#if I had to pick one for the fic...

[soaps-mohawk]

Hiiii! 💛 Sorry if you've got this already but just passing on the fun! BTW I'm in love with CRCB and omg the depth of lore you have for it.

Anyway:

You've got mail! 📨 Share 3 songs from a fic's playlist. Then send this mail along to another! 📤

Aww thank you!!! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!!

So...I don't have a fic playlist 😅 I do have 141 specific playlists so I'm gonna pull three from there lol

Chokehold - Sleep Token from Simon's Playlist

Shake That Bagpipe - The Sidh from Johnny's Playlist

Everytime We Touch - Cascada from Kyle's Playlist

[peace-hunter]

I just realized. One thing that Optimus will certainly be educated on by the Primes in the Haunted AU is the various was One Can Kill A Quintesson! Leaving some Autobots confused at times when he's teaching them in return because 'This sounds pretty Specific...???'

It's slightly competitive on the Primes' part because yeah, the Deceptions do got the High Guard being good at killing Quintessons too but. They're the Real Experts. (Are they salty? Naaaah they're not. Much. Kinda.)

AKJSHDK YEAH YOU'RE SO RIGHT I LOVE THAT <333

they got so good at squishing the goddamn bugs and they're thrilled they can save Optimus the pain of figuring out their weak points through trial and error like they did. they're gonna make a pro out of their baby brother in no time.

and if they just so happen to know some of the Decepticons will be majorly pissed off at the fact OP is already on par with the best of what used to be the High Guard when he only has a fraction of their experience... well, happy coincidences, y'know?

and if they happen to teach Optimus how to crack open a Quintesson in just the right way to make some Decepticons see ghosts through him... that's between them and the people they're haunting :)

haunted au

[not-equippedforthis]

forever mourning how granada holmes never adapted the three garridebs. diabolical. unbelievable, even. 'if you had killed watson you would not have made it out of this room alive' but in brett's frightfully intense and low, biting, hissing voice. the violent, wild stare versus the gentle hand on watson's knee. all of that precarious control getting flung out the window. the humanity of it. gritting my teeth can you fucking imagine.

[jakekazansky]

Was watching the local news and one of the news stories help inspire this idea

So it was about big brothers big sisters. Which if you don’t know what that is it’s essentially a mentoring program where older people (like 20s-40s) help mentor the youth (ages 6-18).

Story idea under the cut cause it got long

Tom and Slider who are stationed out in Texas who are like commanders by this point. There’s flyers on base asking service members to volunteer for the program. Slider makes a comment about how nice it would’ve been if he had some like that as a kid (personal headcannon is slider had a shitty home life as a kid). So Tom signs up and gets this kid name Jake.

Jake who is about 11 and kind of scrawny and a bit angry at the world. He’d just been made to move to Texas to live with his aunt after his parents died in a car crash. Jake loves math and planes so it’s an easy decision to match him with Tom.

Tom and Jake get on like a house fire. Jake is always grinning by the time he leaves after spending time with Tom who sees a bit of himself and slider in Jake. This goes on for years. Three years in and slider and Tom have to deploy for a few months. Sure Jake is upset but he pinky promise Tom to be there when their carrier came back. Tom had even given him one of his dog tags to keep safe. Tom had even done the paperwork to ensure Jake would be let on base for it.

Fast forward a few months and the day of return is here. Both slider and ice are excited to see Jake. Tom can’t wait to tell him more stories about flying. The carrier docks and there’s no blonde teen waiting for them. They kinda figure Jake is just sick maybe or had a school thing he couldn’t get out of. Come to find out a week later after Tom hasn’t heard from Jake that the mentoring people tell him Jake was sent to live with other relatives cause Jake’s aunt’s new bf hated Jake. Cue absolute devastation on both slider and ice.

Slider makes a comment a few years later, about the time Jake would be graduating high school, that maybe Jake will be going to the academy and they’ll be able to see him again. They never got Jake’s last name due to privacy reasons when mentoring him and there’s a lot of blond applicants to the academy that year. But ice is holding out hope. He and mav are committed dating at this point. So ice finally tells mav about the kid he mentored. About how he was sad he never got to say goodbye to Jake and how he hopes Jake is doing okay. About how he’s pretty sure Jake and Bradley, if they met, would either be in a fistfight or dating by now. About how sure Tom was that if Jake ever flew he’d be able to outfly them both.

Fast forward many more years, Tom is the COMPACFLT now and the mission has just finished. His husband decides it would be a good idea to invite the daggers over since they’re a permanent squadron now. A blonde kid named Jake is part of it, Tom remembers looking at the kids file and him just being so damn good. Like what he imagined Jake would’ve been like. Tom has given up hope at this point of ever seeing the kid he mentored again.

It’s the day of the bbq mav is throwing for his pilots. Tom is chilling back on the patio as his husband and his husband’s pilots play some dogfight football on the beach behind their house when the pilot named Jake sits on the deck near him.

“I don’t know if you remember me but my name is Jake and you used to mentor me when I was a kid. Down in Texas.”

That gets Ice’s attention who gaze is immediately on him.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you and slider came back. I wanted to be so damn bad. My aunt’s bf at the time hated my guts. Impersonated her to get me moved to another family members. I ended up in Alaska. Do you know how cold it is there?”

Ice can hear the tears the kid is fighting to keep back as he talks.

“ I still have that dog tag of yours. I wear it every time I fly. I’ve been hoping to run in to you ever since I applied to the academy. I can’t believe it’s taken this long.”

At this point tears are running down both their face as Jake pulls out his tag and nestled in between his shiny tags is a slightly dulled one with Tom’s name on it.

The hug Tom pulls Jake into has every emotion he’s felt since he last saw Jake nearly twenty years ago. Them both crying into each others shoulders. Tom making promises to call slider later and get him out here so Jake can see him again. Promising to tell him all about the deployment he never got to tell him about and all the rest after it.

Mav and Bradley watch from the sand. Mav glad his husband got the kid who he mentored (mav at this point believes Tom would’ve adopted Jake back then given the chance). Bradley coming to the realization that he’s no longer gonna be pops favorite and he’s fine with that if it means his boyfriend got back the man who made him into who he is today.

[ckret2]

Chapter 41 of human Bill Cipher being really sick of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: after absolutely terrorizing Gideon for projecting used car ads into Bill's dreams, tries to blackmail Gideon into working for him again.

But not before showing some unexpected sympathy for the plight of a child psychic on whose shoulders the family's financial future rests.

####

Dipper and Mabel were in the middle of a race on a roller coaster track when Bill wandered back downstairs. He sat on the couch armrest next to Mabel and precariously balanced as he crossed his legs. "So I've been thinking over this whole thing," Bill said. "I think I should apologize to Gideon."

"Work that out all by yourself?" Dipper glanced at the clock. "Wow. And it only took you half an hour."

Mabel finished a lap. While the roller coaster track slowly lifted her car to the top of the hill to start the next lap, she turned to give Bill an appraising look, ready to assess his work. "Apologize for what?"

"For terrorizing him! Is this a trick question?"

She nodded slowly—a little skeptical, but so far so good—but had to look away as she regained control of her car. "What's your angle?"

"I'm equilateral, work it out."

"Shut uuup, I'm serious."

"Why do I need to have an angle? Maybe I want to practice some of the apology lessons they're teaching on Color Critters! Aren't you the one who wanted me to be a decent person? You should be thrilled. You are thrilled."

"Bill."

"Okay fine, I want you to stop looking at me like I'm evil incarnate over a silly little prank letter." He nudged Mabel's head with his elbow. She smacked his arm away. "Isn't that the only reason anyone apologizes? To stop people from getting mad at them?" He lifted his eyepatch and squinted at the screen. "Goose in the left barrel."

Mabel swerved left. "Yes! Eat tail feathers, Dipper!"

"No no no no—!" His anguished groan mingled with angry honks. He tossed down his controller as Mabel sailed past his disabled car. "I'm not playing with Bill in the room."

