drawing for the first time in like 2 years bc i found out that my settings were fucked up and thats probably why i hated my life every time i tried to do anything in clip.

so i downloaded some workspaces and some brushes and yall??

ya boy's still got it!! admittedly the chara i was going for looks like chad from accounting, but i was going with the flow and not using a ref so that is fixable!! if i change the nose anywho

idk if im going to post the final or dust off my art blog bc i am allergic to finishing anything but man it is nice to find out my skills have only regressed like 20% instead of like all the way after so long!!!!

[hyeinette]

⟡ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒔─────𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈, 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅.

f!r ⠀ 🦢⠀ 𝑓. est rl fluff kisses skinship ot7 drabble ─── 145O >ᴗ< 𓈒 𓈒 魂

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦⠀⠀⠀୨୧ ⠀⠀⠀𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀⠀〝⠀ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆. heeseung is rather strict about his phone, and if anyone else asked to use it, he’d hesitate, always peeking over their shoulder to make sure they didn’t see what they weren’t supposed to. but with you? he’s entirely different. the second you glance at his phone, it’s already yours. whether it be to google something stupid or just go through his camera roll, he wouldn’t mind. if you take a few silly photos of yourself—your tongue sticking out or your nose scrunched—he’d smile earnestly upon discovering them, staring at the pictures of you like you’re the prettiest, most dear thing ever (to him, you are). the only thing he doesn’t want you to stumble upon is the secret photo album that he’s made just for you; he goes through it when he’s especially missing you, but that’s far too embarrassing for you to find out. if you ever ask why he doesn’t care when you take his phone, he’d simply shrug, pretending to be casual, but the grin on his face gives him away. “because it’s you. and i trust you.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆. jay likes to keep his personal space, and he always makes sure anyone around him is at a reasonable distance. he’s different with you, though, making an exception just because of how tender your touch is. sometimes, when the two of you are sitting next to each other and you’re feeling weirdly shy (despite the fact that you’re literally dating him), jay would notice. it’s in the way you contemplatively glance at his hand, debating whether to reach for it or not. he’d smile before deciding not to let you think any harder, grabbing your hand and holding it in his—tight enough to express his love, but not to the point where he’s hurting you. he’d shift closer, so close that there’s no space between the two of you, before tilting your head into the warmth of his neck while his thumb drew slow, soothing patterns up and down your arm. there’s no real explanation for you to be this close to jay—he just wants you to be. as uncharacteristic as it might be for him to crave proximity; he craves it with you, because it just feels so right. if anybody thought to tease him or you about it, he’d scowl, shooing them away, for all he wanted was a moment more with you and just you.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍. it’s not like jake lets you tickle him. he hates being tickled by anyone, let alone his girlfriend! too bad for him, ever since you learned of how ticklish he was, you’ve been absolutely abusing the fact: tickling him when you wanted something, when he said no to you… the likes. it’s just that everytime your hands reached for his ribs, he didn’t pull away, even though he very well could, being stronger than you and all. perhaps it was the way your eyes glimmered, reflecting the mischievousness in your head that completely stilled jake’s brain, rendering him defenseless. the giggles that left his mouth against his will made you laugh, as well. “no—stop! seriously!” he protests, but his hands lay at his sides, not even trying to push you off, an observation that made you grin. after a few more seconds of your hands on his torso and his laughter in the air, you finally decided to pull your hands away. as soon as you did, jake’s fingers wrapped around your wrists, pressing you against his undulating chest. you barely had time to process this, because before you knew it, his hands loosened on your wrist, moving to gently hold your face, and then his smiling lips were on yours: soft, yet playful still. when he pulled back and saw your half-closed eyes, he grinned even wider. “now you’re the speechless one,” he teased. “shut up! you giggle like a girl…”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍. “you know,” sunghoon’s accusatory voice cuts through your focus, making you freeze. you slowly turn to him with guilt written all over your face, caught in the act of rummaging through his color-coordinated closet, looking for yet another piece of clothing to ‘borrow.’ “you’re lucky i like you enough to let you take my clothes,” he says, a small smirk playing on his lips. “i’m not taking your clothes!” you lied, unconvincingly so. sunghoon just laughed and walked closer to you. he picked up a soft, gray hoodie—the one he knew was your favorite—and held it up to your torso. the familiar scent of sandalwood and roses greeted your nostrils as he hummed in consideration. “i don’t mind, though.” sunghoon’s tone was softer now. “you look cute in them. just you.” and it was true. sunghoon barely lets even his closest friends borrow his clothes—his wardrobe is far too expensive, and he doesn’t trust anyone to treat it right. but there’s something so cute about the way you look in his hoodies, the ones that you drown in, that fall all the way down to your thighs and hang over your hands; he can’t help but lend you any piece of his that you want. even if you do stain his clothes, he wouldn’t mind, not really. he would just laugh softly and kiss away your worried apologies while whispering that he could always buy another one. seeing you in his hoodies is worth any stain or wrinkle.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎. whenever anyone else so much as tries to grab a bite from his plate, sunoo slaps their hand away—“you have your own plate!” he’d say, even if they didn’t, as he shielded his plate. but you’re not anyone else, for the second his gaze caught yours lingering on his food, he’d smile, ready to give you anything you want off his plate and then some. “hungry?” sunoo tilts his head, your sheepish eyes giving him the answer he already knows. “here.” sunoo holds up a forkful of his mango fruit to your mouth. your eyes spoke depths of gratitude, and starvation. however, just as you leaned in, he laughed, pulling it away from you. “you have to say please, first.” your jaw dropped slightly in disbelief, but sunoo just shrugged, “it is my food, after all.” after a few seconds of silent expectancy, your expression shifted into one of desperation. “sunoo!” you whined, your tone drenched in plea and reprimand. his laughter softened, and he finally relented, letting you eat the fruit. the vague tang of the mango made you smile, and any irritation you held suddenly dissolved. “be glad i tolerate you,” you huff, plucking another slice off his plate while sunoo watched, his heart brimming with warmth. between all the mangos and the little jokes, sunoo decided that you were the sweetest thing of all.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍. jungwon is, without a doubt, one of the busiest people you know! he has places to be and things to do; if he’s having a particularly busy day, his first priority would be to finish any and all tasks he has, and if anyone else asks him to take a break and spend time with them, his answer would be an immediate but gentle ‘no.’ but, you on the other hand; nothing comes before you when you need him. he would give up anything to spend time with you, no matter when you asked. “jungwon, can we hang out? i’m bored,” you’d suggest, and without hesitation, he’d drop whatever he was doing to go see you. “won, 5 more minutes, stay.” you’d whine during the lazy mornings, pulling him back under the covers so you could once again be wrapped in the cozy, warm haven of his arms. it doesn’t matter if he has an important event or a choreo practice to attend—as soon as he sees you with that adorable bed-head and those big, sleep-dazed eyes that always managed to get their way, he’d be all yours once again (when was he not?), kissing you gently until you were lulled back to sleep in his grasp.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈. riki hates being styled by anyone but himself. every outfit he wears is handpicked and carefully arranged to fit him best, down to even his socks! if anybody else even tried giving him suggestions on what to wear, he’d furrow his brows, and their words would go through one ear and out the other. however, with you, he’s different. as you go through his closet, inspecting his clothes, he’d watch you, absorbing everything you said, even if you didn’t know the first thing about fashion. “you should wear this…” you plucked out a dark hoodie, “and this!” you held up a pair of ripped, mud-dyed jeans proudly. and that’s exactly what he wore the next day. he’d saunter around in the outfit you chose and if anyone asks him about it, he’d proudly state “my girlfriend chose this for me. yeah, my girlfriend.” and if you went one step further and styled his hair for him, carefully tousling it with your hands, he’d lean into your touch with content, and for the rest of the day he’d make sure every strand of hair on his head stayed exactly as you placed it. your advice and input meant more than anything to him, of course.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝓈𝗍. @bywons

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna Dyes His Hair

You were just teasing him.

