#and you see the weird shacks everyone was living in -

[langernameohnebedeutung]

I'm just saying, they could totally make a (borderlands-style) Stephen King's Desperation/Far Cry kind of story/game/whatever about some off-worlder, maybe someone anti-Hyperion getting stuck in Lynchwood (possibly getting stranded on Pandora and thinking that this place might be civilised and bandit-free) and hoping to get out of there (but also out of the desert and off Pandora). Possibly even working as a prequel to Nisha's death in Borderlands 2 somehow.

[prettypinkprincessa]

THE NIGHT WE MET

(Black coded reader) Frat!boy Rafe x shy!bunny!reader {not proof read so sorry for any mistakes!!}

He watched as you sat alone on the bleachers. Watching the football game that played infront of you. You weren’t one for social activities. Always kept to yourself. Reading your little books and tucking your braids behind your ear. He thought you were weird. I mean you barely had any friends. Didn’t play a sport. Unless you count that lame ass book club you’re in. He was so curious about you. What were you really like? What were your interests? What was your middle name? So many questions he had yet to find the answers to.

“Get your head in the game Cameron!” His coach yelled stopping his thoughts. He had the ball in his hands running toward the touch down. And boom. Everyone went wild and his teammates all surrounded him. “There we go!” Barry yelled. Rafe smiled slightly. Still too focused on you. Watching as you clapped and began to pack your things. “What the hell are you looking at camer- oh.” Barry sighed and looked at Rafe with a deadpanned expression “are you serious. her!? Out of all people?” Rafe looked back at him. A scold on his face. “Don’t act like she’s fucking ugly or something. Because she’s not.” Rafe said. “I never said she was ugly Rafe. She isn’t. But she would be way hotter if she fucking talked.” Rafe scoffed and began to walk off. “I mean you don’t even fucking know her!” Barry yelled. Rafe ignored him. Walking off the field to the locker room. He packed his stuff and changed into his normal clothes as he headed out. It was pretty dark since most of the games started at 6 and ended at 9. meaning most of the people went straight home. So it was pretty empty.

As he was walking to his car he noticed a girl on the ground next to her car. A yellow beetle. He watched as she raised her hands to her head. Sighing loudly but softly. He threw his bags in the car and walked over. “Hey” he yelled. “huh?” you turned around facing him. Eyes watery and cheeks flushed.

oh, it’s her.

“oh, hi.” you say back. voice barely above a whisper. “uh, are you okay?” He sticks his hand out in attempt to help you up but you decline. Grabbing the handle of your car door to stand up instead. “um, my car broke down.” You sighed as tears began to well up in your eyes, avoiding his gaze. He softened at your expression. “I don’t know what to do. My phone is dead and I don’t have a charger.” you whimper, attempting to hold back your sobs. He looked at his watch, 10:46. He smiled and looked back at you. “I could take you home if you want.” Your face expressed a feeling of shock and you finally looked him in the eye. “Really?!” You asked excitedly. “Of course- uh what’s your name? Sorry.” He said nervously. You giggled and looked away shyly. You then looked back up at him and smiled. “I’m y/n, and you?” He smiled and chuckled softly. “I’m Rafe. Anyway, cmon my car is over here.” You followed as he began to walk towards his car. As he reaches his car he opens the door for you. “Hop in doll” you smile and do as he says. He walks over to the drivers side and gets in. “Alright where do you stay?” he asks. “I live up north side in the house next to the shack.” “Really?!” He asks shocked. “Yeah” you respond. “I always wondered who lived there…how come I never see you around.” You sigh and look out of the window. He thinks he fucked up and gets worried. “Well, I don’t really have friends to hang with. So I guess I’m just…always in my room.” You mumble quietly. He starts the car and looks back over to you. “Well, you should come out with me and my friends sometime.” You look back to him and smile. “I would like that, thanks.”

The ride was pretty quiet. The only distinct noice was the wind from the open windows and the quiet song that played on the radio. As he pulled into your driveway he sighed. Not in a bad way but because of the fact that his time with you was over. As you were about to open the door to head out he stops you. “Hey wait!” He grabs your hand and you turn back around. “Yes?” You smile at him lightly. “Um, tomorrow at 6? Me and my friends are hanging out and I’d love for you to come.” You smile yet again. “I would love to come, Thanks for inviting me! Cya!” You hop out of his truck and walk to your door. He stays to make sure you make it in safely. As you shut the door behind you he smiles. “Cya sweetheart.”

[irisinluv]

Yandere Stardew Valley- Sebastian

I've been playing some Yandere Stardew mods recently. While I love them..... I feel like they do my husband (Sebastian) wrong. The citizens of Pelican Town are telling me that they can't hang out with me because Sebstian threatened them. That they've noticed some weird behavior. That he's physically violent. I disagree with all of these for Sebby.

He's our hot programmer boyfriend who lives in his basement bedroom, and only emerges to enjoy a smoke break, or to go see his friends. Now, while again, I do enjoy playing the mods...... I think his cannon behavior sets him up to be the perfect chronically online yandere. Pelican Town isn't exactly the most connected (6 out of the 11 rivals have access to a computer), but there's still potential. Obviously they're gonners if they have a computer. Sam finds himself doxed after making a comment about the gifts you gave him this week, and poor Haley's socials are blowing up with hate comments- from her personal insta to her photography blog.

But what about the other 5? The ones who are more disconnected? Well. It's easy enough to get Shane fired from joja. A little email to Morris from "HQ" saying he either fires Shane or his own pay gets docked..... well. Suddenly, everyone's favorite alcoholic doesn't even have a job anymore. Elliott suddenly has all these taxes he hasn't paid on his little shack..... beachfront properties cost a lot, you know. The parents stop letting Penny watch their kids after some..... explicit photos get leaked. It doesn't matter that they're edited. These people don't know about Photoshop. All they know is apparently Penny's making ends meet to support her mother..... and there's a new favorite subject to gossip on between all the older women. The other rivals are equally taken care of. All you need to focus on now is how Sebastian is the only reliable option in the whole damn town.

And he knows you so well, doesn't he? You, who lived away from it all until now. You, who WAS connected to the internet. Who had their entire life detailed through Facebook updates and Instagram posts. Honestly, Sebastian thinks that maybe he DOESN'T need to leave Pelican town... looking at the life you lived before coming to the valley, he thinks its much easier to keep you safe when he can control everything that goes on. There were too many factors to your old life. Too many parties to go to, coworkers to talk to, ex-boyfriends/girlfriends worry about. No. Sebastian thinks that city life isn't fit for the two of you to start you life together.

While he enjoyed seeing the trip down memory lane of who you were before becoming the farmer, and learning more about your likes and dislikes, he much prefers this version of you. The version of you who he found bouncing on their toes outside his door, excitedly shoving a frozen tear at him. Who eventually became the only person he was genuinely excited to have come barging into his room unannounced. And the thought of moving into the farm with you was all together far too tempting. He can picture it already. He'd set up a little area to work on his bike, he'd help out around the farm for you (he saw your hands covered in scrapes and splinters one day, and you sheepishly told him your fences had started wearing down.... but fixing a fence was another first for you. So you ended up scraping yourself up a bit on the old wood. Now, Sebastain, who, while he doesn't enjoy it, grew up with a carpenter mother..... well. He's going to make sure you never have that many splinters again.) Oh and he can already imagine it. The two of you, far away from the rest of the town, from prying eyes, no one to hear what you two would get up to as he helped you relax after a long day of working the feilds.....

This fantasy would sustain him until you eventually asked him to marry you. I don't think he would rush anything. To you, and the rest of the citizens, he was just normal Sebastian. Showing up for band practice, playing pool at the bar (although he seemed to play much better when a certain farmer came to watch). He just realized that the best way to control all the factors in town would be to remain anonymous. Avoid suspicion. After all. In a small town like that, it would be all too easy to turn against him if he decided to publicly threaten someone. And how would you react if you came to drop off some fresh sashimi to your boyfriend, only to find him being dragged out of his house by Clint, with Marlon standing nearby, ready to ship him off to face justice in the adventurers guild? No. That wouldn't do. He can't add any more stress to you like that. He'd remain the puppeteer, pulling the strings of the valley.

This isn't to say Sebastian never stalks you in person or anything like that. He can't help himself. He's a night owl. He knows the villagers schedules, has since before you even came to town. So, he knows he can get away with digging in the trash to find the straw you threw away at the bar. And if someone does hear him.... well. Linus is going to be everyone's first thought. He does, however, start adopting a stricter routine as far as monitoring your house after you mention how you sell your produce.

Sebastian was rightfully horrified when you explained that Mayor Lewis comes by your farm at night to collect anything you wish to sell. How it's such a relief to be able to just chuck things in the the bin as you're rushing to bed at 1:50 in the morning, only to get up first thing and start your day again, and not have to worry about lugging all your goods to the store. Sebastian won't criticize you for the lack of sleep..... no. That's not what's worrying. What's worrying is that this old man who has a gold statue of himself and who gets it on in the bushes with his secret girlfriend (of course Sebastian knows about that) is showing up to your house sometime after 2 am. His mind flashes back to his fantasy of the two of you, completely alone on the farm.... and then is mortified as this fantasy morphs into a nightmare where he looks up from bed with you, and sees Lewis' wrinkled face peering through the window. Yea. No. Sebastain installs some hidden cameras to make sure Lewis doesn't get up to anything funny while you're defenseless, asleep, alone..... ok he might need to get a new mayor elected. The old man might just have to go. Perhaps to a home outside the town. Regardless, he makes sure Lewis stops coming by as frequently. Frustratingly, he isn't able to completely stop it, but that'll be an easy fix once the two of you are married. He'll act surprised, "wow Lewis, that's so kind of you to help out the farmer all this time. But hey, don't worry, I'll take over. I'm up late anyways, and it's the least I can do!" But Sebastian still wakes up in a cold sweat and frantically rushes to check the cameras, making sure you're OK. That Lewis really is just checking the shipping bin.

Once y'all get married, he shows a bit more of that possessive side to you. But you chalk it up to just bedroom spicy time, and honestly find his hand tightening on your waist as Elliot asks you to read his latest poem hot.

Just. Yandere Sebastian brain rot.

[ckret2]

At long last, we get to see: this moment.

Chapter 11 of Human Bill Being The Mystery Shack's Hella Depressed Prisoner, featuring: Mabel giving Bill a ✨beautiful makeover✨—and Stan and Ford almost dying from laughter. And thus begins Bill & Mabel's inevitable befriending. Previous chapters here!

