#like the sound levels are generally fairly even

[foxshaped]

Oh yeah. It’s October. Time to not use the internet without an adblocker for a few weeks. Tumblr is generally safer, since I don’t follow anyone who posts about a lot of horror movies, and ads on this hellsite aren’t coherent enough to know what time of the year it is. But in ten minutes of scrolling Reddit I got three different horror movie ads and no way to block the ad without reporting it as offensive.

[dumb-ghost-child]

Humans are weird: lifespan

Clara had known the mission was a bad idea. That guess was reinforced when the ship crashed. The other members of her little crew had died on impact, but she’d only been injured. From her guess it was just a few broken or otherwise messed up bones- annoying, yes, but not irreparable. She’d tried communicating with her crew, sending out transmissions and mentally screaming for Indigo, but nothing came to her rescue.

By some miracle, the air was breathable. The climate was on the warmer side, reminding her of the Caribbeans. It was quite nice, and if it weren’t for the three moons, binary star system, and the lavender sky, she would’ve been able to believe this was in a familiar system.

She stumbled out of the ship, swearing to herself when she saw what a wreck it was; there was no way she’d be getting back into the air with that.

Instead, she looked around. It appeared that she’d landed in a field of sorts- on the horizon she saw what appeared to be a civilization, maybe a town, and around her were tall trees that had pear-like fruits on them. A quick scan said they were edible, so she grabbed one. It was perfectly at her shoulder level, which she appreciated. The fruit was tasty, reminding her of earth’s apples or the kalrin-fruits Indigo had introduced to her.

It took a few minutes, but soon Clara had made herself a splint for her broken arm and gathered what she could from the ship’s remains.

She was about to make her way towards the town when she heard a strange chittering noise behind her. The translator didn’t pick it up, which either meant this was an undiscovered language or it was broken- it was really a 50/50 chance. Turning around, she saw a small creature, maybe reaching up to her knees, chittering at her. It seemed to be a bit scared, but still interested. It gestured for her to follow it, which she did, being led to another small town. All around her were the little creatures, rushing about, some coming up to her. They were cute, in a way, with mint-green skin, four arms, fur down their backs, six large eyes- well, she assumed they were eyes- and a bipedal walking pattern. They led her to a building with what appeared to be a collapsed roof, which only reached up to her head. Easily enough she fixed it, and the creatures seemed happy, surrounding her and making those same chittering noises, much more happy-sounding this time.

The Chiri, as Clara called them, were a fascinating civilization. They had a complex language of clicks, chirps, and assorted chittering sounds that took Clara a while to learn properly. Their planet was far faster than earth, one of earth’s weeks was the equivalent of a month for them, and an earth month was the equivalent of a year. Most Chiri only lived for a few of their years, but their lives were filled with celebration. It felt like every week Clara got invited to a new celebration- either a wedding, a coming of age, a new harvest, or even a funeral. Even though Clara took only around six months to fully recover, by that point she had become known as a Chiri guardian. She’d been on the planet for a number of their years, becoming a guardian figure. Where her ship had crashed was turned into a shrine of sorts, new towns being built around it. In exchange, Clara protected them, guided them, and shared her knowledge with them. She’d even learned their language to the point where it was as fluent as any other, even without her translator, which she was fairly certain had broken.

The Chiri had given Clara a new name that they called her, Xi-Rai’du. Most of the children knew her as Xixi.

Clara trusted her friends, they’d taken her in and healed her. They felt like family just as much as her crew on the ship did. Despite their short lives, the Chiri were a people who valued learning. They passed down stories from generation to generation, and Clara would help to remember them as well. She taught them to write, transcribing their stories.

One of the young rushed towards Clara, a little girl who had only recently become old enough to talk. “Xixi! Xixi! There you are!” The little one, her name Si’ra, reached out her four arms for Clara to lift her up, making a high-pitched noise that was roughly the same as a laugh. “The celebration was about to start without you, come! Dari and Lixai want you there!”

Clara nodded, smiling. Dari and Lixai were getting married, and Clara didn’t want to miss out. Still carrying Si’ra, Clara made her way towards the town.

All around the town were banners decorated in vibrant colors, flowers in every windowsill and a clear trail of petals leading to where the wedding would take place. Clara had always loved the Chiri’s celebrations, they were all filled with laugher, music, dancing and festivities that could go for days. As soon as Clara showed up, she was surrounded by lively music, cheers from the Chiri who’d arrived for the celebration, and the greeting of Dari and Lixai, both wearing gorgeous formal attire. Clara bowed to them, smiling as she let Si’ra down, watching her rush towards the other children to join in there game.

“Lady Xi-Rai’du, welcome.” Lixai spoke first, joy clear in all six of her eyes.

Clara shook her head, “Today isn’t a day for celebrating me, it’s for you two.” She gestured to the crowd, “They’re all here for you- so go, celebrate! You’ve earned it.”

Lixai and Dari smiled, taking Clara’s hand and leading her into the crowd.

