#Going with the one built into the machine

[ckret2]

Chapter 69 (lol) of human Bill Cipher being a prisoner with terrible fashion sense: beach episode!!! Well, lake episode. Close enough.

And a few other people come to town.

Just after dawn, a sleek, nondescript black government SUV, now dusty from a long drive, parked in front of the Gravity Falls Police Department. Three agents in sleek, nondescript black suits stepped out.

As they left the car, Blubs came out to meet them, Durland trailing behind him. "Agent Powers, Agent Trigger! Good to see you again." He shook Powers's hand, then glanced at the new agent. "And you are...?"

"Agent Dale!" The rookie shook Blubs's hand next, beaming. "Very pleased to meet you. I was just saying in the car—you have a beautiful town here, just beautiful."

"Wouldn't stop talking about it," Trigger muttered.

Blubs chuckled. "Why, thank you. We're quite proud of it ourselves."

Durland said, "Say, Agent Dale—don't you agents usually have tougher-sounding codenames?"

"Agent Clyde S. Dale. Like the horse."

"Ohhh. Yup, that'll do it."

"Sheriff Blubs," Powers said. "I trust you have the requested materials?"

"Right inside," Blubs said. "We've got the readings on last week's gravity anomaly from McGucket's scanners, and reports on this weekend's power surge."

"No overlap between the incidents?"

"None anyone here detected."

"Hmm. Has anything else strange happened since we were last in town?"

Blubs hesitated. "Well—never mind all that." He quickly shifted topics, "Say, I like your 'honk if you want to be arrested' bumper sticker." ("Oh is that what it says?" Durland asked.)

Agent Powers said solemnly, "I can get you the contact information of the shop where I bought it. It's a very nice small business run by art students."

"Would you? That'd be delightful."

Powers paused before following the cops and his agents into the police department, glancing out at Gravity Falls' town square—the modest little main street shops, the town hall, the statue of the town founder, the distinctive water tower with the faded muffin graffiti, and the familiar mountains surrounding the little valley town.

And then he let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Fine," he muttered grumpily, glaring at the town as though it were an old rival as annoyed to see him as he was to see it. "Let's just get this over with."

He followed Blubs into the police department.

####

"Attention, everybody," Stan said, standing in the entryway with his fists on his hips, Soos beaming behind him. "I've got some great news!"

Abuelita and Bill glanced up from one of Abuelita's soap operas; Mabel and Dipper craned their necks to see Stan from where they were having dinner at the kitchen table.

Stan announced, "It's finally time!"

Dipper and Mabel blinked. Bill said, "Great. I'll get the ritual daggers, you can set up the blood red candles. Dolores?"

Abuelita said, "I will put out the good sacrifice altar." Bill laughed in delight.

"Yeah, yuck it up, you two," Stan said. "We're going fishing tomorrow! I've got the bait, I found everyone's rods, Soos and I patched up the old boat, I even—" He paused at the sound of the vending machine opening. "Hey! Ford!"

Ford ducked in from the gift shop. "What?" 

Stan chucked a hat at him. "I made you a fishing buddy hat! See, it's got your name! That's pretty good!"

"Oh." Ford inspected the letters haphazardly stitched onto the hat. "Why?"

"Fishing tomorrow! Half the summer's gone by, and we haven't gone fishing once! The guys from the lodge probably think I'm too ashamed to show my face. But it rained this weekend, the weather's just cleared up, now's the perfect time for fishing!"

"Oh," Ford said again, trying to drag his thoughts from magical tapes to fishing. "If you'd let me know earlier, I'd have built another fish-summoning beacon like the one on our boat." (Bill glanced curiously at Ford at the mention of an invention he didn't already know about; then stubbornly refused to be interested and dragged his gaze back to the TV.)

"No beacons! This isn't fishing for survival, this is about the sport! Asserting our manhood! Just the skill, strength, and patience of three men—and some women and children—against the lake!" (Soos beamed at being included amongst the men.)

Ford considered that. He didn't assert his manhood very often; usually he just sort of let his manhood hang around minding its own business, like an old cat that wants to be in the same room as you without socializing. It sounded like an intriguingly novel experience. "Okay, great. What time?"

"I want everyone on the road tomorrow morning! By six thirty at the latest."

The kids groaned.

"C'mon, dudes," Soos said encouragingly. "It'll be fun! After about three hours, once you're awake enough to think."

"No griping, we've gotta be there early to get a prime fishing spot," Stan said. "Tomorrow's a lodge fishing day. We're going home with a haul so big they'll be embarrassed they kicked me out!"

Dipper asked, "You mean the lodge for the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, right? Why'd they kick you out?"

Stan sighed, "Once the town found out about Ford, they realized I'd spent the last thirty years attending lodge meetings under his membership. Since I'd never undergone the—" He rolled his eyes and made finger quotes, "'sacred angler initiation rites,' they booted me. And they said I can't try to join again, just because of that one dumb little white lie! And my extensive criminal record."

Ford hurriedly crossed the living room to avoid blocking Abuelita's TV view. (Bill looked through him like he wasn't there.) "Stan got a lot more out of my membership than I did—once I'd finished my initiation I probably only ever attended three meetings. I tried to petition the Mackerels to let him rejoin."

"How'd they respond?" Mabel asked.

"They kicked me out too."

Bill scoffed. "Big deal! The Fishmasons and all their subordinate organizations are just a big boring social club that got you hotel discounts three hundred years ago. The mystique around them is more interesting than anything they actually do."

"Figuring that out is why I stopped attending after three meetings," Ford said. "I joined to learn about the dark secret underbelly of Western politics—not sit around eating charcuterie and fancy nuts while everyone talks about baseball and makes fun of me for not knowing what a fly ball is. It's a stupid term! Doesn't the ball always fly?"

"Really, they aren't even worth joining," said Bill Cipher, the only person to have ever been kicked out of seventeen separate Masonic lodges in seventeen separate bodies.

Reminded of the fancy nuts he was missing out on at this very second, Stan set his jaw in determination. "Yeah, well, they're a big boring social club that'll rue the day they kicked out Stan Pines! Out the door, six thirty, on the dot!"

"I don't have an alarm," Bill said. "Hey star girl, wake me at five."

Mabel shuddered at the thought of setting an alarm that early. "No way. You can borrow my radio."

"Hold on, I didn't say you're invited," Stan said. "We've already got a full boat! Me, my brother, the kids, and Soos and his girl. Nobody wants to sit on the lake with you for eight hours."

"I wanna sit on the lake with Bill!"

"Nobody but Mabel wants that."