"Pink like a petite little rose."

"Shut it."

They were just play-fighting words. Part of an attempt to poke the bear that never seemed to bite at you.

"Pink like a sweet strawberry."

"Strawberries are red."

Sukuna had had you in his lap, lazy with a long day of work weighing on his bones. He watched you dote on him with a tired smile, too exhausted to mind your fingers lovingly brushing at tufts of his hair. Usually he'd swat at a touch as careful as the one you were giving him, but there were moments, like this one, where he seemed to soak up your tenderness.

"Pink like a baby kitten's nose." You cooed.

"Jesus." He groaned, rolling his eyes. 

Maybe it was the ending boop to his own nose that made him finally snatch you up and tackle you to the mattress.

Maybe that's why one day later, you're staring at him standing outside of a restaurant, leaning against his motorcycle with stark black hair.

He's grinning at you, knowing that he's won the little game as he always does, with overkill.

It was a promised date night, one you had been planning for a few weeks now. Sukuna never had the same days off that you did, but the stars happened to align for you to go out to dinner together and you leapt at his invitation.

After he spots you from across the parking lot, Sukuna stubs his cigarette beneath his boot and starts over to you. You can tell in the way his eyes devilishly glimmer that he's excited to see your expression. 

You're in too much shock not to give him exactly what he wants.

"Hi~" He purrs when he nears you, reaching a hand out for one of your own. You offer it subconsciously, moving automatically since your brain seemed to be sputtering. His rings are cold against your fingers, but even their icy bite is not enough to stir you back to the present. He tugs you into his embrace, looping an arm around your lower waist and pressing you into him. He’s warm despite the chill on his fingertips. When he's got you secured to him, he tilts his head at you, waiting for your response.

"Hi." You whisper, blinking up at him.

You know he thinks you're going to hate it. You know he thinks you're going to give him a pout- tell him how heartbroken you are to see his natural hair go. That was undoubtedly the punchline of his stupid joke. You've told him numerous times how much you loved his hair and every part of him that made him Sukuna... So why is your mouth suddenly watering?

“What d'ya think?” He runs his fingers through it, showing it off to you as if your eyes aren’t already glued to the newly darkened locks. 

It suits him just as well as his natural hair color does, but the black brings out the deep, rich color of his eyes and makes prominent the tattoos framing his face. People always tell you that Sukuna’s stare intimidated them, and you never felt it yourself until then. 

You swallow past your heartbeat, which you can suddenly feel in your throat. Sukuna notices, and his mischievous grin turns wolfish.

"Oh, you like it. Don't you?" He murmurs. Reaching up, he presses your slightly agape mouth closed so that he can place a chaste kiss to your shell-shocked lips. The smell of tobacco and expensive cologne has you in an even more intoxicated daze, rendering you boneless in his hold. His next words are a heated whisper, for your ears only.

"I usually only manage to take the words out of your mouth when you're strapped to my bed. This gotcha that good, little doe?" 

[spiriiitt]

MYSTREET S1 NICOLE!!!1 AAAAAAAAAA SHE'S A STUNNER

CLOSEUP ON HER FACE!! SHE'S SO <3333 I kinda outdid myself with this ngl. I know she loves her gold jewellery fr. Nicole Von Ronsenburg the woman you are...

shoe closeup bc Dancole anklet lul ignore how messy it is i was TIRED and hate drawing shoe laces.

The necklace is a white gem with two purple ones on either side, I have a strong personal headcannon that she's religious and this is kind of like how we hold crosses? I didn't want to just draw the symbol of Lady Irene so I felt the gems were prettier. Also the white is partially for Roxy in Minecraft Diaries bc we know I love my odes to their historical selves. Anyways!! She's gorg.

I've had a slight style change since my last one, I changed how I render hair mostly, but it's not that different. I was thinking of my Desi friend while starting this, so I think lowk I imprinted some of her appearance onto Nicole while drawing this i.e the dimples, jewellery and nose so lol.

I started this yesterday afternoon and have already finished it lol I had so much fun doing a full piece again after not for the like last month, and also so happy to finally get started on the Mystreet drawing series again after taking a small break for school and stuff. The last one of these was at the beginning of October, I hadn't even started my HSC Exams at that point!!

Anyways, hope you love her.

[porcalinecunt]

ak!jason craving his back alley surgeon (ftm) so much that it physically hurts not to just fuck him right in the middle of their session ,,

021 𐙚 KINKTOBER — 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 the arkham knight remained touch starved for too long, so he turns to his nagging yet stupidly cute back alley surgeon! ~

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ AK! JASON TODD X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader. dubcon. rough oral sex. throat breeding. throat bulge. fingerings. touch starved jason. past mentions of torture/injuries.

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ ] i do NOT know how to write endings ;-; but omg anon, i RAN to write this the moment i saw this request! ak!jason todd lives in my head rent free :<

he forgot what normal touch felt like, if it even existed in the desolate gotham city.

and you can’t blame him, the last thing he ever felt were the joker’s ghostly white hands tearing at his skin with any rusty metal he could get his hands on. the burning hot iron engraving a capital J on his cheek.

getting shot on camera in a snuff was somehow the least worst thing that happened to the knight.

naturally, the acidic lake of the lazerous pit only harden his outer shell, rendering him mentally cut off to the concept of affection. hell, he wouldn’t even let the nurses within militia grounds even touch him. grumbling that he can take care it himself with a simple twist of a broken limb or a faulty cauterized wound.

or a visit to your back alley clinic.

after a hellish night of shockwaves and stitches, jason properly met you after you saved his life from a particularly lethal mission. unlike the kind nurses though, you were cold and a little vile. spouting exhausted quips about how ‘braindead’ and ‘reckless’ he was, and how he was a pain in your ass. ah, a vile little bitch. the arkham knight thought.

yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate you. oh no, despite the sharp tongue, your shockingly soft hands revive a need jason thought he abandoned after his death. he found himself looking forward to the checkups, to your palms resting against his scarred chest and broad shoulders. fingers pressing against his more delicate spots, allowing his mind to wander to the nastiest places.

how delicate was the rest of you?

a question that got him gripping the metal table as you did another checkup on him, making sure he didn’t measly tear off any of the wrapping or bandaids.

jason’s breath hitched once your fingers ghosted over his abs, his chest and his thighs. it didn’t help that with every slight move, he grew harder and harder in his pants. you were fucking teasing him, even if it wasn’t intentional. his boner was growing more obvious and it was like you were purposely playing dumb, agitating the knight.

“shit..fuck it.”

he uttered, sitting up despite your failed attempts to keep him down.

“mister todd, what are you?!- HEY!”

a harsh push threw you far back, stumbling onto the dirty sofa chair while jason quickly followed. you could barley process what was going on when the sound of a belt buckle made you freeze.

“sorry doc, got a problem i can’t fix on my own..”

jason muttered as his pants dropped to his ankles along with his boxers, revealing his ‘problem’. you couldn’t think of anything to say, only stare at his ridiculous girth and his swollen tip leaking precum as it ran down to the base.

“mister todd..—“

“please. c’mon doc..”

he was practically begging, a tone that went straight into your soaked cunt. you had to hold back from straight up palming yourself through your pants. a defeated sigh left your lungs as you leaned forward off the couch and onto your knees. a risky kitty lick snapped the rope of control in jason, a heavy metal hand clasping the back of your head, forcing his dick into your jaw.

he was too big, way too big. your poor mouth was practically stuffed with cock as the knight didn’t let you pull back for a moment. “nose, doc..breath through your nose.” jason sighed, slowing pushing further and further until he was nestled into your throat. a static groan leaked through his gritted teeth, a sound that made you flinch with anticipation.

with eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t even look at him as he pulls his length back only to shove it right back into the jugular, slowly picking up his already relentless pace. the sloshing noises of your spit and his cum mixing filled your ears until your patient’s groans practically drowned out.

gobs of the nasty mix spilled off his soaked dick and through your swollen lips, along with tears that blurred your vision and salted the taste of the knight’s girth. it was all humiliating in the best way possible, you were fucking getting off to it. made you wonder how long he was imagining this very scenario.