Mabel laughed. "You're a sore loser!"

"I'll be out of your matted hair in a few minutes," Bill said. "You're cranky, go get a juice."

Dipper stomped from the room, grumbling. "Whatever, I'm getting a snack." He pointed at Bill, "Not because you told me to! I'm just hungry! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Sure." Bill nudged Mabel again. "C'mon, let me use my training. Don't think I haven't noticed you're trying to mold me into a model citizen. Why bother if I never get a chance to act like one?"

Mabel looked at him thoughtfully. "You know what? Okay. I guess not wanting people to be mad at you is a good enough reason to apologize." She'd been hoping he'd land on genuine remorse, but she'd take what she could get.

"Great! Fisherman's out, Questiony's working, Sixer's gonna be in his cave til dinner, Dolores doesn't care—" Bill gestured toward the door, "so let's get the bracelets and get to the kid's house while the adults are distracted."

Mabel grimaced. "Oough. Right. We have to actually visit him."

"Unless you want me to mail an apology letter—"

"Definitely not." She sighed. "Well, if it's for the greater good... put on something other than a hoodie and let's go."

"You got it." Bill hopped off the couch and swung with one hand around the doorframe as he headed to the stairs.

####

Dipper tried to protest, but he'd missed his window to talk Mabel out of it; and so Bill and Mabel headed out, with Bill in a loose smiley face-covered Hawaiian shirt—Mabel approved of the friendly message—an undershirt, the leggings that looked like jeans, and his dress shoes. In other words, about as disarmingly unthreateningly un-Bill-like as he could get. He seemed to get bouncier and more energetic the longer they walked outside, until by the time they were turning onto Gideon's street he was cartwheeling up the sidewalk.

Bill waited for Mabel to open the gate in front of Gideon's house; but while Bill blithely passed through, Mabel lingered behind a few steps. Bill paused and glanced back. "Hey. All good, star girl?"

"Yeah." Mabel laughed nervously and caught up. "Just... haven't been to his house since before he got weird. Kinda gives me the willies now."

"Can't blame you. This is the guy who agreed to be my sheriff in exchange for custody of your bubble key."

Mabel cringed. "Did he really?"

"Oh yeah. Think he was planning to visit you in there until he wooed you? I never asked him. I didn't want the details."

"Ugh." Mabel shuddered.

Bill paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that ten feet from his front door."

"It's... it's fine." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Greater good. Right?"

He didn't answer immediately, tapping a foot as he thought. "Listen. Once we're in there, do you want me to go somewhere private to talk with him? So you don't have to worry about him leering at you the whole time?"

"Would you?" Mabel's shoulders slumped as a little tension eased up, relief obvious on her face. "But how will I know if you've apologized properly?"

"That little tattle will tell you if I do an awful job." Bill laughed. "Come on! I don't need you grading me on a rubric! Gimme a chance to prove I can say 'I'm sorry' without my life coach telling me how to behave."

"Thanks, Bill." She gave him a quick hug.

"Sure, any time kid. I'm not about to let any creeps get to you on my watch." Bill stretched his arms out, fingers laced together. "Ready?" When Mabel nodded, Bill knocked on the door.

After a long moment, a worried-looking, gray-haired woman opened the door. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gleeful!" Bill offered a partial bow. "We're here to visit Gideon, he should be expecting us. Would you let him know we're here?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her voice was a hushed murmur, as though she were talking to herself—or perpetually concerned about being overheard. She didn't raise her voice much as she called into the house, "Gideon? You have visitors."

Voice muffled, Gideon shouted from upstairs, "Who is it!"

Joy glanced over Bill and Mabel, but her gaze lingered on Mabel's face. "Oh. Aren't you that girl he...?"

"It's Mabel."

Joy said, "It's Mabel, and—"

Gideon let out an alarmed squawk. "Ohmygoodness. JUST A MINUUUTE! Where did I leave my cologne—"

Joy watched the ceiling nervously, listening to the subtle thuds.

Bill glanced her up and down, as though sizing up what he had to work with; and then he smiled brightly and said, "Well, I'm sure the little star's preparing a big entrance! Shall we wait inside?"

Joy started a little. "Oh—yes, of course. Please, come in." She pulled the door open wider and gestured to the sitting area.

Bill and Mabel took a seat on the couch. Bill crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual figure 4, and gestured to the armchair as though he were the host giving his guest permission to sit. Joy hesitated, but took the seat, sitting straight up without touching the back of the seat, feet together and hands laced over her knees.

"And how has Gideon been lately?" Bill asked. "We haven't had a chance to catch up since last summer!"

"Oh—I'm sure he's probably fine," Joy said, eyes darting around—to the clean carpet, to the framed pictures hanging straight on the wall, to the doorway into the kitchen.

"'Probably'?" Bill echoed.

"Well. He's really closer to his father, you see..."

"Nonsense." Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I trust a woman's intuition on this sort of thing." He paused. "I'd wink here, but uh..." He gestured at his eye patch and shrugged with a helpless grin.

Joy curled her lips into her mouth and, for the first time since she'd opened the door, for a fraction of a second, nearly almost smiled. But it faded quickly; and when she spoke, her voice was low enough that Mabel had to lean halfway across the coffee table to hear her. (Bill didn't even move.) "You should probably know before you see him: he... has seemed a little bit cranky, recently."

"Oh?" Bill prompted.

(Mabel mumbled, "'Recently'?" and Bill nudged her.)

"Nothing like he was when he—" Joy faltered and quickly course corrected, "before his arrest. But, a bit. But then he's going through so much—reintegrating into life on the outside, trying to make friends at school..."

"Say, that's nice to hear! Has he made many?"

Joy hesitated. "He's always been... such a precocious child. It makes it hard for him to relate to other... And honestly, I think most of the children are jealous of his talents."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure they are. Kids can be so cruel when they notice someone special. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Joy nodded. "Yes—exactly. And he's so... sensitive."

Bill gave Mabel a warning glance. She pursed her lips tightly and puffed out her cheeks. Satisfied she wasn't about to weigh in on why Gideon wasn't making friends, Bill turned back to Joy. "Do you think that's what's been bothering him lately?"

"Well, yes, there's that."

Voice a tad lower, Bill prompted, "And...?"

Joy paused. She twisted her hands together. "And—I think he might be concerned about his father's business."

"Oh, the auto dealership?" Bill sat up a little. "I hope it hasn't been struggling lately?"

"It's... been a slow few months," Joy said. "It must be weighing on him—"

"He doesn't feel responsible, does he?"

Joy quickly shook her head. "Of course not. It isn't his fault. But he's just a little boy, there's not much he can do to help. Besides perform in a commercial, maybe—and he doesn't like that, we don't make him do that anymore—or..." She trailed off. "Well. Not knowing how to help or what to do... I can imagine he must feel... guilty." She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

Bill's gaze never wavered from her face. He nodded slowly. "I'm sure the business must be weighing on the whole family. It can't be easy for you, Joy—keeping a household running during such a difficult time." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do to help you all."

Joy stared at his face, eyes shining. "I'm, sorry—did I catch your name?"

"Mr. Locke is fine, thanks. I was in business talks with your son before his incarceration."

Mabel leaned against Bill and whispered, "You mean he hired you to invade my grunkle's brain—"

Bill elbowed her.

Footsteps scurried down the stairs. "I'm coming!" Gideon rushed into the room, tugging his sleeves down his wrists, all gussied up and reeking of three separate hair products. "Hi Mabel my honey pie! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you by so s—" His gaze fixed on Bill, and his sweet smile twisted into fury. "You!"

Joy quickly stood up. "I should be—vacuuming the dining room." She hurried from the room, giving Gideon a wide berth as she went. The sound of vacuuming quickly filled the house.

Gideon never looked away from Bill. "Just what do you think y—"

Bill was on his feet and sweeping across the room before Gideon could get more out. "Hello again! I don't think we were properly introduced. The name's Goldie Locke." He blinked. "Wink."

