#and they're supposed to be in there thirties by this point

[eelhound]

"What makes the concept of society so deceptive is that we assume the world is organized into a series of compact, modular units called 'societies,' and that all people know which one they're in. Historically, this is very rarely the case.

Imagine I am a Christian Armenian merchant living under the reign of Genghis Khan. What is 'society' for me? Is it the city where I grew up, the society of international merchants (with its own elaborate codes of conduct) within which I conduct my daily affairs, other speakers of Armenian, Christendom (or maybe just Orthodox Christendom), or the inhabitants of the Mongol empire itself, which stretched from the Mediterranean to Korea?

Historically, kingdoms and empires have rarely been the most important reference points in peoples' lives. Kingdoms rise and fall; they also strengthen and weaken; governments may make their presence known in people's lives quite sporadically, and many people in history were never entirely clear whose government they were actually in. Even until quite recently, many of the world's inhabitants were never even quite sure what country they were supposed to be in, or why it should matter.

My mother, who was born a Jew in Poland, once told me a joke from her childhood:

There was a small town located along the frontier between Russia and Poland; no one was ever quite sure to which it belonged. One day an official treaty was signed and not long after, surveyors arrived to draw a border. Some villagers approached them where they had set up their equipment on a nearby hill.

'So where are we, Russia or Poland?'

'According to our calculations, your village now begins exactly thirty-seven meters into Poland.'

The villagers immediately began dancing for joy.

'Why?' the surveyors asked. 'What difference does it make?'

'Don't you know what this means?' they replied. 'It means we'll never have to endure another one of those terrible Russian winters!'"

- David Graeber, from Debt: The First 5,000 Years, 2011.

[tblsomedoodles]

What's 2003's reaction to the rise fam,I image they'd have questions

Pretty much lol. 2003 knows they exist, and that they'd be different from them so it's not too shocking when they finally meet (though that isn't until post movie. Angelo was sent back to Rise alone.)

Don (2003) is absolutely fascinated by the fact that they're different species of turtles. He absolutely LOVES Donny(Rise)'s inventions and is constantly asking questions and making positive comments about it. (Donny loves the attention. Parent-aged adult giving him praise over his special interest? It's a dream come true.)

Raphie (2003) is completely at awe over Raph (Rise). He's 7+feet tall at only 17?! then he gets to know him and he's just this anxious older brother constantly having to take care of his little siblings, even going so far as acting as their leader even though it wasn't a good fit. Raphie is sooo close to adding Raph to his adopted kid list b/c that kid needs SOMEONE. (Meanwhile Raph is sitting there thinking he somehow annoyed Angelo's pops because the dude won't stop staring at him with a look that he can't read.)

Leo (2003) has no idea what to think of Leon (Rise.) Like this kid uses humor and dramatics to hide his thoughts and feelings, which is something Leo never even thought of doing. Sure Leo jokes sometimes himself, and he does have his own dramatic flair at times, but not really like that. It kind of makes him think, particularly about how he himself may have acted if he hadn't always been the leader. Would he have been like Leon? (Leon thinks Leo looks too serious so he's made it his goal in life to get him to laugh, not that Leo has noticed it yet lol)

Mikey (2003) just finds it hilarious that they can be so different from them, yet not at all. Like Raphie is just as much of a softie as Raph, just Raph doesn't hide it. Same with Leo and telling jokes/dramatics, or Don trying to keep his mad scientist side under control. he's also happy to just chill with Angelo again. He's missed his alternate self/nephew.

Basically they see a group of kids that have went through hell recently (and as former kids that went through similar hells,) they want to be there for them any way they can.

Thank you! : )

[roxyandelsewhere]

"I'm not a damn thing but this time that lasts between running from finding myself and finding myself while running." (x)

SPN moments but abstract [17/?] - The ouroboros of Carver era Dean, aka "what if Dean's present had been presented as connected to his past"

inprnt.| society6 | ko-fi

[briefalpacashark]

~Saviour~

Warning: Hospitals, near death, violence, blood. Graphic descriptions.

Synopsis: when a mission goes south you save your 141 boys.

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Life had a way of throwing shit at you. Giving you a curveball that often cleaved through your life.

This day was no different.

You sat in the med bay. Blood and dirt caked your hands all the way up to your elbows. Your breath was erratic as your left hand clasped and unclasped. Your right arm was numb laid limply on your knee. You glanced at it, unsure why it wasn't moving. Your hand was hidden by a glove that looked a little big to be yours. Were you wearing gloves? You couldn't remember. Your eyes set on the door in front of you. The doors which behind held your squad. The nurses and doctors who rushed around sent brief worried glances at you, but you would simply wave them off. You could only see the blood on your arms. You couldn't see the blood that covered your shirt and down the right side of your face.

Flashes of what happened played on a taunting replay in your head.

It was supposed to be just a simple routine check on one of the outreach bases. Your team was accompanied by about thirty others. You remembered sitting with your squad as Price gave out some simple orders. You remembered smiling brightly at the boys as they cracked a joke.

You remembered feeling the first drops of rain when it happened. You took notice of the water dripping from your body onto the cheap plastic chair as you closed your eyes. You were as wet as a drowned rat. You weren't really sure how it happened. There was an explosion. There were other soldiers, not dressed like you. It was an attack. You were the furthest from the explosion. You remember seeing your squad scattered around? Price and Ghost were the only other ones who recovered consciousness. They went down faster than you could comprehend. Ghost, because of another explosion and due to a loss of blood, a bullet cleaved through his collarbone. Jonny's lung was collapsing and Gaz was unresponsive. You could name every other injury your squad sustained. You had it all listed in your head. Every scratch and laceration. You remembered treating them amid the chaos. You remembered dragging them each to the rally point where they were packed into a chopper and taken to safety. You remembered regurgitating that information up to the doctors. When your mind was done with that, it started replaying what you had done to treat their injuries. Had you done it properly? You followed through your steps, trying desperately to piece them all together.

You couldn't. It was all a jumbled mess. You mind was a jumbled mess.

You weren't allowed in the operating rooms; you weren't qualified. You remembered being pulled out by someone. You remember trying to fight against their arms, but they were too strong. And now you were there. Sitting alone in an empty hall.

As the adrenalin started to run out, you finally noticed the ringing in your head. The numbness up your right arm. With everything you felt, you diagnosed yourself with a concussion, a bad one and possible shock. You didn't know how long you had sat there. Yet when a doctor approached you, your clothes were dry.

"You can see them now. They're all awake and in bay seven," he said, gesturing you in the room. Nodding, you mumbled out a thank you as you walked into the room and noticed that you had a slight limp.

"Heeeyyyyyy. There's our medic. Finally decided to show up and do your job, huh?" your eyes first found Jonny’s. He sat upright in the hospital bed with a bright smile on the right. Ghost and Gaz stood next to Price, in a bed of his own, looking pretty good on the left. You had to give it to modern medicine. It was extraordinary. 

"Damn girl, you look like shit," Gaz commented, making everyone in the room chuckle. You chuckled as well as you took them all in. Took in the open eyes and smiles. 

They were alright.

"Sorry. Haven't had time for a shower. But I still smell better than Jonny," you said, earning chuckles from them. 

"You got a bit of a limp there. You alright kid?" Price groggy voice came from the bed. His shoulder was wrapped up something fierce.

"I'm alright sir. My arms a little banged up. How about you, huh?" you asked. 

They were all alive and safe.

"I'm alright. A little disappointed you weren't doing your job, though. But I had a cute doctor so I'm not complaining," Price cracking a joke. A rare but welcome thing.

"Nah, the doctors wouldn't let me in. I don't have the right credentials apparently," you said, feeling something building behind your eyes.

"What a load of shit," Jonny said.

"But you're all ok right?" you asked, your voice shaky as you gripped your sleeve.

"We're fine. A little beatenand bruised, but we're out of the woods," Gaz commented. You weren't able to hold the small sob that escaped your lips.

"That's good. That's good," you said, reaching your hand up to cover the sob with a cough. Yet you couldn't hold back the tears that quickly started to pour from your eyes. The relief you were feeling was too much. The worry and fear that had been suffocating you had lifted, finally letting you breathe. It seemed like the whole time you had been waiting was like being underwater. And with their words, you were finally able to gasp for air. 

They were ok.

"Sargent?" Price questioned hesitant looks being passed around the room.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, wiping the tears away.

"Oh come on short stack. These little scratches aren't worth crying over." your squad wasn't sure what to do. They didn't really cry. It was something that was strange to them, so they weren't sure how they should react to you doing just that.

"It's just. God. You idiots really worried me, you know. And now you fuckers got me crying. God. It seems like I really love you guys," you sniffled as you whispered that last part to yourself. Not well enough though. They had each heard it.

"Aw come on. Now. You're gonna make me blush," Jonny’s comment had you laughing as you whipped your nose.

"You better consider yourselves important. I don't just cry for anyone you know," you calmed yourself, your cries settling into only tears and a brief quiver of your voice.

"Come on now, Sargent. Straighten yourself out. And for god's sake, have a shower," Price said with a warm smile. You nodded with a smile.

"Yes sir," you took one last look around the room before turning to leave. 

You didn't get far. Your legs didn't seem to get the plan. Your knees buckled slightly, but you were able to keep yourself up.

"Come on," you whispered, straightening up. You weren't on your feet for more than two seconds before you tumbled to the ground.

"Y/N!" As you lay on the cold ground you felt yourself being flipped over. Those who could stand had rushed to you. Then nothing.

Your squad watched all in pure worry as Ghost lifted you onto a spare bed. They yelled for a doctor.

"What's wrong with her?" A doctor who had been yanked into the room asked, taking a torch and shining it in your eyes.

"She just collapsed," Gaz said.

"She's got a concussion," he started.

"She said there was something else with her arm too," Ghost added. Jonny stood waddling over to you. The doctor pulled your left sleeves up to see if there was anything wrong. Seeing nothing, he moved to the right. Pulling the sleeve up, he pauses in slight shock. Your skin was blistered and bleeding with four-degree burns.

"I need nurses here now!" he yelled. He hurried, cutting your shirt sleeves going higher and higher to see the burns all the way up your arm and shoulder. Underneath were the remnants of a burnt shirt. You had put the glove on to get a better grip of whatever you were handling, your hand having become a blistered mess. A few nurses rushed into the room, starting to set up monitors. One nurse cut open your undershirt and paused.

"Doctor," she explained. All attention was pulled down to your stomach. Deep Purple coloring had spread across your abdominal area.

"She's bleeding internally. Get the surgery ready! Let's go!" your squad watched on in shock as the nurse hurriedly ushered your bed out of the room.

Price sat upright in his bed, waiting. They all were. A young private rushed into the room. 

"Sir, here's the footage you asked for," he rushed forward holding out a tablet to the Captain. Silently, he pressed play. Everyone watched in shock as they saw the attack play out. They saw you. Dazed and in pain as you took in your burnt arm. They watched your worry quickly shift to them. They saw you pulling them each to safety. Saving them. They saw you get struck in the stomach by an airborne piece of debris. They saw you covered them with your body as more explosions rang out. They saw you come back for each and every one of them even when people held you back. 

"How long ago did we get in?" Price asked.

"About a day and a half, sir," the private stated.