"Relax! I don't want to sit on a boat with you underpainted clowns either," Bill said. "I just want to sit on the beach! I miss sunlight! Sunlight without being forced to hike through half the valley on no food or sleep."

(Ford decided that was his cue to make himself scarce. He scooted into the guest room.)

"Well," Stan said, "we're not staying thirty feet from the shore, we're not leaving anybody behind, and we don't trust you to stay put on the beach without your dumb magic bracelet—so how do you expect that to work."

"I'll just stay with Dolores."

Stan and Soos stared at Abuelita. Soos said, "Abuelita? Do you want to come?"

Abuelita considered it. "Sure. The weather is nice. I can catch up on my reading."

"Yes!" Bill hopped off the couch. "Then it's a plan!"

"Hey, hold on," Stan said as Bill breezed past him, "I didn't agree to—"

"Hey star girl!" Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Need your fashion services! I need a swimsuit before tomorrow."

Mabel gasped in delight. "What kind?"

"Whatever exposes the most skin without getting me arrested. I'm absorbing as much sunlight as possible."

"With sunscreen, right?" Soos said.

Bill turned and gave him a blank-faced stare.

Soos hopefully repeated, "With sunscreen?"

"Don't need it."

"You totally do, dude. Not many people talk about this? But having more melanin doesn't totally protect you from sun damage, it just slows it down," Soos said. "Trust me on this. When I was like eight, I went to this water park—

"Uh-huh, and three days later you were peeling off flakes of your own dead flesh," Bill said. "It's cute how you think you know more about humans from 23 years of passively being one than I do from 500,000 years of actively studying them."

"Oh."

"C'mon, star girl! No time to waste!" Bill grabbed Mabel's hand and tugged her off her chair.

"Wait, my sandwich—!" Mabel grabbed the rest of her dinner off her plate and shoved it in her mouth as Bill dragged her upstairs.

Abuelita shot him a dirty look as he passed, but turned back to her soap opera.

####

Just past five in the morning, Bill crept by the guest room door. He glanced through the wall as he passed; good, both of the Stans were in bed and sound asleep. Bill wouldn't have had a chance to get up to his mischief if Ford had decided to sleep downstairs.

He snuck behind the vending machine; paused to squint toward the future and confirm that when he looked at the stairs, he could only see himself using them anytime soon; then down to the elevator; and down, down to Ford's study.

Bill sighed in relief when the elevator slid open and he saw that Ford had left his study door ajar. He crept into the room, feet socked, hands gloved—Ford was the kind of paranoid to actually check for prints if he suspected anything, and Bill's triangular whorls were very distinctive—and looked through the objects piled on the shelves and furniture for any concealed sensors or cameras. The coast was clear.

He idly scanned the nearby shelves for any sign of his stolen time tape, didn't find it, but didn't expect to. That wasn't what he was here for.

He knelt in front of a half-disassembled filing cabinet, flipped through the files in the removed bottom drawer until he found several folders together about curses and hexes, and flipped through them until he found the one labeled "Curses & Hexes (w/ ingredients)". Good old Sixer, left everything exactly where Bill remembered it.

He rifled through the pages—"aha!"—until he found the paper he was looking for and pulled it out. Handwritten at the top of a ragged-edged piece of notebook paper were the words "Reverse Sunscreen". Bill read through the list of ingredients—"Oh, pepper juice, not pepper flakes, right."—then put the paper back.

He glanced back and forth between the past and present to ensure he put the files back exactly where he'd found them—again, considering Ford's paranoia, he might notice any difference.

And then he returned to the elevator and headed upstairs.

The whole time he was in the study, Bill didn't let himself glance at the back of the room where Ford's shrine to him used to be.

####

"Heya, pal," Bill said. "It's been a while! Where have you been hiding all summer?"

Gompers blinked up at Bill.

"I guess we both look different than we did the last time we met, huh? I think your makeover went better than mine, though! You didn't fall as far as I did." He didn't have as far to fall.

Gompers accepted the backhanded compliment with utter indifference.

"But hey, why talk about the past! Let's let bygones be bygones. Here." Bill knelt, pulled one of Ford's nutrition pills from the folds of his beach towel, and held it out. "A peace offering! A little snack for you."

Gompers eyed it warily.

"Come on, you've eaten worse things than this."

He delicately ate the pill out of Bill's hand.

"Thaaat's right. Tell me how you like that thing later."

Leaning on his car, Stan—the only other person who'd actually been ready to go at 6:30—looked over Bill's shirt and trout slippers, and asked warily, "You didn't forget that humans need to wear pants, right?"

Bill got to his feet, shoved his makeshift umbrella-cane under the same arm as his beach towel, and pulled up the hem of the puma shirt he'd stolen from the gift shop to reveal his bikini bottom. It was teal with little puffy gold triangles painted on. "Cover-up dress. Your arbitrary fashion rules are different for beaches."

Stan considered whether a t-shirt counted as a dress, decided he didn't know enough about dresses and he might as well give this one to Bill, and grunted. "Fine, you're legal."

"Am I free to go, officer?"

"Never compare me to a cop again."

"Stop acting like one!" Bill trotted off to his ride to wait for the other humans to assemble.

There wasn't room for all eight beachgoers in one vehicle; the Pines piled together in Stan's car, while the Ramirezes (including Melody—honorary future Ramirez—and Bill—magic braceleted to Abuelita) took Soos's truck. So that Abuelita didn't have to squeeze past the front seats into the back, Bill and Melody were assigned the back bench; when Bill greeted Melody and she only responded with a vague mumble and an averted gaze, he scooted closer to the middle of the bench, spread his knees to take up more space, and smugly pretended not to notice how Melody squeezed herself against the door.

By the time the Ramirez vehicle parked at the beach, the Pines family was already out of their car: Stan was glaring up the beach with his fists on his hips, the kids were unsuccessfully searching Mabel's supply bag for Dipper's sunscreen, and Ford was lingering back at the car, pretending to check the contents of their tackle box but actually trying to shake the sudden memory of weightlessness and water in his throat. As Bill passed, Ford muttered, "I'm surprised you wanted to get this close to the lake so soon. Considering." It had been less than a week since their joint near death experience.

"Why not? Nearly drowning was the most fun part of that hike." (Ford wondered whether that was a red flag, an underhanded comment about how unfun the rest of the hike had been, or just Bill being Bill; and, for his own peace of mind, decided it was probably the third thing.) "Looks like you got something fun out of the trip, too." Bill snapped the shoulder strap of Ford's waders.

Ford shoved Bill's hand away. "As long as I have them, I might as well use them."