Gideon grimaced. "You serious? Goldilocks? That's the best you could do?"

"I thought it was funny!"

Mabel scooted up onto the arm of the sofa, took a leap off, and landed next to Bill. "I came up with it!"

Gideon smiled uncomfortably. "Oh—sure, sure. Real cute."

"We came by so Goldie here," Mabel poked Bill's arm with both hands, "could give you a proper apology for his... 'prank.'" She got behind Bill and poked him in the back, directing him toward the stairs. "So you two go off somewhere private and do that! Go! Go on!"

"Wh— private?" Gideon leaned around Bill to give Mabel a pleading look. "M-Mabel, aren't you coming too?"

Mabel laughed nervously. "No, definitely not. I'm staying right here."

"But—but—"

"It's fine! If he tries any—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—weird space demon magic—you can just scream. But he's basically harmless! I promise."

"But... I don't wanna be alone with..."

Bill put a hand on Gideon's back, turned him around, and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "And she doesn't want to be alone with you, and I'm going to respect her wishes."

Gideon hissed at Bill. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Bill hissed back. No one had ever done that before.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said, giving Gideon a very worrying smile. "I just want an opportunity to show you the sincerity of my remorse. A little heart-to-heart! And anyway, you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

####

The moment Gideon's bedroom door shut, Bill said, in an exaggeratedly innocent golly-gee-whiz voice, "'Well, Mabel, the thing is, I was just cranky because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, because Gideon's been broadcasting mind control dreams to the town multiple times a week! Yeah, you know how you've been waking up feeling hypnotically compelled to buy a car? Good ol' Gideon! But you're right, bullying isn't the solution! I should have just asked him to cast his brainwashing spell a little further from the Mystery Shack—'" Bill cut off with a laugh. "I take it you get the picture! Your flesh is as white as your hair! It's—it's creepy. Stop it."

Gideon was already on the far side of the room, holding a floating arm desk lamp toward Bill like a sword. Voice shaking, he asked, "How do you know about that spell? H-how are you even alive? And here like... like this?"

"Does it matter?" Bill meandered around the room, looking at Gideon's matching nightstands, his TV, the floppy teddy bear on his bed. "Here's the only important question: what's it worth to you for me not to spill the beans to your sweetheart?"

Gideon swallowed hard.

As Bill rounded the bed, Gideon backed away from him until his back was pressed against the wall between his vanity and his dresser. Bill leaned over to look under the bed and nudged a rolled-up tarp with his foot. It unrolled across the floor, revealing Gideon's magic circle. "Uh-huh."

"Please stop looking around my room."

"Relax, I just want to see what's changed! This is hardly the first time I've seen your room." He glanced down at the subtle depiction of his face woven into the pattern on Gideon's carpet. "I've had eyes in here since you were a baby." 

He leaned over Gideon's bed, studying his knit zodiac blanket. "Although this eye is new. You went with red, white, and blue? How patriotic." He tugged at the blanket's edges, straightening it out. "Lots of pilling on the yarn, this thing's been very well loved. Does it still smell like Shooting Star, you cretin?"

"You keep your hands off of Mabel's blanket, you—!" Gideon swung his lamp toward Bill. It missed by a foot.

Bill didn't even flinch. "You're very lucky that you missed." For a moment, his voice was inhumanly low.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He clutched the lamp against his chest. "W-what do you want from me? I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, all right? Is that what you want to hear?!"

"It's a good start!" Bill sat on Gideon's bed and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows, ankles crossed casually, resting in the center of his own zodiac. "Now, promise you'll stop advertising in people's dreams, and everything's forgiven!"

"I..." Gideon bit his lip.

Bill grinned a little wider. "What's the problem, kid? It's not like your daddy needs you running his advertising campaign! The family finances aren't resting on your shoulders!" He laughed.

Gideon just bit his lip harder. 

"Oh wait. Maybe they are. Are they?"

He looked down at the tarp. "Mrrng."

Bill sat up, leaning forward until he caught Gideon's gaze again. "So sorry, Star Boy! I didn't realize how serious your situation is!" His wicked smile said otherwise. "Wow, that must be so hard for you—the family breadwinner, at such a young age. Knowing your family needs you to keep them afloat. And it's not like you can just go out and get a job! So what can you do, except... well, whatever it is you already know how to do? Putting on a good show, right?"

"It's not like that," Gideon snapped, ignoring the weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his lamp weapon and tugged anxiously at one of his sleeves. "It—it's not as though we're broke! We just... might have to tighten our belts a little bit, that's all. It's normal, most businesses have their ups and downs."

"Of course. Just no big shopping trips for a while! Pity you're about to need a whole new wardrobe, though."  Bill casually pushed himself off Gideon's bed, taking a step closer. "Hey, wanna know when your next growth spurt starts?"

Gideon shrank down. "No."

"It costs a lot to keep a growing kid clothed. And fed, and stocked with school supplies... If father asks for a little help, how can you refuse? If you don't, you could lose the business, lose your house, lose everything... all that, plus knowing it'd be your fault for not doing what you can? It's heartbreaking."

Bill leaned over Gideon, propping himself up with a hand on his dresser, trapping him in his shadow. Gideon cringed; but Bill asked, voice unexpectedly low and almost gentle, "You're so important. There's a helplessness that comes from wielding that kind of power, isn't there?"

The weight in Gideon's stomach grew heavier. Bill must have been watching his life ever since last fall; that was the only way he could have understood what Gideon was feeling so well. And yet—hearing someone else put it into words was a strange relief. He'd cut to the bleeding core of the issue. Gideon was the only one with the power to do anything, so he had to do something. It was a helplessness.

"Yeah." Gideon put his lamp back on his dresser, defeated. "Yeah, there is."

Bill crouched in front of Gideon, meeting him at eye level. "It just so happens that I'm sympathetic to your situation, kid. I get it." It was hard to read the mood in Bill's alien gaze; but for a moment, Gideon was sure he really did see a glimmer of sympathy in his slit pupil. "So how about this: I could help you out. Make some calls, pull some strings... give the family business a little boost," he said. "If you do me a couple small favors first."

Outraged, Gideon shouted, "You're blackmailing me into working for you again?! You—!" With a furious grunt, Gideon shoved Bill away from him.

To his surprise (and immediate horror), Bill lost balance, toppling onto his back with a yelp. But he just rolled onto his side and hopped back to his feet, laughing. "No no no! I'm blackmailing you into knocking off the annoying dream spell. That's all! Cut it out, or I'm telling Mabel. And—heck, how about the police while I'm at it?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I am pals with the sheriff and the mayor. Mind control happens to already be illegal in Gravity Falls, you can thank Quentin Trembley for that—such a forward thinker! I don't think there are any state-level laws yet, but I bet they'll wriiite ooone just for yoo-oou." The last sentence came out as a singsong taunt. "Anyway: drop the mind control. That's all I'm asking for. Okay?"

Gideon had circled around Bill to his bed, where he pulled off his zodiac blanket and bundled it against his chest. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Prison probably should, but the thought of giving Mabel a fresh reason to hate him... He looked down at the blanket, and heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay."

"So? We're agreed? No more dream advertisements?"

"No more dream advertisements. You win."

"Great!" Bill beamed at Gideon. "But then, completely separately, if you want help saving the family business... well, offer's on the table! In fact, I'd happily offer to help without asking anything in return—"

"—you should, it's mostly your fault—"

"—except that, with my own situation being like it is, what with the limited access to my usual resources... I need you to help me help you." He spread his hands apologetically. "Nothing I can do about it."

Gideon pressed his lips together, looking down at his zodiac blanket. A fold in the fabric displayed part of the ripped heart. Gideon plucked out the blanket until he could glimpse the top of the shooting star.

He swallowed hard. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"I can't accept your help," Gideon said. "I lead a support group of ex-cons—the very same ones I stupidly led into battle for you—and what would they say if they heard I was working for you again?"

