#im posting again because my tags are finally fixed

[j-esbian]

ok here is my hot voltron take in 2024*

it’s all right. it’s not a masterpiece but that’s ok. it holds up and i still think it’s fun

i feel like it suffered from a lot of factors while it was coming out. the rushed production (76 episodes in just 2 years), fandom expectations exploding and exceeding what the show had ever planned to do, the creators running their mouths and people putting more faith in word of god than what made it into the actual show, etc.

it’s not the pinnacle of television. i think a lot of people had high hopes when it came out; i remember a lot of folks talking about how the people who made it had worked on the last airbender, so they were expecting a similar caliber. i think a better analogy would be that this is a mech anime for western audiences where mech animes aren’t really a thing. but it struggled to deliver on that

i do think the biggest thing it suffered from was the production schedule. i still don’t understand why it was divided up the way it was, into a bunch of small, unevenly distributed seasons. there’s a lot of things that could have been executed better, but didn’t get developed in the way they should have. and the final product (for a lot of the character stuff specifically) feels like a line of tropes strung together rather than a coherent narrative, and the plot had very little thought put into it long-term (there’s almost entire seasons that give no screen time to haggar/honerva and like. maybe we could have spent a bit more time showing her pulling the strings and manipulating zarkon/sendak/etc. rather than Only focusing on them, in the seasons where they’re the villains). this is generally something i associate with things that lasted past their expiration date (like supernatural lol). i would have to look more closely into the development of the later seasons, because it really gives the impression they just had to run with their first thoughts and didn’t have time to flesh things out properly, especially in contrast to the seasons with lotor because they were almost cooking with that

for example, they almost sold me that allura had developed feelings for lance, but then in order to make it clear, they started making her all blushy and awkward around him because That’s A Trope People Understand That Means A Girl Likes A Boy, when that was really never who she was. they reached for it as shorthand to signal to the audience but didn’t really think too deeply about Who they were applying it to. the whole thing with shiro’s partner (and ambiguous autoimmune disease that exists only for one scene) would have been nothing if the creators hadn’t hyped it up so much beforehand, and if a little more time had been given and a little more care had gone into the scenes where that mattered, and if there had been literally any indication of it in the previous 6 seasons. they could have thought about how audiences would interpret pidge’s gender fuckery and done something to address that to avoid accusations of queerbaiting. it just added drama to season 1, they made a bathroom joke in season 2, and then forgot it was ever a plot point. whenever keith is on screen he’s the main character. he has the most developed arc out of any of the paladins (finding his family, becoming a leader, learning to not be such a loner) but again, whole swathes of episodes go by without him. and in his absence no one else really takes the spotlight. it just focuses on plot. hunk doesn’t really get anything to do until season 7, and it’s a very good scene where he’s jealous of lance and pidge for having their families back but it also feels like the first time he’s taken seriously in 60+ episodes. et cetera.

*big caveat that i just finished season 7, and season 8 was where i lost interest and never finished. i know The Big Thing that happened in season 8 and i can see where they were coming from. i’m sure they were thinking about doing a Big Damn Sacrifice and making some statement about the loss of the Old World to give birth to the New. i just don’t think they were mindful of 1) who they were sacrificing or 2) the fact that they were telling this story in the real world, where there’s countless other stories about black women being denied happiness in order to further someone else’s story. i don’t think this show Uniquely Hates Women because it has the same level of sexism that’s present pretty much across the board in modern sci-fi. they didn’t need to shoehorn in the romance but they clearly tried to be more mindful than the original (instead of Zero female paladins, there were two for most of the show.) they definitely had huge blind spots and i’m not excusing that but i do think that doesn’t cancel out everything else. it seems to be due to obliviousness rather than active malice. but again, i have yet to watch the final episodes

[sympathytea]

my ass is NOT writing. two of these are literally blank documents. writers block fucking go away !!! augh

[dawntheduckrb]

Low resolution borb chilling on the curb

[boofeine]

things that get svt vocal in bed

hello, this is (once was) @wannabelife :/ my acc got suspended, and now im trying to start new on this blog. consider this my first post all over again ig...

WARNINGS: smut headcanons, general reader, mdni

a/n: finals are all done, im baaack fr 🫡 requests are open

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @unlikelysublimekryptonite

seungcheol gets wrecked with a little bit of pain. nothing too crazy; the grip you have on his biceps, your knuckles white that will leave red marks in his skin later is more than enough to make him lose it. he goes insane when you pull his hair and neck, and scratch his back and abs.

jeonghan loves to hear you, be vocal for him, and you will hear back from him. the little whines of his name you let out makes his cock harder, the low groans making out of his lips as he watches you squirm and moan for him.

joshua loses it all with the skinship. hug him close, press your bodies together tight. he loves how your hard nipples stroke agains his, and your sounds are beautifully on the nap of his ear.

junhui loves when you move to meet up his thrusts. the way you roll your hips onto his while moaning, losing yourself, more desesparate to chase your high than anything else. nothing else matters, makes his hips hault because of you.

soonyoung gets crazy under pressure, truly just push his bottoms "is that all you got?" and he will keep doing a better job each time. he fucks you so good that he, himself, cant believe it feels that amazing, his moans louder and sweaty skin.

wonwoo is only mewling if you edge him, that's the only way you will be hearing those beautiful low husky moans. the overstimulation kicking in, his head going back as he lets out the nastiest moan from the back of his throat with eyes shut.

jihoon is most vocal when you give him head. you will hear him throughout the whole thing, but he gets louder when you look up at him. your gaze fixed on his, his face twisted in pure bliss and plesure, as your mouth is full of him.

seokmin feels he's about to bust his balls when you praise him. "so good, oh my god, you're perfect" "you fuck me so good, im gonna cum" "like that" your sweet words, making him twitch, his lewd moans almost music to your ears.

mingyu gets weak when you take over, rolling his body to the side as you crawl to sit over him. your hands going behind your back, finding stability at his thighs as you ride him with the sounds of him whiny crying out your name.

minghao loves the dirty talk. the way you get bratty and challenging with your words makes him lose it completely. gets him on the edge, grunting and groaning, fucking you restless.

seungkwan also gets louder with a little bit of pain, he's a bit freaky, tho. grip his hair, pull his head back, bite his neck, choke him, i'd even say slap him, i think he can enjoy that too, dig your nails to his skin, and this man will be squirming, moaning, grunting, completely at your mercy.

vernon goes crazy when you beg. the little cry on your tone as you beg him to not stop, to make you cum, to fill you up. and when you wrap your legs around his hips, kneels on his ass and lower back, pulling him deeper inside you, that's his end, he's a sobbing moaning mess.

chan is gasping for air when you put a show for him. his cock dripping and lungs burning as you play with yourself for him, pinching your nipples and swirling on your cunt, has him letting out those needy breathy moans as he watches you.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

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

chapter 2 | chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expedited the process. Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

“That’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stanford just ignores that.

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

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

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

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

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

A deep, sinking feeling twists in your gut.

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

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

“It’s just an observation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ford is the only one who doesn’t react.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare after Ford, then back at Stan .

“Oh, um,” you say. “what the hell.”

Stan looks down. “yeah, no shit.”

***

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

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

***

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

The harbour always smelled like salt and fish.

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

“What happened?”

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

“Dunno, pa just gets mad.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t. It looked awful.

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

“We should run away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d get seasick in five minutes.”

Ford scowled. “i would not.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s already happened.

It’s always happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . Any second now.

. . . Any damn second.

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

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

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

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

Footsteps, exactly. Your whole body goes rigid.

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

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

Meanwhile these sounds too slow, intentional.

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t remember running back to bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ghost of hands on your body.

And you don’t sleep.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was very persistent,” he admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huffed. “of course i did.”

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

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

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

“I’m gonna miss him,” you whispered.

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

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

Ford's hand stayed in your hair.

***

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

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

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

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

You blink, glancing towards it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill was always there.

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

Over. And over. And over.

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

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

Stanley's eyes

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

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

And his voice so small, so weak.

“Sixer?”

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

Gosh, he feels sick.

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

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

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

DON’T WORRY, POINDEXTER!

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU! HAHAHA!

HOW’S STAN, BY THE WAY?

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

REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE? YIKES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did this.

You did this.

You did this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ford, Ford. Hey—”

The deer.

The deer, the deer, the deer—

“ Ford!”

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

Not his.

Not Bill’s.

Yours

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

Not seeing you.

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

You're on your knees in front of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Your brow furrows . “Ford?”

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

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

“Warp theory— symmetry breakdown — proton decay—“

You squeeze him. “Ford, hey—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his face stays hidden.

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

His shoulders stiffen. You keep going.

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

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

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

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

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

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

You don’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ford stiffens.

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

He deflects.

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

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

Ford’s whole face twitches.

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

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

“Just not now, okay?”

Stan grumbles, but doesn’t argue.

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

You soften your voice again.

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

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

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

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

You exhale when you hear the water running.

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

“Noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “we studied together.”

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

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

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

You glance at him again. “what is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure you’re alright?”

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

“It’s nothing.“

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned at him. “why?”

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

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

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

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

But you had a dog waiting for you.

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

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

You promised him you’d be back tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

“Cold?” he glanced over at you.

“Genius observation.”

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

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

“So uh, you have a place to stay?”

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

You raised an eyebrow.

“I do!”

“ Oh, okay. Where ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or a real meal.

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

He stared up at the ceiling.

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

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

He exhaled, breath fogging up the air.

Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“University rules strictly forbid unauthorized stimulants—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, technically, it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe i just get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Handsome?”

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

Oh. . . oh, okay.

And that’s when Fiddleford knew .

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

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

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

Ford stopped writing. The pencil slipped from his fingers

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

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

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

Alone with you, asleep on his shoulder.

Ford didn’t move for a long time.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was so fucking tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oof.“

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

He reached down, adjusting his coat, when—

THUMP.

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

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

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

It’s me.

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

You stared at him.

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

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

You crossed your arms.

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

”Uh-huh.” your eyes narrowed.

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

“Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“You lied to me.”

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

“You fucking lied to me.”

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

“You told me you had a place , Stan.”

He stopped talking, and there was silence between you.

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

Stan bristled. “hey!”

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

“Hey now, hold on!”

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

Stan’s brain short-circuited. “what?”

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

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

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

“What?”

