#In my mind I see so much potential in this concept

[yukurie]

So I had an idea about haunts and ghost territories. Ghosts have haunts and are fairly territorial over them. Danny’s haunt is Amity Park obviously but it extends to more than that: every square inch of the town and every resident that lives in it whether they currently live it in or were born there and moved elsewhere are his and he is very protective, it’s his nature after all, his very obsession is to protect.

Normally multiple ghosts haunting a location is normal, there is a hierarchy and internal logic to how a ghost goes about joining a location to haunt however: when a new ghost is formed or finds a location that calls to them to be their haunt and it’s already haunted the new ghost must find the ghost with the original claim to the location and request to co-haunt it. Usually this is accepted and allowed with a few exceptions of greedy ghosts.

Danny isn’t fully aware of all this however, his living side has been blocking out certain instincts of his ghost half in a mental block he’s unconsciously made to continue having a sense of “normalcy” in his living half of his life. One day a particularly rude and aggressive ghost come through the portal and states that they will take this haunt as their own, Danny as usual excuses himself from the class though those few looking at him (Tucker, Sam, maybe Dash) notice he looked particularly angry (what was that crunch? Why does the corner of his desk look cracked?). As he fights the ghost onlookers notice Phantom is particularly aggressive while fighting this ghost: there’s no quips, every time he talks to the ghost he seems enraged, and he seems to be doing as much as he can to hurt the ghost instead of capturing him as usual. After the fight is over and he disappears (to release the ghost back i to the infinite realms) instead of being gone till another ghost appears (Danny never returned to class), Phantom can be seen floating above one of the tallest buildings for hours observing the town quietly.

Ghosts are ageless, once they pass a small impassable mental barrier is created to separate them from their mortal age to protect their mind from the passage of time, now that more of hi instincts as ghost are no longer being blocked by his living half he is starting to see everyone around him as what they are: children (they will pass on eventually and he’ll be here to guide them gently through it).

Depending on if this is a no one knows au or if Tucker and Sam know it changes from here. If they don’t know: they notice Danny seems to quiet drastically from here, his eyes seem both duller and almost older, he seems to watch everyone almost like an old man would watch a child taking their first steps before snapping back to his normal self. If they do know well they go looking for him and when they find him he’s draped along a balcony of the tallest building in the town in his ghost form watching the town quietly, when they try to question why he didn’t come back and why they heard he was so violent with this ghost he answers vaguely and says something along the lines of “He tried to take whats mine”.

Basically my idea is that some random rude ghost claims they intend to steal his haunt and that breaks down the mental block his living side has created to keep him balanced, now his mind is flickering back and forth between the 14 year old boy who happens to be half dead and the practically immortal ghost who happens to be half alive and who practically reigns over the concept of protection. It also releases just how truly protective he is over his town and everyone connected to it.

Heck if you wanted to you could potentially extend this to dpxdc by making it so that since he practically reigns over the concept of protecting people that everyone who would fall under the titles of “hero, vigilante, or antihero” (basically anyone who does what he does for Amity) and focuses on saving people fall under his banner. A hero saves someone somehow despite being sure they shouldn’t have been able to run that fast or be that strong or stay standing after the damage they took? Danny subconsciously grants them that additional little help they needed to save that person. Maybe batman could notice that occasionally in extremely dire circumstances heroes at seemingly random are able to do things not in their limits that can’t be explained via adrenaline: maybe flash manages to hold up something he isn’t nearly strong enough to even lift an inch, maybe Batman manages to run at a speed just barely under super-speed but definitely over what he knows he’s capable of to save a child from being shot in the head, etc etc

[gracecarstairss]

okay hear me out….tlh au where jesse has always been alive (and was taken in by his father’s family at a young age) and he and lucie are only a couple years apart in age and Will doesn’t approve of their relationship and the Blackthorns lowkey have a family feud with the Herondales so whenever the Blackthorns come to visit London, Will is always trying to make up all these crazy schemes to separate jesse and lucie so they can’t be around each other and I will only ever accept this as canon

[gh-0-stcup]

Idk exactly what went down with Darla in this show (though I do have a vague idea), but I can say they clearly did her wrong.

[butchhansolo]

when i say i like anything in star wars you can probably just assume theres an addendum about it being the star wars ive concocted in my mind. star wars could be so good if it was good

[neofelis----nebulosa]

Uhhh why aren’t the furious 5 in the king fu panda 4 trailer

[nina-ya]

Who do you think is the most clingy Law Luffy Kid Or Zoro ?

Okay okay my first thought was Luffy hands down, and i still think so, mostly because he is not afraid to hold back his clinginess no matter the circumstance, but then I kind of took a step back and realized that each of them can be clingy in their own ways and in differing scenarios.

Luffy is textbook definition clingy. He is not afraid to be openly affectionate towards you. His clinginess manifests in those bone crushing hugs where he wraps his arms around you 3.5 times, or his grown habit of just jumping onto you out of nowhere. He is also the type to affectionately bite or nuzzle you if he is feeling more playful. Golden retriever energy all around. He has no concept of personal space, so expect all the affection to go down at any time of the day no matter who you guys are in front of. 

Kid’s clinginess lies in his overprotectiveness. He seems to be always on guard when you guys are together, and if there is a hint of something awry, he would be first to plant himself between you and the potential threat. This does show through physical touch as well, showing in the way his hand is always on you in some way, or how in crowded settings, he is pulling you close as if it is to show others that you are his. 

Zoro is not the most clingy guy out of the bunch. I can see the clinginess showing in his desire to always sleep on/with you whenever possible. Though, when you catch him when he has had too much booze and he is exhausted, he is suddenly like a large cat seeking warmth. He’ll pull you close, using you as a pillow, sake bottle still in hand because the only thing on his mind was getting to you. His inhibitions are lowered in this state so he is more willing to let that affectionate and clingy side come out. No one dares ask for your presence in this state, because they know Zoro is not letting go of you anytime soon.

Law’s clinginess is more subtle in public, preferring smaller gestures such as standing a little too close or constantly checking to see if you’re okay. When you’re alone, though, he is not afraid to grab you and pull you close, wrapping himself around you and refusing to let go. You could have somewhere to be, but he’ll ask for just five more minutes to hold you, which would turn into ten minutes then twenty. He can’t help it, he just wants to be with you.

[writingwithcolor]

Sri Lankan Fairies and Senegalese Goddesses: Mixing Mythology as a Mixed Creator

[Note: this archive ask was submitted before the Masterpost rules took effect in 2023. The ask has been abridged for clarity.]

@reydjarinkenobi asked:

Hi, I’m half Sri Lankan/half white Australian, second gen immigrant though my mum moved when she was a kid. My main character for my story is a mixed demigod/fae. [...] Her bio mum is essentially a Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy and her other bio mum (goddess) is a goddess of my own creation, Nettamaar, who’s name is derived from [...] Wolof words [...]. The community of mages that she presided over is from the South Eastern region of Senegal [...] In the beginning years of European imperialism, the goddess basically protected them through magic and by blessing a set of triplets effectively cutting them off from the outside world for a few centuries [...] I was unable to find a goddess that fit the story I wanted to tell [...] and also couldn’t find much information on the internet for local gods, which is why I have created my own. I know that the gods in Hinduism do sort of fit into [the story] but my Sri Lankan side is Christian and I don’t feel comfortable representing the Hindu gods in the way that I will be this goddess [...]. I wanted to know if any aspect of the community’s history is problematic as well as if I should continue looking further to try and find an African deity that matched my narrative needs? I was also worried that having a mixed main character who’s specifically half black would present problems as I can’t truly understand the black experience. I plan on getting mixed and black sensitivity readers once I finish my drafts [...] I do take jabs at white supremacy and imperialism and I I am planning to reflect my feelings of growing up not immersed in your own culture and feeling overwhelmed with what you don’t know when you get older [...]. I’m sorry for the long ask but I don’t really have anyone to talk to about writing and I’m quite worried about my story coming across as insensitive or problematic because of cultural history that I am not educated enough in.

Reconciliation Requires Research

First off: how close is this world’s history to our own, omitting the magic? If you’re aiming for it to be essentially parallel, I would keep in mind that Senegal was affected by the spread of Islam before the Europeans arrived, and most people there are Muslim, albeit with Wolof and other influences. 

About your Scottish/Sri Lankan fairy character: I’ll point you to this previous post on Magical humanoid worldbuilding, Desi fairies as well as this previous post on Characterization for South Asian-coded characters for some of our commentary on South Asian ‘fae’. Since she is also Scottish, the concept can tie back to the Celtic ideas of the fae.

However, reconciliation of both sides of her background can be tricky. Do you plan on including specific Sri Lankan mythos into her heritage? I would tread carefully with it, if you plan to do so. Not every polytheistic culture will have similar analogues that you can pull from.

To put it plainly, if you’re worried about not knowing enough of the cultural histories, seek out people who have those backgrounds and talk to them about it. Do your research thoroughly: find resources that come from those cultures and read carefully about the mythos that you plan to incorporate. Look for specificity when you reach out to sensitivity readers and try to find sources that go beyond a surface-level analysis of the cultures you’re looking to portray. 

~ Abhaya

I see you are drawing on Gaelic lore for your storytelling. Abhaya has given you good links to discussions we’ve had at WWC and the potential blindspots in assuming, relative to monotheistic religions like Christianity, that all polytheistic and pluralistic lore is similar to Gaelic folklore. Fae are one kind of folklore. There are many others. Consider:

Is it compatible? Are Fae compatible with the Senegalese folklore you are utilizing? 

Is it specific? What ethnic/religious groups in Senegal are you drawing from? 

Is it suitable? Are there more appropriate cultures for the type of lore you wish to create?

Remember, Senegalese is a national designation, not an ethnic one, and certainly not a designation that will inform you with respect to religious traditions. But more importantly:

...Research Requires Reconciliation

My question is why choose Senegal when your own heritage offers so much room for exploration? This isn’t to say I believe a half Sri-Lankan person shouldn’t utilize Senegalese folklore in their coding or vice-versa, but, to put it bluntly, you don’t seem very comfortable with your heritage. Religions can change, but not everything cultural changes when this happens. I think your relationship with your mother’s side’s culture offers valuable insight to how to tackle the above, and I’ll explain why.  

I myself am biracial and bicultural, and I had to know a lot about my own background before I was confident using other cultures in my writing. I had to understand my own identity—what elements from my background I wished to prioritize and what I wished to jettison. Only then was I able to think about how my work would resonate with a person from the relevant background, what to be mindful of, and where my blindspots would interfere. 

I echo Abhaya’s recommendation for much, much more research, but also include my own personal recommendation for greater self-exploration. I strongly believe the better one knows oneself, the better they can create. It is presumptuous for me to assume, but your ask’s phrasing, the outlined plot and its themes all convey a lack of confidence in your mixed identity that may interfere with confidence when researching and world-building. I’m not saying give up on this story, but if anxiety on respectful representation is a large barrier for you at the moment, this story may be a good candidate for a personal project to keep to yourself until you feel more ready.

(See similar asker concerns here: Running Commentary: What is “ok to do” in Mixed-Culture Supernatural Fiction, here: Representing Biracial Black South American Experiences and here: Am I fetishizing my Japanese character?)

- Marika.

Start More Freely with Easy Mode

Question: Why not make a complete high-fantasy universe, with no need of establishing clear real-world parallels in the text? It gives you plenty of leg room to incorporate pluralistic, multicultural mythos + folklore into the same story without excessive sweating about historically accurate worldbuilding.

It's not a *foolproof* method; even subtly coded multicultural fantasy societies like Avatar or the Grishaverse exhibit certain harmful tropes. I also don't know if you are aiming for low vs high fantasy, or the degree of your reliance on real world culture / religion / identity cues.

But don't you think it's far easier for this fantasy project to not have the additional burden of historical accuracy in the worldbuilding? Not only because I agree with Mod Marika that perhaps you seem hesitant about the identity aspect, but because your WIP idea can include themes of othering and cultural belonging (and yes, even jabs at supremacist institutions) in an original fantasy universe too. I don't think I would mind if I saw a couple of cultural markers of a Mughal Era India-inspired society without getting a full rundown of their agricultural practices, social conventions and tax systems, lol.

Mod Abhaya has provided a few good resources about what *not* to do when drawing heavily from cultural coding. With that at hand, I don't think your project should be a problem if you simply make it an alternate universe like Etheria (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power), Inys (The Priory of the Orange Tree) or Earthsea (the Earthsea series, Ursula K. Le Guin). Mind you, we can trace the analogues to each universe, but there is a lot of freedom to maneuver as you wish when incorporating identities in original fantasy. And of course, multiple sensitivity readers are a must! Wishing you the best for the project.

- Mod Mimi

[darqx]

Snakes on a post

Another particularly long answer dump since i, once again, have a backlog of things to potentially answer |D

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Got jumpscared with my own old art for a hot minute there LAUGHS.

(For those wondering, the naga doodle from here was attached to the ask)

That is every other Royal that exists in the Nether and also at least some of the demons that challenged him for his Royal title lol.

Believe me, no one was or is more surprised then me XD;

So, the thing about where Rire's ichor manifests is that it kinda exists and doesn't exist at the same time. Meaning that his upper back is where the manifestation point is anchored, BUT it can still manifest with a bit of space in between it and his back hence why it will manifest over his clothes and not through them.

So if you touch where the manifestation point is sans the ichor, than you are just straight up touching his back. With the ichor, he still gets sensory input from the tentacles to his back but it's a lot more soft and muted esp the further away it gets from him. As you've seen implied though, he would feel a very sharp pain if a great deal of damage was done to the ichor where it clusters at the manifestation point, since he'd DEF be feeling that straight in his back lol.

He is definitely a top and the only way he would bottom for anybody is if they somehow forced him to.

Ah i knew i'd answered this a long time ago [finally found it]! Holy crosses (those that have been blessed) can also burn him but they would need to be in contact with him the entire time. Being a Royal he also has more of a tolerance to these than normal demons.

Well, unless said person actually has the undeniable ability to make good on their words, Rire would just stand there rather genially with that little smile he sometimes has and let them finish.

And then he might use them as reverse suggestions for dealing with said person (why would you give him any ideas!!?)

both

In BTD canon it is quite possible that they actually haven't in person. But we are using creative license here haha.

Rire heals a lot faster than a human. Cain is not my character so I don't know how his stacks up.

I've grouped these asks cos they kind of have similar answers - 360° (jk sorry sorry to the second q that is just a very common spelling mistake and I couldn't resist XD; )

Now, even though we mashed all the characs together in BTD, they all actually come from different storylines and so their canons outside the "BTD canon" may differ. This tends to bleed in. With this in mind:

The rules of Rire's canon (eg the concept of Battle Royales and how to become a Royal) don't apply to Cain. Anyway, they don't live in the same place either.

Cain is canonically the oldest and most OP character in BTD lol so yes he is stronger than Rire - you might've noticed, but Rire is never in the same drawing as Cain voluntarily. I play with this along with the "natural weakness" aspect - which I've also referred to as scissors-paper-rock rules XD Basically; demons beat humans, angels beat demons (purely because demons have weakness against holiness).