The wedding was a joyous one, and Clara couldn’t help but feel incredibly proud of Lixai and Dari. Weddings were a major event for both humans and chiri, although the chiri certainly had a more lively celebration all the way through.

The next day, Clara went to the cave where the Chiri kept murals of all their major events. She smiled as she looked, seeing paintings of herself defending the town from wild beasts, celebrating amongst them, and even when she’d first arrived, now over a year ago.

Deep down though, she knew couldn’t stay. Her crew still needed her, and she knew the Chiri had to grow into a full civilization on their own. She was torn out of her mind though when she heard what sounded like screams outside. Sa’ri rushed in, panicked. “Xixi! Help! There are- there’s something outside!”

Clara, admittedly, panicked. She picked Sa’ri up again, letting the girl lead her out. As soon as she left she saw the cause of the panic. In the sky above was a ship. Her ship.

As soon as it landed, Clara put herself between the ship and the Chiri. She faced the panicked crowd, trying to keep order. “All of you! Please, calm down. These newcomers mean no harm.”

The Chiri trusted her, more or less calming down. Clara sighed in relief, facing the ship as the bridge lowered. What she saw surprised her- another human.

It took a moment for Clara to realize they were speaking English- she’d become so used to hearing the chiri’s language of chirps and squeaks- but when she registered what they were saying she almost laughed. It was a declaration of peace, saying they were only doing a recovery mission. Apparently they’d finally gotten the distress signal Clara had sent when she first was crashing, tracing it back to her.

Clara approached the ship, Sa’ri in her arms, and faced the stranger.

“If you’re looking for the recon group that was sent out here a little over a year ago..” she sighed, “I’m all that’s left. I’ve been living on this planet for the past year, and the civilization you see have helped me. They nursed me back to health, gave me a place to stay, and trusted me.” Behind her were the people who she’d protected for what were generations to them. “My name is Clara.. but it is also Xi-Rai’du, and these are the chiri.”

The human seemed shocked, but they didn’t do anything agressive.

“The crew thought you’d died..” they muttered, “they hired me as a replacement. How are you even alive?!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “I told you. The chiri took me in, and the planet’s atmosphere is breathable.” she put Sa’ri down, and she hugged my leg before running back to her family, as though sensing that this would be the last time she saw her. “I assume you’re here to bring me back now that you know I’m alive?”

They nodded, gesturing for Clara to follow them.

“Just give me a second,” Clara turned to face the Chiri, bowing to them and switching back to their language. “Thank you, all of you. Now I must leave.. but I will return. Reach for the stars, and perhaps we will meet in the cosmos one day.”

The chiri seemed to understand, solemnly accepting that their guardian was leaving.

“Xixi!” Sa’ri called up from the crowd, “I���ll find you again, I promise!”

She turned, nodding to the fellow human. “Bring me back onto the ship.”

Maybe, just maybe, part of the reason she’d turned was because she wanted to hide the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. But when she returned onto the ship, Clara was reminded of where she belonged, amongst her family in the stars. The chiri had been kind, but she had to go. Besides, when Indigo saw her again, xir expression just about made all of the time away worth it.

[jadeysjasmine]

The Dare - Aitana Bonmati x Reader

A/N: this is a repost. 1573 words

Tags: angst

Summary: You find out that your relationship started due to a dare.

You and aitana had been dating for a few weeks, it had been going amazing and you found yourself falling in love with the Spaniard.

You were caught off guard when she asked you on a date, fairly new to Barcelona and Spain in general you were fairly new to the Spanish culture and how affectionate they are so you played off all previous interaction with aitana, and all of your other Spanish teammates, as them just being friendly.

To say you were ecstatic was an understatement, you had a major crush on the Catalonian since before you joined Barcelona, she was not the only reason but a big reason as to why you made the switch from London to Barcelona.

That night you and aitana went to a lovely secluded restaurant on the outskirts of Barcelona, spending the night laughing and getting to know one another on a deeper level.

For the following few weeks it was amazing, you and aitana explored all over the city of Barcelona, trying different restaurants, going bowling and even the arcade.

She asked you to be her girlfriend during one of your weekly movie nights, she had barely finished the question before you, rather loudly, accepted and pulled her into a hug.

You two were getting closer by the day, sharing childhood stories, fears and your biggest dreams.

There was only one issue, the aitana when you were alone compared to the one around other people was completely different, like black and white.

Around you she was clingy, sweet, talkative and could not get enough of you.

However around your teammates she was the polar opposite, she hated touching you, would always be on the other side of the pitch, never partner with you for drills and anytime you two interacted it was short replies.

You chalked it up to her not being a big fan of PDA and you overthinking due to being mistreated in previous relationships, not like the team, or anyone for that matter, knew about your relationship.

It had been bugging you because it was not like you wanted you two to have sex in front of the team, you just wanted to be able to speak to your girlfriend.

You were currently in the locker room, packing your stuff to head home having just beaten Rosengard 7-0.