"So you're telling me. One of my men sat out in that hall for a day and a half with no medical attention?" Price asked, gripping the tablet tightly. The poor lad nearly shit himself when he felt the glares of all four men fall upon him.

"Sir, the attack borough in a flux of patients," the young soldier wasn't able to finish his response when Price shoved the table back into his chest.

"Then why the hell was she alone in the attack?" he asked. The private eyes darted around nervously. Even if her team had gone down, there were other soldiers around. Where were they? Why haden’t they helped you?

"You were all in a danger zone. We had established a protective line. We were given orders to stay behind it," he muttered.

"So you fuckers were gonna leave us there?" Jonny asked in anger. The private cast his eyes down in shame. They now understood why people were holding you back. You were going against orders to save their lives.

Most of the squad was discarded and getting dressed when a doctor walked into the room, his eyes cast down at his tablet.

"Who's the dick that demanded I personally report a medical condition when I have a whole base full of patients?" the doctor was pissed. When he pulled his eyes from his tablet and took in the inhabitants of the room he gulped quickly changing up his tone.

"How is she?" Price asked.

"Well, she had severe internal bleeding. We patched that up though. She had a few broken ribs. Her arm had four-degree burns. She has a concussion and a slight fracture to the skull. She's going to heal up fine with time but her arm will be permanently scarred. She's unconscious right now. And it might be a few hours before she's out of the woods," he quickly reported your condition. He looked hesitant building up the courage to get the last bit of information out.

"What else?" he asked.

"Her heart stopped beating halfway through the operation. Only for a few seconds though. We were able to resuscitate her with the deliberator," he added. The boy's mouths went dry.

Your squad all stood at the window to your room. You were bandaged up like a mummy, a breathing tube stuck in your mouth. Two nurses shuffled around you attending to bits and pieces. Dread, utter dread seeped into their bodies as they took you in. As reality set in.

The team was a mess after that. At all times, you had at least one of them in your room. Cards and flowers piled up on your bedside table moving to encompass the little corner of the room. As soon as the doctor told him that talking to you might help you come out of the coma quicker, he was unstoppable. Jonny would constantly come in, talking nonstop about anything and everything. Gaz would sometimes bring you your favorite snacks wafting the scent over to you in hopes it would wake you up. Price would pop in every morning before breakfast and every afternoon before dinner, demanding a full report of your status. And Ghost would simply sit by your bed. Scared half the nursed shitless to see him looping finger and skull mask walking about at night. 

And they were mad. Price nearly got half the nurses and doctors fired. Those he didnt mange to get fired were transferred. 

It was a week before you woke up. You were in a slight daze. Your vision blurry as you took in your painful limbs. After the doctor and nurses checked up on you, you sat upright in bed. They had told you the extent of your injuries. And you were still feeling a bit drowsy.

A nurse had just left from checking your vitals when you heard a thunder of footsteps. Then you saw them. Your squad all fumble into the room. Relieved and happy smiles spread over their faces as they all clambered around your small bed.

You couldn't really remember what they were saying. After all, they were all talking over each other. What you do remember was the looks they gave you. Looks of utter application and relief. And a newfound respect. 

"Sargent," they all went silent as Price entered the room.

"Sir," you nodded.

"We saw what you did for us," he said, simply unsure how to proceed with the following words. How do you thank someone for saving your life?

"What I did?" you mumbled in confusion. "What did I do?" you chuckled playfully. Your squad looked over your carefree smile.

"You don't remember?" Ghost asked.

"Not really. I remember we were attacked. Seems like I was pretty fucked. Let me guess, you guys saved my ass huh?" you asked playfully. You really couldn't remember what had happened. It was all a blur. The doctor mentioned you might have some amnesia. 

"You did well, Y/N. You did good," Price said, extending his hand out to you. You let out a huff of a chuckle confused by his words but shook his hand nonetheless. The boys would later tell you what had happened but you just shock it off thinking they just wanted to make you feel better.

As you recovered, they harassed the doctors and nurses hanging over their shoulders and constantly asking what they were doing. And you healed. 

Ghost would find himself constantly training to keep his mind off his worry for you. Yet halfway through every workout or exercise, his worry would get the better of him. It brought a smile to your face when he would walk in. He would chat and talk, as much as Ghost could, always checking that you had everything you needed. He was also the one the nurses hated the most. Now Ghost wasn't dumb, but he certainly didn’t really understand all the medical mumbo jumbo, as he called it. So when anything beeped, or he noticed something that looked weird, he would press the nurse call button and ask what it was. You found the concern cute but annoying sometimes. A welcome annoyance, though. 

After a certain amount of medication, you felt sleep pulling at you. Ghost, noticing your heart rate slowing down, slightly reached for the nurse call button.

"It's fine, Simon," you spoke up through half-closed eyes.

"Then why is the beeping thing slowing down?" he asked, gesturing to the machine as he pulled a chair up to sit beside your bed. 

"Your heart rate slows when you go to sleep. Which the current medication is doing," you explained with a small smile.

"Huh," he hummed, settling down in the chair.

"What's on your mind, big guy? You're usually jumpy today," you questioned lazily, waving your arm out to him. Not bothering to bring it back to the bed, you let it dangle off the side.

"The doc said something about a bleed somewhere," he shrugged gently, taking your hand and going to tuck it back under the sheets. Instead, you grasped hold of his pinky, holding it tightly.

"I popped open a stitch, it's fine, it's fixed, see," you said, waving your other damaged hand where a small cut lay underneath the bandage.

"What? You worried about little old me?" you asked with a small smirk, your eyelids drooping.

"Always love," he grinned back, moving his hand to completely engulf yours. You looked over his gentle eye. The honesty in his eyes. He had called your love before. It was always in a playful tone. But that time. The word sounded so different. It sounded sincere.

"Is the big bad Ghost actually saying something sincere?" you asked playfully.

"Yeah well, don't get used to it," he shrugged, going to pull his hand back, but you held tightly onto it. He propped an eyebrow questioning.

"Thank you for being here. It means a lot," you whispered.

"Well, it's the least I can do. And while we're on the topic of thanking. I wanted to thank you for everything," he avoided your gaze as he spoke, having to clear his that afterward.

“I'm the medic, it's my job,” you stated simply. 

“Yeah, well you gotta stay alive to do ya job,” he mumbled, his gaze focused on your intertwined hands, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your palm. Flashes of the cold panic reverberated in his mind. The fear that threatened to swallow him when he saw you being wheeled out of the room. The dread that squeezed his lungs so painfully he thought he might have a collapsed lung himself. 

“Don't tell me what to do,” you joked playfully. His shoulders did their little jump chuckle thing as he returned his gaze to yours. The warmth you held in your eyes. The warmth that spread through you as he gazed at you so sincerely. You had to admit it now. You were smitten with the lieutenant. Perhaps it was the drugs making you feel truthful. It was definitely the drugs that had you reaching up. Ghost frowned as your hand placed itself at the base of your mask. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as your fingers dived under the mask trailing up to cup his cheek. Your smile widened as you felt the tickle of a stubble on your palm. 

“I knew it. I knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you whispered softly, your thumb brushing the skin feeling a scar or two. Ghost found himself placing his hand over your own, moving his lips to press them into your palm. The kiss so tender as it lingered on your skin. 

"You know. I'm gonna make you my Misso," now you were sure it was the drugs that had you speaking like that, but at that moment you didn't care. Because only a second after you pulled your hand back, Simons fell with yours as he held it again. Only a second after you had fallen into a deep sleep, your hand still clasped around Ghosts.

A very confused Simon glanced over at your heart monitor before signing deeply.

"What the fuck is a misso?" he asked himself.

Price would come by later to see how you were, only to stop in the doorway. Simon lay propped up on the bed beside you, sleeping peacefully. Your hands still intertwined. 

With a small knowing smile, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

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--Cod master list here--

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[tired-biscuit]

i think bakugou likes to be babied a little bit.

nothing too drastic, of course, i'm thinking about some simple cuddling behind closed doors after he's had a very long, very tiring day at work. with him pressing you tightly against the mattress of your shared bedroom late at night; your legs comfortably spread just wide enough for him to fit his burly body in-between, and whose hefty weight you can feel resting on your stomach and chest the moment he lands it there.

so all of it is so simply cozy; intimate. your souls are merging without either of you putting in the effort to actually meld them, further strengthening the bond between you. running your fingers through his thick hair that's still slightly damp from the shower he's just finished taking, you stare at the dark ceiling with a sleepy smile ghosting over your lips as you listen to your boyfriend's breathing. it's turned slow, almost languid.

peaceful.

moments pass as the shadows continue to dance on the bedroom walls, and your sleepy smile breaks into a grin when he inhales deeply and sighs in the exact same way most dogs do when they're tired from a long day of playing outside. his skin is completely bare underneath the thin duvet; so warm. he's got nothing else on except for the thin golden chain that you've gifted him as an anniversary present for your fourth year together, and that's now dangling loosely around his neck.

the pretty jewellery is also warm to the touch as you untangle your hand from the ash blonde spikes to stroke down the back of his neck instead. there's no pendant. you didn't want it to be too tacky because you know he prefers to keep things simple, but who knows... maybe he'll add to the gold by hanging a ring on it someday. maybe.

the corners of your mouth twitch at the thought as the heel of your palm glides along the valley of his spine, following along the subtle dip in-between his broad shoulders which you've completely memorized by now. your fingers trace the familiar remnants of his past scars; some thin and barely visible, others so deeply etched into him that they'll surely brand him until the day he dies.

rubbing his bare skin like this fills the room further with his potent scent. he smells fresh; like citrus and something pleasantly sharp that you can't possibly pinpoint for the life of you, but you know it barely matters because it'll all be overtaken by the signaturely sweet smell of caramel at some point anyway.

all that matters is the touch you give. the contact you provide.

so neither of you talks as you hold him like this. you just anchor him; petting him all over, and allowing him to piece himself back together in the dark in his own pace. he's content with just listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it gently lulls him to sleep, is satisfied by feeling your hands stroke him all over his back; coaxing the strained, aching muscles there to finally relax.

he loves you so much, he hopes you know that. you're the only one who gets to see him so vulnerable like this. who still hears him even without a single word uttered into the darkness, who gets to hold him like he's a small kitten in dire need of help, instead of a supposed brute of a man, who's inching towards his thirties and who should apparently serve as his own pillar as far as social norms go.

but fuck social norms, truly. he holds onto you a little bit tighter as sleep begins to creep up on him, calloused fingers sneaking underneath the hem of your dynamight t-shirt just so he can stroke your sides a little bit before he passes out. he does it so that he can pay you back, at least in some way for staying up so late and waiting for him to return home safely. for actually giving him a sense of home to return to in the first place.

and oh, how sweet; your heartbeat quickens at his touch, he can hear it. it kisses his cheek, repeatedly pecking the skin that's been tinted with a shade of soft pink because of the warmth shared between you. it's calming and soothing to him, just like your doting hands are. just like your very existence is.

so bakugou finally allows himself to fall asleep because of the comfort your existence provides, with his consciousness ridden of the many horrors his job brings. nothing matters but you and your touch, and the sound of your heart, and your breathing, your warmth and your scent. all of it together wipes his mind entirely clean.

still, there's only one more fleeting thought that flashes through him before he fully succumbs to his dreams. one that brings a mere hint of a smile upon his lips.

you love him, too. you truly do.