It would (be insane) but I hope you are not looking at me to fulfil this :d

Not really

His coronation day is a public holiday in his sector so yes XD

Aww thank you very much for your interest! ≧(´▽｀)≦ It's really cool that some of you guys want to actually fund such a thing - I'd have thought you'd have enough of him killing you in BTD1 XD Unfortunately, I have no plans for a Rire game at the moment as I'm working on a webcomic which looks like it will take up all my free time (that being said, he will be in the webcomic at some point).

Nope! Although i can kinda see why you might think that lol.

Whatever that one is where he doesn't particularly care what someone else identifies as. It really makes no difference to him or how he will act.

There are viruses in the Nether that if contracted could potentially kill you, yes. Part of being a Royal is becoming a lot more robust than normal Demons though. As for if/when Rire dies, I dunno maybe either in a Battle Royale somewhere thousands of years down the line or by old age (which is rare for a Royal but not impossible if you play your cards right).

If you are asking if he has a heat/rut of some sort, he does not |D

[buckets-and-trees]

This look is so intense, so don't-give-a-fuck. It does darker things to me... And the hair is a bit messy. It got my muse spiraling down a bit of a dirty course of thought.

Title: Parking Lot Chem Characters/Pairings: raunchy!Bucky x curvy!female reader Word Count: 6.7k Summary: In a bit of a loser era, divorced, dirty, not giving much of a damn about anything, Bucky works a bit of an unconventional night shift that leaves him with a lot of time to kill.

Content Warnings: modern AU, hook up culture, explicit and rough smut, oral (male receiving)/deep throating, vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, objectification, naked vs. clothed imbalance, coercion, use of "baby" as a term of endearment, dacryphilia, praise, mild degradation (teasing/mean but not vicious), general dirty talk, slight innocence/ruining kink, implied cockwarming, cum play/marking, sex in a semi-public place

Author Notes: I moved to a new apartment in the spring, and I noticed kind of an interesting thing that happens on weeknights across the street from my place. It got my mind spinning, and months later, I'm finally playing with the concept.

Logistical Notes: My July entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the DEEP THROATING prompt and week 9 of Hot Bucky Summer using the WET AND MESSY prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“Fuck,” he whispers in the dark. Desire and adrenaline rev in his veins at the sight of your headlights parking just where he’d told you to, across the street from the business park complex, in front of the residential apartments.

Bucky’s been working this job for six weeks, and it’s a joke, but it’s a decent-paying joke of a job. From 10pm until 6am, all he has to do is periodically drive a pick up truck around around the large parking lot that services the two business buildings to the north and south of the lot, make sure no one from the apartments across the street to the east or west side park in the lot overnight, and ticket and boot any cars if a resident or visitor is stupid enough to roll the dice and try. Yellow-amber flashing lights affixed to the roof of the truck’s cab, it’s Bucky’s responsibility to deter and keep things clear so that the employees for the companies housed at this business complex can show up and park free of cars, at least one potential hassle eliminated from their corporate working routine.

Eight hours of paid nearly-free time, unbothered by anyone or anything, in the quiet of the night.

He won’t work this job forever, but it sure as shit beats some of the other unappealing options after getting fired from his last job.

He’s read a lot of books sitting in this truck’s cab. He’s played a lot of games on his phone. He’s started putting in a lot of applications for other jobs and even a couple of masters programs. He’s too caught up on news, memes, and social media.

A couple of weeks ago he decided to download a couple of dating apps again, fish and see what’s out there. He’s been divorced for two years now, and Steve and Sam have been dropping hints that he should try and put himself out there again.

Last week he downloaded an app he saw mentioned by a couple of people in chats on the other dating apps - this one known for being a thinly veiled “dating” app full of people who might not be looking for a date so much as a bit of unattached fun.

He started talking to you two nights ago.

There really were plenty of people who were trying to use this particular app for legitimate dating.

But there were subtle signs, particular turns of phrase, avenues of conversation that you could test the waters with to uncover someone else who just wanted to quench some thirst.

And here you were.

Bucky shifts the truck from idle, and drives down the row of parking spaces, turns left to slowly drive down the north side, looking like he’s making one of his routine twice-an-hour laps around the lot, and then takes another left when he gets to the end. He flashes his headlights, and then he smiles as he sees you push open your door and slip out of the car.

“Fuck,” he moans, taking in the first sight of you.

You hastily look both ways - confirming that no one is coming down the road at this godforsaken time of night - then cross the street and step up to the curb just as Bucky pulls up next to you.

He reaches across to push the door open for you - a friendly gesture, certainly not a gentlemanly one, as there is nothing gentlemanly about his intentions toward you tonight.

“Hi,” you say, almost a little breathless. He assumes you must be a little nervous.

That’s cute.

He’s going to ruin you.

If you took any notice of the way he leers at you as you climb up into the cab with him, you would know, and you might hesitate or rethink this poor decision.

But you don’t.

And now the wolf has his prey.

He won’t harm you, but he’s certainly going to have his way with you.

"Hey there," Bucky replies, his voice a low rumble. "Glad you could make it."

You settle into the passenger seat, your eyes darting around the cab nervously. The air feels thick with anticipation. Bucky drinks in the sight of you - flushed cheeks, slightly disheveled hair, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying your excitement.

He puts the truck in drive and cruises slowly through the lot, amber lights still flashing above. "So," he drawls, "first time doing something like this?"

You nod, biting your lip. "Yeah, I've never... I mean, I don't usually..."

Bucky chuckles. You might be lying, but he thinks it’s probably true that you haven’t hooked up on this app before. If you made a habit of it, this probably would’ve happened the first night you started chatting.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me." His hand leaves the steering wheel, landing on your thigh. You inhale sharply at the contact, but don't pull away. And he’s not lying. You’re safe, but he plans to thoroughly ruin you before sunrise.

He feels your muscles tense under his palm, but you don't push him away. Instead, you ease into his touch ever so slightly. Bucky smirks, knowing he's got you right where he wants you. But he will play this out slowly.

"So," he says, his voice low and husky, "what you're hoping to get out of tonight."

You swallow hard, your eyes fixed on his hand on your thigh. "I… I'm not sure.” Then your eyes flicked back up to his. “I just knew I wanted to meet you."

Bucky's thumb begins to trace small circles on your leg, inching higher with each rotation. "That so? Well, I've got a few ideas of my own, if you're interested."

He feels the tiny shiver roll through your body, and he bites back a groan.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but tell me more about you. What’s a sweet thing like you needing a dating app for?” he asks, steering you into conversational waters. He wants you to get more comfortable with him, relaxed, so he can ultimately have you completely pliant for him.

You laugh nervously, a hint of self-deprecation in your voice. "Oh, you know. Work keeps me busy. I don't really get out much."

Bucky nods, his eyes still on the road as he steers the truck around another corner of the lot. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm in marketing," you reply, relaxing a bit as the conversation turns to safer ground. "It's interesting, but the hours can be long. What about you? Do you... always work nights like this?"

Bucky chuckles. "Nah, this is just temporary. Needed something to pay the bills while I figure out my next move."

His hand is still on your thigh, warm and heavy. He can tell you're acutely aware of it, of how his thumb continues its lazy circles, inching higher with each pass. Your breath catches as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and he stops with the circles, but leaves his hand there. He loves that you wore leggings. He can feel every movement of your muscles. You’re stupid for not knowing how intimate that is - or for underestimating how it would drive him wild. He continues to drive. He only needs to circle the lot every thirty to forty-five minutes, but he knows this driving is part of easing you further into this.

"So, marketing," Bucky muses, his voice a low rumble. "That must keep you on your toes. Always chasing the next trend, right?"

You give a small nod, your gaze flickering between his hand still resting on your thigh the unchanging view - familiar to him, but unfamiliar to you - as he continues to drive. "Yeah, it can be pretty intense. But I like the challenge."

Bucky hums in agreement, his eyes alternating between you and the road. "I bet you're good at it too. Reading people, figuring out what they want."

You laugh nervously. "I try. But clearly I'm not that good at reading situations, or I wouldn't be here."

Bucky's hand tightens slightly on your thigh. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I think you read this situation perfectly."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with promise. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening.

"Just two people wanting to spend time together - nothing more complicated than that,” he reassures you. It’s not a lie. And then he leads you down a slew of safe paths of conversation. Your family, your roommates, where you went for college, places you’d like to travel, a bit about your social life. The more he asks, the more you open up. He clocks some of your responses, but he’s far more interested in how you’re feeling with him, the verbal and non-verbal cues he reads as the minutes turn into an hour. Twenty minutes into that hour, he’d been able to park in the middle of the lot, and you hadn’t batted an eye, completely at ease.

Occasionally your fingers fidget in your lap. Both of you have turned to angle your bodies toward the other. There’s no barrier between you - it’s a full bench seat across from driver to passenger side.

He decides to push things a little further.

"So, back to your marketing expertise?" he says, his voice low and smooth.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’m not an expert. If I were an expert, I’d be driving a much better car already,” you laugh.

"No, no,” Bucky laughs along with you. “But you said you do have a pretty good job in your firm. Must mean you're… let’s say proficient at selling things? At... persuasion?"

You giggle nervously, maybe a little surprised at the turn of tactic. "I guess you could say that. Why do you ask?"

Bucky's hand slides up your thigh, just a fraction higher. "Just wondering what it might take to persuade you to do something a little... risky tonight."

Your breath hitches audibly. "What... what did you have in mind?"

He smirks, loving how eagerly you've taken his bait. "Well, we've got this whole parking lot to ourselves. No one around for hours. Seems a shame to waste such privacy.”

Another soft nervous laugh falls from your lips, and your eyes dart around. “I don’t know how private this is. We’re in the middle of an open parking lot.”

“Trust me, I’m the expert in this area, and no one is going to even come close to the cab of this truck.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his words, a mix of excitement and apprehension flickering across your face. "I... I'm not sure," you stammer, but your body language tells a different story. You've leaned in closer, your breath quickening.

Bucky's hand slides higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing patterns on the inside of your leg. "Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice low and persuasive. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

You bite your lip, clearly torn between desire and caution.

His other hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Bucky’s easy smile grows to a smirk. A few more cautious moments, and he knows you’ll be his. His hand slides even higher up your leg, fingertips just barely brushing the junction of your thighs. "How about we start with a kiss and see where things go from there?"

Your breath catches audibly, and for a moment, Bucky thinks you might refuse.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," you murmur, even as you lean slightly into his touch.

"I know," Bucky says softly, his voice a low rumble. The wolf inside him is clawing at his chest to claim you, to ruin you, but he knows he can’t pounce yet. He needs you to ease completely into his trap.

Then you nod, almost imperceptibly. "Okay," you whisper.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire as he leans in, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours softly at first, giving you a final chance to pull away if you change your mind. But you don't. Instead, you press forward, deepening the kiss.

He groans low in his throat, his hand tightening on your thigh as the other slides to the back of your neck, gripping gently. The kiss quickly turns heated, all pretense of hesitation melting away as your lips move against each other hungrily.

Bucky's tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you eagerly grant it. As your tongues tangle, he shifts closer, using his grip at the nape of your neck to tilt your head, allowing him better access.

You whimper softly into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. He can feel the heat radiating between you. His hand on your thigh tightens, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. A soft whimper escapes you as his tongue slides against yours, and he can feel the last of your reservations melting away. Your hands, which had been fidgeting in your lap, now reach up to grip his shoulders.

As the kiss intensifies, Bucky's hand on your thigh inches higher, his fingers ghosting over your center through your leggings. You gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pushing forward to chase his touch.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling darkly. "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he teases.

"I... I'm sorry, I just..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "Don't apologize. I like it."

Like is an understatement. He’s feral for it. For you.

He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he trails hot kisses down to your collarbone.

"God, you smell good," he murmurs against your skin, his stubble scratching deliciously as he nips at your pulse point.

You moan softly, your hands sliding into his hair. The sinful sound sends a jolt of desire straight through him. His other hand, still resting high on your thigh, begins to move with more purpose. He traces the seam of your leggings, feeling the heat radiating from your core.

"Bucky," you breathe, shuddering under his bold touch.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," Bucky murmurs against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers continue their teasing exploration, tracing light patterns over the thin fabric of your leggings.

You whimper, your hips shifting restlessly. "I... I don't know," you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "I think you do know. I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you agreed to meet me here. You just need a little... encouragement."

His hand slides higher, cupping you through your leggings. You gasp, your back arching as he applies pressure. "Is this what you want?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Yes," you moan, apparently unable to cling to the rest of your hesitation. "Please, Bucky."

He growls low in his throat, loving that he’s got you right where he wants you.

You dart forward, desperate to kiss him again, and he’s happy to provide you that distraction. One hand petting your pussy while you pant eagerly into the eager, open-mouthed kisses, he uses his other hand to unbuckle his jeans, undo the button, and lower the zipper. You’re so drawn in by his mouth and his ministrations on your clothed pussy, that you don’t even notice as he finally frees his raging hard cock.

With your attention fully captured by his skilled fingers and demanding mouth, Bucky takes the opportunity to guide your hand to his now exposed length. You gasp against his lips, pulling back slightly in surprise.

"What's wrong, sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Isn't this what you came here for?"

Your eyes are wide, darting between his face and where your hand now rests on his cock. "I... I didn't..."

"Shh," Bucky soothes, his free hand cupping your face. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." But even as he says this, his hips shift slightly, pressing his hardness more firmly into your palm.

You swallow hard, your breath coming in quick pants. For a moment, you hesitate, but then your hand wraps around him, stroking experimentally.

Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Right there. Just like that."

He draws your face back to his, and swallows you up in a wet kiss, his tongue fucking in and out of your mouth, stroking his tongue insistently against yours. He’s coaxing, reeling you back in, and he feels the fruits of his efforts as your hand strokes him with more fervor the longer he kisses you.

You’re lonely. He picked up on that, and he’s using it to his advantage. He’ll give you some of you want to get what he wants, as well.

Bucky breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to see you," he growls, his hand sliding up under your shirt. "Take this off for me."

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, your fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt. Bucky helps you pull it over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes darken as they roam over your newly exposed skin.

“No bra?” he chuckles.

You bite your lip and your eyes dart down, away from his face.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Bucky's other hand continues its teasing exploration between your legs, the friction of your leggings adding to the delicious sensation. You're panting now, hips rocking against his.

"I want you to touch me," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You nod, your hand reaching for his cock again, but he catches your wrist, stopping you.

"Not like that," he growls. "I want your mouth on me."

Your eyes widen, darting between his face and his exposed cock.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he says, but the endearment drips off his tongue with cloying condescension, and he knows it, “You came out here at two am to meet up with a strange guy you only started talking to the night before last. You want to be used. Stop pretending like you’re going to resist. You’re going to let me do whatever the fuck I want with this body.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a wounded look in your eyes.

He chuckles and caresses your cheek. “Aw, you want it, too,” he coos. “You didn’t wear a bra, and I know you didn’t wear any panties either. When I peel these leggings off, your pussy is going to be bared and dripping and so eager for me.”