Saying bye to your teammates you start heading out to your car, putting your bags in the trunk before reaching for your phone to reply to a text when you couldn't feel it.

Realising you must have left it in the medic room when you were getting a minor cut from a tackle checked, heading back inside and grabbing your phone.

As you are about to walk past the locker room to leave you hear what sounds like ona loudly say "You need to tell her aitana, the joke has gone too far. Think about her feelings and how she will feel when she finds out."

This caught your attention, moving closer to the door but out of the way so if it was opened you were not caught for snooping.

It was your girlfriend who spoke next "I know but I am starting to really like her and I do not want this to ruin our relationship." her voice quiet, like she was trying not to be heard by anyone other than ona.

You were unsure what they were implying but you felt sick at the though of aitana being untruthful with you about your relationship, you hear ona scoff before wishing you never heard the next words out of her mouth.

"You either tell her that you only dated her due to a dare or I will." you hear shuffling before ona speaks up again, voice louder meaning she had moved closer to the door "If you truly like her like you claim to do then you will be honest with her.

You felt sick, completely blindsided by this new discovery.

Rushing out of the stadium and into your car, speeding home so you can breakdown in the comfort of your own home.

You're barely in your apartment when you fall to your knees, body shaking as you sob into your hands.

You had eventually stopped crying, looking at your phone you realise you had been there for 30 minutes. You noticed a text from aitana confirming she would be at your house for your movie night.

Panicking you texted back cancelling plans, making up an illness. You knew you had to confront her at some point but all you wanted to do tonight was curl up in bed and watch netflix or play games.

You're halfway through an episode of your favourite show when you hear a knock on your door, you weren't expecting anyone so you were confused as to who was at your door. Ignoring the knocking you opted to turn down the tv and hope the person thought no one was home and leave.

As luck would have it, the person did not leave and 2 louder knocks followed. Sighing you paused your show and made your way to the door, you looked through the peep hole you saw the person you were avidly avoiding, aitana.

She was holding a carrier bag, you quickly fixed your appearance, hoping she didn't figure out you had been crying.

Opening the door slightly, hoping to be able to convince her to go home, you spoke "Hey aitana, what are you doing here? did you get my text?"

She looked up, worry etched on her face and laced in her voice "Yes I got your text, are you ok amor? have you been crying?"

You wanted to roll your eyes, she's acting like she cares about you but you're unsure about anything anymore, especially anything concerning aitana.

Instead you put on your best fake smile, assure her you're fine and that you're just feeling under the weather and that she should go home so she doesn't catch anything.

She looks unconvinced but doesn't question you, telling you to rest, stay hydrated and she handed you the bag she brought which contained medication, snacks and her grandmothers homemade chicken soup recipe.

If you didn't know what you knew and her presence didn't make you feel nothing but anger then the sweet gesture would have probably made you cry but instead you thanked her, telling her to drive safe and said your goodbyes, trying to make her leave as soon as possible because you don't know how long you could keep up this facade.

-

The next day at training not only aitana, but the whole team knew something was up, you were training fine but you barely spoke to anyone and if you did you were giving one word answers, you weren't carrying on with the younger player and you weren't as bubbly as you usually are, the team just put it down to you still feeling a bit under the weather and alexia even offered to take you home but you just said you were fine and kept training.

You didn't mean to be blunt with everyone but you did not know who was included in the bet and you couldn't trust anyone.

Aitana surprisingly tried to approach you and start up a conversation, you found the whole situation ironic considering she would avoid you previously.

When training finished you skipped showering, instead choosing to do it at home and were packing your belongings away, still in a bad mood, when aitana cautiously approached you.

"Hola, do you maybe wanna go out tonight or if you are still feeling sick we can just have a movie night?" She asked nervously.

You scoffed, not meaning to get as angry as you did but it all stemmed from how hurt you were, bluntly but viciously replying "Why? Did someone dare you again?"

Her face fell, colour draining from her face as she starts stuttering an apology and questioning how you knew but the look on your face made her stop talking and awkwardly look down at her handing, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

The whole locker rooms eyes are on your, some shocked, some guilty, some confused.

The silence was almost deafening, no one dares to say a word, not with the angry look on your face. It was Mapi who eventually broke the silence "What does she mean carino? What bet?"

You turned away from aitana to look over at mapi, now noticing the eyes on you and feeling embarrassed by your outburst, your shoulders deflate as you mutter an apology for causing a scene.

You hadn't answer mapi's question and she opened her mouth as to re-ask what you meant when Ona spoke up "She means that there was a dare to make her fall for aitana."

Collective gasps before everyone turned from ona to look back and you and aitana, your face heating up with embarrassment as a new wave of humiliation hit you and you grabbed your stuff before making a quick exit.

As soon as you left you heard the locker room erupt into noise, the ones that had to idea about the dare were furious, berating the midfielder.

You made it to your car when your phone pinged, it was a text from your agent.

Chelsea are looking for a striker and want to bring you back home, Barcelona have accepted the bid as it is an unrefusable offer but ultimately it's up to you.