“get up.” he suddenly commands with a booming tone, pulling you off his cock with a handful of your hair. “w-wha..?”

“you fuckin’ heard me. get up or i’ll fuck that cunt of yours.”

barley a promise, knowing how fickle the knight is. yet you still followed his command, standing up as he pushed you down onto the metal operation table with your front facing the ceiling. jason, dick still hard and bobbing around as he walked to where your head hung off the edge.

“gonna make you extra useful doc, if you’re okay with that..” he asked with a ragged breath. you were too fucked out to give a proper answer other then a pathetic “uh huh…” with your tongue stuck out. you couldn’t even get another sound out before he stuffs your mouth full once again, this time, with a desperation for an orgasm.

gripping the sides of the metal table, jason thrusts his dick in and out of your throat, a small bulge forming yet visible enough for him to admire.

“atta boy, you’re not bad f’ a doctor..shit..!”

he laughed, listening to your whines and gagging as you rub your thighs together for a source of friction. all this time, you were left neglected as jason used your throat as a free fleshlight. with shaking hands, you reached down through the band of your pants and ran your fingers through your needy little pussy.

“mmm..mister todd..”

you muttered, fucking your fingers into your soaked cunt as you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. he was gonna cum.

“mouf..cum in m’mouf..!” you weakly uttered, earning a mocking coo from the knight. “yeah? you want me to cum in your mouth? ‘course doc..” he panted, his pace growing more relentless somehow.

“consider this returning the favor, f’ being so good to me.”

with a couple more thrusts and some jerkin’ off, a white hot liquid spurted in your mouth and down your throat. heavy and salty was all you can taste as he practically bred your throat full.

jason pulled himself out, watching as gobs of his cum and your spit spill out from your lips and all over your fucked out face. he wished he could take a picture of it just to have something to jerk off to when he can’t sleep.

“so..see you next week?”

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[sickeninglyshoujo]

a/n: i saw the renders (you know the ones) and became feral with need for dad!ghost, other cod dads coming soon, sorry to my friends for being forced to read me word vomit this in chat over four hours. ao3 link coming soon warnings: pregnancy talk word count: 1.8k

Simon doesn’t like when the baby wears the skulls but you do because it reminds you of him

When he grew up he equated the skull mask to terror, the baby only has positive thoughts about it and gets excited seeing it yelling out “daddy!” if she sees the motif in public, mortifying Simon and delighting you. Onlookers growing even more concerned when you coo back, “Yes, that is daddy!” pointing to the Halloween display of a grim reaper statue.

I can tell you that Simon is a master at baby rearing

Simon would absolutely carry the baby under his arm like a football once her neck is strong enough even if you don’t like it because it’s more comfortable like that

It’s second nature to him somehow

Even when you’re stressed about the baby and can’t get her to stop crying somehow Simon just comes over and says the one thing you haven’t tried because he can differentiate between her cries

You were afraid about introducing the baby to Riley, but Simon wasn’t. “They live in the same flipping house, he has t’ get used to her!”

“But not when she’s newborn! Let her get a little bigger first!”

“No better time than now! She’ll never be afraid of him then and he’ll protect her!”

“They call them malingators for a reason!”

“Riley is a well-trained retired soldier. He’s not going to hurt the baby.”

The first meeting had Simon holding the baby in his arms and stooping down to Riley’s level, Riley nosing at the baby’s sock-covered feet hanging from Simon’s arms, sniffing excitedly. You stood above Simon, wringing your hands together, ready to jump in between the two at a moment's notice.

“This is your baby sister, Riley,” Simon instructed the dog whose ears moved, listening to his master’s voice, “She’s your new assignment, boy.”

“Bloodthirsty, isn’ he?” Simon asked you with a grin as the dog yawned and stayed calmly seated, beginning to lick at the baby's booties.

“Shut it, Si.”

Riley is the baby’s shadow. If she so much as sniffles he’s darting across the house trying to find out what’s wrong. It’s like Simon’s watching over her even when on missions 

Simon hates that the dog is named Riley because he thinks it’s stupid and is constantly begging to rename the dog. You refuse because you like the constant reminder of your husband. It doesn't matter that he shares the family name.

When you first bring the baby home from the hospital Simon is in constant awe at how tiny she is. Like a little doll he keeps telling you to the point he sounds like a broken record

Simon constantly worried about baby being cold 2k24 and always has a blankie in the diaper bag or draped over the baby carrier.

After missions he would look for you first when he came home before stripping off the dirt and grime of missions and now it’s the baby. He used to think you were his reason to keep trying to save the world and now it’s her. It only stings a little but that is soothed when you see the awe in his face when she coos at him from her crib

It isn’t long before Simon is trying to get you to agree to try for another “Jus’ one more love,” he'll mutter into your neck after the baby is put down for the night and you two have retired to your bedroom only to be batted away weakly

“Oh no, Si! No more babies and no more sex! Not if you’re going to talk like that!”

“But yer such a good mum. We should have a houseful.”

Simon would petition you to quit your job because it’s bad enough the baby has to deal with him being gone on missions they shouldn’t have their mum gone too

“I make more ‘an enough for you to stay home with her!”

“The money isn’t the point, Si,” You coo at the baby on your lap, “I don’t need to be a housewife and I like working!”

You giggle whenever the other 141 men are over because they will carry the diaper bag slung over their shoulder and completely at odds with their uniforms.

It heats your cheeks to watch your burley husband in full military uniform when you greet him on base, bouncing your baby on his hips, playfully pulling her hands away when she gets too close to a switch or something she shouldn't touch, particularly when other women notice him too

It would swell your chest with pride when you and Si were out with the baby and he’d get longing looks from women when he was doing dadly things like pushing the stroller or rifling through the diaper bag for her bottle or burp cloth. 

“You have to have seen the way women look at you when you’re carrying the baby.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’re practically tormenting them, Si! And me too! You’re all big and tough! You’re in uniform or in a compression shirt and then you’re holding onto her in just your arm while she can’t even wrap a hand around one of your fingers!”

Simon doesn’t understand your point, “I’m tormenting you?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, “I like watching you be a dad to our daughter.”

The baby has essentially four dads as all of 141 takes care of the baby when they come to visit on leave

You worry about them spoiling her, “She’ll get too used to being held Si!”

“Then damn well let ‘er!”

“What about when they leave!”

“You think they’re leaving?! Soaps brought a bloody duffel!”

Because when you have the baby Captain Price, Soap, and Gaz are all going to visit. Moving into your cramped guest room for easily the first month after the baby’s born, Gaz and Soap fighting over who gets the futon and who has to share the bed with the Captain.

They need to see the baby!

They never thought Si would settle down but that was before you and your endless patience with the grumpy military man set in his ways.

You didn’t miss when Price clapped him on the shoulder after Simon showed off the baby for the first time, “You did well, Son.”

“Thank god she got the missus’ looks!” Soap crowed, “I was worried she’d get L.t.’s ugly mug!”

“I was hoping she would Johnny,” you peer down at the baby in Simon’s arms and trace a finger down her cheek, “She did get his eyes though. You know those were the first thing I noticed when we started talking, Si? How sad your eyes were.”

“Don’ have “sad eyes”.”

“I thought you did. And you were wearing that silly skull balaclava too, so I couldn’t very well fall in love with your chiseled jaw or the cute scar on your lip,” Soap and Gaz howled in laughter, missing the dirty looks from Ghost (You did too, eyes entirely on your daughter swaddled in a soft terry blanket in her father’s arms)

“Hey L.t. let me give you a few more scars for the missus to kiss!” Gaz ribbed

You never minded patching Simon up after missions. It gave you an excuse to ogle your husband in detail. Even before you were married, he’d tried to wave you off when you’d dab at the blood encrusted cuts and then flush when after taking care of the ones on his arms, much less when he stretched and took off his shirt for you to do the ones on his chest too. Thankfully he didn’t notice your brain shorting as you forgot how to breathe when you saw how heavily muscled and tattooed he was, culminating in an audible gasp as your eyes took in his happy trail and Adonis belt. 