Your eyes flutter closed, but you don’t argue with him, and he guides you, hand on the back of your neck, to lean down into his lap. "Go on, sweet girl," he encourages. "Show me what a slut you want to be for me.”

Your breath catches. Bucky's words have struck a chord, and he can feel the mix of anticipation and nervousness in the air. It’s a heady thing, and he takes a deep breath as if he could inhale it. It makes his blood run hotter through his limbs.

With trembling hands, you lean the rest of the way in, your face hovering over his exposed cock.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his hand still firm on the back of your neck. "Open up for me."

You part your lips, and he feels your hot breath hovering at the head of his cock just a moment before you finally take him into your mouth. Bucky groans, his hips bucking slightly as your warm, wet mouth envelops him.

"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Good girl. Just like that."

You move slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him, mouthing at the head of his cock. But Bucky is impatient, using his hand, he guides you down more, urging you to take him deeper.

Bucky groans, his head falling back against the headrest as you start to work your tongue along his shaft.

"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take more of me."

You comply, and Bucky's hips buck slightly, pushing himself further into your mouth. You gag a little, but quickly adjust, hollowing your cheeks, and he loves the feel of your soft, velvety mouth around his raging erection.

Bucky watches intently as you work your mouth over his cock, your lips stretched wide around his girth. The sight of you, eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowed as you suck, sends a jolt of pleasure through him. He can feel the wet heat of your tongue as it slides along the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein there.

The wet heat of your mouth envelops Bucky, drawing a deep groan from his chest. Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive underside before you take him deeper. The tight suction of your lips as you bob your head sends jolts of pleasure through his body.

Bucky's fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements. "Yes, baby," he growls. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of his length. Bucky feels the head of his cock hit the back of your throat and he hisses in pleasure. Your gag reflex kicks in, causing you to sputter and drool. Saliva drips down his shaft, making obscene wet sounds as you continue to work him with your mouth.

"Fuck, you're making such a mess," Bucky groans, watching as your head bobs up and down in his lap. "Such a perfect little cocksucker."

He’s watched a lot of porn since his divorce, and even more these past weeks in the middle of the night in this truck, and this is so much better, but surpassing even his own expectations. Too long since he’d been with a woman.

“Take me deeper." Bucky's grip tightens as he guides you further down his shaft. Your throat constricts around him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. He can feel every swallow, every twitch of your tongue as you struggle to accommodate his girth.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his hips bucking slightly. "Swallow all of me."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag around him, but you don't pull away. Instead, you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. Saliva continues to pool at the corners of your mouth, trickling down his length in glistening rivulets.

The sight of you, lips stretched wide and chin slick with spit, is almost too much for Bucky to bear. He watches, transfixed, as your head bobs up and down, your tongue swirling around his tip before diving back in. Your lips stretch wide around his girth, glistening with spit and precum.

Your nose brushes against his pelvis as you swallow around him, throat constricting deliciously. He feels the vibrations of your muffled moan around his shaft and it sends sparks of pleasure up his spine.

"Fuck," he growls. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. That, baby."

The pleasure builds, coiling tighter in Bucky's core with each bob of your head. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want to finish like this. Not when there's so much more he wants to do to you.

With a growl, he tugs your hair, pulling you off his cock. You gasp for air, lips swollen and glistening, a thin strand of saliva still connecting you to him. The sight nearly undoes him.

"Stand up," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You comply, awkward and shaky on your feet in the confined space of the truck cab. Bucky's hands go to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings.

"These need to come off. Now."

You hesitate for just a moment, but the fire in Bucky's eyes brooks no argument. You shimmy them down with Bucky’s rough help, and true to what he said, you’re now fully naked and exposed to him. His smile is pleased, possessive, predatory as you sit back down on the seat of the cab.

Bucky's eyes rake over your newly exposed form, drinking in every curve and contour. He loves the sight of your pussy, bare, a thatch of curls, waiting and glistening with arousal. He licks his lips, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. "So wet and ready for me already."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers ghosting over your slick folds. You shiver at his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Please," you whisper, voice trembling with need.

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Please what, baby?"

You squirm under his intense gaze, cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I... I want you to touch me."

"Oh, I'm going to do more than touch you," Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into his lap. You gasp as you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass. "I'm going to ruin you."

His fingers find your clit, circling it with firm, deliberate strokes. You arch into his touch, a breathy moan escaping your lips. Bucky's other hand comes up to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"That's it," he growls in your ear. "Let me hear how much you want this."

You whimper, grinding down against his fingers. Your head falls back against his shoulder, exposing the long line of your neck. Bucky takes advantage, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

His fingers move lower, teasing your entrance. You're so wet, his digits slide in easily, and you cry out at the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck, you're tight," Bucky groans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

You're panting now, rocking your hips to meet each thrust of his fingers. The cab of the truck is filled with the obscene sounds of your wet pussy and your desperate moans.

Bucky's fingers work you relentlessly, curling and stroking inside you as his thumb circles your clit. You're writhing in his lap, gasping and moaning as pleasure builds.

"Ride my fingers, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

"Bucky," you gasp, "I'm so close..."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles as his fingers curl inside you.

"Please," you whimper, your head falling back against his shoulder again. "I need more."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Roughly, he pinches your nipple, making you jerk and cry out.

Bucky's skilled fingers continue their relentless assault, pumping in and out of your dripping pussy while his thumb works your clit. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

"You want more?" he taunts, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I'll give you more."

Suddenly, he adds a third finger, stretching you further. The additional fullness makes you gasp, your back arching as he drives his fingers deeper. His other hand leaves your breast, sliding down to spread your legs wider.

"Look at how wet you are," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Your pussy's practically weeping for me."

His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that makes you see stars. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly against his hand.

"I can feel how close you are,” he growls in your ear. “Your little cunt is clenching around my fingers."

His other hand returns to roughly knead your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple. The dual sensations send sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You're trembling in his lap, right on the edge of release.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, your hips rocking desperately against his hand.

"Please what?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me what you need."

"I need to come," you gasp. "Please, make me come."

Bucky chuckles darkly. "Oh, I'll make you come alright. I'll make you fucking gush for me."

He increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as his fingers curl inside you, seeking that special spot. When he finds it, you cry out, your back arching. Bucky's fingers continue to work you relentlessly, curling and stroking that spongy spot inside you as his thumb applies insistent pressure to your throbbing clit. He builds and builds his ministrations until you're a trembling, whimpering and writhing mess in his lap.

"Fucking perfect," he praises in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. Your desperate grinding is torturous to his cock, and he could explode just from rutting against you like this.

But Bucky doesn't let up. If anything, he increases the pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a frantic pace.

"Don't stop," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Keep going. I know you've got more in you."

You're gasping, your hips jerking erratically, and then suddenly the orgasm rolls over you like a tidal wave, and there’s a surge of hunger that spurs him on. Your back arches sharply, pressing your breasts into his rough palms as you cry out, your voice echoing in the confined space of the truck cab.

Bucky only intensifies his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, curling to hit that spot inside you with unerring accuracy. He’s seeking even more, pushing you impossibly higher, your body trembling uncontrollably in his lap.

"Oh god, oh god," you whimper and strain.

And still he works your body.

You try and squirm away, but he’s so much stronger than you, he easily keeps you in his lap. He moves his other hand down to your pussy so his right can focus fully on fucking in and out of your hole to molest your g-spot while his left zeroes in and demands more of your clit.

And then you cry for him from both ends, a sob escaping your mouth as your pussy gushes, spilling wetness over him, soaking his jeans and the seat beneath.

You slump, slack in his arms, but try to lean and move away and off his lap.

Bucky laughs, triumphant, and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you pressed to him. He presses a hot kiss to your neck. His other hand wipes the wetness over your thigh, making more of a mess.

“You’ve never squirted before, have you, baby?” he speaks low, directly into your ear.

“No,” you sniffle.

He nips the lobe of your ear and turns your head to face him. “Aw, did I make you cry?”

You close your eyes, and more tears trickle down your cheeks.

He slowly licks a stripe up your cheek, relishing the salty taste of your tears. It makes his cock twitch.

“I wonder what other firsts we can tick off for you.”

You shiver, and he squeezes around your middle. “It was overwhelming, wasn’t it?” he asks, and you nod, eyes still closed.

He kisses your cheek, and you let out a shuddery breath.

“But it felt good, didn’t it, baby?”

You open your eyes and bite your lip, then a small nod.

“Such a pretty slut for me,” he praises, and then he’s plundering your mouth again, and you turn your torso more to him. He plays more with the wet mess of gush and slick over your thighs.

Bucky sears your lips with his mouth, his tongue delving deep as he tastes you. You whimper into the kiss, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. His hands roam your body, kneading your breasts, trailing down your sides, gripping your hips.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck. You tilt your head, giving him better access as he sucks and nips at your pulse point. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against your skin. "I could devour you all night."

His words make you shudder, and his chest rumbles in approval. Bucky's hands continue their exploration, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other dipping between your thighs to tease your still-sensitive folds.

You gasp as his fingers brush your clit, oversensitive and swollen. He chuckles darkly, circling the bundle of nerves with feather-light touches that have you squirming again in his lap.

Bucky's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he maneuvers you in the cramped space of the truck cab. "On your knees," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I want you on your knees for me."

You comply, your body still trembling from your intense orgasms. The leather seat is cool against your flushed skin as you position yourself on all fours, facing the passenger side door. Bucky's large hands run down your spine, making you shiver. He runs his hands over the curve of your hips, down to your thighs, spreading them wider.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for my cock."

You whimper in response, pushing your hips back towards him. Bucky chuckles darkly, one hand coming down in a sharp smack on your ass. The sound echoes in the cab, and you gasp.

"Patience, baby," he teases, soothing the flesh he just spanked.

Bucky's hands knead your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to get a better view of your glistening folds.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "And all mine for the night."

He positions himself behind you. His cock, hard and thick, brushes against your inner thigh. You shudder in anticipation. He groans behind you, and then he pushes the blunt head, angry head of his cock against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asks, teasing you with just the tip.

You whimper, pressing back against him. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky grips your hips, pulling you back slightly. The head of his cock teases your entrance, sliding through your slick folds. You moan, pressing back against him, silently begging for more.

"Eager little slut," he chuckles darkly. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

Without further warning, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Fuck," Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So tight.”

Bucky's hands control your hips, squeezing tightly as he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force of his thrusts rocks you forward, and you have to brace yourself against the passenger door to keep from hitting your head.

"Take my cock like the good little slut you are," he snarls.

Bucky leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he continues to pound into you. One hand snakes around to grope your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. The other slides down to rub circles on your clit.

"You like that, don't you?" he pants in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "Like being used like a cheap whore in the back of a truck?"

You whimper in response, pushing back to meet his thrusts. The angle allows him to hit spots deeper inside you, drawing a groan from his chest. Has he ever been this deep in such a perfect pussy?

"Bucky," you gasp, "oh god, Bucky..."

"That's right, baby," Bucky growls, his hips snapping against yours relentlessly. "Say my name. Let me hear how much you love my cock."

He reaches around to the front of your pussy, fingers work your clit faster, matching the punishing pace of his thrusts. You're trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. The truck rocks with the force of his movements, the amber lights still flashing outside, casting an eerie glow over your writhing bodies.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Bucky groans, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me. Such a perfect little fuck toy."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and he loves the way his words affect you as much as his actions do.

Bucky's other hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, just holds you there, a silent threat that sends your heart racing, and he loves feeling how your pulse jumped at that.

"You gonna come for me again?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Gonna cream on my cock?”

You nod frantically, evidently unable to form words as he keeps pouring and overwhelming you with pleasure.

"Answer me," he demands, tightening his grip ever so slightly on your throat.

"Yes!" you gasp out. "Yes, I'm gonna come for you!"

"That's it," he growls, tightening his grip on your throat just slightly. "Let go. Come apart on my fat cock."

His words push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clenching around him as you cry out his name. Bucky groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy milks his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed.

You both stay there for a moment, panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. Bucky's hand releases your throat, sliding down to rest on your heaving chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, then slowly pulls out, eliciting a whimper from you at the loss.

He brings his hand down to your wet, messy folds, and you twitch at the feel of his fingers, clearly oversensitive. He hums, collecting some of the mixed spend slipping out of you, and he rubs it over your lower back. He doesn’t want you to forget what a dirty girl you’ve been for him.

Bucky helps you sit back up, pulling you onto his lap once more. You're both sticky with sweat and other fluids, the air in the truck cab heavy with the scent of sex. He brushes your hair back from your face, his touch gentle after the roughness of your encounter.

"You did so well, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Such a good girl for me."

You shiver at his praise, nestling closer to his broad chest, your naked form cocooning against him, still fully clothed, only his cock ever coming unsheathed during all of that. He’s edging on a little too warm, but the coolness of the middle of the night helps. His arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him. For a moment, there's just the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal and the faint hum of the truck's engine.

"We should probably get cleaned up," you say after a while, your voice slightly hoarse.

Bucky chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Probably," he agrees, but makes no move to let you go. Instead, his hand trails down your spine, making you arch into him. "But I'm not done with you yet, baby. The night's still young, and I've got plans for you."

You blink up at him, and he ducks in to peck at your lips.

“Let me just take another round of the lot, and then I’ll kiss you stupid, eat you out, and fuck you again.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he stops you with a quick kiss. He smiles when he pulls away and sees your eyes are falling hazy again. He strokes his hand up and down your spine, “Don’t worry, baby, you can stay right here in my lap while we drive.”

He leaves no room for protest, pulls the truck into gear, and goes for another round, looking forward to the rest of his shift.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

Hi. Still with me? We made it!

I doubt the person who does this across the street from my window five nights a week is anything close to Bucky, but true story, someone's in this truck with the yellow flashing lights, and my mind wants it to be a dirty Bucky that I'd make the unwise decision to jump into a cab with.

[nekropsii]

ALPHA TROLLS RANKED BY HOW WRONG THE FANDOM AT LARGE IS ABOUT THEM:

This is a personal challenge, based entirely on my own experience and perspective, and also ranked from Most to Least Correct. I was bored, and thought this might be fun.

Putting this under a cut, because it's long as hell.

MEULIN LEIJON

People get her mostly correct, from what I’ve seen… Most of the time, fan content of Meulin is absolutely recognizable as Meulin, but her pride in her deafness + joy of learning new ways to interact with the world through/due to her disability is always removed, and I do not often see people tackle the Toxic Positivity aspect of her character. That seems less like character assassination, though, and more like a combination of people not actually playing through the Openbounds, people not being able to fathom disabled people (especially those who gained a disability later in life rather than being born disabled) being happy, and general fandom distaste for the idea of touching anything uncomfortable, especially when that uncomfortable topic is highly mundane, normalized, and potentially applicable to them or their loved ones. Meulin’s toxic positivity was, of course, commentary on Tumblr’s ecosystem at the time, so… It was much harder to touch back then.

ARANEA SERKET

People tend to get her general, broad strokes personality right, but unfortunately she gets treated pretty roughly for the crime of Being A Serket. People refuse to understand her motivations, and she often gets demonized for what she was doing around/during [S] Game Over, even though that was something she’d gotten pushed to and also was cool as fuck to watch. God forbid a woman do anything.