Your head is spinning, what will you do? Staying in Barcelona means seeing the girl who broke your heart but leaving will mean leaving aitana and as much as you hate her right now, you still loved her.

[ckret2]

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

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

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

1981

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

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

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

"About twenty years."

"What?"

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

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

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

"What's the worst one?"

"Marriage."

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

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

He hadn't. "Will it help?"

"Sure it will! Eventually!"

"In time to help pay my mortgage?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For fun?"

"For fun."

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

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

####

Spring, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

####

June 2013

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

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

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

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

He pushed harder.

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

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

Her hand grabbed weakly at his.

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

"What have you done?"

Bill whirled around to face— "Dad?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill said, "What."

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

Bill stared at him. "What."

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

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

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

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

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

####

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

"Whoa. Bad dream?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"HEY!"

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you need...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mabel called, "Bill?"

He ignored her and kept walking.

####

"What was that all about?"

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

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

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

Mabel paused. "Oh." She laughed weakly.

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

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

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

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

"No I don't."

"You're so sensitive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aww. That poor picturesque beach town."

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

"Did you stop it?"

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

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

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

Dipper and Bill. "Guess so."

####

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

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned the page over to read the letter.

GIDEON–

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

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

Gideon's blood ran cold.

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

The postmark was from Gravity Falls.

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

"Can't say I did!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gideon frowned. "I see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was another crack of thunder; and then nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! You're not even watching."

"I'm psychic. Go left."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Told you," Bill muttered.

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

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

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

Dipper and Mabel turned to glare at Bill.

He was determinedly studying the fish tank.

"Hey, Goldie," Dipper snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shhh!" Mabel tried to push Bill away.

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

Gideon squealed in terror and bolted out the door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gideon nodded. "O... okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

"Bullying Gideon like that!"

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

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

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

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

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

Bill blinked in mild surprise. "Huh."

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

####

"I have my ways," Bill said.

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

####

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

####

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper shook his head in resignation.

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

"How's that?"

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

"Episode?" Dipper asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill shrugged. "Then what do you suggest."

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

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

"Yeah, it is."

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

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

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

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

"He should say 'sorry.'"

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

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

####

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

[lostlegendaerie]

Veritas Ratio and Autistic Representation

Chances are you know autistic people in your life; autism itself is a fairly recently coined term, dating back to 1911, and can encompass a wide variety of symptoms and eccentricities which have existed since the dawn of humankind. (The 'fey-touched' child or changeling in European lore shares a lot of traits with autistic children.) Autism is a spectrum, encompassing and overlapping a lot with ADHD and other neurological disorders. There are probably millions of people out there, especially from older generations, who are on the spectrum and have no idea. I did not even get my diagnosis until I was 27.

So it is entirely possible that the creators of Veritas Ratio from Honkai: Star Rail did not intend to write him as autistic and based him on people they knew in their own lives, who, diagnosed or not, are on the autistic spectrum. However, the point of this piece is to talk about the ways in which Veritas Ratio is good autistic representation (in my opinion as a autistic person), and how people who want to write characters like this can take a page out of Honkai's book in their own work.

1) SPECIAL INTEREST. Ratio shows a *staggering* amount of dedication to the pursuit of knowledge and his quest to cure the world of ignorance. This quest of his tends to supersede everything else in his life, with no mention of any friends, family connections or romantic partners in his character story. (Said as a Ratiorine shipper - not sinking any 'ships, here) His dedication to education started early, with reading college undergraduate education levels while still in middle school - seven or so years ahead of his peers. Autism is considered a disability, yes, but it does not exclude you from being smart, and the fixation on your chosen topic(s) can be extremely useful in motivating you to reach the top of your field. His path being The Hunt also outlines this dedication; he is seeking his target without rest or distraction.

2) SENSORY ISSUES. Ratio very explicitly can become distracted and disgusted by the feeling of dirt or sweat on his skin, something that tends to be more prevalent with specific clothing textures but absolutely can manifest in a need to feel clean. He also can apparently become very irritated and overwhelmed by lights and sounds, and wears his plaster mask as a way to deaden and deafen the amount of sensory input that he receives. This allows him to think better, and is a fantastic example of what it feels like to suffer from sensory overload. (If you find yourself getting stressed in crowds, try bringing earplugs and putting them in the next time you're in a noisy restaurant and see if doesn't help you out.)

3) STRONG SENSE OF MORALITY. Autistic people tend to suffer from a somewhat black-and-white feeling of right and wrong, and can hold themselves and other people to an extremely strict moral code. This does not mean that they are always correct in what they believe is right and wrong, but it means that they can be extremely passionate about following those rules. Ratio's beef with the Genius Society and their selectivity is indicative of his unwavering passion towards sharing knowledge with the masses, but the tactless way in which he wishes to cure ignorance bleeds into our fourth point.