####

Every time Mabel had to use the stairs, she paused to look at Bill sitting in his window.

He never seemed to move.

A few days ago, it was creepy. Now, it was just kind of sad.

Last year, after Mabel and Dipper's parents had heard the whole story about their summer, they'd immediately packed the twins off to therapy—which Mabel didn't think was necessary, but whatever, if it made their parents feel better. (It had taken them some time to find a therapist who would engage with their barely-averted-apocalypse story at face value rather than search for the root of these "delusions.") At their current therapist's office, before each appointment, Dipper and Mabel had to fill out checklists that they gathered were to measure whether they'd come down with a case of depression—Please read the following statements and circle the word that shows how often they happen to you. Never, sometimes, often, always.

She'd filled out these things so many times that she could practically recite the list of statements by memory. Nothing feels very fun anymore. I have problems with my appetite. I have trouble sleeping. I have no energy for things. I feel like I don't want to move. Far be it from her to try to diagnose an evil demon monster space triangle who'd tried to murder everybody she knew, but. Well. You know. Sitting curled up in a window seat, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating... Yikes. She could only guess how he'd answer statements like I feel empty and sad or I feel worthless.

In Mabel's mind, there was a piece of paper. On that piece of paper were the faces of everyone currently living in the shack. Herself, Dipper, Waddles, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, Soos, Abuelita, and Melody as an honorary part-time resident. Next to each of their faces, there was a sticker, reflecting their current overall mood. Right now, everyone had either a happy face or a flat-mouthed neutral face—not bad, but could be better.

As she looked at Bill, she mentally promoted him at last from "entity haunting the attic" to "temporary resident." She added his face to her imaginary paper. And she slapped a big blue crying sticker next to it.

She wouldn't stand for that. Not even from him. Not under her roof.

####

Today, Bill wasn't even in the window. He'd elected to curl up in a corner of the attic, hiding in the shadows with his stolen blanket. The window was probably too hot. Mabel typically used acrylic yarn, and she knew from experience how quickly Sweater Town could turn into Sweaty Town.

For the first time, Mabel sauntered, quite casually, across the invisible barrier separating the rest of the attic from Bill's nest. She offered her winningest smile and her cheerfullest, "Hey, Bill!"

The Thing Beneath The Blanket gave her a look that, she suspected, could probably be described as deeply suspicious. "Shooting Star."

"Yup! Haha! That's—that's me all right! You got me." Mabel laughed. (This was going great so far. This was very natural.) "So, anyway!" She grabbed one of the couch cushions Bill had been using as a bed, dragged it a little closer to the corner, and plopped down. "This is such a weird coincidence, but one time, I got gum stuck in my hair and had to shave it off! I mean, crazy, right?"

"Uh huh." Bill didn't sound impressed. "Second grade." (And Mabel was uncomfortably reminded of the first time she'd ever seen Bill. I know lots of things.) "Hey, since you brought it up, can I ask you something about that little incident?"

"Uh..." This was what you signed up for, Mabel. You volunteered for a conversation with Bill. You've gotta converse. "Sure, I guess."

He leaned forward, triangle face looming above her. "Did getting gum in your hair change your species? Did you still look like yourself when you shaved it off?" The face bobbed as he pantomiming looking her up and down. "You still look human to me! So what's your point."

Okay, so he'd immediately recognized she was trying to establish common ground, aaand he was throwing it in her face. Great start. "Jeez, don't be so mean! I'm trying to tell you I get it. Not... the species part, but the other part. I wanna help!"

Bill scoffed. "Sure you do."

"Really!"

"Why?"

"Because you're all sad and it's making me sad."

Bill, o wise and ancient being that he was, had heard of "empathy" in a conceptual sense. He was aware that it was a thing that happened to some people. He even knew that it was common among humans. But on some level he kinda sorta felt like it only really happened to mindreaders that didn't know how to establish proper psychic boundaries. He laughed in Mabel's face. "No, seriously! What are you getting out of this."

Mabel decided she had no interest in explaining compassion to an alien mass murderer. "Okay, I want Soos's blanket back. I gave it to him, not you."

"Fine. If you want his blanket back, make me one."

"What? No! Those are our Team Zodiac-That-Defeated-You blankets, you don't get one."

"Didn't you make one for everybody else on the wheel? I'm on the wheel, aren't I?" He pointed at his face. "Bam! There I am, right in the middle! Star of the show! If everyone else deserves a blanket, so do I."

"Why do you even want one? It's a symbol to kill you."

"It's got my face on it! It's not that deep." He crossed his legs and propped his chin in his hand, getting more comfortable. "So do I get to pick the colors? I'll take yellow if that's all you got, but if you get me metallic gold I think I can swing you a favor."

"I'm not making you a blanket," Mable said. "I was thinking maybe a wig?"

Bill shuddered. "Pass."

"Aw, come on! I bet I could find you a really cute wig. Summerween's coming up, I could go to the costume store—"

"Don't even think about it." Bill leaned away from Mabel, back into his corner. She was losing him. "Listen. Kid. Do you think I did this by accident?" He pointed vaguely toward his scalp. "Being stuck in a human body? Disgusting. Being a human and secreting fifteen miles of hair out of a hundred thousand of pores? Infinitely worse."

"Wait, wait, fifteen miles?" Mabel had never considered how long a full head of hair laid out end-to-end would be. "How much hair do I have?"

"Huh." Bill tilted his head consideringly. "How dense is your hair?"

"Super dense. I've broken multiple brushes."

"Could be up to fifty miles."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Whoa."

"And you've got fifty thousand miles of blood vessels," Bill added cheerfully. "Anyway, if you want this blanket back? You won't get it with a wig. All I want is to look..." he formed his fingers into a triangle, thumb to thumb and forefinger to forefinger, and held it over the face on the blanket, "... like this. Now, if you're offering to help me get my real body back—"

"Never in a million years."

"Didn't think so!" Bill retreated fully into his corner again, knees pulled back up under the blanket, like an eel hiding in a hole to await its next prey. "But hey, if you've got an offer that's a step up from the blanket, I'm willing to negotiate."

"Huh." Mabel frowned thoughtfully. Something triangly. Something triangly that was better than a blanket, without helping Bill return to full power.

She got to her feet. "Let's put a pin in this conversation and circle back to it later. I'll come back with some proposals for you to review."

Bill laughed. "Okay, business girl! Have your people call my people. You know where to find me."

Mabel leaped down the stairs three at a time, ideas already forming in her head.

####

"Hey, Grunkle Ford!"

Ford was sitting at the former controls of the interdimensional portal, studying some radar readings; but he glanced up with a smile when Mabel ran out of the elevator. "Mabel. What brings you down here?"

She dragged an office chair up beside Ford, plopped down in it, and spun a couple of times. "I need to ask some questions about Bill!"

Ford's smile faltered. "Ah."

"Last summer, when we were burning all your art of him—"

(Ford winced in embarrassment.)

"—you said he could do some kind of magic with pictures of his face? What's all that about?" She stopped spinning. "Do they give him more power? Can he fire lasers out of them, or...?"

"No, nothing like that, thank goodness. Depictions of his face granted him a different kind of power: the power of knowledge. When he was trapped in the Nightmare Realm, he could tap into our world's collective mindscape and see through drawings of himself as if they were cameras. Ironically, plastering images of his face everywhere to symbolically represent an 'all-seeing eye' is what made him so all-seeing in the first place."

Mabel nodded thoughtfully. "Did you know you talk like one of those experts they hire to explain things in history documentaries?" she asked. "You should be on TV. You'd be good at it."

Ford gave her a confused smile. "Er—thank you."

"So, if Bill's already here, making new pictures of his face doesn't do anything?"

He supposed she was wondering about the zodiac blankets she'd spread around town. "Probably not. At a minimum, he'd have to be in the mindscape to be at the right 'angle' to see through the eyes. As he is now, trapped in a human form?" Ford let out a slow, thoughtful sigh. "It's hard to say for sure, without knowing how he got to be this way or what kinds of powers he's still hiding... but based on everything I've seen so far, I doubt they do anything for him."

"And if somebody put a picture of him on his face, it wouldn't do anything at all! Because that's like, his face. He already has eyes there."

Ford chuckled. "I suppose that's true. It would be like he'd grown a third eyeball, that's all." He paused. Put a picture of him on his face? "Why do you ask?"

Too late; she was halfway to the elevator. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford! I'll see you at dinner!" And she was gone.

####

"What's all this?" Bartholomew asked.

Mabel was dumping a bag of costume makeup and cheap convenience store makeup palettes onto her bed. They sparkled in varying hues of tacky gold glitter. "Art project!" She scooped Bartholomew out of his cradle by Dipper's bed, climbed the rickety ladder to the storage loft over their bedroom, and set him down leaning against a box. "You're on guard duty. Stay quiet and if anything goes wrong, get Dipper."

"How do you expect me to get Dipper? I'm a doll. I can't move."

"Come on, Mew-Mew. You think we haven't noticed that you teleport when nobody's looking?"

Bartholomew paused. "Touché."

Mabel rummaged through her art supplies; put tape, glue, and a couple of flattened cardboard boxes on the bed; added all the yellow crayons, markers, and paints she could find; and finally, satisfied, she ran out of the room. "Bill!"

"Still here."

"I've got the perfect solution. I'm giving you..." Mabel posed, hands on her hips. "A makeover!"

Bill waited for the follow up. There was no follow up. "Heh."

"Laugh now, but before I'm finished, I'm gonna make you more beautiful than your wildest dreams!"

"Kid, with all due respect, your idea of 'wild' taps out where my dreams are just getting started."

"Then I'll just have to up my game, won't I?" Mabel held out her hand. "Just give me that blanket, show me that weird bald head of yours, and let me make it into a canvas for high art! Trust me!"

Bill contemplated her extended hand. Did he trust her? In most situations, he considered trust irrelevant. He expected most people to do whatever they thought would benefit themselves the most; sometimes that meant keeping their word, and sometimes it didn't.

On the other hand. Was he really curious to find out where she was going with this? Yes. And the worst thing she could possibly do to him was make him very slightly more ugly than he already was. And playing along would fill his empty afternoon.

"Okay, kid." He reluctantly handed the blanket over. "You haven't given me a bad makeover so far." (He hadn't actually seen her marker mask, but it never hurt to flatter the person about to paint all over you.) He stood and stretched. "Show me what you've got. But if I don't like it, you owe me a blanket."

"Yes!" She grabbed his hand—his whole arm immediately went stiff—and dragged him toward the bedroom. "Welcome to my salon!"