The indulgent smile on Bill's face vanished. Rage flashed in his eye. "What would they say if they learned you're the first among them to reoffend?" He pointed at Gideon's magic circle. "Wouldn't they be disappointed. Aren't they your followers these days?"

Gideon squirmed under Bill's glare, backing away until he bumped into one of his nightstands. "F... 'followers'?"

"Your devotees—now that your Tent of Telepathy audience has abandoned you." The new smile that twisted across Bill's face now was hard and cruel, and his eye fixed like a prison searchlight on Gideon made Bill seem much closer than he was. "Isn't being worshiped sublime, Star Boy? That unconditional love? A worshiper will always be more reliable than some girl's fickle heart. But even the most 'unconditional' love always comes with fine print. How far are you willing to go to remain worthy of their love?"

Bill pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. "We both know you'll help your daddy's business. The only question is if you'll do it your way, or mine." He placed the paper on Gideon's dresser and tapped it with his finger. "My way doesn't even involve breaking the law."

Gideon shook his head. "I won't..."

"I'll leave it with you anyway."

Bill strolled around the bed. "Well! I think we're finished here, how about you?" He stopped in front of the door.

He turned back. "Gideon, you're gonna have to get the door, I can't..."

"What?" Gideon asked. "Y'can't what?"

Bill huffed. "I'm sort of under this curse? So. If you could just—"

Gideon burst out laughing in disbelief. "The Amnesia Limina curse? You can't open doors?! Are you kidding me!"

"I can still ruin the rest of your embarrassingly short mortal life, you twit. Just—just get over here—"

Still laughing, Gideon crossed the room and got the door.

"Yeah. Thanks. Great."

As they came downstairs, Mabel hopped off the sofa. "Sooo? How'd the apology go?"

"Great!" Bill got in front before Gideon had a chance to speak. "I think we really understand each other better. Isn't that right, Gideon?"

Gideon grumped, "I think it's the worst 'apology' I've ever heard."

Bill gave him a dirty look powerful enough to kill a skittish horse; but he flinched under the weight of Mabel's disappointed frown. He laughed nervously, "Okay, so I still need some practice with my delivery! Human tones are finicky." He stared at Gideon. "But you accept the overall content of it, right?"

Bill was giving Gideon the creepiest smile he'd ever seen. But Mabel, on the other hand, was giving him this hopeful look—like she wanted this to go well so badly, and only Gideon could make or ruin her day. There's a helplessness that comes with wielding that kind of power.

In the world Gideon had been raised in, if someone who has transgressed against you apologizes, you don't have the right to withhold their forgiveness—it makes you as bad as the transgressor. The only way he could refuse was if he told Mabel he hadn't even gotten any apology; but there was no way to say that without admitting what they'd really discussed. "Yeah," Gideon muttered at his shoes. "I s'pose I accept it."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air so enthusiastically she lifted a few inches off the floor. "Great work! Happy face stickers for everybody!" She smacked a sticker on Bill's shirt and Gideon's lapel.

They tugged out their clothes to inspect their stickers. Bill's had a giant yellow smiley face over the words "Good job!" Gideon's had a smiling whale surrounded by the words "WHALE DONE". They were both disproportionately elated by their prizes.

"So can we go now?" Mabel whispered, "I feel like Mr. Gleeful's new clown painting is staring at me."

"Just one second. I should have a word with the missus of the house." Bill waved back at the kids as he trotted from the room. "Be right back!"

Mabel eyed Gideon warily.

Gideon smiled winningly. "So, Mabel. As long as you're already over here, would you like to stay for dinner—?"

"Nuh-uh." She turned and headed for the door. "Goodbye forever!"

"Aw."

Bill followed the sound of vacuuming through the kitchen into the dining room, and rapped on the doorframe. "Knock knock."

Joy flinched and spun around. "Oh." She turned off her vacuum. "Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality before we leave!"

"Oh—yes, of course. You're welcome."

He lowered his voice, "And I also wanted to tell you not to worry about a thing. I'm sure everything will turn out fine for your family—and for you." He flashed her a winning smile.

She hesitantly nodded. "Thank you."

####

As they walked to the gate around the Gleeful property, Mabel said, "You weren't just all talk with Gideon's mom, were you? You actually are planning to help her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Something like that. How'd you know?"

"You told her to call you Mister. That means you mean business!"

A crooked smile stretched across his face. "Hey! No fair, you know too much. You're figuring out all my secrets."

Out on the sidewalk, Bill did a cartwheel, attempted to turn it into a handstand, and fell on the sidewalk. He brushed off a scraped elbow with a grumble and got back up. Well, it matched his burn on the other side.

"4 out of 10."

"I didn't ask."

Mabel snickered. "You know—your conversation with Gideon might not have gone perfectly. But you realized you did something wrong, you apologized for it, and you're gonna do better." She patted his arm. "I'm really proud of you, Bill. That's some serious growth."

"Really?"

"Really."

He beamed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of him. (Granted, he didn't generally tolerate relationships in which somebody felt like they had enough superiority over him to feel "pride" toward his actions. Generally "awe" or "admiration" were more common.) He was basking in the praise. He was over the moon. He was euphoric. He was the best person to ever exist.

The fact that the praise was horribly misplaced didn't faze him in the least.

####

Gideon had spent the past minute picking peas out of his pot pie and scooting them to the edge of his plate.

Bud cleared his throat. "Son, you really ought to eat your vegetables. And they'll taste better mixed in with the rest of your food than all by themselves."

"I don't want my peas."

"But they're good for you! Don't you want to grow up big and strong—?"

Gideon flinched. He pounded the table. "I said I don't WANT my peas!"

"All right, okay, that's fine! Just thought I'd suggest it."

Gideon grumpily scooped up a forkful of chicken, carrots, and corn, eyed the carrots skeptically, and took a bite. It was fine. "So, father. How was work?"

Bud sighed. "Oh, it would've made more sense just to close for the day. At least then I wouldn't be wasting money on air conditioning the office."

"Oh." Gideon stabbed at a lone piece of corn with his fork. "Maybe we oughta... stop with the nighttime ads. It doesn't sound like they're helping."

"Ahh, you might be right."

Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

"I just don't know what else to try." Bud shook his head. "I've tried newspaper ads, TV ads, radio ads, billboards, fliers, sales, cutting brake lines..." He settled his hand near Gideon's spot at the table. "Son, you know I know you're doing the best you can to help our family, and it means more to me than I can say. But, if there's anything else you can think of...?"

Gideon tried to avoid his father's gaze—and instead, spotted his mother. She usually kept to herself during dinner, wholly focused on her own plate when she wasn't setting out dishes or cleaning them up. But tonight, she was looking right at Gideon. Like she expected something out of him, too.

He shrank into his seat. "Well. I've got one other idea I could try."

####

Gideon shut the door to his room—and, just to be safe, stuck his chair under the doorknob. Then he gingerly picked up the paper on the dresser and unfolded it.

The same tall, thin handwriting as on the letter he'd received—but even more cramped, cramming as much text on one torn-out book page as possible. A terse paragraph of instructions, a phone number, a numbered list of questions, a prepared statement.

Gideon got his mobile phone and a notebook, set up to take notes at his vanity, took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed the number. As the phone rang, he looked at himself in the mirror and muttered, "Heaven help me if I'm facilitating the start of Armageddon."

Then someone picked up, and he held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Oh, right, er—" He read off the paper Bill had given him, "'But rises gold over the pyramid.' ... Yes. Mhm, I'm calling on behalf of... of Bill Cipher. ... My name's not important, I'm just the messenger—oh, oh you recognize my voice! Haha!" He mopped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "A-always nice to meet a fan! Yeah, we know each other. Small world. N... no, he didn't give me my... I was—was psychic before I met him, actually. Sorry, I didn't catch your name—who'm I speaking to?"