4) DIFFICULTY WITH SOCIAL CUES. In one of his earlier conversations with Aventurine (where he is clearly irritated at how careless Aventurine seems to be about their entire mission), Ratio inadvertently insults Aventurine's his lack of education and parents. He apologizes afterwards, stating he did not intend to come across that way, but he maintains the same imperious tone of voice. Autistic people often, but not always, struggle with social cues and can often be considered rude when we are trying to be direct and easily understood; and we can especially struggle with understanding sarcasm or sounding sarcastic when we intend to be sincere.

With my reasons for believing Ratio to be Autistic coded firmly established, let's move onto why I think he is good representation. The two most important parts of representation, in my lived experience as an Autistic person, are RELATABILITY and EMPATHY.

Ratio exhibits some of the same mentalities and symptoms I've had, such as being misunderstood and accidentally offending people and becoming extremely stressed in large crowds due to overstimulation, so he checks off the first box. But the way that the other characters in the game respect him and do not ridicule him for his eccentricities marks the second. Whether in marketing material or in character dialogue options, Ratio's love of baths, his plaster bust, and his ceaseless drive to educate other people (whether they need it or not) are seen as charming and generally positive, and those attributes are not constantly brought up (and mocked) in his interactions and dialogue with other characters. Aventurine doesn't constantly ask Ratio if he needs to leave the Dream to take a bath, and the TB's text conversations with him allow you to engage with his special interests such as his requests for problems to solve and debates to wage against you. He is canonically seen and respected as a brilliant individual, and not reduced to a joke or viewed as comic relief (e.g. Sampo, who almost exclusively is given negative dialogue options for the player to use when interacting with him and who almost every character in the story openly despises.)

Some of you are going to disagree with me in the comments (which is fine, it's my opinion), but for the few of you who read this all the way through, thank you. I hope that this helps you view Ratio and Autistic people overall in a new light, and I am excited to see where else we go from here with him and the rest of the cast!

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 4/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader (18+)

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3.

You're a reluctant psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Welcome to the point of no return.)

Word count: 4147

NOTE: I have made an executive decision. The reader has a vagina. In other news, this chapter is explicit.

The fic is now 18+ (but why are you reading a saw fic if you're under 18...?) If you don't like smut uhhh idk skip through this one, I guess. Sorry!

WARNINGS: Explicit sex, degradation (minor), manipulation, corruption, stockholm syndrome, general saw levels of horror.

When you wake up again, you do so suddenly, with a gasp. It's like you're taking your first deep breath of fresh air after being trapped underwater.

"You're awake!" Kerry says with a gasp of her own, the sound of her voice coming from the right of where you're lying. Cushioned in blankets and bandages, you feel a little restrained, and have to fight the desire to rip yourself out of bed.

It takes another moment for your awareness to fully kick in. The world remains dark. Your ability to see is simply gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Instead, you can feel. You can tell Kerry is there, to your right, but also that Mark Hoffman is sitting somewhere off to your left. You feel his presence like a beacon- roiling aggression under a composed front, with a deep sense of pride. His concern is sharper than a knife point.

But is it concern for you, or concern for what you might say, now that you've woken up?

Stretching out from your point of origin, you can feel pinpricks of presence, almost overwhelming in number. Fleeting emotions of loss, panic, sorrow, hope, and anger flit past you, but you're able to keep your distance from them, without getting sucked in to the whirlpool of other people's feelings.

That's new.

"Hey Ally," you croak, your voice hoarse, "How about that, huh? Looks like I made it onto Jigsaw's radar."

You feel Kerry's guilt before she speaks, pouring out of her. Gently, she reaches forward and takes your right hand into hers. My fault, my only friend, first Eric and now this. And I wasn't even the first to notice-

"Um, where's Prawn?" You ask, touching your wrist gingerly with your free hand. It's itchy, and you can feel thick gauze wrapped around your wounds. By the smell of disinfectant and the sound of distant beeping, you're fairly certain you're in a hospital bed.

"He's fine," Kerry says, her voice wavering and watery, "I've been watching him. He's been worried sick, you know."

"I guess that makes three people, at least," you say, nodding your head over toward you guess Mark Hoffman is sitting. Off in that direction, you hear the rustle of clothing, like someone is sitting up.

"You can see me?" You hear him ask, groggy and confused.

"No," You reply softly, "Lucky guess."

"There was no tape left behind," Kerry murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, "We don't know why you were taken. Usually, there's a tape. Were there any instructions left for you? Any clues that you can remember?"

"Christ Kerry, they've just woken up," Mark mutters. With a creek of his chair, you hear him stand, and then a slow sound of heavy footsteps indicate to you that he's walking over to your bedside.

He's been sleeping by your bed, you note. Probably because he's worried you're going to break down and tell Kerry- Mark Hoffman is working with Jigsaw and he burned out my fucking eyes!

"You know how he likes to play with the detectives hunting him, Ally," You say instead, dodging the question about the tape. You have no idea how to answer that. "I'm your best friend. And..."