[silverskye13]

what are your thoughts on the castle Wels is building this season? I don't know if anyone has already asked but it has Helsknight vibes to me :)

"It's very..." Helsknight looked around and searched for something nice to say.

[He'd been encouraged to do that lately: say nice things about Wels. It was supposed to "help things". He didn't particularly want to "help things", but he couldn't very well tell people it didn't work if he didn't try it first. It deserved at least a token effort.]

"... Red."

"You're too kind," Welsknight deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

"I like red."

"Red is a very you color."

They stood in bristly silence for a few moments, Helsknight looking up at the castle, and Welsknight looking at him. There was a lot of pointed staring going on. Welsknight pointedly watching Helsknight for any signs of unpleasantness. Helsknight pointedly watching the castle so he couldn't take offense and punch Wels in his stupid face. If their stares got any pointier, they might manage to stab each other just by proximity.

"Did you make it red because it was a me color, or because you like the color red?"

"I made it red because I like mangrove."

"That's the hardest tree to harvest in the game."

"So?"

"So you're not making life easy for yourself."

More silence. Helsknight could feel Wels picking his comments apart for a hidden insult. There wasn't one. He was sticking to strict observations. It was safer that way.

[Think of something nice.]

"The dungeon is cool."

"You would like the dungeon."

Helsknight felt his ears start to heat up, and he wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment or exasperation. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It just matches your aesthetic is all," Welsknight said innocently, too innocently. It was a very 'Look! See! You're the unreasonable one not me!' sort of statement. Helsknight sucked on his teeth, and slowly counted to ten.

"Dungeons don't have an aesthetic, besides unpleasant." Helsknight said with what he thought was an admirable amount of patience.

"It matches your aesthetic," Welsknight reasserted, his voice all sugary sweet innocence.

They glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. The clenched identical fists. They both looked up at the castle.

"That's fine," Helsknight said, baring his teeth in a smile that definitely wasn't also a snarl. "The rest of the castle matches you."

"Oh?" Welsknight said jovially. "You think so?"

"Mm-hm. Grand. Showy." He flicked Welsknight a slow, sidelong glance. "Pointless."

The two knights glared at each other. They moved nearly identical hands down to rest on nearly identical sword hilts.

"Showy?" Welsknight asked, smiling in a way that showed all of his perfect white teeth, and just a little too much of the white of his eyes. "Pointless?"

Unconcerned, his face and the back of his neck burning with barely contained anger, Helsknight smiled back. "Unpleasant."

The two knights, in near perfect unison, glared at each other. The two knights, in near perfect unison, clenched white-knuckled fists around their sword hilts. The two knights, in near perfect unison, lunged at each other. The two knights, all unison abandoned, wrestled each other to the ground.

Across the river, on Hypno's roof, xB clicked a button on the side of his watch.

"Time!" xB he chuckled. "Six minutes and thirty-four seconds. Pay up."

"No!!" Hypno wailed, burying his face in his hands, "I thought for sure they would last eight minutes!"

"I told you man, they're like cats and dogs," xB patted Hypno on the back consolingly. "I'll take my winnings in diamond blocks please."

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

I have request for Spencer Reid x Plus size fem!reader. Maybe her and Spencer are good friends and she gets stood up on a date or her date leaves after seeing her and Spencer swoops in and love confession.

p.s I love you work. <3

༉‧₊˚. 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

― pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

― summary: admitting that you got stood up on a date would be like admitting defeat, too bad spencer's too good of a best friend to let you go through this alone, even if he was the last person you wanted to see.

― warnings: best friends to lovers, getting stood up on dates, a red flag named chris (sorry to all the chris' out there), mutual pining, requited love, love confessions, and implied dates!

― wc: 1457

⋆ a/n: OH, MY GOODNESS IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN AN ACTUAL ONESHOT. i got hit with a random bout of inspiration out of nowhere and i have a bunch of fanfics that already have banners made but they're unwritten and rotting in my drafts so i'm trying to clean them out first. thank you for this and i hope you enjoy some best friend!spencer reid!!

masterlist | AO3

Leave it up to you to be stood up on a date you didn’t even want to go on.

You were even looking for anything with anything else, you just needed a distraction, you needed anything that would help you move on from him. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that you were in love with him – well, it actually kind of is – but that’s beside the point.

There was no way you could continue to sit there and allow yourself to wallow in self-pity over the fact that your feelings for your longtime best friend weren’t reciprocated. You were a grown woman for God’s sakes! And as a grown woman, it was up to you to make grown up decisions. One phone call to Derek was all it took for you to get hooked up with some dude that he knew.

“He’s a good guy,” He said.

Yeah, right. Good guy your ass.

Not only did you look stupid, but you were left stranded in a sports bar surrounded by a bunch of strangers – no, scratch that! Almost all of the patrons in this bar tonight were men, it was football season. You were practically asking to get murdered! What kind of FBI agent would you be if you allowed yourself to be murdered over the fact that some guy’s team lost.

With a sigh, you gazed at your chat between Chris and you. You had sent him a text thirty minutes ago asking where he was when he was ten minutes late, but even that message had been left unread.

The only reason why you were still here was because you were oh so painfully embarrassed, and you hoped that others around you couldn’t tell that there was supposed to be a second person joining you at your very barren booth that you had somehow managed to score.

Now that you think about it, how in the hell had you allowed this man to talk you into going to a sports bar instead of oh, I don’t know, a restraunt with a calm, and comfortable atmosphere?

Maybe it was the fact that the only person’s face you could see in your mind as you discussed where you were going to go together was Spencer’s. As ashamed as you were to admit, you mostly imagined a disappointed look on his face when he realized you were going out with someone else, but even you knew that was damn near impossible.

It wasn’t your failed date that was the shit show – even though it is a close second – it was you that was the main attraction. How could you have allowed yourself to be this childish? You weren’t in high school anymore, and you hadn’t been in some years, but old habits die hard, you guess?

It didn’t have to be common knowledge to tell that your romantic life when you were in school was very, very sad. You often found yourself alone on most weekends, ample amount of time to study right under your fingertips. You figured that when you had gotten older things would have gotten better but… nope.

You didn’t know who to call.

Would you call Derek and blame him? No, he couldn’t have known, but you could totally get him to beat Chris’ ass. The thought of your favorite and very muscular chocolate thunder roughing the piece of shit up helped to easy your nerves, badly enough. There was just one person you couldn’t bring yourself to call, and that was Spencer.

Calling Spencer meant that you were giving up, that you were waving the white flag, that you were still in love with him and no number of blind dates, good or bad, could change that.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought, at least you had dressed up in something comfortable.

“Can I sit here?” You heard someone ask over the bustling noise of the bar.

“Honestly, you can just have the thi–” You spoke without looking up, but when you did, your words died in your throat.

There Spencer stood in his full glory; tall, lanky, nerdy, and extremely uncomfortable, but nonetheless, he slid into the sticky seat across from you with an awkward smile.

“Spence? What are you doing here?” You asked in shock, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I uh- Morgan called me. He said that Chris told him to tell you something came up, but I uh- I figured that wasn’t true.” He explained sympathetically. You scoffed, your body slouching along with the noise. “Yeah, no shit.” Your words were bitter and harsh, which caused you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“Fuck, Spence. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to talk to you like that, I’m just… frustrated.”

He reached out his hand, albeit reluctantly seeing as though the table was in the same state as the seat, maybe even a bit worse. You looked down at it then at him before relenting, your full hand slipping into his lithe one perfectly, as if it belonged there.

The fact that this felt so right made your stomach twist sickeningly, fingerings twitching in desperation to pull away. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to stay. You did not have the mental compacity to dig yourself out of another hole.

“No, it’s okay. I understand.” He reassured, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles gently. “I came as soon as he called,” He then looked around, “Especially after he told me where you were.” You laughed a bit at his concern, your body feeling lighter as it finally straightened.

A soft grin graced your features.

“Thank you, Spence. Really. I know how uncomfortable these kinds of places make you. I just- I really thought tonight was going to go differently.” I thought that things between us were going to go differently, is what you really meant.

“I’m sorry, I know you liked him.”

You grimaced at the word ‘liked.’

“I think ‘liked’ would be the last word I would use to describe how I feel for Chris.”

It was his turn for his eyebrows to furrow. “What do you mean.”

You huffed. “What I meant was that I didn’t even want to go on this stupid fucking date anyways, but I had too… I had too…” You allowed your words to trail off when you had caught yourself about to admit something you had fought years to keep under wraps.

“You had to what?”

Goddamn him and his never-ending curiosity.

“Just leave it alone, please?” You pleaded. You looked up at him from beneath your eyelashes, your gaze soft and vulnerable. “Okay.”

A silence – what was an equivalent to silence – settled over the both of you. The air was thick with unspoken words and feelings, an invisible line was drawn that the two of you were too scared to cross.

“I would’ve never stood you up, you know.” Spencer piped up quietly, his grip that had gone limp in yours tightening. “What?” Your breath hitched. “And I would’ve taken you to someplace nicer than this.” His voice was shaky and forceful, as if he was forcing himself speak in fear that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“What are you saying?” You were breathless, the butterflies that fluttered around in your gut making you nauseous. Hope bloomed at a dangerous rate in your chest.

“What I’m saying is that if I were to take you out on a date, it would be a lot better than this.” He had finally gotten the courage to raise his gaze instead of focusing on where your hands were interlaced. “I would take you anywhere you wanted to go, then I would try my best to make it memorable for you because I…” He gulped. “Because I love you.”

Your ears were ringing. There was sweat beginning to form on your hairline.

“You’re being serious?” The question sounded more like a plea. “Because if you’re saying this because you feel bad, I-” He cut you off. “I don’t feel bad.” He lowered his head to where yours was in an attempt to connect your gazes deeper.

“I really do love you. I- I have for a long time.” Spencer confessed.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” You said through a wobbly smile. His smile matched yours. You could feel the fact that both of your hands were extremely clammy with nerves, but none of you could find it within yourself to care.

“Can I cash in that date now?”

“Now?” He asked incredulously, lifting his free arm to check the time on his wrist. “It’s pretty late.”

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m pretty sure we can figure that out.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter

[belladonazeppole]

What if?... Husk knew his harem when alive.

(Using the Harem!Husk idea of @dealwithadeer also I propose that the harem could be called "Strong Suit")

It would make sense with Husk be one who live the longest.

The thing is that they meet Husk in a high point of his life so they only saw the good side and nobody make the connection that they're the same person.

Problem? Husk does remember them.

Lucifer? One doesn't forget that summoned the devil and survive no matter how much you drink.

Alastor? It was quite clear and more since Alastor doesn't hide who he was when alive.

Angel? He tells him a story when they're alone in the bar and Angel is a bit drunk so he gave a lot of details and Husk make the connection pretty easily later.

Vox? He told him in one of their "dates" that he make him remember the one who got away (in a way to look more sincere and Husk gave him info)

How they meet?

First one Lucifer, they meet in the 20's and Husk was in his early twenties, maybe he was fucking around with a book and end up summoning by accident Lucifer and instead of be scare he ask him for money (a gambler to the the end) Lucifer was amuse by this odd and pretty (I headcanon that Husk was super pretty in his youth, sue me!)