Gideon looked at Bill's list of questions, wrote a 1. in his notebook, and beside it wrote "Sue Blime." One question down. "I have a message to pass on."

####

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

And then he laughed louder, and louder—higher, shriller, echoing all the way to the distant stars. "What am I doing?" He opened his eye and looked at his hands, tangled with gold threads and soaked in blood. He laughed again, gleeful. "What am I doing! None of this is real! This is a dream! We're in my dreamscape. None of this matters! I control all of you!"

Bill controlled all of them.

He effortlessly peeled his arm off the plane of his dimension into the third, still tangled in gore, and spun his finger. The golden shreds of skin let go of his hand, rotating around his hand in a loose tornado. Cackling again, he rose up into space, looping like a paper airplane on a breeze, telekinetically twirling the countless golden shreds with him like he was doing a ribbon dance. And wasn't it beautiful? He was changing their color—yellow green blue violet red orange yellow—he was melting them down to floating drops of liquid gold, he was making them vanish into thin air. There was no blood on his hands. There never had been. He had never killed. His mother did not exist.

He glanced toward the stars. "Am I gonna have any meddling from you? Want to sell me any cars tonight?"

The stars didn't answer. Good. He didn't want his show interrupted by a commercial break.

"I control you," Bill announced to the crowd of assembled worshipers below, numb and thoughtless and unmoving while the god of this dream had no use for them to live. "You answer to me!" He jabbed his thumb against his golden face—not the internal organs exposed to the third dimension the rest of the shapes had, but the exoskeleton he wouldn't start wearing until centuries after this memory. "The only life you have is in my head! All of you, all of you have been burned away for a trillion years!" He paused, then flashed two finger guns at a red hexagon in the crowd. "All except you, Hect. Always great to see a long-time fan!"

In the field of frozen shapes, Bill's memory of Hectorgon hesitantly waved.

"But..." Beneath Bill, still as aghast as he'd been so many eons ago, still playing his part to move this dream along, his father said, "But... what are we going to tell your followers?"

"Ugh, you're such a downer. Give it a rest, you old square!" Bill did something no prisoner of the second dimension had ever been capable of doing: he snapped his fingers. His father silently dissolved into origami butterflies and fluttered into space. "You barely even liked her."

He floated back down to the plane, lacing his fingers together to stretch his arms in front of him. "I don't need you," he muttered. "I've got this handled. I've always been the one who had this handled. Now let's end this dream the right way."

Time to sucker his suckers.

He swooped through the open doors to speak to his assembled worshipers as effortlessly as though he'd been doing this a trillion years: "My beautiful, loving believers! I have wonderful news. Your high priestess—my mother—has passed on; but, you should be celebrating! Because she hasn't abandoned us! Her spirit's just ascended—not up, but out of our dimension and into the third, where the spirits of all departed shapes live on! Her spirit's formed a bridge from there to me, and through me to you! She's revealed the true nature of the third dimension—a sublime realm of color and life—and I'll reveal it to you, too!"

The black starry void of the third dimension above Bill mutated as he spoke; now, it was raucous colors, beams of light, and glittery gold. Faraway neon-colored shapes danced deliriously through nebulas and clouds.

"I'll teach you the secrets passed down to us from the enlightened third-dimensional spirits; I'll show you how to see it all for yourself... and if you follow me, if you devote yourself entirely to my teachings, if you trust me blindly—blindly, for I can see what others can't—then I'll guide you INTO the third dimension! I will be your teacher, your divine guide, your muse! So tell me: do you trust me?"

The worshipers cheered.

"Do you worship me?!"

The worshipers screamed.

"Do you love me!"

The worshipers howled, mad with love for Bill, ripping each other apart in a spontaneous outpouring of zealotry.

Bill's shrieking laughter rose up above the roar of his imaginary crowd.

####

For the first time since his death, Bill woke fully rested. Dawn streamed in through the attic window, shining golden on the cloud of curly hair dangling in front of his eyes. And wasn't it beautiful? He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed it back, and pushed it into the right shape.

He checked to make sure no humans were coming for a while, slid Journal 4 out of its hiding place, and flipped to the page where he'd stuck his "Good Job!" sticker. He'd used his stolen half-dried marker to blacken the sides of the yellow smiley face, turning it from a circle into a triangle, draining the last of its ink in the process. He wasted four pages with every detail he could recollect from this dream, going on and on about how easy it had been to assert his rightful control, how effortless to control time and space. If he ever found the human who wrote that lucid dreaming guide, he was giving 'em a planet.

At the end, he wrote in English, "You'll regret turning me down as your teacher, Stanford. You can't even imagine how many people would have committed murder to get that kind of attention. But I gave it to you."

He tried to remember how that sermon had really gone.

What did he need to remember the truth for? It must have gone something like that. He wouldn't still be here if it hadn't, would he?

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!! Next week we kick off with more of Bill's history—and then start ramping up for the biggest, longest plot arc so far.)

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 6

Masterpost

"I'm telling you, Fenton!" Wes announces. "I'm onto you." A few of the kids walking past snicker at them, as Danny does his best to look confused. The startled part is easy; Wes is turning out to be a surprisingly good actor. He's been gradually leaning even harder to the image of a conspiracy nut, and the result is impressive. Danny, on the other hand, is simply trying to keep up with the insanity.

"I have literally no clue what you're talking about, dude." Danny says, attempting to push past Wes, so he can enter their classroom. Wes doesn't seem inclined to let this confrontation end, though.

"You may have everybody else fooled, but I know the truth. You made a pact with the so-called ghosts and their efforts to take over our world. You're just manipulating your parents' tech in order to convince everyone that they actually are ghosts, and not the invading fae army they really are!"

"Dude, what?" Danny responds, not quite able to hold back the laugh.

"Honestly, Wes, don't you have any common sense?" Star asks, as she walks up. "Rumor has it that Fenton's failing like half his classes, and you think a bunch of fae lords, or whatever would trust him to help their scheme? Surely they'd choose someone more competent." She flips her hair, and then walks past the both of them, as a couple of the kids nearest to them start snickering.

Outwardly, Danny winces and hunches in on himself a little more, as he takes the opening Star just created and ducks into the classroom after her.

In hallway outside, Danny catches Wes muttering to himself before following them in. No one says anything for a minute, but the moment the bell rings and Mr Lancer shuts the door, Star turns to Wes.

"I think you should be a writer or something after we get out of here." Star tells him. "That theory was honestly inspired."

"It gets even better. I have so much evidence to force on you guys, it'll be great." Wes answers, then turns to Danny. "You good? I know we don't mean any of it, but it's still gotta suck to have us acting like assholes all the time."

"I mean," Danny hums. "I'm not gonna say it's fun? But like honestly compared to everything else, dissing my work kinda seems..."

"Banal?" Sam offers.

"Yeah, sure, that." Danny nods. "Like, compared to people wanting me dead, who cares, I guess."

"Yikes," Kwan mutters. "Your life is a fucking mess, dude."

"Well, i do have some good news about that." Tucker announces, turning his computer to face everyone else. "Looks like the fanbase is making some progress towards finding the real stuff.

Danny stares at the reddit thread Tucker is on. He's honestly been only loosely paying attention to the actual stuff Tucker and Wes have been posting. He's happy to offer his knowledge of space stuff, or engineering, but the intricacies of secret code aren't really something he ever pursued. Well, except for the secret language he and Tucker had made as kids. Wes, on the other hand, peers at the screen and lets out a soft whoop.

"Hell yeah! They found the second layer!"

"Yeah. Which means they've found our first plea for help."

"Oh, wow," Sam says sardonically. "A plea for help that's so great. Why are they gonna think it's anything other than another part of the damn story."

"Chill out, Sam," Tucker responds. "The point is to encourage them to look harder. And once they find the next level, they'll start finding our info on the infinite realms."

"Whatever," Sam says, frowning. "I just... Don't like how much waiting this involves."