“You heard me.”

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

“What, you pity me now?”

“No,” you said simply.

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

“Nah, i the natural scent.”

“You literally smell like a dumpster.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Yeah and it hurts your pretty lungs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stanley!”

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

But the relief didnt last long.

Because week later, their dad does find out.

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

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

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

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

“Ford?”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, i can tell.”

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

“Uh, picked it up.”

“Picked it up where?”

“Places.”

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

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

“But you sounded pretty fluent just now.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

Then why did he feel so out of place?

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

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

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

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

“Beautiful?” you grinned.

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

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

“What?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, when you say it like that—“

“Are you hurt?”

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

“Hellooo? Earth to Sixer?”

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

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

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

“What?” you paused.

“Fiddleford. Have you seen him?”

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

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

“You don’t think . . .?”

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

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

And now he wasn’t.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wouldn’t.”

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

When you reach the shack, you knock. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing

Stan squints. “maybe he’s sleepin’.”

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

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

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

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

“Should we be worried?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn't have come back.”

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

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

Picture passes. Ford is still in bed, asleep.

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

….

“Nerd looked bad. Needed sleep.”

That was the verdict. So you let Ford be.

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

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

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

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

It was just this place felt weird.

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

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

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

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

Not some cheap thing, either.

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

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

Gravity's rainbow.

Oh yeah. He’d heard of that one.

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

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

Suddenly, something slips out of page 69.

A bookmark?

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

Huh.

A photo.

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

Some nerd award, Stan assumes.

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

What?

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

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

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

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

And then, a hand lands on his shoulder.

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

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

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

“What were you looking at?”

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

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

A burn.

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

Stan rolls his eyes. “it’s fine.”

“Bullshit. ”

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

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

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

You frown. “you could’ve at least—“

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Aww, shit.” you hear Stan say.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you sound paranoid.”

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

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

“You’re a goddamn baby.”

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

“Oh, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Acting like you’re getting tortured.”

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

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

“Fuck, watch it, would ya?”

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

“It ain’t a problem—“

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

“I was busy.”

“Busy being dumb?”

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

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

“So, since when does Sixer smoke?”

You stop, freezing.

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

“Ford doesn’t smoke.”

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

You swallow. “no.”

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

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

After a beat of silence Stanley bursts into shameless laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shoot.”

“Was he always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Paranoid. Weird. Off.”

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

“Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen.

“Fiddleford.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

You cross your arms. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

“Fidds , it’s me,” you name yourself.

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

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

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

You glare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s laughin’?”

“Nobody.”

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

“Uh,” Fiddleford sounds even more confused.

“Don’t listen to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

Another fucking nightmare.

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

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

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

Squeak.

Ford looks down.

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

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

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

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

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

[swiftjay23]

You wrote me wrong.

pairing: Idol!Jay x fem!reader

genre! fluff, tiny bit of angst, double life au, secret relationship.

Summary: You’re an editor on the media team at Belift, writing clever captions and emotional taglines for idol content that would make readers chuckle. By day, it’s a normal job. A normal life. Or so your colleagues think. By night? You’re VenusQuill, a wildly popular, anonymous fanfic writer with thousands of Tumblr followers begging for more Jay x Reader fics, and maybe your identity. The only problem? A certain stranger online has taken a keen interest, insisting you got the details wrong, and he won't budge until you've fixed them.

Word Count: 2876

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

You sigh for the hundredth time this hour, rubbing your temples together. You had been stuck editing the same five minutes of the video clip and rewriting captions just because your manager thought, "It's not up to the mark, Kim."

She always called you by your last name. You were half-convinced she didn’t actually know your first.

This specific clip was of Jay. Sharp jawline, eyes glinting like he knew something you didn’t, giving the camera a cheeky smile as he adjusted his mic.

You stared at the screen.

Thought.

Stared again.

Was this smile... sweet or sinister?

You’d tried captioning it both ways.

“The smile that melts hearts.”

Backspaced.

“He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Backspaced again, because you didn't need your other job's energy to show.

Maybe he did know. Maybe that smile wasn’t for the fans at all. Maybe it was aimed at the editor sitting in this too-cold office at 1 a.m., sipping vending machine coffee and accidentally memorizing the curve of his lips.

Yup, it was official. You needed to touch grass.

You saved the file for the seventh time, titled it something neutral and boring: Jay_CamSmirk_FINALFINAL_2.mp4. Great, more material, now you could finally complete that one last chapter you left your readers hanging on for the past 2 weeks.

And just as you were shutting down your screen, your phone buzzed.

Tumblr. You smirked. Boy, was this going to be one hell of a final chapter.

-0-

You sigh, clicking Post on 2:13 a.m. You had finally finished the series and were pretty happy with how it turned out. Jay and Emma (your OC) had worked it out, confessed, kissed (twice), and promised forever in their own quiet way.

You even teared up a little rereading that last line.

"I love you, Jay. I love you whole, down to the birthmark on the right side of your neck."

Romantic. Subtle. Just specific enough to make your readers scream in the tags.

You put your phone down, face full of smug satisfaction and ramen crumbs. Maybe stretch out, relax, and-

It barely took five minutes.

Your phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.

Tumblr notifications that made you smile,

'OMG I LOVE IT ARGHHH'

' BITING MY PILLOW RN'

'GIRL, DAY BY DAY IM MORE CONVINCED YOU REALLY ARE JAY.'

You snort, you had heard that one before. A lot. A part of you wanted to play along, but you quickly reminded yourself 'DO NOT REVEAL IDENTITY IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCES' So you let them argue. A few more hearts. A couple tags. A few reblogs.

You stretch and yawn, feel your eyes droop and allow yourself to fall asleep. Jus then- another notification, but it's not what you would have expected..

An anonymous message.

Umm you actually got it wrong.

You blink. What?

You tap to open it.

The birthmark’s on his left side. Not right.

You sit up straighter.

How would you know?

You type, half amused, half curious.

The reply is immediate.

Just… trust me.

Well, that was strange. You try not to think much about this random stranger who claimed they knew Jay better than you, an actual person who works with them regularly, did.

-0-

You really needed to find better timing and schedules. The eye bags under you eyes were twice the size of your eyes and you looked like a single woman struggling to find a job.

Today, the others in the media department were heavy on gossiping, Grace immediately called you over, "OMG! Y/n, did you see the last chapter on Stained Red? I think a part of me died and came back." Before you could respond, another person cuts in, "I know right! If I don't get a confession like Emma in my life? I'm killing my husband." she huffs dramatically.

You chuckle to yourself quietly, letting the other women fawn over you work not knowing their favorite author was right there.

Right then, your manger, Mrs. Lee walked in, "Team," she addressed the room at large, "We have a huge brand deal shoot scheduled today. The requirement is one member, anyone want to come with?" She looked around expectantly.

You raised your hand tentatively, the last time you met the boys, they were exactly what they were on cam, kind, caring, helpful, gorgeous sexy vampires- you were comfortable enough around them.

Mrs. Lee gave a nod. “Great. You’re with me.”

You ignored the chorus of jealous groans that followed—especially Grace’s dramatic “Take me with you!”—and packed up your camera bag like a soldier going to war. Or a fangirl entering dangerous territory. Same difference.

-0-

The set was bright. Too bright. You blinked against the lights as stylists and managers buzzed around. Jay was already there, lounging in his chair, a black coffee in hand and a stylist adjusting his collar like he wasn’t already halfway to looking like a heartbreak.

You avoided eye contact. Cool. Chill. Professional.

Totally did not spend the last two months writing emotional monologues from his POV. Nope.

“Kim,” Mrs. Lee called. “Can you go over the shotlist with him?”

You hesitated. “Me?”

She gave you a look. The kind that said, Do your job, not your little internal panic party.

You walked over, clipboard in hand, suddenly very aware of how sweaty your palms were. Jay looked up and gave a polite nod. “Hey, Y/n.” He knows my name.

“Hey.” You smiled too fast. “I just, I have the list. It’s mostly close-ups, one interview bit, and a couple casual interactions for the brand’s reels.”

He nodded, eyes flicking to your clipboard, then back to your face. “Cool.”

A pause.

"Apparently, there is this thing called fanifcs?" His voice trailed off expectantly. It took you all your strength not to choke on your saliva. Hide your account, he knows, you told yourself, trying to think of the best excuse if he ever found your account.

You blinked. “Fanfic?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. You know. Those crazy stories on Tumblr. Some are good. Really specific, though. Like… borderline creepy how well they describe things.”

You forced a laugh. “I mean… I guess the internet’s full of weirdly talented people.”

Jay smiled. Not the kind for cameras this time. "Yeah, Sunoo told me about them, said something about this one called, Stained Red?" He said, trying to remember. Oh no, all the excuses you had thought of better come in handy right about now.

Jay shot you one last smirk before getting up to set his mug of coffee down.

The kind that said: I know something you don’t.

Just then, Mrs. Lee beckoned you over to look over the filming and editing equipment, so you were glad you could get an escape.

Your phone vibrated, it was a Tumblr notification. You knew you had worked you ass off keeping your double identity secret, but curiosity kills the cat, especially considering it was the same anonymous number that had told you had gotten a detail you spent weeks memorizing wrong.

Y/n, you aren't being slick

You blink. What. The. Hell.

There was no way the same stranger who had claimed you had gotten it wrong knew you, the real you. Kim Y/n who worked at Belift, Kim Y/n who could write them so good because she had spent countless hours with them.

Check your laptop.

You sit up straighter. Quickly ruffling though your backpack, you find your laptop, there was a note attached to it.

Meet me after filming ends.

You need to get a few details right.

You wrote me wrong.

-Emma's one and only.

Oh absolutely not. You would have dug a hole right there and buried yourself in it. The man you wrote fantasies about read them, and now insisted you wrote him wrong. You were mortified, ready to throw a million excuses his way.

You looked around instinctively. No one was watching. Jay was on set again, perfectly camera-ready, laughing at something Sunghoon had said. He didn’t look like a man who had just shattered your carefully guarded secret.

-0-

"Okay so for starters, my birthmark is on my left, not right.” Jay said, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just cracked open your entire secret life. You would have to admit though, his jawline could cut through you confidence right now.