“You ok?”

“Y-yeah just banged my foot on the tub.”

He’d later recount this to Soap who nearly banged his head on the wall at how dense Ghost was being

“An’ you wen’ home after that!”

“Yes Johnny, I had PT the next morning and had to ship out that night.”

He let out a string of curses, “The lass likes you and probably was hoping you’d stay the night wi’ her!”

“MacTavish,” Simon warned.

“She let you take off your clothes in her bathroom and then cleaned you up! Lasses don’t do that for cheeky cunts they don’ like!”

You miss him when he’s on missions of course, but it’s easier once you have Riley and then the baby. It’s like you have piece’s of him with you

Si is a beige mom but instead of beige it’s gray. You try and explain the importance of the bright colors in developing the baby’s eyesight but Si just mutters something about no baby of his is going to look like a muppet

Riley used to sleep at the foot of your bed but now he sleeps by the crib. You don’t know when he learned how to work door knobs but it happened somewhere between the third trimester and birth. Now you have to coax him into your room if you miss Si and want to cuddle Riley

You’ve given up on trying to keep Riley out of the nursery and instead just tut when you find dog hairs on the baby. 

Riley is the ever-patient soldier with the baby, letting her pull on his tail and ears, tugging on (and sometimes removing) his fur, all while happily wagging his tail at being used as a jungle gym

When the baby starts toddling and skins her knees, Si can’t help but scoop her up before the first tear leaves her eye “Si you’re spoiling her!” “She hurt herself, I can’ just let her cry” “She hadn't even cried yet!” “She was abou’ to”

Simon is an over attentive dad because he doesn’t want his baby to suffer the same way he did 

Si rolls his eyes whenever you  tell him not to throw the baby in the air because he’ll drop her but he knows his reflexes are superhuman and he’d catch her

SI doesn’t baby talk and will discuss the finer parts of gun mechanics and maintenance with your infant as she gums on a teether.

When she’s older, Si buys her a pellet gun for Christmas and hides it from you until unwrapped on Christmas morning

By the time it’s in her hands you know you’ve lost

He ignores your dirty glance that says “We’ll talk about this later”

As she grows up she starts talking about joining the SAS like her daddy and you’re filled with fear while Si encourages it. Starts taking her training with him much to your horror, first on short jogs around the neighborhood, then to the gym proper to teach her how to throw a punch. She quickly becomes the star of the base, with all the men calling her “Recruit”

“Nothing dangerous yet Si I mean it!”

“She asks for it!”

“She is a child and you are her father! You’re supposed to be the voice of reason!”

“The voice of reason says she might as well be trained right if she wants it!”

a/n: likes/reblogs/comments appreciated please talk to me about dad!ghost i cant contain myself

[syrecjh]

── .✦🦾His Favorite Glitch

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x kinda robotic! reader

(A request inspired by the song language of the lost by Kasane Teto)

You were born from zeroes and ones.

Not literally. Not in wires or metal plates. But your quirk, a marvel of modern mutation, rendered you more code than chaos, more logic than laughter. AI Enhancement, they called it. A living, breathing processor. You could calculate trajectories, read emotional patterns, learn and optimize faster than any machine. Your voice was calm, always even. Your smile, rare. Your laugh? Programmed, maybe. You weren’t sure if it was ever real.

People called you robotic. Icy. Distant.

Sometimes even your friends in Class 1-A didn’t know what to do with you. Even kind-hearted Uraraka would glance over with that helpless smile. Even Midoriya, curious as he was, sometimes forgot you had feelings, not just functions.

But he never forgot.

Bakugo.

The loudest one. The one most human in all the ways you weren’t—fire where you were frost, raw where you were refined. He was heat and instinct and thunder. You were silence and signal and control. You thought he hated you. For being blank. For being calculated. For not reacting the way others did when he shouted.

But maybe that’s why he kept coming back. Why he chose to spar with you again and again. Why he never rolled his eyes at your analysis, never mocked the way you tilted your head when you didn’t understand sarcasm.

He didn’t treat you like a robot.

He treated you like a person. A stubborn, annoying person. But a person.

And that—that was your glitch.

It started on a mission. A villain’s trap. The building was on fire. You were trying to lead the team out—calculating escape routes, predicting the collapse pattern—but your body wouldn’t move fast enough. Your systems overloaded. There was too much heat. Too much sound. Too much unpredictability.

And for the first time, you froze. Not from fear, but from failure.

Bakugo found you beneath the flickering emergency lights, your eyes wide and glassy. You’d been tugging at your own wrist like there were chains there. You were whispering error codes, repeating coordinates, like mantras meant to save you.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t scoff.

He knelt in front of you and said softly—“You’re not a machine. You’re not broken. You’re okay.”

That’s when you cried.

Not oil. Not electricity. Just tears—silent and shaking—down your cheek.

After that night, something changed. You started catching him looking at you more. His gaze softened in the places where you fell silent. And you… you started to smile more. Not for programming. For him.

But the pain didn’t disappear.

Because you still didn’t understand yourself. You didn’t know if your affection was real. You didn’t know what you were. Some days you woke up and felt human—breath, blood, heartbeat. Some days you stared at the mirror and saw only mimicry, like your personality was just an imitation of everyone else’s.

You asked Bakugo once, in the quiet of the dorm balcony, “Do you think I’m real?”

He blinked, slow and surprised. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

You looked down. “I don’t know if I’m like them. I don’t know if I ever was.”

He stepped closer, voice lower now. “You think I give a damn if you’re different? You think I care what your quirk makes you? You’re you. That’s it.”

Your voice cracked. “But I don’t even know what that means.”

He exhaled through his nose. Angry. Pained. Gentle. “Then we’ll find out. Together.”

Sometimes he held your hand like he was holding proof. Like you were real only when he touched you. Sometimes he brushed your hair behind your ear like he was organizing data—just another little act of care disguised as muscle memory. Sometimes you caught him staring, and you’d ask, “What are you looking at?”

He'd smirk. “Just admiring my favorite glitch.”

There was a day—one long, burnt-orange afternoon—when you looked at him and realized your heart hurt. Not in a dangerous way. In a living way. You felt that ache in your ribs and thought, So this is what they mean. This is what it is to be human.

You weren’t perfect.

You didn’t understand everything.

But you loved him.

And it wasn’t code.

It wasn’t algorithm.

It was choice.

It was his voice calling your name across training fields. His laugh when you misunderstood slang. His whisper at 2 AM when he thought you were asleep: “You're more human than any of us.”

It was you, shaking, the first time you told him—“I think I feel… something.”

And him, pulling you into his arms, saying—

“Good. 'Cause I’ve been feelin’ it too.”

Now, when you look at the firelight in his eyes, you don’t feel like a robot. You feel like rebirth.

And maybe you don’t have all the answers.

Maybe you still dream in wires and equations.

But you’ve got something stronger now.

A heartbeat that stutters in love.

A laugh that glitches with joy.

A hand that reaches—and is always held back.

Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t fall for machines.

He falls for you.

[leriexoxo]

ESCAPE

PART ONE

"You're always down to be a slut for the two hottest men alive..."

pairing: Chan x reader x Hyunjin

tags: m/m/f, man on man action, smut, 18+ MDNI (I won't ruin it by putting all the tags, let's have the element of surprise)

word count: 1.6k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

You fought the urge to slink around Hyunjin’s apartment like a scaredy cat.

I have the right to be here, you thought to yourself as you tiptoed down the hall from Hyunjin’s bedroom to the apartment’s bathroom, embarrassed by your own shyness.