"Yeah it would be a lot easier if we could just, like, beat them up and call it good," Dash agrees. "But, like, jail would probably suck."

"At least they're making progress," Danny points out. "I don't really get how you guys are making these layers, but. It's more progress than anything else we've tried."

"Yeah, but like, what does this mean for us?"

"Why not interact directly with that post?"

"Maybe. We'd have to be extra careful about what and how we say it, so they don't write us off as a copycat or anything, but it could serve to reinforce, uh-" Wes leans in, to read the username. "BenBlues379's theory."

"Okay then, let's draft a reply." Danny zones out as they start to discuss the specifics. He hadn't actually had to go deal with any ghosts last night, but his parents had been working on some new invention, and the noise of their trials had made sure he didn't get much sleep despite the supposed reprieve. Luckily, nobody in this class is going to complain if he takes the opportunity to catch up on the missed shut-eye now, so with one last deep breath, Danny folds himself down onto his and relaxes into sleep, as the sounds of his classmates debating echoes around him.

[itischeese]

He's so small when you put him up against all he's lost.... Happy (late) birthday, Kakashi!

[moeblob]

Deviates to wear colorful shirts.

[peace-hunter]

I wonder if Jazz could be a catalyst for Orion realizing he isn’t that special. Because B-127 definitely is going to view Orion as extremely special and important, and Elita may view him as especially annoying. But to Jazz, Orion is just a cool coworker and a fun guy to be around, who does reckless stuff but also likes to help. So long as he doesn’t get Prime-dazzled, he could be a great part of Optimus grounding himself in realizing he is also just some guy.

ooohh i love that idea! personally i think elita would still be critical for orion's character development in this au, but adding jazz to the mix could be really fun!

the thing about orion's arc in this au is that he has to let go of the idea that him being a prime since birth makes him inherently worthy of leading. both because that's a pretty conceited way of thinking and because it places an unreasonable amount of pressure on him.

the high guard are absolutely no help on this because to them orion being a Prime is the foundation upon which they've set all their hopes for the future. he's their last hope and they've built up an idea of what he would grow up to be like throughout all the years they've been apart. and when they finally reunite and he inevitably fails to meet up their expectations, their disappointment is so great it causes a lot of them to lose all their faith on the Primes and Primus as a whole.

which. not a great thing to put on a twenty something years old kid who just got his entire world shaken to its very foundation!

bee is not nearly as bad as the high guard about this, but he's definitely a little bit too starstruck to really give orion the grounding presence he needs for this. like. bee would've followed orion pretty much to the end of the world simply because he was the first friend he'd had in so long. so add to that orion being revealed as a Prime and bee is simply too attached now to really tell orion off in any way.

not to mention orion feels a bit too responsible for bee to let him know just how shaken and terrified he is by what bee clearly sees as something amazing. personally i see bee as just a couple years younger than the rest of the squad but enough so that orion feels compelled to take care of him in some level. more like a younger brother than a son, but still firmly in the "I have to be strong for him" zone.

now for elita i think she would be perfect to make orion understand he's being incredibly idiotic by thinking being a Prime inherently makes him a good leader. she worked her aft off to be captain of just one (1) miner crew and she's better than him in everything so what makes him think just being born with a fancy title is sufficient to lead an entire army. he has to put in the work too. there's simply no way around it.

and in contrast jazz can make him see that it's okay. it's fine that he's not the perfect Prime already. that he's not an irremediable failure just because he failed once. orion saved his life back when he was nothing but a reckless miner with nothing but spite and a good heart to his name. even when he messed up and got in trouble, he never stopped trying to help. that's why he liked him. why would him being a Prime change that.

anyway! i like it, good idea nonnie <333

baby prime orion au

[imjustspacetrash]

Some fanart for a fanfic that I love! Honest Man by girlpigeon. I'm obsessed with their fics (babe wake up, they just dropped a new fic for serirei week 2024).

Here we have my visual interpretation of Reigen's sister and brother-in-law! Love how they are written in the fanfic, they are so canon to me now, this is how I imagen the Reigen Family to be. And I love the Reigen's dyed hair detail!, I headcanon that his original color is his manga colors.

My Carrd

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

the arms of the ocean

for @andorerso's Fix-it Week, for the prompt stolen moments/traditions

After the mess of the past twenty hours, finding the shimmering purple lake feels like a little bit of a miracle. Or, to a less cynical being, perhaps a reward for all the shit they’ve been through – again – in this endless, painful, stupid fight that has clawed into their bones all their lives, and that she often things will be the last thing left of her when all else is gone.

Regardless, Jyn thanks the Force for the heavenly sight, and the perimeter check she makes before ripping off her sweaty, stained clothes would have got her yelled at for roughly a standard hour back when.

It doesn’t matter – right now, she’ll gladly fight whatever wants to stop her from sinking her battered, reeking body into the crystal-clear water. (And, on a more practical level, she is not really concerned. She is no longer alone, and Cassian, ever careful, hypervigilant, boring Kath-mutt of a spy is hanging back as she throws herself into the blessedly cool waters of the lake. With him watching her back, she can afford to be a little foolish sometimes.)

The water is divine after the heat of the fumes and the explosions and the overheating speeder barrelling through slate-grey sands, like grit paper on every sliver of exposed skin. She feels raw, all over, and her shoulder throbs where the trooper’s baton hit… But the lake’s embrace is gentle and soothing, the cold water lapping ever-so-faintly at her as she dives to the bottom.

And, true enough, when she comes up for air, feet digging into the fine sand below and dirt dripping from her hair into her eyes, Cassian is standing at the edge of the water, fully dressed and blaster in hand, shaking his head at her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get naked this fast.”

[Read on Ao3]

She grins at him and tips her head back to rinse some of the grime out of her hair as best she can. “Sure you have.”

She hears him laugh, muffled by the water. “True. I meant I haven’t got a chance to, ah… admire the speed. From a distance.”

Jyn rolls her eyes at the pearly white sky, and dips her head underwater again, smoothing her tangled hair back as she resurfaces. She hadn’t really thought past the feeling of cool water on her skin and the opportunity to wash the slime and grit of the factory explosion out of her hair… but they do have at least five standard hours to kill before Bodhi, Chirrut and Kay will be at the rendezvous point. And, barren and lonely as it is, this is a very nice place. And there isn’t a sentient in miles and miles out here. After months on base… well, it would be downright criminal to squander this opportunity, wouldn’t it?

“You could admire up close,” she says, smiling up at her partner and pushing a little further out again. “The water’s nice.”

He smiles. “I’m good.”

“You’re every bit as disgusting as I am,” she scoffs. “Bodhi might not take you on board like this, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

He shrugs. “Someone should be on guard. This model isn’t water safe,” he says, waving the blaster in his hand.

“We lost them,” she says, with as much patience as she can muster. “We doubled back four times, Cassian.”

Instead of relaxing, he just tenses up a little more – not watching the shoreline as she thought, actually, but the water of the lake.

 “We don’t know what might be living in there. You should come out.”

She sighs, and forces herself not to roll her eyes at him again. No, this one’s on her, really. She had to pick the jumpiest son of a ruskakk she could find. He is a spy, it’s not like she didn’t know this about him.

“Look around,” she says, gesturing at the empty, silvery shores and cragged obsidian rocks lining the lakeside. “What would live here? What would it eat?”

He opens his mouth to argue, and she can picture it already – oh, but there’s a jungle nearer the equator, Jyn, things do live here, you’re the one always telling me to remember that the –

“Jyn, if something pulls you in there, I will be very little help,” he says quietly, eyes still skimming the glimmering surface of the water.

Jyn feels her thoughts grind to a painful halt, not unlike the lumbering troop carriers she used to wrench durasteel rods into when she was thirteen. The realisation drops in quietly, slowly, and then one after another the gears catch and whine, misalign, and –

“You’re telling me you can‘t swim?” she asks, and Cassian just shrugs, eyes never leaving the water.