DAMARA MEGIDO

People are right about the racism, 100%. It is completely despicable, hard to look at, and extremely blatant. She does, however, have character outside of that. No, it isn’t “whore”, it’s more like “angry, dysfunctional abuse victim”, and she’s genuinely a very interesting and tragic character. But, again, people are right about the racism, so she gets to be placed way up here.

MEENAH PEIXES

She is such a chaotic little bastard. I love her. I really do. Please understand that she genuinely does not understand the concept of consequences. This girl didn’t have a Lusus, she didn’t have parents, it was functionally illegal to tell her “No, you can’t do that.” That would fuck up literally anyone’s moral compass. That’s not me hand waving away all the fucked up and bad shit she’s done, we all know what she did, but people tend to forget this aspect of her character and it pains me deeply, because it is a very genuinely interesting concept that I want to see more of. She’s capable of regret, we’ve seen her feel it, I just don’t think foresight is her forte. No one raised her to consider consequences, or help her experience them in a healthy way, because nobody raised her period.

Also, her ass is not butch, she is the girliest girl in the entire comic. She is about hot pink and glitter and kiss marks and unicorns and cute little puns and you will respect that. She is not masculine. Her ass is not masculine nor is she butch. Let her be her hyper-feminine self.

LATULA PYROPE

Please for the love of god there is more to her character than “Gamer Girl” and “Mituna’s Girlfriend”. You are falling for her fucking ruse. Please. Please. Please recognize that her entire character is about internalized misogyny, and being forced to overcompensate for misogyny in gaming circles as a gamer who happens to be a woman. Please. I’m begging.

KURLOZ MAKARA

His character is not that deep, it’s mostly just a string of events he is mysteriously, inexplicably involved with. The Makaras are extremely Function Over Form- their characters practically do not exist, they're mostly just plot devices that exist to push the story along. I'm sorry to Makara fans. You just invented a guy in your mind and decided he was real. He is also not that soft, though, and his relationships with both Meulin AND Mituna are not healthy. Hard to stop people from ascribing cutesy squishy lovey dynamics to random men who happened to have looked at each other once, though. Some people truly haven't graduated from 2012.

HORUSS ZAHHAK

I am begging people to consider that maybe the biggest issue here is not that he is “Bad Otherkin/Therian Representation” and is in fact maybe the fact that Hussie was actually making fun of Systems when he was writing Horuss. Because Horuss is canonically a system. He uses the word system. He uses the word switching. He uses the word host. He literally talks about his Plurality at length in extremely upfront, plain terms. I don’t know how him being “Bad Otherkin Representation” was and still is the main discourse about him. It makes me insane. That is a commentary that truly writes itself. Talk about having your priorities out of wack, honestly...

PORRIM MARYAM

No, she is not a MRA, she’s just a regular feminist who happens to live on a different planet with different politics and social hierarchies from Our Real World Earth’s USA. Whatever argument you’re about to pull out of your ass to say that she sucks is bad. She already explained what she meant by that, in more detail, very clearly, and she was right. Half the time she’s literally just giving you factual information about what Beforus was like, and literal plot synopses. She isn’t saying anything insane. She’s literally normal. I don’t know why people cannot handle or process this. Porrim has not ever said anything controversial. If you disagree with this you’re either misconstruing her on purpose or you fell for Kankri’s bait, and that’s just fucking sad at that point.

Also, she’s more than a sex object, and her tits are not huge. Honestly, half the shit she was saying was just “I am more than my sex life”, and so many people took that and made her main character trait her sex life. Just pathetic.

RUFIOH NITRAM

This man is a fucking war criminal and I will stop at nothing until he is behind bars for his crimes against Damara. Raging misogynist. Total fucking cunt. Just the worst. If I talk any more about this, this part will be 1,000 paragraphs long. But also, I’m begging people to recognize his relationship with disability, too. He was similar to Meulin in the sense that he didn’t mind his disability, and his biggest gripe with it was the way that Horuss tried to “fix” it… Which is an interesting way to expand upon how Beforus’s culling system is not only very explicitly ableist, but mimicking real world systemic ableism. I also want people to recognize that Hussie is actively having a conversation about the reclamation of slurs with Rufioh’s character, and how not letting people reclaim such language is doing nothing but giving the word power against them while stripping away their own personal agency. Rufioh’s a complicated guy, and he’s interesting and also the worst, and I am really tired of how he gets watered down to nothing but “Pretty Boy Victim Of His Inexplicably Psycho Ex”.

MITUNA CAPTOR

Holy Fucking Shit, You Guys Are Ableist.

KANKRI VANTAS

To this day I see people saying he was just Hussie making fun of SJWs. To this day. To this day people think Hussie was trying to make Every Tumblr Leftist look bad, and that he hates them Because They Are Leftists. When will people recognize him as a bootlicker to the oppressive class and the violently bigoted. When will people recognize that. When will people recognize that this is more of a commentary on the legitimate real flaws of Tumblr’s politics at the time. When. When.

When will people stop portraying him as a lovey-dovey Catholic Whore. I’m going to stab my fucking eyes out and then kill everyone in this building. Me when it's based and cool to ship an aroace character with a sexual predator. I GUESS.

CRONUS AMPORA

I say this with every ounce of sincerity I can possibly muster as a person: What the literal actual fuck.

[ckret2]

Chapter 40 of human Bill Cipher, in spite of his fondest hopes, still being stuck in the Mystery Shack:

As much as Gideon wants out of the evil magic game, the survival of his father's used car dealership rides on Gideon's help.

And, relatedly, Bill's started receiving psychic car commercials.

1981

Ford had been in his study for what felt like forever, staring at the pile of papers and numbers on his desk, trying to stop the figures from shifting and swimming before his eyes; when something from behind him lit up the dim room with golden light and he a heard a familiar voice behind his shoulder—

"Heeey, Stanford! You've been having a lot of dreams about tax forms lately, what gives?"

Ford was startled out of his thoughts. He turned around, smiling in relief. "Oh, Bill! Hello." Apparently he was dreaming. Thank goodness. It explained why he couldn't seem to get these forms to make sense. "How long have you been watching me?"

"About twenty years."

"What?"

"About twenty minutes," Bill said. "I wasn't going to bug you tonight, but usually your dreams are a little more adventurous! You're starting to worry me, kid." He disintegrated the tax forms with a gesture and floated down to sit on Ford's desk, like a razor-thin glowing paperweight. It was strange to see him cross his legs. "What's on your subconscious?"

Ford hadn't thought his Muse cared that much about his day-to-day human troubles. It was comforting to know someone was worrying about him—someone so far beyond human potential that maybe Ford didn't have to worry he'd be disappointed to learn Ford was struggling a little. "It's my grant money," he sighed. "I feel like my research into Gravity Falls is nowhere near completion, but that money will only last for so long. It won't be long before I'll need to ask for more funding, and I'll have a hard time convincing anyone if I don't have anything to show for it, but I don't want to share incomplete research..."

"Ah, money. The second-worst curse human society's ever inflicted on itself."

"What's the worst one?"

"Marriage."

Ford barked a laugh. It wasn't even that funny a joke; it was just such unexpectedly human cynicism for such an otherworldly entity. It sounded like a joke Ford's dad would make.

"Well, money. What to do..." Bill drummed his fingers on Ford's desk, gazing off into the distance as he thought. Ford realized that, at some point while he was distracted, most of his study had vanished, leaving his desk and chair sitting precariously atop a faint gridded plane in the starry blue void where he usually met Bill. Finally, Bill said, "Have you considered buying gold?"

He hadn't. "Will it help?"

"Sure it will! Eventually!"

"In time to help pay my mortgage?"

"Hmm." Bill thought a moment longer, then snapped his fingers. "Got an idea." He floated off of Ford's desk to eye level, strange sigils appearing in white-blue light around him. "Do you happen to know where the people who decide your funding live?"

"Er... the general area." It had to be near the Backupsmore campus, didn't it?

"Then I might be able to help you!" The symbols solidified around Bill. "I know a little spell to help persuade people. It'll let you plant ideas in their dreams—give 'em a little subliminal nudge. It could make some bigwigs come around on the importance of the research you're doing out here."

A fascinating concept. Ford studied the sigils greedily. He didn't recognize them, but they looked fairly simple. "You're not... talking about mind control?"

"Nah, that's not in my wheelhouse. It'll just let you... talk to them! Like I talk to you! I'm not controlling you, am I?" His eye curved up in a facsimile of a smile. "But you'll find most people have a harder time ignoring you when you're talking to them inside their own heads. What they do with that when they wake up is up to them. Just think of it as a way to schedule an interview where you'll have their undivided attention."

Ford pressed his lips together as he thought; then shook his head. "Thank you, Bill, but no. I wouldn't feel right earning money that way. I'd rather know they were impressed by the scientific and historical value of my work—and if I use magic, I'll never know for sure if they really thought my work measured up."

Bill laughed. "That's what I like about you, Stanford! You really shoot for the stars—and you've got the work ethic to get there! You don't want the fame and fortune unless you earn it!"

Ford was momentarily taken aback. It was rare that his muse openly complimented him; on most nights he dealt with Ford with a sort of cool, detached fondness, something a little too distant to be real affection. When he did voice his approval, it was like the sun coming out after a month of cloud cover. There were nights, when Ford was really feeling his isolation in these woods and he'd half convinced himself all his years of research had been a waste of time, when he was half willing to chase that sunshine to the ends of the earth.

"You'll do whatever it takes to finish your research, won't you?" Bill asked.

Ford gave Bill an awkward, self-conscious smile. "Of course I will. How could I not?"

"Hey, not everyone has your ambition! Most people take the easy way to the top. Cheating, copying, riding on greater men's coattails... Some guys earn the dough to buy their gold, others just want to dig for someone else's." Bill spread his hands in a shrug. "Well, it was an idea." The sigils started to fade.

Ford raised a hand. "Hold on. I don't want to use it, but... do you think I could learn that spell anyway?" He smiled hopefully. "For research?"

"For fun?"

"For fun."

Bill laughed. "I was waiting for you to ask!" The sigils reappeared, and next to them appeared an incantation. "All right, I'll walk you through it. Pay attention, I don't think you've got enough time to go over it twice this REM cycle."

Ford nodded, focusing fully on Bill, determined to remember the spell well enough to record it in Journal 2 when he woke up.

####

Spring, 2013

Tentatively, Bud Gleeful said, "Son... now, I know you lost that spooky grimoire of yours. But... don't you have anything left that might help out the dealership?"

Gideon growled in irritation. "I told you, father! Everything I knew was in Journal 2! It's gone! Anyway, I'm just trying to be a normal kid now. I don't want to get mixed up in any more magic. I'm through with it."

"I understand," Bud said, nodding. "And I think that's mighty admirable of you, turning over a new leaf like that. Shows real maturity." He hesitated, wringing his hands together. He pre-emptively winced and said, "But it's just that... business hasn't exactly been booming, ever since your little tenure as Bill's sheriff. And you know I love the fellas you made friends with in the penitentiary, they're all such... colorful characters; but having them hang around does make folks a little wary to drive into the parking lot..."

Volume doubling, Gideon snapped, "Are you saying it's my��fault?!"

"No, son, no. You know I'd never." Bud knelt down, and—cautiously, like he was trying to pet a feral cat—put a hand on Gideon's shoulder. "But, well... business is slumping, that's all. We'll be fine as long as we live within our means, don't you worry about that—but our means might not cover luxuries like those fancy suits and fine new boots you like so much, you understand."

Gideon lowered his gaze, tugging self-consciously on the sleeve of his favorite suit jacket. It was already just a little too short to be fashionable; he probably didn't have long until he outgrew it completely.

"Your mother and I are doing all we can," Bud said. "If there's anything you can do... well, you don't have to, of course. But—it'd be a mighty big help."

Gideon grit his teeth, glaring at his feet. (How long until he outgrew all his shoes? He had a growth spurt coming "any day now," he'd been told. The prospect didn't excite him.) He balled his hands into fists; and then muttered, "There... might be one spell I remember... the sigils were pretty simple..."

####

June 2013

Bill could see it in his mind's eye: if he kept pushing and pushing eventually there'd be no more room in two dimensional space for his mother to fill, and then she'd be forced to bend UP, up into the third dimension, all that open free space. Then she'd see the dark, she'd see the far points of light—

"STOP!" His mother howled in pain. He kept pushing. She was out of room. She didn't bend up. He shoved—and she splintered. Bone snapping, cartilage tearing, he could see inside her thin body as things broke and ruptured. He didn't know what to do.

And for several long, long seconds—he couldn't remember what was happening. The world seemed to bend wrong, and he couldn't remember.

At least, he couldn't have remembered a few weeks ago. He hadn't wanted to. But he'd been studying a book on lucid dreaming since then; and the first things it taught was how to remember more of his dreams. And now, he recalled exactly what happened next when he pushed his mother and she splintered and ruptured:

He pushed harder.

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

"You want me to tell everyone the third dimension's full of dead shapes?! Huh?!" All he could see was blood and bone and peeling skin. "Then why don't you go find them for me!" He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

Her hand grabbed weakly at his.

He let go and jolted back, gasping—and almost retched. What had he done? He hadn't meant to. But he'd kept pushing—but it was too late by then. It was too late by then, wasn't it?

"What have you done?"

Bill whirled around to face— "Dad?"

The green trapezoid looked as sick as Bill felt, eye darting in horror across the crumpled line in the corner. He couldn't even see most of it from where he was—his eye didn't work like Bill's, he couldn't look through the mess of skin to the gore beneath.

"It was an accident," Bill whispered. (He'd kept pushing.) "It really was, I promise."

His father tore his eye from the corpse to Bill's face. "What are we going to tell your followers?"

Bill looked past his father. Through a wall so thin Bill almost couldn't see it, hundreds upon hundreds of shapes were settled, waiting—to see him. He was sure: somehow, somehow, they could see him too. They knew what he'd done. His life was over.

A thunderous voice boomed, "Whooee, what a fix! Boy, you look like you could use a getaway car, couldn't you?"

Bill blinked. He blinked again. He looked up-but-not-north.

A human in a pink Hawaiian shirt, standing on top of the universe, looked down at him.

Bill said, "What."

"Here, let me just—getcha right—" The human plunged his hand through the second dimension, scooped beneath Bill, and popped him right up off the surface of the universe. "Now, if you'll pardon my saying so, you look like you could use a little help getting somewhere far, far away from here!"

Bill stared at him. "What."

"And I've got just the thing to help you!" the human declared. "Aren't you feeling stuck? Trapped? Just can't take your obligations anymore? Miserable you can't hit the road and see all of—well—" he gestured vaguely out at the flat surface of the universe stretching into the distance "—whatever this is? Then you need to visit your buddy Bud Gleeful—(that's me)—at Gleeful's Auto Sales, the finest used car dealership in Roadkill County! We'll get you a set of wheels that'll carry you on the cross-country police-evading tour of your dreams!" He dropped his voice and murmured to Bill from behind his hand, "Warranty expires at the state line."