So the deal was that Husk show him a night of entertainment and he would gave him the money, he actually hope to Husk to fail but was surprise for the magic shows of Husk, the glamour of Vegas, having somebody in his arms again (he and Lilith were divorce at that point since I refuse to write Luci as a cheater) it was the most fun he ever had in a long time.

Husk got the money and a King.

Next is Alastor, in the early 30's so Husk was in his early to mid thirties, Husk was the new bartender/sax player in his town at first he was suppose to be his newest victim, and I think that Alastor has a thing in having a "interview" with his victims. He expect to Husk to be like the other men he interview crude, boring and stupid.

He was surprise in how Husk break his expectentions, they actually got along so Alastor decide it would be a waste in killing him so soon, so he spare him, even deciding that if Husk end ups boring him that he could be a nice dessert.

Husk got to live longer and a Ace.

Now Angel Dust, this was in the 40's and Husk was in his mid forties, Angel was recently kick out of his family for be gay and was dealing with a lot of self-hate and drugs, it was his lowest point (so far) and he pass out one night in the snow.

He was shock of waking up in a warm bed while somebody was taking care of him. It was Husk with his boyfriend (Husk was dating a rich dude at the time) even if neither of them say out loud they were boyfriends they also never hide it.

This make Angel feel safe and Husk took care of Angel, in return Angel told him that he make sure that nobody will bother them, Husk didn't know that Angel was a mafioso just kind words of somebody he help.

Husk got protection and a Heart.

Finally is Vox, they meet a lot actually from the 20's to the 50's they had a lot of quick enconters. I headcanon that Husk did drag when he was alive and that is how they meet, Vox wanted to ask Husk for a date but he was already gone for traveling.

Each time they meet again Vox felt a sense of peace since times where changing, he was changing but the only person that maintain all his life was Husk that in the big picture he was still a total stranger but for Vox the only person who saw him since day one.

Vox was either was a cult leader or a CEO (almost the same) so he wanted Husk a his side since he was somebody that see pass his charm. Husk was like the wind pass his fingers and was unable to control him just go to wherever he desire.

Husk got to maintain his freedom and a Diamond.

[campoverlook-if]

Welcome to Camp Overlook, Where We're Stronger Together!

DEMO LINK ll Updated: 4/26/24 ll Wordcount: 70k [W/O Code], 16k [Average]

-----

Secrets are all around you in the small town of Crescent Cove, and its local summer camp, Camp Overlook. A place where childhood memories mix with the unsettling realities of the unknown.

A place once known for freedom and friendship, is now shrouded in flickering lights crawling around the woods and campers vanishing into thin air. Far hidden in Hudson Forest is the truth of any person's most horrid nightmares.

As a counselor, you are entrusted with guiding a group of youngsters through their formative days of self-discovery as you grapple with the disturbing circumstances around you.

Whether you are a newbie or a returning former camper yourself, the secrets of the woods are still ominous and crippling. Among the cheer of camp, eerie events unfold before you.

Is Mr. Adams, the cheerful camp director, still a jolly man, or is there something now hidden beneath the surface? Is Crescent Cove, the quiet little mountain town, hiding a secret so great that it will do anything to keep it covered? Are the campers, lovable and rebellious, exhibiting behavior that goes against their nature?

Camp is supposed to fun, so why are you running for your life?

-----

Setting: Crescent Cove, USA (Fictional Small Town)

Genre(s): Horror, Mystery, Drama, Romance

Warning(s): This is an 18+ story for depictions of violence, death, sexual themes, and child endangerment.

-----

Customizable MC - Name, gender, appearance, sexuality, and personality are all choosable aspects to make your counselor.

Get To Know Your Little Campers - The kids look up to you at the end of the day and their relationships with you reflects on the story.

Discover The Mystery of Crescent Cove - Learn the truth on what exactly happened thirty years ago that changed a small town forever.

Find A Summer Lover - Choose from thirteen ROs all looking for someone to love. Maybe you’ll find more than just one...

Meet Your New Best Friends - Create lasting friendships that survive the test of time. Or lifetime rivals that are ready to hurt you at any chance.

The Camp Needs You - Save your friends and protect the camp, or watch it all disappear before your eyes.

Lucas [M] - The King of the Woods

Stuck up, arrogant, and just one half of an irritating duo. Lucas always has to have the last word and the last thing anyone needs is to hear him whine about not getting it. It doesn’t help that the staff like him, the liar. Just be sure to stay out of his way or else.

Asher [NB] - The Sleeping Angel

Completely checked out of life, or at least, that’s what Asher wants everyone to think. There’s just a little something more hiding under that quiet exterior but Asher isn’t the type of person to open up to just anyone. They’ve got demons in their closet, and they’ve come along to camp for the ride.

Jack/Jasmine [M/F] - The Wise Old Tree

If anybody can round up a group of rowdy kids and teens together its this counselor. Calm and collected, they're there when the situation loses control and everyone needs to be working together on the same page. But this personality wasn’t perfected over night and even the calmest of seas can swallow those around them below.

Ethan/Ella [M/F] - The Friend of None

What some may call everyone’s best friend, they're at this camp for one thing and one thing only. To make a summer that’ll last forever. Leader of the pack, they know how to get the populous together and have a good time. But even the party animal has to get tired at some point and it's those moments when the real them emerges.

Ruby [F] - The Little Red Hen

Soft-spoken, polite, and kind to a fault. Ruby is the person you want when you need a comforting hand. A true healer and guiding life even if she is a little shy around others. But all healers have a story, Ruby just doesn’t have the cure to make it all go away.

William/Willow [M/F] - The Undisguised Wolf

They say if you gaze into the abyss, it tends to gaze back and tells you what you’re made of. That’s how it feels when this quiet storm enters a room, the room grows cold and the fun dies out. No one knows what lurks behind those eyes, and no one knows for sure if they’re the eyes of a monster.

Oliver/Olivia [M/F] - The Two-Faced Lover

Excitable, sweet, just the happiest bubble around. Around most people at least. But really, they're just an actor who knows how to play their part. No one knows the real them and maybe that's starting to have a toll on them. But it’s not like they can suddenly do a 180 and show the world who they really are. At least that’s what they like to think.

.....and seven others to discover! (Character Bios Here)

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

I thought we were over

For my dearest twin, @h3apm3ch4n151m :)

Warning(s): implied murder, yandere/stalker ex reader!! That's right, it's not a yandere character this time, it's you.

Also, Floyd is a teensy bit OOC for this, but there is a reason for it, so please bear with me.

...three years, four months, seven days, two hours, thirty minutes, five seconds ago.

That's when Floyd broke up with you.

You don't know why. You can't possibly understand why. You were perfect for him, you still are!

Let's count the reasons you're perfect for him, shall we?

You love him (obviously!!)

You're able to tolerate his... behaviors.

You help him appear less threatening.

You helped him get his grades to be more consistent.

You helped him with those pesky mood swings.

You love him (again)

You love him (one more time, just to emphasize)

You love him.

You love him, and yet... he abandoned you.

He said you weren't worth his time anymore. He said you were... bad for him.

And just like that, after the two of you being together for so long... he just broke up with you.

...three years, four months, seven days, two hours, thirty-one minutes, ten seconds ago.

You've been keeping track of him ever since.

You just want to make sure he's doing alright, that's all, nothing more!

Recently... he's been... seeing someone.

It makes you sick to even think of him being with someone other than you... especially when they're nowhere near as perfect for him as you were.

They'll just end up hurting him in the end.

Unlike you, his perfect partner.

...the audacity of him. Saying you're "bad for him", what does that even mean? All you ever did was help him and love him to the FULLEST extent. You were around him all the time, you really got to know him and his issues... and you helped him.

How did you help him? That's easy. You simply told him not to speak without your permission- unless of course he was speaking to you... and he listened like the good little boy he is... because he loves you. Even if he's with someone else now, you know deep down he still loves you... and he always will, because you're perfect for him.

You're the perfect match for him and you always will be. Hell, you even chose to never return to your home, because you loved him just that much. Doesn't that show how eternally devoted you are to him? How much you love him?

Why can't he see that?

...

No matter.

He will, soon.

He'll realize soon, that the two of you are meant to be together, forever and always.

All you need to do is pull a few little strings... a few things to set him off like always... and just like that, his new partner will see the ugly side of him. Yelling and fighting... screaming and crying... a storm of emotions nobody in their right mind would want to stay with... nobody except you, of course, because you taught him how to behave himself.

Wait... why haven't they broken up yet...?

That person he's with, did they not fully comprehend what was happening? Do they think that's okay?

Ugh. Regardless of why this new partner of his isn't getting themselves the hell out of that relationship they aren't supposed to be in, the point still stands that you must now take desperate measures. It's the only option!

And that's why you are where you are right now... standing at his back door, covered in blood.

"Shrimpy-?! What are you doing here, why are you covered in blood-?!" He's uncharacteristically freaked out... ah, adorable as always.

"Take me back. You know we're perfect for each other." You tell him the truth. You're the only person good enough for him.

"We broke up three years ago-"

"Three years, four months, nine days, five hours, seven minutes, two seconds ago."

"...creep." He looks... disgusted. "You still haven't told me why you're covered in blood."

"I got rid of what was in the way, that's all."

He seems to get the hint.

"Get the hell off my property and never show your face to me again, Shrimpy."

"You're still calling me that nickname... doesn't that mean, in some way, you still love me-?"

"No, I do that for everyone. It means nothing, and you're delusional to think it ever did."

"But I know there's another name you used to call me, remember? The one I taught you about... the special nickname, just for me..." You laugh to yourself. "I heard you still call me that."

"I-!" He seems a bit freaked out. "That... that doesn't mean anything..." He's always so careful around you, because he knows what you'll do if he isn't... it's cute how scared he is of you, a human.

"Admit it: you still love me, like how I still love you."

"No, I'm not goi-"

"Say it now or you know what will happen."

"...okay... fine... maybe..."

"No, I want to hear you say the words exactly."

He hesitates for a moment.

"...I... still love you, Shrimpy."

"And?"

"And... I'll take you back, and we can... be together... forever."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. Good eel."

And just like that, your life returned to the perfect way it was before...

And Floyd will never slip through your grasp again.

[heich0e]

touya should NOT get in bed with you when you have as much as an hint of a cold, that man has the immune system of a wet rag, always heaving and wheezing. one sneeze and he's GONE, just a pile of bones and staples amen

but he DOES. (based on this post)

"thirty eight point three."

your eyelids feel heavy as you peer up at touya, standing over you at the edge of your bed. between his fingers is the thermometer he'd just plucked from your lips once it beeped to signal it was ready to be read, and upon his brow is an unhappy furrow. his bright eyes flicker from the digital screen of the device to you.

"that's a fever," he says solemnly, as though delivering the gravest possible news.

"barely," you rasp, your throat somehow both sticky and dry at the same time, though you're not quite sure how that's possible.

"'s a moderate-grade fever according to Harvard Health," touya replies immediately, holding his phone out towards you. there's a webpage pulled up on the screen, but you're too tired to look at it properly. you recognize the insignia from the famous university in the corner, though, so you take his (and their) word for it.