You blinked at him. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly smug way. “You sure? Because Emma’s got a pretty good memory. Except when it comes to neck geography.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. You looked like a goldfish trying to deny arson charges, except, maybe that was exactly the type of situation you were stuck in.

He took a step closer, not intimidating, but close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something citrusy and criminally distracting. “I gotta admit, though,” he continued, his voice lower now, almost like a secret, “you’re a hell of a writer.”

You gaped. “You… read it?” Somehow, it shouldn't have shocked you, but it did.

Jay gave a one-shouldered shrug, all casual nonchalance. “Sunoo reads them out loud sometimes. For fun. We take turns guessing which lines you’ll end a chapter on. He says you always drop emotional bombs and then vanish like a coward.”

You made a strangled sound, your idols knew you. But not in the way you would want.

“Oh, and the part where Emma says Jay tastes like vanilla and danger?” he added, “Bold of you.”

“I—he—she—it’s metaphorical!”

He grinned, voice dropping even more as he leaned closer, “Mm. You sure about that?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole. Preferably before he quoted any more of your own writing back at you like some smug, perfectly jawlined mirror.

Then his smile softened, just slightly. “But… you also got a lot right.”

Your breath hitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glanced toward the studio, then back at you. “But not everything. So how about you let me help?”

You frowned. “Help?”

Jay took another sip of his now-cold coffee. “You want accuracy, don’t you, VenusQuill?”

Your eyes widened. "How did you find out?!" you whispered, Jay raised an eyebrow, amused, "Let's just say you may have left your Tumblr notifications last time you were on the filming set with us."

Absolutely not. Jay had known for a very, very long time.

“Relax. I didn’t tell anyone.”

You looked up. “Why didn’t you?”

“I liked reading them,” he admitted. “It felt like someone actually saw me.”

You blinked.

“And besides,” he added, tilting his head, “you made me fall in love with myself. Now, do you want help, or not?" You didn't respond.

He smirked. That same devious one you'd captioned at 1 a.m.

"Thought so."

-0-

You weren't just leading a double life now, it was a triple life. What with editing, writing and lowkey simping for Jay 24/7 while he was trying to help you and you were supposed to keep it a secret wasn't as easy as it sounded, especially the bit about Jay.

Surprisingly, Jay didn't out you. He didn't mock you. Instead, he started sending "suggestions." Quietly.

A little smirk over your shoulder while editing. "That’s not how I hold my mic, by the way.” “Wouldn’t say that line, it’s too corny.” “Emma should’ve kissed him sooner. Just saying.” You were ready to rip your hair out. Somehow, you started letting him in. He gave you insider details only Jay would know, and your fanfics? They hit harder than ever. Readers went feral. You knew why. Jay was in them—really in them now. You just didn’t tell them he was helping write himself.

Gentle and considerate, getting you coffee when you had a rough day at work, he stayed behind after filming and offered to help you carry equipment, even though it was pouring, surprising you with plushies whenever you didn't have the motivation to write, "Emma and Jay wouldn't appreciate this." he would say in his cutest stern voice while puffing out his chest.

You didn't realize you were falling for him.

It happened slowly, subtly.

You tried to deny it at first, but after seeing how he cooed at you niece after you showed him a picture, or when he sat next to you while you typed, offering silent company while your fingers flew over the keyboard. You knew, Jay wasn't just the character anymore. He was the muse. The one. The man who made your words fall into place like poetry.

You felt your feelings grow, the jealousy that bloomed when he payed someone else attention. And you knew, you had to confess.

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t fireworks.

It was you, breathless after hours of editing together, after he and you celebrated with ramen in your apartment, whispering, “I think… I’m starting to like you. Not just as Jay in my stories.”

“I wasn’t writing Jay the idol,” you whispered. “I was writing you. You from real life.”

Jay’s eyes softened. “Good. Because real-life me has been in love with you too. And I was hoping you'd say that before I had to write my own fanfic.”

He kissed you. Twice.

It was soft, electric and not rushed, like you and him had all the time in the world, like nobody else mattered and it was only you both. He held you gently as you looked at him with an entire universe in you eyes.

Butterflies exploded in your stomach and stayed there.

-0-

Your relationship bloomed in secret.

Of course, the boys knew.

Sunghoon caught on first. “Why are you suddenly blushing when he talks?”

Ni-Ki blackmailed you both with blurry photos until you agreed to buy him dinner.

“Yah,” Heeseung smirked. “So Jay’s got a girlfriend and a fanfic ghostwriter? Lucky.”

“Technically,” Sunghoon added, “he’s dating the best Jay writer on Tumblr.”

Jay squeezed your hand under the table. “The only one I read.”

You smiled into your ramen.

They kept it secret. They protected it. Protected you.

That's when it started, because good things never seem to last.

It started with one blurry photo.

It happened in a blink.

A photo of your reflection in Jay’s sunglasses, a blurry screencap, and a Tumblr deep-dive later, a caption attached to it: “Jay from Enhypen spotted with a mystery girl from the media team???”

The internet exploded.

Then someone, after digging deeper, found your writing. You knew leading a double life wouldn't work out forever, but you didn't expect becoming the most hated person on the Belift team. Anons flooded everywhere, your inbox, your messages, your socials. None of them helpful or encouraging.

“Who is this chick with Jay?” “No way I idolized her SMH 🤦‍♂️” “She’s not even that pretty.” “Gold digger vibes.” “This is her?? She wrote all those stories about him??” “Unprofessional. Disgusting. Clout chaser.”

You were dragged. Posts dissected your old fics. Hate rolled in like a tide. Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. The internet turned fast and hard.

Jay grabbed your hand in the car after a shoot. "Don't listen to them, love. Look at me, I'm here for you. Don’t read it.”

You didn’t listen. You read every single hate comment, every single ugly edit on you. You cried the hardest you ever had all your life in Jay's arms. He held you the whole night.

You were shattered and depressed, you couldn't do you job, Jay was increasingly worried about you. You wanted to shut it all down. Disappear.

But Jay didn’t let you.

He posted first. On his own page.

A photo. You. His hand in yours.

Caption: “She wrote me wrong at first. But I never stopped reading.” “And I chose her. Not because of what she writes. But because of who she is when the words fall away.”

The boys backed him. The company, surprisingly, too. And Jay stood by you through it all. Not just in silence—but in truth.

The next fanmeeting, a girl asked Jay about Stained Red. He smiled. “Best fanfic I’ve ever read.” Cheers. “Did you know the author?” she giggled.

He met the camera’s eye and said, “She’s the love of my life.” That went viral.

Jay didn’t flinch. He held your hand in public. Took you to cafés. Shared a blurry photo of your shoes on Instagram with the caption:

The hate faded slowly. Then came the love, the thing that was always there.

People moved on. Fans started calling you their favorite plot twist. Edits of your fics and real-life moments went viral. People even started tagging, “VenusQuill canon real.” Your latest fic started with:

“This time, I’m writing us right. No secrets. Just love.” And Jay? He commented on it, finally, publicly.

“I love you whole. Down to the left-side birthmark you wrote wrong. Always.”

You posted a final author’s note on your blog.

"This is the end of Stained Red, but the beginning of something better. Thank you for loving us. -VenusQuill 💌"

This was something you had always wished for, something far greater and loving. You had Jay, and Jay had you, that was all you needed against the world.

The End (And possibly the beginning of a beautiful chapter.)

Masterlist

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ᴇx ᴘᴛ 3 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ (이민호)

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader, exes to lovers

summary: based off of ex by stray kids

tags/warnings: angsty, bittersweet, slow heartbreak, quiet pain, two povs, not fully proofread, odd ending kinda?? its stiff feeling

a/n: omg the series is over! not one of my best but this is the first series i actually finished 😭 i have one series in my drafts rn and the ending to its okay im okay as well, so stay tuned everybody!! (this is a scheduled post.)

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

masterlist!

It’s strange, falling for someone you already loved.

You expected it to feel the same as before, like returning to the comfort of something familiar. Like rereading your favorite book, one you could quote by heart. But this feels different.

It’s quieter. Slower. Like planting something new in soil that once held something else.

This time, you’re not rushing. You’re just… learning.

You begin seeing Minho again. Not every day, and not in the way you used to. But he’s there.

Sometimes it’s coffee after work. You sit across from him and listen to him talk about small things, like the neighbor’s cat or the new ramen shop he discovered. Sometimes it’s late-night calls, when neither of you can sleep, and he reads something off his phone just to hear your laugh.

Sometimes it’s silence. And that’s okay too.

Because now, it’s a silence that feels shared, not empty.

It’s early spring when he asks you to go for a walk. The cold still lingers in the air, sharp against your jacket, but the trees are beginning to bloom.

He walks beside you, close but not quite touching.

Then, out of nowhere, he says it.

“I never stopped loving you.”

You freeze on the sidewalk. The words hang in the space between you, weightless and heavy all at once.

You turn to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He looks at you, eyes soft. “Because I thought it’d sound like I was just trying to fix what I ruined.”

“Aren’t you?” you ask.

“Maybe. But I’m not trying to go back,” he says, voice steady. “I just want to try again. This time with the version of us that knows what we’re risking.”

And something in your chest eases.

Not because everything is fixed. But because he finally said the truth out loud.

You end up sitting on a park bench, hands just barely brushing between you.

No grand declarations. No kiss to seal it. Just the quiet understanding of two people who still care, even after everything.

He reaches for your hand slowly.

This time, you don’t pull away.

You let him hold it, like something sacred. Like something he won’t let go of again.

And maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not forgetting. Not pretending nothing broke. Just choosing to stay anyway.

He walks you home. When you reach your door, he doesn’t ask to come inside.

He just holds your hand a little longer and looks at you in that way he used to, like you’re the only person in the world worth his time.

“So,” you ask with a small smile, “what are we now?”

Minho tilts his head, thinking. Then he gives you that crooked smile you missed so much.

“We’re figuring it out.”

You nod. That’s enough.