You pause, mid-sentence. Frustrated, angry, and more than a little hysterical, it's dawning on you now that you're never going to see again. It's at least partially the fault of the man to your left.

But when Mark reaches out and takes your other hand into his, turning it over to trace a spiral shape into your palm, your stomach still flips. The mounting attraction and sexual tension between you hasn't vanished just because you're pissed off and hurt.

Unfortunately.

"And we're seeing each other," Mark adds, simply, "Makes sense he'd go after you."

"Sorry?" Kerry sputters. She actually lets go of your hand, she's so shocked, "What the hell happened to not interested?"

"I knew you'd make a big deal about it," you mumble, going with the lie as your cheeks burn. You hate lying to Kerry, and not just because you hate lying in general.

"You told her you weren't interested?" Mark asks, and you think you can hear a hint of real amusement in his tone.

"Well, I could tell it was a lie," Kerry replies, "but-"

"HELLO?" You raise your voice, cutting her off, "Jigsaw victim? Serial killer targeted me? Deep, deep trauma? Not allowed to make fun of me right now!"

Kerry laughs, and you think you can hear a note of relief in it.

"This is why I love you," She says fondly. "Jigsaw would never be able to kill you. You're the most resilient motherfucker I've ever met. Who jokes at a time like this?"

"Yes, rub in how weird I am right now," You reply, wrinkling your nose. You let go of Mark's hand and push yourself up to a seated position, and then throw off your blankets. Sliding over to the right side of the bed, you sit on the edge of the mattress, suddenly unsure of yourself.

The entire world is still out there.

"Hey, that was a compliment," Kerry says, "You might want to take it easy, though. For real, you've been through a lot."

Heavy footsteps walk around to the edge of the bed you're sitting on, and you can feel Mark Hoffman, standing in front of you. As you reach out, you feel an arm to steady you, and you grab hold of it as you pull yourself up. Beside you, you hear Kerry stand as well.

"Why are two of the three lead detectives on the Jigsaw-Investigations-Unit hanging out by my hospital bed, anyway?" You ask, brushing her worry off, "Shouldn't you be out there casing the s- wherever I was found?"

"Consider it cased," Kerry replies with a sigh, missing your slip-up, "You're our main lead right now. We're going to need to take your statement at the station, once you feel well enough to go."

Mark Hoffman is a stable anchor to lean on. Looping your hand through the crook of his arm, you consider the endless, vast sea of darkness surrounding you. In the far-off distance, various abstractions graze against your awareness, different from the more localized flares of feeling.

You focus and reach out to one of them, with a slight tilt of your head.

A flash, in your mind, of a man and a woman you've never seen before, side-by-side. Her, with dark tightly curled hair, full lips, and decisiveness like an arrow. Him, with a strong jaw, dark eyes, and a barely contained mania that threatens to leak out from the seams. He knows the water just as you do. Neither of you will drown.

You don't know who they are, but you know they will be important.

"Did you... sense anything?" Kerry asks hesitatingly, as though worried asking the question will offend you, "When Jigsaw took you, or when you were in the trap?"

"Too much," You answer cagily, "But I didn't have time to make sense of it. I was a little distracted by the looming threat of death, in my defence."

"Fair enough," Kerry replies wearily. Something beeps, off by where she's standing, and she curses.

"I have to run," She says, "Our tech guy just got in and I have to brief him on the investigation. Hoffman, are you able to take them to the police station for the statement?"

"Sure thing," He responds, "I was hoping we could talk, anyway."

"Right," Kerry remarks. There's a long pause, and she adds with a grumble, "So weird. I don't know how to feel about this."

You fake a grin, and wave her off. As soon as you sense her presence fading, along with the sound of her footsteps clicking down the hall, you turn to Mark Hoffman, let go of his arm, and whack him on his broad chest.

"You son of a bitch," you hiss, whacking him again.

"Hey, hey-" He snaps back, grabbing your hands and holding them firmly in place before you can hit him again, "Stop it."

"I should tell everyone," you whisper angrily, "You took my fucking eyes, Mark."

"John Kramer took your eyes. You think I wanted to put you in that thing?" You try to break free of his grip on your wrists, without success.

"And you just do everything he says, is that right? Two hundred and fifty pounds between him and Amanda both, and you were helpless?" You say, yanking your arms free. Your brain buzzes with the desire to hurt him the way he's hurt you, and you conclude that it's not by hitting him again.

"You think Angela would approve of that?" You whisper to him, "Do you think she-"

Strong hands reach out and shove you backward. You hit the wall, hard. It's disorienting, and with no way to anticipate it or brace yourself, pain blossoms across your back. You feel Hoffman press you against the wall, one of his hands grabbing you by the jaw.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snarls, keeping his voice low. It's a dangerous tone, and you can't help but feel satisfied, knowing that you're managed to get under his skin. Once again, you've caught a glimpse of the predator hiding under his cool exterior.

Pressing in so close to you, you can smell him, a light scent of amber and cedar cologne. Trying to catch the breath that's been knocked out of you, you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, panting, so close that it's brushing against yours.