"i told you: i just need to sleep it off," you mumble, squirming around under your blankets to get comfortable. "if i rest i'm sure i'll be better in a day or two."

you finally allow your leaden eyelids to flutter shut.

"you comfortable?" touya asks after a moment of letting you get settled. it's not the first time he's asked you that in the past hour since you came home from work feeling unwell. he'd helped you strip out of your work clothes, crawl into bed, then gotten you cool water, and some cough and cold tablets and the thermometer from the medicine cabinet. he's asked you if you're comfortable no less than four times in the process.

"yes, touya. this is perfect," you reply, cracking one eye open to peer up at him. he looks a little directionless as he stands at your side, a bit lost. "thank you."

"okay," he breathes out a little sigh, kneeling at the edge of the bed and moving to lift the blanket, just like he does every night as he crawls in beside you.

"wait!" you croak, holding the edge of the blanket down against his efforts to raise it. "you can't be in here! you'll get sick!"

touya looks affronted. mortified even at the suggestion. if he didn't love you so much you might even think he looked mad.

"the hell i can't," he scoffs, tugging the comforter a little bit rougher than before. you know you have no chance in a battle of strength, especially when you're sick, so you let it slip from your grip. instead, you sit up (with considerably more effort than it usually takes) and place your hands on his shoulders.

"touya, no," you insist, pushing with all your might against his frame to keep him out of the bed. "you're gonna get sick!"

"i don't care!" he counters, pressing all his weight against your palms as he endeavours ever forward into your shared queen-size bed.

touya was always sick as a kid, spending time in and out of hospital throughout his preteen and adolescent years. his immune system has never been strong, and though any major risks of compromise are unlikely now, you still don't want him to catch your cold—he'd likely suffer more, and take longer to recover than you will.

"i'm full of—ngh—germs!"

"so what? they're your germs. we're supposed to share everything, aren't we?"

touya's not particularly hulking, but his strength proves no match for your weakened state, and before you know it he's tumbling into the bed right atop you—nose to nose, chest to heaving chest, and one of touya's hands on either side of your head to keep you from a properly calamitous collision.

"you're impossible," you mutter to him sullenly, but you can't help but appreciate how nice it feels to have his warm body in bed with you. you shiver a bit, in spite of your fever, and relish in the relief his warmth brings.

touya wraps you in his arms, slipping easily into place beside you under the cover of your soft cotton sheets. you're not quite side to side nor front to back—you're on your side with one leg thrown over his own, your cheek pressed to his chest, and he lays facing the ceiling with his arm wrapped around your shoulders to keep you exactly where you are. it's familiar. comfortable.

"yeah, yeah," touya replies, his tone easy and lilting smugly with triumph as it rumbles through his chest. his grip tightens a bit more. you don't mind it. "i know."

[mojogojocasahouse]

Literally can't get the thought out of my head that Gojo would fall for his hairdresser because they're the only person who touches him consistently. So, here it is.

Satoru Gojo x f!hairdresser reader

C: Gojo POV, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst

He didn’t mean to fall in love. He really didn’t.

In fact, Satoru Gojo had sworn it off entirely in his third year of high school outside a KFC in Shinjuku. That evening, with every step back towards Jujutsu Tech, his tears turned to cement around his heart, barricading it behind a fortress never to be broken. That had been the plan anyway.

But you’d foiled it.

It was just a series of unfortunate coincidences that had led him straight to the very depths of hell that felt way more like heaven than he wanted to admit. His normal barber had been out of town, but his hair was growing too long against his neck. It itched as it began to curl behind his ears, it reminded him of his teenage years, and Megumi had started poking fun at him. So, he’d wandered into the salon by the apartment he barely used and asked if anyone had time for a quick cut, an action he’d thought was inconsequential. 

There was no way to decipher exactly what it was that had left him slack-jawed and boneless in those thirty minutes. Maybe it had been how your fingers combed through his wet hair so gently, swirling against his scalp and loosening tension he swore was permanent. The way you’d softly turned and tipped his chin as you inspected your work and perfected every unruly tuft of snowy hair, your gaze too focused on the task to see how utterly enraptured he’d been. He’d caught you on the tips of your toes, his height still too great even with the chair as low as it allowed, so he’d slowly slunk down, his spine curling uncomfortably. He hadn’t cared about the ache. There was also a good chance he’d fallen when you mussed up the finished product, smiling into your eyes as you complimented how well he pulled off the messy look, your palms pressed to his head as you held him. Held him.

He’d never gone back to his barber again

After a year of monthly cuts and trims, he upped his frequency. One night after a mission that had tested every ounce of his resolve and patience, he’d wandered in and pathetically asked for just a quick wash. He’d noted how your eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern, a warm hand on his back leading him to the waiting area, and a promise that you’d be no longer than ten minutes allowing his chest to loosen just enough to breathe.

Soothing circles over his temples had eased his headache, the warm water and your methodical movements lulling him into tranquility. You’d taken extra care, kneading down his neck and feathering over his eyes until he’d been half asleep, his tension swirling down the drain. Never in his life had he wanted to kiss someone as badly as in the moment his eyes fluttered open to your smiling face.

He was never the same after that.

Today is like every other, Megumi at his side as they make their way to the cafe after a mission the kid wasn’t supposed to go on. Whatever, he’d be starting at Jujutsu Tech in a few years, there was no reason to not give him a headstart. 

His height gives him the advantage, and when he spots you across the street he practically sends Megumi crashing to the sidewalk as he whirls to hide his face, fumbling with the glasses in his pocket and ripping the white bandages covering his eyes off his face. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Megumi barks, scowling in annoyance as Satoru slides his round black lenses onto his thin, pointed nose, “Why’re you changing your glasses?”

“Satoru?” Your voice sings out to him even on the crowded Tokyo streets, he can hear it clear as day. 

You’re right in front of him now, hair shining in the sun, eyes twinkling with that happy little grin he sees in his dreams. It’s unfair how happy you always look to see him. The thought that you might be is always his undoing.

“Hi,” he greets sheepishly, chastising himself for how stupid he knows he sounds, “What’re you–”

Whatever idiotic sentence he was set to spew is cut short when you reach up toward his head, and he doesn’t even realize he’s closing the distance your toes can’t reach. A little gasp of shock gets caught in Megumi’s throat as his face twists in confusion when you make contact, plucking a small pink cherry blossom petal from its icy entrapment. He can’t stop himself when his hand catches yours as you pull away, his eyes locked on the fragile, blushing scale between your fingers.

His technique had been active, he couldn’t even recall switching it off. But he had, clearly. Had it become an instinctual flip at the mere sight of you, a second nature? Warmth blossoms in his chest and radiates outward, it’s like the feeling of sun on a cold winter day. Even without looking at your face, he knows you’re confused, who wouldn’t be? You don’t understand the weight of this, no one does except the teenager standing behind him looking on at the scene.

Spring becomes summer when your other hand covers his, it’s shaking ever so slightly and he can’t bear the thought of looking at your face. Are you afraid? He couldn’t blame you. But he forgets that worry when you whisper his name again, nothing but a song in the breeze so quiet it only has the strength to reach his ears. He’s kissing your knuckles before his brain catches up, it’s too lost in thought, in you, in the smell of your floral perfume he’s come to associate with comfort and security. And when you don’t pull away he considers that perhaps his life doesn’t have to be shrouded in darkness.

“Hey,” the gruff voice of Megumi groans out, “How about instead of being a creep you just ask her to dinner?”

Masterlist

[ckret2]

Chapter 33 of human Bill is still the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Stan takes Bill to get fillings from a creepy dentist in the back of a white van. And also they're handcuffed together the whole time.

Hijinks ensue.

Stan was startled from reading the paper by a shrill up-and-down whistle. Bill trotted into the kitchen, his voice a singsong lilt: "Incoming!"

Stan lowered the paper to glare at Bill. "Still doing that, are you?"

"Of course! I'd hate to scare you." Bill took the chair across the kitchen table from Stan. "Gooood morni—"

"Go away." Stan determinedly returned his attention to an article about the deathball arena construction.

Bill laughed. "You're funny. Anyway!" He noted Stan's plate of eggs and salsa was hidden behind his newspaper, and quietly slid the plate across the table as he spoke. "I need you to do me the teensy, tiniest little favor—"

"Nope."

"Take me to your dentist."

"No." Stan didn't even lower his newspaper. "The last time I took you anywhere, you almost made my niece cry, my brother left a Shopliftaholics Anonymous flier on my bed, and all I got out of it was a crummy ring. You wanna go somewhere, talk to Soos."

But, Bill noted, Stan was wearing said crummy ring. "Spend a day with that loser?" He rolled his eyes. "Please. I'd rather pry out my fingernails."

"You'd probably enjoy that, you freak."

"Not the point." Bill stuffed half an egg in his mouth. "Anyway, it has to be you. I need fillings, and Dr. Illing does them for free."

Stan squinted over the top of his newspaper. "How do you know about Dr. Illing?"

"What part of 'all-seeing eye' don't you get?"

Dr. Illing was a wandering dentist who spent the warm summer months in Gravity Falls. He squeezed his van and trailer into alleys between businesses in town, where he both lived and provided dental services until the police caught wind and chased him and his van out into the woods for a few days. On days with good weather, he'd pop open the back hatch of his nondescript trailer and set up a sign that read "COME INSIDE! FREE CANDY (for new patients)". He didn't attract many customers.

What really made him stand out was his unusual pay structure. He charged typical rates for regular teeth cleaning and dental maintenance; but if a patient had a cavity, he gave them a gold filling for free, and he paid them if he needed to pull their teeth.

Stan thought he was terrific. He hadn't had to pay for dental care in thirty years! Granted, he also wore dentures now; but hey, Dr. Illing had helped pay off Ford's mortgage, and at least the dentures were on the house.

Bill said, "You're the only one in the shack who knows all the places Illing might set up shop. Besides, he might be less jumpy in front of a stranger if an existing patient can vouch for it."

"I can see where you're coming from," Stan said. "But my answer is no, because I don't wanna."

Bill scowled in irritation. He sat back and ate another of Stan's eggs as he reconsidered his approach.

"Stanley—I'm a simple shape," he said. "A simple shape who's used to being coated peak to base in pure, lustrous, 24-karat gold. Having skin makes my skin crawl. I don't need any dental work done, these teeth are fine—but I'd really, really like just a bit of gold, somewhere on my body, so I feel a little more like myself in my final days."

Stan muttered, "You're trying to appeal to sympathy I don't have, Cipher."

"And then, once I'm dead," Bill went on, "I suppose I'll be leaving behind a corpse with a mouthful of free gold that whoever's disposing of my remains can do whatever they want with, do you catch my meaning Stanley?"

Stan lowered his newspaper just enough to grimace at Bill. "That's absolutely disgusting," he said. "But okay, I'm bribed!" He tried to fold the newspaper. "If you want your mouth to fund me and Ford's next year of globe-trotting, fine by me. Least you can do for messing up our summer."

"Mhm." Bill shoveled the last egg into his mouth while Stan was distracted by the paper and slid the plate over to Stan's side.

Stan slapped the paper down. "But we're not telling Ford about this. Agreed?" He offered a hand to shake.

"Agreed." Bill took Stan's hand, with the wrong hand—but before Stan could figure out what to do with that, Bill jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. "We'll take this to our graves."