"What." Bill looked down at the universe—and was disappointed but not surprised to see he wasn't a triangle anymore, but a human. He looked at Bud again. "Are you advertising to me. Is this an advertisement. Am I getting advertised to in my sleep."

"And if you sign before you leave, we'll throw in a free air freshener," Bud added.

Bill stared at him in horrified amazement. "I am going to kill you," he said. "And then I'm going to wake up and kill you in real life."

"Ah, well. That's a right shame."

####

Bill shot straight up with a roar of rage. "Oh, when I get my hands on...!"

"Whoa. Bad dream?"

Bill whirled around with a murderous glare. Dipper's spirit, ghastly and pale, was hovering in the middle of the attic. Bill snapped, "You're a bad dream!" He scrambled after the spirit.

"Whoa! Hey!" Dipper tried to swoop away from Bill toward the stairs.

Bill caught him by the back of the neck. "You are going back in your bo—bed, you're getting in, and you're not getting back out."

"Ow, let go!" Dipper squirmed in Bill's grip, kicking his feet in the air. "I was just going to turn off the TV! I heard it playing an advertisement, I think that's what put me in... you know." He gestured at himself. "The sleepwalking dream."

Bill hesitated in front of the kids' door. "What advertisement?"

"I don't know, it was too far away to tell. But I know it was an advertisement, it sounded... advertise-y."

"Hmm." Bill considered that. And then he flung Dipper's soul through the door.

"HEY!"

"I'll turn off the TV," Bill said. "Go back to sleep!"

Ugh. Everything ached, his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out in an attempt to escape and go forage for food independently, and the world held a vindictive grudge against Bill personally. He trudged downstairs, muttering crabbily to himself.

He wasn't surprised to discover the TV was off.

####

"I'm conducting a survey," Bill said. "Did you hear any advertisements from the TV last night? Maybe have any dreams that might have been influenced by hearing an ad?"

"Uh..." Soos slowed at the bottom of the stairs as he thought. "Nope. Slept like a baby all night."

"Interesting." He waved at Melody to try to catch her attention. "Hey, how about you?"

"Nope!" Already dressed for work, she hurried from the stairs to the living room without even glancing Bill's way. She tended not to linger when he was nearby. He told himself he was flattered.

"Dude," Soos said, "What happened to your arm?"

Bill looked down. On the underside of his forearm were two thick lines set at an angle, burned so dark brown they were nearly black. "Leaned on the stove after someone used the burner. Oops."

"Do you need...?"

"Don't worry about it, it's already healing." Bill rolled down his hoodie's sleeves as he leaned into the kitchen, "How 'bout you, Stan? Hear any phantom ads last night?"

"Nuh-uh. But I sleep with my hearing aids out," Stan said. "The only things loud and grating enough to wake me are a car horn or your voice."

"Ha!" Bill looked from Stan's side of the table to Ford's—and Ford wasn't facing him, but he was glancing from the corner of his eye toward Bill's arms.

Bill turned away without asking anything. No point. Obviously, Ford had been too far underground to have picked up anything. Bill told himself Ford was seething at getting the cold shoulder.

"What're we talking about?" Mabel asked, coming downstairs with Dipper close behind.

Bill looked at her—and then let his gaze sweep past her with the same cold disinterest he'd favored Ford with. He brushed past her to head upstairs. "Hey, somnambulist." He shoved Dipper's hat down over his eyes as he passed. "TV was off. No one else heard anything. You dreamed your stupid ad."

"Hey." Dipper pulled his hat back up. "Jerk."

Mabel called, "Bill?"

He ignored her and kept walking.

####

"What was that all about?"

Bill was curled up in the attic window seat, flipping covetously through an issue of Gold Chains For Old Men; at the sound of Mabel's irritated voice, he merely said, "Oh, hello." He turned another page. "Here to try to make a fool of me some more?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "Bill, what are you talking about?"

"Tell me about those 'Mysteries' of yours. Did you plan your story any deeper than that? Were you going to arrange for me to catch you with a cloak and dagger just to make me wonder?"

Mabel paused. "Oh." She laughed weakly.

"So how many people were in on it, huh? Was it just you and Stanford, or did you have the whole house laughing at me behind my back?"

"It—it was just us two." She leaned on the wall by Bill's feet. "Um, so... are you actually mad?"

He shot her a venomous look, then lifted his magazine so he couldn't see her any more.

"Come on!" She poked his knee. "It was a harmless prank! And you lie to everyone all the time."

"No I don't."

"You're so sensitive."

"I am not," Bill said indignantly. "I'm proud. I have pride. And lately pride's about the only thing I have going for me. And I didn't think a friend would try to undermine it."

Mabel heaved a sigh. "Okay, all right. Sorry."

Bill lowered his magazine to peer at her skeptically. "Are you really?"

"Well, yeah." She leaned against the window seat. "It was just a joke, I don't wanna hurt your feelings."

He stared her down a moment longer, assessing her sincerity. And then he sat up and pulled her into a hug.

She squawked in surprise, but returned the embrace. "Bill! What—?"

"You're sweet, you know that, star girl?" He gave her one last squeeze and let her go. "When you aren't trying to make me look dumb. But you don't rub salt in the wounds, that's what matters."

"Pfff. I kinda think you'd try to kill me if I did."

"Mmyeah, I might." He wouldn't. Only person in this entire dull rotten world who was willing to apologize for wronging him. He wasn't giving her up easily. "Hey—did you happen to hear any commercials last night? Maybe have any dreams that might've been caused by one?"

"Nope! I had a dream about cats fighting a war against an octopus."

"Oh, that one. Did the octopus win or did the lions show up in time?"

Mabel paused. "It's always creepy when you do that. But the octopus won this time."

"Aww. That poor picturesque beach town."

"I tried to get between the octopus and the town when the cats failed."

"Did you stop it?"

Mabel shrugged. "Dunno. I woke up before it reached me."

"Too bad! But hey—you've been making big progress with your lucid dreaming. You'll get it next time!" No salesmen offering cars as war chariots for the cats, though. It was almost a pity. Bill would've liked to hear about Bud getting eaten by a giant octopus.

"So I guess Dipper was the only one who thought he heard a commercial."

Dipper and Bill. "Guess so."

####

The large, empty floor room, down the main hallway at the far end of the house, was among the few places Bill was allowed to go. Except when the humans had some big event like a dance or a museum exhibit planned, there was nothing in it but a flat old sofa, a fireplace he couldn't turn on, and Soos's electric piano taunting him. In spite of its relative isolation from the rest of the household, Bill rarely had reason to visit it.

But when he wanted space to pace and think, there was no better room.

Last night's advertisement was magic, no doubt. And he suspected he knew the exact spell. The Mystery Shack was way on the outskirts of Gravity Falls; probably nobody else here was affected because they were just out of range of the signal. The only reason Dipper had nearly picked it up was because he didn't have his thick skull in the way when his spirit was out of his body.

But Bill's psychic abilities had been heavily suppressed since he was put in this body. How was he channeling the signal so much more clearly than anyone else?

He thoughtfully ran his tongue over his new golden tooth. "Hmm."

####

Bud entered the Gleeful house flipping through a pile of mail. "Junk, junk, bills, junk... Here's your subscription, honeybunch." He held out an issue of Nervous Wrecks Weekly magazine. His wife paused her cycle of polishing the front window to stiffly take it.

"Junk, coupons... Gideon! You've got a fan letter!" He checked for a stamp indicating the tiny envelope had passed through a state correctional facility. "And it isn't even from the prison, isn't that nice!"

"Coming!" Gideon ran out of his room, snatched the letter from Bud's hand with a little grunt, ran back to his room giggling, and slammed the door.

Bud chuckled. "Joy, sweetie, you remember when that boy got so much fanmail he used to throw it out? These days he's excited for every single letter." The corners of his mouth turned down. "Suppose it's good for him, learning to appreciate the little things."

"Mhm." She looked down at the roses outside the window. She'd need to trim those soon. "I suppose it is."

In his room, Gideon studied the odd envelope. It was tiny—barely large enough for the address and the stamp, no return address—and when he turned it over he discovered lines of text printed on the paper. The flap was tucked carefully into a fold in the envelope that held it tight.

As he pulled out the flap, he realized that the envelope wasn't held together with glue; it was some sort of cleverly-folded origami craft that began to unfold in his hands as he pulled out the flap. The letter was written on the inside of the envelope. "Why—what a delightful little creation!" He sat at his dressing table to focus on unfolding the letter, careful not to damage it so he could re-fold it later.

Once he'd smoothed it out, he could see that the paper was carefully torn from a book. The outside of the envelope was made from the last page of a chapter, with only a few lines of text at the top of the page and the rest left conveniently blank. It talked about telling the difference between waking and dreaming.

He turned the page over to read the letter.

GIDEON–

IT'S ADORABLE THAT YOU'RE USING A DREAM COUNTERFEITING SPELL FOR CAPITALISM! I BET YOUR PARENTS ARE PROUD! HOWEVER, MY FILLINGS ARE PICKING UP AUTO DEALERSHIP ADS ALL NIGHT. IT'S REALLY ANNOYING. CUT IT OUT.

In place of a signature, there was a triangle with an eye.

Gideon's blood ran cold.

He read the letter again, then studied the words themselves. He didn't recognize the tall, thin, crooked handwriting. He flipped over the envelope. No return address. He noticed for the first time that the letter wasn't addressed to "Gideon". It said "STAR BOY". Fan mail. Right.

The postmark was from Gravity Falls.

"It can't be Bill," Gideon muttered to himself. "Bill's dead. It's got to be some prankster with a twisted sense of humor..."

But then, how could some prankster know he was doing dream magic? Did anyone else even know that Bill had called him "Star Boy"?

No. It had to be a prankster. If Bill were alive, he'd be doing much worse than sending letters and complaining about fillings.

He crumpled up the letter and threw it away. His father's business needed Gideon to do whatever he could to help. Gideon's own financial future depended on it. He wasn't about to let some prankster stop him.

####

There was a rumble of several motorcycles and a revving car engine outside the Gleeful house, disturbing the late evening still. Gideon came in the front door wearing a little backpack, waving behind himself as he came in. "Thanks for the ride, Ghost-Eyes! Good talk today! I'll see y'all this weekend for brunch!" He shut the door as the engines receded into the distance.

"Welcome home, son," Bud said from the couch. "How were the ex-convicts this week?"

"Oh, great, just great. Graybeard's daughter is gonna let him meet his grandson and Spiderwebs got a new job."

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear. I know you were real concerned for Spiderwebs."

"I shouldn't have worried! He got work at an alpaca ranch on the other side of town, did you know there's an alpaca ranch 'round here?"

"Can't say I did!"

"I think it's a good fit for him. Being out in nature calms him down."

An uneasy silence fell over the room as they waited a polite amount of time to change the topic. In the kitchen, Joy cleaned the same dish for the third time.

Bud cleared his throat. "Well, uh—you know, it's been a couple of days since we've run a 'nighttime ad.' Do you think it's a good time to...?"

Gideon squeezed his backpack's straps. He could still see that spindly text reading "STAR BOY". "Do you think? I don't want to put 'em too close together, folks might notice..."

Bud grimaced. "It can't hurt. It's been almost two weeks since I sold a car."

Gideon scowled. But he nodded. "Yeah, all right. I'll go set up."

"You know how much your mother and I appreciate it," Bud said. "I'll go heat up dinner."

Gideon went to his room, tossed his backpack on his bed, rolled out the tarp on which he'd drawn the circle and sigils in permanent marker, and set up the candlesticks and candles around the perimeter. His father called him to dinner; they watched an evening talk show; and after a little more dawdling, they figured it was late enough that most folks would be asleep, and went to Gideon's room to get to work.

As Bud awkwardly lowered himself to sit in the circle and Gideon lit the candles, Gideon asked, "Father, do you ever... remember who you talk to? I mean, whose dreams you're in?"

Bud considered that, pursing his lips. "No, can't say I do. It's a bit like I'm dreaming myself," he said. "And it's sort of a jumble of a few hundred dreams, too. Like I'm visiting the whole town at once. All I can recall is a blur!"

Gideon frowned. "I see."

"You sure you don't want to be sitting in the circle this time?" Bud asked. "I'd bet if folks saw you in their dreams telling them to buy a car, why, they'd just rush right down."

These days, Gideon wasn't so sure. Sourly, he said, "I don't want to get involved." He'd gotten enough of starring in his father's car commercials when he was younger. He'd thought he'd escaped that completely when he picked up the telepathy act; he didn't relish the thought of using telepathy to star in another car commercial.

"All right, suit yourself. Just keep it in mind." Bud got as comfortable as he could on the floor and shut his eyes.

Gideon took a deep breath and began chanting: "Dreamers, hear me, from far far away; tonight you'll dream of what I say; dreamers, hear me, from far far away; tonight you'll dream of what I say; dreamers, hear me, from far far away..."

The flames flickered and turned bright blue. A purplish shimmery light surrounded Bud; and as Gideon kept chanting, the light expanded to the edge of the circle and beyond, creeping across the floor, over the bed—

A shrill wail filled the room. They both started, losing their concentration. The wail persisted several seconds before it resolved into a eardrum-bursting roar of words: "HI I'M SCOUT YOUNGER AND I'M IN A PICKLE SO YOU CAN DRIVE FOR A NICKEL! I'VE GOT SO MANY CARS I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO PUT 'EM! SO WE'RE GIVING THEM AWAY FOR FIVE CENTS, THAT'S RIGHT FIVE CENTS! SCOUT YOUNGER, I'M A DEALER BY THE PEOPLE FOR THE PEOPLE—"

"Dagnabbit," Bud shouted, "that's the man undermining my no-barter-for-a-quarter deal and getting all my business! He's halfway to Portland—but darn it, his commercials are so catchy!"

"—THAT'S YOUNGER PATRIOT CARS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF INTERSTATE—" The commercial was cut off with a clap of thunder that made them both jump again.

And before the dying rumbles of the thunder had fully faded, a second voice spoke—a high-pitched, furious shriek that Gideon hadn't heard in nearly a year but instantly recognized: "SEE HOW YOU LIKE GETTING USED CAR ADS SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, YOU LITTLE TWERP. THIS IS MY FINAL WARNING!"

There was another crack of thunder; and then nothing.

Nothing but a faint, muffled, mechanical whir coming from Gideon's bed.

Slowly, Bud said, "Is that...?"

Gideon looked under his bed; then on top, tugging over his backpack and unzipping it; and he pulled out a still-running cassette tape player. A complicated sigil was painted on top of the player and stretched over the play button, glowing shimmery purple as though it had absorbed the magic from Gideon's spell.

Bud took the tape player, stopped it, rewound a bit, turned down the volume dial, and hit play: "—your throat in the middle of the night, you little—"

He stopped the tape. He and Gideon looked at each other.

Bud said, "Don't tell your mother."

####

"Third lap!" Dipper crowed as his car zoomed over the line on the digital racetrack. "You'd better catch up fast!"

"Aw, c'mon," Mabel groaned. She tilted her body along with her game controller as she steered her car around a tricky curve, as though that would help her go a little faster. "No fair, I'd be winning if you didn't throw a goose at me—"

"Pff, shut up, you always use the goose."