When everyone caught up with Stan, he was scowling at four men, ages ranging from 50 to 80, wearing fishing vests and hats with the Holy Mackerel's distinctive stylized fish symbol. "Eugene," Stan muttered. "Eugene and his goons wanted to kick me out of the lodge for years. Just because I have a grating personality and am generally unpleasant to be around! And tried to get the lodge to pick a local affordable housing fund as our charity for fundraising one year!"

Ford gave Stan a surprised look. "You never mentioned you worked with an affordable housing charity."

"Yeah. The Compassionate Angel's Fund For Gravity Falls Tourism Business Owners Who Are Behind On Their Mortgage Payments."

Ford snorted. 

Bill said, "I think you should've gotten away with it just for being funny."

"Don't even look at them," Stan instructed the group. "These jerks aren't worth it." The collected group studiously avoided looking at the Mackerels, except Bill and Abuelita, who didn't care.

As they walked up the beach toward the pier and veered around the Mackerels, Stan suddenly stopped, turned straight toward them, and said loudly, "Why, Eugene! What a coincidence! I almost didn't notice you!"

A tall, elderly man with a fishing rod over one shoulder and a black wooden cane in his other hand glanced over at the Pines/Ramirez party. "Oh," he said, with a voice like he'd found a fly stuck in gum on his cane. "Hello, Stan-ley. We haven't seen you out on the lake this summer."

Stan laughed loudly, as if Eugene had told a hilarious joke. "Oh, that! I was just waiting for perfect fishing weather! I'mnot about to waste my time out on the lake on a bad fishing day!" He gestured behind himself, "Besides, I had to wait until my whole family was free to come along."

(Soos elbowed Melody and whispered excitedly, "He called us his family!")

Stan clapped his hands proudly on Dipper and Mabel's shoulders—who looked like they hoped the sandy beach would swallow them whole—and said, "I don't see your family, Eugene, where are they?"

"Dead." With mournful dignity, Eugene said, "I outlived my wife and all three of my children. Remember? You ate potato chips during my daughter's funeral."

Stan opened his mouth, shut it, and said, "Was that the really boring one that went like an hour?"

Ford, who didn't always have the best social instincts but could tell when Stan had screwed up, started shooing the rest of the family away from the scene, elbowed Stan, and said, "Let's get to the boat. You wanted to get a prime fishing spot, right?"

Eugene looked at Ford. "Ah. You must be the real Stanford Pines?" he said. "So I'm assuming, anyway. Apparently it's hard to tell you two apart."

Stan scowled; but before he could retort, Bill pushed past him to butt into the conversation. "Is it ever! Listen, take it from someone who's made this mistake—you've got to count the fingers on these two, every time."

Eugene huffed sardonically. "So it seems." (Ford self-consciously hid his hands in his pockets and shot Bill a dark look as he shuffled off with the rest of the family.)

"Say, while I've got your attention—name's Goldie, by the way—I couldn't help but admire your cane!" He tapped the tip of his umbrella against Eugene's cane. "I'm in the market for an upgrade from this substitute I've been using! That's no blackwood, right? That looks like true ebony."

"Good eye," Eugene said, surprised. "Yes, genuine Gaboon ebony."

"Must've dropped a lot of gold on this thing," Bill said appreciatively. "You've gotta tell me where you got it."

"I'm afraid I don't remember off the top of my head..."

"That's fine! Look it up—" (he twisted around to speak over his shoulder as Stan grabbed his arm and dragged him away) "—I'm sure we'll meet again!"

About fifteen feet away, Stan growled, "What was that?"

"Networking. I've got plans for that guy," Bill said. "Hey, did you hear him? Gaboon ebony?" He laughed condescendingly. "Easiest way to make a guy look like a moron, start talking about 'true' ebonies. Didja know the word 'ebony' comes from Egyptian? And when they talked about 𓍁𓈖𓏭𓆱, they were talking about African blackwood. Wood so hard it sinks and you have to tool it like a metal! Gaboon ebony is a flimsy usurper!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"But you don't pretend you do, and that's what makes you better than that guy." Bill tugged Stan down by the shoulder. "Listen, Fisherman. I can't tell you where the fish are biting but I can tell you where they're swimming. It'll give you an advantage, but you'll need to do the rest."

Stan squinted mistrustfully at Bill. "What's the catch."

"The catch is you have to accept my help. Do you want it or not?"

"And why are you offering?"

"Because I think these lodge guys are a bunch of snobs. And they should've chosen your charity. It was funny."

That, plus Stan had been the most reluctant to let Bill live; Bill had to convince him he'd made the right choice.

Bill gave Stan directions to a bunch of fish he could see underwater by the Island Head Beast's right earhole; and then, his good deed for the day done, he headed off to claim a spot on the beach.

Ford had gone into Tate & Backle's to properly purchase the clothing they'd borrowed after the eclipse, and Soos was helping set Abuelita up with a low beach chair and a large umbrella. Bill smoothed out a patch of sand about ten feet from Abuelita so he could lay out his beach towel and dump his supplies for the day beside it. While Mabel and Melody got the boat ready, Dipper wandered around looking for sunscreen to borrow. He saw Bill's tube, snatched it without asking, and generously coated his arms, legs, and face. Bill fought back a grin and pretended not to notice.

He tossed aside his t-shirt and fish slippers, settled down on the towel in his bikini, carefully squeezed several horizontal lines of reverse sunscreen across the front of his abdomen and thighs, and drew a few vertical lines in between to break them up.

Ford trudged over from the bait shop to tell Bill, "I thought you'd like to know those ridiculous fish slippers were thirty dollars."

Bill laughed. "Whoa! Seems like a lot of money for some cheap novelty shoes! It's too bad you decided to trap me in a position where I'm too destitute and powerless to make my own purchases, isn't it?"

"All right, all right." Ford's gaze caught on the bruise-blue line discoloring the skin from Bill's left shoulder to his right hip—had he gotten injured during one of his hikes the past week? Or had that always been there? Ford didn't think he'd ever seen Bill's body shirtless, maybe it had always been here—but then he noticed Bill's lines of sunscreen and barked a laugh. "I suppose you're not planning to rub that in."

"Brilliant observation." Bill began smoothing down the lines with a finger, maintaining the pattern he'd drawn.

"You wanted to come out here to suntan? I'm sure you're already aware of the cancer risks from tanning."

"If I'm in this body long enough to get cancer, I'll welcome it." Bill lay down, laced his hands behind his head, and gave Ford an obnoxious smile. "Anyway, basal cell carcinomas are delicious. There's something kinda romantic about them, you know?"