####

Sure enough, just like Ford had said—when Stan checked Bill's attic nest, there was no sign of him.

Stan didn't like that one bit. Where the hell had their prisoner gotten off to?

As Stan approached the attic bedroom, he could hear Mabel talking: "More glitter?! That's crazay! Okay, here goes! I bet you could pull off such a glam rock look." (That explained where the kids were. He'd been starting to wonder.) "Hold still, I'm gonna try something I saw on a Russian supermodel—"

"Kids," Stan called, "do you know where the demon went?" He opened the door. "Poindexter says he can't find him anywhere, and—"

Mabel was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by the widest variety of makeup brushes and palettes Stan had ever seen. Her fingers and sleeve cuffs were coated in gold glitter and paint.

Kneeling in front of her, with his legs splayed awkwardly and his hands on the floor like he wasn't sure how to lower this body down to Mabel's height, was Bill. His face was liberally coated in acrylic gold paint and amateurishly contoured with a mix of craft glitter and golden eyeshadow. One eye was shut—the eyelashes delicately dusted with more gold eyeshadow to help it blend in—while the other was coated in a layer of mascara so thick it was a miracle his lashes didn't glue shut when he blinked.

And to cap off the gilded absurdity, his face was sticking through a hole in the middle of a cardboard triangle helmet, painted sunflower yellow with bricks shakily traced on in marker. Bill looked like the poor kid assigned the part of "the pyramid" in a fourth grade class play about ancient Egypt.

Mabel and Bill stared at Stan.

Stan stared back.

He covered a snort with a cough. "I'll—I'll tell Ford you've got it handled." He slammed the door.

He let out a bellow of laughter.

Mabel put a hand on Bill's shoulder. "He doesn't understand avant-garde fashion. You look like a million dollars."

"I know," Bill said. "All the same—maybe a hat would class things up a little?"

Mabel reached for a sheet of black construction paper. "You're so right."

####

"Well?" Mabel leaned around Bill, trying to see what he looked like in the full-length mirror. "What do you think?"

Bill stared in the mirror. A horrific abomination of flaking paint, cakey makeup, and taped-up cardboard stared back.

He grinned so wide it cracked his face paint. "I think that's the hottest human being in history."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist into the air.

####

Ford said, "Stanley, what is it?"

Stan wheezed until his lungs ran out of air.

Concerned, Ford leaned across the kitchen table, lacing his hands together. "Did you find Bill?"

"M—Mhmm."

"He hasn't hurt Mabel, has he?" Ford asked, flashing back to their conversation earlier. "Or—or Dipper? Anyone?"

Stan bit his lip and shook his head. Tears of laughter pricked the corners of his eyes.

"Did he... put some kind of laughing curse on you?"

Stan shook his head more emphatically. "H—" He couldn't get one syllable out before he had to choke back his laughter again. He pounded on the table.

Grasping at straws and defaulting to the first worst case scenario he could think of, Ford said, "He hasn't found a way back to his true form, has he?"

Stan let out a noise like a balloon that had been untied and unleashed to fly around the room. "I MEAN—"

"Gooood afternoon, gentlemen!" Beaming brightly enough to rival the sun, twirling an umbrella like a cane, Bill strutted in.

Ford clapped one hand on Stan's shoulder, clapped the other over his mouth, and turned away, shoulders shaking. Stan smacked Ford's arm in sympathetic hysteria.

"I see we're all in high spirits today!" With the brazen confidence of an illegitimate prince marching into a throne room to demand his crown, Bill strolled through the kitchen, barely sparing the Stan twins a glance. Mabel followed behind him, grinning from ear to ear. "I wouldn't mind some spirits, myself." He paused in front of the fridge. "Could someone—?"

As the closest person to the fridge, Ford pulled it open, then turned to watch so he could make sure Bill didn't do anything he shouldn't with the food. This required him to look in Bill's direction. He curled his lips into his mouth and bit down. His eyes watered.

"Finally." Bill hungrily surveyed the inner contents of the fridge, grabbed an armload of condiments, a jar of pickles, and a tub of leftover chicken nuggets, and dumped them on the nearest counter. He tried to reach for a bottle of spoiled corn syrup toward the back of the fridge, banged the sides of his cardboard helmet on the fridge's doorframe, and quickly backed off and felt the corners to make sure they weren't too damaged. He had to turn sideways to reach the bottle without hitting the edges of the fridge. One corner of his mask tipped over a bottle of apple juice. Watching this performance very nearly killed the Stans.

"There." Bill triumphantly set the bottle on the counter, grabbed a can of alphabet spaghetti off an open shelf, and asked, "Where do you have the bowls hidden?" He rapped on one of the cabinet doors with his umbrella.

The sight of the umbrella knocked Ford out of some of his hysteria. "Where did you—?" He snatched the umbrella out of Bill's hands. "No weapons."

Bill gave Ford a withering one-eyed look (Ford suspected his other eye was glued shut with paint), then elected to ignore him. "Shooting Star?"

"They're down here!" Mabel opened one of the base cabinets. Bill retrieved a bowl and started filled it with his condiment haul.

"Okay," Stan said, voice strained with suppressed laughter. "Okay, what—what are we looking at?"

"A masterpiece of cosmetic art," Bill said. Mabel's grin widened.

Ford elbowed Stan across the table. "Do you remember the 'living statue' performers on the Glass Shard Beach boardwalk?" he asked. "The ones who'd paint all their skin and clothes gold—?"

"Oh yeah!" Stan let out a bark of laughter. "That's exactly what he looks like!"

In his bowl, Bill had layered mayonnaise, Tabasco sauce, mustard, sour cream, and maple syrup, and carefully stuck in as many chicken nuggets as he could without the mix slopping over the edges. He got Mabel's help to stick it in the microwave, then turned toward the Stans with a smug grin. "So you agree that I look like a work of art."

"No," Stan said, "they looked like idiots, and so do you."

Bill scoffed. "You don't know anything! You look at a human body, and all you see is a human with things stuck on it. I can look at a human body and see a canvas. I've stripped this vessel of its association with humanity and transformed it into an idol of myself."

Mabel loudly cleared her throat.

"Okay, she did most of the work."

Ford seriously considered the artistic merit of Bill's proposed "human body sans humanity as art material" paradigm. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "You have cardboard taped to your face."

Stan slapped the table. "HA!"

Bill opened a can of alphabet spaghetti, slopped half into a glass, filled the rest with incredibly spoiled corn syrup, and then filled the can with corn syrup as well. The mixes bubbled threateningly. The absolute picture of good cheer, Bill announced, "I'm the most beautiful thing any of you have ever seen. It's just too bad your closed little minds can't enjoy the marvel in front of you." He stirred his toxic alphabet spaghetti concoction with a pickle spear.

Stan watched Bill mix his drink in mild alarm. "What in the world are you making?"

Bill held his wrist over the glass and a knife to his wrist. "A Bloody Mary."

Stan's alarm increased. "No you aren't."

"That's your opinion." 

"Where did you get—!" Ford leaned over to snatch the knife out of Bill's hand.

"It was in the fridge, it was sticking out of the leftover casserole!" Bill rolled his eye. "Re-lax! I wasn't pointing it at you." He lifted his drink, nearly poured it into his eye, caught himself at Mabel's shout of alarm, took a sip through the correct hole, then inspected the thick gold lip stain left on the rim. "Huh." He looked at Mabel.

She shrugged. "I could have set the makeup with baby powder, but I thought it might dim some of the sparkle."

"You chose form over function. I respect that." He sipped his drink more carefully.

The microwave went off, Mabel opened the door, and Bill scooped up his condiment-and-nugget stew and both alleged Bloody Marys. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go be handsome somewhere else—"

The corner of his cardboard helmet banged into the kitchen doorway. He dropped one of his drinks, stumbled against the wall, and looked in dismay at his syrup-and-spaghetti-sauce-soaked skirt. He turned to Mabel. "How's my head?"

She grimaced. "We... can fix that with tape."

Bill sighed. "Come on, let's do it before my nuggets get cold."

"Now hold on!" Ford stood up. "Are you going to clean this mess up?"

"No!" Bill was out of the room. Ford could already hear him tripping on the stairs. "You don't trust me with a mop!"

Well. It was true, they didn't trust him with a mop. Sighing, Ford trudged across the room. "I'll get it."

Stan said, "You know, I think I'm glad he looks like an idiot. He's been so mopey the last couple of days, I was almost starting to feel bad for him."

"Thank goodness, you too," Ford muttered. "I was afraid I was going soft."

"Nah, he really was that pathetic," Stan said. "Like a sad show poodle that doesn't understand why it's been shaved in weird shapes."

Ford barked a laugh.

Once the floor was clean, Ford confessed, "I've—actually really worried about that. Going soft, I mean. I'm... afraid that Bill could find a way back into my head."

"Literally or emotionally?"

"Emotionally." Ford paused. "Both, actually—but this time I mean emotionally. The night he burned his hair off, I..." He winced at himself; but he needed to tell Stan. There was no one else he trusted to give him a reality check. Maybe Fiddleford, but... Ford hadn't figured out how to approach him about all this yet.

He put back the mop, to have an excuse to pause and gather his words. "I... brought him something to eat," Ford mumbled. "And, told him I knew what it was like to be trapped in an alien universe, and—that he should take better care of himself, for his own sake—and I don't know why I said that, anything good he does for himself just makes things harder for us, it's not as though I forgot that, but—What? Stanley, why is this funny."

Stan had started laughing; but he cut it off a cough. "Sorry. It's just—do you remember how Mom would go 'Well, I can tell you two are related' any time we did something particularly—you know—twinnish?"

"Don't tell me you've been making sandwiches for Bill."

"Ha! No, but I've given my arch nemesis a pep talk when he was having a mental breakdown. I felt bad for him!"

Ford chuckled. "Really?" He dropped back into his seat. "I didn't know you have an arch nemesis, who's that?"

Stan considered Ford's reaction if he admitted that his nemesis was that ten-year-old with a crush on Mabel, and said, "Ah, he's been out of my hair for ages. So what, is that all you talked about?"

"Somehow it turned into him trying to convince me he'd been planning a welcome party when I fell through the portal."

"Ha! And did you believe him?"

"Absolutely not." Ford paused thoughtfully. "But—part of me wonders whether he believes it himself."

"He seems like the kind of guy to buy his own bull." Stan shrugged. "I don't think you have to worry about him getting in your head. Just don't let him fast-talk you into any decisions and don't buy anything he's selling without telling him you'll think it over for twenty-four hours. And the more he says decide now, the harder you say no. That's how the pros get you, they don't give you room to breathe, let alone think."