"Or to your grave, anyway!" Stan laughed loudly, slapping the table.

Bill watched him with a forced smile. "Great. Deal made. Let's go get the magic friendship bracelets and—"

"Ohhh no," Stan said. "I'm not trusting a little bit of colored lace and some mystical hocus-pocus to keep you contained. If we're going anywhere, I'm making sure you can't escape."

"Okay," Bill said, a touch warily. "Fine. How?"

####

Soos took the handcuffs out of his toolbox, removed the key and stuck it in his pocket, and asked, "What side do you want it on?"

"Left," Stan said. "Gotta keep my punching arm free." Bill rolled his eyes. 

Soos closed the cuffs on Stan's left wrist and Bill's right, then tightened Bill's half until it actually held his tiny wrist. "There."

"Ha!" Stan grinned at Bill. "Try escaping that!"

"I wasn't planning to escape."

"Sure, pull the other one." Stan pointed toward the door. "Now... to the car!"

####

They stared in dismay at Stan's car.

The El Diablo was a classic of the 1960s American automotive industry—and it was in terrific condition. (Notwithstanding the recent dents, scrapes, and keyed scratches in the paint reading "TRICK-OR-CHEATER!!") It came with the features standard to American cars of the time, like a steering wheel on the left, and a wide front bench that provided space for multiple passengers to sit to the driver's right side.

Bill was handcuffed to Stan's left side.

"Wow. You're stupid," Bill said.

"I'll break your smart mouth."

"What do I care, we're headed to the dentist anyway." He sighed. "Okay! Let's go inside and tell Questiony how stupid you are."

Stan did not want to tell Soos how stupid he was. "No! How do you know I didn't do this on purpose? Maybe having my right arm free is more important than—er... driving."

Bill considered that with pursed lips. After a pause, he ventured, "Do you want me to drive—?"

"No, no, nope, I am not letting you drive my car, under any circumstances, ever! Not a chance!"

"Then how are we doing this?"

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white and jaw clenched.

Bill was uneasily cuddled up against Stan's right side. The handcuff forced him to stretch his right arm across Stan's chest. 

They were both wearing tank tops. Their bare upper arms were plastered together with sweat.

They were getting cricks in their necks from how far they were tilting their heads away from each other.

On the radio, a hit 50's soul song crooned romantically, "Oh, my sweet love... you're my lovely sweetie... and I never love you more, than when you're pressed to my side... as we go for a sweet loving car ride..." Neither of them could reach the radio dial without touching each other even more. They'd silently decided to pretend as hard as possible that they couldn't hear the radio.

"Welp," Stan said. "Out of all the times I've been handcuffed in a car, this is one of the worst."

####

They spotted Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign posted surreptitiously near the barrel and crate factory, and circled the block to park the car in front of a business that looked responsible enough to file a missing persons report if the car was still abandoned there by nightfall.

They tumbled out of the driver's side door with a maneuver that looked like a cross between a waltz and a mugging. Stan kicked the door shut. As they untangled themselves, in a surprisingly decent impression of Stan's voice, Bill said, "Gotta keep my punching arm free. How's that working out for you?"

"Bold words from a guy in punching range, you little—" As Stan finally separated himself from Bill and straightened out, he caught sight of Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland halfway up the block. "Oh, great. Cops. Exactly what you want around when you're doing something weird." Stan shook his head. "Well, as long as we go the other way and don't make eye contact—"

"Hi Darryl! Hi Edwin!" Bill stood on his toes and waved wildly. "Hey! Working hard or hardly working? Haha!"

"Oh, hey Goldie!" Durland waved back, and he and Blubs headed their direction. "How've you been, did you have a nice Summerween?"

"Ahh, I was stuck in the house—"

"Bill," Stan hissed. "Whaddaya think you're doing? Do you want them asking questions?"

"Hey," Durland said, "Why're you handcuffed to Stan?"

Bill turned toward Stan. He smiled at him. It was a smile that said I did not think this through.

"You need some help there?" Blubs asked. "I bet we've got a key that matches that handcuff model."

Stan bet Bill would love to accept that offer and go traipsing off with the cops. "Nope! That's fine! Thank you officers, but we're keeping the handcuffs on," Stan said. "Because." He paused. "They're necessary. For... uh... for me."

The cops and Bill watched him expectantly. Bill had that awful gleam in his eyes that he got when he saw an opportunity to make up a story.

"Because I'm old," Stan said. "It's to keep me from wandering into traffic."

Bill laughed, "Yep, that's true!" He jabbed Stan's shoulder with a finger (harder than necessary, he thought). "This guy's cataracts are so bad, sometimes he asks us if he's dying because all he a see is a white light in a dark tunnel! And the way his mind's going, woof—"

Stan growled, "All right you don't have to lay it on so thick—"

"—he's so addled it's like he's completely forgotten the last century of technology, he'll just walk right off the curb and expect the horse-drawn carriages to stop for him—"

"Hahaaa, but we won't bore you with my medical history!" Stan jerked on the handcuffs. "C'mon, Goldie, you're gonna make me late to my heart doctor appointment. You don't want my life on your hands, do you?"

Bill murmured, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Hold on," Blubs said. "You can't see? Didn't we just see you get out of the driver's seat of your car?"

Stan and Bill exchanged a look. Stan said, "Goldie's giving me directions."

"Oh! That makes sense," Durland said.

"All right," Blubs said, "We'll let you get to your doctor's appointment. You folks have a nice day."

As the cops left, Bill called after them, "You too! Hey, I'll see you guys at Rainbow Club!"

"See you there!" Durland turned to Blubs. "Y'know, I think Goldie's a step up from that seeing-eye bear."

Bill and Stan eyed each other. "All right, you're not bad at improv," Bill said. "I can respect a decent actor."

"You too," Stan said grudgingly. Bill looked at Stan like he expected a little more than that; but Stan kept his mouth shut. Bill didn't need the encouragement.

####

Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign leaned hopefully near a gap in the fence around an overgrown lot by the barrel factory. The gap was large enough that a reasonably limber human could duck through with little difficulty; however, Stan was old and Bill was still controlling his alien body like a rookie puppeteer learning the marionette, so they circled halfway around the lot until they found a gate in the fence to push open. They trod across scraggly grass, a row of dying mushrooms, and years-old litter to reach an unmarked white van hooked up to a camper trailer.

The back hatch of the trailer was flipped up to serve as a makeshift metal awning, and inside, a tall, spindly man was snoring atop a military cot in his underwear, using a white lab coat like a blanket. Stan cleared his throat loudly, and when that didn't disrupt the snoring, knocked on the side of the trailer. "Hey! Doc!"

Dr. Illing jolted upright with a yelp, seized an enormous wireless power drill off the floor to point at them like a gun, lowered it slightly as he registered he wasn't under attack, then realized he was nearly naked and yelped again. He tumbled off the cot, flailed his way to his feet, and turned his back to them as he jerked on his coat and buttoned it. "Just—just a second!" He got on one sock, couldn't find the other, and gave up, pulling on his sneakers with one bare foot. "Sorry, so sorry, I must've—just—nodded off for a second, there—"

"Maybe we should have made an appointment," Bill said wryly. "He looks busy." Stan snorted.

Dr. Illing turned around, smoothing out his rumpled lab coat. He was a jumpy, twitchy man with heavy circles under his eyes, short badly-cut hair, and a 5 o'clock shadow that had evolved into a 25 o'clock shadow. His gaze darted nervously between their faces. "Sorry. Hi, hello, can I help you? Are you maybe here for a tooth extraction, or—or perhaps wisdom teeth removal...?" His gaze caught on Stan's face, and he started. "Stan Pines! I haven't seen you since I pulled your last tooth ten years ago! What are you doing here?" His brows creased in worry. "You're—you're not mad about that, are you—?"

"What? No! The dentures are—fine. They're actually lower maintenance than teeth. Sort of. In a way," Stan said. "No, I'm here to refer a new customer." He pointed at Bill.

Bill made a gesture like he was tipping an invisible hat. "Hi there!"

"A customer?" Dr. Illing said blankly. "Oh—yes! Of course, hold on—" He pulled a hospital curtain over the front half of the trailer to hide a dinette covered in laundry and old magazines, lifted one end of the military cot and slid a step stool under the legs to keep it raised, and tugged the arm of a dental light down from the ceiling to aim it at the chair.

Stan said, "So, do I get some kind of referral bonus, or..."

"Oh—sure, sure. Have a, uhh..." Dr. Illing opened a heavy yellow and black tool bag, pulled out a battered cookie tin, withdrew a gold coin, and offered it to Stan. "One of these or something, here."

"Huh." Stan inspected it. No idea what currency it was, but a gold coin was arguably cooler than actual cash.

The dentist batted aside the hospital curtain to grab a tiny stool from the dinette, shook a damp towel off the seat, placed the stool beside the cot, and sat. "Okay!" He clapped his hands. "New customer! What can I do you for?"

Bill had been gazing in naked longing at the bag hiding the gold coins; but at the question, he looked up with a grin. "I'm here for fillings!"

"Ah! Wonderful. No charge for fillings, of course." He started rummaging through his tool bag for supplies. "Do you know which teeth need them?"

"Whichever you think would look best with some," Bill said. "Driller's choice!"

Dr. Illing stopped rummaging to give Bill a perplexed look. "I—sorry, come again?"

"I said I'm leaving it in your hands." Bill climbed into the trailer and put his free hand on Dr. Illing' s shoulder. "I'll be straight with you, Frankie: all that matters is that my teeth do not currently have any gold in them, and I want that to change by the time I leave. I'm not too picky about the details beyond that."

The dentist stared at Bill, then glanced at Stan for confirmation. Stan shrugged and nodded. "Oh-kay!" Dr. Illing wasn't quite smiling, but there was a strange, eager gleam in his eye. "Super! This'll be fun!" He gestured for Bill to sit on the cot. "Let's see what I have to work with."

He ushered Stan in, and pulled the trailer's hatch shut.

####

"Your teeth are amazing," Dr. Illing said, voice hushed with awe. "Perfectly white. Who's your usual dental hygienist? Did you just get these cleaned?"

"Nope," Bill said, forgetting for the third time that humans keep their teeth and their voice in the same hole and he shouldn't talk with the dentist's fingers in his mouth. Dr. Illing quickly pulled his hand back. "Just basic toothpaste, floss, and dish soap."

Dr. Illing shook his head in disbelief. "Well, they look amazing. And no wear at all, remarkable... Have you ever considered having any of these pulled? Do you mind if I take a few pictures?"

Stan shuddered as the dentist pulled out an old film camera and started snapping photos. "Yeesh. I forgot how creepy you are. Kinda glad I ran out of teeth."

Dr. Illing straightened up, snapped off the dental light, and sighed. "Well, I'm sorry to say that all your teeth are pristine. Not a hint of cavities—not even plaque. It'd be a shame to drill such pretty specimens. You're sure you don't want one pulled...?"

Stan grimaced, but Bill pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if he were considering a perfectly normal question. "As fun as that sounds, I said I want to leave with gold today, and the whole extraction-and-implantation process for gold teeth takes ages. Unless you happen to have a little secret magic trick to speed up the process?" Bill laughed, fixing Dr. Illing with a piercing stare.

Dr. Illing looked nervous. "Er—no."

