#and he's the kinda guy to use the paper regardless

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Princess treatment only - MultiMuse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not many, some mentions of killing, but nothing graphic. Kind of fluffy

Type: HC’s

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Some HC’s as to how the muses would give the reader the princess treatment.

Notes: I don’t know where I was going with this, but this is mainly fluff, maybe sometime I’ll spice it up. I just had to get my writing juice brewing. Not proofread at all just go.

Jason Voorhees: Honestly, would treat you like a princess regardless. Will pick flowers for you when he’s outside. Always lets you borrow his flannels. Always walks in front of you to make sure there’s no danger, but looks back constantly to make sure there’s no danger behind you?? lmao. You won’t ever have to lift a finger when you’re with him. Literally at your beck and call. Will try his best not to kill in front of you, but sometimes it just ?? happens lol. Tries to be soft when touching you because you’re literally the most perfect thing that has ever crossed his path.

Michael Myers: Is your literal bodyguard. Will follow you anywhere and everywhere, you might as well call him your shadow. Lets you hug him and climb onto his lap whenever. Won’t hug you back yet, working on it. Nobody comes near you, no exceptions. Sorry. Stares at you most of the time. Can’t say it, but you’re literally flawless to him. Will use his body as a shield for you. Would kill anything for you. Eventually learns to put his palm against your cheek and that’s his second greatest accomplishment, the first being bagging you, literally and figuratively.

Tiffany Valentine: You won’t ever have to worry about a thing when you’re with her. Always gets her hands dirty for you. Lots of cheek and neck kisses. Praises your looks all the time. She will always brag about you whether it’s what you do, how you look, anything and everything. She would always make sure you have the latest clothes. She’d make sure you always had your staple make up pieces available. When it comes to killing, she’d get creative, that way you guys will never have literal blood on your hands, especially you, never you.

Billy Loomis: Lots of nicknames. Kinda only has a soft spot for you. Can never ever tell you no and stick to it. Won’t hesitate to kill anyone who makes fun of him for this. Drives you everywhere. Ties your shoes. Always makes time for you. Will help you pick out your outfits and tell you which one he likes and which one he doesn’t. Will wear the bracelets you make him. Anything in his closet is yours, help yourself. Always touching you, holding your hand, holding your waist, you’ve infatuated him enough to have him carelessly cover you in soft kisses, laying his head on your shoulder. Kinda creative with dates tbh.

Stu Macher: You will forever be his princess. Will carry you across puddles. Lots of cheek and forehead kisses. Would learn how to paint your nails for you during class. Always makes sure you have a good grade on your exam, whether he has to swap out the papers after class or make sure you get the right answers, you can absolutely count on him. You don’t have to use your brain around him, no worries. Thinks you look adorable in his sweaters, especially oversized. Loves when you sit on his lap. Prioritizes you over anything and everything. Even if you don’t like horror movies, Stu would absolutely find something else for you to watch.

Patrick Bateman: Honestly, when he falls in love with you, it’s princess treatment only. Will give you a skin care routine and help you follow through with it. Kind of makes you feel dumb, but not like a stupid dumb, more like a ‘oh dear sweet baby you are a little dumb but pretty, but dumb, let me help you’ Same thing if you fall asleep with your makeup on, Patricks on the way with the micellar makeup remover. Will speak up for you if you don’t like a service, he won’t be mean about it unless he has to. Always makes sure you’re hydrated (also part of your skin care routine). You will be a housewife/girlfriend. Feel free to splurge, you are his trophy princess after all. Will take you anywhere you want. Will make things up for you if he has to be at work late.

Leatherface: I don’t ever see a scenario where Bubba does not treat his s/o like a princess. It’s like part of the deal. Either way, expect wild flowers all the time. It’s his favorite thing to do for you. He even makes you a vase and makes sure your flowers are always fresh. Will literally die and kill for you without any hesitation. At his knees for you. Bubba will crawl to you across pins and needles if you asked him to. He’s always making sure you’re comfortable and safe, never hungry or in your mind for too long. Melts at your touch. Would learn how to dance just to dance to your favorite songs. Always gets awestruck with you.

Harley Quinn: Will absolutely take you anywhere you want, no matter how random it is. Always dazed when looking at you. Keeps pictures of you all dressed up in her bag or car or wherever she goes. Selina gave her a heart shaped locket once and yeah, you guessed it, the cutest picture of you is in there. Doesn’t hesitate to shoot any man for you. Leaves your face covered in red kisses. She would do anything to make you laugh. Anything you want, it’s yours! Just point at it.

Poison Ivy: Pamela will always spoil you, regardless of how you act. You’ve heard of people growing gardens for their s/o, she would grow forests for you. She’s the most gentle with you, gentle caresses and soft kisses. Paints your nails, brushes your hair while adding flowers into the locks. Always admires dressing you up and putting make up on you. Almost never wants you to leave. Slow dances with you. She’d do anything to keep you out of danger. You think Michael is a good bodyguard? Pamela is the bodyguard.

Bruce Wayne: hhnnnngh. Ok. No but you are the Princess Wayne. Spoiling you rotten goes without saying. Anything your little heart desires is yours. Helps you get dressed. His favorite is helping you with your stockings. Gentle kisses everywhere. Brushes your hair. Lifting you up constantly when there’s a crack in the pavement. Always the driver. Your safety is always first, always. No because whatever you want means whatever you want, which is why there are hello kitty plushies scattered across the Wayne manor. You’ve somehow managed to get your own cozy theater in there too. Princess treatment also means Bruce having to lay back just a teeny bit on Batman just to guard you too while you sleep.

Jason Todd: nmmnnmf YES. I don’t see him treating his s/o any other way. Lots of pet names. Loooves to help you get dressed. Sits you on the counter as he cooks. Never lets you out of his sight. Anything you want it’s yours. Always buying you cute socks and letting you wear his clothes. Forehead kisses. Oh man it’s so disgusting how much Jason loves his princess. Always taking pictures of you, no matter the angle. Would 1000000% tie bows into your hair if you asked.

Billy Hargrove: Honestly if he’s in love with you, princess treatment is granted. Always giving you his jackets, especially when you wear skirts or dresses out. Lifting you over mud and puddles. Subtle kisses on the head while you’re out. Body guard mode activated. He kinda becomes your shadow, appearing out of nowhere and greeting you with a kiss on the forehead. Ties your shoes without asking. Wiping any tears or smeared makeup off your face. Winks at you all the timeee.

Steve Harrington: Kind of similar to Stu, he always makes sure you pass your class. Poor princess doesn’t use her brain in school, too busy trying to stay awake. Always gives you his jacket, even if you don’t want to wear it, he’ll wrap it around you. Finds any excuse to carry you or pick you up. So affectionate. Kisses on the cheek, lips, forehead. Sometimes he will miss and kiss your eye but ugh it’s so fucking cute. Only has eyes for you. Tying your shoes, putting your socks on, literally just dressing you in general is a must. Literally will take you wherever you want, whenever. Drops everything when you call. Such a sucker with the nicknames for you.

Steve Rogers: Ugh another one. Think of him as a body guard who you get to kiss and sit on his lap. Always drops everything to make sure you’re okay. Cannot take his eyes off of you. So smooth with the reassurance. Kisses on the forehead constantly. Always tucks you in. Would help you bathe if you asked. Pulls you onto his lap every time you both sit down. Whatever you want, you’ll get. If he can’t do it, he’ll find a way. Cups your face in his hands when you cry, kisses your tears away. Ugh he’s your literal teddy bear, if you don’t like to be smothered? Pick another muse.

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, he’s your shadow, but he’s a little more … upfront with it. He’s constantly wrapping an arm around you, eyeing anyone who’s eyeing you. He’s so gentle if you’re sensitive. Kissing your cheek is his favorite. Always lingering his fingertips around your crevices. Makes sure you’re never hungry. Always up before you are. Lets you sleep in. If you fight, he will never raise his voice at you. Ready to carry you if you’re too tired to keep walking around. Slow dances with you just because. He’s always worried for you, making sure you’re okay, you’re not sick or hungry. Pet names with him are a must.

Loki Laufeyson: Okkkk and in what situation did you ever think loki was not going to give you the princess treatment??? You are literal Princess Laufeyson. Though he, and Sebastian maybe, are the only ones who can probably, maybe, say no to you, if you pout enough maybe he’ll come to a compromise with you. He never wants to upset you though. Would literally wipe out a small world for you. Or a few. Ok even betray anyone for you. Always cleaning your smeared makeup, fixing your hair, wiping you because you spilled your drink. He’s so devoted to you, im going to throw up. He devours you with his eyes from a distance, you’re never leaving his sight.

Cloud Strife: Ugh ok. Literal bodyguard, as he’s hired to be at times. At your beck and call, though he’d never admit it. Such a sucker and can never say no to you. Though it may take time, he can start calling you ‘baby’ ‘sweet girl’ ‘love’ he’s so infatuated with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. Your safety is his priority. Always listens to you ramble on and on. Brings you flowers for no reason other than he was thinking of you. He’s such a sucker for you. Follows you everywhere.

Sebastian Michaelis: He’s probably the most tame out of everyone but that doesn’t mean he’s not a sucker. There are rules he’s willing to bend for you, literally willing to kill anyone that has the slightest interest in hurting you. Always makes sure you’re fed and if you want a sweet treat, he’s on it. Listens to you talk, even if it’s silly. Dances with you almost every night. He’s so graceful with it. Dressing you and feeding you is his favorite but he might throw in a few teases “poor sweet baby, you haven’t woken up yet to tell your left foot from your right” as you rub your eyes with the wrong shoes on. Of course he’s willing to help, even if he has the idea that you do this on purpose, he's more than happy to oblige.

Spencer Reid: Though his job wouldn’t encourage it, he still drops almost everything to answer you. Always finds a way to share time with his job and his attention to you. Reads to you all the time, whether in person or over the phone. He’s always making comparisons of you being the princess in most fictional stories that you both come across. He’s so gentle with you. Caresses your face all the time. You lay your head on his lap or sit on his lap as he reads away. Always making sure to keep up with your well-being before his own. Would 10000% pick up a habit of writing you little notes or picking flowers for you or taking Polaroids or something to remind you of your everlasting presence in his mind.

[wroteclassicaly]

Pick You Up At 7

(Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader)

Summary: When your date goes bad, Gator reacts in unexpected ways.

Warnings: Language, implied smut/smut, low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, food insecurity, fat phobia, fat shaming, Gator and reader roast one another, have nicknames, mentions periods, Gator being a tad misogynistic, anxiety, and depression.

Word count: 2,913

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus size!Female Reader

A/N: This one isn’t for the faint of heart, folks! It’s straight up self-indulgent, it’s intense. So… yeah. Read the warnings and read at your own risk! Wanted to provide a little release/comfort for myself, and I’m proud of this one!

You knew they were laughing as soon as you got into the office the next morning. Not so subtle hushed whispers and baiting for remarks that you’d normally snap back with. But you keep your head down, lunch forgotten in the car. You’d never let someone tell you what he had last night, not usually, but you’re sure that it’s what you expect from the guy you hate yourself for really wanting - will do, that’s got you worked up the most.

No, that’s a lie. It’s an added situation, but what happened on your date last night, you’ve never felt so disgusted or panicked.

The men continue to talk before they go back to paperwork and shit talking, leaving you to shed your winter attire carelessly by your rolling desk chair. You sit down as if it’ll break, pulling your long gray buttoned down cardigan over your form. It’s not what you usually wear, either. Proud to show off your figure, knowing the guys here aren’t into your extra pounds, it never bothered you that much to put your cleavage on display while working in the police station as their only secretary. If they have any inkling towards you, then it’s ‘do me a favor’ or ‘get a beer for me, maybe join the rest of the boys as we hit on every other female but you’ kinda thing.

The air in the place changes before the sound of his thick leader combats approaches your desk. You keep your head down and plead, pretending to organize old files that are ready for the shredder.

Please don’t. Please don’t come over here. Please. Please.

“Hey, twerp.” He leans over the counter, vape in one hand, his newly freed arm propped across his other.

You raise a brow as your simple acknowledgement, trying to hold your breath as his cedarwood cologne and mint hair gel soak into your nostrils when he bends down to sort through the little decorative holographic candy dish you keep. Annoyingly, seconds later he’s whining. “Where’s the goods at? The fuck? Shit’s practically empty.”

Go away.

You manage to speak, cringing at how cracked your voice is, dangling over the precipice of breaking down. Here. In front of everyone. In front of him.

“I’m working right now. Go to the Dollar Tree if you want candy so fuckin’ bad.” You don’t even address him with a nickname or his last name. And it unnerves him. With a shove of your small crystal bowl, you watch the leftover mints slosh onto the counter and over your papers, and only then your reaction is what he wants. He needs you to look at him.

He’s smirking and chewing on the filter of his vape, blowing a smoke cloud into the air and making you grit your teeth. That clock in the distance sounds louder, cheaper. And Gator Tillman takes your distracted gaze and creeps around and starts looking at your desk. It’s your space here, regardless. And up until now, he used to know that too. You sigh, asking him what he’s doing,

“Where’s your purse, kid? You must be hiding it all in there. You on the rag, that it? Would explain why you’re being a bitch and the stuff isn’t here.”

“Gator…”

He kicks your coat aside, but pauses his searching when you say his name. Like a damned addiction he can’t yet admit to

“Calm your granny panties down. Where is it at?”

“It’s not here.” You’re losing control of yourself. He keeps pushing.

“Why? You know nobody gives a shit if you bring your red tide plugs in here. Can’t have you bleedin’ all over shit. It’s mighty unprofessional, you know?”

“Take your shriveled little ballsack elsewhere, I’m bored with you.” He’s grateful you’re engaging, hands sliding over his cargo pockets and patting.

“Or —“

Your heart rate accelerates, knowing exactly where this is going. It’s why he originally came to your desk, you’re not stupid.

“ — You didn’t get laid last night. Would also explain this crap.”

“Stop it.” It's pathetic, a weak demand, even to your ears, but it’s all you got, that anxiety clawing your esophagus and winding up around your lungs like a cobweb, squeezing like a vice.

“I told you he was a loser, darlin’. You never listen. So what happened?”

“I asked you to quit.”

“And I asked you what happened. What? He’s too much of a pussy to put it in when there’s a little blood? Did it make him queasy —“

You’re out of your chair and facing him, hands on his leather jacket. And he’s down in your chair, the wheels moving so fast that he flies back and hits the filing cabinet, scattering things everywhere, his legs coming up and then his heels slamming down rather comically. The guys howl in the background, making Gator having to inhale sharply to get it together. You’re walking away from him and down the hall to the restroom where he follows, walking right in behind you and slamming his hand on top of the metal stall door to prevent it from closing.

You try but it’s no use. Your fight is gone, the burn blurs your vision, scorching your throat, making everything hazy.

“You don’t fuckin’ do that to me in front of them, you hear me? You don’t disrespect —“

A sniffle that would’ve been quieter, it echoes in the expanse of the cold, gray walls. You pass him and find yourself clutching the sink, pleading. It’s like you’ve lost all ability to walk, to think, to process how to guard your tightly kept emotions.

And it scares Gator Tillman to death.

“Gator, please just go away?”

His boots creak and squish on the floor as he pivots and finds a space beside you, folding knuckles resting beside your hand, nearly touching, a warmth that threatens you both within its encasement.

“Is this about your outfit? The baggy sweater thing? You know the guys all stare at your big tits when you wear those other tops, right?”

You’d laugh, even be prideful, but you don’t believe a damned thing right now. Because in spite of what he says, you know Gator has a soft spot in his heart that isn’t touched by his namesake’s cruelty. You shake your head and watch him take the vape out, your eyes glistening with tears when you take in his form. He blows a line of smoke and damn near chokes when he sees the actual tears drip down your cheeks.

“Can I have a hit of that?” It’s a bold move. In part because you always roast him for it, and two, because his mouth has just been on it and he’ll get to taste you. You’ll be tasting each other.

He hands it to you, fingers brushing yours. He wants nothing more than to touch you, and he has to fight himself where he stands, feeling an electricity at the nape of his neck that shocks his flesh full of goosebumps, as you wrap your lips around the mouthpiece and puff a few times, coughing. He smiles softly, in spite of the situation.

You, you’re trying to mull over how you can taste his minty saliva beneath the nasty ass acidic fruit cloud that’s misting over your lungs. “Jesus Christ, what flavor is that?”

Taking it back, he’s all too eager to sample you, clicking his lips together and pocketing the vape. “Think it’s banana kiwi.”

There’s a comfortable beat before you both remember why you’re here. It dawns on Gator then, and you both know it. There’s this dark look that pools in the mossy oak of his gaze, drowning out all rationality. His voice cracks sharp, a tone that you’ve never heard before. “Did he hurt you? What happened last night?”

“Just drop it, okay?” You find your voice again, but Gator is already seeing red, a tunnel vision of fire and brimstone with your date from the night prior.

You aren’t ready for it, not in the slightest. Your skin prickles to life, body drenched in elation, relief, and struggling to catch up with your racing heartbeat. His pointer and middle fingers find your chin in the gentlest press, tilting. “Kiddo…”

“Doesn’t matter what he did.”

“You know it fuckin’ does.” Gator’s thumb twitches as it catches a teardrop. It tracks across your jaw and back.

You’re a little angry now, finally snapping at him like an animal that’s cornered. “Fine. You wanna know what he did, Mr. Prom King?” Gator winces at how you use his former title, clearly not impressed. You didn’t run in the same circles and he knows where this is going.

“Twerp, c’mon —“

“Just shut your mouth and listen for once, since you want to know so badly.” Your hands leave the speckled counter and you step away, swiping at your damp eyes. “He took me to dinner and waited until the waiter came to take our orders, to tell them that he wasn’t paying for mine. And you know, I just thought he was a douche. But I guess he had the smarts to wait until the waiter left again before he told me that what I ordered wasn’t appropriate, so he didn’t feel comfortable paying for it.”

Gator, still a little confused, speechless, questions, “Well, what did you get?”

“Steak and fries.” You want to scream at what Gator is not seeing.

“But most people like that kinda shit? I eat that every weekend —“

You blow out a breath that causes you to choke on a small whimper. This causes Gator to change his tune. “Wait…”

“He thought I should have the side salad for ‘someone my size.’ And after dinner was over, he made it a point to inform me that no one would go out with someone dressed in a dress that tight. How embarrassing it is.”

Gator is positively seething now, teeth clenching. And the fact that you wore this for the dickbag and he wasn’t all over you?

“I pointed out that at least half a dozen women in the restaurant were wearing more revealing outfits, that it’s not up to him or anyone else to judge. And he couldn’t wait to cut me off to let me know that he didn’t care about that. He cared about…” Your voice breaks and you laugh in wet disbelief.

“He cared about what?” Gator’s tone is at toxic levels now, nearing a whisper.

There’s no way to hide how you're openly sobbing now, snotting, lower lip quivering. “He cared about girls like me thinking guys like him wanna see someone who weighs this much, wearing something like that.”

“He needs his ass strung up on a barn door and used as target practice —“

“Don’t act like you give a shit, Tillman. I’ve seen the posters in your room, the girls you flirt with at the bars, the ones you talked to in school. Don’t be a fucking marauder with me.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even know me in highschool!” He’s offended and it pisses you off. Another fib. In this small town everyone knows everyone, or at least hears of them - that is a given.

“Oh, I knew you. I knew your crowd. And you all made it abundantly clear I was to stay out of the way. You’re just like all of the other assholes around here when it comes to how you treat women, nothing changes. Weight defines everything, even when it shouldn’t, no matter what body type a person has. It always does to people.”

“Then why the fuck did he ask you out if he was going to act like a bitch?” Gator goes straight for it with a sigh of confusion.

You laugh this time, a sound that levels Gator with diabolical unease. “He was bored and wanted someone to get him off, so he thought I’d be an easy enough, sure thing. Entitled fucking prick.”

It’s a somber silence after, your dying sniffles ceasing as you swipe your nose and attempt to collect yourself, stomach hollow and nauseated. You can’t stay here anymore, not after this. You manage to look at Gator and step with one hand on the bathroom door. “I’m going back to work. If you can not tell the other guys, I’d appreciate it.”

And as Gator is left alone in the cool, dim light bathroom, he’s already formulating an idea, going straight out the back entrance and into his squad car.

The next hour went by quicker than you thought, giving you time to push away all thoughts of your confrontation and reveals with Gator. You’ve given him more ammo to tease you with, but you’re also wondering why he’s not here? You’re in the midst of stacking new department funding files when you hear it. Your date’s voice.

“I didn’t do nothin’! You know I didn’t!”

And another, one that has your mouth going dry.

“Get your ass movin’, pencil dick.”

Your jaw is close to dropping, becoming unhinged seconds later as Gator rounds the corner in his gear, your date’s collar clutched in his fist, the vape in the other, and a very noticeable split across your date’s lip, complete with a bloodied nose. Gator stops short in front of the desk, shoving your date into its edge. He’s panting heavily, raising a brow at you, Gator amused from behind.

“Hey, twerp.” Gator grins like the Cheshire Cat. “Got a booking for ya to process!”

“I… what?” You come up with.

“You gonna tell her what you did, shitbird?”

“What’s going on?” You and Gator are going back and forth, your former date nearly ignored. This is not a coincidence. And you’re practically glued to your chair at the notion that Gator went after him in your honor.

Does this mean…?

“Caught this fucker side swiping candy at the damned Dollar Tree. What kind of prick does that when it’s a dollar?”

“I was not!” Your date is shouting.

The Dollar Tree? Wait…

You feel as if you’ve been hit with a pillow and swallowed the feathers, enjoying their light tickles that scratch at your throat. You want to laugh. By golly, you almost do. Gator whistles for another officer that takes your date down the hall. Seconds later he’s leaning on bended elbows, jacket crunching, his voice a whispered hum for you to hear, and you alone.

“Didn’t wanna forget this.” He unravels his arms and slides one into his pocket, his massive palm full of the candy you both like. He lets it spill into your dish, waiting a few beats before speaking again. “All good now.” With a snatching of his favorite piece of chocolate, he knocks his knuckles on your countertop.

“Get him processed in, yeah?”

