#is stealing someone from another dimension better

[sp0o0kylights]

"I feel him." El insists. "Alive." 

She hasn't said his name since Will first raised them all over the walkie, but every person in the room knows who she means. 

Not that Steve can say his name either.

"But we watched him die." Nancy says gently, before Dustin properly loses it from where he sits in the corner. "Owen's even sent someone back through to check." 

"Yes." El agrees, but it's clear she's frustrated. "He died here. But he's not alive here, he's alive over there." 

"In the Upside Down?" Steve asks, and pretends his voice isn't cracking with desperation and barely concealed hope.

"No!" El snaps, before taking a deep breath and collecting herself to try again. "Through the other gate." 

"Okay." Hopper cuts in, hands waving in some kind of "stay calm" gesture. "El, honey, I think we're all still hung up about the other gate." He pauses, before adding. "And how Creel dying opened it." 

El gives him a thousand yard stare. 

"I'm getting the crayons." Joyce sighs as she stands up. In a mutter she continues, "Should have gotten them to begin with." 

Silently, Steve agrees. 

xXx Eddie xXx

It goes like this.

A bat breaks through the side of the trailer. It swoops low, teeth rattling, but it doesn't attack. 

It emits an odd, echoing screech, before  flying through the gate, to the Rightside-Up. 

"Shit." Dustin curses wildly. "Shit, they're gonna try and invade!" 

"I thought they were guarding the gate!" Eddie protests, as that echoing scream returns tenfold, coming from the mouths of too many demobats. “If they wanted to invade wouldn’t they have done that already!?” 

"No, because Vecna was focused on opening more gates! This must be his plan--to open enough gates to push an army through. We have to lead them away!"

"Dustin-!" Eddie calls out desperately, but finds himself overwhelmed by bats as more and more break through. 

He fights through them, trying to get to Dustin, trying to listen to what the kid’s screaming.

He can’t hear him.

Not over all the screeching, the beating bat wings and the thudding noises as they smack at his head. Their teeth snap, tearing into every piece of him they can reach.

Eddie doesn’t know how long he’s been surrounded, but he hears the trailer door bang open--and shut.

"Dustin!" He screams this time, voice as loud as he can make it.

The kid’s faster than he is.

He’d planned this--or at least, had thought about it long enough to get himself a solid head start, leaving Eddie scrambling after. 

Fighting through the torrents of bats. Abandoning the gate because Hawkins can burn for all he cares--but there are people who don't deserve to go down with it.

People like Henderson, who have bright futures ahead of them.

Eddie tears his way towards Dustin, unthinking, just running.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid-!’ He thinks, but not at Dustin. 

At himself, because he knows the kid. Knows what to expect from how he acts in games. 

Steve even called it--and Eddie’s not stupid enough to think he was talking to both of them when he warned them about not being a hero. He was included purely because Dustin would fuss otherwise and they were short on time.

Dustin’s on the ground when Eddie finds him, and he whips his spear at the few dozen bats that attack him, their bodies circling, teeth biting. 

He gets in two good hits before shit hits the fan. 

To his right something explodes, flames high and reaching, a thunderous boom whipping out so loud that Eddie's ears ring. 

A shockwave nearly takes him off his feet, bandana pulled from his head and freeing his hair. 

Eddie crashes on the ground next to Dustin.

 Sees all the blood and doesn't know what to do. 

"Come on man." Eddie pleads. "Come on!" 

He doesn't get an answer. 

It goes like this.

Vecna’s dead. 

The blast that killed him was from some kind of explosion that took out all of Creel House. 

It fireballed skyward, and the Upside Down rapidly began doing….something, seconds after. 

Returning, Eddie decides, to whatever it was before the asshole got thrown in here. 

Or dying, maybe.

(This is easier to think about than the fact that no one could have survived that blast. That there's a black hole Eddie can see, and it has to wrap miles and miles around the Creel House because he's still near his trailer.

It the trees down the stupid hill didn't make it then Robin, and Nancy, and Steve--

He stops. Shakes his head.

If Eddie thinks about it, it will make it real. 

He can't let it be real.),

The monsters all fall as one, dropping to the ground like puppets with cut strings. 

Eddie had been pummeled by a few demobat bodies before he could get clear, though given how some still occasionally twitch and hop around weakly after, Vecna's death doesn't necessarily equal their own.

Madly, he crushes a few beneath his boots. 

Knows that won't bring his friends back. 

Stomps on a few more because he can't do anything about that, and he can't cry any harder.

It goes like this.

Eddie gets back topside to find Vecna's revenge in action.

 It's an act worthy of a mad god, not that Eddie would ever give him such a title. 

Hawkins wasn't split. It was consumed, with large portions falling deep into the earth that opened under it. Smoke chokes half the town from an outburst of fires, while downed trees and electrical lines make walking a chore. 

The road is a cracked and pitted mess, littered with holes large enough to swallow entire cars. 

Passage is nigh impossible by car, and downright dangerous by foot.

It makes Eddie want to sink to his knees in despair.

There were still people around, that first day. 

There were still people around the second and fifth days too. 

But then the monsters appear. 

They're not the demobats, or demodogs or even the demogorgons that Eddie was told of. 

They're something--else.

Mutated and mutating, taking on appearances that reflect both the Upside Down and the Right-Side Up (a term coined by one of the freshmen--Eddie can't recall which.) 

Actual flowers, great purple and orange looking blooms sprout teeth and attack. Vines stick out of arcade cabinets, carting them around like a hermit crabs shell. 

Some people breathe the falling little pieces of ash and suddenly aren't people anymore.

(It was Erica, who had coined the term. The Right-Side Up. 

Erica who was also deceased, because the fucking explosion didn't just take out the Upside Down version of the Creel house, but the real one too. 

Which meant Max and Lucas and Erica…

But Eddie's not thinking about that.)  

It goes like this.

Wayne's gone.

He'd been at the plant when the Earth had swallowed it, his first day back to work because he'd used all his PTO trying to find Eddie.

The coworker who watched it happen makes sure to tell Eddie his uncle insisted he was innocent. That the old man never stopped looking.

Likewise, the trailer is gone. 

It fell barely a day after Eddie had climbed out of it, one half eaten while the other teetered dangerously on the edge.

There's cops at the borders of the city. 

They’re been commandeered by the military and the feds both, and people in heavy gear prowl around like guard dogs just waiting to be let off leash.

Helicopters fill the air, always circling and searching. Units of men and women begin parading around with guns as they escort tanks and other battle equipment through the streets. 

They're looking for something besides the monsters, and they're happy to cut the phone lines and police the survivors to find it.

No one's allowed in--or out. 

Eddie tries to escape the first few days, after he realizes everyone who knew the truth is gone. 

Thinks maybe he can get to the Byers, and that super powered girl out in California, but keeps getting cut off.

Twice they've nearly caught him, which means twice Eddie has been forced to come to terms with the fact that he's one of the things they're after.

They know him by name.

They know he was involved in Creel's takedown.

Eddie"s not just being hunted by the town now. 

He’s being hunted by the United States as a whole. 

It goes like this.

Eddie doesn't want to die. 

Can't bring himself to take his own life, forever too much of a coward. 

So he berates himself while he hides.

Wonders what the fuck his plan is here. 

Focuses on surviving, stealing food, sleeping in people he loves houses and hoping maybe some of them made it out.

(Given how Gareth's and Jeff's places are both untouched, he doesn't think they did.) 

He’s never prayed before but now he’s praying to every deity he can think of. Hoping, wishing, that if he can’t get out alive, he at least goes down quickly. 

It goes like this.

Steve Harrington walks out of the woods with a nailbat in his hands, like a blood soaked fever dream. 

Eddie doesn't care. 

He hugs him so hard his own ribs hurt and the crazy thing is Steve hugs him back even harder. 

"You're alive." Eddie sobs, face buried in Steve's shoulder.,"You're alive, you're alive…" 

Steve grips him for a moment before whispering back; "And so are you." 

He pulls away and Eddie struggles against him, not ready to let go, fingers grasping at his shirt. 

Steve strokes his hair, his stupid tangled, gross hair and Eddie looks at him, desperately needing the contact to prove that Steve is real. 

That he’s here. 

 "I need you to listen--I'm not your Steve." Steve says, and Eddie’s so desperate for contact that the words don’t register for a moment. 

Not that they make sense when they do. 

"What?" Eddie asks. 

"There’s a--okay.” Steve sighs, before saying; “I am going to absolutely blow the explanation, but I need you to trust me.”

“I do.” Eddie says, even as Steve fulfills his own prophecy, and gives a completely nonsensical explanation.

At the end of it, Eddie can’t bring himself to care. 

As long as he has Steve back--even if it’s not technically his Steve, Eddie will follow him wherever he goes.

[mssalo]

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

[catpriciousmarjara]

Okay so there's this dp x dc tumblr post about the JL finding the Ghost King's family tree or something and lots of misunderstandings happening but I can't find it anymore and would be grateful if someone would send it to me... Anyhow I was inspired by it and this is the result!

Also on ao3 if you wanna check it out there!

The Family Tree

"So you're telling me this is just a family tree?", Green Lantern asked with a frown on his face.

Bruce could see Constantine's eyes twitching at that question. As always, leave it to Hal Jordan to annoy people.

"This isn't just anything", the sorcerer said with narrowed eyes. "It's a Class-X magical artifact. If this thing is used as a focus for a ritual, the magnitude of magical energy would rise by at least 80 factors. For those of you non-magical or unfamiliar with magic, that's fucking huge."

Beside him Zatanna nodded, her gaze still fixed on the ancient manuscript. She hadn't taken her eyes off the scroll for more than a minute since she got to the Watch Tower and first saw it spread out on the containment room table. Constantine was the same. Captain Marvel was not present, working along with Superman, Hawkgirl, and Aquaman on a case, but his reactions have always been dissimilar from his magical colleagues, so his case might be anywhere between staying the hell away from it to trying to inhale it.

It was clear to Bruce that Zatanna coveted it, but was sensible and cautious enough to stay away from it. Constantine had no sense so he was a tossup. From where he was standing between Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter, the Gotham vigilante resolved to keep an eye on the two magicians. They most likely won't try to steal the artifact, considering the heavy dose of 'not messing with that thing' overshadowing the desire to possess it, but the scroll itself might be enchanted to encourage covetous feelings on those nearby. It wouldn't be the first time. Better safe than sorry.

It was Diana that stepped up towards the two JL Dark members to seek more clarification. As both a Demigod and as someone familiar with magic, she was usually the one taking point on such issues.