Ford was pretty sure Stan was just describing the Mystery Shack's souvenir sales strategy; but he nodded slowly. "I know exactly what you're talking about. When I gave him permission to pilot my body, between the first time he mentioned it was an option and the moment I agreed to it... well, I was asleep at the time, so I can't be sure how long it took—but I'd guess it was less than fifteen minutes. In retrospect, I couldn't believe that I'd agreed so thoughtlessly. But I suppose that's exactly what he wanted." No room to breathe was a good way to describe it. Never mind being nose-to-nose with somebody trying to pressure you into a sale—how do you take a step back to get a little space from somebody who's already inside your head?

"Did he make it sound like a limited-time-only deal? You know—'buy now while the price is low, you'll regret missing this offer'? But with more mystical woo-woo phrasing, I mean."

"Not exactly, but..." Ford tried to remember back that far, grasping for the details of the conversation—the real conversation, not the heady, excited version he'd summarized in his journal. "At the time, I'd been worried about falling behind schedule on the portal's construction. He wouldn't have had to introduce an element of tension—it was already there. All he had to do was exploit it." He shook his head. Falling behind schedule. What schedule—the one he, himself had made? He was sure Bill had encouraged him to finish as fast as possible, too.

"There, you see? You got swindled by a professional swindler," Stan said. "What's important is that you know what he is now, and you know his tricks. He won't get you the same way twice. I'm not worried about you."

There were a couple of odd thuds from upstairs, accompanied by a yelp from Bill. That wasn't odd; he'd proven to be remarkably clumsy in a human body. At any given time it was possible to tell where he was by the random bangs, and if he hadn't made a noise in the last five minutes it meant he was curled up safely in his window seat.

What was odd was hearing Mabel's voice: "Careful, careful—! Augh. ... I'll get another sheet of cardboard, we'll replace that!"

Stan and Ford looked warily toward the stairs. Stan muttered, "Mabel, on the other hand..."

Ford nodded. "I'll keep an eye on her."

####

(If you've read this far, I'd really appreciate hearing from you! Things you liked, things you're looking forward to, jokes, thoughts, even typo corrections. Thanks!)

[johnnys-breastmilk]

SFW Alphabet List - Johnny Slaughter x GN!Reader edition

a/n — okay, I was gonna put the sfw as well as the nsfw abc list in the same post, but I changed it so they'll be different posts. will post the nsfw later today, but enjoy my crappy head canons for Johnny (this is a bit more informally written compared to my fics since it's simpler than them)