Bill was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the fish tank—as far as either Dipper or Mabel could tell, having a staring contest with the axolotl—but without breaking eye contact with the tank, he leaned over to elbow Dipper's knee. "Hey kid. Go left."

"What? No, shut up." Dipper tried to kick Bill's arm away.

"Go left. Trust me, it's a hidden shortcut."

"No! You're not even watching."

"I'm psychic. Go left."

"No." Dipper jerked his car to the right. It drove off the track and landed in quicksand. "Aw, man—"

"YES!" Mabel sailed past him. A fanfare played as she crossed the finish line. "The winner! Woo-woooo!"

Bill beamed as Dipper glared at the side of his face.

Somebody knocked on the door—and kept knocking, frantically hammering for attention. Dipper and Mabel looked over.

Bill glanced over, rolled his eyes, said, "You don't want to answer that," and looked back at the fish tank.

Dipper glared at him again, stood, and went to answer the door, Mabel close behind. "Hel— Gideon?"

"Told you," Bill muttered.

Gideon was sweating, panting, and wild-eyed with panic. "Mabel! Dipper!" He paused to give Mabel a sweet smile. "Hi Mabel~♡" And straight back to panic. "We've got a problem! I know y'all don't want me 'round here, but—but this is an emergency!"

Dipper glanced at Mabel. She sighed, but reluctantly stepped back to let Gideon in. "All right. What is it?"

"I know I sound insane, but—but you have to trust me," Gideon said. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, but Bill Cipher's back! I'm sure it's Bill, it can't be anyone else, he... he knows things only somebody with his powers could know!" He paced anxiously in front of the twins, "He's been sending me threatening mail and harassing me and—and I don't know what he's up to, but we've got to find him and stop him! You've gotta help me!" He grabbed Dipper's arms. "I think he might be trying to kill my family!"

Dipper and Mabel turned to glare at Bill.

He was determinedly studying the fish tank.

"Hey, Goldie," Dipper snapped.

Bill glanced over with an expression of mild interest. "Hm?"

"Gideon here says that Bill's been harassing him," Dipper said. "What do you think about that."

"Oh wow," Bill said, extremely unconvincingly. "That's so crazy. I can't even believe it."

Gideon's anxious gaze darted past Dipper and Mabel. "Who's...?" He thought he remembered seeing that stranger around Wendy.

Dipper stepped between their line of sight. "Thanks, Gideon. We'll handle this... problem."

The stranger got to his feet and sauntered to the entryway. "Hey Gideon. Just out of curiosity, what were y—"

Mabel cut in, "Bye, Gideon!" She tried to push him toward the door. "We'll see you later!"

The stranger leaned over Gideon, planting a hand on the doorframe. "—what were you doing that got on Bill's nerves so much, I wonder—"

"Shhh!" Mabel tried to push Bill away.

Had Gideon not heard the voice so recently, he might not have noticed anything odd about the stranger in front of him. But as it was, a chill instantly ran up his spine. He slowly looked up. The menacing smile was unfamiliar, but the eye... something was wrong with that eye. The longer he stared into it, the more he could see the cruel, mad, golden inhumanity.

Gideon squealed in terror and bolted out the door. 

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "Seriously?"

Mabel chased after him. "Gideon! Gideon wait!" She caught up with him rounding in front of the gift shop and had to tackle him into the dirt.

"Get offa me! You're working for him, you traitor—"

"Gideon, listen! We're not working for him, he's our prisoner!"

"Oh." Gideon stopped struggling. "Well, that's a different kettle of corn, isn't it."

Mabel sighed in relief. She backed off Gideon, but had to hold his ankle to make sure he wouldn't bolt again. "Okay, look. We don't know how, but Bill's stuck in a human body, and he's got no powers."

"How do y'all know he isn't faking it?"

"Because he tried to kill us and we beat him up." She winced. "We've... kind of beat him up a lot."

Gideon nodded. "O... okay."

"But you can't tell anybody," Mabel said. "If there's an angry mob or something and he gets executed, the real Bill might hatch from his body like an egg and he'll take over the town again!"

Gideon shuddered. He could almost still feel ache in his legs and the blisters on his feet under the adorable sparkly pink shoes.

"So he's fine here with us. We've got everything under control, he's not dangerous like this—" Mabel turned around to shout, "—and HE SHOULDN'T BE SENDING THREATENING LETTERS, BILL."

Bill's voice drifted from around the corner of the house: "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!"

Dipper said, "What did Gideon do to warrant that, anyway?"

Bill glowered into the distance. "He knows what he did."

"Okay, I-I won't tell anyone. I promise." Pitifully, Gideon asked, "Can I go home now?"

"Yeah, you can go home now." Mabel let him go. He got up and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him.

####

They reconvened in the living room. Dipper and Mabel stood in front of Bill, glaring. Bill sat on the sofa, smiling innocently.

"Bill," Mabel said. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, yeah?" Lots of people thought he should be ashamed of himself, but not many had the guts to say so.

"Bullying Gideon like that!"

"I have an excuse," Bill said. "I've been crabby this week. Body made me crabby. Some kind of human neurotransmitter imbalance. I didn't sign up to have neurotransmitters, it's completely out of my hands."

"That's not an excuse," Dipper said.

"Plus, you're an entire adult thing!" Mabel said. "You're picking on a little kid! He's like, eleven!"

"So? There's not a lot of difference between eleven and a hundred eleven when you're a million million years old."

"Then maybe you're too old to bully anybody."

Bill blinked in mild surprise. "Huh."

Dipper said, "Plus, you're gonna blow your cover and get everyone in trouble!"

Bill shrugged. "He can't prove anything! Anyone could have sent a letter pretending to be me."

Mabel asked, "How did you send a letter, anyway?"

####

"Hey, Soos," Mabel yelled, "Can you send a letter for me?"

"Sure thing, hambone! Just stick it on the pile in the kitchen."

Mabel licked a stamp, haphazardly slapped it on the envelope to her parents, tossed it on the other mail, and ran back upstairs.

Bill crept into the kitchen, peeled the stamp off Mabel's envelope before it dried, stuck it on his tiny origami letter, and stuffed them both into the middle of the mail pile. "Sorry, kid," he muttered. "You'll just have to resend this one."

####

"I have my ways," Bill said.

"And how did you 'harass' Gideon?" Dipper asked. "What could you possibly do from in here to harass him?"

####

Bill sat on the sofa in the floor room with Mabel's boombox radio on the floor, a cassette tape player/recorder he'd salvaged from the museum held up to the speaker with his thumb hovering over the record button, his other hand hovering over the key with the thunder sound effect on Soos's keyboard, an air horn between his knees, and a nearly-dead marker he'd fished out of Mabel's trash and revitalized with rubbing alcohol waiting next to him for drawing a magic-activated sigil. He glared at the boombox as the local radio station played an advertisement for air conditioning installation. "Come on," he muttered at the boombox. "Play the stupid car commercial."

The next ad started. "Bargain alert, bargain alert! I've got more used cars than I know what to do with! Hi, I'm Scout—"

"Yes," Bill hissed. He hit the record button, squeezed the air horn between his knees, held the tape recorder up to the boombox until the end of the commercial, kicked the boombox's power button, quickly held the tape recorder up to the piano, and triumphantly hit the key that produced the sound of a flushing toilet.

"NO!" He kicked the electric piano's leg, flung the tape recorder to the other end of the sofa, and flopped face down on the cushions. After permitting himself a moment of grief at the injustice of it all, he dragged over the tape recorder, stopped it, rewound it back to the start, hit the lightning key several times to make sure he had it, and then set up again to wait for the next time the car commercial played.

####

"Hey Wendy, could you get this door for me?"

Wendy gave Bill a puzzled look. "That's the wrong hallway. Rainbow Club's down that one." She pointed at the door across the room.

"I know, I'm just looking for the restroom! I need to dooo... girl hygiene things?"

Wendy looked at the tape player-shaped lump under Bill's shirt, looked at his face, and raised her brow.

"Okay, okay. I'm gonna prank Lil Gideon."

Wendy opened the door, leaned through, and opened a second door to a coat closet. "Good luck. We're all counting on you."

Bill saluted her, and rummaged through the leather biker jackets in search of Gideon's little backpack.

####

"You've got no idea what kind of dark powers I still have at my disposal," Bill boasted, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head.

Dipper turned to Mabel. "Yeah, he's got nothing. He probably bribed a tourist to call Gideon's house or something."

Bill scowled, but didn't dignify Dipper with a response. "Anyway, the game's over now that Gideon knows where I am. I won't do it again."

Dipper scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Why should we trust you?"

"Because," Bill said calmly, "if I do it again, you'll have to tell your uncles, and I'll be in serious trouble. So I won't... and therefore, you won't. Right?"

Dipper frowned, but looked at Mabel. Mabel was considering Bill with her hands on her hips. She prompted, "Aaand...?"

It took Bill a moment to figure out what she was aiming for. "And I've realized I was mean and I'm very remorseful for my hurtful actions."

Mabel pointed at him. "That's what I wanna hear!" She looked at Dipper. "I think we can let him off with a warning."

Dipper shook his head in resignation.

Mabel said, "But you're not stopping there, Bill."

"How's that?"

"Come on, man, think!" She poked her finger against her temple. "You know the answer! We just watched this episode yesterday!"

"Episode?" Dipper asked.

"I've been using Color Critters to teach him social skills."

Bill said, "I have social skills, all you're doing is showing me what'll be on the test."

"That's how learning works, dummy! I wanna hear you regurgitate that textbook answer!"

Bill opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and pantomimed sticking his finger down his throat and gagging; but then he said, with a blatantly artificial chipper tone, "'If we hurt our friends, we should try to find a way to make it up to them and make sure it can't happen again.'" 

"That's right! 98 points! I'm taking two off for attitude."

"So how do you expect me to make it up to him? I can't exactly un-send him a letter. Unless you're gonna loan me that time tape—"

"Stop asking for the time tape," Dipper said, "it'll never happen."

Bill shrugged. "Then what do you suggest."

"Figure it out yourself," Mabel said. "You're the one who's gotta make it up to Gideon, not us."

Bill rolled his eye. "Is this part of the terms to buy your silence?"

"Yeah, it is."

"All right, fine." Bill sighed and stood up. "Give me a bit to brainstorm. I'll be upstairs." He meandered out of the room.

Mabel called after him, "You better not think you're wiggling out of this!"

"Relax! I won't disappoint you, Shooting Star. Promise."

Once he was out of earshot, Dipper turned to Mabel. "How do you expect him to make it up to Gideon?"

"He should say 'sorry.'"

Dipper nodded. Okay, sure, that sounded reasonable. "How long do you think it'll take for him to think of apologizing?"

"I'd give it a couple of hours."

####

(If you recognize the dealership being parodied, we now share a warrior's bond. Anyway hope y'all enjoyed, I've been looking forward to introducing Gideon for a long time! As always, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts and comments on the chapter!)

[weebsinstash]

Hi I’ve been watching Hazbin Hotel and I found your blog which is amazing by the way , and I was wondering what are your thoughts on yandere Alastor ?

Thanks babe! ^^ so i was discussing this with someone recently and, to avoid doing that thing where I have too any concepts on the same post, I'm going to stick with a specific idea I've had of him recently which I will call "canon accurate yandere Alastor"

imma be honest and say this version would fucking suck depending on your preferences because he

-doesn't love you romantically and doesn't let YOU date

-doesn't wanna fuck you either AND DOESN'T LET YOU FUCK ANYONE ELSE EITHER

-probably does not consider you an equal by any means, like he considers you a good friend and you're charming and lovely and whatever, but he sees you like.... you'd be puking into a trashcan and he's the one holding your hair back, "now see my dear, this is why you shouldn't go out drinking without a proper escort~" like there's a vague layer of condescension and there's a huge massive power balance and experience balance between you two

Like. He's. He's kind of condescendingly cunty to you, he's vaguely looking at you with the energy of "MacKenzie oh my gosh MacKenzie you're so drunk, you're wasted, oh my god let me drive you home, no girl I'm taking your keys, you're too--" like do you get what I mean? He's a traditional gentleman and he comes along and uh, he thinks he sees this raw potential and charm inside of you that he thinks is being wasted by your modern lifestyle which can literally include

- your diet

-your tech use or what you use from day to day

- how you dress

-how you TALK

-how you spend your time

-who you hang out with

Just picture he meets you, you catch his eye, maybe you're at the hotel, and he's entertained by your sarcastic witty replies to his antics that maybe even get a chuckle out of him. You're a spitfire and he likes that!

.... and then the next time he sees you you're like vaping weed from a pen, looking at him with half lidded eyes, playing a game on your phone, too scattered to fully hold a conversation with him, to focus, to be as entertaining to him as before, and he's grinding the teeth in his smile, "oh no, this won't do at all", especially when he sees negative affects such maybe you're watching things he doesn't approve of or you're being harassed idk

I feel like since Alastor canonically drinks and is quite a heavyweight apparently, he wouldn't mind his darling drinking, but he would definitely control how much after a while. If you get too wasted in front of him too many times, he'll completely cut you off. Folks are you aware that getting too drunk can cause an alcohol induced panic attack that can literally take away your ability to move your hands and arms and make your mouth numb. I found this out recently :) whoops. And I feel like Alastor sees that shit and you'd have to EARN HIS TRUST for him to let you drink again and uh, I don't think that's possible

You're kind of like a bestie but you're also like a toy he's playing with and he doesn't like to share. He'll drag you away from doing other things with other people, especially if he doesn't approve of what you're doing and or with whom. He basically views you dating other people as lowering yourself to people who are beneath you and would only want you to give yourself to someone who deserves you, and he doesn't think ANYONE deserves you except him, and he DOESNT LIKE YOU THAT WAY so the man is just like FORCING CELIBACY ON YOU. Like have you ever seen videos of people taking their domesticated lovely groomed pets outdoors and like a stray or even wild animal version of it comes along to. Hump. And the owner is freaking out, "get the fuck AWAY I don't know where you've been" or at least Should? THAT'S Alastor watching 'other people trying to predate upon you' aka YOU trying to get laid or date

You'll be cooking something and he'll come up and try some without asking, "Hah! This is terrible!" and either watch you so he can tell you what he thinks you did wrong once the dish is finished or he takes over and asserts that he wants to show you to do it "the proper way!" and if you're female he potentially inserts a comment about how as a lovely lady you should know your way around a kitchen (in like a positive "I'll show you so you can know for yourself" way but like the underlying misogyny is there lol)

He'll take you out drinking and dancing but don't you dare let him catch you throwing it back or being mildly sexual, or he'll immediately tell you you've had too much to drink and take you home and you two spend the rest of the night like drinking tea listening to the radio, reading books, or watching old timey TV.