Ford ruminated on that with thoughtful bafflement, shushed the voice in his head trying to point out that Bill was waving ever more red flags, and concluded that this was perhaps humans weren't meant to comprehend the romanticism of skin cancer. "Fine."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Stan asked, trudging up to Soos and Ford. "C'mon, we're burning daylight! Let's..." He trailed off, staring at Bill.

His bikini top consisted of two triangular red cups. Each cup had an enormous staring eye.

"See something ya like?" Bill asked dryly.

Stan quickly looked away. "Ugh. That's indecent."

"What is?"

"That—design!"

"What's indecent about eyeballs?"

"It looks like...!" He gestured vaguely but emphatically.

"What? What does it look like? Tell me what it looks like, Stanley."

"Never mind!" He turned away with a huff and muttered to Ford, "Can you believe him?"

"I honestly didn't notice anything until you pointed it out." Ford waved back at Bill dismissively as he followed Stan toward the boat. "Enjoy your sunburn."

"I will! I haven't had a good sunburn in centuries! That's one of the best features of earthling bodies!" Bill got comfortable and shut his eyes.

Soos finished getting Abuelita settled, headed toward the boat—but hesitated as he passed by Bill. Bill opened an eye a crack to glower up at him. "What?"

Soos mumbled, "You could've just told me you wanted to get sunburned. I mean—yesterday."

"But you didn't ask if I wanted a sunburn," Bill snapped. "You just assumed I didn't know how they work. And that's the point: you assumed I was stupid instead of considering that maybe you didn't know my plan."

"Oh. Uh... sorry." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

Bill's irritation flared higher. He sat up. "I didn't say you made me feel stupid," he hissed, voice low, talking fast. "There's nothing that you could do to make me feel stupid. But that doesn't mean you aren't treating me like I'm stupid, does it?"

"Whoa—!" Soos raised his hands defensively. "Chill, dawg. I didn't mean—"

"What's the phrase, do ut des? 'Do unto others'? Your species's phrase. Don't treat me like I'm stupider than you and I won't have to return the favor—sound like a fair deal, Question Mark?" Bill stared up at him challengingly, brows raised.

"But th— I w— You..." Soos's protests that he'd been doing nothing but trying to do-unto-others Bill got jumbled all around under the force of Bill's spotlight glare. His shoulders slumped. "Sure," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Good." Bill lay back down. "Get out of my sun."

Soos trudged away; and Bill took a deep breath, tried to get in a meditative mindset where he could shut off his mind, and focused on the feeling of sunshine on his body.

He'd just about managed to drop into a proper trance when Abuelita called sweetly, "Bill? Would you grab a bottle of water for me?"

His face twitched toward a frown as he was dragged back to full consciousness. Hadn't Soos left them close enough for her? Some grandson. 

"Bill?"

He tried to think of an excuse to stay where he was; then growled in irritation and sat up. "Okay, okay." He couldn't afford to offend the chef with access to the poisons.

The bag with the water bottles was right behind Abuelita's elbow; but maybe her joints were stiff. Bill knelt to unzip the bag. "Another bodice ripper?" he asked, glancing at her book. 

"A powerful sorceress queen has been captured by her enemies. She just learned they are led by her former apprentice."

"I can sympathize with that." Bill dragged the bag up next to Abuelita's knee so he wouldn't need to grab another bottle for her later. "Who's the love interest—guileless guard? Heroic rescuer?"

"The apprentice."

"Sympathy's gone." Bill glanced toward the boat to see what the rest of the household was up to.

They'd already reached the spot Bill had indicated and started fishing. Soos was excitedly reeling in his line; the boat listed to one side as everyone crowded around him to see what he'd brought up. Stan dipped a net in the water to scoop up his catch.

It was a boot.

Everyone's faces fell in disappointment.

Except for Ford's, who gleefully snatched up the boot he'd kicked off during the eclipse when he fell in the lake. He dumped the water out of his boot, switched places with Soos, and began fishing the same spot.

Abuelita said, "My grandson has been very nice to you."

Bill looked at her warily.

"Hasn't he?" She had a polite smile and daggers in her eyes.

He had the oddest feeling that this was going somewhere dangerous. "Yeah yeah yeah, sure he has," Bill said. "Nothing but nice. I think I'll take a little stroll, stretch these legs! See ya!" He stood to escape.

He only got a step away before the enchanted bracelet pulled tight around his wrist. He turned around to stare in amazement.

Abuelita had wrapped the slack of the bracelet thread around her hand.

Bill had made a severe miscalculation.

"So," Abuelita said. "Why are you being mean to my grandson." It was a trap all along. She'd agreed to be handcuffed to him so she could corner him for an interrogation.

"Whaaat," Bill said. "Me? No way! I'd never!"

Abuelita stared at him patiently.

"I don't even talk to him," Bill said, trying to think of a conversational escape route.

She raised a brow.

Got it. "He's just too nice, you see! I don't know how to talk to a guy that nice," he lied. "Makes things awkward!" How could any grandmother complain about her grandson being called too nice? "Yeah—not Jesús's fault at all. I don't hold it against him."

"Ah," Abuelita said, "you aren't used to people being nice to you?"

Sure, they could go with that, try to get him some pity. "Yeah! You know how it is. King of Nightmares, scourge of the multiverse—I'm not a popular guy."

"But you have friends, don't you? The scary ones you brought with you to town last year? Are they not nice to you?"

Bill hesitated, trying to figure out his story now. "Sure—they're nice to me. They're my friends! They love me! They'd do anything I say!"

"Oh. So, you're only comfortable with people being nice to you when you can control them." Abuelita smiled sweetly.

Swift, efficient, and brutal. Bill gaped at her.

"I'm glad you have nothing against Soos," she said. "And that you won't be rude to him."

Bill snapped his mouth shut. "Of course not." He gave Abuelita a tight smile. Played like a fiddle. Even though he'd been lying, she still managed to make him look like a loser. How embarrassing. "If you don't mind, I've got a sunburn to get back to."

"I'm not stopping you." She let the extra thread on the bracelet cuffs unwind from her hand and drop to the sand.

Bill trudged back to his towel, snapping as he went, "I hope this is one of those books you hate where the couple only gets hitched because they've got a baby coming."

"The sorceress has magical birth control."

"Course she does."

Bill flopped onto his towel again and stared at the sky. Ouch.

####

(I've been promising Agent Powers AND a beach episode for ages, and we finally get to them both at the same time. Let me know what y'all think so for!)