warnings — general implications of harm, dark!Johnny (somewhat possessive, controlling, etc), tcm is the source material so I think y'all know what else is in here... but: mentions of hunting and cannibalism

~~~

A — Affection

Given that his way of living isn’t very lucrative, Johnny prefers to spend quality time with you. He teaches you skills like hunting and tracking down animals in the woods, and how to fix-up cars. When Johnny isn’t or can’t be around, he tries to make up for it by giving you gifts. Most of them come from the victims he hunts, but it’s the thought that counts! Maybe he saw some jewelry and thought it would look much nicer on you.

B — Best Friend

Having a friend like Johnny is like befriending a mangy dog. You have to be the one to talk to him and earn his trust. Johnny is weird as a friend, mostly because he can’t share much about his lifestyle with you. But he likes the consistency you bring, you have a regular life and are always at the bar he frequents to pick up victims. Everyone else there looked at him funny, but you liked that he clashed with the establishment. He was fresh off the farm and looked like he needed a drink, so you bought him one and you two sit and talk for hours. You’ve entertained him about his hunting interests before, but you have no idea that he usually talking about hunting people.

C — Cuddling

Johnny loves handholding. After losing his mom, the last thing he wants to feel is you slipping away from him. He never wants you to leave, and he’ll take that motivation as far as he needs to. It started out as handholding and not much else, but then he got more comfortable with your touch. His favorite way to cuddle with you is in bed with him as the little spoon and you pressed against his back—he feels so safe and protected, but he also loves when you lay on his chest.

D — Domestic

Maybe in another life, he would have fought a lot harder to have a regular life with you. He likes your arrangement with him now, though. Because he’s the one usually hunting and getting the food for the two of you, he relies on you to cook and clean around his shack.

E — Ending

Johnny would both take it well and take it horribly. He’s had to kill so many people that he doesn’t feel much when you leave him (or come to the same fate as his victims), but he also hates seeing someone who provided him stability and a sense of normalcy amidst everything he does to be gone from his life. He would miss you, but he’s used to it by now.

F — Fiance

He would get married if his partner really wanted it, but he’s fine leaving things undefined. He loves you and doesn’t need to do anything traditional to prove it. Johnny will do a lot to show his love for you, more than any ring will show.

G — Gentle

When Johnny gets to know you, he’ll do everything in his power not to harm a hair on your head. But with a violent upbringing comes an unwillingly violent nature, so he tries his best but he’s not always perfect. He can get upset easily if you approach him about a touchy topic, and his way of getting you to stop talking isn’t always the nicest.

H — Hugs

Johnny loves to come up and hug you from behind on those slow mornings when you’re in his shack while making breakfast. 

I — I Love You

Because he needs time to warm up to you—even after you have started dating him—Johnny probably wouldn’t say it until well into your relationship. He wants to be sure that you accept him for who he is and everything that he fails to be, and when he’s confident that you love him, he’ll love you too.

J — Jealous

Johnny gets extremely jealous when anyone other than him flirts with you. It doesn’t help that he can actually do something about it and hunt them down, all it takes is one hint in the right direction and he’ll make them pay…

K — Kisses

Johnny’s kisses border on the line of soft and rough. If he’s just returned from a successful hunt, he’ll kiss you passionately with a craze in his eyes. But other times, his kisses are slow and sensual—he wants to take in your taste and how you feel pressed against him. He loves kissing you along your neck and collarbone, and he loves when you kiss his scars, especially the one across his face.

L — Little Ones

Surprisingly, Johnny is the best with kids out of his entire family. He provides enough sternness but also is willing to work with them more than any adult. He also has the sense to protect them after coming to terms with what he’s been through. But, he also feels like he could be among the same people who would inflict the pain he felt on to a new generation of kids because of how he’s been raised. He wants to give them a good life, but he knows that he’ll more than likely parent them like Nancy.

M — Mornings

Mornings with Johnny are slow. You’ll usually wake up to the cool air in his cabin, the Texas sun having yet to make things boil. He wakes up before you more often than not, and he’ll wait for you to get up with him. You have surprised him on occasion by waking up before him to make breakfast and picking out an outfit for him to wear.

N — Nights

You’ve spent countless nights holed up in Johnny’s shack. The two of you usually have an exhausting day out in the heat, so you spend this time cooling off and letting the only light in your life be the man next to you. Johnny will usually praise you on how well you did around the house, his cold demeanor fading away by the day’s end. You’ll usually fall asleep to him rubbing your side while you’re in his embrace, listening to the crickets chirp outside.

O — Open

At first, Johnny is very short with his answers. He won’t tell you much and will definitely get angry if you pester him about it. The best thing to do is to wait.

It would be kind of different when he does open up, depending on how you’ve met him. If it were under regular circumstances, he’d almost come off as mean or disinterested because he can’t afford to slip up about his family or “job.” If you met as one of his victims, then you already know the half of it. Either way, he wouldn’t tell you about his personal life until he feels like he can trust you. Maybe he’s returned to his shack in the middle of the night, bloody and winded and you rush to clean him up. Slowly, he starts telling you about this girl he hunted that looked like his mother and he fills you in on details he’s never told anyone.

P — Patience

Johnny has a moderate tolerance for things that make him angry. He’s not someone to immediately snap at something that annoys him, but he has his days where his patience wears thin. 

Q — Quizzes 

He knows more than enough about you to win one of those stupid gameshows you always call in to answer. You could be in his shack, listening to a gameshow on the radio, and reach for his corded telephone to call in. He’ll be on the other side of the shack, but he’ll hear the radio and the question they ask you. He’d know your exact answer and the fact that this is your favorite way to pass the time when very little is going on. So, yeah, he definitely knows you well enough. 

R — Remember

His favorite memory is when you said “I love you.” He’ll always remember it because it was genuine. You didn’t say it after a date or during the thrill of a hunt, you just said it because you could. Because, when you looked into those brown eyes, you just knew it. There was nothing else influencing your words, you just loved him. Plain and simple.

S — Security

Johnny wants to make you feel safe. Even from his other family members, he’ll protect you.

T — Try

Johnny puts his heart into hunting for you. He wants you to eat well and never go hungry. He feels the need to be a provider, to protect you and make sure you’re taken care of. He hates how sappy he gets around the time that the two of you met, but he does try to get you something you’ll like—whether that’s just spending the day with you or giving you gifts he swiped off of his victims. Dates are simple, but he usually takes you on driving dates, ones where you take your dinner and hit the road, traveling to a new place in Texas for the fun of it.

U — Ugly

Johnny can be a bit possessive. If he’s uncomfortable with you doing something, he may try to talk you out of it. And if he’s really not okay with it, then he may do something more drastic.

V — Vanity

He could care less about his looks. He does so much dirty work around the family’s properties that he can’t be bothered to make sure he’s consistently clean and presentable. He’ll frequently come home with car grease and blood all over him.

W — Whole

Johnny is used to feeling isolated from the rest of his family, so he’s used to being on his own. He survived on his own before you and can survive on his own without you. If he ever were to lose you, he would try not to think about how much he needs you.

X — Xtra

Johnny loves taking baths over showers, it reminds him of when he was a kid and his mom would come into the bathroom and brush all of his hair back into a similar mullet style like he has today with her hands so that the shampoo wouldn’t get in his eyes. And she’d run water down his back by scooping up some of it with her hands.

Y — Yuck

Johnny doesn’t like people who refuse to get dirty. He wants to show you his hobbies, which are notably messy and involve a lot of mental and physical dirty work. He doesn’t need you to enjoy it as much as him, but he wants someone who doesn’t turn their nose up at it all the time.

Z — Zzz

Johnny is a restless sleeper. He often has nightmares that cause him to stir and roll, but it seems to lessen the more he opens up to you and the closer he can be with you.

[mariademetal]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ competition itadori yuuji / fem!reader ©mariademetal 2024

cw ... yuuji calls reader babe, everyone is a little stupid, idk what else, lmk if i should add anything note ... this was actually sooooo much fun to write, i luv yuuji so much and this idea came to me like a vision from jesus himself, i hope u all enjoy too (❁´◡`❁) word count ... 1.1k

You've always liked Jennifer Lawrence.

You liked the Hunger Games growing up, but never bothered to read the books. When you turned a little older, you liked Silver Linings too. Maybe you didn't like her as much as some of your peers, maybe you never dressed up as Katniss for Halloween, but you certainly never hated her. She's pretty, she's a good actress, and although you wouldn't necessarily call yourself her fan, you can see why, hypothetically, someone might. You've always liked Jennifer Lawrence.

You've always liked Yuuji, too. He's always been a good friend to you, but now that your relationship with him is blossoming into something bigger, more important than friendship, you can't quite jump over the hurdle that is Jennifer Lawrence. Despite the fact that you have, as a matter of fact, always liked her, you feel nothing but mild discomfort and irritation as you make unrequited eye contact with the poster of her hung on Yuuji's wall.

What else are you meant to look at?

At first, it was easy enough to ignore her. Whenever you came to Yuuji's room you'd make a point to sit on his bed, back against the wall, safe from any unwanted eye contact with Jennifer's boobs. But the talking stage is weird like that— if Yuuji's already sitting on his bed, you certainly can't, and then you're forced back into a standstill, an ugly competition with a poster that cannot fight back.

So, the two of you start hanging out in your dorm. You would be lying if you said you hadn't considered getting some sweat mag poster of some ludicrously built American actor yourself, just to see Yuuji's reaction. You, thankfully, came to your senses and acknowledged that Yuuji would more likely ask to take it to hang on his own wall than ask you to take it down for the sake of his ego before you spent any money on your silly idea.

Unfortunately, when Nobara leaves her window open after a particularly humid day and finds that she's invited a mildew infestation into her dorm, she asks to shack up with you until her new room is set up, and thus you and Yuuji are forced back to his room.

Still, it was easy enough to ignore Jennifer. She was an unwelcome, near-overbearing presence in your relationship with Yuuji, but it wasn't like he mentioned her in your conversations, nor did he ever compare the two of you— it was just that stupid poster hanging above his bed and the knowledge that he has called her his type, whatever that really means. So, it was survivable.

And there are so many other things you adore about Yuuji, too— like how he gives you his jacket when he feels even a draft, or how he takes pictures of things he knows you'll think are cute or pretty, or how he lets you prop your legs over his thighs whenever you watch movies together. You like what you have with him— you don't like that fucking Jennifer Lawrence poster. Unfortunately for you, they seem like a package deal.

It was easy enough to ignore Jennifer— emphasis on was. You could ignore Jennifer as long as he never mentioned her to you. For a long time, he didn't— no one's ever called Yuuji a genius, but he's always had the good sense to avoid the topic of a certain blonde actress with you. He had a spotless track record, apart from the existence of the poster itself— he was doing so well that you started to think you really could live with Jennifer— then, he had the bright idea of asking you on a date to see her new movie.

The two of you were walking together when he asked— the sun was setting, he'd just bought you a drink from the vending machine, your shoulders were touching— then, he just had to ask that wretched question. You don't think you've recoiled from another person's touch so fast before in your life. You also don't think you'll ever forget the look on his face after you replied to his question with, "Are you fucking with me?"

He asked if that meant the answer was no. (Again, no one ever called Yuuji a genius.)

So, after that display, why are you here, in his room, making the same awkward eye contact with Jennifer Lawrence's cold, dead, photographed eyes that you've been avoiding so fervently these past couple of months? Because you're making your final stand against Jennifer. She's got to go if Yuuji wants your relationship to go anywhere. You refuse to look at her bikini any longer than you've already been forced to.

That said, you can't exactly make your final stand against Jennifer until Yuuji is back from... wherever he is, so you are, unfortunately, stuck looking at Jennifer Lawrence's bikini for even longer than you've already been forced to.

It's only when Yuuji does come back that you realize how weird of a position he's caught you in— just standing in the middle of his room, bag discarded on the floor next to you, staring at his damn poster like you're admiring a piece of art in a gallery.

He looks excited, at first, to see you, then excitement turns into confusion, probably at the fact that you're just... standing there, then concern. "What're you doin', babe?"