She gestured to the scroll innocently sitting inside the runic circle the two mages had constructed around it. "You have told us that the artifact is not destructive, that it is merely a record, and that the information it contains is not a spell, or a runic arrangement, or a magic circle. You have also told us that the strange energy readings coming from it are mostly due to the material it's made out of than any catastrophic sorcery enchanted into it. You have at last decoded it as a record of a family tree. Yet it is dangerous, a Class-X relic as you've said. Given all this information, I suppose the correct question to ask here is this: why is a family tree capable of raising magical energy output by 80 factors?"

The two magicians looked at each other. Zatanna finally pried her eyes away from the scroll and faced the room.

"Magic is a force that simultaneously has laws but at the same time adheres to none. It's confusing to explain but for the time being just keep that in mind."

She walked to the center of the room, followed by Constantine, visibly trying to collect her words. Bruce prepared himself for a complicated explanation and activated another one of the batsuit's recorders. He felt the urge to sigh, for a supposed unchained force, Magic was needlessly complex at times, and practically incomprehensible to non-magicals.

At the front, Zatanna took a deep breath and began.

"As you know there are multiple dimensions. But magical dimensions come under a different category. Depending on the overall magical potential of a particular magical dimension, we call it the World State Stable Thaumaturgical Output Capacity, we can classify these dimensions in grades and levels, as either higher or lower, with relation to each other. These levels are dependent on a multitude of variables like space, time, gravity, Events, Proximity, etc and as such are non-linear, and unfixed. That's the first thing."

Bruce could practically see the capitals on the last two. Looks like they would need to hold another meeting to clarify a lot of these concepts. Seeing the dawning of lost expressions on some of the members however, Bruce mentally amended that to many future meetings.

Zatanna continued. "Magical objects from higher dimensions become stronger in lower ones. The inverse is also true. This is all in relation to the Overture and the same polarity orientation of course but we don't need to get into that now-"

On the contrary Bruce thought they really needed more explanation on all of that.

"-In simple terms, a child's toy from a higher dimension could become the focus for an apocalyptic ritual in a much lower dimension, while an apocalyptic artifact from a lower dimension might as well be paperweight in a sufficiently higher one. There are ways around it, but if those methods are not implemented, then this is how it generally goes. The larger the level difference, the higher the power."

Now that wasn't concerning at all. Bruce really needed to update his contingency plans regarding magic.

Constantine continued from where Zatanna left off, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"The second thing is that when it comes to magic, things that are indefinable or unquantifiable become definable and quantifiable. Stuff like love, hate, happiness, despair, fate, necessity, authority? All measurable. Not always needed of course, But definitely possible and frequently used in a variety of magical fields."

The sorcerer leaned against a nearby chair. "One such thing is Significance. The magic contained in true names for instance is mostly based on significance. A true name is significant to you, its a doorway to your soul, and therefore it holds power. Significance is also what we call a positive, additive factor in magic. In the absence of interfering variables, significance as a quantity is directly proportional to magical output. In other words-"

"-the more significant an object or an event, the higher the magical energy output, and consequently higher the magical power", J'onn finished. He looked towards the scroll. "The information recorded on it, the family tree as you've said, valuable in significance, most likely in terms of whose family it's a record of. In addition, the artifact is from a higher dimension with relation to ours, and that has a cumulative effect."

"Yeah exactly", said Constantine with a raised eyebrow. "Which means that if that hypothetical toy Zatanna mentioned? If that happened to be important enough, like a first toy, or a cherished gift or something like that, its significance increases, its potential increases, and in the right hands, or in the wrong hands really, that potential could be harnessed at a lower level."

There was a bout of thoughtful silence as they absorbed all of the information.

But Bruce felt as if he had been quiet enough and took the chance to ask a question of his own. "You mentioned something called the Overture, and polarity orientation. What do they mean?"

Constantine just sighed. "For fuck's sake Batsy those things aren't really important to the discussion..."

Bruce just stared.

..."Fine", the mage said in defeat. "There are many names for it, the Overture, Exordium, Legerdomain, Nascence...but the most accepted two are the Beforebirth, and the Womb. It's not a something as much as it's a someplace, but then again it's not really a place either. Simply put it's the birthplace of Magic, where it all began and all that. It can't be accessed without the Key and that's been lost for a long time. It's actually a mission for many magicals to find it you know? A holy quest for a lot of them. Some of them are straight up crazy though."

Bruce field that information safely away. Figure out a plan to combat fanatic magicians trying to find the birthplace of magic for sinister reasons. "And polarity?"

"Well", Zatanna began, "its how magic is classified according to the nature of...magic? Or rather the essence? It's hard to put in mundane terms...Anyhow broadly speaking there are two main polarities, the Obverse, and the Reverse."

For a moment, she struggled with the explanation before brightening, seemingly having found an idea.

"Picture a number line, but like on the y-axis! Zero is the Overture, Obverse dimensions are the positive number side, and Reverse dimensions are the negative numbers! The higher up the obverse dimension, the larger its magical output! Similarly, the lower down the reverse dimension, the higher its magical output."

Bruce had hardly parsed through that when their resident speedster spoke up.

"Guys", the red clad hero said, "I feel like we missed the obvious follow up question after Ollie over here...like I feel like this is important, but where exactly is the scroll from?"

As one everyone turned towards the artifact.

Constantine grimaced and Zatanna winced. They looked at each other as if asking who wanted to bite the bullet. Finally it looked as if Constantine lost. The sorcerer cursed under his breath.

"Well which dimension is the scroll from?", asked Wonder Woman.

Constantine took what looked like a fortifying breath.

"It's from the Infinite Realms."

Silence.

"What?", the Green Lantern asked intelligently.

"It's from the Infinite Realms. As in Infinite. As in end of the figurative fucking line, number line whatever!"

Everyone stared at the magicians as understanding slowly dawned.

There was what was essentially a magical nuke in the Watch Tower.

"Now", began Martian Manhunter, "this is unfortunate".

[nunca205s-art-gallery]

THE THREE TIMELINES

2. DIVERSION TIMELINE (Reverse Portal AU)

Stan saves Ford but it ends up being him the one to get pulled into it (with the 1st journal).

[Rubs her hands] Now here's the good stuff. (You can tell this is my favourite timeline.) This timeline is basically my AU mashed up with the reverse portal AU.

–-–-–-–-–-–

After Stan gets pulled into the portal (mind you, he still has the burn), he manages to escape Bill (he just knew/sensed he was evil) and his minions. He hides in the asteroid shield, and then in an asteroid's crater, just like Ford. Then encounters the refugees, the people help him (by giving him the translator, and a recap of where is he, who is Bill, what is the multiverse and such, they also give him some equipment for survival and explain to him the basics of how to travel between dimensions. They also take care of his burn, but it will take time to fully heal). He escapes the Nightmare Realm and his travels begin.

Little facts and important plot points, cuz there's no way I'm redacting 30 years of dimension travelling:

His sole purpose is going back home, even though he has no idea of how to do it.

His hopes to return shatter when he encounters another Stan that got through the portal and tells him that their kind rarely ever makes it back (this would happen like, at year 2).

He almost takes his life that night, but he remembers what the Stan he encountered told him and decides to embrace this life, to live for himself and not to prove anything to anyone. (Even if he may not really think he's worthy of that, that his value relies on others' opinions of him.)

So he just wanders, looking for places to stay, but never for too long (2 years max). He's used to that lifestyle after all.

He comes across a few Stanford's too, some have better responses to him than others. He travelled with one for a while, but he died saving Stan from some bounty hunters (he has never felt more guilt over anything ever). He lost an eye here (year 6).

He's a criminal, but not a renowned one. He's a bit like a Robin Hood, but always looks out for himself first. He likes the idea of being a hero, or maybe something more like an antihero, so he helps people with small stuff wherever he goes.

He did contraband between dimensions for a while. (Deep down he hoped to come across his.)

He tried to rob the device they used to hop between dimensions, but let's just say he was lucky to leave alive from that situation.

He spent a lot of time in Lottocron Nine.

He feels glad that it was him that fell through the portal instead of Ford.

Sometimes he thinks about giving up, but he never does for too long.

He meets the Oracle at some point, they chill and become friends. (Bonding over future sight, she explains to him how is it that he got it.) (Year 14)

After 18 years he has a vision, a guy with what he says is a "portal gun". He gets super exited and thinks that he'll finally find a way to get back.

After a few weeks he encounters Rick Sanchez, he immediately knows that the guy is not someone you want as an enemy. They make a deal, Stan does (an extremely risky) infiltration mission to steal some info for Rick and he builds him a portal gun (and tells him how to make portal fluid).

Stan does it, and spends six months in a high security prison. He gets the info, starts a rebellion as a distraction for his prison break, gets out. (Rick helped him on that last part.)

He gets the gun from Rick and starts hopping between dimensions.

For the first time in forever he has hope.

Years pass, at some point he gets sick of it and just goes back to his old lifestyle for a bit. Then he steals some technology to identify dimensions and it helps him narrow down the number of places he has to go.

He has a list where he crosses the ones that are not the one.

More time passes (year 24), he encounters Rick again and he needs a favour. This time he has to get something some other criminals stole from him, some kind of alien biker gang.

They do it together this time and on the fray Stan loses his right arm. As a "sorry" Rick builds him a robot one (with a lot of secret little compartments, tools, and six fingers at Stan's request).

Time flies and suddenly 30 years have passed. And surprise, after all this time, he comes back home.

(He ages a bit slower btw, that might be because of the blessing or because the massive amount of portal hopping / multiverse travelling he did.)

What was Ford doing?

Getting depressed, that's what he was doing.

Running only by adrenaline, paranoia and an overwhelming sense of guilt (oh my god, he just killed his brother) he somehow pulled it off. Bro got an eureka moment and managed to get some unicorn hair to protect the house. Then,  after he managed to get some sleep he followed his original plan (it didn't go exactly as expected, aka, he didn't find anything at all except from the zodiac).

Not knowing what else to do a devastating feeling of hoplenessness came over him, leaving him on an almost catatonic state of depression. And since Bill couldn't do anything to him because of the spell he was just laying there.

And then, like the saving grace of god, Fiddleford came to the rescue. Or something like that...

He was going to make Ford stop by force, but when he got to the house and saw the state in which everything was in he was like "uh oh..."

He found Ford, and even though he was still mad at him he helped him. Ford told him everything that happened, continuously apologising to Fiddleford for not listening to him. Fiddleford was like "About damn time!!" and "I told you so!!".