“Where was I going to learn it?” he answers lightly. “On Fest, most water was frozen solid.”

Jyn swallows at something – a memory, a burning in her lungs, a horrible sound in her ears, a weight, wriggling and heavy, pulling…

She tamps it down, in tried-and-true fashion; cauterises it with searing, white-hot rage. It’s not difficult to summon. Those banthafuckers –

“And it’s not like you’ve been a soldier for like twenty years since then!” she snarls. “Doesn’t the goddamn Alliance teach their people to swim? Didn’t the Seps?”

Another shrug. “I guess they were giving the underwater espionage to other people,” he says, and puts a sardonic little smile on his face, but his eyes still watch the gentle patterns of the wind on the lake’s surface, and she has looked at him long enough now to see that the smile is off – not very, but enough.

She does wade back to shore, just so he’ll start actually listening to her. The tension melts out of his shoulders immediately, and he reaches down and holds out her jacket to her.

The wind is a shock on her bare, wet skin, but she is too angry to feel it.

“Who was your drill instructor?”

“Sargeant Karle,” he says patiently, still holding out the worn, coarseweave work jacket, though something crinkles around his eyes in concern when he finally clocks her mood. “But you can’t yell at her now, she’s been dead for a long time.”

Jyn huffs. “Did she drown?”

“No. Faulty grenade, I think.” He sighs. “I’m not sure. I was off world when it happened.”

Something about his tone soothes her a little – hell, how many times had a grenade, a blaster bolt, even the local fauna stopped one of her lessons short? How often had Saw dropped her into some mess, only to be irritated and confused when she had to hack her way out because he’d failed to impart some crucial information, had assumed she would know?

(Maybe he’d lied about it, too. It got so tiring, so embarrassing, being the kid of the group. She remembers that. She remembers, after the fiftieth time of piping up to say “I don’t know how to do that”, after the eightieth time of someone rolling their eyes and rattling off some condescending instructions – just nodding when someone asked if she knew, and praying she’d just figure it out in the moment… though she can about imagine how that well that would go when the thing you were lying about was knowing how to keep your head above water.)

She holds the jacket, runs her thumb over the coarse material, considering.

“Jyn,” Cassian says, very softly, and she drops the jacket on the sand.

She will not accept this. She will not –

“Get in the water, Cassian.”

The concern in his dark eyes makes room for something somewhere between bemusement and alarm. “Jyn –“

She shakes her head, steps up to him and slowly curls her hand around his over the blaster. He wouldn’t hurt her – well, he’d never want to. But they are what they are, and she’s not about to take chances while she’s actively triggering his fight or flight response.

A third emotions enters the confused mix on his face, battling the two much more serious ones. Jyn, too, suddenly becomes a little more aware of the fact that she is having this conversation very naked.

She makes use of his distraction by taking the blaster, and jutting her chin up defiantly. Naked or not, she could knock him on his ass whenever she wants. She wouldn’t, unless she had to. But she could.

“A blaster bolt to the head, or your karking little pill, that’s one thing,” she says quietly. “But you’re not drowning.”

The memory rears its ugly head again, for the span of a breath, but she swats it down. She has a task now. She can ignore it.

His eyes flicker, a motion so small she only catches it because she spends an inordinate amount of time looking at this man (and still, Force, not nearly enough yet, not by a long stretch). The anxiety still sits in his eyes, but something softens. She’s not sure what did it – usually, she has to hammer down the fact that she is concerned for him for hours until anything sticks. She probably gave something away. (Kriffing spies.)

“Get in the water,” she repeats, and he sighs, checks his commlink, sighs again. His eyes are still soft on hers, but the tension in his shoulders is back. She doesn’t need to clock this to know what he thinks of this suggestion – but he still watches her, and whatever he’s seeing seems to mean something.

“Alright.”

She tries to let her expression soften a little, too, but doesn’t feel very convincing. She attempts a smile. “Could be fun.”

He scoffs, steadying himself on her as he steps out of the uniform pants. “Don’t expect me to get too excited while I’m fighting a body of water for my life.”

She does smile, now. “One day, Cassian,” she mutters, pulling the grimy shirt over his head, “you’re going to loosen up. And I’ll be there to see it.” She steps in closer and kisses him, slowly, languidly. For once, not listening for the hiss of a door, the ping of a comm, the trampling of plastoid boots or the blaring of klaxons...

He doesn’t relax, but he does tug her closer, and the reflexive, practised movement of it makes her blood boil a little more. She won’t lose this man. Not yet. She is so far from having her fill of stolen moments like this –

“I would not mind doing this instead,” he murmurs against her lips, leaning his head against hers. She can tell he’s not putting in real effort to try and convince her, but shavit, she almost lets it work anyway.

Almost, though, because that memory is still simmering just under her skin and she will be damned if she ever hears anyone make that noise again. And not him, not for all the galaxy.

So she breaks away, not far, just far enough to look up at him with a teasing grin. “Try hard enough, and maybe there’ll be something in it for you.”

That brings a spark to his eyes, despite the nerves. It never stops being funny to her, how much this ever-patient kung loves a challenge, underneath it all. “Deal.”

She reaches for his hand, and pulls him towards the water. As soon as the water laps at their feet, she can feel the tension returning to his movements – not the limp, she barely even remembers how he walked before. But she can tell how much it takes him to keep following.

“We’re not going in far,” she says, as matter-of-factly as she can. “You can just stand up, and you’ll be fine.” She turns back to him, finds him staring out to the middle of the lake in apprehension again, and runs her hand through his hair until he looks at her.

“Are you with me?”

He exhales, slowly. “Yes.”

“Good,” she says softly, and pulls him further in, until the clear water is up to her shoulders.

“Okay. Just bend your knees and put your head underwater.”

He looks at her like she’s gone crazy, and she sighs.

“Hey. It’ll get all this druk out of your hair, and you can stand up whenever you want.”

He glowers at her for another second, but then goes under obediently – a little too fast, which tells her he had to force himself, and he’s breathing a little too hard when he comes up again.

She attempts a smile, even though no part of her feels like smiling. She doesn’t know what she hates more, how uncomfortable she’s making him or how obviously he, too, has some kind of very real experience with the feeling of drowning.

“Go again. Maybe actually wash your head this time,” is all she says, because she knows he doesn’t want pity, and she’s shit at it, anyway.

(When they get back, she will get Draven to sign off on mandatory swimming lessons, and if it’s the last thing she does. Perhaps the princess, or Mothma. She’d like to see them look down on her partisan training then, when she asks how many of their soldiers would survive the first ten minutes of being dropped onto Manaan.)

They repeat this for a while, until he lets her dive down with him and run her hands through his dirt-crusted hair, until his breathing is even when he comes back up.

“Good?” she asks, and he makes a motion somewhere between a nod and a shrug, which she declares good enough, because she’s getting cold. At this point it dawns on her that she doesn’t really remember being taught how to swim – at least not in what order she learned anything. But she figures she might get him more comfortable just standing in the water for a while, and teaches him the arm movement first. Breaststroke to start with, the way she learned – it’s not ideal, in fact with his limp it might tire him out a lot, but he needs to unlearn his fear before he’ll swim in any way that forces his head underwater.

The movement isn’t complicated, of course, so after a minute, he starts looking at her with his brows raised, as if to say I don’t think this is all it takes. He still looks at the lake like it wants to eat him, though.

Jyn sighs. “Look, if you keep your body tense enough, the water will keep you on the surface, okay?”

“That wasn’t my experience,” he says testily, in a tone that makes him sound far younger than he is – possibly as young as he was whenever he formed that memory.

“You go where your feet point, basically,” Jyn replies. “If your feet and your ass are close enough to the surface, the rest of you will be, too. Here,” she places her hands on his shoulders and lets her feet drift up behind her. “See? Doesn’t take that much.”

He eyes her like he’s not convinced she’s not doing some kind of magic to trick him. She brings her feet back down and places his hands on her shoulders. “Your turn.”