"We need to talk," is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, deathly serious.

Yuuji gulps. Literally gulps. "About what?"

"Jennifer."

You can see the relief painting his face when he realizes that you are not, as a matter of fact, breaking up with him. "What about Jennifer?"

"She needs to leave," You emphasize the last word in a way that makes your request sound less like a request and more like a plead. "I feel like the other woman."

"Okay, don't be dramatic—"

"Don't call me dramatic!"

"I'm sorry!"

Yuuji purses his lips and brings his hand to the back of his head, as if he's weighing to pros and cons to standing his ground and keeping the poster. Just when you think you've finally won, that the cons outweigh the pros, he says, "Aren't relationships about compromise?"

"Yuuji, I swear—"

"See the movie with me, and I'll take the poster down."

"Deal."

Maybe you should've thought about it longer. Maybe you should've weighed the pros and cons of this date, too— then, you see Yuuji sulking, watching from the corner of his room as you gleefully climb onto his bed to peel off the tape that attaches the poster to his wall, and it makes it all worth it.

You kiss him on the way out, and the goofy smile on his face tells you he feels the same way.

It'd better be a good movie.

[saintsenara]

Heyy, just came back from reading your analysis for remadora and snupin, and I just wanted to say THANK YOU for speaking the truth no one else seems to aknowledge.

First of all, Tonks is a queen and neither Remus or Sirius held a candle against her. I agree that their relationship wasn't at all perfect, that there were many topics to be discussed and explored there, and let's be honest, Remus isn't exactly healthy boyfriend material, regardless of his age.

Which takes me to my point. I love some fluffy snupin fic with a sweet and regretful Remus as much as the next person, mostly because it feeds my joy on seeing him actually beating himself for his mistakes and how he was as much of a bully to Severus as the rest of them. I want Severus's pain and the role Remus played in it to be acknowledged in their relationship.

However, I also want to see some good canon compliant snupin fic where Remus Lupin is presented as the low-key cruel and dark asshole we know he is. I don't buy that he only remained with the marauders because he didn't want to be alone, hell nah, that was Peter. Remus enjoyed their shenanigans and the pranks just as much, and I bet he was the mastermind behind a lot of them. I believe he was the only one who had some guilty conscience afterwards, but it wasn't nearly enough to make him re-consider.

I want some snupin fic where their dynamic follows the one we see in canon. Severus being terrified of Lupin and traumatized after what happened in the Shack, I want Lupin to low-key get off his fear because it makes him feel superior to the usually composed and indiferent Snape. I want Lupin to have been weirdly fixated with Severus since their school years and that's why he never stopped the pranks, because he enjoyed seeing the other boy under their mercy. I want Lupin to "hunt" him as both a teenager and as they're both professors in Hogwarts. Back when i read the books, I always thought his behaviour with Severus, both when they interacted and when Lupin talked about him with others, was kinda fruity. Like, what's up with than enthusiasm to see him wearing woman's clothes? How come he's the only one who refers to him "Severus" when everyone else, except for Dumbledore, calls him Snape? Yeah, it always felt weird to me.

In short, I simply think their canon compliant dynamic would be much more interesting if taken in consideration for fanfics. I love the whole "prey/predator" dynamic they could have.

ahh, thank you so much, anon! i'm delighted that you enjoyed my thoughts on both snupin and remadora - there are dozens of us!

[and i'd like to also draw your attention to this excellent addendum to the remadora point by @evesaintyves - i think it's really important for all of us remadora fans to be vigilant about challenging a tone which is far too prevalent in our conversations that to think about tonks - and lupin - as queer devalues them and their relationship within a canon-coherent setting.]

and yes - absolutely - i love seeing the messiness and thorniness of lupin explored - in snupin or otherwise - by stories which engage with the ruthlessness which lurks beneath his mask of benign affability. bring me the story which really gets into lupin describing his midnight jaunts with the lads in full werewolf form as "the best times of my life" - and clearly never being anywhere near as sorry about the risk he was running as he makes out in prisoner of azkaban...

[and also the fact that it doesn't seem quite as clear to me as i once thought it did that he didn't know anything about the werewolf prank...]

and i think there's an enormous amount of potential in using the longstanding cruelty which is tangible in snape and lupin's dynamic as a vehicle to bring down the mask behind which he lives - and that his relationship with his own sexuality is a really interesting example of that.

there's a homophobic undercurrent to a lot of the marauders' bullying of snape - the nickname "snivellus", for example, is based in the idea of snape being improperly masculine - which endures into the adult lupin and sirius' relationship with him [sirius' comment about snape being lucius malfoy's "lapdog" is him insinuating a sexual relationship between them in which snape is implied to be the receptive partner; lupin obviously thinks that snape would regard being made to cross-dress as humiliating and emasculating].

and while i love the portrayal of the wizarding world in fics as some sort of queer utopia - because i love the escapism of it - the evidence we have from canon is that this is... a pretty far-fetched thing to say about a society which is so obsessed with blood and lineage and the continuation of both of these things.

someone like lupin, who already depends so much on maintaining a mask of "civility" and conformity because of the precarious status his lycanthropy confers upon him in the eyes of the state strikes me as someone who would really struggle to acknowledge himself as queer in any way without thinking of that queerness as deviant and as dangerous to him.

[which is such an underrated remadora premise - tonks is clearly much more comfortable with being experimental and explorative in how she engages with the world. you could have so much fun with the impact tonks' relationship to her own queerness would have on lupin's relationship to his.]

lupin discovering snape is queer - and the combined fear and desire this might inspire in him, and how this would be received by snape, who is still so hung up on being afraid of and humiliated by him - could be a really complex and tangled premise for a story.

which i think you may have just offered to write...

[incomingalbatross]

Five times Stan saw Ford in Dipper

(and one time he saw somebody else)

To be honest, Stan didn't think there was that much to see, at first. Sure, Shermie had said more than once how much the kids reminded him of Stan and Ford, but Shermie remembered them as a pair of gremlins under his feet. Of course another little pair would bring back those memories. Stan...remembered Ford as his own size, so it didn't work the same way for him. And Dipper, with his snark and his cynicism and his general attitude, was a fun little pain-in-the-neck, but not much like Stan's brother at that age. On the other hand... finding him glued to the Used To Be About History Channel and taking notes within his first few days at the Shack brought back some memories.

Yeah, okay, so Stan felt a little bad brushing off Dipper's rants about wax murderers, or old-timey conspiracies, or living arcade characters, or whatever the kid had tracked down this week. So maybe that burning enthusiasm in his eyes when he tried to convince everyone around him to care about the world's weirdness was a little familiar. It was fine. The kid had Mabel glued to his side (sometimes literally, after crafting accidents). And the kids had friends! Wendy and Soos and... Mabel's girl-posse... and honestly most of Gravity Falls, it seemed like, had their backs. Dipper didn't need his Grunkle's validation.

And then the whole Wendy musical-mind-control debacle came up, and that one Stan did jump into with both feet because hey, that wasn't Gravity Falls-level Weird, right? This was something he could admit he found plausible. Probably. And Mabel was obsessing over her boy band and Soos was out, and he liked Wendy and hated Robbie and somebody had to back Dipper up on this. Even if the kid was wrong, Stan could handle plain old Girl Problems. And... and it was kinda fun, maybe. Backing up the kid on one of his conspiracy projects. It wasn't exactly a Ford thing, because Ford didn't have friends who were girls, let alone get close enough to a girl to have her "stolen" from him. But supporting Dipper through the rejection part, after, reminding him he wasn't alone... that was maybe more familiar than he realized. Until Dipper looked up with a grateful, almost-shy little smile of appreciation at the reassurance, and Stan had to stop for a split second because Oh. Holy Moses. There he could see Sixer.

Things had gotten better, in some ways, since the zombie thing. He and the kids weren't hiding any of the general weirdness from each other, so he didn't have to pretend not to listen to stories about tiny golf-people or infinite pizza. He could do crazy things with them, even. That was fun! It was refreshing. The family that fights monsters together stays together, or...something. On the other hand, he was still hiding other stuff from the kids, and it got more important every day. And he was pretty sure they were still hiding Other Stuff from him, too. Which made it kind of a race. And it also meant that even while he was seeing more Pines in both kids than ever, in good ways, he was also seeing Dipper staying up all night and muttering into his Journal and wandering around with bags under his eyes that you could use to smuggle contraband. The stubbornness? The refusal to let go? That, Stan could relate to. The obsession and the twitchiness and the occasional haunted look, though... He'd really never wanted to see that Ford when he looked at Dipper.

Good news! Dipper's paranoia and skittishness had, in fact, gone way down since he'd met Ford and heard the full explanation of Stan's secrets. Bad news: It felt like everything Stan saw when he looked at Dipper nowadays was some kind of funhouse mirror of Ford, like all they were was the same person - the science, the schemes, the nerd games, the enthusiasm, just two brains on the same wavelength forever and ever - and that wasn't right, was it? Stan wasn't crazy, right, Dipper hadn't always been a total mini-Ford, so why did it seem that way now? It felt wrong. Felt unfair, somewhere, to somebody. But Stan couldn't pin down anything concrete in Dipper that wasn't in Ford - this Ford, anyway, and this Dipper. Maybe he was going nuts. Or maybe he hadn't known either of them quite as well as he thought he had.

+1:

"Hey, Grunkle Stan?"

"Yeah, what's up, kid?"

Dipper looks hesitant. "I... had a question. But it's okay if you don't remember the answer."

"Eh, lay it on me," Stan shrugs. It's near sunset, out here on the porch. Ford and Mabel are in the kitchen - he might have heard something about refining the Mabel Juice formula, but that's terrifying, so he's not gonna think too hard about it. They'll be out soon anyway, or he and Dipper'll head inside, and then they can check on any potential abominations.

"When... Okay. You know we were in your head, right? Before Gideon took the Shack?"

Stan squints. That was... yeah, that was a weird memory, but it was there. "Yeah."

"Okay, cool! We, uh. Never actually talked about that, so good to know. Anyway." Dipper takes a deep breath. "I sorta saw some memories when we were in there, but obviously you were still hiding some big childhood stuff then, so I was wondering now..." He fidgets. "Were you really a wimp as a little kid before you started boxing? Was all that true?"

Stan looks down at him, blinking. Dipper's head is ducked, face hidden by his cap. This matters to him, for some reason.

"...Well, yeah," he admits. With a laugh, he hurries to add, "I know I seem like I must've been born this awesome, but turns out, no! I was a pretty wimpy little kid to start out. 'Course, then I figured out punching meant I could take out anyone who looked at me and Ford funny - still, took a while to get good at it, even then. So yeah, there's your Grunkle Stan's deep dark secret, kiddo: he started out as a bona fide weakling." He flicks up the kid's hat brim, still a little nervous about why he even cares -

And Dipper looks up, beaming at Stan. He's bright-eyed and happy, and he says quietly, as if he's just been given a present, "Kinda like me."

Oh.

Okay then.

Stan squishes Dipper into his side with one arm before the kid can comment on all the dust that's suddenly in Stan's eyes. "Like you were, maybe," he corrects him gruffly, knuckles rubbing into his hat. "I think you're comin' along pretty good, you know that?"

Dipper, squirming and laughing, shamelessly hugs him back. "I hope so," he says, apparently because this is Honesty Hour. "I guess - I guess if you didn't start out awesome, there's hope for all of us, right?" And it's probably still the laughter that's making the kid's breath hitch but - either way, Stan realizes he means it.

Seeing Ford in Dipper was just a thing that happened. It's probably never gonna stop happening - they're nerds, and they're family, and they're Stan's family, of course he's gonna see when they echo each other. He knows - he's always known - that they're alike, and also that they're two different people, and that he likes them that way.

But it's maybe been a while since he looked head-on at the moments when he can look at Dipper

(snarky, sarcastic, always ready to mouth off, latching on to every friend he made, stubborn, scrappy, insecure, throwing himself like instinct between his family and anyone who looked at them funny)

and see, uh, well. Somebody. Who isn't Ford.

And getting faced with the idea of Dipper apparently... a little bit... looking for himself in that-somebody-who-isn't-Ford?

These kids are gonna give Stan a heart attack in the few days left between now and their birthday. Seriously. It's gonna happen.

"Shut up, squirt," he sniffs for now, and decides to stop pretending this isn't a hug. "Didja not hear me the first time?" Months ago, inside his own head - yeah, okay, so he could probably stand to say it to the kid's face. "I'm already proud of you."

[discordiansamba]

spitballing some thoughts about the amnesiac blade AU:

Keith basically keeps his amnesia to himself when he joins the Garrison. He didn't have a choice at his old school- everyone there basically knew about it. But nobody has to know about it here.

James knows, and although he can't stand Keith, he keeps his mouth shut about it.

He still gets periodically pulled from classes to see his doctor, so there is a rumor that he has some kind of medical issue.

It takes him awhile to start actually responding to 'Keith', but he eventually gets the hang of it. 'Cadet Kogane' takes even longer to get used to. Having two names feels weird somehow?

He starts off living in the dorms, but eventually just kind of moves into the spare room in Adam and Shiro's shared quarters. Nobody disputes this.

Actually kind of has more of a social life than he did in canon? Not having any memories leaves him with a desire for normalcy, even if normalcy sometimes seems kind of... weird to him? But that's just the memory loss, right?

(no it's because you were raised in a VERY different environment)

he still self-destructs after the Kerberos failure though and gets kicked out. he feels angry- angry at the Garrison, and angry at himself for some unfathomable reason.

He stays in the shack he and Shiro found out in the desert. There's something about it that feels almost calming.

local amnesiac blade does not know he's returned to his mission when he starts trying to track the blue lion's energy.

once they're up in space, he starts to get... flashes here and there, of memory, but nothing that sticks with him for long. which is weird- he hasn't had any in the past five years. why now?

he doesn't recognize Ulaz's armor- he didn't have his for very long post amnesia- but he sure does recognize the Blade's emblem.

(when Ulaz sacrifices himself, Keith cries without knowing the reason why)

Kolivan believes that Yorak has lost his memories, as Ulaz said in his brief report. But it has been five years since they have last seen him, and he has clearly become someone different in that time. He has no intention of informing him of his past identity.

Keith is a lot more wary of the Blade of Marmora, because even though he doesn't have his memories, he's starting to piece things together and he's not sure he likes the endpoint his thoughts are heading to.

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Sun and Moon show incorrect quotes 5.

1.Eclipse: Do you always have to attack me with your words? Bloodmoon: Would you prefer me to use a brick?

2.Moon: cocks gun Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

3.Bloodmoon: Cronch. Bloodmoon: You hear that? That's the sound of me eating sticks. Sun: No, don’t— Bloodmoon: Too late.

4.the squad is at a dinner party but someone has been murdered Bloodmoon: You’re acting pretty carefree for someone who’s life’s at stake. Who’s to say you aren’t the killer? Ruin: It’s a murder, not a tax audit. I’ll be fine. Lunar: What about Moon? Nobody ever suspects Moon! Moon: Well what about Eclipse? He has a gun! Eclipse: Bloodmoon has a knife. Bloodmoon: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! stabs Lunar in the arm

5.Earth: I told Lunar to grab snacks for everyone. Eclipse, looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks? Earth, Lunar, and Sun raise their hands

6.Moon: When I said bring me something back from the beach I meant like a conch shell! Bloodmoon: Struggling to hold a seagull Fucking say that next time!

7.Monty: Your smile? It makes my day. Earth: Your happiness? I live for that. Moon: A room? Get one. Bloodmoon: Hotel? Trivago.

8.Bloodmoon: Is stabbing someone immoral? Ruin: Not if they consent to it. Eclipse: Depends on who your stabbing. Lunar: YES??!!?

9.While the Squad is in a battle Moon, trying to warn about the location of an enemy: To the left! Ruin: Take it back now y'all!

10.Moon: The salary of a clown is 51,000 dollars. Moon, gesturing to Eclipse and Bloodmoon fighting: And yet these idiots do it daily, and for free!

11.Ruin: The waiter at Olive Garden has been grating my cheese for 6 hours now, waiting for me to say when. Customers are screaming. Three people have died. Ruin: I will not yield.

12.Bloodmoon, to Sun: Are you peanuts? Because I want to boil you alive.

13.Bloodmoon: If I die, my funeral will be the biggest party ever and you're all invited. Moon: "If" Eclipse: Great, the only party I'm ever invited to and they might not even die.

14.Lunar: Today, Bloodmoon took my phone, and in five minutes, they sent high resolution close-up photos of Eclipse to the following people: Ruin, Sun, Earth, the neighbors, the bank, my accountant, San Diego Blood Bank, and Shake Shack's text bot.

15.Ruin: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

16.Bloodmoon: Hand me the people opener. Earth: … Earth: Pardon? Bloodmoon, annoyed: The g! Just hand it to me! Earth, stressed: WHAT THE FUCK IS A PEOPLE OPENER? Bloodmoon: How do you not know what a people opener is? Its pointy- you know? With a handle? Earth: Knife. It's called a knife.

17.Bloodmoon: Hey, Sun? Sun: Yeah? Bloodmoon: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on? Sun: Sun: Where’s Lunar?

18.Eclipse: You're smiling. What happened? Bloodmoon: What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Moon: Sun tripped and fell down the stairs today.

19.Moon: Bloodmoon, I know you snuck out to see Ruin last night. Bloodmoon: If you tell Sun or Earth, I swear I’ll murder you, and they’ll never find the body. Moon: Five bucks? Bloodmoon: Fine.

20.Lunar, to the Squad: I’d die for you. Eclipse: Then perish. Bloodmoon: You will. Earth: Please don’t. Ruin: Cool. Sun: I’d die for you first.

[number1greedlingfan]

"op ur mid au ideas are scaring the hoes" well im abt to be terrifying

2 words: stardew valley.

Ed and Al take the place of Haley and Emily in the sense that they're siblings in their twenties, they live together without parents, and Al is liked by everyone in town and Ed is uhhhh Not. Al would probably work at the Saloon like Emily does but isn't on his feet the whole time (he and Ed are still disabled-- Al has bad chronic pain and joint issues, Ed has a prosthetic leg.) I can see Ed being into photography the same way Haley is too.

Hohenheim is the father that returns randomly in year 3. Not much to say about that except that the town does not give him a warm reception on account of the whole abandoning your children thing. Maybe he fucks off soon after to live in the forest like the Wizard.

Pinako and Winry take Clint's place as the town blacksmiths because who needs that guy am I right. Winry's loved gifts would probably be raw materials and batteries.

Ling is like Elliott in that he lives on the beach and that is the end of the similarities. He has so much money (very obvious the way he talks about it) but he chooses to live in a repurposed fishing shack. In one of Ed's dialogues he speculates that Ling only lives there to scavenge for food like a seagull (he is right).

I think this goes without saying but Mustang would be the mayor. If you get enough hearts with him you get his tragic PTSD military backstory. I don't know what Hawkeye would be or where she would live in this situation, but I do know that she and Roy have the same weird secret relationship that Marnie and Lewis do.

[silvcrignis]

Claude Frollo Out of Context Sentence Starters || Part I/?

I have a divine mission to spread the Our Claude > Canon Frollo propaganda. What better way to do so than by making various quotes of his a sentence meme?

Clowning

 “What the FUCK is Bible Study & Chill?!”

 “Do you lot think the Booberry ghost is blue because he died by strangulation???

“I was absolutely high as shit last night. The Warwick Davis leprechaun himself could have started playing knick knack on my lung & I likely would not have noticed.”

 “HOW MANY OF YOU FUCKERS SAW ME EVERYDAY & KNEW I WAS GAY & DID NOT FUCKING SAY ANYTHING?!”

 “MA’M/SIR THAT IS FOUR MILLION DOLLAR MERCHANDISE DO NOT BREAK WHAT YOU CANNOT BUY!” 

 “...Why do you smell like Nesquik Strawberry Milk?” 

“The asshole you are trying to reach is not available. Please disconnect the call & do not try again.”

“Also the day you catch me living in a shack is the day to lock me up because that would mean I finally went clinical, pal."

“Quit talking about shoving things in my ass, you perverted old man/woman!” 

 “Well. You are BORING me right now. I cannot relate to your poor person problems.”

“If I could physically meet myself I would beat the shit out of him.” 

“…I am not sweet, __. Slander me again & I will take legal action.” 

“Her vagina could probably host a fucking bounce house for all of them.”

“Na fam. Delete it right now.”

“Nearly every single time you speak you bring this family great dishonour.”

 “There is only so much suffering I can endure.”

 “I FOUND A CAT!

 “You would end up being spilt worse than my firewood.

“You cannot do coke, that is illegal!

 “Down to fucking kill myself.”

 “If you are so insistent on sucking my cock this often you ought get some knee pads.”

“I like snow. It is a good way to hit your enemies with glass shards before they realise what is happening.”

 “Do you want bullshit or the truth?”

 “I am seconds away from a brain aneurysm, son.”

 “You would be a wonderful addition to someone’s mantle. In an urn!”

 “Shut the fuck up, old man!”

 “I do not use Faebook. Faebook is for losers & old people.”

 *sarcastically* “I went out to the woods. Pretended to be a forest nymph for a few hours.”

“That is… Not my problem.”

 “Did the vibrating make it better or worse, son?”

“New Jersey’s state fruit is blueberry, you fucking crackhead.”

“No no. Continue squabbling, bottoms.”

“Like what the fuck like I can say hoe if I want to! I am a hoe, I have the pass!” 

“I want no part in your cockles, __.”

“That is too many babies, Miss/Mister.”

“Ugh no.”

“Pull up then, Fuckboy.”

“Actually I was thinking about that one medieval meme about the leggings.” 

“You cannot cancel me. I am a bad bitch.” 

Being Fucking For Real

“… Unless… Oh fuck… I must be having another psychotic break.

“Would not be the first goddamn time I had a hallucination…”

“Those were the last words I ever said to my own son’s face… Then I never saw him again.”

“... Tell me you love me again? Please?”

“What the hell was I supposed to say to you that would not sound fucking weird & desperate?”

“You know, wills to read & a little brother to parent…”

“… It was always you but… You deserve someone normal.”

“I will be perfectly fine alone, the way I always am.”

*wryly* “Ah yes, because everyone keeps their promises, __.”

“I am going to beat his ass. The next time. I see him.”

“God, I know I do not deserve it but I love you so fucking much.”

[spiritmunie]

Decided to post a sneak peak of my divorce arc wip to see if anyone is interested. But even if nobody is interested I'm still writing it anyway, albeit much more slowly, because I'm having way too much fun with it.

Long Leave

Summary: (Set during the divorce arc, based around the 15x06 episode Golden Time)

Depressed and missing Cas terribly, Dean impulsively tracks down his location and follows him to the lake in Wyoming. When he sees that Cas is on a hunt, he pretends to have stumbled on the same case, a lie which escalates into him shacking up in Cas’ newly bought fishing cabin.

//

It was approximately 2 months and 13 days since Cas left the bunker when Dean finally snapped. 

Dean knows he’s been spiraling lately. Hell, he’s already been spiraling through every possible apocalypse for the past decade, so it’s only fitting that they've culminated in God turning out to be a sicko who wants to see him kill his own family members as some weird, voyeuristic form of entertainment. And isn’t that just the cherry on top of the shitshow that is his life? Dean never thought he’d come across a threat that could actually break him, but. He’s well and truly broke now. How in the world is he supposed to fight a god that can control his actions, his words, and maybe even his thoughts? He tries not to linger too long on that last one- his spirit's overburdened enough, even without the existential horror of his thoughts not being his own.

Cas' decision to ditch them definitely didn’t help his sanity either, which Dean knows was mainly his own fault, but it’s not like he was gonna stop the guy when he clearly wanted so badly to leave.

And considering everything that went down with Jack, well. That was Cas’ kid right? Of course being around Sam and Dean would only serve as a horrible reminder of what they both did to him. Dean thinks Jack was his own kid too, for a while at least, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to call him that anymore.

Despite what happened with Mary, he can’t help but mourn for Jack. They were supposed to look out for him, to give him a better future than any of them ever had. But now he’s gone, and Mary’s gone, and Rowena’s gone, and because of Chuck soon everyone Dean has ever cared about is going to meet some sick, twisted ending no matter how hard he tries to stop it.

He wonders if there’s anything left worth fighting for after that.

The question swam around in Dean’s head as he wallowed for weeks in self isolation, watching Scooby Doo on repeat and refusing to come out of his room even when Sam brought up potential cases. It followed him even as he stood up one day, checked the bunker cameras for Cas’ license plate number, ran it through his laptop, and without leaving a note or message for Sam, took the Impala and drove straight towards that butt-ugly pickup truck’s last spotted location.

Around halfway there, it finally registers that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing or what he's going to do when he gets there. 

He hadn’t gotten that far in his train of thought. The day before he drove off he’d just been thinking about what Cas said to him, about how “you and Sam have each other.”

Sure, Sam was his brother and they always had each other’s back, but for most of their lives it was just them, an exhausted unit of two that was bound to wear out on their own. Cas was his best friend, the only other person he could trust to have his back and make him laugh with his dorky, straightforward antics.

And Dean misses him. He misses him a lot. He pretends like he doesn’t need people, but even Sam knows that his decision to keep bringing him back from the dead is because he can’t stand being alone. God knows he’s been so lonely his entire life.

So yeah, he’s being selfish again.

Dean knows he’s being selfish, and after everything that happened, Cas probably doesn’t ever want to see him again.

Drawing close to the next highway exit, he pulls over to the right, meaning to turn back towards the bunker. But then he thinks, Cas is one of the only people he has left. And he openly defied Chuck’s will right in front of the man. If anything, he should at least check up on him to make sure he hasn’t been killed.

This is simply a matter of doing the right thing, Dean tells himself as he changes to the left lane, merging back into the fast-moving stream of traffic. 