So, Fidds helps Ford recompose himself, clean the place and find a way to get out of the shack without fearing Bill. (They find a sketchy doctor, BOOM, metal plate.)

They decide to stay low and not bring attention to the town.

They blow up the Bill cave, and get the 2nd journal away from the damn primary school (burn the Bill invocation spell).

(Ford forgot where the third one was.)

They start their own version of the mystery shack, but with accurate representations of the real stuff. AND a repair shop (that's where most of the money comes from).

They also work as protectors of some sort, a bridge between the normal world and the fantastical one. They look for signs of Bill's presence, more for security than anything. They also put barriers in other parts of town (the ones of unicorn hair).

They dismantle the Society of the Blind Eye (Fiddleford admitted that he started it, and that it was probably a bad idea). They discussed about breaking the memory gun, but they decided it could be useful in the future, so Ford hid it somewhere (he just put it under the floor on his room).

They seal the portal room, leaving it as it was. Fidds wanted to dismantle it, but Ford never let him (because of Stan this time, not the portal itself).

They heal, yippie!! Or something like that, Ford has to live with the crushing guilt of "killing" his brother; Fiddleford's wife divorced him and he lost custody of Tate. So they kind of only have eachother. (Fiddleford still has some memory problems, but nothing too serious.)

I hereby declare Fiddauthor canon in this timeline. (Even though I am more of a Fiddlestan gal.)

Bill decided to discharge this dimension, after all the portal is unusable and won't be repaired. He still has many dimensions to choose from anyway.

Years later the twins come for the summer and work on the expositions and tours. Dipper finds the journal, and the plot goes on.

The show begins:

The twins go to Gravity Falls to spend the summer, they will stay with their grunkle Ford and his colleague (wink wink) and work at their little museum. They soon find out that that's not the only thing their grunkles do.

A few days after they arrive (after Dipper finds the third journal) Ford takes them on an expedition as a bonding activity. He tells them that there's amazing things here, but there's also danger.

Ford and Fidds explain their purpose in this town, that they make sure that nothing evil gets to the town or the world. To make sure that humanity and magic stay apart and cool with eachother.

Soos and Wendy work there (at the same jobs as before, handyman and cashier at the giftshop). But Soos also works at the repair shop under Fiddleford's guidance (now Fiddleford has a son again and Soos has a new dad).

Guideon still is a menace in this one, but he doesn't have the book so he's not as dangerous as in canon. (At some point Fidds tells Ford "Imagine if you didn't dig out the journal at the school and this kid found it.")

Some adventures go the same, some different. Ford is more akin to Dipper, but Mabel has Fiddleford in this one. So it kind of balances it out. (And Fidds makes sure that Ford doesn't make Mabel feel left out, being a bridge between them and helping in communication.)

It doesn't take long for Dipper to realise who the author is (let's say, like a few weeks). And after being a bit indecisive (Mabel gives him courage) he decides to ask.

Fords admits that he's the author, and thanks him for finding the book. When Dipper asks for explanations about what happened (since he has read the journal two times already) Ford only tells him to not worry about it, that he fixed every back then (refusing to elaborate when Dipper insists).

Then he takes the journal from Dipper. The kid obviously gets mad at this. (This causes some resentment, and Dipper to be more secretive around the adults.) Ford tells him that is for his own safety.

Ford ends the conversation with the life lesson that he learned back then, that you can't do everything alone, you need family and friends in your life (the one he learned on the end of the show, basically).

At the end, this exchange causes a rift between Dipper and Ford, one that Ford isn't really aware of (and when he notices how the kid is not on board about doing nerd stuff together as much as before he feels bad, but he doesn't think it is anything too serious and that'll pass).

After the fight things are tense around the house for a bit, mostly because Dipper keeps making sharp and angry remarks at Ford (between other things). So there would be an episode about Mabel and Fiddleford trying to help so they can fix this.

It does help and things go back to being ok (but not the same as before, for Dipper won't idolise Ford anymore).

They still live adventures, with and without the grunkles.

Dipper starts his own "journal" out of spite. And to have a place to solve his own mysteries and record all the weird stuff on Gravity Falls. He sets himself the mission of learning what really happened thirty years ago. He noted down all the useful information he could remember about the third journal.

Everything moves on, and then one day Dipper and Ford were having another fight. Dipper and the others went did something reckless trying to find out the Old Mystery™ and got caught (maybe they went to the bunker, idk; but someone did get hurt).

So, they were all getting scolded, and Dipper was trying to fight back, when a small greenish opened in the middle of the kitchen and someone came through.

A loud beep reverberated through the room, Stan knew he was home.

The twins, Soos and Wendy kind of freak out and start asking who is he and such. Fiddleford has an idea of who it could be. And Ford is in shock to be honest.

Stan screams Ford's name and runs up to him to hug him. Ford stays still, in shock. He then lets out a fragile "Stan?", and his brother goes on to tell him super exited that he finally made it. After a rushed and almost incomprehensible (because of the speed in which he talks to and how he jumps to one thing to another) recap of what happened to him he pulls the first journal out of his backpack and gives it back to Ford.

–-–-–-–-–

I'm not sure how things go on from here, I haven't given it much thought. But I probably add more things to this one, at least more facts. Wether they are about Stanley's adventures through the multiverse, Ford and Fidds on the last few years, or the kid's in Gravity Falls.

Maybe even develop the relationship between the characters more, something like describing what everyone thinks of eachother would be good.

And now, I do have drawings for this one.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

im in agony over your last post because I can’t stop thinking about how, when ford comes back, he will stare at Stanley’s older, wrinkled face and it will be the first time he gets to see an older Stanley and it will be HIS Stanley …. but by that time, how may times will he have fallen in love with another version of his brother’s face? Meanwhile Stanley will be looking at his twins face that he will have only been able to see in the mirror for the past 30 years. I AM SICK!!!!! im sorry this probably doesn’t make any sense but i really need you to know that i am genuinely in tears and gagging over this au. your brain is both beautiful but also kind of evil.

Ehehehehehehehe

1 thing kinda for context I have ideas for all the stans Ford loved before, and while he did love them and does mourn them his relationships were built on the foundation that he cannot get to his own Stan and they cannot get to their own Ford but they can get to eachother and if they squint its almost the same, it's close enough.

First live Stan he meets seven months after the junkyard: Stan calls himself a pirate but he and his crew (run by ghost Jimmy Snakes) are more like ship scrappers, everyone's got at least a little mechanical know-how, they find dead ships and salvage what they can. They stick together because they're all homeless wanderers that can't get home, but in Ford's perspective they're intimidating - other than Stan. Their Stan seems put together, like he knows what he's doing, but they're the same age and Stan's only been out of his dimension 3 weeks longer. They both project the twin they lost onto the other and are in a sexual plus a bit of cuddling relationship for a while. Ford is fond of him, Stan's the only reason Ford was allowed to join the crew instead of getting shot for stealing from them, and this Stan looks healthier, had a similar experience with Bill in the junkyard, and Ford feels like he can relax around him. Then they find a trap ship, one that looks dead but is just waiting for scrappers to connect their ships to kill the crew and take both ships. Stan was trying to negotiate because he was a stupid 26 year old with a gun to his head but then someone grabbed Ford and Stan got himself shot trying to get to him.

The next Stan Ford meets and has more than a one night stand with is nine years after that, a whole decade since the junkyard. The Stan is a decade younger than him, blind and feverish and and won't let anyone touch him until he has a six-fingered hand in his. That one wasn't a dimensional traveller, he was just dealing with Rico and Ford happened to be in the dimension and wanted a few chemicals from Rico to test as bill-destroying material that happened to be very illegal. He found Stan seizing in a hotel room and Ford decided he was only going to stay until Stan was alright. But Stan took to the bare minimum like a stray dog, doing what Ford wanted, begging him to stay, promising him he'll be better this time around. Ford can't stay, doesn't want to take away this Stan with a perfectly good Ford already so he dragged Stan up to Oregon to try to shove at his brother. But Ford opens the door with a crossbow and Stan gets shot in the neck and Ford beats the other Ford to death in his entryway. Ford had hoped that Stan's being pushed through the portals by Fords were almost always accidents and Ford's would never hurt Stans because He would never hurt Stan (not again) but no, this just proves him and all Fords are a disease. He leaves the dimension quickly after that.

The third Stan he met 25 years after Ford fell through the portal and it was in the junkyard. Ford had gone there with a plan to die trying to kill Bill, it was a bad few years before then and Ford had most of his gun working, enough it might injure Bill. But before he could find him, he looked in a sea of bodies and one looked back. He immediately quit his suicide mission, grabbed the half-frozen Stan and took him somewhere safe. Stan asked why Ford hated him, Ford said Fords never hated Stans, because Stan couldn't prove him wrong. Ford tried to leave him behind a few times, but Stan was determined, he did more and more reckless things trying to follow Ford until Ford just let him follow because maybe he would stop almost dying to try to keep up if Ford made it easier. Ford was old enough to be his dad, he was old enough to be all the multiverse Stanleys' dads at this point, but when Stan tried sleeping with him, Ford went along with it. It was mostly just sex and company, he didn't notice Stan was fawning because he was new and terrified. Didn't notice Stan only seemed to come onto him when he was in a bad mood and needed the distraction. Didn't notice Stan did whatever Ford wanted and shrank whenever Ford raised his voice. Eventually Ford did figure it out, and he was so horrified with himself he dropped Stan off with some interdimensional refugees and left as fast as possible. A month later he tried to visit to apologize properly, but Stan was gone, put a gun in his mouth the week before, his ashes were already space dust. Ford resolved himself to never take advantage of a Stan again. His last 5 years mostly celibate though made him cranky and more determined to finish his gun.

Then he had Bill in his crosshairs, and his Stanley decided to open the portal, and he came through the portal mad, he really did. But then he saw his brother with gray hair and crows feet - his brother, his Stanley, the one he'd spent 30 years wondering about, the one he was almost certain would be dead long before he could get gray hair just like every other Stan. His Stanley looked so happy to see him, arms outstretched and a huge smile on his face and Ford fell into his arms because he was so so happy. But after that he grew distant because every time Ford got close, every time Ford tried to do what was best for Stanley, every time Ford trusted Stanley, Stanley died.