A different sensation floods you, your anger melting into molten arousal. The tension between you feels wound to a snapping point, your blood flushing to your cheeks and causing your skin to tingle. His grip on your jaw is tight, almost painful, but you tilt up your chin ever-so-slightly, baring your neck.

You feel like you're going a little bit insane, frankly. Who could blame you, after what you've been through recently? Your body shouldn't be reacting like this, not when you should be furious with him.

But fuck it.

"Or what?" You whisper, "You going to teach me a lesson, Detective?"

Your taunt seem to hang in the air, and although you can't see Mark's reaction, you hear a noise of frustration escape from him. The hand holding your jaw moves to tilt your chin up.

"You've got a smart mouth," He mutters angrily, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Mark leans his face in close, and you can feel his breath on your neck. One of his thighs presses forward, between your legs. Pinned against the wall, you couldn't wiggle out of this if you wanted to- and you don't want to.

"You really sure you want to test me?" He murmurs in your ear, both a threat and a promise. With your heart beating so wildly that you're sure he can hear it, you try to shift, but his weight against yours keeps you pressed firmly in place. The friction from his thigh, and the heat of his breath on your ear, causes you to let out an embarrassing little groan of pleasure.

"Mark-"

"Not your smartest idea," Mark lets out an irritated huff of breath, and another beat passes between you before he continues, voice rough. "You know, I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you, sweetheart."

Fuck. Heat and need crawl up your spine.

"When you were threatening me in your car?" You ask a little too breathlessly, with a raise of your eyebrow. Gathering your bearings, you slip your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"Yeah," Mark answers, lips and teeth grazing your neck, and you shiver. You need more of his mouth on you, now.

Mark freezes, seeming to be momentarily distracted by something.

"Door's open," He mutters to you.

"It is?" You whisper back in worry, grabbing the fabric of his jacket and squirming in his hold, "Can you...close it?"

"You don't want anyone else to see you like this?" He asks with a smirk in his voice, pulling back. You can almost feel his eyes running over you, looking you up and down, "Only me, huh?"

He pulls back not a moment too soon. You can feel another presence approaching your room, and you tap his shoulder hurriedly.

"Someone's coming." Regrettably, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mark lets go of you, taking a step back. You miss the warmth of his body immediately, but you hear someone enter the room not long after.

"Oh, you're up!" A male voice calls out, alarmed, "Detective, please save your questions for later," Footsteps walk over to where the two of you stand, and the voice adds, "I need to check your eyes. Assuming everything looks...stable, there will be some paperwork to go through, and then you should be cleared for discharge."

You hear Mark sigh. An alarm rings out- from his phone, if you had to guess- and he quickly turns it off. Something about the noise nags at your awareness, like you know innately that something is off about it.

"We can do the statement at the station tomorrow. But let me know when you get home," Mark remarks, before adding, "I'll see you later."

And then he's gone too, leaving you with the doctor in a darkened world.

"There's a lot we should go over," The doctor tells you sheepishly, "Things are going to be very different for you, now."

You have a feeling he's right.

---

You are supposed to have a long, cold shower when you get home. You are supposed to come to your senses, re-evaluate your choices, and examine what the hell you thought you were doing earlier.

After thinking it over, you are supposed to realize you're acting rashly, being ridiculous, and playing with fire- you can't want Detective Mark Hoffman, knowing what you know about him. What he does to people, and what he did you.

That... does not happen.

By the time you've fumbled your way through your apartment door, cane in hand and sunglasses on, your desire for him has increased tenfold. It only increases further when you realize you're alone in the apartment, with not even your cat to greet you- Kerry must still have Prawn at her place.

It all seems horribly lonely, all of a sudden. You'll never again see your cat's sleepy expression, or the soft fur on his belly when he rolls over. You won't get to look at the art pieces hung up on your walls, or curl up on your couch to watch a movie in the same way as before. As you stand in your entryway, it dawns on you that you're not even sure how you'll make dinner tonight.

Right now you're feeling helpless.

Hmm. Had you thought those words before?

You may be Kerry's only real friend. But she is also yours. And you could use someone to help you adapt to your new circumstances. You could call her, and she would come over to help you. Make you dinner, clean up your place.

But if you're being honest with yourself, Kerry isn't the person you want in your apartment right now, and you don't want to work on adjusting your life. You want Mark here, to fuck you within an inch of your life and make you forget, paradoxical as it is.

Carefully, you make your way over to your couch. It takes a couple of tries with your cell phone, but with the accessibility features turned on, you eventually find Mark's number.

You hesitate.

If you sleep with Mark Hoffman tonight, that's crossing a line that you're not going to be able to uncross. What would Kerry think, to know that all along, not only have you known who the secret Jigsaw accomplice is, but that you chose to fuck him after you found out?

It's not the heat of the moment, anymore. You are here, alone, with a clear head and the time to reconsider and back out of this. You can even just visit Kerry, grab your cat, and skip town. If you keep messing around, you're going to end up actually helping a serial killer- if you're not already.