[necrotic-nephilim]

after seeing the poll about who in the batfam could be Deaf, I am now obsessed with how the masks could affect their sign. If they use their signing space differently when in the vigilante persona or not. Signing is so distinctive to each person that the code switching they do would be interesting to see play out in their ASL. Also thinking about what family signs the family would use to refer to batshit things in their lives. q

YEAH YOU GET IT.

(the poll in question) i am deeply fascinated by the mechanics in which Deaf culture could play into the Batfam. bc most of them are wearing masks that would heavily inhibit ASL (given ASL is an expressive language) so i think it's more likely they'd use something akin to Makaton or Military Hand Signals that are not a fully developed language, but a communication aid, with a given set of signs for the typical things that need to be communicated in the field. meanwhile they'd be more likely to use ASL casually. (i'm unsure who all in the Batfam is confirmed to know ASL, but i know at the very least Bruce and Tim are)

i'm also very drawn in by the idea of other firms of assistive communication/tech used aside from just ASL. i personally find it believable that the masks of any of the Batfam could include automatic captioning tech that only they see through the inside of the mask, similar to captioning glasses at movie theatres, if they were Deaf/HoH. also how you would modify the concept of comm links to be more accessible, potentially projecting the message visually through the person's mask or maybe a wrist communicator sort of situation, depending on their personal preference. how the Batfam in general would interact with each other if one or multiple of them were Deaf would be heavily shaped and i think it's so fun. and i *love* the thought of personal signs they'd have to come up with bc well, ASL is hardly equipped for their lifestyle. also fun to consider sign names and if sign names are unique to the person or unique to the mantle. (eg, would the sign name for Robin be specific to which Robin, or just the mantle at large) there's so many little things that would change and i just think it's Neat. most people are approaching the poll from the perspective of their character of choice having hearing loss from vigilante work (which is a super valid way to approach it and i love those headcanons) but personally i find it fun if the deafness is a pre-existing condition and already something the Bat has been dealing with for years and thus approaches vigilantism needing to modify their gear slightly from the standard norm. how they could influence how Bruce trains them, emphasizing other senses. how they'd likely be far more tactical on the field, pressing their hands against something to feel for noise, ergo their gloves may be designed to more easily pick up vibration. (cannot tell you how much i do that irl) whether or not they'd hide it from the larger hero world is also an interesting question. it's all a fun internal struggle as well, internalized ableism and all. so much you could do with it!!

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Dottore x Sadistic/Equally Crazy S/O

Dottore is immediately intrigued when he meets someone who can match his level of intellect and unhinged curiosity, particularly when it comes to experiments and pushing moral boundaries. His S/O is as ruthless and calculating as he is, leading to a mutual understanding that transcends the usual romantic norms. It's not love in the traditional sense, but a shared obsession with the unknown and a desire to push the limits of human potential.

They often collaborate on experiments, with their laboratory being a chaotic yet fascinating place where both thrive. Discussions of dissecting human nature—literally and figuratively—become their version of "pillow talk." Their relationship is built on this shared madness, with neither feeling the need to hold back their darkest desires. Together, they feel unstoppable.

There’s a twisted sense of competition between them, always trying to outdo each other in their sadistic experiments or theories. Whether it’s creating more effective poisons, crafting dangerous machines, or discovering new ways to manipulate their subjects, they constantly challenge and inspire one another. The competition fuels their passion, though there's always a smirk or gleam in their eyes that shows they're enjoying the game as much as the results.

Dottore finds it exhilarating to have a partner who not only understands his need for chaos and control but feeds into it. Their shared disregard for morality or conventional ethics means they can freely indulge in their worst impulses without judgment, creating a dangerous yet electric dynamic. When they’re together, they are an unstoppable force—two minds working in perfect, terrifying harmony.

Despite their chaotic energy, there's an understanding between them that they are equals. No matter how twisted their actions become, they know the other won't flinch or shy away. In fact, they often encourage each other to go further, reveling in each other's darkest sides. Their relationship is built on mutual respect, even if it’s born out of sadistic tendencies.

They enjoy "games" with their victims, turning their cruelty into a form of entertainment. Whether it’s psychological torment or physical experiments, they turn their twisted love into something dangerous for everyone around them. The satisfaction they derive from each other's madness brings them closer, making their bond all the more intense.

When they’re not experimenting or torturing their latest subject, their conversations are sharp and intellectual, discussing theories about the limits of human suffering, the science of emotions, or ways to further push the boundaries of their work. It’s in these quiet, analytical moments that they show a strange kind of affection—through words of affirmation over each other’s intelligence and innovation.

Dottore is surprisingly possessive of his S/O, not because of love in a conventional sense, but because he respects their mind and wants to ensure that no one else benefits from their brilliance. Similarly, his S/O is just as territorial, ensuring no one else interferes with their twisted dynamic. The two of them are a deadly duo, and they like it that way.

[frootynovak]

calex vs. outdoor activities vs. being clingy

“So, you are serious about going on this hike!”

Alex stood by the sink, drying her hands with the kitchen cloth hung by the drawer.

It was a chilly morning and the sun was just beginning to rise. The kitchen windows were slightly open and Alex was reveling the refreshing scent of blossoming magnolias next door, welcoming the start of spring. She could hear frantic movements and running around coming from upstairs. A minute passes and Casey emerges from the staircase in tight underpants and sweaters, carrying a backpack and a duffle bag.

“And you’re really not coming with me?”

“I am not going hiking with you, Case.” Alex insists. She takes a plate from one of the drawers and dumps the buttered toasts she prepared. “Did you see the list I gave you detailing the many reasons why it could be dangerous?”

Casey shakes her head in mild disbelief. She puts her bags down and comments, “Didn’t paint you as a pessimist but yes, I did see the list.” She moved closer towards Alex, grabbing a piece of toast off her plate and taking a bite. “And it is ridiculous.”

“Ookay, then what will you do if a brown bear lunged at you?”

“There are no bears where I’m going, idiot.”

“You don’t know that.” Alex pouts. “You could literally die.”

Casey shrugs. She bends down to tie the shoelaces of her hiking boots. “Eh, guess I’ll take my chances.”

Alex turns off the coffee machine and pours a cup. “Won’t you have coffee with me first?”

Try as she might, Alex knew well she can never convince her stubborn wife when Casey is already intent on doing something.

“Love to but can’t.” Casey gets up and walks across the kitchen. She took the remaining coffee from the brewer and poured the liquid straight into her red thermo flask. “I’m sorry. I’m just running a bit late.”

“And who are you going with? Do I know these people that you’re going with? Have I met any of them?”