You nod dumbly, watching him walk away. He turns around and waves with one finger, however, before he meets the other policeman and your ex-date.

“By the way, be ready at seven. I’m gonna pick you up and we’ll get supper.” He elgonates a leather clad arm, fingertips drumming on the doorway. His voice is raspy when he focuses back on you, eyes dark in a completely different way. “Wear that dress too.”

Your legs tighten together and you pinch at your cardigan, fanning yourself.

“You get your ass movin’ down that hallway, short stack!” Gator finishes, turning to you one last time and flashing a cheeky little wink.

Gator did indeed pick you up in his truck. Seven on the dot. He wore nice dark jeans and a crisp white button up, loosened to let a silver chain peek out, nestled amongst the thick chest hair, his leather jacket over him, hair slicked back, and his watch and normal boots. You wore that tight dress with a little unease, and slightly heeled boots over your sheer black tights, a few rings adorning your hands. When Gator walked you to your side of the car after walking you out of your house, you weren’t regretting anything about the purchase of the form fitting dress any longer.

When you got to dinner, Gator waited as you ordered, encouraging you to get the steak and fries that he knew you wanted. And after drinks, you shared the biggest piece of chocolate cake in the joint. Conversation flowed easy, felt good. Your old date wasn’t mentioned, but you both knew. Gator had taken you back to his place (per your request), where he’d laid you down in his bed and held your legs open until you were begging him to fuck you. And that he did.

His hand splayed atop yours, your dress around your waist, he’d taken you from behind, plaster escaping his paneled wall as a result. When that had ended, he’d stripped you free of everything, and walked you to his mirror, chin on your shoulder, fingers in your cunt. Showing you what he liked about your body, but telling you that it doesn’t matter what anyone but you thinks. And if anyone thinks differently, he’d put them all away. Impractical, but enough to cause you to cream his thick digits and soak his floor.

The next day, you’d worn your most low cut top with pride, settling at your desk to another empty candy dish. When you look up, Gator is smiling in your direction, that damned vape in one hand, candy wrapper in the other.

We all need someone to help us feel good about ourselves sometimes.

[fishsticksloser]

I have another idea for requesttttt >:D

Okay, so the request is for rottmnt boys (obv) with S/O that loves beach (swimming is the ehh part) mostly just spending hours looking for seashells, sea glass, stones, etc. SO, whenever S/O gives the boys gifts even small once, they always find one or few seashells with the present like a small charms >^<

Thanks ahead🫧

-Ed

Collecting Shells

RotTMNT x gn!reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: thank you @mapleleavesart for your help with this! I've been struggling a lot and I'm so happy to have your support.

Donnie

He's always making you gadgets and stuff

You didn’t really need them

Only half of them didn’t blow up

Donnie had to figure out a better way to make you happy with his gifts

Since he thought you didn’t like them cause you weren’t using them much (he feels guilty when they blow up)

So he starts watching you carefully

What made you smile the most, what got you excited

When y’all went to the pier and you immediately started picking at the sand

And handing him glass and rocks that were similar in color to his skin/eyes/etc

He realized that you loved collecting this kinda stuff

About a week later he makes you a little music box

Which is pretty nice all on its own

You thought it was just a plain jewelry box at first

He urges you to open it, there’s shells and seaglass inside

Along with an oyster necklace

And your favorite song playing inside

Donnie is very proud of this one and is eager for your inevitable praise

He'll occasionally make you more jewelry and such out of the sea glass, especially the ones you said reminded you of him

Leo

My guy goes above and beyond with this one honestly

You like to collect sea shells, sea glass, cool rocks, etc?

He is going with you to collect stuff

He’ll go out on his own on nights you two can’t talk and go to the beach and looks for stuff you like

This boy is so desperate for attention and approval

He’ll give you a handful of stuff the next time you see each other

His tail wags when he sees you get excited about it

Every time he thinks of you he’ll portal another one (shell, sea glass, etc) from his secret stash

He starts leaving some in odd, innocuous places

You find them for months to come

In your kitchen, your bathroom, on countertops or desks right where you can see them

Others are hidden in drawers or cabinets

You found one in a pot as you were making dinner once

But once he portaled it on your desk while you were working

You smile when you realize that he’s thinking of you as often or more often as you think about him

Mikey

Mikey also loves cool rocks

He stacks them

You’ve made a few towers with him once

He’ll hand you any pretty rock that reminds him of you

One beach trip he ran up to you and said “look! It matches your eyes”

He put it in your hand, smiled, and dashed off again

He decided to paint you the beach But it didn’t look complete

He went to the beach and took some sand and a few shells and pieces of sea glass

He laid out glue on the canvas

Sprinkled the sand over the beach part of the painting

And placed the shells and sea glass purposefully

It gave the piece some nice texture and some visual interest

Then he gifted it to you and insisted you hung it up in your room

So that, even when you were home, you have a part of the beach watching over you

He was so happy to show it to you, and to have his artwork hanging in your room

Raph

Raph knitted you a sweater

Put it in a bag with your favorite colored tissue paper

When you opened it and saw the sweater you thought that was it, because he had been promising to knit you something for ages

However, upon his urging you looked at the bottom of the bag

There was a small wooden box

Like the ones at craft stores that were meant to be painte

You open it

There’s a small collection of sea glass and rocks that you'd given him

You love it regardless

Raph grins and hugs you, picking you up as you both laugh

[haesunflower]

zb1 as your classmates

genre: fluff, comedy

pairing: reader (gn) x all members of zerobaseone

about/tags: what i think zb1 would be like as a classmate

friendship vibes for most, some have romance, members that are classmates with each other are specified (regardless of age), inspired by a tweet i saw here, bullet points plot, lowercase intentional

⠀⠀ kim jiwoong ⠀⠀

everyone has a crush on jiwoong

even kids from other schools have a crush on jiwoong

but he's literally known to be unattainable

he always says that he likes someone else

you guys are so lowkey that no one knows that you two are in a relationship until the end of the school year

literally, the last subject of the last day

the teacher asked him to distribute the final graded tests to everyone in the class

the only reason people find out is bc as he's handing yours to you he accidentally says "congrats on the 99 babe"

you hear everyone in the room go "baBE????"

⠀⠀ zhang hao ⠀⠀

despite his quiet nature, hao is loved by a lot of people (teachers included!)

people trust him and they don't think he's capable of spilling any secrets

your friendship starts when he overhears you gossiping about some dumb relationship drama in the library

and hao interrupts you with a "no no no, THIS is what happened"

from then on you'd spend free period talking shit about people and gossiping about the drama that's currently circulating among the teacher crowd

he texts you sometimes with a "lol i just found something out, i'll tell you at school tom"

and you're always begging him to tell you now

but he insists that he doesn't want a digital footprint of it

you respond by sending him the dancing videos he has all over the internet

"digital footprint my ass, hao"

⠀⠀ sung hanbin ⠀⠀

he wakes you up every time you fall asleep during class

he tries to do it discreetly but because he sits in front and you directly behind him, it's quite obvious what he's trying to do

ends up drawing attention to you anyways

5 out of 10 times the teacher gets mad

hanbin always makes an "oops im so sorry" face

he lends you his notes for the classes you do sleep through tho

starts bringing you coffees from his cafe

from then on you are so so so productive

hanbin jokes that your grades are thanks to him

you agree

⠀⠀ seok matthew ⠀⠀

never brings his own things to school ever

sometimes he shows up with just a water bottle

and you're like?? where are your books? your pen?

every time he needs a pencil or eraser he turns around and asks if he could borrow yours

you have gotten so used to it that you end up preparing two of everything anyways

so whenever the teacher says "pop quiz bring out a sheet of paper", you're already passing him one before he even asks

you always get a ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) from him which is "thank you" in matthew language

⠀⠀ kim taerae ⠀⠀

taerae is always humming in class

or like tapping his pencil against his desk

sometimes both

and it drives you insane

but every time you turn to your left to tell him to stfu

he kinda just smiles at you like ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

so you face front once again and mind your own business

taerae's humming ends up becoming your white noise

sometimes while studying at home, you find yourself missing it

⠀⠀ ricky ⠀⠀

he sits behind you so when he stretches his legs he sometimes accidentally kicks your chair or the things you have on the floor

you always turn around expecting him to ask you a question or smthn

but he just stares back at you in confusion??

one day you were brushing your hair during lunch break and you accidentally left your brush on his table instead of yours

you found him using it the next period before gently placing it back on your desk

he also says stuff like "you look dead today" and hands you a slightly tinted strawberry chapstick

matthew teases the both of you about your "indirect kiss" (chapstick sharing)

ricky tells him to grow up

but he's blushing lol

⠀⠀ kim gyuvin ⠀⠀

the both of you are literally always snickering

gunwook tells you guys to shut up at least 10 times a day

whenever he does that you both end up mocking his "be quiet" face

he drops things often too (calculators, books, his laptop - you name it!) and it makes a loud sound that resonates throughout the room

he also brings way too many snacks, his backpack is like 80% food and 20% school

he passes you notes when he's bored and it's usually dumb prompts like

"if you could turn all the people in this classroom into an animal, what would each person be and why?"

when you don't wanna respond he bribes you with a snack

you laugh at least once a day thanks to gyuvin

⠀⠀ park gunwook ⠀⠀

he's the class president and it's so annoying because he sits right next to you

you literally feel like you're being watched by a hawk 24/7

one time you forgot to do the homework and since there were only 2 minutes left til the bell rings, you think you're in the clear

but you see gunwook about to raise his hand and YOU JUST KNOW he's going to bring it up to the teacher

in an act of desperation you reach for his hand and hold it down chanting "gunwook no pls no pls no pls no pls" in your head

his mind short circuits and he doesn't know why you're holding his hand, but he just stares at it

that effectively distracts him until the bell rang

when class is over you remove your hands from his and go about your day

he's stuck thinking "so, what are we?" in his head

⠀⠀ han yujin ⠀⠀

most peaceful deskmate ever

when he comes back from family trips he always has a souvenir for you

you help each other with homework often too

in fact you're partners with him in just about every project

invites you over to his house to work on said projects together

his mom makes snacks for you guys

one day gyuvin tags along and is like how come there's so much food??? there's never any food when i'm here???

yujin's mom likes you the most, therefore feeds you the most

A/N: i didn't go to a high school with boys so i really don't know what it's like lol

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

✎ mobile masterlist

✉︎ request

[the-s1lly-corner]

I'm humbly requesting that a Spot x Reader. Where reader is a small time thief that runs into a the spot is unsuccessfully tries to rob them, but Reader just turns the tables. Then is like "ok you are so bad it's pathetic. You want to come with me lol?"

Spot w/ a criminal reader!

off topic from the ask but im listening to old music from like, middle school era, BROO i forgot all about half of these bangers anyways ueueueue ive been wanting to write something like this but ive kinda been swamped with asks so im glad someone requested this!! hope this is alright! honestly i kinda just bully spot in this post

"somebody call an ambulance..! ..but not for me-" basically

honestly if you wanted to you could probably beat him up and rob *him*, even if you dont have any powers or fancy tools

but.. given how he immediately wilted and backed up and

oh my god did he just whimper

god hes pathetic

wet paper bag

anyways

you cant help but to feel bad for this loser

so against your better judgement you offer to let him tag along with you in your own crimes and

oooh my god hes a lot worse than you thought

for one it doesnt even look like he knows how to use his own powers and-

oh he actually doesnt

after a particularly pathetic display of malice he kinda just

slumps over

its kinda like looking at a wounded puppy

so, you just kinda try to comfort him, or at least try to hype him up

anyways you guys keep bumping into each other after that, you both get to know each other better. you learn about how he became the spot and how hes trying to learn how to use his holes

pause

okay you really tried to keep a straight face anytime he bluntly said hes trying to use his holes to do things, he just says it so. casually, with no second thought that it may sound dirty

anyways

you cant exactly help him with learning how his holes work since you yourself dont have them

BUT you can help him with learning basic self defense, how to scope out people to rob, and so on

this is assuming the reader is a basic robber

im sorry my thoughts are kinda everywhere rn so i dont really. have a solid train of thought

moving on, imagine spot gets more confident in himself and his skills as a criminal and you two become this little villain duo

i think thatd be cute, actually

again like i always remind yall, spot doesnt really have anyone left in his life so hed leech onto you for dear life. its been so long since hes had someone in his life, and the fact its someone whos actively siding with him and rooting for him? again you didnt specify if this were to be romantic or platonic so this post is vague

but i feel like regardless hed form a little crush on you; like

hes just a silly guy like that

anyways

yeah!!

i wish i had more ideas esp since this is an idea ive been thinking of for a while but my brain is jello today, melted jello

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 4 - The Morning After Bill

— — — — — — —

Despite the shroud of unease that lingered over the Shack throughout the night, darkness eventually faded into the warm sunlight of morning.

And even for someone like Ford—whose tireless efforts had left him with only a few pages of halfway-useful ideas, with the rest being banished to a crumpled and discarded pile in the fireplace—the morning sunlight that poured in from the window across the room brought with it a comfort.

“Seems kinda pointless to toss all that into a fireplace if you’re not going to actually set it on fire.”

Regardless of the stress that still lingered from the previous evening.

His gaze met the pair of slitted pupils—pupil? Ford hadn’t missed the way Bill’s right eye was less reactive than his left. A visual impairment, perhaps?—on the far side of the room, a toothy, cheshire grin spreading wide beneath them. “I’d bring up the whole ‘expert in burning things around here’ thing again, but I hate using joke more than once a millennia,” Bill said. “It’s like, I’ve had an eternity to perfect my material so doing a bit twice in such a short amount of time just feels so lazy. You get what I mean, Fordsy?” 

Despite his gaze being focused elsewhere, the tip of Ford’s pencil snapped against the paper for the millionth time across the past several hours. And with a bitten-back huff, he tore his attention from Bill again in favor of reaching towards the small end table at his side, hand briefly lingering over the gun he had kept there all night.

It would be easy enough to kill the body that Bill was currently possessing—as gruesome as the idea was, it was simply an undeniable fact. The body looked young, barely older than a teenager if Ford had to harbor an estimate. And that was before taking his…uncanny resemblance into account.

Ford had to physically restrain himself from casting another sidelong look at Bill, a shudder crawling up his spine as he disregarded the gun in favor of the pencil sharpener. He wasn’t sure how much of the remaining household had picked up on it—there was a high chance that Stan and the kids had noticed to some degree—but it was truly eerie how similar Bill’s vessel looked to Dipper.

The structure of his face, the way the hair hung down over his forehead just as Dipper’s did whenever he wasn’t wearing a hat—

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy. Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me.”

If Bill’s earlier claims were to be believed—Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were a few possibilities. Either some outside force had prevented him from getting a proper look at the vessel or Bill had simply jumped into it first with the intention of asking questions later.

…Admittedly, jumping first and asking questions later was a very Bill-esque way to approach a deal; one didn’t usually need to ask question with the power of omniscience on their side.

But if his earlier claims weren’t to be believed—once again, Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were even more possibilities. 

Bill had been lying through his teeth and had purposefully sought out a vessel that looked as uncomfortably-identical to Dipper as possible. And now he was determined to keep such awareness of his appearance as much of a secret as possible, for unknown—but likely sinister—reasons. Perhaps as a precautionary shield of sorts; with the assumption that most would hesitate first before putting a bullet through the eyes of someone that resembled their own.

A counterpoint to that theory was that Bill had asked for a mirror without prompting, but maybe that had been part of the lie? To throw the rest of them off track and push their assumptions towards one direction, all to take focus away from the other?

Of course, none of those theories and guesses brought up an answer to how Bill had managed to come across a new vessel in the first place. Or discussed the matter of the vessel’s original soul, one who had likely been tricked into making a deal with Bill—leaving them bound to the mindscape while he once again puppeteered a body that did not belong to him.

Nor did any of that address the biggest and most pressing issue at hand; how Bill was still alive at all.

With a sigh, Ford forewent the sharpening of his pencil in favor of staring numbly at the mess of discarded paper in the fireplace. Even after a full night of brainstorming, he was still left with both a physical and metaphorical pile of unanswered questions with no clear solution.

“What, are you actually considering that fire idea of mine?” Bill piped up from his spot. “And here I thought I was doomed to keep talking to the air.”

A cackle. “It’s really a shame I can’t hear inanimate objects with this body, the lovely ladies on the shelf over there look like the kinda gals who’ve got a lot of entertaining stories under their belts!”

After a few more seconds of disassociated staring—gaze locked firmly on the mess of paper in a desperate attempt to tune out Bill’s mockery—Ford finally resharpened his pencil to a fine point and returned it to the notebook page. 

Rather than continue writing, however, the tip lingered above the paper while he stared at the most recent sentence in silent consideration. And after another second more, he brought it beneath his words to scribble out a bold underline.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, and it would all depend on whether or not the needed supplies would’ve kept their potency after all these years. 

But for now, it was an idea.

— — — — — — — 

“I’m awake!”

Mabel’s eyes snapped open as soon as the morning sunlight hit her eyelids, and she bolted upright so quickly that Waddles was sent rolling over onto his back with a surprised oink.

Despite his otherwise-unbothered state, Mabel still crawled to the end of the bed to pull him into a hug. “Sorry, buddy,” she cooed apologetically. “I didn’t realize you were back over here again!”

“He moved to your bed when we switched shifts an hour ago,” Dipper explained from his side of the room. “Guess you weren’t wrong about him being a good guard pig.”

With a tired laugh, she pressed several kisses to the top of Waddles’ head. “I told you! I’m just saying, maybe feeding Bill to him might actually get the job done.”

The laughter petered off as the events of the previous night came flooding back to them, and they exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Did…did you have any nightmares about him?” Dipper asked.

Mabel thought for a moment, the kisses now replaced with scritches to the top of the pig’s head as her affectionate gesture of choice.  “Not that I can remember,” she mused. “I had a dream where I was the size of a doll living in a dollhouse, and the little girl who owned it really wanted me to go for a drive in my convertible when I clearly wanted to go shopping at the mall!”

She pressed a finger to her chin. “But other than that, I think my dreams were pretty normal.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Dipper said. “I mean, I kept seeing triangles wherever I went. But it didn’t feel like anything I don’t normally dream about.”

A shrug as he reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. “Back when Bill visited me in my sleep last year, it felt a lot more—I dunno, vivid? Like it was something that could be happening in real life, you know? But nothing from last night felt that way.”

“I guess that means Grunkle Ford kept a close enough eye on Bill and he didn’t hop into anyone’s dreams, then,” Mabel said. “You think he’s really been up all night?”

“I’d believe it,” Dipper agreed with a nod. “You saw how freaked he was over Bill’s return, I don’t think he’s gonna sleep until Bill’s gone for good. I mean, for good-good this time.”

Mabel stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “Well, I hope he’s gone for good-good soon. I really want to be able to spend some time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

“Yeah, me too.”

They exchanged another look, before Mabel placed her hands on her hips. “Welp, can’t think of a way to re-kill an evil, triangle jerkface on an empty stomach!” she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s go get breakfast!”

A gurgling sound from Dipper’s stomach brought a hand to his shirt, and he hopped down from his bed to join her on the floor. “Ugh, good call. I swear I ate, like, three helpings of lasagna last night, and somehow I’m starving again!”

“Ughughughhhhh, me too,” Mabel bemoaned as the two exited their room and made their way towards the stairs. “This puberty thing is the worst! Why are we always hungry?!”

“I know, right? Everyone went on and on about the acne and the body hair, but they didn’t think to mention how we’d be eating as much as your pet pig?”

Their griping continued as they headed down the stairs together, although Mabel’s decision to skip a step at a time soon brought her to the bottom floor before her brother, leaving her to amble on through the kitchen door by herself.

Her nostrils were immediately greeted by several different scents at once—coffee, pancake syrup and bacon being the most potent, seconded by the smell of lasagna with a charred, reheated undertone that could only be produced by two-and-a-half minutes in a microwave.

From the kitchen table—with a little bit of everything stacked on his plate—Soos greeted her with a wave and a cheerful: “‘Morning, girl dude!”

“Mmm, I smell bacon,” Mabel muttered, trudging sleepily over to the table to join him. “And I’d just like to clarify that even though I have a pet pig, I still want five pieces. At least!”

Melody cast her a smile and tossed more bacon into the pan. “I’ll see what I can do—uh, do you want crispy or crunchy? Because I’ll just warn you right now that I’m way better at making it crunchy.”

She shifted the pieces of bacon around with the end of the spatula. “In fact, the last time I tried making it crispy, I don’t think I fried it long enough. So I’d probably pick crunchy, because there’s less of a chance that I’ll undercook it.”

“Well, I still thought your undercooked bacon was delicious, babe,” Soos piped up loyally.

From the open fridge, a very groggy Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you need to get your stomach pumped after eating too much?”

“Yes, and the doctor who did it was very polite!”

“Crunchy’s fine,” Mabel said, settling into an empty chair. “And my demand from before still stands.”

“Yeah, I’ll just stick to pancakes,” Dipper chimed in as he shuffled into the kitchen as well. “Morning, by the way.”

“Hey, dude!” Soos once again greeted, turning his attention to both twins as Dipper joined them at the table. “You two sleep okay? Especially with, uh—you know?”

The kitchen fell silent for a moment—save for the bacon sizzling away in the pan and the occasional scrape of the spatula as Melody continued to shift everything around for an even sear—before Dipper replied: “About as well as we could, yeah.”

“No dumb triangle guys in our dreams,” Mabel added. “Or at least, not the actual one. What about you guys?”

Wendy looked up from the fridge. “Eh, slept like I always do on that couch. Dead asleep around three am, while those early-morning infomercials play in a loop on the TV.”

After another moment of searching, she finally decided on the milk carton and swung the door shut behind her. “Pretty sure the only dream I had involved a talking watch that could also wash my dishes. If that means anything.”

While she held the carton up to her mouth for a swig, Melody moved some of the finished bacon to a plate. “When Soos and I slept, we slept fine,” she said. “But every so often, we’d wake up to go check on Dr. Pines.”

“Mornin’.”

The group turned to see Stan near the doorway, his groggy demeanor a clear indication that he had slept very little during the night. “Heard somethin’ about Ford,” he said, and held out his hand. “Gimme a plate of that bacon, then gimme the news.”