[rileyav]

that loredump is singlehandedly making me want to come back to this website properly. i've been curious as hell about her and xander just seeing you post elsewhere.

i'm not even going to lie, Xander's existence changed my life LMFAO

holy shit i am so hype to talk about Xander

Xandra got really bummed out pretty early on in the game about a bunch of shit. Erron basically gave her a coin to put in a magic wishing well and she wished to understand herself better

lo and behold, Xander shows up in their session, and Erron catches him stealing all the booze in one of the train cars. Erron thinks Xander's an invading player from another session and he's pissed about his booze so he puts him in a scary ass death-fog prison

Xandra at this point is on the train (which is also where Erron and the prisoner are) so she goes to see who the prisoner is.

Xander is super antagonistic at first. it hasn't really clicked to Xandra that this might be another version of her but she does identify with the fear he's exhibiting.

eventually during their conversation, they realize they are basically each other, so Xandra tells Erron to let him go. Erron ends up saying something threatening (because at that point he is like ... kind of a HUGE FUCKING ASSHOLE to Xandra half the time) and he leaves but tells Xandra that Xander is her responsibility.

so she takes Xander to the train bar since they both like drinking LOL

he grabs some random bullshit and clumsily mixes some drinks together, spills shit all over, acts like a total goof and then beams a big toothy grin at her and hands over a glass.

it reminds her of how awkward she's been lately, and she realizes how fun it is to be around someone who's messy and goofy and silly and clumsy.

she drinks the concoction he made, and it ends up tasting super good. he can't believe it, he's like "no freaking way" and whips up another one. she laughs so hard she slams her palm against the countertop, and he watches her laugh with her full chest, the kind of laugh he doesn't let himself have, and starts laughing with her.

they both learn to like the part of themselves that they're embarrassed about from seeing it in each other :')

IT'S SO FUCKING CUTE

they stare at each other as they drink their lil' drinks, talk about THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE REST OF THE TEAM, which is A WHOLE OTHER THING...

they both fumbled the same person, and they both have a weird relationship with Erron/Erra who are abusive as hell towards them. Xandra kind of realizes she doesn't deserve the treatment that Erron puts her through because she hates that Xander goes through the same thing.

she ends up liking herself more and wanting better for herself because of Xander. because of her classpect, her luck actually gets better after this lol

Xander also ends up being around for the conversation Xandra has with Tiffy about her relationship with Erron, and Xander watches Tiffy stab Xandra for it. Xandra has a little menty b on the floor while she bleeds and cries about how much she sucks so he picks her up and carries her to her room on the train.

he doesn't sugarcoat it, he tells her the way she went about the conversation really fucked shit up, but that it's okay. he tells her he's gonna learn from her mistake once he gets back to his dimension LOL

they end up cuddling in her bed and having a really really good talk, and just as it's ending he fucking gets teleported back to his dimension because another incursion is happening (it's like a thing that happens every 12 hours and he always gets pulled back to his dimension)

because of their connection, she and him have a telepathic connection that's able to cross dimensions. whenever she has a tough time (which happens a fucking lot) she basically "phones" him and they have cute little telepathic conversations where they can feel each other's emotions and stuff.

anyway, before he left Erron gave him instructions for a portal with some blood samples for reference, so right away Xander pretty much works himself almost to death to get a portal working so he can see Xandra again.

they have a Prince of Time on their team which basically leads to them having the ability to re-do their game over and over again if something fucks up catastrophically. so, while Xandra has only been in her game for a few days, XANDER has been in his for WEEKS if not months.

Xandra being all about connections and other people ends up being kind of selfless. she works herself to exhaustion doin shit for other people, but also because her game genre is co-op so she kind of ends up being around others constantly.

Xander tells her how he wants to take her on a date, how he wants to have a day where it's just them and they relax together. he has all these cute plans for dates, and there is a really beautiful non-canon story of them going on the most romantic date on the planets in his session that the DM wrote for me. IT'S SO FUCKING CUTE but I'd need to get his permission to share it

anywayyy at some point something really WEIRD happens with Erron and Tiffy and Xandra runs away, shuts herself away from everything, and asks Fortuna to make it so that she can be alone.

so, LoLaC goes from co-op to single player.

Xandra reaches out to Xander telepathically for comfort, and it's kind of great timing because he's ready to come through the portal that's finally been finished!! after like forever!

they reunite and !!! well a type of confession happens

i was actually working on drawing how it happened in a little comic lol but it's not done yet

BUT YEAH they are pretty much inseparable after that!!!!!!!

Xandra goes through the last gate on her planet and ends up umm!!! destroying the twin stars that their fates are connected to! which also destroys their fate. and also their telepathic connection. and also the uh... the portal gets broken in the process. a whole bunch of other shit is going on at the same time but she ends up working with Eli to fix the portal and Xander and Leif show up to take her to their dimension so they can use her luck to fix THEIR portal.

WHILE SHE'S THERE, OH MAN

SO. XANDER TAKES HER TO HIS VERSION OF LAND OF LUCK AND CHARMS!!!

YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE THE WAY HE DESCRIBED IT TO HER EARLIER ON IN THE GAME

He squeezes her hand, fingers intertwining as they walk. "But alright, my world?" His smirk turns thoughtful. "LoLaC, my version? Picture this—" His free hand gestures grandly as he speaks. "Giant, towering casinos built into cliffsides. Whole valleys filled with rolling dice, the size of boulders, tumbling down into rivers of liquid gold. The sky? Always shifting like a roulette wheel—sun, moon, stars, cycling overhead at random. Never the same pattern twice." His eyes spark with excitement. "There’s this one place, the High Stakes Strip? It’s a mile-long boardwalk of flashing neon, always changing depending on who walks through. The games, the rules—hell, even the dealers—they adjust to your fate. Walk in lucky? You’ll feel like a god. Walk in cursed? Well… don’t." He laughs, shaking his head. "And then there’s the Denizen’s domain—House. Imagine if the Mad Hatter and a high-stakes gambling addict were the same guy, with a voice like velvet and a grin full of bad decisions. He is the House, and the House always wins. His palace? It’s a sprawling, ever-shifting casino where the walls shuffle like a deck of cards. You don’t just walk in—you ante up. Every conversation’s a wager, every request a bet, and every deal?" Xander tilts his head, smirking. "Well, let’s just say, if you can’t afford the cost? He’ll be happy to name his price." He swings their hands lightly, looking at her. "What d’you think? Sound fun?"

anyway so while they're there, he takes her to meet his denizen! and House JUST SO HAPPENS to be a BIT OF A ROMANTIC, so he basically gives them rings that replaces the stars to create a new reference point of connection for them. they can feel each other and talk telepathically again, AND the portal works better now.

but, yeah, pretty much they also get married without knowing what marriage is, at all.

the white dress was what she was wearing for girls' night and so much shit happened she just never ended up changing out of it so it was a coincidence. and he was wearing a tux cause he wants to dress nice for her, which is so fucking goddamn cute because he's a total punk

after that, Erra has this denizen on her planet which is basically death fog. yeah you know Erron's death fog? yea Erra has one too. it's white and black fog, basically 2-in-1.

honestly, fuck, it was so cool. they let the fog take their bodies over and engage in a deadly waltz for their liiiivessss so that they could defeat it

black fog = oblivion, death, finality white fog = afterlife, lies, comfort, wishes Xandra took the white fog because she's used to filling people with hope, and Xander is all about brutal harsh truth so obvi he took the black fog.

the DM set it up to have three checks that i had to pass, it was like an open-ended problem to solve.

the first one was grounding Xander because he was getting lost in the black fog, Xandra had to ground him with an appropriate shared memory, which the DM had measured with emotional intensity and personal value and there were only 2 possible answers that would have passed. i fucking clutchedddd and got the right moment which was when they cuddled for the first time 🥹 because it was him being loved, needed, and there for her. the other correct answer was the present moment because Xander loves any moment he's in with her currently.

the second moment was Xandra getting lost in the white fog, and i passed because she thought of her future wedding with Xander and how she wanted the friends that were around her to be there. at the same time, Xander was thinking of his only regret which was not getting to have the wedding with Xandra. their thoughts synced up which fucking saved them 🥳🥳🥳

the last one was the final moment of the waltz. they had to let go of each other and the fog reacted by making them feel like they were going to lose each other forever. Xandra was able to do it because she saw it as honoring their love instead of betraying it--because she and Xander love each other enough and have experienced each other in ways that pretty much nobody ever gets to, enough for a lifetime, and if she lost him forever she considered that a price equal to getting to love him for the short time she had him.

there were 9 possible endings and i clutched tf up and got the one where nothing bad happened and no negative residual effects!!!

they love each other so fucking much. it's awesome

anyway

so as you know (or don't know) Erron's name isn't actually Erron. Xandra helped him get his true identity back and his real name is Johan. this will be relevant in a sec.

Johan becomes Foe of Doom. which means he opposes doom and opposes others through doom.

Johan goes on a double date with Tiffy to see Erra and Leif. while he's there, Xander and Xandra go to Fallen Star Valley! he takes her by throwing his scythe super fucking far and then using his electromagnetism to basically fucking throw them to it at mach 3

while they're there, the double date goes fucking bad. Tiffy had her own open-ended problems to solve but unfortunately she critfailed and Johan ended up killing himself, taking ALL OF THE DOOMED TIMELINES WITH HIM.

because of where Xander and Xandra are, she and Xander watch it happen. it's so fucking sad.

they were all really good friends, every time Xander came to visit Erron/Johan would cook food for them and they'd all have dinner together and Erron would always do some shit to ruin the vibe. it was like, their thing... it was awesome... they were like a little dysfunctional family.

anyway, Johan's star falls into the valley, and ichor comes pouring out of it. Xandra touches it, makes a wish, and Johan's final gift to her is basically freeing Xander of his doom as well.

which was like, pretty much 100% confirmed because he felt like "a weight was lifted off of him"--he was going to end up dying to save Xandra at some point.

So Xandra finally has someone in her life that she won't lose 😭

and ever since then he's been basically by her side while they mourn Johan together. JOHAN EVEN LEFT HIM SOMETHING IN HIS WILL BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS YET

the most recent happening is he got pulled back for the incursion while they were napping.

but he did make fun of Xandra for having a black crush on Cogito so now she's trying to beat the allegations while he's gone.

it's not working out so well.

OH RIGHT and Erra is really pissed at Xander now for leaving when he knew something weird was going on with Johan sooo he's gonna get hella guilt tripped

anyway that's pretty much it so far

GOD

IT'S SO MUCH

HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE ME TO WRITE

[scrubbinn]

Mimic Memoirs: Labor logs

HRT Month ???

Stuffed within the void

Some time after Mayday attempted her ritual

cw: depression

“My name is… unimportant. I doubt anyone is going to actually find this, I mean, if you're in the void, you probably have bigger problems. But I wanted to leave evidence of my time here, and in case I need it for later.”