“I –“

“You said you trust me.”

Cassian sighs. “I do, but –“

“No but. I’ve got you,” she says flatly, placing her hands over his. “Just trust me.”

His hands clamp over her shoulder so hard she almost winces, but he does as he’s told, and eventually stays afloat without fidgeting, even though he’s still looking at her as if she was asking him to swallow a live vespid.

“Okay. You were watching me earlier. Do you remember how I moved my legs?”

He tries to set his feet down again, but she stops him. He glares at her.

“I was watching. Not strictly… to learn, though.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “You… pull your knees towards you, then move your feet apart and have them meet again as you stretch your legs. Like you’re making a circle with your feet.”

“What?”

Jyn sighs. “You ever see a frog swim?”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” she mutters. She’s a very good swimmer. She’s a good instructor, too – hell, several councilmembers signed off on that fact. This shouldn’t be this complicated.

He sets his feet down and releases her shoulders with a patient smile that seems less fake than his previous ones. His thumb traces a gentle line along her arm as he pulls away. “Can you show me?”

“Yeah,” she mutters, regaining some resolve. “You should look underwater, though. You’ll see better.” And it’ll freak you out less if you have a task. Wins all around.

She swims a few laps around him, and is pleased she knows him well enough to tell when he’s seen enough and getting distracted again. Force, she hopes he gets the hang of this quickly, so they can make some less depressing use of their precious few hours out time… well, regardless, really, they’ll have to get out of the water eventually. It wouldn’t do to get hypothermia (and away from Hoth, too, that’d just be kriffing embarrassing). They’ll need to find some way to get warm... She can think of a few.

She has him hang on to her shoulders for a while, practicing the movements, until he succeeds in his first task (pushing her over). A little too well, if anything – she miscalculated. Her prosthetic doesn’t have as much traction on the sand as her good leg, and when he pushes her backwards, she actually goes under, cold water going up her nose, and, what’s worse, fully dropping out from under Cassian. Which is fine all things considered, they’re in shallow water and he’s already on his feet when she comes up again, but she feels a raw flash of panic anyway, and he looks about three shades paler than he did a few seconds ago.

“Are you okay?” he asks very quietly, and he sounds out of breath.

“I’m fine. Good job,” she mutters, probably just as unconvincingly nonchalant.

His face twists into something she doesn’t like, guilty and vulnerable. She feels that, too, and a sting of irritation – they teach each other things all the time. It isn’t usually this awkward… well, it was sometimes, at the start. Especially for the vulnerable things, like having to explain when and how she needs to be told things or needs reassurance, when and how to touch her and when to stay the fuck away from her and how to tell the difference (hell if she knows, most of time). She doesn’t like being suddenly reminded that even when she has never been this comfortable around another person all her life, it doesn’t mean that they get to be done with the painful, awkward learning of it all.

Chirrut would probably make some cheesy point of there being joy in that, in the learning always continuing.

She thinks that’s bantha shit, right now. She loves learning from Cassian, and teaching him… teaching him how to use a weapon he’s never held before, or play a game he’s never played before. Not… this.

She tugs him close, in lieu of anything good or helpful to say; slowly running her hands over the tight muscles in his shoulders and the line of jagged scars along his spine until his breathing slows against her.

“Sorry I dropped you,” she mutters into his ear, and feels him tug her closer in response. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know,” he whispers, fingers digging into her tousled, wet hair, and they stand like this for a few breaths longer, alone in the cool, dark, gently moving water. Pressed together like two stars in the same orbit, slowly, slowly fusing into one brighter sun.

.

She does not let him leave the water before he’s got the hang of it enough to swim out to where his feet can no longer touch the ground, and from there back to shore, and back again three more times. In the end, she needs to be coaxed into stopping with the promised incentives, and only relents after promising (threatening) to make him continue the lesson as soon as they get near an unfrozen body of water again.

(Unsurprisingly, nothing kills the mood faster than being naked on fine sand – it would, Jyn imagines, even if that wasn’t what she felt under her feet in most of her nightmares – so they do end up in the shallow water again. She thinks to herself, afterwards, staring up into the featureless, pearly sky, this might have gone further in endearing Cassian to the element than the ninety-or-so minutes they spent on the impromptu swimming lesson. It’s a real shame this method will probably not come in as useful the next time, since most bodies of water won’t do her the favour of being both beautifully clean and entirely deserted.)

“Who taught you to swim?” Cassian asks quietly, combing his fingers through her tousled hair.

“Papa. At the IoCE sports centre, they had this enormous pool,” she replies, turning over to tuck into his side so she can look at him. “The size of the Yavin landing pad, I swear.”

He smiles distantly. “I bet the water was warmer at the Imperial Corps of Engineers’s sports centre.”

“Yeah. But there were significantly less imps and ISB creeps watching us here.”

Cassian snorts. “Thank the Force for that.”

“Mmh.” She grins, tracing her fingers over his arm. “It’s fun, once you get the hang of it, you know. Swimming. It’s… nice. Someone said once, it’s the closest a flightless species gets to flying.”

He crinkles his nose. “I think flying is the closest I get to flying.”

“No, like… flying without a ship, you drydak.”

He grins and rolls to his side, facing her. “Well, maybe… if this is how these lessons go… I might see the vision eventually.”

“Yeah?”

The teasing melts out of his eyes, slowly. “I’m glad you’re here to teach me, Jyn.”

She may be getting lessons in vulnerability these days, but she thinks she’ll need a million more before she’ll know a sensible reply to things like this. But he tried, for her, so she makes an attempt, a feeble one – “Yeah. Me too.” – and leans in to kiss him again, before she thinks of drowning again. She’ll let him steal her air, on and on, until the memory has faded once more.

.

(They hike to their rendezvous point hand in hand, silent and exhausted, and there is a stillness in her head that she has not felt in… Force, maybe ever. For an hour, they wait there in the twilight, shoulder to shoulder, talking only in the press of fingers, in the passing of a canteen, in following the other’s gaze to the horizon. Making the most of their stolen time.)

[Leave a comment on Ao3!]

[spiderin-space]

Spoiling my own next fic a tiny bit

(Feat. @the-one-who-lambs Lamb in the 8th doodle)

[sodaneko]

i was asked if i could share the fics mentioned in the quiz :3

… bitter by @nectardaddy

… rot by @dumdogs

… my bisque beau by @ottocre

… jackal's den by @nekozaki

… to be loved is to be known by @hiraethwa

… duskwatch by @megapteraurelia

… soft launch & exoplanets by me

[artgroves]

young Joyce and Jim Hopper for what a lucky man he was by @nnocres

for @strangerthingsreversebigbang

[kris-mage-fics]

Allow me to present this gorgeous magazine cover of Chase and Kyrahlise I commissioned from @javs-arts! I love it so much! <3

[sutherlins]

↳ FAIREST CREATURES by @falllpoutboy [WIP - 19K | Rated E]

Lord Carmen of House Berzatto, returns from his travels back to his ancestral home of Ursiday after the tragic death of his eldest brother Lord Michael. Now the Lord of Ursiday, he is pressured by his uncle and liege Lord James “Jimmy” Kalinowski to clean up the utter mess Michael left Ursiday and to marry and have children so the Berzatto name lives on…

sutherlins fic appreciation week (please show the fics love, kudos, and comments on ao3!)

I love this fic so much. You don't HAVE to be a fan of GOT/HOTD to love this, I actually think it would still be so enjoyable to read even if you know nothing of that world but if you are a fan of both GOT/The Bear?? This fic will burrow into your brain and live there forever because that's what has happened to me. It's so in keeping with that world yet the characters we love aren't lost in the slightest and they are true to who we know them to be, all while making sense in the type of environment they are in within this AU. It's absolute brilliance at work. It's filled with nods to canon and is one of the most immersive fics I've ever read.

Please go read it if you haven't already, and show some love over on ao3! (ps. I'm doing 7 this month and intend to make this a monthly thing!)