“As far as we know, nothing big happened,” Melody explained, and handed him a plate as instructed. “Every time we peeked in on them, Dr. Pines told us everything was fine while Bill was still tied to the chair.”

“Whaddabout the prisoner himself?”

“He’d call us a bunch of mean names whenever we checked in,” Soos added. “Or—well, he mostly just called me Question Mark. But the way he said it made it sound mean.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He also tried calling me Shirt at one point when I picked him up off the floor, but he went back on it pretty quick. Said it didn’t feel right.” A shrug. “Other than that, though, he didn’t really do anything.”

“Which probably means Ford didn’t have to do anything.” Stan exhaled with a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the update, Soos.”

“Would someone like to bring him a plate of food?” Melody asked. “I’ve pulled my fair share of all-nighters, I know how hungry they can make someone.”

Mabel’s expression brightened and she quickly hopped back down from the table. “I’ll do it! A hearty breakfast is sure to keep the Evil-Triangle-Killing gears turning in Grunkle Ford’s head!”

While Melody handed her a plate, Stan reached up to scrub the sleep from his eyes. “Well, it ain’t exactly how we expected our first day back to go, but can anyone really say they’re surprised?”

“I can’t,” Dipper said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Man, Dev’s gonna freak when he hears about what our trip’s been like so far.”

Suddenly Mabel’s eyes shot open wide as she slapped her own hand to the side of her face. “Dev! I completely forgot that he wanted to talk last night!”

“You wanna go call him now?” Dipper asked. “I’ll take Ford his breakfast, if you wa—”

He barely had time to finish his question before the plate was thrust into his hands and Mabel hurried back out of the kitchen towards the stairs. Waddles—who had sleepily ambled after the kids as they’d headed down to breakfast, and had been in the process of finally reaching the bottom step—promptly turned around as she whizzed past and began to head back up after her.

Stan watched until both of them disappeared out of sight, before looking down to Dipper. “Not gonna ask about all a’that, but if you don’t mind havin’ a tag-along to go feed Ford—” He flicked a thumb at himself. “—there’s at least one other Pines here that can get the job done.”

Dipper cast him a small smile. “Yeah, actually, I’d like that.”

Stan shifted the thumb away from himself into a proper thumbs up before the two of them exited the kitchen, making their way towards the hall and the bedroom that waited just beyond the corner.

— — — — — —

After his early-morning attempt to torment Ford, Bill had fallen into yet another thoughtful silence.

Sure, he’d barely gotten more than a sentence or two out of Ford over the course of the night, most of which had just been threats. But that didn’t stop him from stringing together a few things on his own, using the various context clues he’d gathered since he’d first regained consciousness.

First thing of note was the room itself. Several points from the previous evening informed him that it had shifted from a parlor room to a bedroom for Soos’s grandmother; her current location unknown and her overall existence the farthest thing from a priority to Bill. One less person to keep track of—and/or to wave a random weapon in his face—was perfectly fine by him.

But her owning a bedroom here at the Shack implied that she had moved in since the previous summer. Additional clues gathered throughout the night also implied that Soos and the woman who came to check on Ford with him—Bill didn’t care enough to pay attention to her name, but it was blatantly obvious that the two of them were an Item—had moved into the Shack with her, specifically into Ford’s old bedroom next door.

On the same topic of Soos and Who-Cares-About-Her-Name, Bill had heard them pass by the bedroom about thirty minutes prior and head towards the direction of the kitchen. Given how they had yet to return, he wagered a guess that a new day had rolled around and the household was springing to life once again.

None of that could be considered groundbreaking information to Bill, but it was always nice to get a clearer picture of what he was working with in terms of scenery. Sixer had allowed his home to be turned into Domestic City over the past nine months, how uncharacteristically quaint of him.

Speaking of which…

Bill tore his stare from the the shelf of porcelain dolls he had kept his attention on during the quieter parts of the night—hey, his earlier remark had been more than just a light joke; old porcelain dolls were always good for a chat or two when he could actually talk to them—and cast a glance back Ford again. 

He had briefly touched on his appearance the previous evening—mostly in the form of jokes about his silly beard—but there were a few other differences that could be spotted if one had spent several billion years honing the art of observing people.

Ford’s fashion sense was definitely not among those differences—not when he still donned the same red sweater and faded dark pants from the year prior. Even his glasses looked the same, sans the broken glass in the left lens being replaced at some point. Unsurprising in the slightest—ol’ Sixer hadn’t exactly been the kind of guy to keep up with the latest fashion trends.

But the crow’s feet around Ford’s eyes—ones that had been so deeply embedded that it was a miracle they hadn’t left scars—were fainter than before, and the dark circles that had once called the area beneath them home had faded to more of a light gray.

Overall, the aged ruggedness of his features had shifted to something more relaxed, more vital. As if he’d suddenly switched to a full four hours of sleep a night and lowered his daily coffee intake from twelve cups to eight, with an actual breakfast to go with them instead of just his usual nutrition pills.

All of that, and something else Bill couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

A fact that made his scowl lower as his gaze shifted from Ford to the gun on the nightstand. It had been pretty easy to piece together that Ford was scribbling down methods to try and kill him, likely without causing any lethal harm to his current vessel. 

The latter was only mere speculation, once again tying back to his original thoughts upon regaining consciousness. But combined with the events of the previous evening, where the worst harm inflicted on him was nothing more than a punch to the eye—painful and annoying, but clearly nothing that was going to kill him—and an entire night of all bark and no bite when it came to Ford firing a bullet, Bill felt far more secure in his initial assumption.

Ford was trying to find a way to kill him without killing the body itself. A relatively-easy conclusion to reach with the evidence presented to him.

So naturally, the temptation to reveal what he knew to Ford had been locked in a fierce and grueling battle with his common sense for most of the night.

It was a great risk for sure, but the pile in the fireplace granted Bill some reassurance that Ford was nowhere near an actual solution. And if he did have any ideas left in that tattered little notebook of his—no new journal, huh? An unusual choice, but perhaps it was just a temporary method of notetaking. Not like he could exactly write in the other ones after Bill had used them for kindling last year, haha!—they certainly weren’t going to be his A-game.

Needless to say, toeing the line in this instance felt like a safe bet on Bill’s end. Plus it’d double as a chance to redarken those circles and recarve those old crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. 

Really remind Ford of just who he was dealing with here.

“It’s morning by now, right?” he finally asked aloud. “You must be tired, Fordsy.”

His remark earned him a dirty look from Ford, one he broke within seconds in favor of turning back to his work. An action that earned him a condescending sigh from Bill. “Still no dice on getting you to talk to me, huh? Can’t even take five minutes away from your mysterious scribblings to have a chat?”

With a laugh, he kicked his legs up in the air and clanked them back down against the chair in the most annoying fashion possible. “I’m just kidding, Stanford—I know what you’re trying to do,” he continued. “Obviously you’re trying to figure out a way to get rid of me, without killing the body of the poor sucker I’m possessing.”

He flashed him a toothy grin. “It’s why you just keep sticking that gun in my face instead of just pulling the trigger and busting out a mop to clean up the blood before it stains the floorboards, right?”

This earned him yet another sharp glare, one which masked something else behind Ford’s eyes that Bill once again struggled to decipher. Ugh, being stuck in a human vessel was so annoying; how was he supposed to reach his hand into someone’s mind cavity and really dig his fingers into their deepest fears and insecurities in a body like this?

Well, if he couldn’t poke and prod at the newer stuff, there was always the older spread for Bill to revisit. “No need to be get all huffy, Ford, I’m sure whatever brilliant plan you come up with will work so well,” he continued with another clank of his legs to the chair. “Like that memory gun trick~! I toldja last night how clever it was, right? Too bad you can’t go and Swiss cheese someone else’s mind this time around, huh?”

Another laugh escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan cackle as he folded one leg over the other. “I mean, you could always try it, but just know that it’ll be a lot trickier for me to go along with your little game again. And don’t think I won’t be counting the number of fingers on Goldfish’s hand—”

A light crunch of wood cut him off mid-sentence, and his eyes moved from Ford’s piercing glare to the pencil clutched tightly in his fist. The top half was bent at an unusual angle than before—a likely implication that it had snapped right in two, with Ford’s ironclad grip being the only thing keeping the pieces together at this point.

Well, he was definitely succeeding in getting under the man’s skin, that was clear~!

Before either of them could remark on the matter, however, the creaking of floorboards from further up the hall drew their attention to the door—

—and it was only seconds later before the creaking stopped just outside of it and Dipper’s voice called: “Grunkle Ford! Breakfast time!” from the other side.

Bill felt his eyes roll so far back into his head, he swore he got a glimpse at the useless lump of gray matter—or at least, it would normally be useless if he wasn’t the one taking it for a joyride—that humans called a brain. Great, one of the meddlesome little rugrats was acting as the Sunshine Brigade, and not even the fun one with the pig.

Well, at least he could probably get a kick out of scaring the little weenie. And at least said weenie’s voice succeeded in getting Ford to react with his own call of “Come on in.” as he set the broken pencil down on the nightstand.

The door was slowly pushed open with a hesitant hand to reveal the aforementioned Dipper and—

“Hope you’re feeling non-kosher today,” Stan piped up behind him. “If not, I’m snagging that bacon off your plate.”

Seriously? Didn’t Punchy Mc-No-Memory have anything better to do? What were there no tourists for him to currently scam or candy to snatch outta the grubby little hands of an underdeveloped human toddler?

Whatever, at least the two of them combined would bring some excitement into the room. “Oh, so both Pine Tree and Goldfish wanted to join the party this morning~?” he greeted with a bright grin. “Great, the more the merrier~!”

Dipper pushed the door open further and—while likely fighting the urge to wince at the sight of him—crossed the room to where Ford was seated. “Good morning! Melody prepped you a plate of food so you could eat while you worked.”

Despite his exhausted demeanor, Ford’s expression brightened at the sight of Dipper approaching him. “Thank you, Dipper,” he said, taking the offered plate with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could with—well—”

He attempted—attempted and failed miserably—to give a subtle tilt of the head in Bill’s direction, to which Bill responded with a cackle. “You know, Pine Tree, it’s very rude to gossip about someone when they’re in the room!“ he taunted. “Don’t beat around the bush, go ahead and tell him how restless your sleep was now that I’m back~!”

He tilted his own head with a playful smile. “Also please feel free to go into any nightmares you might’ve had in intricate detail! I looooove flipping through the night’s haul every morning! It’s like reading the newspaper at breakfast, but with more teeth falling out of someone’s head!”

While Dipper finally lost against the urge to wince in response, Stan flicked a thumb in Bill’s direction. “So, he do anything outside of be an annoying little nuisance all night?”

“Outside of that, no,” Ford answered, setting his pencil down. “But after a while, it grew easier to ignore him.”

“Okay, well, that’s even ruder than gossiping about someone while they’re in the same room,” Bill said with a scoff. “Honestly, somebody should give this family a few pointers on guest hospitality.”

Stan cast him a sidelong look of disgust. “Little jerk really likes hearing himself talk, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Ford said wearily. “But hopefully he won’t be an issue for us much longer.”

“Did you find a way to deal with him?” Dipper asked.

Ford opened his mouth to reply, looked to Bill—

—then stood up in his chair. “Let’s discuss this out in the hallway.”

“Wow, again with the hallway meetings, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “While I’d normally be flattered at how often you chumps feel the need to play hush-hush with your plans, gossiping about someone where they can’t hear you is even ruder than doing it in the same room as them~!”

Despite his snark, Bill was elated by the thought of being left alone again. A few minutes to himself meant a chance to search for something sharp enough to cut his binds.

Sure, getting Ford to do it for him was still the preferable option. But if a chance to take care of the issue himself was presented to him, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth—

“Whaddabout him?”

Stan’s voice and pointed finger in his direction pulled Bill from his thoughts. “Think it’s safe to leave him all by himself?” 

Bill’s brow furrowed at the question. Guess being a spoilsport ran in the family, huh?

Oh, well. Nothing he couldn’t twist in his favor. “What do you mean, Goldfish?” he asked with a kick of his feet. “I’m still just as tied up as I was last night, aren’t I? What could I possibly do while you’re all busy discussing Sixer’s oh-so-clever plan to get rid of me~?”

An even bigger risk than before. To reveal all of that to Ford was one thing, but to reveal it to other people?

Eh, Pine Tree hadn’t even picked up on his little laptop stunt last year and Goldfish was more brawn than brain—Bill could afford to play loose and fast here.

Dipper shot Bill an uneasy glare before turning his attention up to Stan. “I hate to agree with him, but he does have a point: what can he really do while he’s all tied up like that?”

Oh, Pine Tree, you wonderful, reliable idiot. “Yeah, yeah, listen to the kid!” Bill agreed. “Unless you feel like leaving him to babysit me~?”

Okay, well, that one wasn’t so much of a risk as it was sticking his hand in a bucket of defanged piranha—the end result was so pathetically safe and predictable that it was almost not worth the effort. And sure enough, Dipper’s immediate wincing at the suggestion proved that he had bluffed successfully. “Guess that’s a no, huh?” he asked with a flash of his teeth. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree? Don’t feel like spending some quality time with me? I know I could use the company, ol’ Fordsy over there was a total drag the entire night.”

He pointed a leg in the direction of the porcelain doll collection. “And like I was telling him earlier; in a pathetic, unevolved body like this, I couldn’t even settle for a conversation with the girls on the shelf over there! Such a shame, Lupita on the middle one looks like she has quite the tongue for gossip—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before anyone—Bill included—could react, Stan stormed over to the chair and lightly pushed it backwards onto the floor. And before Bill could let out more than an agitated “Hey—HEY!”, Stan nudged the chair forward with his foot until the top rail was tucked beneath the underside of Abuelita’s bed. 

Leaving Bill unable to rotate the chair in any direction without the top clanging against the bed. And despite his best attempts to flail around helplessly, face reddening with anger by the second, the chair—and by extension, his own body—remained firmly in place on the ground.

Stan turned back to Ford with a grin. “So hallway, then?”

“Hallway.”

After a collective nod, the three of them shuffled out of the room. Leaving Bill to once again slump against his restraints with a huff and cast another glare in the direction of the porcelain shelf. “Not a single word outta you, Lupita!”

— — — — —

Once the door was pulled firmly shut behind them, Dipper asked: “Has he really been like that all night?”

“Sadly he picked up on the fact that I would’ve preferred not to use the gun unless absolutely necessary,” Ford explained, with a scrub at his weary eyes. “So he was probably taking advantage of that for as long as he could.”

“Yeesh,” Stan said with a wince. “So, uh—hate to go the gruesome route first, but why can’t we just take the little gremlin and—” 

He held a pair of fingers to his temple and made a shooting motion with his hand. “I know it ain’t the best idea, what with the whole…you know—”

They turned towards Dipper in unison, who reached for his own arm with a grimace. “Oh…you guys saw it too, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to see it,” Stan pointed out, and glanced over at Ford again. “But uh—I’m guessing that’s the main reason we’re not trying it?”

“There are plenty of reasons why I’m abstaining from killing Bill in his current form,” Ford explained, before casting a sympathetic look to Dipper. “Although the resemblance to you is certainly one of the bigger reasons as to why I’m hesitant to try.”

Dipper gave him a small, grateful smile in return. “I mean, if it helps, I accidentally killed a ton of my own clones last year,” he said. “Plus I did have some pretty dark thoughts about what I wanted to do to Dippy Fresh in Mabel’s dream world.”

He shrugged nervously. “So, you know, if you really have to kill him while he looks like me—”

His words were cut off with a weak laugh as Ford pressed a comforting hand to the top of his head. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind for sure,” he said, before both hand and smile fell again. “But there are other reasons as to why I’m hesitant. One of the main ones being that we have no way of knowing if killing the body would kill Bill himself.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Stan asked.

“Bill’s a creature of the mind,” Ford explained, pressing a finger to his temple. “One who lacks a physical form, and needs to resort to possessing those of us in the real world if he wishes to accomplish anything in this dimension.”

He gestured to himself, then to Dipper. “It’s why he had to use both Dipper and myself as his vessels on separate occasions.”

Stan’s gaze shifted awkwardly between them. “Oh, uh—right.”

“He mentioned something like that last year,” Dipper added. “About how if you don’t have a vessel, you’re basically a ghost in the mindscape.”

“Precisely,” Ford continued. “Based on his current appearance, he’s likely made some sort of deal with an unsuspecting person and claimed a new vessel as his own. But if a form of harm—or worse, death befell that vessel, it would leave the poor soul of whoever he’s possessing without a body, and him free to bounce around the mindscape again.”

He crossed his arms. “Which would just leave him completely unbound to our dimension and leave us back at square one.”

“So…if we can’t kill him and we can’t remove him from his vessel, then what can we do?” Dipper asked.

“Ah, well, I never said we couldn’t remove him from the vessel,” Ford pointed out. “I simply said that using the most drastic method available would be a poor decision, with no guarantee that it would actually kill Bill himself.”

A pause. “Plus there’s the natural reluctance that most people tend to face when presented with the idea of putting a bullet into a teenager’s head. Obviously.”

“I mean, if the kid’s possessed by someone who tried to destroy the universe, I don’t think anyone in their right mind’s gonna get huffy at you for pullin’ the trigger,” Stan pointed out. “But if we’re not doing that, then—what are we doing?”

“My current best idea is to take Bill down to my lab and try an artificial means of exhausting the body,” Ford explained. “In the hopes of exorcizing Bill from it in a safe and controlled environment, and to possibly bind him to a vessel where he’ll be unable to move around freely.”

He pressed a thoughtful hand to his chin. “Perhaps if we’re lucky, it will also grant the body’s original host a chance to retake control. And if they do, maybe they’ll be able to answer any further questions we might have regarding the situation. Answers we're surely not going to get from Bill himself."

He raised his hands in a shrug. “And even if none of that works, it might still give us a clearer picture as to what kind of possession we’re dealing with, and hopefully steer us towards a method that will actually kill Bill for good.”

Stan blinked. “...Now say it in layman’s terms for the kid, in case he didn’t catch that—”

“He’s going to try and make Bill so tired that he leaves the body, but can’t escape from the lab,” Dipper explained. “And move him to a vessel where he won’t cause more trouble and also doesn’t look like me, while maybe giving the original body back to whoever owned it.”

“Oh!” Stan said, and began to crack his fists. “Well, I mean—if you need a way to tire the little guy out, there’s nothin’ better than a good, old-fashioned round of fisticuffs—”

“No, Stanley,” Ford interrupted. “I appreciate both of you bringing me breakfast, but I’ll be handling this on my own.”

“Wh—” Stan’s hands fell to his side. “Seriously? You’re really not gonna let anyone help you with this?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta side with Grunkle Stan on this one,” Dipper added. “You said yourself that you’ve been up all night, having to listen to Bill do everything he can to get under your skin. Are you sure you don’t want any help dealing with him now that the rest of us are awake?”

A shrug. ”Or, you know, someone to at least watch him while you take a nap?”

“Atta boy, Dip,” Stan praised, before pointing a finger at his brother. “Like I said last night, I can watch over Bill for you while you get some sleep. If you don’t want me to kill him, I won’t—I’ll just keep an eye on him—”

“I believe I gave my answer last night,” Ford said firmly, turning back to the door. “I’ve got a few plans in mind, and if it turns out that I’m unable to accomplish this goal on my own, only then will I ask for help.”

“...Will you?”

Ford’s hand froze just above the doorknob, and he turned back to Stanley with a raised eyebrow. “Come again?”

“Will you ask for help?” Stan repeated with more boldness as he leaned closer. “Because you’ve got a guy who’s practically throwin’ himself at you to help, and you keep saying you can handle this by yourself.”

“I said I will ask for help if I’m unable to handle it by myself, Stanley,” Ford replied, narrowing his eyes. “And so far, I’ve been able to handle it just fine—”

“Uh, maybe I should just—”

Dipper shifted uncomfortably in place, before taking a step backwards. A motion that caused both men to turn to him with looks of concern. “It’s alright, Dipper, you can go,” Ford reassured him with a smile. “And thank you for bringing me breakfast, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, go on and get, kiddo,” Stan added with a wave. “Actually, why don’t you go check on your sister, or somethin’? Don’t know if she got any food in her.”

“Hmm, come to think of it, I don’t think she did,” Dipper mused thoughtfully. “I should probably go fix that, huh?”

He turned and hurried back down the hall, the older men waiting until he disappeared from sight to face each other again. “Come on, Ford,” Stan asked, flicking a thumb towards the door. “You’ve been at this all night, and the only idea you’ve got isn’t even one that’s gonna kill him.”

“I realize it’s not the best idea,” Ford said. “But if it works, we can always trap Bill in a safer environment and—”

“And what, stay up for another week as you keep looking for a way to actually kill him?” Stan interrupted. “And what happens if you don’t find one? Are you just gonna stay up forever and let this Bill stuff takes over your life again?”

“If I have to, then yes,” Ford said firmly, and turned to face the door again. “What other choice do I have, let Bill wander around freely and attempt to destroy the universe again?”

“You have the choice to let someone else babysit the little jerk while you rest for five minutes!”

Much like the evening prior, Ford felt a hand clasp his shoulder tightly. “Ford, just—don’t you remember what I said at the bus stop yesterday?” Stan asked, pleaded. “About not having to deal with anything by ourselves ever again? What, did you think I was lying when I said that?”

Ford froze at that question, hand less than an inch from the doorknob.

He wasn’t lying. Of course he wasn’t lying.

But that was the issue in itself.

His shoulders tensed beneath Stan’s hand as his thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous day. Those looks Stanley had given him after their arrival, the way he’d dodged his concerns back at the mermaid tank.

Ford had initially written them off as his own paranoia, as something to not concern himself over. But Stan had said as much himself yesterday; he would toss himself in front of another blast of the Memory Gun to protect his family again. So willing to let himself burn if it meant keeping the others warm.

Was it truly his paranoia talking when it came to those thoughts? Or—

“I don’t know, Stanley. Were you?”

The question escaped Ford’s mouth before he could stop himself, leaving Stan to stare at him with a perplexed look. “What? Whaddaya talkin’ about?”

Ford hesitated to reply at first, but eventually continued with: “You said we could talk to each other about anything. But ever since we’ve arrived at the Shack, you keep looking at me like you’ve got something you need to say but refuse to say it.”