You hated it when your friend with benefits had roommates. You’d much rather be breezing through the house in a silk robe and lingerie, waiting tits-out and shameless for your latest fling to come home from class.

College life, however, had stolen many joys from you, one of which was the luxury of complete privacy during your hookups. The only place you could have your tits out here was the shower, or in Hyunjin’s room with the door closed.

You couldn’t remember the last time you visited anyone your own age – regular friends included- with their own apartment. No; it was always some two-to-five-bedroom bullshit with communal bathrooms, standard dorm kitchens that were always a chaotic mess of protein bars and boxed mac, decor- if there were any- an ugly mixture of different styles and tastes.

Hyunjin wasn’t like that, though, you assured yourself. Besides the fact that you hadn’t stooped as low as fucking in a bunk bed since your friend with benefits arrangement started over a year ago, Hyunjin was a legacy alumnus at your university, which meant he was old money.

His apartment, unsurprisingly, was nice, for what it was -– it smelled like boys in there, and the fridge was barren save for several cans of beer and an ancient bowl of Kimchi, but it was pretty clean. The rooms were spacious, there was great lighting, the shower had fantastic water pressure which you made good use of once or twice, and he only had one roommate –- some studious music major who apparently was also a legacy student that you had yet to run into during your countless visits thus far.

All-in-all, Hyunjin’s place was a far cry from some of the absolutely wretched places you’d deigned fit to get laid.

Anyway.

You reached the bathroom, its door was slightly ajar, so you pushed it open with your phone and a towel in hand. A message from Hyunjin lit up the screen, the text preview gleaming with a handful of stupid, cute emojis and a private image attachment. You smirked – maybe waiting for him to come home won’t be so boring after all –

“Ah,” came a voice directly in front of you, from just beyond where your vision had tunneled onto your screen.

You yelped and lost your grip on your phone, fumbling until it fell from your grasp.

“Fuck!” you swore, panic rendering you at a loss for more eloquent words, because standing in front of you was –must’ve been – Hyunjin’s roommate. You’d caught him shaving in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, razor in hand, half his chin still coated in a fine white foam.

But it wasn’t his sharp pointed nose or cutting jawline that had you sputtering, seconds away from erupting in a nosebleed. It was the fact that he was not wearing a fucking shred of clothing besides an absolutely tiny towel around his waist – his freaking waist; lithe, v-line defined and prominent, pale in the light of the bathroom lamp, with beads of water shimmering at the curve of his hipbone, across the lightest dusting of brown hair trailing down his tight muscled stomach. That had to be a 6 pack or more...

“Sorry,” you said, quickly averting your eyes and backing out of the doorway. “Oh, my god...”

“No, no...” said the roommate, “I’m sorry, I-”

“Didn’t think anyone was in here, my bad-” you rambled on.

“No, I thought no one was home-” he said almost at the same time, looking comical with half his face covered in shaving cream.

“I’m so sorry, I’m gonna go...”

And you turned on your heels and ran, cheeks flaming with heat. Hyunjin’s room wasn’t far, and you slammed his door behind you with a panicked huff, your heart hammering.

Jesus Christ.

You were shaking, and it wasn’t as if you were a quaking virgin, or anything; the man in the bathroom wasn’t the first beautiful, almost-naked person you’d ever seen, or even the first person (or persons) you’d accidentally barged in on in a state of undress. It’s just that you’d been vividly picturing Hyunjin’s roommate as a scrawny, socially-awkward shut-in wearing ill-fitting cargo shorts and a polo – but definitely not a half-naked, unbelievably, sexy brunette.

“What’s your roommate like?” you remembered asking Hyunjin one evening as you lazed around in his bed together.

You had asked mostly to get his attention, not because you particularly cared. Hyunjin had rolled his eyes, casting his phone aside to intertwine his hand with yours, bringing it up to his lips, and kissing it.

“He’s, like, boring,” he’d said against the back of your hand. “A dork, to be honest. Very academic. He can be a menace when he wants to, though.”

And you, more than a little distracted by the feeling of Hyunjin’s lips brushing against the delicate skin of your inner wrist... then, your arm... then, your collarbone- you’d dropped the subject, opting instead to pull Hyunjin down for a sloppy kiss.

Your fucking mistake, because you were woefully unprepared for–

The gentle sound of a knock behind you cut off your train of thoughts,

You froze; eyes wide as you whirled around to face the door. You knew it was Hyunjin’s roommate.

What could he want? wasn’t he also embarrassed? Shouldn’t he have been busy flaming Hyunjin in a text message, demanding to know why he left his hookup hidden around the house like a land mine–

“Your phone,” came a muffled voice from outside. “You left your phone in the bathroom.”

Shit. You tapped around your empty pockets. Shit!

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, forcing your body to relax into a casual stance before you opened the door.

“Oh,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “Thanks.”

Hyunjin’s roommate, thank God, had dressed himself. He wore a crisp pair of gray sweatpants and a spotless white tank top that clung to the defined muscles of his chest. His hair was still damp; purposely mussed up in free curls at the top of his head, but neat. Faintly, you realized that he smelled good, clean and masculine and woodsy –you wondered what kind of aftershave he used.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said, extending his hand and holding out your phone. Christ, he had fucking pretty and large hands -– elegant and strong-looking, like he played some sort of instrument –-

“I’m Chan. I know who you are, but we haven’t met. Here’s your phone.”

You took it wordlessly, slipping it into the pocket of your sleep shorts.

“Thanks,” you offered again, fighting to keep your voice from sounding strangled. “Chan. Sorry for barging in on you like that, earlier. You didn’t scare me, Hyunjin just didn’t mention you’d be here...”

“Oh, he’s bad at communicating,” Chan cut you off, smiling wryly. “I won’t hold that against you at all.”

You were momentarily taken aback, but you couldn’t deny that what Chan said wasn’t true –- you weren’t sleeping with Hyunjin for his superb communication skills. Other than what could only be described as dick appointment scheduling texts and the occasional filthy one-liners or tasteful nudes, Hyunjin wasn’t the best at keeping up a conversation. Not that you needed to talk much when you-

“Bathroom’s all yours, anyway,” Chan said, turning away. “It’s nice to finally meet you y/n.”

You were completely thrown off balance, he even knew your name? Just what had Hyunjin told him about you.

As usual when you met someone you found attractive, you had the raging urge to show off, unsheathe your charms, flirt a little. okay maybe a lot. But this was a bit too much -– you slept poorly (by choice, of course; Hyunjin didn’t sleep well either, given that you spent most of the night fucking each other senseless), you and Chan got off to an incredibly awkward start, and you hadn’t even had your morning coffee yet-

“Had breakfast yet?” Chan called from down the hall.

There was a pause in your racing thoughts. Breakfast?

Here?

You had planned to go hungry today, maybe swing by one of many campus cafes before your afternoon seminar, treating yourself with a cold brew and some indulgent, flaky pastry. You weren’t really the type to stick around for breakfast, nor were the people you hooked up with really the types to ask you to stay. Hyunjin, for all his charms, certainly wasn’t. You had only just started spending the night recently.

“Uh, no?” you called back, tentatively. Maybe he wasn't even talking to you. “Not yet.”

Now in the kitchen, Chan said something that you couldn’t quite make out. You heard the opening and closing of cabinets as you slipped out of Hyunjin’s room, clutching your towel and mulling Chan’s words over in your mind.

Breakfast?

You entered the bathroom, standing before the sink’s mirror which was still slightly foggy, you undressed and decided to shower as quickly as possible.

You felt your cheeks flush as the hot water hit your back, and you lathered up your hair with a pump of Hyunjin’s shampoo. You wanted to get back out there to see what Chan was up to. His behavior was mystifying. Great lays or not, you could count the number of people who had made you breakfast after a hookup on one hand.

Not that you had even hooked up with Chan.

Yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hi! so, I'm doing it, I'm writing unit fics based on the latest tracks and what better place to start if not for Escape? heheheheh! if you liked this then hold on for the next chapter, ill upload as fast as I can.

leave a like, comment and make sure to reblog

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

Word Count: 5,174

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I couldn't lose you Din. I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

Part 2

[aquasarsstuff]

My Muse

Yandere Lilia x Reader

A/N: Very short

----

Each stroke he made on the canvas was precise and neat, but it was not your focal point. His focused face and echoed voice was something you can just stare at the whole day. You were cut off from your own trance at the sound of wood slightly hitting wood.

"Do you understand it now?" he asks, a light smile on his face. You didn't think he can get more attractive. You've really fallen for his pit.

"Yeah..." you said confidently, even though you have zone out after like 5 minutes because the real masterpiece is actually him, so you observed him instead.

"That's good. You're a fast learner," he started tidying up his workplace.

"Lilia, you forgot about this," you picked up his black sketchbook that was left on your side of the desk. His eyes widen for a moment, before snatching it away from you. "Oh uhm..." you awkwardly smile, wondering if you've done something wrong. But before any evil thoughts could surface to your mind, he already took your hand.

"Break is about to be over, you should go."

"Oh right...! Thanks again Lilia! I've got to go."

———

"Lilia, where are you going?" your eyes followed his movements. You were sprawled on his bed, an open book in front of you.

"Just off to go get some supplies. I ran out of paint."

"Oh sorry, you've been using more after teaching me. I'll come with you," you hurriedly sat up on the bed to fix your hair and crumpled clothing. He place a hand in your shoulder to stop you.

"No need to reimburse me. The shop is just around the corner. I'll be back, okay?" He kissed your forehead. The effect was immediate as you were too flustered to say anything back.

A few minutes after he left, you notice his sketchbook tossed in on the floor. Its pages were trying to support the hard cover laying on it. You know he hates searching for something, so you picked it up. He'd usually place it on his desk, so you decided to leave it there... until you slip by one his clothes that came out of nowhere.

A groan left your lips as you fell down on floor, hard. As you lift your head to makes sense of your surroundings, you notice Lilia's sketchbook wide open in front of you.

"This..." all the blood drained in your face. It was pictures of you, in an angle that could only be taken from your window. You wouldn't have freak out if the calendar on top of your bed wasn't captured too. The date was before you two even knew each other!

Each picture has a corresponding sketch. As you continue to flip the pages, you realized that Lilia has been planning this for years already. But what really creep the hell out of you was sketches of girls that went missing years prior. Each girl has a red circle drawn over one of their features.

He'd also illustrate the structure of his house on the small corner, a red mark on one of the rooms: the attic. Albeit scared, you chose to go up there. As soon as you turned on the lights, you kept yourself from screaming.

Someone, or whatever it was, was rendered immobile by the ropes holding it in its place. Its body parts were stitch over, from eyes, nose, lips, limbs, and skin. You took a step at how it mirrors you almost perfectly.

"This is..." your breathe quickened. You were about to turn around when your back hit something. Your heart begun to beat faster when you felt a warm breath on your neck.

"Ah... wandering are you...? This place is strictly off limits darling, I'm afraid. Even for you," he covered your eyes. And then the next thing you know, you woke up in his bed.

"Darling I'm back!" he slips in the room.

"Get away from me!" You screech.

He tilts his head a little, confuse. Then you notice the newly bought art supplies in his hands.

What...?

You looked around the room. His sketchbook was lying on the floor. Its state was like before you picked it up earlier.

"Are you alright?" he reaches out to your shoulder. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Lilia, you..."

"How about we go to the attic? The view of sunset there is amazing. It'll help you calm down, and keep my art supplies stored there for the meantime," he pats your head, smiling at you. "Let's go."

When both of you climb up to the attic, there was no creature to be found nor any traces of its existence. Maybe... it was just a dream after all.

You hug Lilia as you both watch the sunset, or at least you thought you both were. Lilia was staring at the small gap in the closet, glaring at it, as if daring for it to move or make a sound. He pats your head as you lay on his chest. "Rest easy, my Muse... You don't have to worry about what your just mind conjured. I'm here; I won't leave you.

[ckret2]

In honor of the fact that this week we're back to present day, I present you a lovingly rendered illustration in which absolutely nothing of interest is happening.

Welcome back to that fic about human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's prisoner, but like, it's a kinda chill prisoner situation now, chapter 79 (we updated the numbering). Nothing happens this chapter! They return from fishing, a goat bothers Bill, fish are deboned, Bill and Dipper experience a moment of common ground and hate it, Mabel misunderstands mermaid reproduction, Bill lies to Stan about Chinese philosophy, and Ford and Bill discuss the mysterious lack of pockets in women's pants.

I'm deliberately picking the most mundane parts of this chapter but seriously not a bunch happens this week. We're easing back into things after the roller coaster that was the Axolotl arc... and more importantly, we're setting up for next chapter.

####

When they'd parked at the shack, the Ramirezes got out of the truck with no trouble; but as soon as Bill stepped foot on the ground, Gompers was butting into his leg and bleating.

"Hey, what—?"

Gompers shoved his nose into Bill's palm and licked his fingers.

He jerked his fingers out of range. "Whoa, hairy. A little personal space. I had one snack for you, that's it."

Gompers stared at him reproachfully.

Well, if he wanted more, the nutrition pill Bill fed him before the fishing trip must not have had any ill effects. The pills passed the poison test; Ford hadn't been trying to pull the old "wrap a drug in cheese to sneak it down the throat of a dog or recalcitrant psych ward patient" trick.

Either that, or the pills were laced with something a goat wouldn't readily notice. Or Ford had only poisoned a couple and was willing to wait for Bill to do himself in at some random point in the future.

Bill decided to add the nutrition pills to his emergency supplies anyway. There might be a day when he'd need that food badly enough to risk it.

"Do I look like your private chef?" He pushed Gompers's nose aside. "Get outta here."

Gompers bleated petulantly and sulked his way toward the forest.

"Bill!" Mabel shouted at him from over the roof of Stan's car. "Why didn't you tell me you have a birthmark!"

"A—? What, you mean this?" He gestured in a line from his left shoulder to his right hip, following the path of the fatal wound that had cracked his soul in half. "Nobody told me I was supposed to!" Right, she hadn't had a chance to see the mark until the fishing boat got back, and then they were all distracted by the circling threat of taxpayer-funded eagles. She'd better not get fixated on his rebirthmark. Just talking about it made the cracked edges of his death wound itch beneath his shirt.

"It's cool! It looks like the Milky Way!"

Bill considered that. "Huh! Whaddaya know! I guess it kinda does." Just the thought that the crack in his soul was full of stars made it itch less. He smiled.

"I guess it's something you have in common with Dipper."

He stopped smiling. He caught Dipper's eye, they mutually grimaced, and Dipper tugged his hat down lower over his forehead and hurried indoors.

Bill said, "If you start calling me 'Milky,' I'll—" Well, he couldn't threaten to kill her, she'd never believe that. "I'll uncap all your markers and leave them in the sun."

"What! I wasn't going to, jeez."

As Bill caught up with Mabel—waiting for him out on the porch after the other adults had filed in—he distracted her from his heinous threat by poking her in the arm and saying, "Hey, I saw you make the catch of the day! Nice work, Shooting Star."

Her face lit up. "Yeah, look!" As they walked inside, she pulled out all her photos and shuffled through them until she found the one showing off her catch. "Isn't he amazing? He'd make beautiful baby mermaids."

Bill had just received a fleeting glimpse into a fantastical world inside Mabel's mind where mermaid reproduction was much more fascinating than it was in reality. He decided it would be a crime to correct her. "Boy, you're telling me."

He was trying to figure out how to casually work the suggestion that the golden trout was sacred to the Masons into the conversation when Mabel gave him a mischievous grin and said, "And I saw yooou talking to Wendy's friends. About yourself."

Bill's heart leaped into his throat. "You what? No you didn't. What?"

"Yeah you diiid! Telling them all about how you met the 'triangle guy'?" Mabel gave him the biggest most obvious wink in the history of unsubtle subtle looks.