Casey grins at her hesitantly. “Not exactly… But I am in good hands, Lex.”

When Alex didn’t answer, Casey proceeded to the fridge to get the packed meals and trail mixes she prepared yesterday for her trip. She puts them inside the duffle bag and zips it closed.

Pushing the eyeglasses up her nose, Alex sets aside the newspaper she was reading earlier into the rack in the living room.

She returns to the kitchen to take a sip of her coffee and then turned towards Casey with wide eyes when she realised something. “Oh Casey! You don’t even know the people you’re going with!”

“Relax, babe, I’m going to be fine.”

Alex clenched her jaw and put her hands on her waist. “How are you going to be fine? You will be in the middle of nowhere with strangers!”

“Okay, first of all, we have a guide. Her name is Emma Wheatley and she is a childhood friend.”

Alex raised a brow. “Emma? A girl?”

“Yes. Emma. A woman.” Casey says matter-of-factly. She furrows her brows, studying the expression on Alex’s face. “Before you get jealous, she is happily married with kids.”

Alex will never admit it but she tends to be possessive when it comes to Casey. There is no doubt in her mind that her hopelessly devoted wife will ever have the heart to betray her trust but she learned halfway into their early years that Casey can be so incomprehensibly oblivious when it comes to people flirting with her.

“Do you even know the trail? You could get lost and end up on dateline!”

“Baby,” Casey heaved a deep sigh. She stood in front of her wife and stroke the length of Alex’s arms as if to pacify her. “I say this sincerely but you’ve been watching too much television. And if you’re so worried, why don’t you just come with me, huh?”

She went camping in the woods with Casey once because she wanted to learn more about this side of Casey, outside of the courtroom and outside of the shell she’s built for her fast-paced life in New York—her adventurous, free-spirited, curious, and dynamic Casey.

There was one rainy night that Alex chanced upon a sleepless Casey just watching the raindrops pelting against the big window by the living room. She remembers how she was comfortably perched on the corner next to the couch with a cup of tea on her hand. When Alex approached her, Casey told her that it would have been her grandfather’s 82nd birthday.

Casey relieved her childhood memories when their grandfather used to take little Casey and her brothers to go fish and camp in the woods. She said it was always what she looked forward to in the summer—their parents would drop them off and leave her and her two older brothers for a week or two in their grandparents’ small farm.

Touched by the memory and wanting to cheer Casey up, Alex agreed to go to the mountains with her. Casey told her it would be fun and easy, and that Casey will set up their tent and that they could lay down under a starlit sky and how she would even tell her fun facts about constellations. Or bugs.

When they found an appropriate schedule for the both of them, they left for Maine. Casey was overcome with excitement, and Alex, although glad that this little gesture made Casey happy, was nervous.

In the end, they had to circle back to the center and go to the nearest hospital when Alex complained of having itchy rashes.

Alex swore she would never go to the mountains with Casey again after what Alex dubbed as her second “near-death experience”. They both just accepted that outdoor activities would be Casey’s thing, and Alex will stay with playing tennis and riding horses. At times, Casey would still ask if she wants to go in hopes that Alex changes her mind.

“You sure you’re not coming?”

“I will wait for you by the foot of the mountain and you better meet me in one piece.”

Casey rolls her eyes before flashing a childlike smile at her wife. “Okay, okay. See you in three days, Cabot!”

She wraps her arms around Alex and peppered her wife’s face with chaste kisses, and then finally, bade her goodbye with a lingering kiss on the lips.

When Casey shut the door behind her, Alex felt a vague sense of yearning; a quiet ache settling in her chest. For a second, she mentally checks weekend routine to be sure that she won’t have spare time to sulk around the house because she misses Casey’s presence.

Alex bolted outside and quietly stood by the door frame in her silk pajamas. She watched Casey put her bags in the trunk of her Honda.

She debated with herself whether to say something for fear of getting teased by the redhead as being too clingy. She stood by the frame of the main door of their townhouse. “Case?”

“Yes, baby?”

Alex combed through her thoughts before deciding to finally ask something: She cleared her throat and asked whether Casey has double checked everything and packed her essentials: water, bug spray, sunscreen, mosquito repellant, a flash light, a whistle, a hunting knife.

“Yes, yes, and yes. Lex, this is not my first rodeo.”

Alex nods. “I know.”

Casey closed the trunk and then run to the front stairs up to where Alex stood. “Would you rather I stay home with you?”

Alex looks at Casey’s bright, green eyes. Yes, she would rather Casey stays home with her for the weekend. Yes, she would rather have her cuddled up and cozy by the couch while watching their favorite TV shows. Yes, she would rather stroll around busy Manhattan and hold hands with her and stop by for gelato. Yes, yes, yes, Alex wants Casey to just stay by her side so she could keep her safe and love her and adore her and make her hers.

“No, no. Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Go. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” Alex kisses Casey as she caresses her cheeks. “I would really enjoy if you’d keep me company of course but you don’t have to stop doing the things you enjoy just because you’re worried about me.”

There was a tinge of red on the apple of Casey’s pale cheeks as she listened to Alex talk. “Two years and you’re ready to renew our vows?” She teased. “Your ass is mine, Cabot.”

Alex could only give her a pointed look. “Shut up.”

Casey enters the car and puts her car key in the ignition. She opened the window slightly and shouted, “Don’t burn down the house while I’m gone! I’ll miss you!”

As Casey drove away, Alex follows the car with her eyes. She frowns and whispers to herself, “I’ll miss you, too, dumbass.”

[stonedlilac]

TW• Kidnap, CNC, electrical play, forced submission, intox play

Standing over you I peer down at you, almost admirably, watching your slowed breaths rise and fall. Your bare stomach exposed and your breasts perky, nipples hardening from the chill overtaking the room. You may be calm and at peace now but it won't be long before that'll change. When you wake fear will take over and you'll look just absolutely stunning.

The liquid trazadone I injected into your neck is doing a really good job at keeping you sedated. It really wasn't long before you fell into my arms, I only had to keep you quiet for a couple minutes. That was easy. You're so small and frail, after all. And I've been watching you, darling. I know quite a bit about you...

You start to stir, first your fingers begin to flex, your hands weakly opening and closing, your eyes haven't even opened yet. I chuckle softly to myself, watching you come to very slowly. Your eyes slowly open, glazed over and dazed. You've been set up in such a way squirming would do you absolutely no good. I've hidden myself in a place where I can watch you but you can't see me.

You begin to pull at the metal binds holding your hands flat, you've been bent over, on your knees, your arms separated on each side, laying in a metal support. The metal binds hold your feet down and spread to the floor. Your head lays in another support, keeping your back straight and arched, exposing all of you to me.