“Again, I ask: whaddaya talkin’ about?”

“The way you looked at me last night at dinner,” Ford explained. “And…and back at the mermaid tank when we were talking with the others. You kept looking at me like you wanted to tell me something, but the one time I actually asked you if anything’s wrong, you just brushed it off with a joke!”

He folded his arms. “How am I supposed to believe you when you say we don’t have to deal with hardships by ourselves anymore when you can’t even grant me the same courtesy in return?”

Stan blinked at him a few times, before his eyes narrowed. “Are you ki—you cannot be serious, Stanford! Are you really not letting me help you deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The implications of what Stan had said hit them both like a truck, any aggravation that had been building between them instantly replaced with identical looks of shock. Shock that lingered for a few, agonizingly long seconds before—

“You know what, I need to get back to work,” Ford said, and spun to face the bedroom door again.

“Ford, I—”

It was as far as he got before the door slammed shut in his face.

Stan lingered where he stood, too stunned to properly move or react. And much like the previous evening, the idea of barging into the room after Ford once again flashed to the front of his mind. 

Barging in, making a scene—heck, he even eyed the dent on the wall where Ford had swung a fist the night before, his own hand balling into a fist as the temptation to follow suit swelled inside him.

But despite the red flooding his vision, he still had enough of a grasp on his common sense to know that making a whole scene—especially in front of Bill—would only make things more difficult for Ford. It would only push him further away, only make him close himself off even more than he already was, only make him bury himself further in his work and sleepless isolation—

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

If he hadn’t done that already, after implying that Ford—the man who had spent several decades being lied to and manipulated by the very same demon in the next room—was just being paranoid because he didn’t want Stan's help. 

“Well, we have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines.”

That Ford’s accusations about him were just based on nothing.

“None of this would’ve happened without you, Grunkle Ford!”

That Ford had been anything but completely right about him.

Great. Great. 

Just another way he’d royally screwed things up.

It took every ounce of restraint that Stan could possibly muster to once again force his balled fist to his side, before he turned and stormed back down the hallway.

And once he was sure that Ford wouldn’t be able to hear him, he finally swung it hard at the wall near the stairs, the wood splintering beneath his knuckles with a loud cracking sound.

A sound that unfortunately attracted the attention of the remaining kitchen-goers, Soos poking his head out less than a second later. “Mr. Pines? Is everything okay?” he asked. “Are you still hungry? Melody made more bacon—”

Stan barely managed a grunt and a “Goin’ out to the boat!” in response before he continued onwards out the front door—he left it ajar; Soos would close it behind him and Stan knew for a fact that if he tried to close it himself, the slam would be loud enough to wake up the entire town—down the porch steps and towards the direction of the boat at the edge of the yard.

— — — — — — — —

“You know, most people would be mad about being left on the floor while you went out in the hallway to gossip with your blowhard brother and a kid who probably has Baby’s First Conspiracies memorized cover to cover—”

Clank, clank.

“—but lucky for you, Fordsy, I’m in just as much of a forgiving mood as I was yesterday—”

Clank, clank.

“Honestly, I kinda like laying down on the floor like this! In fact, I could stay here forever!”

While Bill continued to rock his body back and forth—causing the top of the chair to clank loudly against the underside of the bed—Ford remained with his back to the door, too submerged in his own troubling thoughts to pay him any mind.

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The question was like a chilling rush of ice water to his veins. Stanley really thought that he wasn’t letting him help because he didn’t trust him? After all they’d experienced together, after everything they’d gone through—

After everything that Stanley had sacrificed to save the universe, Ford had the gall to imply right to the man’s face that he didn’t trust him? To imply that Stan was being secretive about something, based on evidence as miniscule as responding strangely to a question about his mood? A response that Ford himself had originally brushed off as his own paranoia getting the better of him?

And what had changed about that original mindset to cause such doubt in Ford’s mind? Stanley’s constant insistence to help deal with Bill? A natural response to have when someone he cared about was in need?

Yeah, definitely worthy of the cruel accusations Ford had tossed at him.

He remained rigid against the door, and it was only once he heard the telltale sound of floorboards creaking their way up the hallway on the other side that he finally moved back to the chair and his waiting breakfast.

“Not even a look at me, huh?” Bill piped up from the floor. “Wow, did your chat really go that badly?”

He kicked his legs straight up into the air with a thoughtful look. “Come to think of it, that’s what—twice now that you’ve gone out into the hallway with him and come back looking worse than you normally do? And here I thought I was joking when I said the two of you were fighting.”

Devilish laughter followed his remark, and he gave the top of the chair another clank against the bed. “But even after nine months and a homemade bout of amnesia, you Pines twins really can’t get along, can you?”

Ford stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, fighting desperately to keep his attention fixed on his plate of food. A repeat of his unsaid sentiments from the previous evening; that damned demon could chatter on all he wanted.

He could say whatever he wanted, tease him however he wanted—

He finally turned back to his list of potential ideas, gaze landing on the one he had underlined earlier in the morning.

He swapped his plate for the notes and returned to where Bill was still situated. After a few more clanks of his legs against the chair, Bill flashed him a wide grin. “Aw, have you decided to finally pick me up—oh, actually, you have.”

Ford grabbed the end of the chair leg and pulled it out from beneath the bed, Bill’s grin only widened further as he set the entire thing back up in a standing position. “Well, well, well, you’re finally listening to me again,” he said smugly. “It’s about time you—hey, what are you doing?”

While Bill had prattled on, Ford had moved to the rope by the wall—the one that had been abandoned for most of the night. Originally he’d planned on using it to tie Bill’s legs to the chair, but circumstances had prevented him from getting around to actually accomplishing that throughout the course of the evening.

If anything, that had worked out in Ford’s favor. If he was truly going to try his attempt at exorcizing Bill, this would save him a trip to the storage room.

After slinging the rope over his shoulder, he returned to the chair and placed his hand on the back, before scooping it up from the floor in one fluid motion. Further ignoring Bill’s follow up remark of: “Welp, guess we’re leaving~! Too bad, I was starting to grow fond of those porcelain dolls! They’re great nightmare fuel!”, he kept his grip on the chair and lead both of them out into the hallway.

Leaving the barely touched plate and scrapped pile of ideas abandoned in the room.

— — — — — —

Dipper trudged up the stairs and towards the room at the back of the attic, the sound of Mabel’s voice growing louder and clearer as he approached the bedroom door; “Yeah, sorry, things got a little crazy last night,” she was saying. “We literally got into town and the bus had to stop because some gnomes and Lilliputtians were fighting in the middle of the road!”

“Did you snap any pics?” Another voice piped up.

A long, sad sigh. “No, we didn’t think to at the time. Sorry, I know you would’ve loved it.”

Dipper pushed the door to the bedroom open to the sight of Mabel seated near her bed, phone in hand as Dev continued to speak through it: “Eh, no worries, you guys have all summer,” they said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get pics of all the other weird stuff that town has to offer.”

“Hey, Dev!” Dipper called as he approached the bed. “Just letting you know that I’m now in the room, so no making kissy faces at each other!”

“Psh, who says?” Mabel asked. “We can make kissy faces at each other all we want, whenever we want!”

“Hey, Dip!” Dev called in return. “Mabel was just telling me about your busy first day, and why she forgot to call.”

“So I heard. Hey, scoot over.”

Mabel obliged, and he planted himself down on the floor next to her. “Did she tell you about how we got carried up to the shack by a Manotaur?”

“Ugh, you guys have all the luck!” Dev whined. “I wish I could’ve convinced Aaron to let me join you guys up there for the summer!”

“Ehh, I don’t know about that one, Dev,” Dipper said. “It wasn’t all gnomes and Manotaurs once we got back to town. See, after we got to the Shack—”

“Our Grunkle Ford had to deal with a whollleeee lot of old business stuff!” Mabel interrupted quickly. “Lots of nerd stuff—not the cool nerd stuff that you like, boring nerd stuff—that might keep him busy all summer, and we might not get to spend as much time with him as we thought we would.”

“Aww, boo,” Dev said supportively. “You were so excited about getting to spend the summer with him! You even made that sweater and everything!”

“Right?! But hopefully he gets it all dealt with in time for us to do lots of fun Grunkle-and-great-niece-slash-nephew activities!”

She paused for a moment. “Ugh, that’s a mouthful. What’s a better way to say great-niece-and-nephew?”

“...Gniece and Gnephew?” Dev suggested. “Like gnome but the g isn’t silent?”

Mabel’s eyes went wide and she clutched the phone to her cheek. “Ugh, you’re the SMARTEST smarty-pants in the world~!” she cooed, kicking her feet. “I’m soooo gonna use that now!”

“Anyway, sorry for not checking in last night, Dev,” Dipper chimed in. “Just assume that if we go a while without calling you, we’re probably being held captive by like…mutant tree people or something.”

“Wait, you guys have mutant tree people up there?!” Dev asked excitedly. “Maaaaan—next year I’ve gotta convince Aaron to let me go up there with you guys—”

There was a muffled shout in the background, before Dev said: “Oh, he’s calling me down to breakfast, I’ve gotta go.”

“No problem, we’re supposed to be eating breakfast now, too,” Dipper added. 

“Bye, Dev~!” Mabel said sweetly. “We’ll talk to you later~!”

“Bye, Dev! What Mabel said.”

“I love you!”

“—also that, but platonically!”

“Later, guys!” Dev called. “Hope you get a chance to spend time with your Great-Uncle Ford, and don’t forget to snag me an autograph if you can!”

“Dev—” Dipper said with a laugh. “I’m telling you, he’s just a regular guy.”

“Remind me again: how long did you spend searching for him last year?”

“...Point taken. Talk to you later.”

There was a click and the phone went silent, before Mabel slapped it shut. “Aww, I wish we could’ve convinced Aaron to let Dev come with us on our trip up here!” she lamented with a sigh. “He’s usually so cool, I don’t know why he said no!”

“Maybe because you told him about how one of our great-uncles stole the other’s identity for thirty years,” Dipper reminded her. “While the other spent that time traveling around the Multiverse. I mean, what older brother would want their younger sibling to spend the entire summer with two old men like that?”

“Uh, the coolest older brother?” Mabel replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh well. Maybe we can convince Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford to come down to Piedmont for Hanukkah this year. They can meet him then, and then he’ll be willing to let Dev spend next summer here with us~! Perfect plan!”

“Yeah, perfect plan,” Dipper said. “As long as they’ve gotten rid of Bill by then.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room, the twins’ gazes shifting away from each other as Mabel suddenly found herself very interested in the pattern on the floorboards while  Dipper reached up to fiddle with his hat. “So you didn’t tell Dev about Bill’s return, I’m guessing?”

“Nuh-uh,” Mabel confirmed in a low voice.

“...You know, what I said yesterday about talking to Mayor Tyler still applies,” Dipper continued. “I mean, he’s dating Wendy’s dad now and he seemed really excited to see us when we got back to town. Maybe if we ask—”

“Race you downstairs to finish that breakfast we didn’t eat!”

Before Dipper could continue, Mabel had leapt to her feet and was bolting for the door. Dipper blinked in surprise, before leaping to his feet as well and hurrying after her with a shout of: “Mabel, wait, you didn’t let me finish—”

Mabel simply laughed in response as the two of them raced their way back down to the first floor—

“Well, well, well, looks like Shooting Star’s awake too~!”

—only for that laughter to get caught in her throat as she reached the bottom step, eyes wide at the sight that waited before her.

Ford was just coming up from the hallway, Bill’s chair clutched tightly in his hand as he walked. And upon hearing Bill’s greeting to Mabel, Ford gave the chair a warning shake.

To Mabel, however, he gave a warm, tired smile. “Good morning, Mabel.”

“Uh, good morning, Grunkle Ford…”

Mabel couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the restrained figure in the chair, one who cast her a wide smile full of teeth. “Sleep well~?” he asked. “Heard your brother had an uneasy night—”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” Dipper piped up, as he came down the stairs behind Mabel. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“Aw, but putting words in other people’s mouths is so fun,” Bill insisted. “All you gotta do is take one word, pluck it outta someone’s head, and then just slap another word in its place! You can make even the most serious and no-nonsense chumps say all kinds of silly words when you do!”

He jerked his head towards Ford. “Like ol’ Fordsy here—go ahead and try to get him to say the word ‘burden’!” he said with a bat of his eyelashes. “Come on, you know you wanna~!”

As Dipper and Mabel both winced in discomfort, Soos peered his head out from the kitchen. “Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully, before his gaze fell to Bill. “Uh, that doesn’t apply to you, triangle dude.”

“So grateful you spelled that out for me, Question Mark,” Bill said with bright sarcasm. “Otherwise I never would’ve caught it~!”

“Oh, uh—you’re welcome, then? I guess?”

“Nobody pay him any mind,” Ford instructed. “We’re simply passing through on our way down to the basement.”

“Yeah, nobody pay me any mind,” Bill chimed. “Unless they’re really valuable, of course!”

He laughed at his own joke with a kick of his feet. “I’m just kidding: I’ll take any mind as a form of payment, even the dumb ones!” he said, with a wink in Soos’ direction. “I’m talkin’ to you, Big Guy, I know for a fact you’re not using yours!”

“Ugh, is there any way to get him to stop talking?” Wendy piped up from behind Soos, a moment before she propped herself against the kitchen doorframe. “Can’t Mr. Pines pop him in the other eye or something?”

“He coooould,” Bill taunted. “If him and Sixer weren’t fiiiiighting~!”

He laughed as Ford gave the chair another shake, while Mabel stared in confusion. “You and Grunkle Stan are fighting?”

“As I said, Mabel, pay him no mind,” Ford instructed. “Nothing that comes out of his mouth is to be trusted in any sense.”

“Well, uh,” Dipper started awkwardly. “Do you know where Grunkle Stan went after you guys talked? I don’t think he ate much of his breakfast before we went to bring you yours, so—”

“I know where he went,” Wendy began, before her eyes fell to Bill. “He—he came up the hallway, then headed outside to the boat. Didn’t say why, though.”

“I did ask if he wanted any more food, though,” Soos added. “But he just kinda grunted and didn’t really give me an answer. Which is a pretty normal Mr. Pines reply, but still—breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I hope he’s alright!”

“Sounds to me like he’s going outside to sulk because somebody doesn’t want him around,” Bill said, once again tilting his head in Ford’s direction. “But I guess they didn’t hear that from me, did they?”

Ford glowered at him for a brief moment, before turning towards the living room doorway. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the basement dealing with our little…problem.”

“Oh, wait one second, Dr. Pines!” Melody called from the kitchen, seconds before leaning into view from the doorway. “Before you go, I just wanted to ask about the party tonight. And, uh—whether or not we should still have it after—”

She gestured towards Bill with the spatula, upon which he flashed her a smile. “Aww, you chumps were going to have a party?” he asked. “Well, don’t stop on my account! I dunno if anyone’s told you, Newbie, but I’m quite the party fanatic myself~! Practically invented the word!”

Melody raised an eyebrow. “Newbie?”

“He does nicknames,” Wendy explained with a wave of her hand. “It’s a thing, don’t worry about it.”

“Ignoring him, please feel free to have the party as initially planned,” Ford instructed Melody. “I assume you’ve already passed out invitations, and canceling at the last minute would arouse more suspicion than just hosting the party anyway.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Soos said, casting him a small grin. “You—uh, think you’ll be done in time to join us? It’s a party for you too, you know?”

Ford looked to him, then silently to Bill—who only widened his cheeky little grin further as he waited for an answer—

—before passing through living room doorway in silence, letting the chair thump down the small step and to the carpet as he dragged it behind him. With a vocal complaint from Bill in the form of: “Hey, hey! You could at least carry me all the way, you jerk!”, Ford continued onwards towards the door to the gift shop on the other side of the room.

The rest of the group watched them go, and looked to each other once the two of them disappeared from sight past the swinging door. “So, uh—guess we should start prepping the shack for the party then, huh?” Soos asked the rest of them.

“Probably,” Melody agreed. “We didn’t get around to cleaning up the exhibits yesterday, so there’s a lot to do if we want to be ready by tonight.”

“Ughh, does that mean I have to work on another one of my days off?” Wendy started with a groan—

—before casting a look to the twins still on the stairs, gazes still focused on the vacant living room doorway. “—ah, well, I guess it’s a good chance to show off our new way of cleaning things up around here.”

She flashed them a grin. “I could use a couple of assistants to help me out, though. Whaddaya say, dorks?”

Dipper pulled his gaze away from the door frame to look at her. “You want our help?”

“No, I’m talking to the other pair of twins standing in the exact same spot as you two,” Wendy said with a laugh. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Or as fun as cleaning can get—”

She shrugged. “I know that’s not very convincing, but seriously, I could really use someone to talk to while I work. Make the boring stuff less boring, y’know?”

This got a smile out of Dipper, and he leaned over to nudge his sister. “Come on, let’s leave Ford to do what he’s gotta do and go distract ourselves for a bit,” he urged. “Besides, I’m sure Melody will let you toss up as many streamers as you want if you ask.”

“I will!” Melody confirmed from the doorway.

Mabel didn’t take her eyes off the living room doorway at first, but the draw of streamers finally moved her attention back to the rest of the group. “As many as I want?”

“We have at least a hundred rolls at the ready,” Soos said with a thumbs up. “When we told the lady at Party Metropolis what—and who—they were for, she sold us her entire stock.”

Mabel’s mouth curled into a wide smile. “We~ell, I guess that’s a start—”

“Atta girl,” Wendy said with a wink, before making her way to the front door. “Come on, I can’t wait to show you guys how we clean everything up now—”

While Dipper rushed after her with just as much gusto, Mabel trailed slowly behind them, casting a hesitant look in the direction of the living room before the door swung shut behind her.

The shack was quiet now, leaving only Soos and Melody left in the kitchen doorway. After a moment, Melody turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, did either of them eat any breakfast?”

“Don’t think so,” Soos replied. “Don’t think Mr. Pines ate much either. And I know we had Dipper bring Dr. Pines some food, but that was only a few minutes ago and he didn’t have it when he headed for the basement.”

He waved his hands. “So unless he picked up some kinda superpowers in the Multiverse that let him—I dunno, inhale all his food in one big gulp or something, it’s a tossup if he actually ate anything,” he said, before pressing one hand to his chin. “Either way, I should probably go get that plate from Abuelita’s room.”

With a smile, Melody ducked back into the kitchen. “You take care of that while I’ll go ahead and stick four premade plates of food in the fridge for later,” she said. “They’ll eat when they get hungry, right? And if not…then we have four ready-made plates to eat later.”

“You’re so smart,” Soos said, giving her a smile as he head towards the hall. “I want the last of that lasagna though, babe! You did such a good job making it!”

“Soos, it was premade.”

“Well, you can heat up a premade pasta better than anyone I know!”

— — — — — — — —

The elevator rumbled slowly as it descended beneath the house, the vibrations making the chair—and by extension, Bill—bounce slightly in place.

It didn’t take a genius to guess where the two of them were going, and a cheeky smile was widening across Bill’s face as they continued downwards. “So, Sixer, taking me down to the lab?” he asked. “Gonna run a few tests? Maybe poke me with a couple of needles?”

He tilted his head closer to Ford. “Come ooooon, I know you can’t resist a chance to take some sample blood!” he said cheerfully. “And if I know anything about you mortals, it’s that you’ve got a LOT of blood to spare~!”

Ford remained silent, gaze fixed ahead as the elevator finally slowly to a stop, with the small ding of a bell signaling their arrival. Once the doors slid open, he grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it behind him as he stepped out into the—

—private study.

Huh?

Bill had expected Ford to take them all the way down to the main laboratory for whatever plans he had in mind. More privacy, the wide open space of the portal room acting as a nostalgic backdrop for the both of them…

He couldn’t possibly imagine why Ford would bring them to his stuffy old study instead.

The chair legs clattered loudly against the floor as Ford dragged him through the room, past all the various collections he had accrued over his years of study. Collections that Bill couldn’t help but take a look at while he was pulled along.

Sure, he’d seen plenty of them more times than he could count—whether it was through Stanford’s eyes or the eyes of one of the countless triangles that he had once kept in his home. But hey, long time no see and Bill was always happy to see!

Besides, maybe he’d finally get a proper look at his vessel’s face for the first time while the two of them were down here. He hadn’t missed the fact that nobody in the household had followed up on his request for a mirror, and he could feel the curiosity about his vessel’s appearance rising with each passing minute.

They probably weren’t very tall, judging by the stubby length of the legs he had stared at—and kicked obnoxiously against his chair—for most of the night. And the way that Ford and Stan had towered over him while he was seated only added more credibility to this theory.

Had Birdbrain given him a short vessel as revenge for all the short jokes he had previously tossed their way? If that was the case, then somebody was being very immature.

Aside from that, a few glances at his hands and the fluff of blond hair that hung down over his eyes, he was completely clueless about what his vessel actually looked like.

Ford continued to drag him through the study and towards the far space at the back of the room. A space that brought an elated sparkle to Bill’s eyes once he realized where they were heading. “Oh, we’re going over here~?” he asked delightedly. “Man, I haven’t seen the shrine in age—oh.”

His initial excitement died in his throat as Ford finally stopped and set the chair in place, allowing Bill to get a clearer look at the area around him.

Gone were the golden statues and shimmering prisms resembling his likeness, and the usual tapestries of deep red and gold—each thread stitched with care by Ford’s own hand; he had really gone the extra mile back then—were now replaced with nothing but dreary-gray walls and assorted garbage that Ford had yet to clean up.

The beloved shrine that had once been Ford’s glorious tribute to Bill’s greatness, his godliness—

Gone. Completely torn down.

To add insult to injury, Ford had set the chair down right in the very center of the mess—withered ruins of a once-magnificent display—and made his way over to his workspace. Leaving Bill to stew in his bitterness as he cast a sour look around him, gaze landing on the only thing left near him outside of the discarded trash.

More specifically, an elaborate computer system with its main screen completely busted.

Ford might’ve attempted to cut him off before creating Project Mentem, but having eyes everywhere allowed him to keep tabs on things outside the mindscape. 