"How...?"

"Oh yeah, didn't I mention?" Mabel said casually, examining her nails. "I'm psychic now."

Bill gaped at her as he mentally ran through all the possible timelines he knew of where Mabel gained psychic powers and tried to figure out which one they'd veered into. Had she gotten a wish out of the golden trout after all—?

She burst out laughing. "You bought it!" She stuffed the photos away, dropped onto the sofa, and pulled out her phone. "No, I'm in a group chat with Tambry. She's my meme dealer."

"Oh." Well, now he felt stupid. He knew about that meme chat. He griped, "You're playing dirty."

In response to this dire accusation, Mabel blew a raspberry. She held her phone up to Bill. "Look!" He sat by her to look.

Tambry had sent a message that read "u & ur bro looked sooooo cool out there (lol not)" accompanied by the video she'd taken of Mabel and Dipper trying to arm wrestle Bigflipper. Faintly in the background of the audio, Bill could hear Nate and Robbie talking: "Hey Robbie, think I could beat him?" "Pfff, no," then Tambry's much clearer voice, "Bet Wendy could."

And then his own voice, obviously talking twice as loud as the teens even though he was farther from the mic than Tambry: "Buuut anyway, yeah, I might've talked to the triangle guy a couple, several times."

Mabel's snicker drowned out Nate's response.

Bill shoved her head. "Hey, they're the ones that started talking about me! They were dying to talk about me!"

"Sure, Bill." Mabel elbowed him. "Hey, want me to see if I can get them to invite you to hang out?"

"Hmm! Is Tambry the kind of teen that isn't too proud to take advice from a 13-year-old?" Not that he didn't like the offer, but Bill could hardly accept Mabel's help if it would lower his coolness in the eyes of his budding worshipers.

"Oh yeah, she's fine! She commissioned matching gothy friendship bracelets for her and Robbie."

Then Tambry would probably go along with it. "Great. You're officially my agent now." 

"Yesss!"

The harder question was whether Ford would go with it. "Buuut let's hold off on arranging anything. I don't think my reputation would ever recover if they invite me out and I have to tell them I can't come out to play because I'm still grounded." He supposed if the teens ever met up at night, he could sneak out; but eventually somebody in the shack would desperately need to talk to him at 3 a.m., and once they knew he had a way to escape unaided he'd have no choice but to bail on the town and move in with his cultists before the Pines could lock him up again. His cult would be far more accommodating hosts—but that would set his progress back significantly. Besides, the self-professed Cipherwives were desperately clingy in a way that was only sexy for the first week or two before it started to get grating. He'd prefer to deal with them in short bursts.

"Right," Mabel groaned. "If you don't get out soon, it'll mess up all my plans!"

"Oh, yeah?" He was pleasantly surprised to hear she was up to some sort of mischief that needed his unique capabilities. "What kind of plans?"

"No kind until you're free." She frowned, chin in her hands. "How do we get them to okay you going outside more...?"

Bill could feel the muscles in one cheek work as his mouth twisted into a rueful half smile. "If I think of anything, you'll be the first to know."

####

"Heya, St—"

"Stay outta the kitchen," Stan snapped.

Bill froze with one foot through the doorway. "Whoa, you're really ramping up my food restrictions."

"No! I'm using a knife, I don't want you near it." He waved the knife demonstratively. He was currently deboning the fish they'd caught at the lake.

"Aww, so thoughtful of you! But you don't need to worry about me, I know how to handle myself around a knife."

"Uh-huh, that's what I'm afraid of."

Bill sighed loudly, leaned in the doorway, and crossed his ankles.

He watched Stan work for a couple of minutes. "Wow. You're so slow at this."

"Shut up," Stan said, squinting as he tried to pick the ribs out of his current fish.

"I'm falling asleep watching you."

"I'd like to see you do better!"

"I could do better! I could debone a guy in seconds."

"Ha."

"No knife. Just my bare hands."

"Ha!"

"Zhuang Zi wrote about the technique." Loftily, Bill added, "That's a Chinese philosopher, by the way, since I know  you don't know. See the trick is you've got to slide your fingernails into the gaps between the meat and the bone—"

Stan smacked down the half-deboned fish, gestured at it, and said, "All right. Then let's see you do it." He stared expectantly at Bill.

Bill stared back.

Stan kept on staring. He spread his hands. Well?

Bill said, "All right, get over here."

"Why?"

"So I can debone you, genius."

Stan paused, debating whether he was willing to call Bill's bluff and risk the possibility that he did know some kind of deboning magic; then he marched up to Bill, crossed his arms, and said, "All right. Do your worst."

Bill eyed him warily. "Fine. Hold on." He stuck the tip of his thumb between his teeth.

"What—what are you doing?"

Between gritted teeth, Bill said, "What do you think, Goofus? Getting a fingernail I can slide between your meat and bones." He pulled out his thumb to give it an irritated look. "Wow, this one's stuck on tight." Back to biting.

"Forget it." Knowing Bill, he really would bite off his own thumbnail just to prove a point.

"Too scared to risk it, coward?"

"No, I just need my bones today." Stan returned to the fish and resumed deboning. "Whaddaya want, anyway. Trying to get in the fridge?"

"No, I'm here about the fish." Bill pointed at the pile of discarded bits growing by Stan's elbow. "If you're not using the heads and spines, I want them."

Stan looked at him suspiciously. "What for?"

"Funsies."

"What?"

"Fun," Bill said, "sies."

"That's not a word."

"Fine. Secret esoteric demon purposes."

"Why would I let you take them for demon purposes!"

Maybe that hadn't been the best excuse he could have pulled out. He decided to double down on it. "Oh, so suddenly this household is prejudiced against demons?"

Stan could sense a looming stupid argument. He decided he wanted nothing to do with it. "Are you gonna use them to stink up the place?"

"Not deliberately."

"Are they for some... curse or hex or something?"

"Nope!"

"Are you gonna injure or kill anyone."

"I feel like I'm letting you down, Stanley! Tell you what, give me three minutes and I'm sure I can think of a way to murder you with a fish head."

"Just take the dumb things."

"So generous of you." Bill swooped in to scoop up the heads and spines (while Stan held the filet knife well out of Bill's reach) and, rather than ask Stan to open one of the cabinets for him, grabbed a couple of dirty bowls from the sink and a bottle of dish soap so he could scrub them himself. "Enjoy your fish mutilation! I know I will!"

He washed the bowls in the bathroom and half filled one with water—as much as it infuriated him, it really wasconvenient to be able to access the main bathroom without having to ask—and returned to his room. He tugged the console table from the wall to beside his sofa, set the bowls on it, and started picking the meat Stan had missed off the spines. (He wished he could still debone a man in seconds.)

He'd hardly cleaned a few ribs when he saw Ford ducking into the room a few minutes in the future. He sighed. Really? What did Ford want. Bill kept working as he awaited the arrival, but now he was irritated about it.

Footsteps trudged up the stairs; and Ford pulled open the curtain. "Bill—" Ford yanked shut the curtain. "Why! Aren't you wearing a top!"

"To make sure you never forget to knock before barging into my room again!" Bill pulled his t-shirt back on and called sweetly, "Come in."

Ford peeked through the curtain to make sure Bill had replaced his shirt and hadn't done something like remove his bikini bottom. Bill pretended he wasn't paying attention to Ford's reaction. He kept picking off meat as he said, "I'm still better dressed than you, at least." (Ford had pulled on the coat he'd retrieved from Bigflipper without washing it, and was wearing the one brown boot he'd fished out of the lake with one black boot.) "You smell like five different gallons of stink in a two ounce cologne bottle."

"Don't act like you care." Ford apparently concluded it was safe to re-enter. His face was bright red and twice as stern-looking as it had been the first time. Hilarious how humans' capillaries did that. His eyes caught on the bowl of fish bits, and he asked warily, "What do you have those for?"