The struggling does nothing but make you realize a doubled strap is stuffed tightly in your ass and cunt, attached to another pillar. You jerk forward, a pained moan overfilling from your lips. But the straps are so big they fill you no matter how far you tilt forward.

Thats not the most enjoyable part, though. Attached to your cunt are metal clasps, screwed tightly- spreading your lips and exposing your stuffed hole. Every time you pull forward those clasps pull your cunt, and because they're bolted shut they don't let go. This causes you to scream, shoving your cunt and ass backwards- taking the full length of the straps. A pained expression crosses your face but you stay still. Taking in everything you can with the limited movement you're given.

Suddenly a machine powers up in front of you, someone is here. You wince, your cunt tightening against the strap- your lips clenching and hugging it. That's when another strap, clearly controlled by remote is slowly brought towards your lips. You're unable to move, unable to get away- the strap pushes against your teeth, painfully. You have no choice but to open your mouth.

When you do the strap fills your throat in no time, staying there. You gag, painfully, struggling the most you can muster, you start to feel your breath shorten as you panic. Your face flushed, tears running down your face and drool dripping down to your tits. Slowly the strap starts to mechanically reverse, shining and wet from your spit. It stops just at the tip of your lips and you gasp around it, trying to gather as much air as you can.

You hear a switch click but have little time to react as the strap shoves its way down your throat again. Speeding up the machine throat fucks you. That's when you hear another machine start up. This one sounds bigger, scarier. The straps shoved in your cunt and ass start to rhythmically move in and out of your holes, one after another, picking up speed.

I'm still watching you, hearing your struggled gags, gasps and moans, they have made me soaked. But I'm not here to hear that. I'm here to make you scream. I flip another switch, furrowing my brow as you helplessly get ruined by machines I built special for you. Suddenly you stiffen and buck against the binds. Ah, it's working my pet.

Feeling the straps penetrate every single hole, you hear a final switch. Suddenly vibrations start to run through every single thing touching you. But these vibrations aren't pleasant and you can tell. They increase and you feel your whole body tense, you let out a pained, gagged scream. Electricity. There's electricity running theough every single metal piece attached to you. It stops and you go limp against your binds, the straps still working their way inside your holes, pace quickening even more. You begin to feel your cunt and ass tighten against the straps brutally fucking your holes. You scream wet moans through the strap fucking your throat. You're going to cum... you're being so brutally violated and yet you're still going to cum.

The machine picks up its speed even more, the sounds of your wet cunt filling the room, your gags becoming uncontrollable as they mingle with moans. Your body tenses and the strap filling and emptying your cunt turns a creamy white as your cum drips all over it. But I'm nowhere near done with you yet. I flick your favorite switch and I see your body tense another time, don't worry the shocks won't kill you, they'll just give you the best orgasm of your life. I click the strap penetrating your throat off and it slows down until it's shoved deep down your throat, cutting off most of your air. I want you dazed and woozy, my prey. The strap in your ass and cunt pounds in and out of you, your holes gaping and dripping from how hard you came the first time. I smirk to myself, watching you become absolutely strap dumb. The clamps parting your pussy give me exactly the view I want as the machine controlled strap pumps in and out of your hole.

I want to see how loud you can get. I flip a few switches and the straps penetrating your mouth and ass fall out. Now you're just a hooked breeding whore for me to use. I flip another switch and the strap in your pussy goes faster than you've ever felt. You lean forward, the clamps pull your cunt even further apart as tears boil over and drip down your face. You're screaming and moaning, the pleasant sounds filling the room as your wet cunt takes every inch. You cum, hard. Screaming and writhering against the machine, moans desperate and short. I smile to myself, silently turn away from you and make my way up the stairs. The machines still going, your screams penetrating the room worse than the strap is penetrating you. I flip one last switch on my way out, the light.

Placed in front of you is a full body length mirror. I want you to watch yourself get destroyed while I go rest. You see, you claim you can't be broken but this is only night one and you're already a screaming, panting mess. Easier to break than I thought, my prey. And you haven't even felt me yet...

[scpwiki-official]

.:/

[brother-emperors]

CAESAR AUGUSTUS AND MARCUS LICINIUS CRASSUS

this is about the spolia opima that crassus was robbed of lmao. like, yeah okay octavian could've asked him not to claim it, but nevertheless. a kind of theft happened there.

Fact and Fiction: Crassus, Augustus, and the Spolia Opima, Catherine McPherson

[my-chemical-rot]

Not to be anti-psych on main but people act like the psychiatry industry is sooooooooo perfect and helpful and great nowadays as if they didn’t drill holes into people’s brains and literally torture marginalized people with restraints and isolation and electric shocks less than a century ago. The horrors of lobotomies & insane asylums are still very recent and forced hospitalization & forced treatment still traumatize people every goddamn day

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: August 17

“The Grand Experiment” by Doomtree

[the-meme-monarch]

*Repeating 'I am not immune to propaganda.' while looking at your blog*

GOOD the more people i can convince that scc are actually really charming characters the better i think

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[inkspiders]

“I don’t want your copy ‘n paste endearments.” - Ayumi, The Dream and the Weaver

This May, The Dread Machine released their second anthology Darkness Blooms. I was one of the lucky authors to have their story featured and, as imagery was a key theme for me, I wanted to do a mini-blog series about what inspired me alongside drawings of the characters and machines 😊

The Dread Machine’s call was for dark sci-fi stories with themes about identity, community and security.

The Dream and the Weaver follows multiple characters in a future where productivity is lauded and sleep is no longer seen as a basic right. Workers have installed in their brain a ‘Cricket’, which sits next to the amygdala. This nub processes our emotions and is connected to how we retain memories, learn new things and experience sensations.

Should someone start to fall asleep, the cricket shocks the user to induce a heightened state of anxiety and keep them awake. The humans in The Dream and the Weaver have had to adapt, but, just as the Weaver Mashoka warns:

Drain a battery too much and glitches occur. Messages ping that do not really exist. A logical outcome is not arrived at. A stutter. A freeze. The rule to protect human life cannot be properly or consistently followed if systems have slowed down.

Because of this. People have forgotten how to dream their own dreams.

Sleep is sold back to consumers. Dreams and nightmares are treated like any other form of media entertainment.

Dream sharing is managed by two machines: the Dreamer and the Weaver. The Dreamer links up to a database of pre-designed dreams. The Weaver acts as a firewall. They stop dreams from becoming nightmares and help users ease into sleep, as most no longer know how to access it naturally.