And boy howdy, he had sure kept tabs on Ford after his cruel and unwarranted betrayal. Even going so far as to rip handfuls of wires out of the machine whenever Ford’s body succumbed to sleep, setting his progress on the project back further and further. 

Sure, that problem had temporarily solved itself in the form of the Portal incident, but Ford had gotten straight to work upon his return and finally finished the project to completion.

Yeesh, between that and the destruction of the portal, Ford had really spent the entire month-and-a-half after returning to this dimension being as inconvenient to Bill as possible.

A brief spike of panic shot through Bill as the thought of Ford using the machine on him bubbled to the front of his mind. The technology was designed to scramble minds and make reading them near impossible—although for the record, Stanford, he would’ve eventually found some kind of work-around for that—but Bill also knew that before the scrambling process began, the machine would project all those thoughts onto the screen itself.

A weird design choice on Ford’s end, but in an indirect way, it granted him his own artificial method of reading minds.

Sure, the machine had been damaged shortly after completion—oh, Bill had to give Pine Tree some praise in that regard; probably one of the most useful things the little pipsqueak had done in his entire life. But if Ford had been smart enough to understand the complex, multidimensional schematics that Bill had provided for him for the portal’s construction, then repairing some fancy-schmancy thought scrambler would be child’s play.

If Ford managed to get Project Mentem working again, there was a chance that he could snag a glimpse at the deal Bill had made with Tangy. To see a lot of things that he had no business seeing, to know things he had no business knowing—

Hold on a second.

Bill continued to stare hard at the old computer, gaze fixed on one of the smaller, undamaged monitors. The screen was decades old—a tried-and-true relic of the early nineteen-eighties, much like the rest of the technology that Ford and his…assistant had used for their inventions around that point in time—and the inactivity of the machine left a dark reflection of the room and anyone in it on the glass.

And while the angle Bill was situated at made it difficult for him to get a clear look with his functional eye, he could almost make out his vessel’s face. If only he could turn his head at juuuust the right angle—

“Hey—hey!”

And suddenly his head was guided—jerked back to the front by a firm hand around his jaw, and Bill found himself face-to-face with Ford. 

He expected to see the same anger in his eyes that he’d been subjected to for the past several hours. But Ford’s expression was more studious, pupils darting back and forth behind his old lenses in deep concentration—

“ACK!”

A small flash of light was shone in his functional eye before Bill had time to brace himself, and he shrank away from it as best he could—despite Ford’s hand keeping both his head and the small flashlight in place. “Hey, come on,” he griped, snapping his eyelid closed with a nasty look. “Trying to kill me is one thing, but blinding me’s a low blow, even for you!”

Eventually the light was shifted to his right eye, and Ford kept it there for a moment before finally clicking the small flashlight off and tucking it back into his coat. “Had a feeling…”

Despite his irritation towards being manhandled, Bill raised an eyebrow at that remark. Outside of the occasional threat, Ford hadn’t said anything to him the entire night he’d been back.

Granted, his remark was more about him than to him, but it was close enough to count! “Oh, so are you finally ready to talk to me, Sixer?” he tried with a cutesy bat of his eyelashes. “Because lemme tell ya: after being rudely ignored all night, I’m not so sure I’m even in the mood to—hey!”

And now Ford had both his jaw and forehead in a tight grip, keeping his mouth propped open for a moment so he could look inside. “Dental structure appears normal,” he mused quietly. “Canines have already grown in, second molars—”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re researching me,” Bill said with a perturbed scowl once Ford finally let go of his head to scribble down his findings. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered and open to answering any questions you might have about me.”

He flashed Ford a grin. “But like I warned your brother last night, I’d advise against sticking those freaky hands of yours anywhere near these puppies, unless you feel like going from six fingers to five!” he said with a snap of his teeth. “I’d advise against it, though. Those extra fingers of yours are probably your best qualities—can you stop?!”

Ford’s hands were back on his head, this time to push that blonde tuft of hair out of his eyes—

“Oh.”

Ford’s curious stare at his forehead gave Bill pause for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow. “What? What’s with the ominous ‘oh’-ing?”

Ford continued to stare in silence for a few seconds, before turning back to his notes to scribble something down.

“Hey, you tell me what you’ve written right now!” Bill demanded, face hot with anger. “Do you hear me, Sixer?! You don’t get to poke and prod me like a lump of flesh clay and then just sit there and not tell me what you’re writing!”

Despite Bill’s ire, Ford ignored him in favor of finishing his notes, only stopping to reach for the rope he had grabbed from the bedroom. And as Bill watched, he laid the rope in a perfect circle on the floor around the chair and himself. 

Yeesh, whether it was through a sketch in a notebook, spray paint on the ground, or with a simple rope, Ford really did have a knack for creating near-perfect circles. An impressive talent, although Bill had always—and understandably—favored his ability to draw a perfect equilateral triangle far more than some silly circles.

Once Ford had closed the circle, he moved to one of the nearby storage cupboards for the needed moonstones and vial of mercury. “You know, I feel like you’re being a biiiiit excessive with all of this, Fordsy,” Bill piped up. “I mean, I’m already bound pretty tightly over here. What’s another spell circle going to do?”

Rather than reply, Ford set the remaining objects in place and returned to his desk to fiddle with something just out of Bill’s line of sight—despite several failed attempts on Bill’s end to stretch his body far enough to get a peek. And after a few minutes, he stepped away again and made his way towards the spiral staircase on the other side of the study.

Bill continued to watch as he descended upwards and towards the level that waited just above the room; a hallway that connected to the cellar beneath one side of the shack, an additional hidden entrance that opened up to the house on the other, and a bathroom smack dab in the very center. All of which was comfortably situated just beneath the stairwell on the upper floor.

All in all, a general area that provided solutions to more than one type of emergency.

It was only when Ford disappeared completely from sight near the top of the stairs that Bill turned his attention back to the desk. So Mister Brainiac wanted to play sneaky with his plans, did he? Well, if there was anything he should’ve picked up on last night, it was that he should’ve used that extra rope to restrain Bill’s legs!

Or maybe not, since that would’ve only inconvenienced him further.

With an inhale of breath, Bill leaned backwards in the chair before throwing all of body weight forward and bringing himself to his feet. He wasn’t quite used to using his new human limbs yet—let alone with a whole chair on his back—but all he needed to do was get within reach of something sharp long enough to cut his ropes.

Sure, the circle on the floor limited his range of motion, but the rope had been placed right up against the broken monitors. Maybe if he angled the legs of the chair enough, he could get a piece of glass from the broken computer monitor within his line of reach. All he needed to do was take a few wobbly steps—

“Oh, come on!”

—wobblier than expected, apparently. For it was one humiliating crash later that Bill found himself as acquainted with the hardwood floor as he had been with the rug back in Abuelita’s bedroom. 

His face was smushed against the ground in a way that barred his sight of the stairs. But he could hear Ford stomping back down them in an instant—likely to investigate the source of the crashing sound—and it was only a few seconds later that an unseen hand gripped the back of the chair and hoisted it up off the floor.

Both chair and Bill were rotated forward again, and his own glare met Ford’s as the two of them stared at each other in furious silence. “See, I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Bill finally said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not the one who keeps giving the floorboards the wrong impression about what kinda shape I am.”

He tilted his head dramatically. “With how often my face meets the floor, these poor planks probably see me as some kind of…woodwork womanizer at this point~! My reputation’s gonna take ages to recover from such a scathing blow!”

He dropped the theatrics for a moment to roll his eyes. “Or at least, it would if I actually cared about that kinda thing, haha!”

With a huff, Ford set the chair back in place with a solid thunk of the chair legs, only to step just out of range when Bill tried to kick at him. “And seriously, would it kill you to put some carpet or a rug down in here?”

“I had a rug.”

“Yeah, well, what happened to—”

Any further protests died in Bill’s throat under Ford’s narrowed glare, and he looked away with a muttered: “...Could’ve just bought another one.” as Ford returned to his desk.

— — — — — — —

Even as far back as their childhood, Stan had often teased Ford for the way he organized things. Whether it was his half of their dresser drawers, his school binders—

—heck, even his beloved journals of all the Whatchamacallits and Whatsittoyas of Gravity Falls had been organized to some degree.

Granted, everything was always organized in an incredibly-nerdy way—one that only Stanford Pines and Stanford Pines alone could properly decipher. Sorting sock brands by alphabetical order? Academic awards by height and medal quality?

And organized didn’t always mean clean. Even a complete and total memory wipe hadn’t managed to make Stan forget the time he had come home to most of Ford’s science books and countless sheets of paper with associated scribblings scattered around the bedroom. All of which Ford had insisted that Stan not move in the slightest, because he was ‘on the verge of completing a super important experiment for the science fair, and couldn’t afford to move a single paper’.

Wait, had it been for the science fair? It could’ve just been some random project—whatever, it didn’t matter at the moment.

Regardless of his eccentric methods—and how often Stan had ended up spending the night on the living room couch to avoid another one of his brother’s nerdy all-nighters—the fact of the matter was that Ford was an expert in keeping his stuff organized. A place for everything and everything in its place, and all that other jazz Ma had always taught them growing up.

And despite Stan reacting to such behavior in the only way he knew how to react—juvenile, brotherly teasing with the occasional noogie for good measure—Ford had always gotten the upper hand in the end whenever they needed to locate something in a hurry.

And thankfully that mindset had carried over to adulthood, and included his notes on all of the oddities that the two of them had discovered during their sea travels across the past nine months.

It had taken Stan about two minutes to locate said notes after he finally managed to calm down from the events that had unfolded inside the shack. Whether or not that also took two minutes was up for debate—if there was a universe out there where two minutes and ten minutes were the exact same length of time.

Yeesh, Stan could practically hear Ford in his head at the very thought, going off on elaborate story about how he’d actually jumped through several dimensions where time worked like that during his travels.

His grip on the saltwater-stained journal—one whose front was emblazoned with a golden hand and the number four—tightened as he moved to the counter at the back of the cabin, and set it down in front of him before flipping open to the first page.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, since it limited their options to sea-based methods. And unless that little triangle twerp had some unknown weakness to water, they probably wouldn’t get anywhere with just the one book. 

But for now, it was an idea.

[teyamsatan]

Illicit Affairs | Chapter I: Willow

Pairing: Neteyam x f!Human!Reader

Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death and disease

WC: 3,4k words

A/N: Sooo.. I kinda did something. This is the first fanfic I have written that will actually see the light of day, and also the first piece of writing (outside of master's dissertations, papers, scientific essays etc) that I have done since probably high school, which is longer ago than I'd like to admit. Anyway, I have been hyperfixated on Avatar recently, ATWOW fully bringing back my love and obsession for Pandora that I have had since 2009. I adore the new movie and the Sully kids, but I have a special place in my heart for Neteyam, so here we go. Let me know what you guys think. I work full time as a PhD student, so I'll try my best to write in my spare time and hopefully I can get this done the way I truly want to. This story is also loosely inspired by the incredible @forever--darling and her "One of Us" Neteyam fanfic, which I adore and have probably memorised by now with the amount of times I have read it.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine

“Wake up, Ace. It’s late already and there’s so much to do today, remember?” Norm’s voice pulled you out of a beautiful dream, one where you were flying on your chosen Ikran, high above the clouds, the worries…this lab. Albeit hard to swallow, you were almost relieved to be woken up, as feeding out-of-reach fantasies and dreams could lead to no good, anyhow. 

“I’m up… Jesus, Norm.” You felt yourself rise from your warm and comfortable bed and the feeling of your bare feet touching the cold, hard floor of the living quarters of the lab made you swallow a curse. 

“We left you some breakfast, get ready and meet us in the lab in 30, okay? We have the samples ready for you and you can run them after we’ve talked it through.” 

“Aye, aye, captain.” 

This was your life. You, among a few other people, were one of the only humans left on Pandora after the war took them back to Earth more than 17 years ago. Unlike the others, though, you were born here, on this foreign planet, the only home you’ve ever known. There was one more, a beautiful, feisty young man with a dark heritage, who liked to think that he is as much Pandoran as the actual natives. His name was Spider, and although you grew up together, there was not much you could say you had in common. He was wild and adventurous, has been his whole life; fully willing to immerse himself in the Na’vi ways and almost demanding a place amongst the people.

Although you have your doubts, he says the people were accepting of him, as he managed to befriend the most important family of the nearby Omatikaya tribe: the Sullys. Jake Sully, a former dream walker, rose to prominence as Toruk Makto, rider of Last Shadow. He brought multiple clans together to defeat the Sky People in their brutal quest for wealth and colonisation. He succeeded, after which he became Olo’yektan, leader of the Omatikaya. He is now fully Na’vi, after completing a consciousness transfer that allowed him to leave behind his human form and forever live as one of the people. It had never been done before. Jake was a great man, who became a mediator between the Na’vi and the humans left on Earth. His children, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk, were brought up to know English and be accepting of everyone, regardless where they came from, as long as they had pure intentions and a strong heart. Spider was considered one of them. And, surprisingly, you were, too. 

Your mum was a medic and researcher, brought here many moons ago to assist the Dr. Grace Augustin and her team in their quest to understand Pandora and its miraculous biology. Your dad, a former Master Sergeant in the US Air Force, joined the RDA for their military purposes. You never met your dad. He died when the Sky People attacked, although no one knows for sure which side he ended up taking. Your mum didn’t even know she was pregnant with you at the time, that’s how new everything was. Your mum loved your dad and she maintained her belief that he ended up doing the right thing in the end. You believed that as a child, but now are not so sure. Nevertheless, you still kept his dog tag, in a drawer at the bottom of your desk, a reminder of where you come from and what mistakes not to repeat. 

Your mum died where you were 10. It was the worst day of your life. The cancer, which slowly spread in the beginning, overtook her being one faithful day, which you will never be able to erase from your memory. There is no chemotherapy, no radiation therapy, no drugs that could have prevented this, not here, not on Pandora. Your mum made a decision to remain on this planet she loved more than her own and it eventually killed her. She had no regrets, she said. She was happy to have lived and loved and died here, among Eywa. The Na’vi loved her. She was good friends and a mentor to Neytiri and Jake, both of whom agreed to give her a Na’vi send off. You were there that day, one of the few times you had visited the Home Tree. You remember the pouring rain, falling so hard it washed away the tears spilling from your eye almost as soon as they emerged. You remember Lo’ak and Kiri, your beautiful friends that have always been there for you, mourning with you. Your mum was their favourite aunt. She introduced them to music and films, and showed all of you her favourite books and painters and made sure you all understood that humans, despite their many flaws, have beauty and love and good in them, that no matter what, will prevail. “It will prevail because of you. Because you will carry it along and share it. You will revel in the beauty and fight to bring it back because what better way is there to live?”

You finished breakfast quickly, some dry toast with some fruit Kiri brought you the last time she visited and made your way back to the lab. You found Norm and Max, alongside two other human scientists, Tim and Claire, sitting on chairs next to the lab benches, discussing plans for the week. 

“There she is, the brightest of us all.” You smirked at the compliment, raising your eyebrows in amusement and sitting down next to Claire. 

“You’ve done great work last week, Ace The ELISAs show promise that Relensa might have some effect against this type of Pandora virus. I need you to now repeat it with the samples we’ve provided and also include a different type of positive control to the experiment, if possible.”

“Will do. How about a combination therapy? I know Relensa is not the only type of anti-viral therapy we have available. Amantidin, maybe? We have to go at this from all angles, you know?” 

“Our Amantidin reserve is running severely short, but give it a try. Try a dose-response? Maybe 100 nano molars to 1 micro molar? Try 1milimolar as a positive control?”

This was your life. Unlike Spider, you avoided the clan. You did not want to be the walking reminder of everything they’ve lost. You were happy to sit back and dedicate your life to helping from the shadows. Your mum was a medic and a researcher, one of the brightest in the world. She wrote the book on Na’vi anatomy and physiology, she wanted to understand the people and hopefully help them mitigate losses brought by disease. You continued that work. Although young, you learned everything there was to learn. Not like you had anything else to do. You worked as a scientist and a nurse and a doctor if needs be. You patched humans up, stitched their wounds, ran experiments on Pandora pathogens and tried to find a cure against viral and bacterial diseases that plagued the Na’vi. You spent your life in the lab, and in the adjacent hub, learning, working out and playing the guitar and piano your mum taught you when you were really young. You couldn’t say you loved it, loved being here all the time, but you were content knowing you were, in your own way, making up for your species’ past mistakes. 

Around lunchtime, you heard commotion from the entryway. A very familiar voice reverberated through the hallways. Your lips raised in a soft smile. Lo’ak. 

Removing your lab coat, goggles and gloves, you made your way towards the origin of the sound. The tall, much-taller-than-you young man picked up a breathing mask from the designated shelf and waved at you with unwavering enthusiasm. You loved this boy. Your brother, for all intents and purposes, your partner-in-crime for all time. He loved you, too, you knew that, and you thought in a different life, in a different universe, you were soulmates, braving life’s tough storms together. 

“Brought you lunch, angel.” Your nickname for you made you roll your eyes. You hated it, but the more you hated it, the more he used it so you remained silent. “I thought you could use a break from the stale excuse you guys call food around here.” 

Lo’ak spoke English with you most of the time. He took to your parents’ (and his dad’s) culture the most out of all the kids. You spent a lot of your childhood together, hunched around a computer with old reruns of shows your mum loved in her youth, shows and movies that were way before even her time. She said she loved seeing what Earth looked like before humans killed their mother. Shows like Gilmore Girls, Friends and Modern Family were some of her favourites. You devoured them as a child, and Lo’ak did so too, with you. You drove her crazy as children, and drove Norm and Max crazy as teenagers, both trying to understand references and sayings, buildings and activities, games and idiosyncrasies. The Earth you grew up watching and reading up was beautiful, a star in the night sky you will never be able to touch. 

Lo’ak made his way to the dining room of the hub, and lay several carefully-packed items on the table. Fresh teylu, cooked over fire and Pandora vegetables, all full of colour and flavour, all much better than anything that could come out of this place. You realise that you are starving as soon as you lay your eyes on them. Before you even sat down, you dug your fingers in and quickly ate some teylu, groaning at the delicious sweet meaty flavour. It was your favourite, and Lo’ak knew. He laughed at your apparent desperation and motioned for you to sit down. You obliged, and you both sat in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company and the food he provided. 

“How’s training going? I haven’t seen you in a few days.” 

“I die a little bit inside every time you make me remember I spend my days training like a little robot. It’s going fine. Tiring, you know? My dad is fully back in his Marine ways. He knows it’s been enough time that the humans are bound to return sooner or later. He says they’d never leave this world, and all its untapped riches alone without a fight. So it’s a lot of military training… if we walk like them, talk like them and fight like them, it might bring us some sort of advantage, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know. I know it’s a pain, but he’s only doing this to protect you guys. He’s right. The humans are bound to return one day and when they do, we have to be prepared.” He doesn’t know this, but you have also been training, learning about guns, going through your dad’s old manuals and whatever else the RDA has left behind that could possibly be of use. You use the guns that are in the hub to learn how to aim, shoot, strip field, reload and clean the weapons, so you too can be prepared when the time comes. You might be stuck in a weak human body, but you will not be weak. 

“Neteyam’s driving me nuts. He used to be fun, remember that? He’s such a killjoy, it’s hard to stomach being around him anymore. He’s always giving out orders, always making sure everything is in order and perfect, like him. He’s been training like crazy, and sticking to my dad like he’s some sort of fungus you can’t get rid of. Drives me crazy.”

“Hey, don’t talk about your brother like that. There’s a line, Lo’ak. Neteyam only wants the best for you guys, and he’s the oldest. He has to carry the burden of being the responsible one while you guy cause mischief all the time.” 

Neteyam, Jake and Neytiri’s oldest, is more Na’vi than all the other children combined, in both looks and personality. Whilst the two middle children, Lo’ak and Kiri have five fingers, eyebrows and a more human appearance, Neteyam is all Neytiri. He’s tall and lean and seems like he was born with a bow in hand. A true warrior, you always found him a tad intimidating. Just like his mum, he has his apprehensions about humans and avatars, and although he used to come to the hub quite often when he was younger, mostly to keep an eye on his siblings, the visits have become a rarity as of recent times. 

You wonder how the young man changed in the time you haven’t seen him. You used to be close as children, or at least that’s what you thought. Whereas Spider took to Lo’ak and Kiri, their mischievous personalities a good match for each other, you took to the oldest Sully boy. He was quiet and thoughtful, and he used to look at you like a puzzle he was trying to solve, but couldn’t. He used to sit in the back as you used to play piano, and his gaze on you used to make your skin blush and your heart race. You tried not to think about the pang of hurt that rose in your chest as you remembered that he essentially abandoned you, without so much as a farewell. 

“Earth to Y/N, are you still there?” Lo’ak interrupted your train of thought and you were half grateful that you didn’t have to think about Neteyam anymore. 

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying you’re right, I know I should be more understanding, I am happy I don’t have to be the one to carry all of responsibility, but it’s hard not to hold a grudge when it seems my brother was abducted by aliens and replaced with a weird, no-fun replica of himself.” 

You groaned at the young Sully’s ongoing verbal attacks, but said no more. Whatever was going on between the two Sully boys was, at the end of the day, none of your business. 

“Anyway…” Lo’ak started, a mischievous grin appearing on his beautiful face, “I know something you don’t.” 

“Mmm, what is that?”

“I’m not telling you, but let’s just say I think it will make you very happy.” 

“Well that’s just cruel. You know I hate surprises.”

After lunch, Lo’ak joined you in the recreation hub, where you kept a guitar and the piano that the humans left behind. You didn’t feel like going back to work just yet. You sat down on the cold floor and picked up your copy of Pride and Prejudice, your mum’s favourite book. The book was coming apart at the seams, worn down from all the times you have held it in your hands, as if gripping it tighter would bring her back to you, even if for only a split second. You sighed as you passed the book to Lo’ak and motioned for him to put it on the table next to him.

“Sing for me, will you? I missed hearing your voice.” 

You smiled up at him. Nobody knew you like Lo’ak did. Nobody accepted you the way Lo’ak did. Both of you felt out of place in this world, like you didn’t quite belong anywhere. He has spent many an hour confessing how alone he’s felt all his life. You’d like to think you helped. You picked up your guitar and played a familiar song, one you knew he loved.