"Then just the fillings. But who knows, maybe I'll feel naughty and be back in a couple of weeks." Bill laughed again. "Just pick a couple of your least favorite teeth to drill into!"

"Okay, suit yourself." Dr. Illing shrugged and fished around in an overstuffed cardboard box under the dinette table. "Let's gas you up and get drilling."

"You can skip the sedative," Bill said. "I don't mind a little pain. I prefer it, actually! It adds some zest to the experience..." He trailed off as he caught sight of the label on the gas canister Dr. Illing had pulled out. He pointed at a word, "I thought that additive was illegal."

Dr. Illing flinched guiltily. "Not in the state where I got it."

"Oh, buddy. I didn't realize I'd climbed into the party van!" Bill settled back on the cot, laced his hands behind his head, and got comfortable. "You know this stuff has something like sixty percent odds of causing hallucinations? Most people get either haloes around lights, or spiders. Go ahead, gas me—I wanna find out which I am."

####

In five minutes, Bill was overjoyed to report that the dental light had a spider halo. He did not explain what this meant.

Since Stan had typically been under anesthesia himself whenever Dr. Illing operated on him, this was the first time he'd had an opportunity to watch the dentist at work. Stan discovered that when Dr. Illing drilled into a tooth, he didn't suck the resultant dust up with one of those little dental vacuums with a plastic tube Stan was more familiar with. Instead, when a bit of dust had accumulated, he reached in with what looked like a cotton swab, wiped up the tooth dust, and scraped it off into a Petri dish; and only then did he use the vacuum to suck out any saliva and continue. Was he saving the leftover tooth dust? He was an even bigger creep than Stan had thought.

By all appearances, Bill didn't handle the gas well. It wasn't that it made him sick, or that he wasn't having the time of his life. It just made him completely forget how to operate a human body. When Dr. Illing told him to hold his mouth open, he also held his eyes open until they watered; and whenever he lost the battle to keep them open, he automatically shut his mouth too, often to his own peril as Dr. Illing shouted about the drill jostling. Within ten minutes, Dr. Illing had given up on convincing Bill to keep his mouth open and instead started giving him blink breaks when he could shut his mouth.

It helped some, but they couldn't do anything about the fact that Bill had fully forgotten he couldn't talk while getting dental work done, and kept up a regular chatter—during which he cheerfully mentioned he'd died recently, attempted to explain that the entire universe was actually an elaborate hologram projecting from the "true" third dimension, and asked Dr. Illing all about the cruise to Panama he'd recently stowed away on (which the dentist hadn't mentioned). During one blink break, as Bill closed each eye separately, Dr. Illing leaned toward Stan and muttered, "So... what's her story?"

Stan tilted his head toward the Petri dish. "What's with the tooth shavings?"

Dr. Illing considered that, slowly nodded, and got back to work.

####

After several hours, Dr. Illing wiped his brow and sighed in relief. "All right, that should do it. You've got fillings on five teeth now." Under his breath, he muttered, "It would have been two, if you hadn't kept talking while I was drilling."

Stan shook his head in amazement. "Doesn't that hurt?" 

"Yes," Bill said. "I've never felt pain like that before. What a rush."

"If you do come back for a tooth extraction, I'm getting a dental gag to keep your jaws open." Dr. Illing finished pulling out the array of clamps and barriers around the filling sites and wearily dropped down onto his stool. "There. The rest of the sedative should wear off gradually over the next few hours. Usually I tell patients to wait three or four hours before eating to let the swelling go down, but..." He waved wearily. "You can do whatever you want."

"Admit it, you like having an enthusiastic patient!" Bill heaved himself off the military cot, forgot he couldn't float, and immediately collapsed to the floor.

"Whoa there—" Stan helped Bill back to his feet. The handcuffs prevented him from getting an arm around Bill's back, so instead he helped keep him upright by firmly squeezing his upper arm. "I don't know about you, but I'm eating as soon as we get home. You made me miss lunch—and for some reason, I feel like I barely had any breakfast." Bill inexplicably found this declaration hilarious. Probably the sedative, Stan reasoned.

Bill waved at the dentist as Stan tugged him out the trailer's hatch, chattering the whole way: "Thanks for the gold, the sock you were looking for is a bookmark in the March issue of Floss Girls, Atlantis is rising as we speak, you have less than seven years to prepare for the plague, tell the little lady I said hi! Byyye!"

Stan squeezed Bill's arm tighter and muttered, "Would you cut that out?

Bill stumbled across the uneven lot. "I made up the part about Atlantis."

"Okay just shut up and stop saying weird things."

Bill attempted to walk sideways all the way back to the car.

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his arms were trembling.

Bill was sprawled all over the front bench, the dashboard, the seatback, and Stan's shoulders.

On the radio, a hit 80's R&B song with a sexy saxophone was playing, "Babe, the sad things you've been through... I swear I'll make it up to you... If it takes a thousand years..."

Bill was singing at the top of his lungs directly in Stan's ear, "I'LL WIPE AWAY ALL YOUR TEARS, WOO!—sax solo!—BA DA-DA DA, BA DA-DAAA—"

Stan turned off his right hearing aid.

Every once in a while Bill attempted to grab the steering wheel and turn it in time to the song, like a kid playing in a toy car; Stan had given up telling him to stop and instead started just smacking his hand away every time he tried. After another smack, Bill draped his arm awkwardly over Stan again, and announced, "I can't feel my tongue at all! I bet I can chew it off!"

"Don't do that."

"The last time my mouth was this numb, my girlfriend had just gotten done with me, haha." Bill stuck his finger in his mouth to experimentally poke at his tongue. "I couldn' thee for the nex' hour from all the thporeth—"

"I swear if you don't shut up—"

Bill flopped his arm across Stan again. "I just realized I haven't gotten any action since I died. Wow. What's normal for humans, couple times a week until you start the slow lingering decline toward death?" He looked straight at Stan. Stan could feel that side of his face start to sweat. "This isn't a weird time to bring that up, is it?"

"Bill, if you say one more weird thing, you're riding home on the roof of the car."

Bill was quiet for three seconds. And then he started poking Stan's bicep. "Your arm's a lot meatier than Sixer's! What's your favorite flavor of cancer?"

####

Mabel asked, "Why are you on top of the car?"

Bill—eyes wide, hair disheveled, one arm hanging through the driver's door, sprawled out clinging to the roof like his life depended on it—replied, "I don't know, it's all a blur."

Stan opened the car door and jerked on the handcuffs. "All right, get off my car."

Bill shakily climbed off, lay in the dirt, and tried to catch his breath. "That was fun. We should do that more often."

"Not on your life."

Eyeing the handcuffs, Dipper said, "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Stan snapped. "Why? Who's asking? I wasn't sneaking the demon out to get a shady back-alley dental procedure!"

Mabel and Dipper stared up at him.

Stan pointed at them. "What are you doing?"

"Going camping," Dipper said, turning so Stan could see his stuffed backpack.

"Something's been stealing Pacifica's alpacas at night, so we're going on a stake-out," Mabel said. "They took Giorgio. It's personal now."

"We think aliens might be abducting them," Dipper said.

From the ground, Bill said, "It's not aliens."

"Ah, taking the law into your own hands. It builds character," Stan said approvingly. "You need firearms?"

They exchanged a glance. "We're good," Mabel said. "Grunkle Ford loaned us his freeze ray. It seems less lethal."

As the kids headed toward the road, Bill finally heaved himself up. "Well, that was fun!"

"No it wasn't," Stan said.

"Your opinion doesn't matter. Anyway—" He shook his cuffed wrist. "We're home, get me out of this thing. It makes you look like my ugly accessory and I want my hoodie."

"I elevate your whole look!" Stan protested. "And I don't have the key, it's with Soos."

Mabel turned back to shout at them, "Soos is out! He's got a dinner date with Melody!"

Stan grimaced. "Uh-oh."

Bill shrugged and said, with a confidence Stan didn't share, "He left the key behind."

####

"Oh man, sorry dudes," Soos said over the phone. "I totally forgot I still had it. Yeah, it's on my key ring. Is that, like, gonna be a problem, or...?"

"It's fine," Bill said, sitting atop Soos's office desk and leaning all the way across it to reach the phone. "Just pass it through the phone, we'll catch it."

"What?"

"Ignore him." Stan shoved Bill's face away. Bill gave him a dirty look as he straightened out his eyepatch, which he'd finally gotten to put on once they were home. Stan spun the desk chair away from Bill so he couldn't try to join the conversation again. "He's hopped up on psychedelic laughing gas. When are you gonna be back?"

"Uh..." Soos thought for several seconds. "Nooot for a while. Abuelita and I were talking about maybe kind of staying the night?"

"Well—pfff—can't you duck out and bring the key?"

"Uhhh. I would but, this is the first time Abuelita and I are having dinner with Melody's parents, and I'm really worried about impressing them parents, and the casserole's about to come out, and I think they might judge me if I leave, it would probably ruin dinner..."

"Okay, fine. What if we drive over to get the key?"

Far louder than necessary, Bill asked, "Stanley can I drive this time—!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh sure, that'd be fine," Soos said. "I'll give you directions, Melody's parents' place is in Portland. You got a pen?"

Stan frowned. "Portland."

"Yep."

"As in, outside the magic bubble trapping Bill in town."

Soos paused. "Oh, right."

Well, Stan wasn't about to make Soos look bad in front of his future in-laws. He'd never had in-laws, but he'd seen enough sitcoms to know how messy that could get. "Never mind. We'll figure something out. You kids enjoy dinner." Stan hung up the phone, sighed, and turned to face Bill. (Bill had plucked a figurine of a bulky robot in a cute girly pose off of Soos's desk, and was staring at it in wonder, like he'd never seen overpriced anime convention merch before.) "You got any other bright ideas?"

"We could still call Darryl and Edwin..."

"No way," Stan snapped. "I am not calling the cops for help! Never gonna happen. I'd rather wait for Soos to get back in the morning if I have to!"

"Oh would you." Bill laughed scornfully. "And what do you plan to do until then?"

####

They got TV dinners and grumpily watched Cash Wheel together.

####

(This entire chapter was just an extended excuse to annoy Stan and Bill as much as possible. But mostly Stan. Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!!)

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Thank you so much for taking me to your lovely home, Mr. Schultz! It's so nice to see you! I had a feeling if I worked my hometown I might run into a few familiar faces...."

"The pleasure's all mine, Josie. Look at you! My, my, last I saw you, you were a skinny, nerdy girl who could barely land a date. I almost didn't recognize you strutting up and down my block, flagging men down for money to take a spin with that big, sexy pregnant body of yours."

"Awww, thank you! I'm glad you like pregnant girls! But I actually don't get paid."

"Oh, just providing some community service? My niece is about your age and she volunteers herself at the homeless shelter downtown."

"Mmmm, good for her! I'm actually working on my thesis. I guess you could say...."

"Oh? This I've got to hear."

"Well, I'm a Sexual Health Major and I'm trying to get my Master's. As soon as I started college they told me about my assignment. It's so time consuming it's almost all I do for college...."

"Does your college have you out working the streets, getting that belly pumped full of kids for the sake of experience, or is it more of a written project you need the experience for?"

"Both, kind of. I'm to fuck twelve new men a day. Every day, until I graduate. No exceptions. That's eighty-four men a week. Three hundred thirty-six men a month, at least. Over four thousand a year."