“The bod- Mayday is still trying to gain consciousness in this place. I have a bit of a head start after all this time being a headmate. You can't have a body in this place. People always think of a void as this infinitely big place of nothing. The truth is that nothing is actually quite small. It's a zero dimensional zone that weaves itself in the cracks and spaces between worlds. The only things that can exist here are concepts and ideas. Right now, I'm merely a thought. Reciting information into the concept of a recording device that will float in here until I or universe forbid, someone else, finds it here. I won't remember this once I craft this memory. It's better that way.”

“Mimics. They're everywhere here. Not the kind that exists in fiction and other worlds. They're not chests, slimes, or hermit crabs. They're just concepts. The concept of consumption. The idea that to consume something is to know something. There probably used to be other concepts floating around here. But they've all been removed. Or maybe something else happened? I see them eating each other all the time, but they just reform out of nothing again. Sure, it's creepy. But it isn't what has me worried.”

“Erian, that idiot. Slime hrt combined with a mimic octopus would have made a decent enough Mimic on its own. But he was still in that phase of seeing us as experiments or walking billboards. Of course he decided to add some mysterious substance he had literally no idea what it was. I know what it is now. It's just one of these mimics. I guess it's like a deep sea fish. If you brought one of them into a space with physics, they would expand into a liquid or gas. And he decided to feed it to someone.”

“Would we have just died if Mayday continued her transition? No, I think we'd be fine, maybe just a puddle that can't form shapes, but we'd be alive. Still, it's concerning how close to death we've been. We nearly did until all of us helped Mayday form a cocoon. The first step in her mimic-hood

“Believe it or not, dying would have been the better alternative. Mimics here don't just eat each other. Sometimes, they poke through to another world and eat from it. But not things like stealing candy or eating people. Though sometimes they do that, too. But I've seen them eat the stab wounds off a human, munching 14 hours of time from a universe, even devouring fear itself from one place. Of course, most of them try to mimic what they ate and usually get crushed in zero dimensional space. It's a good thing there isn't one of them that can survive in three dimensions… You get what I'm saying now, right?”

“Do I let Mayday leave here? What happens if she has access to these sorts of abilities back in hyper city. Does she have access to them? Maybe if she doesn't cross that road, but what if they are a part of her. Just dorment. Forget eating a bit of stomach. What if she ended up eating all of Abi's memories. It's not like she has complete control of her mouths… Wait… No. She did it already. Once, at the zoo. Eating Kaylen's nightmares and turning into them. That's not normal. That's not a normal mimic thing.That's what these things do. So… I don't know. I don't know if I should hide away from her. Let her fade into nothing here.”

“That's why I'm leaving this recording here. So I'll forget it. So that she won't know. So that I don't have to make that choice. I'm sorry.”

Mayday stepped out of the portal she made. A recorder in her hands that wasn't there when she stepped in. She had become quite the expert with the book that made the portal after her first trip with it. There was potential within its eldritch grip to help the clinic and its patients. She didn't consider herself a witch, but this was something that had dug its way into her mind. She did always find comfort in that place, this book calling out to her when she first visited that library, she was meant for that place.

Oh, can't go having those sorts of thoughts. There's still plenty to enjoy in this world. There's… well, there's not a whole lot. Just work. Hang out with friends, girlfriend. Well, it's still plenty. Some people have less after all. Anyways, It's not about how much you have, it's about the time you spend with them! Like… No, can't go having those sorts of thoughts. Let's just focus on work. Jasmine scheduled an appointment today. It seemed pretty serious by the tone of garden voice. best to wrap up her personal explorations and get ready for work.

Today, Mayday’s coffee tasted bitter, and her food felt like ash. The winter skies were coated in nothing but dull clouds. A puddle of slush was thrown onto her skirt and boots as a car skidded by, traveling way too fast to be legal. There were probably good things. She didn't hit any red lights, no one around her was rude, Abi seemed happy texting about some new collector’s edition doll she found. lots of little joys. Joys that she was having trouble seeing each day. She tried not to think about what she heard on that recording.

The work day was horrendous. Nothing but Erian shouting at patients, and pharmacies suddenly having problems with handing out the prescriptions they're supposed to hand out. She did her best to put on a grin when anyone approached her. After all, it's easy to fake a smile when you don't have a face.

That thought just made her consider the fact that, as a mimic, she doesn't have a true form. There's the things in the void or the DnD style “purple goop,” but those weren't true forms. Mayday didn't have a true form, or a default form, or anything like that. She just felt comfortable being a slime. Because it was easier to stick with that, then to explain to your family that you're not a burglar, you're just trying on a new you today. Being a slime or a cat, or a dragon, or looking like someone she knew. They were all the same level of comfort. The only euphoria she felt was the act of changing her shape, and she found herself doing it less and less. Explaining it was a hassle.

The clock struck 5pm. Oh, her rambling ideas had passed the time to Jasmine's appointment when she wasn't looking. Oops. She clutched the recorder in her hands tighter. Maybe someone should listen to this. Maybe someone could help. Anything to not be alone with her thoughts. She grew a resolve then and there to ask Erian. Over the weeks, she had gotten to see a side of him that was, decent, at least. His expertise might be what she's looking for. Just have to get through the day.

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[bbuzz28]

if you could write an essay about 1 thing about your current hyperfixation what would it be

Hmmmmmm, probably something about Stan and his relationship with his brother's journals/ his probable reaction to them :)))))))

Stanley Pines spent the better part of thirty years re-reading a journal that his (at the time of writing it) 20something twin wrote in his early "everyday day is an amazing adventure!" era of Gravity Falls and did his ("never graduated high school but taught himself advanced science") best to glean every crumb of portal information from it while he also absolutely ruminated on the fact that his brother was so happy (without him) and how he ruined his life, again.(which, yeah Stan babe, ya did, even if it was an accident.)That version of Stanford from Journal 1 he still probably felt he knew well.

THEN, post-Gideon stealing The Shack, he has Journal 2! Immediately he gets everything he can about the portal from it-whatever formulas Ford wrote in the margins etc--but then he takes the time to read the rest of it. He reads about his brother's new obsession with the occult (he's always been a little kooky-but he's writing like he actually believes in this stuff vs his normal ' here's my scientific method, I have a dozen degrees in fields you've never heard of' schtick) and he's a little more wary because what the hell did his brother think he was, a knock off version of their mother? But he can still see the brother he remembers throughout the pages, the one who could recite fun factoids about the Jersey Devil backwards and forwards, and of course still feels the never-ending guilt of taking him away from his happy life that has become second nature to him at this point.

And then...he reads Journal 3. Just like with Journal 2 he rushes to get all the portal information from it--and boy, does it have the most. He should be elated! This is the closest he has been to fixing this goddamn portal in decades! With that said...he can't help but notice the tone shift in this journal.

The paranoia.

Yeah, they had their own secret code as kids, and he's been through the other journals and deciphered a few parts of them, but this is so much more...guarded.

Like he fully expected someone else to be reading it when he didn't want them to.

It's clear that some pages have been ripped out of this one, so he doesn't have the whole story, but what he does have makes him sick.

Its like it's thirty years ago again and he suddenly understands the blood stains he cleaned up.

The depleted first aid kit.

The dozens upon dozens of empty coffee cans.

The weird half made invention still collecting dust in the corner of the lab that reminded him of a deep-sea diving suit.

The post-it notes in a different handwriting scattered everywhere.

The, what he can confirm through context clues, human nail marks on the original door leading to the basement where the portal was being kept.

His brother was losing his mind.

His brother was losing his mind, and he pushed him into another dimension at what was the lowest point in both of their lives.

Something like that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[gutsybitsies]

A/N: Happens almost right after Under the Red Hood

"All you needed was this?" The adult, Dick Grayson, tossed Jason Grace a golden coin.

Grace caught the drachma and flipped it instinctively. It, of course, didn't switch into any weapons like Ivlivs used to.

"Yes, the Constantine guy said any magic there can work here as well."

"I had to break in and steal from someone's collection for an real Greek drachma."

"You couldn't find one on E-bay?"

"It's called C-bay in this dimension, and yes I could, but we don't have time to verify authenticity."

In the background, the rest of Dick's family perched on rafters, chairs, and inconvenient dinosaurs and pennies as they carefully watched Grace twist the coin around in his hands. He knew that they're carefully monitoring him, making mental notes for their little reports later on about his dimension, his powers, everything, really.

"So according to you," Grace said, "You tried to bring someone back from the dead."

"My parents," Dick replied. "And I didn't try, a genie took advantage of me when I was drunk and made a wish."

"But he can't bring back people who have been dead for so long, so he brought back your most recently deceased family."

"Jason Todd," Dick supplied.

"But he couldn't even do that as well, because he brought me, Jason Grace, back to life instead, and now I'm here instead of him."

"Honestly I don't see what's wrong with this," one of the bats (that's got to be how they think of themselves, Jason Grace figured, since they all have a symbol of a bat on their clothes) replied. "This Jason isn't cutting heads off stuffing them in duffel bags."

"Glad I'm better than that," Grace said, before turning the humidifier he asked for on and shined a light on it. He ignored their curious questions and tossed the drachma into the rainbowy mist.

"Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbows, please show me...Nico di Angelo."

This caused the looming dark mass of the old guy that called himself Bat Man to stir from his seat in front of the massive computer in the cave. "This wasn't the plan, you were supposed to call for Jason."

"What if only I was brought back to life and he's not? We'd have wasted a drachma," Grace explained. "Nico's my best friend and he knows about death, he'll be able to help."

Slowly the mist shimmered and its colors changed, until they could see two forms cuddling under a tree. Suddenly, the smell of ozone crackled in the cave, and Dick took a sharp look at Grace, whose expression didn't change an iota.

"Nico! Nico!"

The form of a short napping boy with three clawmarks on his face blearily opened his eyes. He shook awake the blond boy napping next to him. "Will, I'm hallucinating Jason."

"Wh-Jason?" Will's eyes snapped open to see Jason Grace in an Iris message looking out at them. "I-I see him too."

Nico's eyes darted up to Jason again. "Jason? How-Jason!"

One of the brightest smiles Jason had ever seen on Nico bloomed on his face as he dashed up to the Iris message. He paused right before slamming into it and dispersing the mist. "Jason, what happened? Are you in another Underworld? What do you need me to do?"