“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind , as if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring, and there was one prize I'd cheat to win

The more that you say, the less I know

Wherever you stray, I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans

That's my man”

You sat like this for hours, laughing and playing and singing. You tried to teach him a couple of chords on the guitar, which looked puny in his massive hands. With a loud thud, the open to the recreation centre swung open, making both of your heads turn in shock. 

“Lo’ak, what the fuck?” 

The harsh tone came from a man, a man you barely recognised anymore. Tall and muscular, he was not the same Neteyam you last saw. He was adorning a carefully crafted neck piece that matched his hunter’s chest piece and the knife holder he kept by his hips. You took a second to adjust to the man in front of you, that you haven’t seen in so long, that will always have a special place in your heart. Your gaze eventually fell on his face, which, like the rest of him, matured so much in all that time apart. He was beautiful. His hair was freshly braided and you couldn’t help but stare at the beaded strands that framed his face. As much as his body and face changed, they didn’t hold a candle to his eyes. The big yellow orbs that always looked at you curiously and intently were now focused on Lo’ak with rage flashed across them. 

“You were supposed to meet me at the Home Tree a fucking hour ago, Lo’ak. Dad asked you to join the hunting party and pull your weight for once, remember that? Are you physically unable to do anything that is ever asked of you?” 

He is yet to even spare a glance in your direction. You felt your blood pressure rising at the oldest Sully, but you pushed it down to look at Lo’ak, who was staring daggers at his older brother. As he was opening his mouth to undoubtedly say something that would get him in even more trouble than he was already in, you cut him off. 

“It’s my fault.” You say in Na’vi. You doubted Neteyam was in the mood for English, so as to not escalate the tensions further, you opted for your semi-decent Na’vi. “I needed his help with some samples Norm got for me that I couldn’t identify. I’m done now, though. Sorry for taking him from his duties.”

His eyes finally snapped from Lo’ak and laded on your frame. You saw his lips parting in confusion and then settle in a firm line. His eyes scanned your body from head to toe. You changed. A lot. Your hair was now close to reaching your narrow waist, which he hated himself for noticing. You were wearing what the humans called a “top”, that was cut above your abdomen and had the word “Stanford” written across it. He’s sure he’s seen it before, although he couldn’t place where. You were wearing bottoms, short and blue, with cuts in them, which Neteyam didn’t get. Why are your clothes ripped? It’s not like you fought some animal in the wild, you never got out. He couldn’t help noticing how lean you had become, so lean, in fact, he could trace your muscles with precision, something he is rarely able to do with humans. Your species was puny and weak, which is why they needed avatars and exo-suits to survive on Pandora. Realizing he was staring, his eyes moved from you back to Lo’ak, and motioned for him to get up. Although he huffed and puffed, Lo’ak obliged without saying a word. He turned around before exiting the room, giving you one last exasperated look. You winked at him and clicked your tongue in the direction of the forest, a small smile on your face. This skxawng. 

“Hey, you.” You called after Neteyam in English, as soon as Lo’ak disappeared from your line of view. You don’t know what you expected, but you had to try. He turned around and his eyes met yours. It was like looking at a stranger. 

“I really have to go, Y/N.” He said, with a deep voice and slight accent, and his eyes fell on the floor as soon as he noticed the look of hurt that crossed your face. 

“Fine, go.” You said, quickly composing yourself. You refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he can hurt your feelings. You turned around, and busied yourself cleaning up, not sparing a second look in his direction. His gaze shifted back to your frame, and with a sigh, he made his way out of the lab and your life, once more. 

[fungifanart]

Hey Fungiiii! Hope you're doing well!

Could I request a fluffy Trey x M!reader story bc where the reader is stressed and burned out because of life, and it's keeping him from being able to do anything creatively (writing is preferred but I'm leaving it completely up to you). Also could it be an established relationship and Trey decides to comfort reader with tea and possibly cuddles?

Fatigue

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Trey Clover, Grim

CW: Burnout/Writer's block, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 643

Notes: Hey, BIIIIIIIIIITCH! Of course you can! Funny you requested this, since I'm kinda going through some writer's block of my own, but I managed to get this one done, regardless! (Even if it's pretty short)

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Among many other things, Trey Clover is known throughout Heartslabyul for essentially being the entire dorm's dependable big brother. Whether it be guiding his underclassmen through their homework, calming the seemingly bottomless pit of rage that is his housewarden or preparing a banquet's worth of sweets for an unbirthday party the next day, they know that he'll handle it with his usual playful smirk.

So, what could cause said smirk to waver like it's doing right now?

Perhaps the fact that he's spent the whole of exam week rarely seeing hide or hair of his beloved boyfriend, only to find out later that said boyfriend had to fight for his life against a THIRD overblot ON TOP of basically signing his dorm away.

Upon receiving this information, Trey does the unthinkable and drops his responsibilities, packing himself off to Ramshackle, determined to make sure his boyfriend is okay and then give him a piece of his mind for not telling him about it, only to be let in by the dorm's resident ghosts rather than the Prefect himself, causing his anger to be accompanied by growing concern.

Finally reaching the Prefect’s room, Trey opens the door to reveal his boyfriend slumped over on his desk in front of a typewriter, his head on its side facing away from the door.

Panicking, Trey rushes to his boyfriend's side, “Y/n! Are you okay?!” He asks while shaking his lover, who only turns his head around to face him.

“I'm going insane, my love.” The Prefect says in a monotone voice.

“What do you mean??” Trey asks while sitting the other man up in his chair, his anger temporarily on the shelf.

“It’s just so unfair! I didn't have any time to write during exam week and then suddenly I had to worry about not losing my entire dorm to some wannabe mob boss and then not getting shish-kabobed when the same guy threw a temper tantrum!” The Prefect rants while making wild hand gestures, “I finally found time to write and thought I could use my experiences as inspiration, but when I think about what happened, my hands start shaking and my brain can barely string one sentence together!”

The Prefect’s rant slows down as he turns and buries his face in Trey's chest, “And the worst part of it all is that I've barely been able to see you the entire time! I-I really missed you, y'know?” He says with a small sniffle that causes Trey's anger to melt away.

Pulling the Prefect out of his chair and onto the bed, Trey sits next to him and places a soft, but passionate kiss on his lips, “I missed you too, Y/n. I missed you a lot.” He says after pulling away.

Trey really can't stay mad at him, can he?

However, seeing the Prefect eyeing his typewriter again, Trey quickly pulls him into another hug and then onto their backs on the bed, “I think we've both earned a little rest, don't you?”

The Prefect opens his mouth to protest when Grim, who has been curled up near the back of the bed until now, pipes up, “Myrrgh…please…can't take the sound of crumpling paper anymore…” He groans before putting his head back down.

Trey raises his own head to look at the trash can next to the desk, sees that it's overflowing with balled-up pieces of paper and is about to give his boyfriend a knowing smirk when he looks back to see said boyfriend already fast asleep, the fatigue of everything he's gone through having finally caught up with him.

Trey's smirk is replaced with a loving smile as he tucks himself and the Prefect under the covers, “Sleep well, Y/n.” He says while placing a small kiss on his forehead before getting comfortable and closing his eyes as well.

[just-imagine-that]

What are your thoughts on ateez with an s/o that is like the whitest person ever but can read,write, and speak in fluent Korean

Ateez Reaction - Foreign S/O That's Fluent In Korean

Not sure if you wanted this as a Reaction, but I hope this is okay!!

I am willing to make some of these into separate imagines if anyone wants that

All Gifs From Pinterest

WARNING: Fluff

Seonghwa

I feel like he'd already be shocked that you speak Korean fluently, especially when he hears you say words that are very advanced in the language. When he finds out you can write in Korean like you are basically a native, he is even more shook, cause (in my case), speaking and reading Korean is the most easiest thing ever, but writing can be a bit of a challenge.

He would stare at you sometimes when you were talking or writing/reading, cause he can't help but think how smart you are for being able to know another language so fluently. Not gonna lie, he is so proud of you because you were able to become as fluent as you are.

Hongjoong

Hongjoong wouldn't be surprised at you speaking Korean to be honest. Like, with the standard, every day Korean he would just kinda be like, 'kay'. Now, when he hears you use a word or say a sentance that is more advanced in the language, he is a little shocked, and it kinda makes him more determined to get better at English so he can get on your level of fluent in a second language lmao.

With the reading and writing aswell, I think reading is a given, if you can speak Korean that well, you've probably got them reading skills too. When it comes to writing, he would be the most shocked about that because the writing might be a little hard for foreigners.

Yunho

We got an excited puppy over here, because the moment he finds out you can speak at least a little Korean, he is so relieved. He is relieved because he doesn't want to end up saying something weird in English and embarass himself in front of you. Because you know Korean so well, he will ask you about an English word he saw earlier and ask what it means.

You help him a lot with fans who speak English, translating for him whenever he asks about a sentance or word. Also, because you never stop learning when it comes to language, sometimes you might ask him about a Korean word you don't know the meaning to.

Yeosang

I really don't think he'd be all that shocked to hear you speak Korean so well, because he understands very well that a lot of people learn a second language for various reasons, sometimes even more than just one other language. With the reading and writing too, I really think that he wouldn't be all that shocked.

His thoughts are more on the line of, 'If they can speak Korean to this degree, why wouldn't they be able to read and write aswell?' But, he will ask you, occasionally, what an English comment from a fan means, because he wants to know what the fans say about him and the others! He could just use google translate, but who needs that when he has you?

San

(Note that I use the word 'pretty' as to describe anyone regardless of Gender!!)

I'm imagining a situation in my head. You and him are talking in English, and he just blurts out in Korean how pretty you are because he thinks you don't understand what he said and he is too embarassed to say it in English. You don't mention it until you're about to head off to somewhere else and write down on a piece of paper from a notepad and pen you had in your bag, your number and a thank you for the compliment, all written in Korean.

The blush on his burning face is priceless and he knows that he is gonna get teased SO hard when the guys find out about what happened.

Mingi

I feel like Mingi would first try to speak to you in the very little, broken English he knew, not realizing that the book that you were reading is literally written in Korean, the pages still open in front of you. After trying to talk to you in what little English he knew, he would finally glance down at the book, a bit embarassed that he never noticed it before. He would ask if you spoke Korean, and the moment you said yes, he was so relieved, cause now he can tell you all the things he was trying to in English.

Wooyoung

Honestly, it doesn't matter if you two just met or were already in a relationship, cause your Korean skills always make him smile at how wonderful and smart you are. Sometimes he feels like he should brush up on how own Korean when you say a word that even he isn't too sure about. Sometimes you have to be the one to teach him what a word means in Korean, and, now and then, he'll tell you he loves you in English, ya know, just to be cute.

He feels a bit dumb sometimes because you are very smart in the language department, but you always reassure him by quoting his own words; 'There's nothing wrong with being a little dumb!'

Jongho

I think he would be the most shocked out of all the boys, mostly because he does see you as a foreigner, but as time passes on, he would get more used to you speaking his native language, to the point where he would actually forget that Korean isn't your native language. Because he is so used to you speaking Korean all the time, I can see him being in shock for a few minutes when he hears you speak English, but then his brain kicks in to say, 'Bro, they're not Korean!'

[ure-a-sunflower]

Truth, Dare, and Jealousy

Written by ure-a-sunflower

Eddie Munson x reader!all genders (Stranger Things fanfiction)

This is my first time publishing any of my work since I really wanted to gatekeep this stuff to myself. I’ll be honest, I wrote a lot of Eddie fan fics so I’ll see how this one turns out. Please be nice, I beg of you. I just did this for fun back in August of 2022.

CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, some swearing, NO SPOILERS

Word Count: 3k

Eddie knew well that you hardly expressed crushes on real life boys aside from your beloved fictional characters. He was fine with that, honestly, because competition with some actually-not-real man that was good as paper and had as much depth as a kids blow up pool was nothing too personal for him. It was probably the dark brooding charm female authors would win you over with or the romantic promises these guys had that were downright unrealistic.

Regardless of that, you and Eddie connect really well and while he didn’t want to admit it, he was starting to develop feelings for you.

(Rest of the fic is below the cut)

This was kinda bad. You had only joined Hellfire a year ago and you got to Eddie real good. The other boys didn’t see it as much, but the way you both would squeal and jump for joy when you would come up with campaign ideas and talk about the most recent news of D&D… he never thought anyone else was like him. That was probably the first time he actually noticed you way past being a member of his club. Sure, you weren’t the biggest metalhead like the others, but when he saw you singing along to Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden in his van, he thought he was hallucinating.

But he was the group’s dungeon master and you weren’t held on the same freak level as him. You still hung out with your other best friends and your choice of aesthetic only dabbled in a bit of punk when given the chance. He thought you looked gorgeous when you would mix both. And considering how good you both got on already, Eddie was afraid he’d ruin what was between you. He couldn’t bear making it awkward.

At the end of a long week before a big school break, Eddie invited you to his trailer to hang out. The other Hellfire members had plans, which left the both of you alone.

“Truth or dare?” Eddie asked, while offering you another shot of the brandy. You downed it after swiping it from his hands and wiped your lips with your shirt. “Um, truth. Got nothing to hide.”

“Uhhh, alright.” Eddie leaned back to think. What useful information can he get out of you? He practically knew everything about you since you act like an open book around him. “Okay, I got one.”

“Shoot, Munson.” You didn’t like the clever smirk on his face.

“Who do you think is the most attractive member in Hellfire?”

Damn, you didn’t expect him to enter that territory. Eddie only took up your offer for a drinking game because you were getting sick of him being short of a human smoke machine. You weren’t planning to confess your stupid little crush on him that you’ve had for months now. What would he think of you?

“Wow, uh, you really wanna know?” you laughed it off awkwardly. Eddie noticed your uncomfortableness and chuckled. “I mean, you can answer my question or pick a worse dare, honey.”

God, his stupid nicknames. He wasn’t tipsy like you at the moment because unlike you, Eddie wasn’t a lightweight. “Let me hear the punishment then. I’ll consider my options.”

“That’s so against the rules but since you’re my favorite, I’ll tell you… I dare you to run around the trailer park, naked, and singing.”

“Eddie!” you yelled. “Are you trying to have fun or have me admitted to the nearest psychiatric ward?!” Soon, he was rollling on the floor, laughing. You couldn’t even bring yourself to imagine what you’d look like. Sure, you’d do anything for Eddie Munson, but that? You’d have to pass.

“So, ‘most attractive member’ then? Come on, sweets, we don’t have all night.”

“But won’t that sound like I’m attracted to them?”

“I mean, maybe. Be as objective as you want.”

You gulped. You really didn’t want Eddie to assume you had a crush on him but you also didn’t want him to think you had one on another Hellfire member. The least thing you’d want him to do is tease you with someone else. On top of things, inflating his already big sarcastic ego would end you.

“Um… huh, that’s tough…” You put your chin in your finger and thought hard. None of the freshmen were on the table. Jeff is sweet but he wasn’t your type— he was more like a brother to you, anyways. Last person left…

Everyone in Hellfire wasn’t afraid to admit that Gareth was handsome. Sure, he still had the baby cheeks and freckles from middle school, but you think his hair is really cute and fluffy even way back then. You always went out of your way to point that out and he’d blush super hard. He also gives you the best hugs, rivalring Eddie’s. Gareth is sweet and nice to you in and out of school, opposite of Grant and Eddie who are total pranksters. You have a soft spot for the guy. If only you weren’t so close with Eddie, you’d probably be fully head over heels with Gareth already.

You took a deep breath and shook your head in between a chuckle. “I guess I’m gonna go with Gareth.”

Eddie’s heart kinda stopped. Gareth? Gareth Emerson? He was already planning in his head how he would react when you’d say it was him. Ready to thank you and graciously shower you with praises while you roll your eyes and tell him not to take it too personally. That’s kind of why he asked the question, if he was being honest. He wanted to hear it from you.

You always loved teasing and calling Eddie your “pretty boy”, playing with his hair and braiding it whenever you both hung out. Once, you complimented his doe eyes while you were both out and about, and Eddie never forgot that moment since. It was the first time anyone has really noticed his features like that. The first time you met him, you even said his style was cool because he looked like a certified rockstar. But you thought Gareth was the most attractive when you were both alone right now? Seriously?

Eddie figured he’ll need to down a whole bottle and smoke himself to death once you go home. Then he just got more worried.

Why did he react that way?

“Eds, you good?” You waved a hand in front of his face as Eddie snapped out of his thoughts. You waited for his response after he kind of just blanked out.

He regretted asking you for the truth now. Should’ve just gone with like ‘what’s your go-to ice cream flavor’ or ‘who’s your favorite dungeon master and rockstar whose name starts with an E and rhymes with teddy’. Now, he just felt like some pathetic loser pouting because he didn’t like your answer. God, he felt like a stupid middle schooler all over again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” He looked like he snapped out of his trance but his eyes look everywhere but yours. His hands seize the bottle and he downs some. “So, uh, Gareth huh?”

Completely oblivious, you giggle and shove his shoulder. “Don’t tell him I told you that. Besides, I only see him as a close friend.” You better, Eddie thought. You noticed the tension in Eddie’s jaw and put a hand on his thigh to calm him down. It only had the opposite effect. “Hey. Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

“It’s nothing. Why did you choose Gareth?”

The way he so quickly changed the subject didn’t slip past you. But you figured it wasn’t worth pressing on more. “I mean,” you scratch your neck, “he’s really sweet and it’s no secret that he’s got good genes.”

Eddie’s eyebrows only furrowed. The grin of disbelief on his face looked less amused and more annoyed.

“Really? I mean, am I not sweet? It’s gotta be the hair, isn’t it?”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“Eddie… are you… jealous?”

You thought he was gonna have a whiplash with the way he snapped his head towards you. “What did you just say?” Despite the utter confusion in his face, you knew he heard you. You smirked and continued.

“Are you jealous of me saying Gareth’s attractive?” His poor best friend Gareth, having no idea that Eddie’s currently dunking his head in a barrel of water in his mind. How dare he look attractive to the person he’s had the biggest crush ever on. Now, they’re onto him.

Playing dumb was his only option. “No, I’m not. Why would I be jealous? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m teasing you about this!” Air quotes and all, you saw through his façade. The defenses were raised and you could tell Eddie was lying. His ears were a brighter pink than before and though you were tipsy, you still had a strong intuition that you just made your best friend envious. The alcohol in your system seemed to not only fuel your courage but also your audacity. You leaned in to mess with him further. “I just figured, y’know, since you reacted when I said that.”

“I did not react.” Such a child. You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Sure…” An idea popped in your head. “Then, you wouldn’t mind if I asked Gareth out after break?”

Eddie thought he was going to faint. Or combust. Whichever was faster.

“Are— Are you fucking serious?!” Eddie jumped in his seat, accidentally banging his knees on the table and staring at you like you’ve grown another head. You were laughing at this point, clutching your stomach and throwing your head back. If only Eddie didn’t hear your previous words, he would’ve thought you looked like a pure angel. But he was genuinely shocked.

“Munson, what has gotten into you?! I’m only joking!” Eddie’s been having heart attack after heart attack with each sentence you uttered. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or pissed off at you. “You really don’t like me going out with him, don’t you? Well, I know how much Gareth means to Jeff. Can’t get in the way of the most legendary bromance in Hawkins.”

Eddie slapped a hand over his face and groaned. He opened his mouth to say something when you beat him to it. “Or does it feel incestuous to date someone from Hellfire? I see why you’re so protective of them. I kinda see the boys as like my brothers—“

“Just shut up!” Playing cards, napkins, plastic forks— they scattered from the table to the floor as Eddie frantically attempts to quiet you. You stopped and stared at him. Usually, you would shrink away and tear up when someone raised their voice like that at you, but you knew Eddie would never mean you any harm. But then again, this was a first. And he sounded so serious.

After no one still said a word, you coughed and decided to change the topic. “… A-Alright, um, that’s enough truth or dare for one night.”

When you were about to leave and walk yourself home, because you were too tipsy as hell to even bike, Eddie insisted you stay. You gave up arguing with him when nothing could convince him to leave you there in the streets all by yourself. He couldn’t drive you either because he was slightly high, never wanting to lose his van because of a DUI arrest, and casually admitted that he won’t be able to sleep knowing you weren’t safe.

You were quite basically trapped in his arms as he cuddled you on his couch.

It was a compromising position, really. You never figured Eddie to be the cuddlebear, but the way he clung onto you was like you were going to disappear from his hands. To make yourself comfortable, you cuddled into him, placing your head on his chest, and Eddie’s heart melted at your gesture.

Your head in his chest, his legs over yours— he was going to be so pissed at himself in the morning.

He knew what he was doing but also not. So did you. This was how lovers would hold each other. It just felt right to be in the other’s arms and not care about the world, a crazy and cruel world. Yes, you were both good friends, but this was just you guys testing the waters of your friendship. No romantic shit. It was just two tipsy best friends cuddling closely on the couch, a thriller movie in the background as soft rain pattered outside. Super platonic. Yep.

You were drifting off to sleep time and time again because of how good of a white noise the TV and rain were, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice. However, he had something bothering him that he had to bring up to you before you start dozing off and become knocked off cold. He couldn’t wait until the morning to tell you since he knew well he’d chicken out again. Perhaps he invited you to drink some alcohol so he could finally confess using liquid courage, and in the case if you’d reject him, he’d just blame it on being drunk. Perfect foolproof plan.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered your name by the shell of your ear. You stirred from your sleepiness and turned up to him. “Hey, um… I’m sorry if I, uh, made an outburst earlier.”

It wasn’t easy to decipher what this was all about, especially when you were half-asleep and in the midst of sobering at this point. “For what? About Gareth? Don’t worry, I know we were being stupid.” You still didn’t understand why he made such a fuss, but you were just trying to move on from the situation. Nevermind figuring out his reasons. Your heart was pounding miles a minute. You were holding your crush like you were partners, and you wanted to be out of there and in between his arms more than ever at the same time. It was worth cherishing this position before you two part in the morning and just pretend nothing happened.

Eddie hated that you said his name again. “Yeah… I just…you know… I guess I was jealous.”