Alongside this is the Web.

Society’s tattered webs drape moonscrapers, dulling stars into embers. Thoughts and store discounts travel through membrane-clotted wires. When a child is born, they are held aloft on the roofs. A strand reaches out, tucks itself in an ear and forms a shawl, just as muslin was thrown over cradles to keep away the scary things beyond. Now the Dreamer holds us all, only masking what screeches past the city’s defenses. Nanites squirm in the folds.

Society is connected via the Web, a satellite system linking everyone’s Crickets. Advertisements are blasted into our minds. Politicians pretend they’ve been hacked when a stray, unpleasant thought is picked up by the public.

While what awaits beyond this cloak doesn’t get a mention in the story, it does appear in a future tale that will hopefully see the light of day - Gulls Are Her Crown - once it escapes my work in progress drawer.

Even though the Web links everyone in the city, isolation and loneliness is at its highest. Why waste precious time interacting with others when the good and ugly thoughts of the mass thrum under the skull?

For someone in mourning, with the roar of the mass making it even starker that one dear voice is lost, it must be maddening to live in such a society.

Ayumi, titled the Widow in this story, has found another use for the Dreamer. After the loss of her wife, she travels through the dreamscape searching for her wife's final moments with the help of a malfunctioning Weaver.

Those grieving are barred from accessing sleep in a misguided belief focusing on the waking world, the living, will heal them. Ayumi has to access sleep illegally.

Ayumi wasn’t the first character I created for this story. She was actually the third after the nameless itinerant worker in the Nightmare section and Mashoka. The Dream and the Weaver was inspired by two old drafts that were collecting dust on one of my flash drives.

The first draft, Dream at A Price, was a much darker story without the hopeful ending of The Dream and Weaver, and focused on the entertainment section. Fight clubs where users plugged into Dreamers, which were then called Dream Sharers, so injuries wouldn’t show on the body. The most extreme of battles could take place, while what the mind went through was left to fester.

The main character was the spirit of the Dream Sharer’s creator. She burrowed into the minds of those accessing the devices, setting out to destroy a machine that had originally been created to cure traumatic memories and had instead been cruelly distorted.

In The Dream and the Weaver, the living reaches out for the ghost.

Dreams were imaginations with the collar snapped off or corrupted memories turned strange and cruel by fear. The machine grasped them in its claw, tore a seam open and invited people to peer inside. All at affordable subscriptions, of course. - Old, scrapped scene from Dream at A Price

The other draft was called Dreamweaver. Humans were put under an eternal lockdown, so machines could protect and nurture the flowers A.I. had deemed superior to flesh.

Characters used Dreamweavers to hack into the machines, travelling the dreamscape to reason with the evolved A.I. in the hopes of freeing humanity. This plotline will hopefully be revived in Gulls Are Her Crown.

“They needed a new flavour dream to keep you here. That is why they installed me. I went to the place they dare not let humanity near. To the great oak tree. You saw it within me. You searched and hungered and kept calling, no matter how many times the Observers separated us.” “Trees no longer exist.” There are bone shards in my throat. The more I swallow the harder they pierce me. “We're still waiting for the miracle.” For the land to forgive us. - Old, not so scrapped scene from Dreamweaver

In The Dream and the Weaver, I wanted to focus more on the breakdown of humans/sleep as well as weaving in an emotional connection. This led to the creation of Ayumi.

For this character, Darkness Blooms' themes are shown through the loss of security and community. Her grief has caused her to break her Cricket. Ayumi begins to lose herself in the identities of the Dreamer's past users. The further she dives, the greater the risk her mind will be overwritten by second hand memories. All so she can see her wife one final time.

Throughout Ayumi’s sections, the symbolism used for her are things – machines, advertisement jingles that are near forgotten – which are dying but still have one final spark, and if that spark was nurtured it would blaze into life again.

The Dread Machine have also put up a reading playlist on Spotify. I think, out of the songs, Ayumi most relates to Homecoming – Makeup & Vanity Set and Six Feet Under – Billie Eilish.

I think it’s probably obvious what anime movie inspired me. I watched Paprika when I was around 13, which is a long, long time ago now!

Did I have any idea what was happening? No, but I loved how vibrant the film was alongside the beautiful imagery and suddenness of the ordinary being transformed by surreal imagination. I wanted to see if it was possible to get the wilderness of dreams across in the written word.

Ghost in the Shell’s aesthetic was another influence, particularly the download/upload of the ghosts (although all I’ve currently seen is the first movie and a few episodes of S.A.C. A Modest Rebellion – Android and I is my favourite one so far).

As I wanted to focus on the dream/fantasy elements of my story, I decided to research myths and tools related to sleep throughout the ages, particularly dream catchers. Also, because I am absolutely terrified of spiders, but slowly trying to get used to them by writing about them, spider imagery is common throughout my stories.

Considering spider webs are believed to be able to protect against evil forces, I thought it a good pairing: the sinister effect of a creeping spider along with dreamcatchers that are meant to soothe and protect.

Pixels flutter. Silk cocoons crack, budding with moths. The spider twitches and leaps to the window, packing webbing into its abdomen, until it squats alone in the corner. It drops, legs tickling one another as sticky string spills out. The trap is strummed, luring the moths back. They’ll never escape. I tear the web, wisps hanging from my nails, but it’s no use. The web glitches to the beginning and the spider weaves anew.

The Weaver knows what to do. It curls its remaining fingers around its face. A soft twangy noise, stilted at first, forms a basic tune. The Weaver plays itself like an instrument. Do flies hear such a song, when they come too near the web?

My next post will feature sketches of several Dreamer and Weaver models. After that, I’ll write about the second voice in this story: Seb, the magpie. His section deals with the cost of sacrificing your identity in exchange for community and security.

The Dream and the Weaver, alongside sixteen other great stories, can be read in Darkness Blooms. It is available direct via The Dread Machine’s website – ebook, print or hardcover – and I have to say the hardcover version I received as an author copy is gorgeous.

The Dread Machine | Where nightmares are manufactured.

[persephonesfill]

GUESS WHO'S GOING TO MAKE A BAD FINANCIAL DECISION 🗣️🗣️

[nameforthemain]

I used to assume engineers would have all the latest gadgets and up-to-date technology, and that my engineering grandad was just an outlier for choosing the least practical, more expensive solutions instead of just updating his methods.

And now I'm an engineer and just spent £16 on an external DVD/CD player for my laptop, I'm beginning to think there may be a theme.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Do u think Theon has a gambling addiction

[fingertipsmp3]

Today has been a productive day :)