For now, it’s enough to be here. To be trying. To be real.

hope yall enjoyed <33

todays playlist...

all in by stray kids, ice on my teeth by ateez, easy by stray kids, rude by magic!, deer hunter by &team, confessions by flo rida, heeseung, jake, and paul russell, on my mama by victoria monet, panic by beomgyu, love scenario by ikon, daydream by enhypen, butter by bts, strategy by twice, so fresh so clean by outkast, best part by giveon and h.e.r, attitude by ive, fri(end)s by v

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

@rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @hyuneskkami

[luffyvace]

hello!1!!!1

been on your blog for a while and never had the guts to send a request/chit chat w you (still don't qvq)

but the recent request had me giggling about it

imagen when gf and Saiki's sis having sleepovers or skin-care day they make Kusuo turn into his girl form (kuriko) so it's all girls' day

or if Saiki's sis tagged along into one of their outing dates instead of being a third wheel she becomes their child always checking up on her and making sure she is full if they ever eat out and having a day on where they are going

or on cold days gf makes sure the Saiki duo is all warmed up and dressed well and fixes any of their outfits if she sees sm wrong with it

gf just becoming a mom friend to sis saiki is just<333

(also this audio stuck into me when I was thinking about your HC)

((sis:you could kiss anyone in this world. who would it be ?

gf: my handsome boyfriend kusuo

sis: the shit Don't count you would do that anyway

gf: Saiki kuriko

sis: THE DOESN'T COUNT

kuriko: why are you trying so hard for??))

HIIII! Well I’m glad you finally came around dear!! Im very happy to hear from you <33 Don’t be afraid to request as long as they’re open and you can talk to me anytime!! 💗💗

I was so happy with how it turned out and I’m ecstatic to see you enjoyed it as well! 😊

That is honestly such a cute and wholesome idea!!! I just know I’m gonna love writing for this so much 😭💗

I didn’t know the audio at first but I looked it up and that’s HILARIOUS 😂 it fits for Kuriko so much ‼️💥💥

(Head up I’m gonna write with you as Saiki’s sister again bc that’s the post you mentioned! 💞)

sleepovers with kuriko are awesome because you can do whatever you want and he she (ahem im going to use she/her pronouns for now since this is kuriko) really doesn’t care since your her favorite people 😊

face masks? Her reaction: 😐 playing in each others hair? Her reaction: 😐 karaoke? Her reaction: 😐 (heads up she’s not gonna sing 🥲

if you were to some how convince her to sing by using your cutest puppy dog eyes (or bribery…coffee jelly) she’d be the type to say the words more than she’s singing 😅💗

the thought that counts riiiight? (She’s totally the type to just claim she can’t sing so it sounds like she’s talking😂😂)

you can dress her up in whatever she has in her closet too! Which is really fun because you get to go through it and see what kind of fashion style she has

like ik we see her fashion sense already because she obviously chooses her own clothes lol—my point is it’s always fun to go through other peoples closets and look at everything in they’re wardrobe 😂

you could even steal a few items and she wouldn’t care 🥹💓

btw all of this goes for both you and her girlfriend 😌

I can imagine one of you doing her hair while the other does her skin care routine (that the two of you made for her because I know she’s the type to just wash her face and that’s it- nothing wrong with that tho- that’s what I do..)

that’d be adorable 🥹💞

gf x saiki + child is your troupe 😂🩷

literally tho, think of their stay at home dates as that one episode where saiki, that random little kid he had to babysit and teruhashi was watching tv

except saiki and his girlfriend is actually dating-

and she adores you and loves having you there :)

she’ll let you crash their date any day (not literally crash but yk haha) and you could pick the show too!

Saiki may or may not be annoyed by this but he loves you both so he won’t say anything 😅💕

motherly gf always getting you extra snacks before you even ask

motherly gf letting you have the first and last grabs of every snack (SHE A W FOR THIS ONE-)

motherly gf letting you play in her hair

motherly girlfriend packing extra snacks for you when you go to their dates💞

motherly gf who considers you two sisters already

motherly gf who remembers the things you forget before you go for an outing

motherly gf bringing a hairbrush with her everywhere just in case of girl code 😌💓

motherly gf who doesn’t let you miss a meal and will steal from saiki to feed you (he can just apport more food even if you have powers too he’ll be fine 😊)

motherly gf who calls saiki to make sure YOUR sleep (😂😂) and say goodnight 🥰

motherly gf who don’t play about grades because you need to have an education no matter what you’ll be in life (which she’ll support with Saiki’s entire wallet 😊🌷) and WILL get the shoe/belt on you🤨😱 (dw it’s an empty threat)

motherly gf who takes you out for ice cream no matter what grade you get because she loves you and doesn’t wanna put too much pressure on you so she’ll simply help you study more instead of berating you🥹💓💓

saiki loving his gf being motherly to you and watching her take care of you all the time with a slight smile you never see

saiki feeling inspired to be kinder to you because of her even if you get on his nerves 🥹

which reminds me to talk abt!!

if you and Saiki get along! <3

if you do the holy trinity has formed no matter your religion and you 3 are an adorable trio (tell me why I forgot what a group of 3 was and had to search it up🧍‍♀️)

you guys go everywhere, do everything and talk about everything together 🩷

the three of you are inseparable and both you and your brother’s as well as his girlfriend’s parents find this to be the cutest thing

ngl I must say myself it’s very refreshing to see a couple and one of their sibling get along with no jealousy 😃(💗)

if you and saiki dont get along..😱

gf would probably force you two to talk it out whenever you argue

simply because she loves you both and wouldn’t want to sneak around talking to her two favs just because one of you is mad the other accidentally ate the other’s chips >:( (😂)

Especially with the awkwardness of being in between the disagreements where your just looking back and forth at the comebacks- 😃😅

if you have powers and gf knows abt it

she’d be pretty chill abt it seeing as though I’m pretty sure she knows about Saiki’s

she’d be interested to see if your powers are different in any way

or entirely different ones themselves!

she’d wonder if your parents have any too (after meeting the dad she’d think twice- 😂)

if your more open to using them in public or at all she’d ask for small favors if your willing to do them <33

if you have powers and gf doesn’t know abt it yet

you and your brother likely work together to keep her from finding out

whatever reasoning you have for not wanting others/her to find out- he gets it.

in this situation it’s ultimately up to you whether you tell her or not, and whether she knows about Saiki’s powers too

she’s definitely not stupid so you might have to work over time to hide it from her 😃

and there were plenty of close calls- 😁

if you don’t have powers at all that’s perfectly fine by her!! She loves he baby sister either way 😚

your parents allow her to come over unannounced and at any time!

they send her home with leftovers whenever she comes over for dinner

they’ve exchanged numbers with her parents (they’ve showed each other y’all baby pictures 😀)

Both your families have gone out to trips/fun places together which are a total blast! 💫😊

sleepovers whenever you want + your/her mom brings snacks occasionally = best night EVER🩷 (it’s super fun having to keep your giggles down while dressing up kuriko and her quickly turning back into a boy with a face mask and clips in his hair whenever one of your parents walk in🤣💗)

they absolutely adore her and are eagerly waiting for your brother and hers’ wedding! (I’m sure you are too💗—ahhh you’ll be the bridesmaid!)

I can totally see that audio being a funny moment between the 3 of you and I can’t stop giggling at it 😂😂

She literally just went to kuriko when you said no Kusuo- ngl ik that’s right🤣🤣💞

Yikes this took wait too long for me to get out- 😀 Here it is my dear!~ your headcanons are—

Served.~🍽️

-Brook🏴‍☠️ YOHOHOHOHO

[abbotjack]

HEYY, I'm not here to ask but to let you know that I'm very grateful that you exist (let me kiss you and your chubby brain) that I've got to read your works about Abbot, like you've made my day literally, maybe for a week even.

Like I'm fixing my body clock, woke up by 0200 like shit, and I never regret not going back to sleep because that's how I encountered your first work.

You've made me cry for like a solid hour. Like the 'life we grew' he began to notice. Which I'm gonna praise you honestly.

I love when a writer posts part two and tags part one (sounds basic, but that detail in every post helps me to navigate where and when it starts)

I first saw part 2 but you'd recommend reading part one so I did. You really portray him so diligently, you portray him so perfectly with the exact words. like woahh wait a minute I need to breathe some air, this thing wrecking the hell outta me.

But the Camouflage Onesie? You've made me somthin'. I used to be a fast reader but this part of the series took me an hour and a half to finish. (I stopped in every part that 'amazes' me and imagine the scenario that you've written) Jack's giving the vibes where he finally met his other behalf, like "life is long when one is alone..." uhm vow speech, sortaaa.

Like you know when you've been given a plate of food that you love duperr much and you're savouring every moment while having it in front of you, that's how you made me feel while reading that. I've got to pause reading and thinking about more of it, imagination gone wild.

The bold and big font for weeks, the detailed, descriptive words you used, on how you elaborate week by week they go on through is so magnificent.

The proper spacing for every paragraph to sentences and even dialogue (that's good details that keeps me invested in reading. It doesn't make me feel overwhelmed, which eases my adhd and thank you for that!)

I just noticed that the time passed me by so quickly because the window got a bit brighter from the outside and realized that it was 0630 something.

And I've got to read your pin post about yourself and that was totally understandable, quite amazing for some reason that observing the time stamp from your works. You still have 400+ unread messages yet when I scan through your works. DAMN 11k words, 5k? Like dude how do you have the willpower to make that long story.

And by the span of the whole month you have a master list about Abbot (Pope) and also Robby. That's so cool, really!!!

___

As of today, I wanna show gratitude for keeping me (and the others well fed)

when you drop Sticky Fingers, Quiet Mornings. DUDDEEE, seeing a man being emotionally vulnerable is remarkably insightful!! It hits hard when Jack feels that her daughter doesn't need him when putting on her shoes. when her daughter needs him when she got a cold, having that feeling that he needs to be right fucking there, the moment she wokes up with a fever. I have many favorite moments from your stories. But apparently, every sequence and interlude that you've written is well made. It’s rare for a fic to ‘eat’ this consistently—every scene devoured, no crumbs left. Like when you're watching a movie, there would be a boring timeline or not an engaging scene, but your's? It was like a last drop of honey, too sacred to waste. I just love everything about you and your work.

another is Irregularities, like yow are you ok?? After part four, you've dropped the prequel for like 3 days after the other. You've finished almost 14k words in a short span of time? 😭😭, you're too powerful, consuming your work means to feel this visceral thing, and that 101% guarantee. The chronological order, it never missed any beat! And again the spacing for each line. Plus what I've read from your anon ask. Like how did you put your real world experience to make the character ultra realistic. Damn. On how you imprinted yourself with it. I have nothing to say:’). Everytime you drop another piece of art. It makes me smile and click it immediately.