You took a pause to digest what he said. “You were? Oh, Eddie, I know I said Gareth but you’re still the pretty boy! I mean, you know I love your hair and your eyes—“

“No, it’s not that I’m jealous of Gareth’s looks.” Eddie took a deep breath. Yours hitched, waiting for his next words. He tried to look into your eyes but you could see them shaking and he kept averting your gaze. “I… well… shit. H-How am I gonna say this….?”

“… Yeah?”

“I-I got… I got jealous… that you like him.”

At this point you were grasping at sticks. What did that even mean? Was he jealous of the attention? Of your feelings? That another guy was held in a position higher than Eddie Munson, Hellfire’s Beloved Leader? It was starting to get annoying.

“Eddie, we’re so close and we’ve been great friends since I’ve known you. Fucking hell, you’re our Dungeon Master. I know you and Gareth are like brothers and I get it if you don’t want anyone dating in the club. You’ve got nothing to worry about just because I think he’s got looks—“

“No,” he shook his head, finally demanding your attention, “like, I like like you. I have feelings for you and I want to be with you. As your… boyfriend.”

You were certainly stunned.

Maybe you just waited and pushed for him to say it, but you still couldn’t believe it. Did Eddie just confess he liked you? First? You wanted to soar and you felt like you could touch stars. Holy shit. You wanted to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Was it the alcohol that made you like this?

“…And I know I sound stupid or selfish but I guess I have to make my moves now since you want to ask Gareth out.”

Your mouth was still gaped wide open as Eddie continued rambling about how much he liked you. “—like we were alone in the drama room one night while cleaning and we danced to that stupid jazzy song you put on like my parents used to when I was a kid and I didn’t know it at that time but I think that’s when I realized I was falling really badly for you—“

You had scooted your way towards him the entire time he was going on and on, fully facing his direction, and took his hands that were wildly gesturing the entire time. “Eddie.”

“—because you’re just so nice and understanding and patient with me a-and— huh?” He was staring at you like a baby deer in headlights as you cupped his cheek. You could feel the warmth as his eyes widened. “I really like you too. I’ve fallen in love with you for months now.”

There was just silence. Silence on your end because you can’t believe you’ve finally said that, and Eddie was shortcircuiting with the words you’ve said to him. He had to repeat them in his head to make sure they really meant what he was thinking they meant. “You… You really—? But Gareth—“

“I only said Gareth because I didn’t know if I should confess I like you. I’ve had a crush on you since sophomore year.”

“You liked me for that long?! Wha— Wait, I, oh gosh so you actually like me?”

“Eddie, I want to be yours. I love you. I really do.”

That was the happiest he’s been in forever. If he had to put it in words, it felt like someone lit a firework and his heart was fizzing around the room.

Pulling you to him, he mumbled a “may I kiss you?” and you nodded eagerly. Eddie placed a hand below your chin and locked his lips with yours passionately, absolutely savoring this moment because he’s been waiting for it for sleepless nights and hopeless daydreams. It was finally happening.

He whispered in between kisses, “I love you so so much” which made you giggle. “I can’t believe I have the best, kindest, and hottest partner in all of the world.” When you rolled your eyes, Eddie shook his head disapprovingly and kissed you once again until you were literally gasping for air and telling him “okay! Okay! I believe you! Gosh, I love you so much, Eddie!”

At the next campaign, it was no doubt a surprise to Hellfire when Eddie suddenly announced you were his partner the moment you walked in the door.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Ruth x maid! Fem! Reader

Ruth is 30 and reader is 24, 6 year age gap cuz I'm turning 23 this year but I think Ruth is supposed to be in his early to mid thirties so I'm being kinda Self-indulent (I didn't want to make the gap 7 years so... Yeah, upped the age).

Not the actual fic that will come out, just a drabble that I came up with

Warnings: slight self-conscious on Ruth's side

Nsfw warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving)

Minors, ageless blogs that barely have anything, dni or you get blocked.

This blog contains/interacts/creates dark content, dni if you are uncomfortable with that.

No tag list for this cuz I'm on the road + I wrote it down on a sheet of paper I left at home.

--

I think Ruth would absolutely have a low sex drive. He just doesn't look like someone who thinks about it often, much less have the urge. I am 100% sure he's a virgin cuz like, look at him. He doesn't know how to rizz ppl up nor does he want to unless it benefits him (having maxi help with making the magical devices, but that was more peer pressure than actual rizz).

I'm just saying, Ruth would be kinda hopeless with asking out the reader, not because he's cluelese (probably seen Gable and the others pick up chicks, so has a vague idea of what and what not to do + can see how unbalanced maxi's relationship with Riftan is. He literally told him to calm down with his antics once, but thats about it if I remember correctly) but because he's just so... Blunt that it comes off as rude.

Maxi literally thinks that in the webtoon when her maid slams his drink down on the table instead of placing it down gently like she did with maxi's cup.

But anyway, I just imagine Ruth as the type of guy who at first, tries to ignore the developing feelings he has for you, and it works, but it gets harder and harder when you smile at him like that, when you return his playful banter and don't get offended at his tone and choice of words. When you don't overstep his boundaries, attempt to get to know him, his likes and dislikes, interests, how you want to learn about magic and you listen to his lectures, hell sometimes he even invites you to sit along with maxi as he goes about teaching her (only if the lady of the castle is comfortable, of course, which she will be after a while cuz I said so).

The way your face lights up in awe and wonder whenever he performs a spell or summons fire from the tip of his fingertips. The very eyes that tend to glance at his lips, and he pretends he doesn't notice. Your hands that are a bit rough from washing clothes, helping in the kitchen, cold water stinging and numbing them when you scrub the castle floors, are the very hands he wants to hold, and sometimes late at night, he imagines them pulling and tugging at his hair as you lean against 'his' table or even the library wall, and fuck if he actually had enough room to use in his tower, he would, his mouth latched onto your clit and fingers pumping in and out of your sloppy cunt -

It's not very often he gets thoughts like that, but when he does, he gets harder than riftan gets with the knights and their training.

He doesn't comment on your efforts to keep the library tidy, organizing his books and research papers to where the place looks presentable, at least. But he shows his appreciation through small favors in return - helps you with the cleaning if times allows for it, showing you flashy yet small spells that don't affect the area or people around (riftan would quite literally kill him if they did), gulping down his embarrassment as he massages your shoulders, ignoring the way you were just a bit too squimish, or how flustered you would get but accept his offer regardless.

It's not even a sexual thing, it just makes him want to wrap his arms around you, take in your scent, confess and just enjoy a simple life with you -

It's not really possible. He's just incapable of showing clear romantic intentions and affections. He's not husband material and he doesn't want kids, and he's very iffy about weddings and marriage in general when it concerns him. Besides, he's older than you, and while age gaps are common, he thinks it'd be better if you were to settle down with someone your own age. Because someone your own age would understand you better, give you children, marry you without worry.

You deserve a loving, caring husband, one who would hug and kiss you, make love to you, respects you, who isn't afraid or uncomfortable with physical affection, and doesn't have a rather bad reputation around the castle because of his personality.

So, when your hands clutch at his shirt, tilting your chin up, mouth pressing against his, he should stop you. He should stop instead of loosely wrapping one arm around your waist, bringing you closer, moving his mouth against yours. He should stop instead of clumsily bumping teeth with you, humming in content as you sigh into the kiss.

He should stop instead of going in for another kiss once you part, finally understanding what makes riftan so crazy about physical affection.

He should stop, but he doesn't.

He can't nor does he want to.

[observeowl]

Scared N.R

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: There's something that prevents R from approaching love life like a normal person

Third POV There is one person in SHIELD that everyone is jealous of. She didn't need to write reports or even review other agents' reports. Her main job is to create weapons and making sure they are safe for use so she's often seen working with Tony Stark.

Everyone is envious of her because she was able to do what she liked without having to participate in the mundane process. No one has ever seen her lifting a piece of paper to read.

"Hey! Y/N! Come check this out!" Tony called out to her when he saw her swiping her card to enter the compound.

"Hi Tony." She replied with a straight face, not expressing an outwardly interest in the guy's excitement.

"Come on... it'll only take a few minutes." Regardless of the girl's protest, he dragged her to the lab where he was able to show his creation.

"Look." He showed her a bunch of sequences on the hologram and Y/N scanned through nodding her head.

"Nice Tony, but I'm here to collect the weapon Fury asked for."

"It's just over there, I'll have Happy deliver it later. Come watch this." He insisted.

"Please Tony." Y/N didn't let down.

"Alright..."

That's the thing about this Y/N, she refused to be dictated by others and to others she may seem cold.

"Thanks." Once she acquired the weapon that was the purpose of the trip, she left the lab and saw Natasha standing at the door. She greeted the higher ranking redhead before heading out.

When Y/N entered her car, she received a text message but she didn't reply and carried on her journey back to SHIELD.

"Thank you Agent Y/L/N. Hill will send over a document that requires your attention. We seem to have found a new element." Fury said after inspecting the weapon Y/N have brought over. "I expect things will start to get busy from now."

Y/N nodded and proceeded to her office where there was a thumbdrive on her table containing the document Fury was talking about. She plugged in the thumbdrive and took her earpiece and started listening to it.

As Y/N was listening to the document with her eyes closed, Natasha walked into her office after knocking. She knew Y/N was inside as she was talking to Maria earlier.

In a way, Y/N is similar to Tony. Her lab was filled with screwdrivers, holograms displaying 24/7, there's always an ongoing project somewhere. The difference is that her workspace is a lot neater compared to Tony's. There's almost nothing on her desk other than her computer and tablet. No files to be seen, only a single pen used for signing.

Some childish agent would think she used her connection to enter SHIELD and doesn't have to do anything useful.

Natasha saw Y/N with her eyes closed thinking she was having a relaxing time listening to music as nothing was showing on her screen. Quietly, she walked closer to Y/N and took one side of her earpiece trying to figure out what she was listening to.

However, before she was able to place the earpiece close to her ear, Y/N shot open her eyes, shocked at the new activity and person intruding her personal space. "Agent Romanoff." She sighed in relief. "How may I be of assistance to you?"

"Oh nothing. I was just popping by to see you."

"I'm kinda busy, if you could come back later, I may be free then." Y/N replied. Natasha respected her space and slowly stepped back exiting her office. When she left, Y/N continued with her listening until she got enough information to start working.

"Don't scream. Quietly come with us." Y/N felt something metal on her back and dropped whatever she was doing and followed their instructions. They must have planned this for a while as they moved smoothly avoiding the majority of people and leaving the building expertly without raising anyone's suspicion.

Once they were out of the building, more men came and placed a bag over Y/N's head and knocked her out.

Natasha POV Y/N is an interesting character, I've never seen someone so strict in following the rules. She only interacts with someone for work and pushes everything else until the end. It's finally 6pm and that's when she usually leaves work. I went to find her again but she was not there.

Strange... if she were to leave, she would have switched off the lights but she also was not in her office. I checked with Maria but she didn't see her either. Maybe it was a one off thing. I helped her switch off the lights and went back to the compound.

The next morning, I went to Y/N's office early, hoping to be able to catch her before she started work but she was not there either. Just as I was wondering if she got the day off, Tony called me asking where Y/N was as she was supposed to be working with him today.

Natasha: I have no idea, Tony. I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon.

Tony: Well, if you see her. Tell her to come quickly. I have something exciting to show her.

Before waiting for my reply, he hung up his phone. I sighed, shaking my head. I only managed to take a few steps before I saw Tony calling me again.

Natasha: Tony... I told you I don't know where she is...

Tony: Come to the compound quickly. It's serious, it's Y/N.

Natasha: What?!

He didn't reply and hung up on me again. "Seriously!" I ran out of SHIELD and floor my corvette all the way through until I reached the compound. Everyone was already crowding around in the meeting room watching a clip.

*in the clip*

"Read the manual and operate it!" The guy screamed at her.

"I can't..." Y/N shook her head. "I really can't... I want to but I really can't." She's on the verge of crying with the stack of papers in front of her.

"Why did we kidnap a useless engineer who can't even read?" He screamed and

"What is she doing? Why isn't she reading to buy us some time?" I asked frantically. Once she started trying to operate the machine, she would be safer as they'll need her.

"We've already got her location. Let's go." Tony said and the team headed towards the quinjet.

"She'll be alright Nat." Clint said as I paced around the jet thinking of the worst possibilities that could happen to her. I shook my head not knowing how to reply.

"These idiots." I mumbled when we got to Y/N. The culprits have been taken away and she was left on the ground beaten. I immediately went to check on her and thankfully she didn't sustain any drastic injury. Clint helped me to carry her back in the quinjet before sending her to the medbay to check things out.

I was fuming at those that did this to her. After Bruce was done checking and making sure she was fine, I went to search for those that were responsible for this. Maria had already interrogated them and they were a part of a no-name gang that heard about Hydra and its possible weapons at a cafe. SHIELD needs to tighten their security and tell their agents not to talk about their work outside of SHIELD or the compound.

"What are we going to do about them?" I asked when Maria came out.

"We're going to just pass them off to the police and close this as a kidnapping and assault case." She said.

"Nat, she is awake." Clint came to tell me before I was able to protest that more should be done instead of having them sent to prison where they would only be spending 20 years of their life there.

"Hey Y/N, I heard you were awake." I tried to act normal when I entered her room.

"Hi Natasha." Y/N said as her bed was already propped up at an angle.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked as I took a seat next to her. She nodded her head and played with her fingers for a bit.

"Can I ask why you didn't read the manual for them? You would have sustained a lot less injuries if you did." She nodded her head once again but I wasn't sure if it was a reply to my first question or the statement. I figured I was pushing too far when I didn't get a reply and was going to move onto another topic until she opened her mouth to reply.

"I was kidnapped when I was younger..." She said after taking a deep breath.

"This is not mandatory, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." I told her to make sure and let her know I wasn't forcing her to tell me.

It took a little longer before she continued. "They'll beat me up slightly but it wasn't anything serious. I don't know if it was their sadistic feeling or what. But I was placed in front of a desk and told to recite the storybook from cover to cover." She swallowed before continuing. "Every other chapter there would be people dying. I kept reading and reading, characters kept dying and dying. Every page I flip I think the next one would be me."

I held onto Y/N's hand letting her know she's no longer there. I could tell her heart was beating faster with the machine next to her. "After I got rescued, I didn't dare to read. I couldn't see the words, they were all in a blur."

I processed her situation in my head, so that's why she's never seen reading. "But how do you sign and authorise things then?" I asked as I've definitely seen her signature on papers.

"I only trust Commander Hill to give the right paper after listening to the recordings of it." I raised my eyebrow nodding. "It's not a nice experience really, the robot sounds really dry. I often fall asleep listening."

"I could read for you next time. That way you can sign on the paper immediately." I suggested it without thinking. "I- I mean, if you don't mind." I added after realising what I said.

Y/N shook her head. "I don't want to intrude into your time. Some documents can take really long to read."

"I want to help. Please?" I gently held her hand and rubbed my thumb over her knuckles.

"Alright then."

Your POV Ever since the kidnapping, Natasha has been helping me read the documents. I tried hiding some from her, especially the manuals as it can be very technical and boring but somehow she would find out and barge into my office scolding me for not telling her. I have no idea how she heard I have something to read so quickly, don't she have her own things to do? Don't get me wrong, she has a really nice voice which I'm sure if she no longer works as an Avenger or SHIELD agent, she can go be a voice actor or audio book reader and be really successful.

Currently, we are at my house after having dinner at one of the cafes nearby. Other than helping me read, she has been trying to conquer my fears of reading by reintroducing children's books to me. There were more pictures than words but it was still tough looking at the words. I take a long time trying to read through the blur.

"Don't bite your lips." Natasha pulled my bottom lips out between my teeth. I froze when I felt her fingers on my chin.

"Sorry, Natasha..."

"I told you many times to call me Nat. I'm sure we're past that stage now."

"Right. Sorry, Nat." I corrected it.

We spent weeks trying to improve my reading but I could only read a couple of words each session. Not even enough to finish reading one children's book.

[ladykailitha]

Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town Part 1

Just like with Little Runaway the tagging cap is at 20.

*

Steve had finally been convinced to join the Hellfire Club’s main campaign. It actually took Mike begging him to join, that finally convinced him. Though Mike only did it to impress Eddie and Will, but Steve going to take it as a win regardless.

So he offered to have it at his place so that when this went to shit like it did last time, he’d have somewhere else he could go, but still be able to take kids home.

Eddie and Dustin arrived early to help set up and get things ready for the session.

Eddie handed Steve a small velvet pouch that rattled when it dropped into his hand.

“What’s this?” Steve asked furrowing his brow.

“Open it,” Dustin said bouncing on his heels excitedly.

Steve opened the bag and poured out the contents into his other hand. In his hand were yellow and orange dice with black numbers.

“Oh wow,” he whispered. “These are neat.”

“They’re yours!” Dustin said. “Every player has to have their own set.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, guys.”

Soon everyone arrived and got settled in, Eddie in the DM’s chair, Steve to his right and Will to his left. Dustin was on Steve’s other side. Mike was next to Will and Erica and Lucas were at the far end of the table.

Steve looked around at everyone’s character sheet and then looked at Eddie. “Do we have time to roll up a character for me? I kinda forgot we needed to.”

Eddie smiled and handed Steve a piece of paper with a flourish. Steve took it gingerly.

He frowned. “Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town?”

“Yup!” Eddie said popping the last consonant. “We talked about it and figured the best way to introduce you to the game is to get you used to the game mechanics first. Your character is you. All you have to do is act like you would act and we’ll guide you through the rest of it.”

“I’m a barbarian?” he asked softly. “That‒that doesn’t sound very cool.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Erica said. “Barbarians were originally just people the Romans thought were inferior, despite getting their asses handed to them on the regular. It might mean someone who is crude now. But it didn’t always.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “It’s a cool thing?”

“Very cool,” Eddie confirmed.

Steve looked down at his character sheet again and the frown deepened. “Is ten in intelligence bad?”

“It’s average,” Lucas said. “No bonuses but no penalties either.”

“So, I’m not smart?” Steve asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Steve sweetheart, you are focusing on the bad. Look that the rest of your stats.”

“Seventeen in strength, fifteen in dexterity, eighteen in constitution, sixteen in wisdom, and fifteen in charisma...” he rattled off. “Okay...but I don’t know what that all means.”

“Strength is how hard you can hit stuff or how much weight you can carry or lift,” Dustin said.

“And seventeen is good?” Steve asked.

“Oh yeah,” Mike said. “Especially for a level one without bonuses. You hit hard.”

Steve nodded feeling a little better. “And what’s dexterity? That’s how quick you move, right?”

“A little,” Will said. “But it’s also how agile you are.”

Steve nodded. “I know what charisma is,” he said with a wink. “And fifteen is above average, right?”

“Yeah,” Erica said. “I had to argue that one to be higher.” She glared at the boys. Who promptly had elsewhere to look.

“And the last one, what’s the difference between intelligence which is low and my wisdom which is high?”

“Intelligence is knowing it’s raining,” Eddie explained. “Wisdom is knowing to bring an umbrella because it was cloudy when you woke up that morning.”

“So I’m smart in a different way?” Steve asked.

“Hell yeah, you are, Stevie,” Eddie said with a grin.

Steve looked down at his sheet one more time. “Anything else I need to know?”

Will looked over at Eddie. “Can I explain rage to him?”

Eddie laughed. “Go for it, Will the Wise.”

“What’s rage?” Steve asked.

“When a barbarian’s hit points drop to a certain range,” Will explained excitedly, “they go into this fugue state where they deal more damage but they sacrifice their intelligence until it wears off or until their hit points reach zero.”

“But I don’t do that,” Steve said, frowning again.

“Honey,” Eddie said gently, “I’ve seen you. You ripped a demobat from tip to tail with your bare hands, shirtless and barefoot. And spat out the blood like it was a bad tasting beer. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was awesome.”

Steve blinked. He vaguely remembered doing that. “Oh.”

“Look at your weapon, Steve,” Mike said excitedly. He was nearly vibrating with anticipation.

“A mace? I don’t know what that is...” He was starting to think that this was all a way for them to make fun of him.

Eddie whipped out the players’ handbook and began flipping through the pages. He stopped and then turned the book over to Steve.

Steve looked down at it awe. “It’s like a badass version of my bat.”

“Exactly!” Mike said. “Isn’t it awesome!”

Steve smiled for the first time since he sat down. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“And the final thing,” Lucas said. “Is improvised weapon proficiency.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“It means you can pick up anything,” Erica said, “a bottle, a chair, or anything like that and you don’t get an penalties for your attack rolls.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Oh you mean like I did with the phone and the Russians?”

“Exactly!” Erica said.

“Oh.” He looked down at the character sheet with a little bit more enthusiasm.

“So just play the character as is,” Dustin said, patting Steve on the shoulder. “We’ll help you do the game mechanics until you get the hang of it. And then when we start the next campaign you can create your own character and learn to roleplay.”

Steve looked down at his sheet again. “Okay. Yeah. I can handle that.”

“Everyone ready?” Eddie asked. When he got a series of nods and agreements, he began. “You are all in a large tavern that seats about sixty to seventy people. There are three barmaids, a dark-skinned human, a half orc who looks like she could double for security, and a halfling...”

Steve would stop him every once and a while asking questions about what things were or what they meant and each time someone would explain it to him.

Finally they wrap up for the night and Steve is chatting as happily about the campaign as the rest of them.

“Dude!” Lucas said. “Eddie was right, you are a barbarian. A kick ass one, too.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks man. I thought I would be a cleric or a paladin. But I guess not.”

Erica pats him on the back. “Starting with magic users is hard to begin with, and picking something because it looked cool is even harder. I learned that the hard way too.”

“You do realize that you’ve said some variation of the word ‘hard’ three times, right?” Mike teased.

“Shut up,” everyone shot back.

Mike ducked his head, but Steve ruffled his hair. Mike blushed but pushed a laughing Steve off him.

Will raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing.

“So, big boy,” Eddie said, strolling up to the party. “You coming back for round two?”

Everyone turned to look at Steve with baited breath.

“Hell, yeah!”

And cheer went up.

“You hear that, Eddie?” Dustin asked jumping up and down. “He’s coming back!!”

Eddie just smiled at Steve.

Steve ducked his head and blushed.