Lastly... I can absolutely see Alastor making some kind of deal with his darling for their soul. He CAN do that (and I think technically anyone in Hell can deal with souls, it's apparently part of the becoming an Overlord process). But I can just see him taking his darling's soul in exchange for anything, it might be really small, it might be really important, but he sees it as safeguarding your beautiful lovely little soul from anyone else who might take it. It truly is like THE HIGHEST FORM OF OWNING YOU, CONTROLLING YOU. It's all according to whatever is in the deal, but I'm sure there's other basic caveats you get... like him being able to summon you at will if you agree to it so he's randomly yanking you away from other people or tracking you when he doesn't know when you are.... or restraining you so you stop running away from him and running out on the town to act so... vulgar

[thewistlingbadger]

Is Spider-Gwen trans: An analysis

After leaving the theater yesterday for Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse, one thought sat in my mind: could Gwen be trans? This may seem like a reach, but just hear me out.

1. Trans Flags

There are two trans flags that I spotted in the movie, both of them are in Gwen's home. In Gwen's room, a small trans flags with the phrase "Protect trans kids" hangs above her doorway. Now, if Gwen isn't trans, then why would she have a trans flag in her room? Most ally's wouldn't have a trans flag in their room. Maybe someone she's close to is trans? There's only 3 people Gwen has in her life. Her father, her dead best friend, and Miles. There isn't any evidence to suggest that any of them are trans. Especially her dad and Peter, since they didn't have much screen time. The phrase is an important clue too. If she was just an ally, why the phrase "Protect trans kids"? Why not "trans rights are human rights"? That phrase is equally as popular and it's more general. Protect trans kids is personal and usually refers to anti trans legislation that affects minors. Gwen is a minor, so is it really too unbelievable to suggest that she has the flag because she's trans?

The second flag is a patch on Gwen's dad's police jacket. Does this flag mean that her dad is trans? Or, is this a dad wearing a trans flag in support of his daughter?

2. Color theory

This is a weak point, but I'm going to include it anyway. Gwen's world is full of pastels. In fact, in most scenes with Gwen in her dimension, the colors light blue, light pink, and white are in the background. Those are literally the colors of the trans flag

3. Spiderman as a trans allegory.

Now, it's no secret that a lot of trans people like the character/concept of Spiderman. For a long time, I, as a fellow trans person, didn't understand the obsession until seeing this movie. A main theme of this movie, if not Mile's franchise, is that anyone can be Spiderman. Anyone can wear the mask, each Spiderperson is unique. Spiderman isn't really a person, it's a concept, and that's why its so applicable to everyone, regardless of who they are. Spiderman is a good person with a "secret" identity who goes trough struggles and also lives a "double life". And when you look at the story like that, the trans allegory becomes clear. Across the spiderverese is a brilliant movie with an abundance of representation. To black spiderpeople, Indian spiderpeople, disabled spiderpeople, hijabi spiderpeople, even spiderpeople who are cowboys and all sorts of other different variants. If all these different people can be Spiderman at the same time, then who's to say there isn't a trans spider person? And who's to say that person isn't Gwen?

So, is Gwen Stacy trans? I don't know, and I'm not saying she is. But I think it's entirely possible and the fact that it is, the fact that any spiderperson could potentially be queer, is something to be celebrated because it opens more doors for representation.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Reversing Victim and Offender

Okay, okay, hear me out.

Jack being a creepy manipulative yandere.

Yes, yes, I know, totally a revolutionary idea there to have a yandere horror game’s antagonist do something creepy and wrong. It’s just that I don’t often play with Jack losing himself to his more depraved impulses. Long time readers know I tend to be quite a marshmallow who prefers the fluffier side of things, as evidenced by many cuddly posts of my OTP and Sunshine in Hell being overall a softer version of the game, but sometimes it’s fun to watch the world burn and see the characters we love get to be a bit unhinged. As a treat.

Content Warning: this post is about Jack being a naughty manipulative yandere, attempted murder, influenced attempted self-murder, possession, mental manipulation, bloody violence, and a sprinkle of horny.

We know Jack can be a manipulative little devil when it comes to keeping his sunshine. We’ve seen him use his honeyed words to lure MC into his arms in the previous demos. We’ve seen the classic chilling concept art where he talks his rival(?) into doing the dirty work for him when he wants them gone.

Credit as always goes to Sauce for their awesome art, as well as a quick plug to the SnaccPop Patreon. Speaking of the Patreon, there’s a members only post on this very topic, an absolutely chilling audio drama of Jack using his state as a ghost(?) to his advantage.

It seems that Jack has the ability to possess people, and his modus operandi in eliminating his rivals seems to be tormenting them to the point of self-harm. Nick received a taste of that in the older demo, and in the now removed trailer.

But what if the person Jack directed his rival to hurt wasn’t themselves?

Jack is of the opinion that MC’s friends (and potential love interests) are inferior to him, as we’ve seen in his profile. MC doesn’t need them, as Jack says in this unsettling animation by Sauce, as well as many other development art. He proves this by giving MC whatever they want and need, being whatever they want and need him to be. No one else would do that for MC, so that proves that the only one they need is him.

To some degree, MC seems to believe that, at least during the early part of the game. As we can see in the “No” route, MC is dependent on Jack, panicking when they can no longer touch him.

The idea of losing Jack terrifies MC.

What happened to Jack clearly disturbed him, as we saw by his haunted look, but perhaps he found some comfort in the fact that MC was so upset by it. It might at least reassure him that they care, even if it might not be as much as he wants them to.

As I’ve theorized in previous posts, Jack and MC seem to be able to sense each other’s feelings, and it was implied that Jack can read their mind, as well as impress his thoughts into theirs. Perhaps he even felt their fear and desperation at that moment… as well as their need to keep him.

As scary as that moment was, Jack might have been able to get some pleasure out of feeling his sunshine’s need for him, don’t you think?

Jack won’t disappear as long as MC needs him, and he doesn’t want them to feel unhappy or hurt, but wouldn’t being with other people trying to steal them away from him hurt them more in the long run? MC doesn’t see what Jack does, how much of a threat those rivals other “friends” are.

After all… Ian was someone MC once held so dear, and he hurt them so, so badly. He’s trying to come back into their lives, and MC clearly still cares about him even if they’re trying to move on. How can Jack just stand idly by and let MC get hurt again when they don’t see just how bad Ian is for them?

MC might not be able to see how Ian and the other love interests could hurt them, but perhaps Jack could show his beloved sunshine just how cruel they can be.

Of course, Jack doesn’t want MC to get hurt. He would never! But, well, some lessons can be a bit harsher than others. Learning them can sting a bit and even make us upset, but as long as the lesson doesn’t do lasting harm and improves things for them, well, then it’s a good lesson!

Besides, this lesson will hurt Jack more than it hurts MC… in the most literal sense.

This classic audio drama of Jack’s villainous monologue makes me think that he’ll eventually find a way to become much more tangible in the real world. Sure, he could be saying all this while possessing his rival, but it seems more like a face-to-face confrontation. Naturally, for a face-to-face confrontation, Jack would need a face that’s actually visible to the person he’s taunting.

Perhaps the closer Jack gets to MC, the more they love him, the more real he becomes. It could be a reversal of what happened in the “No” route. If that were to happen, Jack could converse with other people directly… and perhaps convince them to leave MC to him.

If they just won’t go away, well… Jack could always push their buttons, upset them to the point that they have violent urges, only these feelings would be directed at him.

While MC is there to see that person unleash their bloody rage on Jack, of course.

As we’ve seen in earlier concept art, Jack didn’t feel pain when being stabbed, and perhaps that might still be true. But MC doesn’t need to know that when Jack says he’s okay and that it doesn’t hurt, it really doesn’t. All they see is Ian, Shaun, Nick, or whoever else suddenly snapping and attacking Jack with a knife for no apparent reason at all, leaving him bloody and wounded in front of them, trying to act brave for their sake like he did in the “no” route.

Jack doesn’t want MC to be unhappy, but perhaps he might get to enjoy a guilty thrill if they got upset for his sake, especially if he could feel them being so protective over him. Their worry for his injuries and outrage that he was attacked… You could say that it’s another way for his sunshine to show him just how much they love him. It might even make him feel a bit more secure, more real.

Jack could even prep his target beforehand via possession, tormenting that person until they’re close to snapping. In the now gone trailer, Shaun sounds unhinged, saying what he’s doing is so wrong… Shaun sounds like someone pushed to do things he never thought himself capable of doing, and likely it was Jack who did the pushing.

All Jack has to do is pull the trigger at the right moment, when MC is there to see their other friend snap. He could use a phrase or gesture that seems so innocent as a means to torment them until they can no longer help themselves when they hear it. He could’ve urged them to carry a knife with them at all times.

Hell, Jack could’ve outright possessed their arm with his powers, unseen by everyone, to make his target stab him in front of MC.

So, as far as MC is aware, Jack being his typical friendly self, when all of a sudden their other friend loses their mind and stabs Jack, likely while shouting something unhinged. It paints a vivid bloody picture of their friend as the antagonist, and Jack as the innocent victim.

Even if the rival snaps out of it right afterward, horrified at what they had done, if Jack covered his tracks well enough, their protests would be empty. It’d just look like empty excuses.

Or perhaps they hate Jack, really hate him, but they have no solid evidence why Jack is a bad person. They could wind up digging the hole even deeper if they doubled down on their act of violence.

It would be really hard to claim that Jack is the dangerous entity when they were the one who suddenly stabbed Jack without apparent provocation after all. It’d just make them look even more unstable and dangerous.

Sure, it’d be an awful thing for MC to see, but at least they’re not the one that got attacked. Jack bravely made sure that he was the only one whose blood was spilled. He might not even really feel pain like they would if he can handle being stabbed, rotted, and bleeding and keep going, as some teasers and concept art have shown.

Personally I think Jack can feel pain, but it’s nothing compared to the 40 years of hell, or the fear of losing his sunshine.

A little pain is worth it to keep his sunshine. Forever.

The idea of losing Jack bloodlessly and painlessly is scary enough for MC. Seeing someone attack him, maybe even outright trying to kill him would be far, far worse. MC was so desperate to keep Jack from disappearing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to expect that they would rush to his defense to save his life.

This is especially true if their feelings for Jack are so strong that he’s able to physically manifest now.

The moment would be a scarring memory for MC, but sometimes lessons can be harsh when we learn them. MC would at least know how inferior their other friends are compared to Jack, how harmful and dangerous they are. Those people don’t deserve to be in MC’s life, and it’s in their best interests to never see those people again.

Jack would also get to enjoy the perverse pleasure of knowing just how much MC cares about them, how much they love him. They could even nurse him back to health after they chase away that inferior friend for good. He can be pampered, appreciated, and loved. MC will better understand just how important Jack is to them, how much they need him, and how terrible the person who tried to take them away truly is.

Really, it goes to show that MC should listen to Jack more when he says he’s not so sure about them spending time with a particular person, don’t you think?

Of course, how well this ploy goes depends on MC’s compassion. Given what we’ve seen so far of the story, MC does care about Jack, and most people will at least be upset and alarmed that someone was stabbed in front of them. An MC that has strong feelings for Jack and deeply loves him will no doubt be enraged.

This sort of messed up scenario reminded me of how the Bad End AU went so horribly wrong, only Shaun and Ian knew to target the tape there, rather than Jack directly. Alice was hesitant to do more than plead for the three to stop, not wanting any of them to be hurt, and the result was the tape getting destroyed and Jack banished.

The altercation between them was vague, but what if we went down another dark path? What if Jack pushed Ian and Shaun, but they never found out about the tape, and they focused on Jack himself despite his imposing size.

Once I made that comparison between this idea and the Bad End AU, I got inspired to write a quick first draft flash fic about a timeline where Jack gives in to his darker impulses.

The story of Sunshine in Hell is one of broken people helping each other heal and become better versions of themselves.

The Bad End AU is what happens when the wrong choices are made and things only get so much worse.

By the way, for those wondering, a third part of the Bad End AU is in the works. This isn’t it, but more like a different option taken during a critical moment that resulted in blood being spilled instead of bits of plastic and torn VHS tape ribbon.

 From wholesome to unhinged, my posts truly run the gambit of different sides to Sunny Day Jack. I hope you enjoy this little snippet of Jack getting worse instead of better, and taking perverse glee in bringing Alice along with him down a twisted path.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

…

Jack hated to see his sunshine upset. He ached for Alice every time she was in pain. There was nothing he wanted more than to see her smile, to bask in her warm, happy glow.

The last thing Jack wanted was to be the reason Alice was upset, and yet…

Somehow things had grown twisted. Jack crossed lines he knew that he shouldn’t, but somehow he always found ways to justify it. Somehow his fears of losing Alice were always stronger than the little voice in his head telling him that what he was doing wasn’t right.

Sadly, not everything in life could be solved with polite words and a smile.

Things had grown twisted until they spiraled out of control. Ian and Shaun dared to invade their home, their sanctuary. They wanted to take Alice away from him, to “save” her from his “wicked clutches” like Jack was just some cartoon bad guy.

All the things the two said about him were ridiculous, exaggerations! Jack feigned ignorance of their accusations, his confused act flawless. There was no reason for them to be afraid of him. He was just an innocent clown, someone who lived to take care of others, particularly his precious sunshine Alice.

Alice believed Jack had nothing to do with their accusations, but she didn’t chase them away. She listened, worried for them despite her faith in him. It warmed his heart that she believed in him, but the fact that she still listened meant that there was room for doubt to worm its way in.

Ian and Shaun could see that too.

“This… thing is dangerous, Alice,” Shaun said with a tremor in his voice. His eyes couldn’t remain still, bouncing between pleading with Alice and watching for when Jack pounced on them like a venomous cobra. “You need to get away from it right now.”

“You have to believe us!” Ian insisted, his voice cracking desperately. He kept one hand in his pocket, his shaking hand clutching his only form of defense tight. Would it even work on a ghost or whatever Jack was?

Could Jack even bleed?

Jack stood between the invaders and his sunshine. They had tried to take her with him, but he snatched up Alice before they could steal her away and tucked her safely behind his back. He kept one hand on her arm, his hold on her deceptively light, but as unshakable as iron. His expression was innocence itself, showing nothing but a mask of confused concern directed at the two terrified men before him. “Take it easy now. There’s no danger here. Let’s all take a deep breath and try to calm down.”

“Don’t give me that nice guy shit!” Shaun snapped as he glared daggers into Jack. His soothing words were grating in his ears, putting him even more on edge. “You’re more fake than a corporate account with a rainbow logo during pride!” His gaze switched back to Alice. “Alice, please, listen to us. This thing has been torturing us for months now.”

Alice felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. The way Shaun looked at her made her heart go out to him, but… how could it be true. “Torture-”

“Hey now, that’s a strong word to use there,” Jack said. His voice took on a more firm tone to it, but nothing more threatening than the gentle chastising he gave children on his show. “What makes you think I would hurt either of you?”

“Cut the bullshit!” Shaun snarled. “You know damn well you’ve been giving us nightmares for months now!”

“I gave you nightmares?” Jack asked. The confusion on his face was so convincing that Shaun and Ian might have questioned themselves if not for the countless sleepless nights filled with torment. “How could I do that?”

“With some sort of supernatural ghost zombie demon bullshit, I don’t know!” Shaun snapped.

“Alice, you can’t trust him,” Ian said, tightening his grip inside his pocket. Dark circles ringed his shaking eyes as he kept looking from Jack to the hand the creature had on Alice. “Why can’t you see that?”