Jason grinned, Nico's happiness infecting him and swept away the doom and gloom of Gotham, he can even ignore Will in the background holding Nico's hand. "I'm alive again! These guys," he jerked a hand to point at the rest of the bat family, "Accidentally brought me back alive. But, and this is going to sound crazy, I do have a favor to ask you."

Nico gave him an unimpressed look. "Bring it, crazy is my life."

The rest of the bats tensed as they waited for Jason to ask Nico for help and clarification.

"So you and Will are dating now? Tell me everything that's happened since I died! Is Apollo back to being a god? How's Piper doing? I heard Leo's back! Tell him I said hi! And what's the progress on the shrines I've been designing?"

That was apparently the final straw, as the bat man grunted and almost ran with the fit of manic energy right where Jason was standing talking to Nico.

"Forget those questions," the bat man said, trying and failing to shove Jason aside. "Within the last 24 hours, did anyone from your dimension encounter a Jason Todd? We have reason to believe that the two of them were switched."

"No we don't," Jason said. "There's a chance he's still dead. Isn't that a good thing? All you guys talked about was how he's a homicidal maniac."

"There was a strange guy but I don't know if his name is Jason Todd," Nico said.

"Big, buff, black hair with a tuft of white hair in front?," Will asked. "That's the only stranger recently, sweetie."

A lightbulb in the cave burst.

Grace's face was still perfectly smooth. "Nico, he's dangerous. That wasn't a hyperbole, this guy came back from the dead before and immediately begin a crime spree in his home city."

"He won't hurt innocent children," the bat man insisted. "He's dangerous but he's not deranged, but he does need to come home and be detained."

"He slit my throat," one of the teenage bats said. "Probably. It might have been him that slit my throat. I got better though."

Nico looked unimpressed, "Well you don't need to worry about him anymore. We found him bleeding from the neck and then he died from bloodloss before we could do anything."

"Don't give us that crap," the bat man said. "Your Jason said he also suffered life threatening injuries before the switch happened, but he was found completely healed. Bring Jason here, now."

"Can't, he's dead," Nico said in a deadtone. "But don't worry, we gave him the correct funeral rights before cremation. I can show you his urn." He turned to Jason.

"Jason," Nico said in Ancient Greek. "You need to find a way to run away. These are the dangerous people. I could sense how Jason Todd died. It was bloodloss from filicide, Jason. His father killed him before he was brought to us. And now he wants to finish the job. Please stay safe and make your way back to us." The Iris message flickered before it died out.

in the morning, when the rest of the family was sleeping and Jason Grace was in his containment chamber ("Stop calling our guestroom a containment chamber, Master Bruce."), Bruce played the footage from the cave over and over again.

He knew Ancient Greek, of course he did. He learned both Ancient Greek during med school.

"It was filicide," the strange boy had said. "His father killed him."

"His father killed him."

"His father killed."

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

@tmntaucompetition

@phoebepheebsphibs

Prev | Next

By the time Luke is done reading all the information, he’s sick to his stomach. It was basically nothing but torture and heartache for everyone involved. Julia doesn’t fair much better, frowning as she wrings the fabric of her apron and dress.

Luke relaying all the information to her was so stressful that she brought out her knitting supplies. Two sweaters, one blue, one orange, made out of stress. And love. Mostly stress.

“It’s just like we thought. We don’t have the numbers or the strength to take them both on ourselves when that Bishop Audrey III fusion inevitably betrays us.” Julia sighs.

“Then we bring him in. Even out the odds with someone both Audrey III and Chaplin should and will learn to fear.” Luke insists.

“I just feel bad. Even though it was my idea, you know I don’t like or want to rely on children for things, and especially not for a danger like this.” She finally lets go of her dress.

“We don’t have much of a choice. He’ll want to help us. He’s the only who can.”

“You’re right…..I suppose it’s time to make a call.”

Leo and Mikey got bored waiting for the two to come back, and Leo knew it was going to take a while, so he decided to try to get the other inhabitants of the daycare to be a little more friendly to his baby brother.

“Kids, babies, toddlers, moody teens who would rather be here than interacting in the competition, those with parental issues, come one come all! These brothers have a special trick to show you all!”

The aforementioned groups turn their attention to them, a majority walking over to see what they’re doing.

“What I have right here is an adorable little brother with an even cooler talent! Show ‘em, Mikey!” Leo encourages as he tosses up a cookie.

Mikey’s tongue shoots out and wraps around the cookie piece before it’s pulled back into his mouth, being happily chewed.

Some of the kids scream and run away.

The ones leftover start chanting for him to do it again so they do it again.

By the time Julia and Luke come back, Mikey is further stuffed from eating about 10 more cookies.

“Okay kids, there’s coloring in the other room!” Julia announces upon her arrival.

The previously entertained kids forget the tricks and run off with excitement to go color.

“Soooooo……you guys finished the lore?” Leo questions, caught holding yet another cookie.

“Yes, after many, many chapters. We’ve solidified our conclusion and called for help. He should be getting here soon.” Luke answers.

“He? He who-! AGH, MIKEY, GROSSSS.” Leo groans as Mikey‘s tongue steals the cookie right from his hand.

“Someone from our dimension.”

“Is there a reason you’re being vague or? Seriously, who is this guy?”

An orange portal suddenly opens. Someone flies out, circling around Julia and Luke before appearing in front of Leo and Mikey.

It’s another Mikey.

He’s got a wide smile, a colorful cloak, glowing orange eyes, and, most surprisingly, short, curly, dark hair.

“Who am I? Hahaha. I am like the wind, twisting and turning, I give enough fire to stay burning.” He introduces himself in a sing songy tone, moving around them in the air more.

Leo cringes slightly.

“Can we tone it down with the musical type stuff? The spores like it too much.”

“Oh, sure! Sorry! Hi, I’m Mikey, you probably know that! I’m the strongest with ninpo in our dimension, and that’s why I’m here to help!”

“It’s like seeing double, huh Mikey? …..Mikey?” Leo looks at his brother.

DM Mikey’s eyes are wide.

This is who he used to be.

Who everyone wished he was again for so long.

No…..it’s a little worse than that.

He’s who he could have been.

DM Mikey whimpers and sniffles, wiping his eyes as he moves to hide behind Leo.

“Mikey….?” Leo questions, trying to look at his brother clinging to the back of his outfit.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” MBU Mikey asks, slowly floating to where his counterpart is.

DM Mikey sniffles again, a whine escaping as he tries to hide his face.

Leo sighs.

“He’s still having some trouble with what happened to him…..seeing you probably brought up some bad feelings.”

MBU Mikey frowns, floating even closer, gently reaching out to take a clawed hand.

DM Mikey looks up in fear, glancing at his claw.

“It’s okay. Claws, sharp teeth, a tail, they don’t make you anything less than what you are. Luke even had to learn that lesson too. Whatever you’ve done, whatever is hurting you, you still have people who love and care about you. They always will. If you’re a version of me, and you have versions of my brothers, then I know that that kind of love is unconditional, and unbreakable. I’d like to be your friend, if I can!”

DM Mikey tears up heavily, gently squeezing this other universe version of him’s hand.

“F-Frieeeend.”

MBU Mikey smiles.

“Friend.”

Leo can’t help but smile too.

“Thanks, other little brother.”

MBU Mikey’s smile grows.

“You’re welcome, other big brother! So, mom, Leaths, what’s the plan?”

“We were hoping to talk about that when you got here. Let’s go talk-“ Luke starts.

“Could we hold off on that for a second?” Leo interrupts.

“Why? What now?”

“Audreytello is still missing. We need to find him and the hive mind isn’t strong enough for me to just pop in and see what he’s doing.” Leo explains.

“We can find him later, we have to take care of this first-”

“Hold on hold on, before you say anything else, look at this!” DM Mikey is brought from the back and lifted up to the front.

“…..You want me to look at Mikey?”

“C’moooooon, how can you say no to that face?”

Luke narrows his eyes.

DM Mikey bleps, then licks his own eye.

“….Ignore that.”

Luke’s eyes soften.

“Orrrrr, don’t!” Leo says quickly.

Luke sighs.

“Alright, we look for him together while Mikey protects the daycare alongside Dee’s technology. Chaplin and or Bishop Audrey won’t bother us if we all stick together in a crowded area.”

“Yessssss, Mikey, let’s go!!” Leo starts rushing off.

“Hold on boys, I don’t want you getting cold!” Julia calls out.

Leo turns around, turning DM Mikey with him.

They get fit with the coziest sweaters possible. DM Mikey purrs, nuzzling the soft material.

“Th-Thank youuuuu.”

Julia smiles.

“You’re welcome. Now let’s find your brother.”

Prev | Next

[louferrignojrofficial]

That with the stolen gifs is totally shitty behavior! I saw that someone else stole screenshots from you too?

My question, how do you recognize it? Or how can I recognize that someone is using stolen gifs? I don't want to accidentally like and reblog posts from thieves…

it’s a lot easier for me to recognise the stolen gifs because i spent forever working on them and colouring them myself. that account and many others like it take gifs and use it to make shitty edits for no reason. they could use clips from the show and they’d be much better, because they wouldn’t be a repeated moment and would flow a lot better. but what do i know :)

and usually if you want to recognise whether someone is using stolen gifs, just check their blog to see if they have a dedicated tag to their original creations. if they don’t, it’s likely they are just stealing them. mine is simple, “my gifs” that you can find the tag in every gifset i make, and i have a dedicated place to find them.

another way is to see if in the post, the gifs have different sizes/dimensions. like in that post from yesterday, there were 2 gifs in one post and they were completely different sizes. sometimes the colouring for the gifs in the post are completely different, even though they’re similar moments.

i’m not sure how helpful this is, but hopefully people will be more sus about posts like that.

[nexstage]

Chapter 1: 72 hours

Inspired by @blabberoo GF’s AU

YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you? Turn on the portal. I’VE WAITED TOO LONG FOR THIS. BY THE WAY, I’M SENDING SOMEONE TO STEAL YOUR EYES. THAT'S NOT A JOKE. I HAVE A FRIEND THAT WILL STEAL. YOUR EYES. You have 72 hours. Don’t cross me again.

It was over. So. Fucking. Over!

3 days. He was given 3 days to choose between losing his sight and being tortured to the point of madness, or plunging his home dimension to an unthinkable catastrophe and falling into maddening torture anyway. What the hell?! Who would give this kind of choice?! Oh wait, Bill would! And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had to be the perfect pawn to do his bidding!

He should’ve listened to the cave warnings! He should’ve listened to Fiddleford!

What was he supposed to do now?!