//

Standing just a few yards away from a certain dull truck, achingly and painfully familiar in all its nonexistent glory, Dean takes back all of his previous confidence. 

This was definitely not the right thing to do.

What in the world is he supposed to say when Cas sees him?

Hey, uh, fancy seeing you here. Oh, what am I doing here? Well, I’ve been doing fine without you as you can see, since I’ve decided to drive all the way up here like some sort of crazy stalker!

Not some sort of stalker. Dean is being a crazy stalker right now.

At least Cas had decided to only move a couple states over, instead of fleeing all the way across the country to get away from him. Part of Dean hopes it’s because he didn’t want to stray too far away from the bunker, in case there was an emergency and they needed his help. Not that it’s a necessarily good reason to stay close by, but Dean will take what he can get.

A more likely reason is that Cas simply didn’t want to waste gas, and this place was a damn beautiful area to live in. Dean’s seen a lot of American landmarks in his time, but it still took his breath away to see the Grand Teton mountains arching over him, their majestic peaks reflecting off the crystal clear waters of Jenny Lake.

Anyway, back to the point. Dean needs to get the fuck away from this car as soon as possible. He can make sure Cas is okay, but that doesn’t mean that Cas has to see him. He’ll just… watch him from a distance or something.

Like that makes him any less creepy.

Panic starting to set in, Dean turns around in a circle to map out what his best escape route would be. 

Cas’ truck is currently parked next to a fishing supply store on one side of the road, so it's probably safer if he goes to the other side of the road where the sheriff’s department is, that way there's less of a chance he'll bump into him.

Dean moves around the truck and starts crossing the street just as the door to the sheriff’s department jingles and Cas steps out into the open air, looking harried as he clutches a bundle of files to his chest. 

Dean stops in the middle of the road and stares at him.

Cas stops and stares back.

He fumbles with the files in his arms. They tumble to the ground, fanning out in a scattered mess. Wind picks up at the edges of the paper and threatens to blow them away.

Dean jerks forward on instinct to help with the mess, but he stops himself at the last second. This could be his last chance to escape while Cas is distracted with collecting the files.

But Cas doesn’t so much as stoop to pick them up, opting instead to keep staring at him in shock.

“Dean?” He mutters to himself, like he doesn’t believe the person standing in front of him is actually real.

Dean’s chest tightens, and caught with nowhere else to go, he silently steps forward. So much for escaping.

In order to stall confrontation for just a few more seconds, he decides to gather some of the spilled contents of the files before they can fly away. A once-over glance at the police reports and photographs of dead bodies tells him that Cas is working on a case. That, and the fact that Cas has gone trench coat-less, which Dean only realizes once he looks back up to find Cas still staring at him.

“Dean.” Cas says breathlessly, still in that disbelieving tone of voice. He pauses then, seemingly trying to pull himself together, and Dean uses that moment to finally take all of Cas in. His eyes flick from his suit, to his hands, to his blue tie, to his pants, to his shoes, and then finally up to his face, the intensity of their gazes locking shooting tremors down his spine.

He suddenly thrusts forward the few files he had already gathered. Their corners jab Cas in the arm in Dean’s haste to give them to him.

“Uh,” Dean rasps out. “Here.”

That seems to break Cas out of his dazed spell, since he stops to take the files from Dean and drops down to gather the rest. He moves quickly to ensure that none of them are lost, and soon all of the files have made their way back into his arms. He stands straight once he's finished, back stiff as he slowly turns to face Dean once again.

Neither of them seem to know what to say, so they end up staring at each other for an excruciating long time, each of them waiting for the other to say something first.

[polyhexian]

What would happen with the custody battle (or at least a timeline where Belos died and Hunter had to escape a group of caring adults via Eda’s portal for whatever reason) if Hunter went to the Human realm and got adopted- not by Camilla (at first) but Luz

like here me out- Hunter finds Eda’s door while all the adults are arguing and just goes through the portal and is confronted with an intensely emotional Luz in the middle of a rainstorm.

Luz could just have lost her Dad and ran into the woods to try and search for fairies or something that can make things better, Azura book clutched to her chest and pajamas completely soaked, and there right when she’s completely lost and her excitement dimmed and hope fading as reality of death sets in- a panicked elf like boy stumbles his way out of an old shack in the woods that her dad used to tell her stories about how the brother’s who lived there disappeared from a Witch’s influence- and Luz’s eyes light up. Cause this is exactly like the stories and obviously that means this is fate and he HAS to come home with her!

and Hunter is just there confused and tired and mildly terrified cause the rain is COLD how is he not dead! And this strange hyperactive creature- that should probably be a witch but is most definitely not with the shear amount of sunshine radiating from it- is clinging to him and gushing nonsense and ordering him around like a mini emperor and he’s just had the roughest weeks of his life and the direct instructions are almost a relief- though half the stuff it says make less sense then the strange language it keeps switching to. And then he’s being dragged through the rain to this big empty house and forcibly shoved on the couch as it races around like a wirlwind- asking questions and handing him something in a cup that smelled far better then it looked and the warm place and simple commands luls him to his practiced soldier mode where he just stares and answers as he debrief’s his superiors (cause none of the adults treated him like this they interrogated him on hard stuff- stuff like who his parents were, what was Belos planning, when’s the last time he slept) and then it’s grabbing him again and putting him into the same weird strangle like thing it did when he left the portal and he just lets himself zone out- this is easy- simple really. His Uncle did much worse for reacting to less- this didnt even choke him fully.

camila comes in three hours later panicked and drenched having been searching frantically everywhere for her 11 year old daughter to see her daughter tangled up with a strange clearly out of it boy on the couch vibrating as she mouths over and over “ive got it..”

Camila gets home and discovers her daughter has found and adopted a cloned child soldier from another dimension by handing him a Gameboy with Tetris on it and some granola.

Can you fucking IMAGINE the anarchy on the other side when everyone notices hunter is gone and they all go into panic mode trying to find him and they just can't??? Like he's just fucking gone??? I don't think they would even remotely think to check another dimension even if eda has a door there. It doesn't seem like anyone really thought about her fucking dimensional portal until Luz showed up. I kind of imagine jaspers having a fucking breakdown after a week of trying to find him and hes in fucking anguish and eda is like I know what will cheer him up, human granola. She pops on over to another dimension and stumbles right past two kids on the sidewalk waiting for the school bus and one of them is her missing teenage war criminal who is now wearing a Mario t shirt and complaining about how much he hates cheese

[unfortunatesal]

cishet couples can be queer too (kinda)

So In/Spectre is really good,

I binged the entire first season and the first half of the second season over the weekend. If I had to describe it, it's Monogatari but as a murder mystery show, and it's very similar to Umineko in that it's all about how the truth is mundane and boring and deeply undesirable, and fantasy and fiction are just way more fun and appealing which makes them wa more powerful, so let's just believe in fantasy!

I initially watched it for the protagonist, who is a tiny little gremlin yandere lady who dresses and speaks like a vicorian child and whose job is literally to gaslight everyone until they believe her, and she absolutely carries she show, she's awesome

But what's really been living rent free in my head for the past 12 hours is the first real arc of the second season, which (spoilers for season 2, by the way), centers around a guy who gets saved by a yoki-onna, meet her again a decade later, and starts taking her in and living with her. And this is ostansibly a man and a woman, but their relationship just... feels queer to me, and I spent a while trying to articulate why. Something about it really clicked for me in a way that most cishet relationships portrayed in fiction just... do not, despite it being between a middle-aged man and a presumably immortal mountain spirit.

And I think it boils down to the fact that it centers upon the most key element of queerness there is: the fact that their relationship is far outside of the bounds of what society considers acceptable. Humans aren't supposed to be with yokai, yokai aren't suppoed to be with humans either. When we see them together, there's always the feeling that they like each other, love each other, even, but they they don't feel like they're supposed to. Which... leads their relationship to develop with this weird tension that you see a lot in queer relationships in general, but not so much in cishet ones, where they like each other, but don't know if they should, and as such, don't know if they do. They live together, grow close to each other, but they never really consider anything romantic. The yuki-onna makes sexual advances on him once, and he turns her down, but... that's it. There's a genuine hesitation to get too close, especially from him, but you can sense it from her too.

Being queer inherently means being cast aside by society, being considered abnormal and defective, and having to find your own happiness outside of what society gives you and expects you to take. This man has been betrayed by everyone close to him and has been unfairly framed as a vindictive and vengeful person. He's had enough of society and has decided to seclude himself in a remote shack, and has found peace happiness with a being society refuses to accept the existence, and all of that is so relatable to the queer experience in general. There's a reason queer people love the idea of romancing fantastical creatures! They're kind of queer too!

And the moment where he finally realizes he has someone he can genuinely trust, someone who will stay loyal to him and stay by his side, someone who sees him for who he is and will actively stand up for him, and when he realizes he has something genuinely precious he wants to hold onto... that hit me hard. I felt that. That's something I experienced when I realized that... there are people who are like me, who understand me, and who want me around.

I love these two, and I relate to their relationship deeply, not in spite of my queerness but actively because of it, and I find it absolutely beautiful.

[sburbian-sage]

I've got a bit of an odd situation. See, we picked up a Rage Player between sessions. Quiet guy, bit of an asshole at times, really his short swords. He keeps talking about his dream self doing paperwork on derse? And being surrounded by windows? And some overarching conspiracy to murder nobility or something? Our new Sage of Time, they were a Prince last game, said something about how the newbie had ecto-biological data from some "SS" entity in-game. I guess I'm supposed to fuck up our new player's ecto-biological cloning or something. I'm not happy about it, nobody's happy about it, this has not been a good time. All I know is, is that I don't think we're prepared to face off against a glitch dream-self that may or may not be a derse carpacian or something. ( How do you even god-tier that? I don't know, and our Thief of Rage is, well, raging about it. ) Do you have any advice? ... Also is it bad to be a Bard twice in a row? I don't mind being the Bard. But, if it consists of getting lost on the battlefield twice, and potentially missing the final boss battle (again), I'm going to be very annoyed.

Wear your codpiece with pride, soldier. And invest in a map.

Also I think I'm connecting the pieces. The "SS entity" is probably Spades Slick, the Scurrilous Straggler, the Sovereign Slayer. Jack Noir. Which would explain the player's dreamself 1) being confined to Derse, which is where Jack Noir lives 2) being confined to bureaucracy in an office, which is what Jack Noir does 3) doing weird murderous conspiracies, which is what Jack Noir does when he's not handling bureaucracy. Also wait hold on a fucking second, are you implying your Thief of Rage is like, The Son of Jack Noir. Did I read that correctly. Are you telling me your player shares DNA with Jack Fucking Noir. These asks are gonna drive me to drink one day.

I choose not to believe that your Thief of Rage is the secret lovechild of Jack Noir because briefly considering it caused me to curl up into a ball involuntarily for several hours. It was like an instinct.

In the event that your Thief of Rage is the secret lovechild of Jack Noir, I really wish that SBURB's coding didn't disable suicide, and also I legitimately don't know how his ectobiological code mixes with a player's in such a manner that their dreamself becomes him(???) but not the actual player. This is all bullshit, if this is true then good luck. You broke me, congratulations.

The much more likely possibility is Apocryphal Antithesis. Essentially, your Thief of Rage is missing a sleep ratio stat, and so their Dreamself is a distinct entity with its own agenda. I imagine that it's co-ordinating with Jack Noir to murder all of you, because that's typically what happens with Apocryphal Antithesis (the murder part, not the Jack collab itself). The good news is, if you're in a position to God Tier, just do it. Your Thief of Rage can't, y'know, by himself, but if one of you takes him behind the shack and onto his Quest Bed, his dreamself will automatically merge with him as he ascends. Indeed, even if it isn't Apocryphal Antithesis (I refuse to believe the other option), this might fix it anyway. If there's anything weird about your Dreamself, god-tiering is the "turn it on and off again" of solutions. Highly effective and simple and everyone should try resorting to that immediately.