"That's quite a daunting amount of work. You have to catalogue them?"

"Yep! Get their names, or a pseudonym, their cock length, time they lasted, the positions they tried on me, what got them off the most, and summarize my findings about guys' sexual performance. I'm supposed to write an essay about it and share it with the university in a couple years."

"My oh my, seems you've been at this a while then. Already over ten thousand guys who fucked that curvy body of yours?"

"Yep! Closer to twenty thousand, at this point."

"And what wisdom can you share? You must be so experienced, darling...."

"Well, most guys are total perverts, but they won't just come out and say it. They're all porn addicts. The second one gets limp fucking my juicy, swollen pussy I have to roll my eyes, reminding them to fuck my ass instead to emulate the grip they use on their own cock. Then when they're about to cum take that dirty cock out of my ass and cram it in my pussy, cum inside it, and piss in it too, cause that's really all a girl's pussy is good for. Not getting men off, just a filthy toilet to do your business in and get out. Wipe your cock off my my labia. I'll lick the guys clean if there's any mess left....."

"Wow, and that works for almost every guy?"

"Well, most. Some like to fuck me doggystyle, others like me to ride them. But lots of guys have their own quirks. If it's an older guy I'll ask if they have a daughter my age, and if so to use her name as picture that I'm her as we fuck and that works every time. If the guy's my age I ask if they have a sister. Same deal. Oh, and other guys if they still have trouble getting all the way to an orgasm I tend to assume they must be into really extreme porn. So I just tell them to start beating me up. Punch my belly, my boobs, strangle me, give me a black eye. And boom, the second they start going to town beating on me they cum like crazy."

"Sounds like you must get that sexy body of yours beaten to a pulp fairly regularly, if my experience with the newer generations of men are anything to go by."

"Ohhh, you bet! But I'm a good girl, I get used to it. I just sit there writing about what gets them off in my little notebooks and I encourage them to keep escalating their aggression until it's enough for them to cum."

"Such a perfect student. I hope they're giving you extra credit for all the brutality..... and STDs, I'd wager."

"Nope, it's just considered part of the project! I have pretty much every std you can imagine, my pussy is so swollen and red from all of them it's starting to look like a balloon. And I'm sure having it treated like a toilet isn't helping either, but oh well. In my opinion, this is what a girl's sex is supposed to look like."

"I take it I won't be at risk of contracting anything with you?"

"Not at all, silly! My college gives me an unlimited prescription for the male-only std-prevention pills."

"Shame they don't make one for girls like you."

"Why? My pussy should be super swollen, red, irritated, and deformed from all the wonderful STDs men give me! Like I said, that's what a girl's pussy is there for..... Plus, the government would never fund an anti-std pill for girls!"

"Ah, good point, dear.... So, enough chatter, I guess I'll be the next entry into your notebook. Hope you enjoy yourself."

"I always do. And even if you don't really want to you can try out hitting me while we fuck, you'd be surprised how fun it is!"

"I think I just might, sweetheart.... Seeing you like this makes me feel like I'd be letting you down if I didn't."

Josie bit her lip. "That's good to hear. Do whatever you want to me, it's what my body's for.❤️"

[esamastation]

Part thirty-five of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four

-

Well, Sephiroth seems to be in a better mood than yesterday. Maybe he was just coming down from his… whatever it was that happened in the training room. Angeal still isn't entirely sure. Though the Turks had debriefed him and even showed him a video, it didn't make that much sense. Especially with the blood vomiting. Which Angeal still isn't entirely over, either.

But Sephiroth seems, while still not quite himself, at least cheered up. He'd relaxed in increments during their walk into the woods, and the change of environment - or most likely, leaving the camp and its staring occupants behind - made him a little less closed off.

"This place is so alive," Sephiroth comments, peering up at the leaf canopy above then. "The air is so fresh."

"Mmhmm," Angeal smiles. "A welcome change from Midgar, huh?"

From the way he's looking around them, carefully taking in everything, Sephiroth can't remember much of anything about Wutai either - it's all new to him. Seeing his fascination kind of makes Angeal want to see his take on Mideel. Or, hell, Gongaga. Sephiroth would be very entertained by the local wildlife there, going by his reactions now.

"What is this thing?" Sephiroth asks, holding up what looks like a fistful of long grass. It wiggles in his hold, little legs kicking at the air.

"Razor Weed - I think the locals call it Leg-Cutting Grass," Angeal says, leaning in to watch the spiky beast wiggling in Sephiroth's grip. "They're pretty common and can deflate truck tires."

Sephiroth turns the little monster this way and that while it makes angry noises at him. "I bet. It's it a plant or an animal?"

"Uh. I don't actually know?" Angeal offers and gives him a look. "Someone back at the camp might. All I know is that they're annoying to fight."

Sephiroth hums, considering the weed, testing the blades sticking out of its head. He seems to struggle with something before sighing. "I can't kill it, it's too cute." He sounds almost disappointed. 

"... It's just a monster?" Angeal says, giving him a weird look. "I've seen men almost lose their legs, stepping into these things."

"Sounds like their own fault," Sephiroth says and crouches down to let the angry weed go. "Off you go, little buddy."

The Razor Weed answers by trying to attack him with its grass blades, all but lunging at him. Sephiroth just snorts and flicks it into the forest with his finger. "Cute," he concludes.

Angeal scratches at the back of his head. Though low-level mobs aren't really that big of a deal, still… "We're supposed to be, ah, weeding the monster population here, you know. That includes Razor Weeds."

"It's just a little grass thing," Sephiroth says. "It barely reaches your knee!"

"They're a menace and can cast spells," Angeal points out. "Your usual Infantry troopers can barely -"

"They cast spells?" Sephiroth asks, fascinated, and stands up, looking around interestedly. "I want to see that! Let's go find another."

Oh, boy. Running a hand through his hair, Angeal hurries after him. Well, it's… a novel experience, seeing Sephiroth of all people so excited about something. And of course it would be monsters. Usually Sephiroth is more interested in fighting monsters rather than just observing them, though, but it's still a definite improvement to his mood from yesterday. Even if it's because of weeds.

That changes when they get surrounded by about half a dozen of the little monsters.

"Still cute?" Angeal asks, fending two of them off with the flat of the Buster Sword's blade.

Apparently, yes, going by the glow in Sephiroth's eyes. "Don't kill them yet, I want to see some spells!" The man - the maniac - says, using still sheathed Masamune to push the monsters back.

"You know, as much as I appreciate your scientific curiosity, these things can actually do some damage in bigger groups, you know!" Angeal calls to him.

"Yeah, yeah," Sephiroth answers, flippantly. "So what do we need to do to make them cast spells?"

One of the Razor Weeds answers for him - by casting a Magic Hammer on Sephiroth. Which, Angeal is pretty sure, Sephiroth just lets it happen! Thankfully it's not a physical attack - Magic Hammer hits you in the MP - though, looking at Sephiroth's reaction…

"Oh, you little Qi-stealing bastard," Sephiroth says, and that's that for the Razor Weeds.

"... Uh," Angeal says, while the Razor Weeds fall over, mowed down like so much grass, and Sephiroth stands over them looking very hurt and disappointed. Angeal clears his throat, trying to bite back a smile. "So. What did we learn?"

Sephiroth rubs at his stomach, and gives him a flat look. "Yeah, haha, rub it in," he mutters and then, "Oh, hey, they left the remains behind!"

"... Most things do when you kill them, yes," Angeal agrees and looks at him interestedly. "So, you remember Mako monsters?"

Sephiroth is crouching again, examining the dead Razor Weeds. "Mm?" 

"Monsters that converge around Mako concentrations," Angeal explains, hoisting Buster Sword back to his back. "You… don't remember?"

"Uh. I remember that some things just sort of… disperse instead of leaving anything physical?" Sephiroth asks, sounding rather hopeful. "Is that a thing, or…?"

"It's a thing - Mako monsters. They're attracted to Mako, they are common around reactors and natural Mako pools - so people call them Mako monsters," Angeal explains. "The slums under Midgar are full of them. They're kind of like more physical ghosts, I think."

"... Huh," Sephiroth hums, and pokes at the dead Razor Weeds. "So monsters around here…?"

"Mostly physical," Angeal agrees. "I think there are some natural Mako springs around here, so there might be Mako monsters too… but I haven't seen any personally."

"Hmmm," Sephiroth hums and stands up. "That is fascinating."

"It sure is," Angeal laughs, because it really isn't, not to him, but Sephiroth has always been a bit weird. "Shall we continue? There's many more monsters to see."

"Yes, let's."

"... And get hit by," Angeal adds and looks at Sephiroth. "Actually, are you going to let all of them get a hit in? Because if you are, I'd like to know ahead of time, just in case I need to have a Remedy in hand."

"I'm not going to let myself get hit again," Sephiroth says, primly. "I wouldn't have, if I realised what it was going to do."

"... Okay. Good." Angeal nods. "There are better ways to figure out your opponents' skillsets, anyway. Or you can just let them do their thing but get out of the way before it hits."

"Right, of course, that's something you can do," Sephiroth says, sheepish, and clears his throat. "I knew that."

Angeal gets a Remedy out, just in case.

-

SY, thinking FF7: ... Oh right, turn based combat isn't actually a thing.

[livwritesstuff]

Ahoy!

Do you think the girls have ever stumbled upon the commercial for Starcourt Mall? And if so, how would that go down

Found this again and immediately thought of you and your steddieverse. 😂

https://youtu.be/uvL4UKv_jvA?si=jKNYk2tgQMRisi27 <- said commercial

HA okay i also forgot this existed

so I think two things are true about Steve:

The first is that he has no shame whatsoever.

The second is that his memory is total garbage, so by the time he’s in his late fifties, he has absolutely no recollection of filming that commercial.

I also think – and this might just be me – that Hawkins Lab might have scrubbed the earth of that tape – only because maybe it’s a little fishy that the only two people that have an active role in the commercial are also the only two mall employees who happened to get caught up in the 1985 “fire” (sure, it’s a total coincidence, but they still don’t like it).

Flash forward thirty-something years, Dustin (who took over for Sam Owens sometime in the mid-2000s) is searching through some old classified files when he comes across the commercial.

Obviously, he doesn’t waste a second emailing it to the entire Party.

Eddie just about dies, obviously.

I feel like he must have seen Steve at some point while he worked at Scoops but at the time, Steve had still just been Harrington to him. He’d still just been some bitchy, asshole, (hot) jock who got to graduate while Eddie didn’t – he hadn’t truly appreciated it, and sure there are a few photos of Steve in the uniform floating around, but it’s not the same thing as seeing it in action, so Eddie is thrilled that a live version of it was immortalized.

Steve is also delighted to see the commercial, and, again, he has no shame so he pretty immediately shows it to his daughters like, “Hey, come see this thing I did when I was your age”.

Robbie is totally mortified on his behalf (she also gets very up in arms over the notion of putting service workers in demeaning uniforms).

"How are they supposed to expect the general public to treat their employees with respect if they're dressed like that?"

Hazel just keeps commenting on how young her dad and her Aunt Robin look.

Moe asks, “Weren’t you supposed to be cool in high school or something?”

Steve replies, “Yeah, this was after high school.”