His nearly-shattered mind urged him to pack his stuff and run away. Leave everything behind and start anew somewhere else. But then what? He had put all his efforts into the unknown and weird, it was something he was passionate about. Gravity Falls had the biggest amount of supernatural phenomena and creatures; by living in another place, he would be throwing away years of research. Unless he decided to publish the paper Fiddleford wrote for him it wouldn’t be the same if he settled in another town.

By doing this, Bill would be kicking him out of his own home! The nerve he had to act this way!

Never put all your eggs in the same basket. That was a phrase he should’ve taken into account when Bill told him about the portal when Fiddleford started to suspect. So much research, sleepless nights, and enthusiasm wasted on a pipe dream that was just a plan from a cliche overlord!

Who should he call? Fiddleford might be on Palo Alto as far as he is concerned. The townsfolk of Gravity Falls weren’t the most intelligent, any of them could call the police, and then the government would lock him up! Maybe his family? But would Pa or Ma believe him? What about Shermie? Or maybe Stanley? No, no. Why Stanley? What if he ruined everything again like in the science fair?

Only he remained and he barely trusted himself. What should he do?! There must be a way to eliminate Bill or at least contain him.

“The cave paintings! Maybe they have the answer!” Good idea! Why not? If they warned him about Bill, that means they must have a clue to get rid of that demon.

His legs sprinted towards the door. There was no time to waste.

++++++++++++++

The first time he saw the cave paintings detailing Bill’s summoning circle and the warnings against it, Ford, regrettably, ignored them and found a way to reverse the “mechanics”, for a lack of a better word, of said spell which led to his first meeting with him.

Reading, and checking over the instructions and warnings several times didn’t appease his anxiety just added to his regret. Frustrations accumulated for trusting the wrong person bubbled to the surface as he screamed in the lonely cave, kicking the walls, almost breaking in pieces the flashlight to vent out his emotions.

There should be something here that could help him. There must be! Wasting time was a big no, trusting his research to someone else was a terrible idea! Think, Stanford Filbrick Pines! Think!

His eyes scanned for the nth time the paintings with Bill, the instructions, the warnings, as he recalled all the events that resulted in his fateful meeting with that demon. Had he done something that perhaps might have affected the power of the spell? No. He was settling in, then he began investigating the anomalies. During the summoning? He didn’t have powers, he didn’t feel any different when trying that summoning circle. He just reversed the original’s “mechanics”.

“Reversing it…” Mumbling those words, Ford’s stressed mind illuminated thanks to an epiphany. A pretty simple but crazily risky epiphany. What if he could reverse the whole system of the portal in a way that could prevent Bill from escaping? But escaping from what exactly? Death? Isn’t that what he deserves for everything he has put him through including his plan of conquering Earth?

However, could a reverse-engineered portal be powerful enough to kill someone like Bill Cipher? What if he evaded the shot? What if he was immune to it? Heck, what if the machine gave him more power than what he had already?

He mustn’t miss this. His foolishness had endangered the world too much for another failure to be the cherry on the top. Either this plan killed Cipher or at least imprisoned him.

Then a new doubt crossed his mind. Would the portal be able to trap the demon once he reverse-engineered it? He could try—

No no! Screw trying! It was his duty. He couldn’t fail. Success was a must!

He had a clue on how to defeat him, all that was left was to work on it, perfect it to a t.

++++++++++

His bag pack had everything he thought thrice he would need: the last leftovers of food and cereal, a bottle of water, his crossbow, a notebook and a pen, the flashlight, the journals, and the blueprints of the portal.

His destination: Crash Site Omega.

The number of hours there: 7 maximum. Rest was forbidden.

The task of reverse-engineering the portal might require new parts, circuits, and much more fuel to empower it. A highly advanced core that could withstand whatever attack that monster had in mind if he retaliated.

Ford slammed the door behind him. The weather roared at him, freezing air, white snow, and gray sky. None of that foretold anything good. It didn’t matter. He would fulfill this duty even if it killed him. The world needed it and so did he.

[local-void-creature-izzy]

Reversal Nova

(Here is what I have created so far in my Reverse AU)

A alternate universe where the roles are swapped, whether for the better or the worse...

Sonic: Dr. Boom, a hedgehog skilled in speed and mechanics. He was actually a kid, Robotnik took under his wing. He had a natural talent for inventing and machinery, but Dr. Boom saw potential in power such as the chaos emeralds to advance the machines, Robotnik didn't approve of this answer terminated all Dr.Boom's work. Feeling betrayed, the Hedgehog ran away and turned against the world that deemed him unworthy to advance it to a era of peace and freedom.

Shadow: Nocturnal Eye, partner of Dr. Boom and Leader of the alien race: Black Arms, on the planet. He seems relatively harmless to the unsuspecting eye, but he is a master of illusion and chaos energy.

Tails: Dr. Cosmos, a fellow technician and mechanical genius who sides with Dr. Boom. His machinery is known to be quite efficient and reliable, a master of words and creating machines that act as mimics around other mobians. Truly a terrifying feat for someone of his age.

Amy: Vermillion, Teller of the Future and Leader of the "Rosebuds" a group of warriors who can see into the future and protect the present to prevent disasters from occurring.

Eggman: Ivo Robotnik, Hero of Station City and the world as a whole, uses his mechanical prowess and power of lightning to defend the innocent from the hands of Dr. Boom and other villains that follow suit. Has a short patience and can be easy to annoy with petty insults tho.

Rouge: Carmine, guardian of the Master Emerald, and last of the Bat Treasure Hunters, a tribe of bats that would hunt treasure and steal from the rich to give to the poor. Has to deal with an annoying an Echidna that is also a treasure hunter with a strange connection to the emerald and tries to take it for himself.

Knuckles: Titian, an independent echidna treasure hunter, skilled in many forms of combat and is quite a people person, he has fierce personality which causes him to bump heads alot with Carmine, all he wants is understand why he feels so drawn to the Master Emerald, sure he always takes the Chaos Emeralds but that isn't the case this time, if only he could get Carmine to believe that.

Silver: Ivory, a prince from an alternate dimension that tends to interlap with Robotnik's, when it does, he tends to stick around and offer aid where he can with the help of his powers of ice.

Blaze: Lustre, a time traveler from the distant future that is both in distress and at peace given its destroyed state, has the power of Umbrakinesis and Aerokinesis, allowing her to use wind and darkness together to create bendable space matter for combat

Metal Ivo: A robot version of Robotnik created by Dr. Boom, a silent robot but he very much as attitude towards his enemies

Infinite: Zero the Jackal, member of the Rosebuds. He is able to harness the power of the purple chaos emerald and create illusions as a distraction while he disarms his opponents. Joined the squad because he is in search of his missing partner, Gadget the Wolf, who disappeared several years ago

Surge: Beryl the Tenrec, another member of the Rosebuds and childhood friend of Vermillion, knows why she created the Rosebuds and sticks by her through it all. Is raising a younger brother she adopted in all this chaos, and can harness the powers of lightning

Scourge: Jules Terios Hedgehog, Dr. Boom's twin brother, he fights on the side of the heroes and is the main reason Dr. Boom truly hasn't killed anyone yet and why no one tries to kill Dr. Boom. Jules hopes one day he'll get his twin back

Eclipse: Arcane "The Ultimate Hope" , the Nocturnal Eye's aka Spectre's younger brother. Created by Nocturnal Eye's hands, Arcane is symbolized as a beacon of hope, not only for Spectre and the Black Arms on the planet, but also for Dr. Boom. He is torn as he wishes to live life on the planet but is bound by his duty to his older brother.

Maria: Maria R. Lunae, a woman of unknown origins. No one knows who she is or where she came from, all they know is her research revolves around the Black Arms, protecting the leader that resides on the planet and a young alien from the Black Arms that tries to blend in with society (Eclipse)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Inspired by Movies (2) Masterlist

part one

Bulletproof Heart (ao3) - Star_L0ver

Summary: Phil is the new 'History' teacher at school, hired to coach some boys before they go off to Cambridge.

Dan is just a student, rolling his eyes at this teacher who's supposed to give them a better curriculum; what was wrong with the old one?

So when Phils hardened gaze (Gay in the closet) meets Dans young fiery eyes(Also Gay in the closet) what will happen?

Don't Feed the Plant (ao3) - MissJanjie

Summary: Phil is a poor orphan working in his adoptive aunt's run-down flower shop in London. After buying a suspiciously strange plant with a carnivorous appetite, Phil's life changes overnight, even bringing him closer to crush and coworker, a troubled and near destitute Dan Howell. Soon enough, though, Phil realizes that fame and romance comes with the ultimate price.

Forest Bathing and Other Mindful Activities (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan decides to take a stroll through the forest in the moonlight and finds more enlightenment than he bargained for.

Homo Howell vs The Heterosexual Agenda (ao3) - CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)

Summary: Dan had a normal life.

At least that’s what he would have said two weeks ago. Before he found that creek-secrets Tumblr post about the closeted gay kid at school. Before he made a secret email account so he could respond with a simple “THIS.”Before his daily routine was staring at his phone and computer anticipating the next email from Fish. Before Matthew, the seemingly innocent nerdy theater kid found and screenshotted said emails. Before said nerdy kid was blackmailing him. Yeah, Dan had a normal life. And if by normal, you meant dealing with all of that on top of trying to hook Matthew up with one of Dan's best friends so he wouldn’t tell the entire school about Dan's sexuality? Sure, Dan's life was fucking normal.

aka a Love, Simon AU that's based on both the book and movie

How Dan (Almost) Stole Christmas (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: “It was a serious oversight, in stealing from the rich, that you couldn’t really tell if they were unbothered because the money never mattered, or unbothered because they had so much cash they were using it to insulate their walls.”

For thirty-three years Dan’s lived up in the hill districts outside Who-ville, watching the wealthy elites celebrate their Christmases in the valley with glitter and food and an unfathomable amount of expensive gifts while the rest of the world was left cold and hungry, completely ignored. Between the off-key choir concerts and the way he could feel the icy wind through his uninsulated walls on Crumpit Lane, he had enough of it. It’s time for Who-ville to see what Christmas is like for everyone else, even if that means taking it by force.

A How the Grinch Stole Christmas AU

How To Find Your Missing Husband, or, The Amazing Crossover is Not On Fire (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: In the year 2063, just as International Rescue finally recovers from the absolute mess that is the Hood's attack on Tracy Island, an event known as the Great Restructuring occurs. Multiple universes are merged together, a teen who is supposed to be dead is revived (and promptly adopted), Sportacus is there... and two longterm partners, famously described as 'actual soulmates', are torn apart.