“Okay,” he said with a cough. “Who am I taking home and who’s going with Eddie?”

Mike and Sinclairs went with Eddie and Will and Dustin went with Steve.

Dustin crawled in the back seat, like he always did when he was too hyper for the front seat. Something Steve insisted on, so that he could actually drive.

Will got into the front seat. “I’m glad you had fun, Steve.”

Steve grinned. “Me, too...though I will admit it wasn’t looking very good to start with.”

“I told them we should have started with the fun stuff so that the other stuff didn’t come out as insulting, but no...” Will muttered.

“It wasn’t insulting!” Dustin protested. He paused. “Was it, Steve?”

Steve looked in the mirror and smiled softly at the crestfallen look on his young friend’s face.

“Nah, Eddie was right,” Steve said. “I was focusing on the negative.”

“Because you’d been burned before,” Will defended. “Which is why I wanted to start with your weapons and your feat. Because that stuff is badass.”

Steve grinned again. “Hell, yeah that was. Who knew that medieval weaponry could be so cool. I thought it was just axes and swords with maybe bows and arrows.”

“There is way more to it than that,” Dustin said, his enthusiasm coming back. “There are spears and morningstars and war hammers. All sorts of cool stuff.”

They chatted about medieval weapons until the dropped Dustin off. As soon as they had pulled away from the curb Will spoke.

“I have something for you,” he said digging something out his bag. Steve glanced down at the drawing and smiled.

“That’s awesome, Will,” Steve said with a grin. “My very own Will Byers original. Is that supposed to be me?”

Will nodded. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “Because you thought I wouldn’t like it?”

Will shook his head. “I didn’t want draw everyone’s characters.”

“Down side of being an artist, unfortunately,” Steve agreed. “If you play an instrument they demand you play something for them, if you draw, draw something for them, I think the only time people don’t demand art from you is when you’re a writer, but they always ask if you’ve written a book.”

Will frowned. “Sounds like you know from experience.”

Steve glanced at him and smiled. “Don’t tell anyone else, but I draw, too.”

“You do?”

“Not like you,” Steve admitted. “It’s not very good. But it’s fun and I enjoy it.”

“Can I see some?” Will asked tentatively.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Like I said, I’m not very impressive, but come over tomorrow. I don’t have work.”

“I’d like that,” Will said softly. 

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

[captaincryolicious]

tattoo artist scaramouche

scaramouche/wanderer x gn!reader

summary ; you decide to finally get a tattoo, and it turns out that your tattoo artist is super pretty. though he is a little mean at first, you soon get to see through the cracks of his outer shell.

format ; oneshot, 2,6k

cw ; scara being a bit mean, kinda ooc scara, modern au, tattoo artist au, use of scara's real name (kunikuzushi)

zep's note ; i'm not entirely satisfied with this but yeah it's whatever i guess haha

content under the cut | masterlist

Your body was rigid with stress when you stepped inside, the soft jingle above the door making your arrival known – it was impossible to back out now without looking like an absolute fool in front of the artists employed by the tattoo shop you just walked into. Your tense fist clutched the strap of your bag tightly, your knuckles pale under the pressure. Up until a few minutes ago, you genuinely thought it was a good idea to get a tattoo. You had been confident, but it all diminished rapidly as soon as you had placed your hand on the door handle. Now you were hesitating, many doubts pestering your mind. 

Would it hurt?

Would you regret it, once it was done? 

Would it be awkward to have a stranger – albeit a tattoo artist – so close to you?

You fought to put those thoughts aside. They weren’t welcome in your consciousness right now. It was too late. anyway. You were inside, and the guy behind the counter just laid his eyes upon you. If you were to turn around and dash out of the shop, he would judge you so hard. No, you had to preserve your dignity. Besides, you really wanted that tattoo, regardless of what your doubts tried to tell you. You gathered all the smidges of bravery you could find and took somewhat confident strides until you stood in front of the counter. 

     “Good afternoon, how can I help you?” the blond guy asked. He offered you a friendly smile, which was a stark contrast with the harsh interior of the small shop. 

It was dark in the front of the shop, the only illumination coming from a few industrial light bulbs that gave off a warm yellow-ish hue. Only in the back burned a sharp, bright light that reflected on the red-and-black tiled floor. It was the part of the shop where several tattoo chairs stood lined up. You quickly averted your gaze, not quite ready to look at that area yet. Like a magnet, your eyes were pulled towards the walls. They were completely covered in countless drawings and designs, some simple and bold and others very intricate. Obviously, they were done by very skilled artists, and you looked at them in awe. The neatly folded piece of paper suddenly seemed to burn in your pocket; it was a small tattoo you drew by yourself. You were satisfied with the outcome, but now you couldn’t help but compare it to the pieces on the walls. You shook off the feeling, turning to face the guy behind the counter. 

     “Hello, I have a tattoo appointment scheduled at three,” you told him, mustering a smile in return. 

He checked something on the laptop that stood in front of him, his eyes reading over something on the screen before he hummed in affirmation. 

     “Alright, Kunizukushi is waiting for you,” he said, getting up from the tall stool and opening a small gate in the counter that would allow you to enter the back of the shop, where the tattoo chairs and equipment stood lined up. 

Some of the chairs were occupied, and most of the customers were talking nonchalantly with the artist who leaned over a part of their body with utter concentration. Only one of them, a young female, had her lips tightly pressed together in what seemed like pain, and you felt an even stronger pull of fear in your stomach. Still, you persevered, following the blonde guy as he guided you to a chair in the far back of the shop. There stood an empty chair waiting for you, and a guy – you assumed he would be the one tattooing you – sat with his back towards you as he prepared his gear. You only saw his deep purple hair, swaying softly with every movement he made on his stool. So that was the guy you had to trust, the guy you would allow to mark you with permanent ink. The blonde male wished you good luck and headed back to the counter, and you stood there awkwardly. 

     “Sit down,” the purple-haired artist commanded without turning around. 

You obliged, taking a seat in the large leather tattoo chair. Your body was rigid with stress, and you didn’t lay down. You weren’t ready for that yet. If any, you would procrastinate that very moment for as long as you could. Lying down meant that you were about to get inked and you had yet to wrap your mind around that. It was getting awfully real now but you didn’t quite realize the depth of the situation yet. You knew it – you were about to ink something into your skin permanently, which was quite a big deal – but it didn’t dawn upon yet. Blame it on the nerves, you thought. 

     “So, did you get tattooed before or is it a first for you?” the male inquired, taking the tattoo machine and finally whirling around on his spinning stool. His violet eyes found you, and the intensity of his gaze had you sucking in a breath. 

God, couldn’t they have given you a nicer-looking artist? He was undeniably pretty, with his sharp and fine features, but the scowl on his face made it look like he personally despised you. It made you shift awkwardly as you replied. 

     “It’s my first,” you admitted.

     “Alright, then let me get you through the basics,” he said, sounding bored already. He started talking, not taking his eyes off you as he explained to you everything that you needed to know before getting your first tattoo. His words made your head spin in fear and confusion, especially when he spoke about matters such as needles, permanent ink, and the most feared but also most inevitable one; ‘it’ll hurt’. What had you gotten yourself into? Was it too late to back out?

     “Do you have a design in mind?” the artist asked. Yep, it was too late.

Nodding, you took the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket. It used to be folded neatly, but not much was left from the clean and sharp lines across the drawing. Instead, the paper was laced with tiny wrinkles. A little ashamed, you handed it to the artist, hoping that the messy folds wouldn’t ruin the design you worked so hard on.

     “Hm,” he hummed, taking the piece of paper from your hand. “Decent. Who drew this?” 

     “I did,” you replied. 

As expected, he didn’t reply to that. He kept himself busy with preparing his tools, and you tried your best not to be too intimidated by the ink gun in his gloved hands. That proved itself to be quite a challenge, though, for everything inside this tattoo shop managed to intimidate you – maybe most of all the artist who was about to mark you with permanent ink. There was something about him that reminded you of a thunderstorm; beautiful but terrifying. It was a little scary that you had to put your faith in him. 

     “Where do you want your tattoo?” he questioned.

     “Here,” you replied, pointing at an exposed part of your skin. 

     “Right,” the artist muttered. “Let me prepare the stencil.” 

He sat hunched over a small desk next to the leather chair, and you heard the sound of a pen scraping over paper. It was only a small tattoo that you wanted, so he didn’t take too long and you waited patiently in your seat. Way sooner than you expected him to, he turned around to face you again and showed you the stencil that contained your tattoo design. You had to blink a couple of times as you looked at it, and you had to keep your jaw from dropping.  It was a little different from what you originally drew; you could see he added his personal touch to it and it looked amazing. Right, it was time to take back your earlier thoughts. Suddenly, you were glad this guy was tattooing you, since he turned your already pretty design into something gorgeous. 

     “That’s… beautiful,” you said in awe. “I love it.” 

     “Good,” came the curt reply. “Lay down so I can begin.” His eyes rested solely on you, and you stiffly followed his request. You felt so uncomfortable and vulnerable as you lay in the leather chair, especially when the artist – Kunikuzushi was his name, right? – hovered over you. “Ready?” 

     “Y-Yes,” you brought out, while in fact, the answer was no.

     “You’re cowering,” the male pointed out, not a trace of sympathy. “Quit shaking or it’ll ruin your tattoo.” 

Two things could happen; his snarky comment could either send you right into a fit of nerves and make you chicken out or it could spur you on to toughen up and get yourself the tattoo you’ve wanted for so long. The former would’ve happened, if it wasn’t for Kunikuzushi’s hand landing on your arm and giving a gentle squeeze. Was it meant as a way of comforting you? You slightly tilted your head to look him in his eyes, but his violet gaze gave away absolutely nothing. He was still wearing his perpetual frown, but you were one hundred percent sure that he just attempted to help you relax a little. It sparked some newfound courage within you, and you shifted a little in the leather chair. 

     “Okay, bring it on,” you said, feeling a little more confident. 

     “That’s more like it,” the artist uttered, and a satisfied smile ghosted over his lips before it vanished again. 

And then he got to work. First, he rubbed some jelly on your skin where you wanted your tattoo, before he placed the stencil over it. 

     “Are you sure this is where you want your tattoo?” he asked. “Last chance to change it.” 

     “Yes, I’m sure,” you finalized. 

With a single flick of his finger, the tattoo gun in his hand came to life. You sucked in a deep breath in a last attempt to calm yourself before he placed the needle against your skin and began working on your tattoo. You squirmed upon the alien sensation on your skin, the unpleasant sting of the ink needle quite painful. With a slight push against your shoulder, Kunikuzushi got you to lay still again. For a few minutes, you focused on your breathing and the monotone buzz of the ink gun, allowing yourself some time to get used to the feeling. 

     “Relax,” the artist muttered, lightly touching your arm. “No one has ever died in my chair and you won’t be the first one.” 

You nodded, forcing yourself to take one deep breath and let go of the tension you held in your body. You couldn’t get yourself to look at the needle working its way into your skin over and over again, and your gaze landed on Kunikuzushi instead. His violet eyes were narrowed with utter concentration, and his face was no longer contorted into a scowl. You could tell he probably really liked his job as a tattoo artist, despite seeming so moody earlier. As pretty as he was, even with that permanent scowl pretty, you were delighted to see him with a more relaxed expression. Honestly, his features were a work of art just as much as the tattoos he so skillfully created. 

It actually went pretty well; you were enduring it better than you thought you would, and Kunikuzushi could proceed swiftly without having to remind you to lay still ever again. The sensation of pain subdued to a point where it was bearable and fairly easy to ignore, and you found yourself staring at the ceiling without being bothered too much by the entire process. From TV, you knew that tattoo artists often engaged in light-hearted conversations with their customers, but the violet-haired male kept quiet the entire time. You guessed he just preferred to work in silence, and you found yourself not minding all that much. 

     “You’re actually doing well,” Kunikuzushi remarked, mockingly surprised as he patted your shoulder. “I’m almost finished.” 

Staying true to his word, he worked on the finishing touches of your tattoo sooner rather than later, and then he leaned back and turned off the tattoo gun. It was eerily silent without the constant buzz resonating through the air, and it felt a little awkward as no one spoke up for a good minute or so. Then, finally, Kunikuzushi reached out for a small mirror behind him and held it up in front of you. 

     “It’s done,” he said, stating the obvious. “What do you think?” 

You stared at his creation in awe, watching how it blossomed on your skin. It was beautiful, even exceeding the sketch he made beforehand. Intricate black lines curled over your skin, adorned with the faintest traces of subtle coloring. It was a work of art he had created on your being, and you couldn’t help the wide smile that crossed your features.

     “It’s absolutely stunning,” you gushed, looking at the artist excitedly. “You’re amazing!” 

It was supposed to be merely a thought, but you accidentally spoke those words aloud. Your eyes widened as soon as you realized your small error, but it was already too late. You saw the corners of Kunikuzushi’s lips curl up in a smug grin that was only barely there. But you saw it so clearly, before he turned away to hide it from your view. When he faced you again, the smile was gone.

     “Stay still as I disinfect the place. It might sting,” he warned, dabbing at the tattoo using a sterile gauze soaked in disinfectant. It did sting a little, but it was nothing compared to the needle that had penetrated your skin a few thousand times a moment earlier. You could handle it. 

When he was done cleaning the tattoo, he covered it up neatly using even more sterile gauzes and bandages. Then he finally gestured for you to get up, and you were relieved to do so. It wasn’t that the leather chair was uncomfortable in the slightest, but staying still for too long wasn’t exactly your forte and you were happy to get up. You swung your legs over the side of the chair and rose to your feet. 

     “The guy behind the counter will handle the paperwork and payment, and he will explain to you how to take care of your new tattoo,” Kunikuzushi stated, his face back to his usual grimace. But his eyes softened a little as he added, “I’d like to see you again in a week, if that’s okay with you. I want to check up on your tattoo personally.” 

     “That’s fine by me,” you reacted, wondering what he meant by putting emphasis on personally. Did he usually not do that with his customers? What did that even mean? You let your thoughts run over the matter for a moment, but couldn’t come up with anything that made sense to you. You’d just meet him in a week and see what happened. 

What an interesting guy Kunikuzushi was. A little mean on his outer shell, but sometimes glimpses of something nicer would filter through. You weren’t too sure about having him as your tattoo artist at first, but by now you were happy that it had been him. He was pretty, he was talented, and he intrigued you to no end. 

Who knew? Maybe you’d get another tattoo soon… 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

If I Could

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Eddie have been friends for years. You seem to have your life together and Eddie, well, his is a different story. Regardless, his feelings for you have always been there but he never told you.

Inspired by the song If I Could Tell Her from Dear Evan Hansen.

Eddie's hands felt clammy. Sweaty, clammy, gross. He felt gross. He felt nervous and gross and clammy-

"You okay, Eds?" you ask with a chuckle as you look up from your paper.

You came back to Hawkins for Spring Break. Unfortunately, you had some assignments and papers to complete whilst on break. Eddie, determined to finally graduate this year, also had some assignments to complete.

You two decided to meet up at the park, settling at a picnic table and laying out all of your books and notes. You immediately dove right into your work whilst Eddie was distracted.

You became friends with Eddie and freshman year. Despite everyone telling you to stay away from "The Freak", you didn't listen to them. You enjoyed Eddie's company. He was funny and kind. Sure, he lacked motivation and drive, but he made up for it in different ways.

When you ended up graduating and Eddie didn't, you promised you'd still remain friends. You'd send him letters, call him when you could, and would definitely visit when you were on break.

So here you were.

Years of friendship and Eddie's finally admitted to himself: he loves you.

"Hellooooo? Eddie?" you wave your hand in front of his face and he looks up at you.

"Hm?"

You snort, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's just, um...so I have this friend."

"Okay?"

"He thinks you're kinda awesome."

"He thinks I'm awesome?" you look at him confusedly.

"Yeah. And he's told me stuff." Eddie looks down, playing with the rings on his fingers.

You close your notebook and push it to the side, suddenly interested in what Eddie has to say, "What kind of stuff?"

He clears his throat, "Well, uh, he said there's nothing like your smile. It's sorta subtle, and perfect, and real and he never knew how wonderful a smile could make him feel.

"He also remembered how you used to doodle on your jeans in class, stars and skulls and flowers. He noticed how you used to scribble all over your papers too."

"So this guy seems to know me for a while then?" When Eddie nods, still not looking up at you, you ask, "How come he hasn't talked me about this?"

"He's kept it all inside his head because he didn't know how to talk to you, tell you all this mushy stuff. Despite knowing you, he-he still felt you two were on completely different planets."

"I see," you watch Eddie anxiously fidget with his rings. You reached out and placed your hands on top of his, "Did he say anything else? This mystery guy?"

"Yeah, yeah, he, um, lemme try to think." he pulls away from your hands and turns away, "I, He said he really liked when you had those purple streaks in your hair."

You snorted, "My parents got so mad at me for that."

Eddie shrugged, "Even still. And-And he liked how at prom, you danced like no one was watching. You didn't have a care in the world and looked so...free."

You softly smile at Eddie, getting what he's saying through his "friend's" words, "So this guy has known me and been around me for a while, huh? He seems to know me pretty well. Sounds like he may even...love me?"

Eddie shrugs, "I suppose," he mumbles and stands from the table, walking a short distance away, his hands clenched in his fists. Even though he's basically told you how he feels, he can't come right out and say it. If you reject him, he doesn't know what he'd do.

So Eddie does the thing he always does: he runs.

[whaleofatjme1920]

I got sucked back into SCP stuff and can't escape it, love those gremlins (whether they're feral or not *affectionate*). Most of what I'll give you can be seen as ideas OR requests, including this one, its up to you. 👍

So. Researcher reader who's assigned to work with 035. Twist? They offer 035 a body. Similar to how 079 is sometimes drawn with a robotic kind of body. It'd be neat for 035 to have something like that, so long as the material is as Immune To The Icky as possible.

The cool things? Something similar to silicone, but again, Immune To The Icky and removable. Like a dildo with a suction cup. Stick that thing on there and WOAH it can be different shapes and sizes? That's great. 035 wants some time with titties? Smack those bad boys on there. Researcher Reader has it all sketched out on paper, but wanted to get 035's thoughts. Higher ups may or may not approve.

-A long and descriptive thought by an anxious and hyperfixating 👀👌anon

"Customizable" SCP 035

[GN!Reader, I switch between amab and afab bodies.]

[Warnings: Y'know, general monster fucking. Look at the prompt lol it's going to be fun. MINORS DNI.]

[AN: So sorry this took a while! But I read it again and again, and while I'm doing some headcanons for it, here we go!]

The fact you're immune to SCP 035 is a gift in itself. Do you know the kind of tests the Foundation wants to run with you two?

And can you deny just how attracted you are to him?

So, you want to fuck SCP 035, fantastic! He wants to fuck too. Let's get it clear, you and 035 are not lovers. You two do not love each other. I would actually say you're much more like friends with benefits. He would move mountains for you, but it's all platonic! He just also really enjoys how your body feels,,,, y'know?

Luckily, you like blowing off as much steam as he does. Thousands of years of repression really does that to a guy!

I might be taking this a tad different direction than you were expecting but it does have elements of what you originally had down! More of mixing the two elements now that I think of it. But, 035 can command his,,, goop? slime? In different places in close proximity. Not often, he doesn't find that as fun as getting up close and personal but he does have his moments.

He likes having a personal host body, but humans are so fun to over take. Sometimes he'll have you choose a D-Class you're kinda feeling after getting permission from that person to be his muse, yeah!! He's kind of a jealous guy though, so ever since the Foundation essentially gave him his own body to use he really doesn't ask that anymore.

But this body allows him to be more flexible with his parts. Sure, it's got a nice dick but he can make it even better. If you have a pussy, he'll fuck you there with the dick attached to his body and make a dildo for your ass to fuck you simultaneously. Other times he'll just,,, make a double dick so you're riding him with both holes. Amab? no problem he's going to double penetrate you. And if that's too much, he'll have you suck on him while he makes a dildo for you to fuck yourself on.

Funny enough I don't think he's actually that big on receiving oral but LOVES to give you head. Makes long tongues to reach the right places, squeeze you, and tries to drive you into overstimulation every single time.

you like tits? Cool, what size. He can do them all. love for smaller chests, flat chests, really big chests and even bigger, he loves how they all look on his form! If he's got those on though, you need to pay attention to them. Put the titty in your mouth. Suck on it, rub it, and pay special attention to the nipples because he makes them sensitive.

He will absolutely do the same thing for you too. Does not care about your size, probably has a slight preference for something in the "just a mouthful" or "a handful" range. But hey, he doesn't care. give him your chest. He will dote on you regardless of size and always have something to compliment physically, chest and all, just everything. He makes it sound like poetry.

I don't think he creampies you though? You kinda get the feeling of it but he literally cannot get you pregnant if you're an afab. Regardless, no creampie, and I don't think he has a breeding kink to begin with.

Big on praise, sometimes into degradation but actually likes getting degraded more than doing the degrading to you.

035 will mostly go along with the sketches you have, and sometimes the two of you go on "silicone sculpture" sites to see what you want to try next!

Most of your overseers wanted like, just the facts of your sexual relationship but it's just become a regular thing. 035 would riot if they straight up told him you two couldn't see each other - even in a non sexual manner he genuinely cares for you. You're his best friend he also gets to sleep with. But y'know, he's not just using you for your body. Again, really good friends.

I think he has tried a tentacle thing with you before.

He's got,,,, a lot of power over that weird slime stuff. Use it to your advantage!

Surprisingly, you're not ALWAYS trying new things. Sometimes you guys default to things that feel the most familiar and the most pleasurable.

Sometimes, he will make a dildo or a fleshlight for you connected to him and put you in the observation room. You are NOT supposed to take pieces of him out of containment but like,,, sometimes you sneak it and no one knows,,,,,,,, so you'll fuck whatever he gave you while he fucks himself with a dildo in the ass or forms a fleshlight with his slim stuff and fucks that and it's kinda mutual masturbation. That one isn't your favorite but it's certainly fun.

And every now and then, he'll just kinda,,, have fun with you in a very soft, gentle way. No weird shapes, no suction cupped dildos, just a pretty normal dick and you get to ride him or get folded by him. Sometimes less is more.