When this anon asks about your motivation?? You've explained too specifically, from generalizing to elaborating the reasons, the narrative. I can't, you're too good on how you express everything. Your prof is real when he says you're gifted when it comes to writing, I totally agree!!

I've read that you ship WALSH AND JACK, SYDD, (I saw it from one of the a bit mean anon who despises shipping them) I'll be honored to devour any piece of your works when it comes to them!! I do wonder if you have plans about it, like just a one story>_< (just one). Yet there this anon that asked you about what was there background and you elaborate, the convergence, alliance. I adore how you've managed to think of it that way.

Plus your plan about Jack and her wife having a twin?? I mean I am very delighted, though I just thought about the genders of their little cubs.

It could add another flavor to your story so much. Correlating it to psychology, you clicked something in me. I remembered in class about Karen Horney, her conducted study about women, opposing Freud’s view about females. She did talk about parent-child relationships. On how emotional needs of early childhood could affect your child's behavior. Yet she didn't formalize cross-gender parent bonding that daughters are closer to their dad while the son is closer to their mother. I hope you understand what I am trying to say, (I am bad at explaining). Like I imagine how everything will go. Gender matters because it requires Jack different approach, maybe not from the start but as they grow up. It just intrigued me on how you will write about that. A bit excited, yess

It takes me weeks before finally sending this to you, (I am not great when it comes to writing and it will take me eternity to write another thing, academically or for personal occurrence). uuhmm it made me curious of who you are but that's another boundary.

All I know or maybe to properly conclude that you were in college maybe last year? Or a fresh graduate and being an intern in your new job, (if you are currently in a job, I wanna say CONGRATULATIONS).

This info's source was from your anon asked which I love to read.

I don't know which continent or country were you but your works reached Asia (south-eastern and eastern Asia).

I don't, really don't want to sound like a creep. (If this long ask overwhelmed you, in any way. You could leave it in your ask box, sending you a dm is a bit creepy so I'll leave it r'ght here) Your writing makes me and the other reader have this euphoric sensation. I wanted to say more than this but I am lost for words. But to sum it all up, I just want to express bone-deep gratitude for your existence and your piece!!

I noticed every tiniest bit. And you deserve a good appreciation for it babee... just glad about everything. Please be hydrated all the time<33

edit : also I did start a walsh x abbot fanfic!

I’ve been sitting with your message for a while.

Not because I didn’t know how to respond—but because I did. And I wanted to do it properly. I wanted to slow down and really write back. Because you didn’t just drop a quick compliment in my inbox—you gave me time. You gave me care. You gave me you. And that deserves more than a quick thank you and a couple emojis.

What you wrote hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. The specificity. The warmth. The thoughtfulness. You took your time with it—stopped and started, saved it to drafts, circled back when your brain allowed. And you sent it anyway. You let it out. That’s not small. That’s the kind of vulnerability most people talk themselves out of.

So here’s me matching that energy back.

I’m Syd. I’m 21, in my last semester of undergrad. I study applied mathematical economics, which is a fancy way of saying I like hard data, systems, and the things people don’t usually associate with softness. But I also have a minor in Women’s and Gender Studies, because I’m constantly trying to balance the measurable with the emotional. The structure with the story.

This summer, I’m working as an intern with a nonprofit in downtown Cleveland, and it’s exactly where I want to be. On the side, I’m also volunteering at a women’s shelter—helping with admin, intakes, programming. Mostly, I just listen.

I’ve sat across from women who’ve walked in with nothing but their kid in a hoodie and a CVS bag of papers. Women who’ve been failed by systems. Women who don’t need to be fixed—just protected. And every time I leave the building, I feel the same thing in my chest that I feel when I write: That overwhelming, steady, quiet knowing that survival doesn’t always look heroic. Sometimes it’s just showing up again the next morning.

That’s what I want to keep doing after I graduate in December. Whether I stay in nonprofit or go back to school for public policy, my goal is D.C.—working in gender advocacy, education policy, or economic justice initiatives. Especially in STEM fields where the gender gap is still treated like an afterthought.

But writing? That’s what I do for myself.

That’s what keeps me tethered when the rest of the world is all spreadsheet and structure.

And Jack Abbot… I still don’t have the right words for what writing him has given me. What you have given me by reading him so closely.

You didn’t just skim. You noticed.

You paid attention to the way I space my lines, how I use font changes to signal time shifts. You caught the way I tag Part 1 in Part 2, not because it’s flashy, but because I care about orientation. I care about the reader knowing where they are, even if they show up in the middle of the story.

Regarding Camouflage Onesie, you said reading that fic felt like savoring a favorite meal. Like sitting with something slow and meaningful. That floored me. Because that’s how I want these stories to feel. I don’t write for the hit of dopamine, or to throw smut at a wall. I write for people like you—the ones who reread sentences. Who imagine the scenes. Who slow down when it hurts.

You said “Jack’s giving the vibes where he finally met his other behalf.” Not “better half.” Not “missing piece.” Other behalf. That choice of words? That’s poetry. That’s something I’ll be quoting for months. Because that’s exactly what I think he feels—that she’s not a fix, but a counterpart. A person who knows how to hold the weight without dropping it.

The fact that Sticky Fingers, Quiet Mornings meant something to you—especially that sequence with the shoes and the fever—makes me feel seen in a way I don’t know how to explain. I wrote that story thinking no one would care about the small moments. That maybe it was too quiet, too soft. But you understood it. Not just emotionally, but viscerally.

And Irregularities… yeah. You caught me in the act with that one. I wrote 14k words in a stretch of 3 days like my life depended on it. No outline. You asked if I was okay—and the honest answer is sometimes, not really. But writing helps me get there!

And the twins… oh, god. You went into Karen Horney and cross-gender attachment theory and you get it. You brought academic language into fanfiction discussion without losing the emotional marrow underneath. That’s rare. That’s brilliant.

Jack with a daughter is one kind of story. It’s about protection, yes, but also softness. Permission. It’s him learning that strength isn’t what makes him worthy in her eyes—it’s presence. It’s the ache of watching her grow into her own body, her own mind, and wondering if she’ll be safe in a world that wasn’t built with her in mind. It’s feminist fatherhood—the kind that doesn’t just “empower” her, but yields to her. That lets her take up space. That teaches her early that no man who truly loves her will ever be intimidated by her strength, her voice, or her “too-muchness.”

But Jack with a son? That’s something else entirely. That’s legacy. That’s the inherited weight of masculinity—the fear of replicating silence, of passing down emotional absence as a blueprint for manhood. It’s staring into a face that looks like his and wondering how to teach gentleness when no one gave it to him. It’s about reparenting himself in real time. It’s the tension of trying to teach a boy that vulnerability is not weakness, while still learning how to believe that himself.

And when I write those dynamics—when I imagine him fumbling through a quiet car ride with his son (soon, spoiler!), or tying his daughter’s shoe with fingers that still shake from trauma—I’m drawing from every article I’ve annotated in my Women’s & Gender Studies courses. From bell hooks writing about men and love. From Adrienne Rich’s concept of motherhood as both institution and experience. From intersectional feminist frameworks that say: gender doesn’t shape who we are—it shapes who we’re allowed to be.

That’s the subtext. That’s the story under the story. And you caught it.

You even noticed the pacing between releases. You tracked the time it took between updates. You didn’t just consume the work—you witnessed it. You treated it like something human. Something that came from somewhere. And I hope you know how rare that is. That kind of presence? That kind of investment? That’s not casual. That’s someone who reads with their whole self. Who brings their own theory, their own tenderness, their own intelligence into the experience.

And I don’t take that lightly. I never will.

If this writing ever gave you something to hold onto—something soft, something steady, something familiar—please know you gave it right back to me tonight.

You said your message sat in drafts for a while. But now it’s here. And it’s real.

Just like you are.

I’ll keep writing for people like you. People who linger. Who underline. Who feel.

Come back when you can. My inbox is always open.

And this—this letter?—is already something I’ll never forget.

p.s. yes, I’m drinking water. yes, I’m still thinking about “other behalf.” yes, I’d write 11k more words just to make you feel like this again!

[instant-delusions]

OH MY GOSH are you a rafayel lover too 😭 i swear, i love him so much! and im happy that l&ds comnunity is growing here that a new ff of raffy is posted everyday when i refresh the tags! im glad u seem enthusiastic to accept requests 😔 my raffy brainrot is so bad i need my fix!

can i request? we know rafayel has some sort of "abandonment issues" and we know where it stems from and how it manifests (where he says mc can do what they want as long as they come back to him or let him know what they're doing 😭) and imagine that mc GENUINELY forgets bc she's tired from all the work as a hunter, and when she meets raffy again, he's quiet and she's trying to prod a word out of him but he won't budge cuz he's hurt 😭 and u can go on from there! aargh i love hurt/comfort so much.

happy valentines!! (in advance) 😔🎊🎂

YES rafa is my babygirl. my muse. my glubglubglub. my everything. HE'S SUPER RELATABLE TOO ??? HELP my abandonment issues are literally the same, I'm almost offended 😭😭💔 tysm for the request & happy early valentinesss 💓💓💓

ʟᴏ$ᴇʀ=ʟ♡ᴠᴇʀ !

rafayel x reader

cw: burn-out like symptoms, wounds/blood, arguing, cursing, hurt & comfort

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

6:00 a.m., you skimmed over rafayel's last message and told yourself to reply later - of course, as fate does, a super strong wanderer appeared which occupied you for an excruciating, multiple hour long fight. it was night when you returned home, stripping off your uniform and throwing your gun on the kitchen counter. You barely made it to bed, soaking your sheets in a bit of blood before completely passing out.

it was noon when you woke up again and evening when you were done with your report and bandaging your wound. finally, you were able to check your phone, and it doomed on you. rafayel's message stayed unreplied. you scrolled down his other three texts.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

11am rafa: are u ok?

12am rafa: (y/n), can I come over?

1pm: are u serious? not this again.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

you furrowed your eyebrows in regret, but exhaled painfully right after. your wound opened again.

you were forced on another, quicker mission that night, but it still left you exhausted, your former wound nagging at you still. once again you came home late, passed out, and woke up around noon. opening your phone, there were no new messages.

quickly, you pressed the call button and were shocked to find the artist wasn't picking up.