Will Phil ever find Dan again? Or are they doomed to be separated forever?

i said, "i got you now" (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: All it takes is a leap of faith. (Fine, and some tears. Maybe a few bruises. Possibly falling in love with someone from another dimension. Nothing Dan can't handle, really.)

It's Time to Begin (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil went through hell and back when they were teenagers to fight against the evil clown. However, when they get called back to Derry, they know that the fight is just beginning again with whatever it is. But old feelings begin to get rehashed and they decide to confess something to the other before they head towards the fight for their lives.

Lester's Bail Bonds (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan Howell is a flight attendant who gets caught smuggling illegal money for his boss. When he gets arrested, he meets bail bondsman Phil Lester, who gets him out of jail. Being threatened on both sides by the cops and by Dan’s terrifying boss, Dan and Phil develop a plan to double-cross both parties, take the boss' money, and run away together. Will they be able to pull off the heist?

Love is for the Living (ao3) - kawaiikanai

Summary: Phil isn’t all too happy about the arranged marriage his parents have planned for him. When he runs off together his thoughts, he meets an other-worldly young man that helps him face his fears.

meet you at the divide (ao3) - wiccamoody

Summary: Forced into attending a boring Halloween office party, Phil's past comes back to haunt him when a familiar man shows up.

Mushing Through the Snow (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: It’s just them now, and Dan’s dogs, still hanging outside in the blizzard.

next to me (ao3) - afestivequest

Summary: In 2014, Dan and Phil break up.

Five years later, Phil checks in.

Sleepy Hollow (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Young constable Daniel Howell is sent to investigate a series of murders in Sleepy Hollow but with a little investigation, he finds that the story is much bigger than that.

Something That I Want (ao3) - frickinggzazzed

Summary: Phil meets a cute boy under unconventional circumstances. Perhaps fairytales aren't complete rubbish after all.

a.k.a: a dnp x tangled crossover ft. poor attempts at humor and a severe lack of originality.

Something marvelous (ao3) - citizen101erased

Summary: Dan and Phil keep running into superheroes while traveling and Dan is really starting to get annoyed.

Stick Together For Survival (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: Dan and Phil are not what you would call friends. The only reason they interact with each other at all is because they both work at Jurassic World. One day, a dinosaur breaks out of containment which forces Dan and Phil to work with each other.

Were the World Ours (ao3) - phansomedevil

Summary: Year ten theatre nerd Dan finally musters up the courage to try out for his school’s production of "Midsummer Night’s Dream." But who's the year twelve unknown that’s been mysteriously cast as Puck?

Winter (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: An Anastasia/Dan and Phil crossover that no one has asked for, but yet here we are.

You’re my new dream (ao3) - magicalxdjh

Summary: phan but based on tangled. Phil is the lost prince and Dan is the thief. it will not be 100% tangled for example Phil does not have magic long hair, but powers! not everything will be based on tangled, just the story itself is inspired by it.

[neverburied]

@espres0s + send me a   “ 🐆 ”   and i’ll randomize our muse lists and suggest a few random pairings for us to try out. 

Allison McRoberts ( kevin can fuck himself ) + Lip Gallagher -------- ( if you haven't watched the show , u should -- everytime it cuts to the dramatic side it reminds me VERY much of shameless. alli is an abused housewife that wants to get out of it by killing her husband <3 andfjsk )

Allison Hargreeves ( the umbrella academy ) + Natalia Romanov ------ ( so very easy to throw alli into marvel. she can say ' i heard a rumor ' & mind control people. she uses it to become a world famous actress. )

Gretchen Weiners ( mean girls ) + wednesday addams ------ ( it's giving Wenclair. )

Mary Alice Brandon / Alice Cullen ( twilight ) + Joe Goldberg ------ ( pretty vampire girl that would be nice to him. she can see the future so maybe she sees him go psycho & is like oh i can fix that )

Regina George ( mean girls ) + Wednesday Addams ------ ( enemies to lovers af )

Peggy Carter + Ransom Drysdale ------- ( she would hate him. but . . . faceclaims. asfdjkn )

Theo Crain ( haunting of hill house ) + Phoebe Buffay ----- ( i don't know that theo would love her , but . . . she's a lesbian that , if she touches you without her gloves , can feel your trauma. so she'd see through phoebe's like really bubbly stuff and be like oh you're traumatized )

Theo Engler ( you ) + Lip Gallagher ------ ( neglected and love starved boy needs friend or not sociopathic lover )

Love Quinn ( you ) + Lip Gallagher ----- ( on the other hand does lip want a crazy girlfriend ? )

Neal Cassidy / Baelfire ( once upon a time ) + Phoebe Buffay ----- ( he's technically a runaway from another dimension + neverland , but in our world he's just a homeless thief that sleeps in cars and steals stuff so he'd get along with her swimmingly asdnfk )

Lucy Whitmore ( 50 first dates ) + Luke Brandon ----- ( listen. i will slide u $20 to write anyone with lucy. she had a traumatic brain injury that causes her memory to reset every day so she forgets everything & thinks it's the same day prior to the accident. the basis is always that someone meets her and figures out she doesn't remember them the next day and they decide to stick around to try and help somehow. usually ends in psychological horror bc she never gets better anjdskfn )

David Nolan / Prince Charming ( once upon a time ) + Fiona Gallagher ------- ( tech from another dimension , but in our world he's a guy that was in a coma & woke up with amnesia , then just works at a vet clinic. he's a really good dad. )

Jamie Wellerstein ( the last five years ) + Love Quinn ----- ( charming guy originally , then he grows discontent with his relationship to become selfish & a chronic cheater. she'd destroy him. )

Rachel Chu ( crazy rich asians ) + Luke Brandon ----- ( i think any of my cra muses would be really cool with him actually ? rachel's a professor. real sweet and timid at first. nick young is rich ceo's son that pretends he's not that bc he doesn't want to be that. astrid leong is nick's cousin that is rich and famous and so very gentle and sweet -- she hides her purchases from her regular-guy husband so he doesn't feel emasculated and often works for charities and is just generally sweet , but she does enjoy her money and being a business woman. )

Charlie Morningstar ( hazbin hotel ) + Morticia Addams ----- ( daughter of lucifer / princess of hell. she would be at morticia's feet najsdfk. she's very very bubbly and is trying to get sinners redeemed by rehabilitation so they can go to heaven , so they are very different in terms of morals ?? but like. opposites attract jansdfk )

Olivia Crain ( haunting of hill house ) + Luke Brandon ---- ( nice lady that gets these migraines where she can see visions of the past / ghosts but she doesn't know that's what she's seeing. she likes to flip houses and wants to be an architect ! )

Love Quinn + Guinevere Beck ----- ( swap joe. make it worse. )

Love Quinn + Randsom Drysdale -------- ( rich girlfriend he can scam and then get killed by ? )

Coriolanus Snow + Rachel Greene ------ ( capitol wife he doesn't care about but pretends to be in love with. )

Jennifer Check + Love Quinn ------ ( boi howdy )

Rebecca Bunch ( crazy ex girlfriend ) + Luke Brandon ------ ( just a bpd girlie that stalks her ex across the country <3 she's actually chill once she's medicated. )

Rebecca Bunch + Joe Goldberg / Love Quinn ----- ( bpd stalker vs bpd stalker )

[ilovebeingaturtle]

JUST SAW THE MONDO GECKO HC POST AND CAN I ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY SHREDDER AND KRANG HCS 🥺 (they're living rent-free in my head smh. i should charge them)

I gotchu bud here’s some evil husband rambles-

While he definitely neglects his other passion these days, I think Shredder still finds the time every now and then to pursue his interest in writing. In the few quieter moments of the Technodrome, you can probably find him curled up somewhere with a notepad and muttering to himself. Connected to his interest in writing, I had an idea where Krang is dissatisfied with the ending of his comfort show-so Shredder, in a rare moment of consideration (that will still fuel his ego) offers to rewrite the ending for him. The two then end up spending the afternoon writing fanfiction together basically, and if they ever manage to cooperate enough to produce a final draft, Krang likely forces Benop and Rocksteady to act it out like a script. Their acting is terrible and it results in Shredder taking over as the leading role. He can’t stand watching amateurs.

Shredder hates taking of his armour, it makes him feel unprepared but he also just likes the sensory pressure it provides (because this man is ABSOLUTELY autistic I can claim him). That’s his comfort armour dang it, however he has a secondary set with less spikes on it for relaxing purposes after that time he accidentally tore up their couch and Krang REFUSES to buy another one because of that. If he must appear in other clothing, he prefers pinks and purples. Purple is the colour of royalty after all, and pink just always suits him so well.

Krang had a small fortune he inherited from his family that he was allowed to keep after being banished, plus all that money he’s gained since. He’s started needing to hide all his cards though, Shredder has a habit of stealing them and he’s absolutely an impulse buyer. If they get random shipments of useless items, he knows who’s fault it is, despite Shredder always trying to pin it on Bebop and Rocksteady.

I also like to think Krang probably enjoys singing, his voice is always lilting naturally anyways so I can see him having a secret interest in it. Shredder thinks he sounds god awful and like a cat dying in jelly, but Krang always snipes back that he’s amazing by dimension X standards, which Shredder can’t disprove but still doesn’t feel is right.

Shredder low key has a complex over being replaced, it’s why he gets so hostile whenever Krang brings in a “replacement” for him. He loves attention, he wants to take over the world for the glory of it (it’s why in the timeline where he wins he doesn’t actually know what to do with himself and does shit like make the “I love Shredder” show) and because he wants everyone to see how amazing he is. It’s not that he feels the need to prove himself to Krang, what are you talking about-he just thinks that someone as intelligent as Krang should know better than to think he’s a worthless and if Krang can’t respect that he’s leaving. Sure he always comes back to him after saying that every time but-shut up!

Krang meanwhile I think detests the occasions he has to rely on Shredder, especially in the beginning. He hates feeling helpless, his constructed body gives him security, makes him feel safe and powerful, and without it anything could happen. He feels weak and he hates it. He needs that power over people, to feel taller than them-but I also think that, eventually, after all the times Shredder saves him when reason stands he could have just abandoned him, the fact that Shredder has stuck around this long at all...him being nearby makes Krang feel safe and powerful too. Not that he’d ever admit that.

They’re equals, they snap at each other, betray each other, shift the balance of power back and forth but at the end of the day there has to be respect there for them to work together this long. They need each other, and both know it, so their dynamic will always bend and crack but always snap back into place. I just think they’re neat 💖