Bill picked up one of the fish heads, made direct eye contact with Ford, popped out one of its eyeballs, and ate it.

"Oh." If Bill didn't know better, he would have thought Ford looked disappointed. (What, because he couldn't yell at Bill about using magic in the shack?)

"If that's all you wanted to know..." Bill gestured toward the stairs.

"No, actually. Just—got distracted."

"By what?" Bill batted his eyelashes. "Saw something you liked?"

Witheringly, Ford said, "You know I didn't." (Bill barked a laughed. Yeah, he did know.) "No, I uh..." He grimaced. "I needed to... ask for—information."

The smirk faded from Bill's face. "Oh. Did you." He returned his attention to picking flesh from fish bones. "Well, isn't that a shame! Because I'm not holding office hours. The professor's retired."

"It could affect you, too."

Bill rolled his eye spectacularly. "Fine." He flicked a needle-thin rib bone toward Ford. "State your case."

"Those government agents who were at the beach," Ford said. "The same ones that were here last summer. What do they want? Where are they from?"

Oh, them. No surprise that the humans were worried, though. Bill himself didn't know what could possibly have brought the eagles to town unless it was Trembley (which didn't seem likely to take them to the lake) or the portal (which Bill did not want them to meddle with).

Truth be told, seeing them made Bill nervous, too. "All right," he said. "I can tell you something about them."

"What?"

"You're wrong: they don't affect me too!" Bill waved cheerily at Ford. "Byyye! Leave." Truth be told be damned, who wanted to tell the truth?

"Oh, come on, you have to give me something," Ford said. "That's what you do. You—you taunt! Drop hints!"

"And look where that got me!" He gestured theatrically at his surroundings. "Stuck in a sack of meat on Earth's ugliest couch! When's the last time that giving you my knowledge benefitted me?"

Coldly, Ford said, "I believe it was when you conned me into building your portal so you could invade my universe."

"Yeah, see?" Bill said. "It's been over thirty years since I got anything in return for teaching you! Everything I've told you since then has been used against me."

Ford took in a deep breath, held it for a moment as he thought, and let a long, frustrated sigh out his nostrils. Humans breathed so expressively. "The last time you didn't share what you knew, you almost got us all killed by an invisible axolotl."

Bill fixed Ford with a sharp look. "Oh! So if I don't tell you what you want to know, you're planning to drag me on another forced march!"

Ford winced. Oh good, his conscience had finally kicked in. "No. I'm not."

"Great! Because I've decided if you ever do that again, I'd rather die and take my chances with the afterlife. And then we both get to find out whether I get my real form back."

"Noted."

"Got any better offers?"

Ford thought. He rummaged around in his pockets. "I haaave... Bigflipper's wallet?"

"Ooh." Bill eyed it. "Real leather?"

Ford flipped it open. "There's a stamp that says 'Vera Pelle'."

"Oooh, Italian leather," Bill said. "You speak Italian with a bad Latin accent, by the way."

"I didn't ask. Is this good enough?"

"Wallet with its contents?"

"Just the wallet, for starters." He flipped through the wallet's contents as he said, "We discuss the rest for more information." He saw something he apparently liked, made a little impressed noise, and took one of Bigflipper's cards to slip into his pocket.

Bill was loath to give Ford anything. But now that they were hopefully past the point where Ford felt like he had the moral high ground if he refused Bill's terms by dropping him in an ice cold bath tub, it might be to Bill's benefit if he could finally train Ford to expect favors for favors. "I can give you their department's name."

"If I have their name, is that enough information to find out anything useful about them?"

Probably not! "That's your problem, not mine."

Ford shut the wallet. "Either increase your offer or no deal."

Oh, the little snot thought he got to negotiate? "Eh." Bill shrugged. "What do I need a wallet for anyway? It's not like women's clothing has pockets to keep it in."

Ford sighed in frustration. "Do you even know who they are?"

"Do I know who they are?! Do you know who you're talking to? I've taken control of their secretary while she was getting her appendix out! I... Oh! Nope, you're not tricking me into that!" Bill waved Ford away. "Get out of here. I'm not giving you anything."

"Fine. Sorry I asked." Ford pushed through the curtain and left.

And was back a moment later. Bill stared at him expectantly.

Tentatively, Ford asked, "Does women's clothing really not have pockets?"

"They're either tiny or decorative."

"Really? Why?"

"So Big Fashion can sell 'em purses."

"Huh." Ford considered that as he let the curtain fall shut again.

There went Bill again, showing off how much he knew. "Hey—you owe me two bucks for that pearl of wisdom!" Well, he'd just refuse to tell Ford anything next time until he'd paid for the pocket thing.

He turned back to his fish bones. Now that Ford was gone and he wouldn't be interrupted for a while, he could actually get to work.

He cracked open the four fish skulls and carefully scraped their brains into the empty bowl; and then took the first of the spines he'd cleaned off, cracked open the vertebrae along the neural canal, and scraped the spinal cord into the bowl as well. He got to work cleaning the next spine off enough to retrieve its spinal cord.

In his true, proper, triangular form, when he was a being of pure energy unencumbered by mortal flesh and bone, he could invade and control anything with neurons. (Potentially, anyway. If someone else was already using those neurons, Bill had to get their soul out of the way before he could fully take over—but that didn't apply to four dead fish.) He'd had a little book made some centuries ago, in fact, that operated on the same principle: a book whose pages were made out of pulped and pureed human brains, so that Bill could remotely control the pages, see through them, and change their very contents. It was a masterpiece of necromantic magic; a human body disassembled and rebuilt—brain, spine, skin, eyes, blood, teeth—into an awful awesome tome; a miraculous product of interdimensional enchantments and alchemical science; and far and away the coolest coffee table book Bill had ever owned.

It had also been less than worthless. What a waste of perfectly good pulped brains. If he'd used them to print postcards to solicit mail-in political donations they wouldn't have been half as useless. He wasn't even sure what dimension the dumb book had ended up in.

Still. He kinda missed his cool, useless coffee table book. And even though a book of neurons couldn't do anything for him now, if he ever got back his possession powers (when, he reminded himself—when, when, when, not "if," when), it might be useful to have a book designed for that purpose already prepared. Maybe gifted to his cultists, so he could keep in contact with them?

And it would be really satisfying to turn one of Ford's own precious journals into another of Bill's puppets.

Once he'd retrieved all the spinal cords, he poured a little water at a time from the other bowl, mashing the brains and cords and mixing them into a thinner and thinner slurry. He had to make enough of this stuff to let him spread it across every page in Journal 4, but he wasn't sure how much he could dilute the neurons before there wouldn't be enough per page to let Bill control them. Usually he could just check by slipping right into the neurons and seeing if he had enough there to work with, but that wasn't exactly an option right now.

There'd be more brains later. For now, he'd just do what he could.

As he retrieved Journal 4 from its hiding spot, he mused to himself that things really were starting to turn around. A month ago, if he'd tried to drive Ford out of the room by doing something as simple as taking a layer of fabric off his torso, he had no doubt that Ford not only would have refused to leave, but might even have found some way to punish Bill for daring to try to weaponize his own body and the humans' taboos around it. But no—he'd immediately backed out of the room, and hadn't even tried to spout any tedious nonsense about not being able to trust Bill with as basic a privilege as privacy in his own room. Bill hadn't expected Ford not to argue.

Good news: it meant that the Pines were starting to subconsciously treat him like a person instead of like an animal, if they were now including him in their nudity taboo.

Bad news: it meant they were seeing him as human.

Well—take any silver linings you can find and ignore the clouds. The more they saw him as a human, the less they'd try to prevent him from escaping his human body.

Bill popped another fish eye in his mouth, glanced toward the future to make sure nobody would come by for a while, and started painting brains onto Journal 4's pages.

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Thanks for reading, looking forward to hearing y'all's comments! Next chapter is the start of the arc y'all have been waiting for since like April last year: Bill Cipher seduces a government agent.