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

5:00 pm y/n: hey, sry rafayel. work has been a lot lately.

5:01 pm y/n: I'm rlly sorry

𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧𓇼

wincing, you sat down, your heart beating anxiously for some reason. 'what if this is it? I broke his promise. there's no reason for him to stay. it's fair, but I need him around. because...'

because you like him. it's selfish, you want him around although you barely fill his needs. suddenly, a very familiar dark cloud forms in your stomach and you feel depressed. deeming another relationship ruined by your work, you open social media to drown out the silence.

several hours passed until a knock at your door ripped you out your daze. quickly, you got up and open it. "rafayel." you say, his name coming out almost like a sigh of relief before you could register it. he was dressed in his white shirt, and white pants adorned with an intricate silver belt - he looked put together as always. you, on the other hand, were in an oversized tee, messy hair and deep eyebags with chapped lips. "hi." he simply greeted, making his way into your apartment.

you followed him, breathing anxiously at his unreadable aura. "listen, rafayel - I'm sorry, I wanted to reply and text you but.."

"you forgot." he replied, crossing his arms. there was a look of hurt and disappointment in his face. "it's not that simple." you argued, breathing in to continue, but he emotionally cut you off. "it is, though. (y/n), if you'd like me enough, a simple task like keeping me updated would be easy."

"rafayel. I like you, I like you a lot but..." you breathed in deeply, the harshness of his words getting to you enough to make your eyes teary. defeated, you sat down on your couch, burying your face in your hands. "these past days have been a lot, I could barely take care of myself and most of the time I was either fighting, passed out or tending to my wounds..." you trailed off weakly - due to your eyes being covered, you couldn't see rafayel's eyebrows raising in shock at your reaction, his arms slowly sinking.

"I swear if I'd have a normal life, I'd text you regularly, but it's not." slowly, you raise your head to meet his eyes - yours were puffy and red, tears streamed down your face. rafayel stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

"it'd be selfish of me to wish for you to stick by me while i don't fulfill your needs, i know i'm not a good...friend. I try to do my best, rafa. you mean a lot to me, but i understand if you want to leave. you deserve someone better."

at this point, tears were streaming down your face freely, and soft sobs escaped your throat. rafayel lowered his gaze, afraid he'd sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness instead. after a while, he sat next to you, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours and brushing his thumb across your hand as he watched your body move with your sobs. "(Y/N), there is not a single part of you that is selfish."

gently, he holds your cheek and makes you look at him. his hand remains there as he continues talking.

"rather, it is me who is selfish. i crave your attention and validation, and feel hurt if i don't receive it. i'm sorry for being petty, i should've come over sooner. and..."

rafayel moves his hand to wipe away your tears and softly kisses your forehead, he smiles as he hears you breathe out softly.

"i could never bring it over my heart to part from you."

you gaze into his rich, magenta eyes and feel your heartstrings pull towards him. it's as if there were a bridge between your chests. closing your eyes, you feel your love for him blooming in the valleys of your bloodstream and bubbling out of your skin, and it weirdly feels as old as millenia, as if you'd known this love all your life, and all the lives you lived before.

"i'm glad." you smiled wobbly, "i feel the same." with a sigh, you leaned your head on his shoulder and let your body relax.

"i dunno how to feel about you calling us 'friends', though."

[casualcannibalisms]

k so i just remembered the post that inspired this one, so im gonna mark down the other points they made about how toa being set 10 years later would fix everything, and why i think it would've actually made everything worse, but im not doing it on THAT post bc its abt reyna and she deserves to have a post to herself

percy and anabeth need a break??? percy's mother is in toa more than him! he is in like, two scenes. annabeth is a mentioned character but she's not there! they are getting a break!

would explain why the other characters aren't there is the final point. they are??? they just aren't going on apollo's quest??? they are there for a few chapters, or maybe the whole book, but you need an explanation for why they aren't jumping on a life threatening quest beyond "they are teenagers, who have school and lives, and are willing to help out a little bit but not for the whole thing?" is that not enough for you? that they're teenagers trying to finish their last years of high school?

WHY I THINK PUTTING IT 10 YEARS LATER WOULD MAKE THE TIME LINE WORSE

Python was already established as a threat at the end of hoo. was already in delphi. the 6 months that apollo was missing was such a big thing because it made python stronger the longer it was there. making toa take 10 years in the future makes it so apollo was missing for 10 years, which means that Python was in charge of delphi for 10 years. why should we be worried about python after that? its not like anyone in cannon cared if they waited 10 years to have apollo handle it cared.

Nero, Commodus, and Caligula are working with python to topple Olympus, and have been helping chronus and the giants in a "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" way, with the express idea to back stab them after they won, when that didn't work, they were going to do it themselves. and they proved very good at it in toa, capturing almost all of apollo's oracles and taking down communications within months of apollo going missing. not only that, but also they partner with taraquin to decimate new rome with the zombies i mentioned in the linked post. again, months after apollo goes missing. doing any of this goes a decade later kinda kills their intimidation factor. why not take the chance of Olympus being weakened from not having one of their 12 missing? that decision would have to be explained.

the whole reason that no one really wants to go with apollo is like... hello, they're still rebuilding from the war they just had? and no one knows whats going on with new rome bc they cant contact with each other? because communications are down? and new rome cant justify sending an actual messenger to chb because, you know, the zombies and the war combined kinda fucked up their population stats. it'd be a suicide mission to send someone.

so like

no, making toa happen 10 years later wouldn't fix anything.

also, why did they put that post in the lester papadopoulos tag when he's not mentioned but they dont tag reyna when she's literally someone they're calling out for <i>"not doing enough"</i> for new rome?

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 2

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Chapter 2: Mission

Okay pre read thoughts here. This story is so good! I am totally loving the premise of this, the system mechanics are wonderful (so much sass) but also so unpredictable!

I'm not going to lie I am nervous for this mission that Shen Yuan/Shen Qingqiu and co are about to go on. I just feel like things are about to get completely fucked LOL

again (as a reader not as system in book) points to Shen Yuan for noting how nasty the relationships are in this OG canon (p 63 re: Die-er and Old Master Chen- barf)

Okay but like I get it Shen Yuan- I still cannot imagine attempting to fake being a martial master OMG p.64

MOOD "Shen Qingqiu didnt even want to pretend to meditate, so he lay on the bed, just pretending to be dead" p65

unrelated to this plot but also related to this plot: I fucking love how MXTX is as a writer. I love the constant comments about the writing of women and side characters in fantasy writing it's very meta right now p67 (Re: shen Yuan/Shen Qingqiu- i haven't decided what to call him at this point tbh- talking about how the "original author" wrote the shittiest female characters).

I am once again here to talk about how Shen Yuan talks about Luo Binghe (he is a child- another barf) but also Shen Yuan does have this future(?) omniscient (?) knowledge about about what he becomes as a fully realized adult character - it still makes me deeply uncomfortable RE: "Shen Qingqiu could only say that, as expected, the brilliant protagonist truly was overwhelmingly cool, awesome, insane, and badass, with a dick longer than the heavens" p68

RIP easy mode XD LOL p69

why is he naked tho??? p71

bless her heart- RE: everything about Ning Yingying p74

I can't. Re: Luo Binghe's crisis pp76-77

If shen Qingqiu fixes this entire story by accidentally making Luo Binghe fall in love with him I- *deep sigh * pp76-77

The way Shen Yuan keeps reading the filth out of these characters- SO MUCH shade! "Their IQ wasn't beyond saving!" p 81

thank fuck he finally unlocked the OOC feat p85

Okay but the Lin Xi Caves actually sound so stunning p88

Re stunning caves: well minus the blood and qi deviation LOL

When his headcanon for Liu Qingge is absolutely wrecked ahahahaha p93

Liu Qingge really hates Shen Qingqiu (I mean, I get it but like still, damn) pp 97-98

Unrelated but I adore the way this sect is organized. It is visually stunning with the various peaks, im fully picturing this gorgeous mountain range

The QUEEREST thought so far in this is Shen Yuan commenting on the demon woman's (now I know she is Sha Hualing- don't @ me) footware, I can't p102

wait what the heck! Shen Qingqiu's fighting is so elegant! pp 106-107

Luo Binghe: status- Broken p107

OMG he wants to protect this kid but the struggle of a protagonist (re: -1000 if Luo Binghe does not fight) p109

Hell yeah! I already love Liu Mingyan!!! p111

OMG he totally is accidentally causing Luo Binghe to fall for him. I can't-what a way to fix the plot. p112

The hate Shen Yuan has for Ning Yingying is too much XD I keep laughing, oh no. Him basically saying "omg thank you for running away I literally cannot handle you in this fight because you are a constant mess" p116

wait. WTF. Is Shen Qingqiu going to die?!?!?! p124

oh, thank fuck, Liu Qingge showed up pp129-130

bahahahah OFC he's "repaying for the cave" p131

oh damn well shit okay, that's one way to end the chapter.

I hope his cultivation is not fucked because of the poison!?!?!?

also jesus, that's a harsh way to get points. Does he level up in this?? I feel like he at least deserves a level up.

That's all for this chapter!

Tomorrow is date night for me and my partner so maybe no chapter- but we will see if I have time to read earlier or not.

[junie-boo]

Play with me

Young Neil x Gen!Neutral Reader FIC cw: EXPLICIT NSFW Minors pls DNI ! ♡

Summary: You invited your boyfriend Neil to come hang out with you while Wallace and Scott were at a party, which leads to you giving him a blowjob in bed, but Wallace and Scott end up coming home right before he orgasmed. Scott was not amused.

a/n: Hi! First post on Tumblr~! I'm cross-posting this from my ao3: PatheticMenLover! Thought I'd expand my work on here too. I want to do Hazbin Hotel stuff too, seems like most of the fandom is here haha. I've just been doing SPVTW stuff, this one being my most recent one. Though, I hope you like it. &lt;𝟑

You, Wallace, and Scott are close friends. You all share an apartment and a bed too. Some people would say it is a little strange to share it with two other people but honestly it wasn’t too bad. Especially since you and Scott could not really complain, Wallace practically pays for everything aside from your Xbox 360.