How was Alice able to stand so close to that monster? Why was she standing behind it as if it would protect her? How could she not see that it was holding her hostage? How could she stand that thing’s cold, lifeless touch? Seeing its hand on her made Ian relieve those countless nights spent lost in a place that felt too real to be a dream, but too horrible to be reality.

The Jack before them now wasn’t exactly the same as the rotted, bloody corpse that haunted them night after night. That thing with mocking smiles that were too wide and wild, and strange eyes that had nothing behind them. This wasn’t the kind and caring boyfriend Alice talked about. This thing was a monster that only knew how to take and take and take. Its touch stole something from Ian every time it laid its hands on him, and left behind a coldness that went far beyond cold. It stole the very warmth from him until it was as if it never existed. It stripped Ian of his senses one at a time until there was nothing but its absence hissing at him like static.

And that voice. That voice mocked him even when the world went so silent that Ian couldn’t even hear his own screams. That thing was trying to sound compassionate now, but that was a lie. It twisted the truth until it was unrecognizable, but so believable. It sounded so calm and kind at the start of every nightmare, even as it told Ian so many, many terrible things, tore open old wounds and exposed all his flaws.

Ian was a sinner damned for hell. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near someone as kind and gentle as Alice. That thing made it all too clear to him.

The thing countered his protests, even laughed, because they were so feeble. Ian was so selfish, so worthless.

That voice would then mock him, so superior, so much better than Ian in every way. He would never forget the sound of that voice, or that smile.

The smile Jack offered him now was supposed to be an encouraging one, but Ian knew that it was fake. He knew what the hand held before him in a placating gesture was a ruse to get just a little closer.

If Jack touched either of them it was all over. Now that they exposed the truth about it to Alice…

Who knew what it would take from Ian if it got its hands on him again?

“Let’s all calm down now,” Jack said soothingly. “Come on, take a deep breath with me.” He gestured to his chest as he inhaled, which only served to remind Ian and Shaun of just how much bigger he was than all of them.

Ian jerked at Jack’s sudden movement, his breath hitching as that gloved hand drifted close to him.

“There now,” Jack said encouragingly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The words struck harder than any blow.

There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

It was such an innocent phrase, something that would have been encouraging if Shaun and Ian hadn’t heard it in countless nightmares, spoken in mocking tones or breathless whispers, with fake reassurance or a true perverse glee. The monster praised them when they ran from the illusion of Alice, when they admitted that they were flawed and worthless, when they surrendered to his taunts…

When they accepted the knife it pressed into their hands to carve a smile in their throats to match its own.

Shaun flinched back while Ian tensed, his eyes wide and wild as Jack slowly reached out for him with an open palm and a smile. It was such a deceptively innocent gesture…

Instinct took over. A flash of silver and a cry broke the air as Ian used the knife he had hidden away in his pocket all this time to take back what Jack had stolen away from him.

Time slowed down as blood sprayed from the gouge carved from Jack’s hand to his forearm. He cried out in pain as he reeled back, then collapsed to the floor.

Shaun froze at the attack, staring at the bloody knife and wound it left behind in shock. It was as if he was watching a scene from one of his movies unfold before him, not real in the slightest, even though some of the blood splattered onto his face and clothes.

Ian held the knife in both hands tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. The blade shook in his too tight grip, then the rest of him soon followed as it sunk in what he had just done.

This was just another dream… right? Ian didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he just couldn’t let Jack touch him, not again. Not in reality. Not when he couldn’t wake up. He couldn’t let Jack take everything from him.

Ian couldn’t let Jack hurt him again.

Everything had happened so fast. Alice didn’t know what to make of it when Ian and Shaun practically forced their way into her apartment, throwing out wild accusations. They were jittery and on edge, hurling out vitriol towards Jack and pleas to her before she could sort out the accusations they made. They grabbed at her without warning, yanking hard while their fingers dug into her arms hard enough to bruise. It was only thanks to Jack acting quickly to separate them that she hadn’t been dragged outside.

They scared her. Alice worried for them, but their actions weren’t normal. The look in their eyes was terrifying. Ian and Shaun had been acting cagey for weeks now, avoiding her and not responding to her texts. She never saw this coming.

Jack reassured her with his gentle touch and soothing words. Alice could see that he was alarmed by their behavior as well, but he did his best to keep calm, to protect her when her friends were acting so strangely.

There was no way Jack was this monster they described. He was the kindest, gentlest soul Alice had ever known. He chased away her nightmares, comforted her when she needed it, and was there for her when she was left all alone.

Jack loved her more than anyone else in the world.

Alice barely had time to wonder about their claims when Ian struck without warning. When Jack screamed, her blood turned to ice. Red filled her vision.

There was so much blood.

“Jack!”

Alice moved before she could really register what was happening, her scream sounding far away as her heartbeat pounded hard in her ears. She threw herself between Jack and his attacker, falling to her knees as used her body as a shield. She clung to him, her best friend, her beloved, heedless of the blood soaking into her clothes, then turned her gaze to the monster that had dared to hurt the one she loved.

The ice in that gaze froze Ian, and the knife fell from his limp fingers. Suddenly he was all too aware of what he had done, the blood on his hands. He stared at them, at the sin he had committed, shaking and red, until he collapsed into a pool of tears.

“How could you?” Alice hissed, forcing the words out through her constricted throat. “How could you!?”

The world started to move again. Ian tried to say something, perhaps some form of protest or apology, but the words were half-formed and drowned in his tears. Shaun stared between the bloodstained knife and Jack, who lay curled against Alice, quietly whimpering while bleeding all over the carpet.

Shaun couldn’t reconcile the scene before him of the wounded man, weak and in pain, against the monster from his dreams that smiled through any attack he made. No matter how many times he stabbed Jack in the dream, the undead creature would just mock him, unfazed even as its blood was spilled.

Was this really the same monster that haunted them for months?

It was this dissonance that made Ian truly aware of the sin he had committed. He couldn’t handle it. He fled.

“Get out!” Alice snapped, bringing Shaun’s attention back from her and away from the fleeing Ian. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Shaun staggered a step back. “A-Alice, I-”

“Get the fuck out!” Alice shrieked. “I never want to see either of you ever again! If you ever come near me or Jack again, I’ll fucking shoot you!”

Shaun took a few more steps, his eyes trailing down to the blood that had been spilled. It still didn’t look real to him, but Alice’s screams were real. The hatred she had in her eyes directed entirely at him was real. It was far more real than any of his nightmares.

It was too much for Shaun, and he too left behind the scene of this macabre show he had taken part in.

Ahhh…

Jack had to use every ounce of his willpower to suppress his smile and keep his true feelings hidden from his sunshine. The pleasure he felt in that moment was exquisite, a shiver of euphoria that was so sinfully delicious it was practically erotic. Fear, shock, and anger burst through him like fireworks, but undercutting all of those feelings was the love Alice had for him. Those feelings of her burned fierce and bright, chasing away all the cold in the world. Even her hatred, directed at someone else, was beautiful, because it was for his sake.

How could Jack not feel pleasure when Alice’s love for him overflowed until it flooded his heart in a torrent of passion?

All that fear, worry, and rage was in defense of him. Only him. Only Jack had her love now. Whatever care Alice felt for Shaun and Ian was dead, its throat slit with a single slice of a knife.

It made all the nights spent away from his sunshine while she slept worth it. All those months of training those two obstacles had paid off beautifully. Jack finally exposed the true nature of those inferior other “friends” of hers. He knew that with just a little encouragement, they would finally show his precious sunshine just how worthless and filthy they truly were.

With them gone, her anger cooled, but didn’t disappear completely. It still burned inside of Alice, fierce and ready to protect him again at a moment’s notice. Her thoughts were all for him now, only him. She fussed over his wound, letting out concerned whimpers as she cradled him close while using her own clothes to staunch the blood flow.

Jack hated to see his sunshine so upset. He wanted to reassure her that he was fine, but he had to be careful about it. The episode he had written for them wasn’t quite finished yet.

“It… it’s okay… sunshine,” Jack said between heavy pants. He wore a weak smile that held none of his true happiness in it. “I-it doesn’t hurt.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it, but the pain didn’t matter to Jack. No pain compared to the thought of losing Alice. This little scratch was nothing compared to what he gained in return.

The love Jack felt from her, the pleasure that love gave him was so much better. It was a drug that left him feeling weak and dizzy, almost overwhelmed by the euphoria to the point he became partially erect. Alice’s love for him was so fierce that it was practically all that he could feel. Compared to that, the gouge in his arm was little more than a paper cut.

Those warm hands of hers touched him so delicately. Alice fussed over him, cried over him, her heart breaking for him. It was all for him, only for him. He was her world, and he reveled in it. She was the sun that would shine her light for no one else but him now.

Jack never wanted anything to make his sunshine unhappy, but how could he not enjoy himself? How could he not find pleasure even in the darker moments of anger and sadness that overtook her when it was for his sake? The way she screamed his name, the way she held him so close, the fierce way she defended him, worried for him… how could he not adore every second of it?

There was no stronger proof of the love Alice felt for Jack than this.

[iamespecter]

I know you probably gave up on the Glamrock Chica AU as Gregory's guardian, but I personally think you should continue. Many people prefer to do it with Roxy or Monty, and there are very few with Chica as the guardian. I think this AU of yours has the potential to be very good.

sigh.... I still love Glamrock Chica...

but I feel like the whole universe is against me at this point for being a Chica fan and I just know that either 1.) no one's gonna pay attention to a Chica-based AU, or 2.) just shit on it because it doesn't match the popular headcanons.

So unfortunately, My Guardian Chica AU is cancelled.

If you would like to know the rough concept of it that I've written down because you're curious, then click "keep reading" to read below the cut.

The Guardian Chica AU is actually a simple morality test.

Beginning:

It starts off with the normal SB route: Freddy is the child's starting guardian, and he is helping the child escape. Chica is under Vanny's control, and is actively fighting against this, but is too powerless to break free from the virus' hold.

... Until Fazer Blast. Freddy and the kid find themselves on the catwalks, where a glitching Chica with an axe has them cornered. Freddy, not knowing how to end this peacefully, decides to bring Chica down with him while removing the chip that's causing her to be controlled in the first place.

Chica then wakes up, and Freddy is HEAVILY damaged because he (mostly) cushioned her fall. Chica, still not fully herself, hallucinates Freddy as Vanny; and she begins tearing him apart out of frustration and fear, ripping his head off because she wanted to see who was underneath the Vanny mask.

THIS is where the story begins. You take control of Chica (instead of a kid protagonist), where Chica must ensure the child's survival, and get them out in time for 6 AM. But there is a catch.

The more you use brute force, the more Chica's morality goes south. And you'll always have two choices, either which you:

Kill the Day and Nightcare Attendants to gain access to the Daycare, or use their environmental weaknesses (the light, and the darkness) to refrain them from catching the kid.

Eliminate the PARTY PASS BOTS to get into a venue much easier, or find PARTY PASSES, while avoiding the kid's hunters.

Destroy SECURITY BOTs to lessen chances of the kid getting spotted, or use the BOTs' blind spots strategically to prevent them from alerting anyone.

Refrain from attacking Roxanne Wolf and let her take one of the chicken's eyes, or defend yourself and damage Roxanne Wolf enough to send her running back.

You will then encounter Montgomery Gator, who is now guarding Gator Golf with an iron fist. Monty will taunt Chica for the remainder of the boss fight:

either telling her how WEAK and COWARDLY she is because she isn't fighting back (Peaceful route);

being confused about her methods because it feels like she's constantly changing her mind (neutral route);

or praising her for finally, FINALLY using her features for something "worthwhile" (morally numb route).

But regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will end up revealing a morbid truth as yet another taunt: that he killed Bonnie, because he wanted his spot in the band. And that he'd kill Bonnie over and over again, if it meant he would remain popular. That now Freddy has been reduced to nothing but a head, HE'LL be the number ONE.

And regardless of what path Chica has chosen, Monty will ALWAYS end up dead.

and depending on how much you've been using brute force, Freddy's head will either:

Be BEYOND mortified by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, but believes she can still refrain from doing this in the future (peaceful route)

is taken aback by Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and is starting to doubt Chica's capacity of ensuring the kid's safety (neutral route)

Gets angry at Chica's decision to kill Monty without mercy, and refrains from speaking to her. (morally numb route)

Roxanne Wolf is then up next, and depending on how you reacted to earlier choices, you can either:

Convince Roxanne that she doesn't have to do this, that she doesn't have to keep living under Vanny's shadow out of fear and don't strike her (peaceful, only possible if you let Roxanne take Chica's eyes)

Fight and defeat Roxanne but spare her, making her go rogue and not choosing any side between Vanny or Chica (neutral)

Kill Roxanne emotionally and physically, taking her eyes as revenge (morally numb, only possible if you defend yourself)

ENDINGS/POSSIBLE ROUTES

The "MORALLY NUMB" ending (bad):

You chose the easier path and ignored Freddy’s plea, let Chica kill Security Bots to keep the kid safer in the plex, kill Roxy as well out of pure anger for taking out her eye, and take her upgrades for yourself.

Freddy begins to be distrustful of Chica, and soon even resent her and her actions at the end.

This leads to Vanny getting killed, but not without consequence.

Freddy will ask Chica to leave him behind instead of following her any longer. He can’t bear to see the monster that has become of his friend, and Chica will comply with his request, leaving Chica numb.

Chica’s objective becomes less and less of keeping the kid safe, and more of the desire to get revenge after what happened to her and Bonnie.

Semi-open ending.

"You were no better than them. Better to leave me here to rot, than to accompany you on your bloodlust." - Freddy

The "GUITAR HERO" ending (neutral):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted until a new "Vanny" shows up.

Chica DOES NOT manage to get Roxy in your side, and Roxy will act rogue, picking no sides this time.

The Pizzaplex does not burn down. Instead, Monty, Chica and Freddy are replaced by Mr. Hippo, Happy Frog, and Nedd Bear.

Chica, Freddy and the kid runs away from the plex to live on their own, but still end up dying via energy depletion.

"You promised to stay with me... why did you lie instead?" - the kid

The "SUPER POPSTAR" ending (good):

You chose to listen to Freddy’s plea, Chica retains her moral codes, and keep the kid safe the harder way.

Uncover the shady past of Fazbear Entertainment, uploading their dirty secrets onto the internet, shutting them off for good. (this guarantees this ending)

Vanny is turned in to the authorities to be helped with her mind control situation, and her plans are thwarted for good this time, no Vanny comes replacing the old one.

Chica progressively gets more and more damaged as time goes on.

Chica manages to get Roxy on your side.

The Pizzaplex burns down.

Chica deactivates amidst the flames, with Freddy by her side at the very, very end.

The route ends with Roxy and the kid finding Chica’s body after the fire, and she takes her head along with Freddy’s.

The most ambiguous ending out of the three.

"Don't blame yourself kid. It's not what they would've wanted you to think. Not what she would want you to think. (...) We'll find a way. That's a promise." - Roxy

....Yeah, the Guardian Chica AU has no happily-ever-after ending. Sorry.

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.