 If anything, you, and Scott are considered leaches. You do plan to move out sometime soon and live with your boyfriend Neil. You’re still in the works of getting a good apartment, so for now you’re stuck with a loser and Wallace. Don’t get it wrong, they are good roommates, aside from the face that Wallace bangs his boy toys in the same bed you and Scott sleep on. But…not like you guys can complain because again, he pretty much pays for everything.

You just do not want to feel some random guys jizz stain on your leg. You’re still horrified that one time where there was fresh semen on the bed and you swiped it off, thinking it was lotion but…eventually came to realize it wasn’t, thanks to Scott.

Anyhow, that leaves you here, alone in the apartment relaxing on Wallace’s armchair watching tv while Scott and him had left to go to some party. They had invited you to tag along with them but to be honest parties were not your thing and you do not enjoy socializing with random drunk people. Ironically though a party is where you met your current boyfriend, Young Neil... or well just Neil. He looked so lonely at the party. At the time you noticed he had come with a group of people, but they just parted ways, so that left him alone in a corner with a bored look on his face.

So, you walked up to him, made conversation and surprisingly it went very well. And by made conversation, you meant flirt heavily. He had a chill; calm personality and it went well with yours. Not to mention…he was adorable. How had nobody gone up to him and flirted with him before you is a mystery. After the party you two exchanged numbers and kept on talking until he very shyly asked you to date him, and how could you say no? And so far, the relationship has been going great.

Now back to you. 2 hours had passed since Wallace and Scott left you and it was an understatement to say you were bored. All you did was watch tv, play on your xbox, and eat lunch. You had the apartment to yourself and could do what you want, but why did it feel so boring still? It was because you were doing It alone.

So, you decided to call up your boyfriend Neil and ask him to come hang out with you.

“Oh, hey babe, what’s up?” You could tell by his tone he was happy to hear from you. “Hey Neil. You wanna come over? I’m at Wallace’s apartment.”

“YES!…ehm.. I mean, yeah whatever that sounds cool.” He quickly collects himself, which earned a giggle on your end. That boy was so cute it hurts. “Are Scott and Wallace there? Are we all hanging out or something?”

“Nah. Just us. They’re at a party and won’t be here until….im not sure honestly. I can’t tell with them. Is that okay with you?”

“Perfect..!” He said quickly. “Good! Then I’ll see you when you get here, yeah?”

“I already left the house.”

Today was going to be great, you just know it.

After awhile of waiting for Neil to come you finally hear a soft knock on the door. You quickly got up and fixed your clothes and hair to make it look more presentable and then headed towards the door and letting Neil in. He had on a large puffy coat, jeans, his normal shoes and to top it all off a fluffy hat covered his soft hair. You also noticed his nose was red, poor boy must have had a small cold. Afterall, it has been snowing a lot recently, especially today.

“Hey b-babe!” It was so cold you could see his breath coming straight out of mouth. “Hey baby. Come on inside, you look like you have a cold.” He nods happily as he steps right inside, and you close the door behind him. “You think I look sick?” He asks while a sniffle leaves his nose as he takes off his puffy coat and sets it aside on the armchair. “You have a cold. Have you noticed your nose is red?”

He tries to cross his eyes to look at his nose. “Hmm. No, don’t see it.” A giggle escaped your lips. “Wait..does that mean we can’t make out...or cuddle?”

“Nah. I’d still kiss you.” You grab his hand and drag him to the bed. “I’ve been playing Sims 3 and Minecraft all day, it’s boring so when you’re alone.” You grab your controller.

“Do you have castle crashers?” He grabs a nearby controller.

“Of course. Wanna play that?” He nods.

“Good choice, one of my favorite games.”

“…dibs on the purple knight.”  You playfully push his shoulder. “Hey!- I wanted that one!”

After a few hours of playing Castle Crashers, you two eventually got bored of it. Not because the game was bad, oh trust. But because of the stupid bat boss, could not get past it. So annoying…! Anyways, instead of playing more Xbox games you decided to cuddle up with him under the covers while you watched him play on this Gameboy Advance. He was playing Mario Kart Super Circuit as Luigi.

You snuggled your head into his shoulder while you watched him play. “Babe.. are you sure you don’t want a turn? Is It really that fun to watch me play?” He asks curiously.

“Mhm. You make cute faces when you’re focused.” He sticks his tongue out in concentration. “Huh?..sorry what’d you say? I had to get back in first place.” You snorted. “You’re cute.”

You get closer to him, you lift your leg and placed it over his crotch. His face flushes. “Haah…y/n..you’re..um….you’re distracting.”

“Distracting? Can you elaborate?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Y…you’re trying to make me lose..! I wont let you…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You tease. “I’m just trying to cuddle with my lovely boyfriend, can’t a person just—”

“Mhmm..”

“Oh?”

You feel a growing bump on your naked knee. It didn’t take a genius to understand what that was. He had gotten a boner from your leg laying on his dick. “Y/nnn….” You look directly at him. “Yes?”

“…I’m hard.”

“I know.”

There were a few seconds of silence between you two. “Want me to take care of it baby?” He furiously nods with flustered face. “P..please….b-but first let me finish this—”

“You can keep playing it while I suck your dick.”

“Wh- wha?...you want me to do that..?” He stammers. “Go ahead babe. Pretend like I’m not even here, kay?” You proceed to get under the covers while also getting in between Neil’s legs. His boner was more visible from this angle. “Pretend like you’re not here..?...that’s gonna be h..harrd…but okay.”

You placed your hands on top of his covered dick. You could already feel him throbbing. He breaths with a mix of anticipation and nervousness as he gripped his Gameboy tightly, attempting to concentrate as hard as he can on his game. You then put your fingers in-between his boxers then sliding it down all the way to his knees. His dick immediately sprung up with a string of pre-cum trailing down the base of his dick from the tip.

“Ohh? You were REAL pent up weren’t you?” His heart starts to race as you grab his dick. “F-fuuuck. Don’t…don’t go too fast….you’re gonna make me c-cum early again like last time..”

“Haha..don’t worry, Neil.” You kiss the tip of his dick. “I’ll try to make you last as long as possible. Just focus on your game.~”

You were going to be the death of him.

He watches you with a mix of awe and desire as you kiss and started to slowly stroke his dick. You could also feel him squirming underneath your touch. He felt warm sensations coursing through his body, but still managed to focus on his game somehow. But his eyes did occasionally flicker to your eyes.

“Ah…hnnm…”

You extended your wet tongue to the base of his dick, then began to lick from there towards the tip of it. His pre-cum tasted a little salty. “mmm~  you’re a good boy aren’t you?”

 “Ughn…” A shiver runs down his spine as he tries to keep his focus on the game, but your tongue and touch were already so overwhelming. He lets out soft gasps whenever your tongue glosses over his sensitive tip. “Y…yeah..I’m your good boy….” His whimpers out, his voice barely audible. His eyes continuing to dart between the screen and your movements, his body was growing more tense with each passing second. It just felt too good.

You wrapped your lips about his tip, sucking on it gently. You also used your other free hand to caress his inner thigh. Neil’s body lifted slightly, and he grips his Gameboy tighter as your warm mouth had engulfed the tip of his dick. He bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stifle the series of moans that threatened to escape his soft lips. The sensation of your hand on his thigh and the pleasure from your mouth sent waves of ecstasy through him. “y/n…g..ghhn…ugh!” He struggles to keep his focus on the game, it was getting increasingly difficult for him to both face fuck you and continue playing the game.

You started to take him further into your mouth, his dick hitting your throat each time your lips met his messy pubes. Your tongue trailing over the veins on his dick then back to his tip and then back to the veins. Neil’s head falls back onto a pillow as loud moans escapes his lips, his body trembling with pleasure. He could feel himself getting lost in the sensations, at this point the game had fallen from out of hand, he had forgotten it as he surrenders to the pleasure you’re giving him.

You then could feel a hand being placed on top of your head, gently pushing you further down. “Y..yes…just like that…you’re amazing…” His free hand grips the covers of the bed, and his breath became more ragged. You completely took your mouth off his dick and used your hand to stroke him quickly. “Gonna cum for me baby? You wanna cum on my pretty face, yeah?”

Maybe you were just hearing things but..was someone outside the front door..?

He pathetically lets a few tears fall from his face as he gasps sharply. His mind was going blank with pleasure, too much was going on he couldn’t think of anything else except you. He couldn’t help but let ot a lew, guttural moan, hips involuntarily twitching In response to the intense pleasure. “Y-yes!...I..I can’t hold back much longer…n..need to cum..” He struggles to form coherent words, completely hypnotized by your hand.

Keys entered the lock of the front door. Someone is here.

“Cum for me. Now.” Your trail your free hand from his inner thigh to under his shirt, caressing his chest. As for your occupied hand, your hand kept his dick busy with your fast paced strokes. “I-Im…y/n…I’m so close…ssso so close…don’t stop pleeease…”

The front door opens. Wallace and Scott enter the room before noticing..-

The intensity of your hands pushes him closer and closer to the edge, you consumed his mind entire;y. He lets out a final string of incoherent moans, his free hand gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles were turning white as he approached his climax. “Y-y/n…I’m…I’m gonna…c-cummingg!!” He rolls his eyes to the back of his head and arched his back involuntarily as he finally reached his peak, releasing his cum onto your face with a final, shuddering orgasm.

A string of cum landed on your lips, to which you licked it off. You then stuck your head out from under the covers to see Neil’s tired, exhausted face. He had tear stains on his cheeks and he was breathing heavily. You chuckled at this. “I hope I didn’t go too hard on you babe. You okay?” He looks at you with a small smile before quickly dropping it when he noticed you had visitors.

“Uh..y/n….” He mutters. You tilt your face at him with confusion. “What? What’s wrong? You’ve came on my face before.” He shakes his head. “I-its not that its just uh..”

“What?”

Neil lifts his hand and points right behind you. You turned your head slowly to see….Wallace…and Scott. Both, horrified, Scott more so. They just witnessed their friend give a blow job to their other friend, and it didn’t help that you still had his cum on your face.

“uh….hey guys. How was the party?” You nervous asked.

They said nothing for a few moments until Wallace spoke up. “I never knew you had that in you, y/n.” He teased. Scott however, wasn’t amused…at all. “We..y/n… we sleep on the same BED!...Y-you’re face is covered in—!”

“I KNOW.” You embarrassingly wiped it off from your face and Neil quickly pulled up his boxers and pants. After this incident Scott tried to ban you from bringing Neil over, even when both of them were there. But since Scott was considered a leech too, it didn’t hold any value to you. As for Wallace, he found the whole thing amusing, but…he very gently asked you to not fuck him on the bed…. despite him doing the exact same thing. Apparently, he’s the only one allowed to do that. Fair enough since it was his bed after all.

That’s not gonna stop you from inviting Neil over again. ♡

I was lowkey struggling how to format this. Tumblr is killing meeee

[trillscienceofficer]

thank @lostyesterday for tagging me in a WIP game, only... at the moment I have just one WIP loosely called "post-canon B7 that's prequel to the other long fic I wrote". If I'm talking about a scenario you can be sure im talking about this fic, so between this and having remade the blog I don't know if I'd get any asks about it lol. However I could talk about it forever, so that's what I'm going to do. If (and that's a big if!) I actually write it, it's probably going to be the biggest, and likely also the last, of my Trek projects.

Concept: B'Elanna and Seven unexpectedly reunite post-canon when they're both at the lowest points in their lives (post-divorce, post-Icheb dying). Planet-bound without their own means of transportation, they're both hired by the Fenris Rangers to refurbish old starships in a post-synth ban world where starships are now scarce, but only long enough until they can refurbish shuttles of their own and finally be able to leave the surface of Fenris. Working together though brings back memories of a life that feels now so much better than all the regrets B'Elanna and Seven have accumulated since their return to the AQ... and even if there are for both chances to radically alter their life in ways that would bring them closer to everything they've always wanted (acceptance and community—the biggest representative of this being a Klingon OC I've been developing), their common past on Voyager and wounded disillusionment about the Federation is as much an inescapable gravity well as the surface of Fenris.

Problems I'm having:

there's a huge amount of research, in several fields, that I'd have to do. The more time passes the more I realize that I don't know how to do research properly and even if I've known for a long time that I needed said research I haven't really started because I'm very scared I'll get everything wrong (it's part of the reason why I've been thinking about quitting writing, or at the very least not posting my creative output online any longer. I am bad at the basics of writing)

while I have a pretty definite idea of what I want to say with this fic, the plot is uh... pretty vague beside a few events I am fairly sure of. The rest is quite literally up in the air. I suppose if I knew how to "immerse myself in the research" I would get more inspiration but again, see above

with no fixed deadlines I just won't start anything. I've been thinking about joining events like the femslash big bang 2025 to give myself a fighting chance at finishing this but there are plot points (ie a significant m/f relationship) that disqualifies this project, I think. Plus, a single deadline won't help with it, I'd need a roadmap, but who's ever going to hold me accountable except myself? and I know that asshole and she's flaky as hell

there are a few scenes that are crystal clear in my head but I'm afraid that if I write them down first I will lose any interest I have in connecting them through the larger plot

I'd have to actually buy a Scrivener license because I plotted the whole thing out on there last summer (which was still when I thought I could write this prequel like I'd written the first fic in 2023. silly me) and now the trial period has expired 💀💀💀

what would help immensely is if I found someone who will both yell at me when I need to do better and encourage me when I feel down but I've been very reluctant to ask anyone because I don't know who would even like the concept of this fic except myself. Hell the whole point is that B'Elanna and Seven are never in a relationship throughout, much less at the end of it, even though of course they're fully in each other's head. It's just... too much to ask anyone to share in all this mess, I think.

[damienthepious]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

also preemptively saving to my drafts bc lord knows how long this will take me to do oops. lol it only actually took a couple days. miracle!!! tagged by @nientedal thank youuu!!

How many works do you have on AO3?

uhuhuhmmmmm 166 apparently. 4 of which are podfics.

What's your total AO3 word count?

uhhhummm 714,580. words. apparently.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

im not clever enough to parse how dal weighted for multichapters, alas. by ao3's stats, at least,

Repercussions - 600wrd Megamind oneshot that has been my most popular fic by kudos pretty much since i published it and that will ALWAYS baffle me.

Knock-Off - 500wrd Megamind oneshot. which i like a little better.

True Gold - Megamind multichapter au about megs getting raised by the scotts, ahhh . i'll get back to it eventually

Lifted Up - ... another 500ish word Megamind oneshot.... why are all my top kudos'd fics in this category..... it's megamind/metro man too and that's like, not even my real ship. i was just playing around with them as a qpr and fluff happened....

Awake With Wolf Teeth - FINALLY SOME SECOND CITADEL and it's smut. hahahahaha. 5kish word smutty oneshot, bouquet with arum/damien focus.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to!! i fell into a hole for the last six months and haven't been able to write or respond until like.. two weeks ago but. i write because the words demand out but i post fic because i like... talking with people? i like getting to scream with other people about characters and dynamics and angst and fluff that we're BOTH excited about, of course i try to respond to comments.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

oof. either... No One Will Ever Love You, which is ROMANTICALLY angsty but comes with the buffer of being pre-canon (MM) and canon will fix it, OR it just... wants, which is a drabble on the premise of a major character death, and does not resolve anything.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

um. this is actually difficult bc. so many of them have. nonsense fluffy endings, often involving falling asleep together. the happiest/??? uhhh.... oh, Each Day You'd Rise With Me. The last line kinda cinches it, i think, though it has some stiff competition.

Do you write crossovers?

I don't think I have, but i'm not against it. I haven't found any ideas for crossovers that have compelled me enough to actually shove me past idly contemplating and into actually writing them, i guess.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not that I remember. I've gotten comments that have insulted or irritated me, but never in ways that I think were intentional, just careless. I write for mostly one very small fandom so i think that insulates me somewhat.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

HAHHA YEAH APPARENTLY. I don't really know what "what kind" means, but as per usual my brand seems to be intense and feelsy. these motherfuckers have a LOT of thoughts and feelings and words while getting railed....

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge..... and i HAVE panic-checked some of those scraper sites that get warned for now and again.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not to my knowledge!! that would be VERY exciting, though.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep. It was fun at the time, I'd be interested to do it again, but I tend to get a bit more self-conscious about the writing when someone is there to look at it the moment it happens lol

What's your all-time favorite ship?

i don't do favorites but i think it's pretty clear that rad bouquet and megarox kinda win the day here.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

i absolutely refuse to indulge in defeatism. I'LL FINISH THEM ALL, SSSSOMEDAY.

What are your writing strengths?

wrrghg uhh. it's hard to tell from inside my own head but i've been TOLD that i excel at dialogue and character voices.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

bad at faves still but at the moment, Penumbra: Multichap: Scattered On My Shore. oneshot: On and On and On Again (If My Chest Don't Cave In). drabble: delicate as. Megamind: Multichap (unfinished lol): True Gold. oneshot: Typecast. drabble (OOPS THERE'S ONLY ONE but i like it): A Pulse That Escalates.

other authors: aw man idk im so bad at tagging people. @stone-stars and @pinkpuffballdude if you wanna? & if you're also a writer and saw this consider yourself tagged? 💖

[deedala]

🌱Macy's Tag Game Twosday🌿 (x2 actually because i have some other tag games i need to catch up on and im mashing them all togther in one post) so thank you for tagging me to play one or more of these following tag games!! @celestialmickey @crossmydna @mmmichyyy @creepkinginc @lingy910y @energievie @suzy-queued @metalheadmickey @mickeysgaymom @ardent-fox @m4ndysk4nkovich @rereadanon @mikhailoisbaby @tanktopgallavich @scurvgirl 💖💖💖 name: deanna🌱

your birthday: Nov 17

where in the world are you? O Hi O 🌽

when did you join tumblr? 2011

do you have any sideblogs? yeah not very active though

mobile or desktop? both both both

your perfect sleeping conditions: 70 degrees, flannel comforter, face mask and bonnet, cozy sweatshirt and socks. Yes i sleep in fuzzy socks dont at me.

a movie you think everyone should see at least once: hmmm... The Fall (2006)

what shoes do you wear the most often? slip on sneakers

describe your keys to me: key to my house with a pink cover, key to my parents house with no cover, my car key, my husbands spare car key, a loop wrist strap made from a piece of a limited run woven baby wrap design that was dedicated to the FB babywearing group i helped found like 8 million years ago, and my red wallet attached by TWO carabiners because listen you just never know when you'll need a second carabiner. Also i have a picture of my kids in the little wallet window where you're supposed to put your ID (ig?) 😊

find the book closest to you. turn to page 7. what’s the 7th word? "was"

what’s your favorite snack? popcorn

one of your aspirations: inner peace

and finally, tell me a random fact about yourself: ive been white water rafting a few times. as a youth...i dont think i'd ever go again though lol

rest of the tag games under the cut!

next up this picrew

(i need a fucking hair cut)

Favorites Collage: (as always my favorites change based on mood and day but these are pretty common favorites!!)

animal: house finch movie: The Fall (2006) season: autumn character: today right now its Mickey color: mint hobby: vidja gams book: The Masked Empire by Patrick Weekes song: The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel drink: lemonade

and finally... this or that? ABO or Soulmates // fake dating or secret dating // fix-it or post-canon // mutual pining or friends-to-lovers // slow burn or angst // smut or romance // Reality TV au or Porn au //Enemies to lovers or Enemies to friends to lovers // Domestic Fluff or Hurt/Comfort // Coffee Shop au or College au // one-shot or multi-chapter // Crossover or canon compliant // mpreg or adoption // online romance or workplace romance // single parent au or sports au // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi au or magic au i was thinking of picking fix-it..but i think the fix-it type things i usually end up reading fall more under AU canon divergent rather than what is probably simply fix-it. also excuse me but smut IS romantic imo lolol. also also slow burn tends to be angsty so i felt like i could secretly pick both of those by picking slow burn haha.

and okay time to tag some nuggets to do any or all of these games!! 😆 Everyone up top + @harrowhark-a-vagrant @michellemisfit @too-schoolforcool @juliakayyy @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @callivich @thepupperino @transmickey @grumble-fish @gardenerian @imikhailo @jrooc @milkmaidovich @grossmickey @sleepyfacetoughguy @themarchg1rl @sickness-health-all-that-shit @babygirlmickey @sweetbee78 @xninetiestrendx @vintagelacerosette @purplemagpie @squidyyy23 @sirrudo @alihendrjx + anyone else seeing this and wanting to play a thing 😋