The notion doesn't bother you. Not as much as it should.

"Hey. I'm at home," You say into the phone, trying and failing to sound casual, "You remember my address, right? I could... use some help. If you're free." You pause, and add in for good measure, "It's the least you can do. You know, considering."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there soon," Mark Hoffman replies curtly, before he hangs up the phone.

You try to tidy up before he arrives, kicking the clothes you can find into your closet and gently putting away some dishes. What use are psychic powers if you keep nailing yourself on your kitchen island every time you walk past?

It isn't long before you feel Mark's presence entering the edge of your awareness. You can sense him, and the electric feeling up pent up energy as he approaches. What's the radius on that? You'll need to experiment, later. The thought of him approaching makes you nervous, your heart fluttering in anticipation and early arousal.

You open the door for him just before he goes to knock on it.

"Hey," You say, "I know, the glasses are a new look, I-"

He is shoving you back into the apartment, mouth pressing against you before you can react. Walking you backward, he is kissing you insistently, aggressively. A hand on your waist squeezes, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Heat seems to radiate from everywhere he touches, sending a heady need coursing through your body.

Mark leaves you momentarily. You hear your apartment door closing and latching shut, and the click of a lock. Then he's back, his mouth on yours again, hard, unrelenting kisses leaving you dizzy.

Every movement is dominant, unyielding. Mark Hoffman leaves no quarter as he groans into your mouth, a low and hungry noise.

"You want me to take care of you?" He groans, low and rough against your mouth, "You need me to fuck you until you go dumb, baby?"

You let out a needy whine in the affirmative, nodding your head as you clench your thighs together. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight in a way that makes your entire body tremble. You know that your face is burning, and it's embarrassing, how quickly you're falling apart under his attention- and he's barely even touched you yet.

Suddenly his hands have left your hips, and you feel a palm flat on your chest, pushing you back. Your lower back stings as it smacks against the kitchen island, and once again, you're pinned. Exactly where he wants you.

"Mark," you gasp out. You can feel the warmth of his body, so close to yours, but he doesn't touch you yet. You reach out your hands to touch his broad chest, running them across the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"What do you want? Use your words," He murmurs into your ear, condescending and teasing. Shame makes your cunt clench.

"Touch me, please-"

"That it? You just want me to touch you?" He mocks. You can hear the wolfish grin in his voice. His hands trail up your body and under your shirt, sliding across your smooth skin. Surprisingly deft fingers pinch one of your nipples, rolling it in a way that makes you cry out and grind your hips forward, frustratingly, against nothing.

"Jesus, Mark," You snap, desperation straining your voice, "You're a dick. I want you to fuck me until I forget my name, is that better?"

He actually laughs, before sliding a hand down the front of your pants. Another gasp falls from your lips, followed by a ragged moan as his fingers slip past your underwear to find you soaked. Calloused fingers tease you as you lean forward, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

Bliss electrifies your body, and you can't stop the whimpers and gasps that escape from you as you as Mark harshly encircles your clit. The pace is merciless, and you squirm under his touch, the pleasure mounting quickly.

God, but you can't even think. You hold onto his arm and moan his name, a sound broken by lust.

"Fuck," He hisses with a groan of his own, "Can't wait any longer."

With a yank, your pants and underwear are around your ankles. You barely have time to step out of them before Mark has flipped you around, bending your body over the kitchen island. His movements are forceful, almost brutal in their execution.

Mark's body leans over yours, and you can feel the press of his hard cock through his pants as he lays his body over yours to speak in your ear.

"You're so fucking needy. You're going to take me so well, aren't you sweetheart?"

It only takes a moment for him to pull back and undo his pants. A jagged, filthy moan is torn from you as he presses his cock inside of you, and with a snap of his hips, he fills you completely. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you're sure they're going to leave bruises across your skin.

His cock feels perfect inside of you, so thick and full that you're sure it's going to drive you insane. It's going to ruin you.

Gripping onto the edges of the kitchen island for purchase, you whimper as he begins to move.

His weight bears down on you, the hard edge of the counter nearly cutting into your stomach. You can't find it in you to care, not with the way that Mark starts to thrust into you, setting a ruthless pace.

He fucks you hard.

"Mark," you eke out, barely able to hold onto the counter. Your entire body jolts with each snap of his hips, slammed again and again against the surface. Heat is building in your stomach, burning through your core.

"Come on baby," He says, voice almost hoarse with lust, "You're making me feel so good. Come on, come on, come on my cock."

A hand reaches around your body, and his fingers find your clit again. They rub harsh, hot circles into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure taking you to the edge of your release and then kicking you over it. You feel utterly helpless, utterly undone.

You writhe under Mark Hoffman, coming with a cry.

And your reality seems to crack apart. A million futures narrow to a thousand, and as you breathe, you feel the world breathe with you. You feel Mark behind you, inside of you, his cruelty and his oppression, the hunter, the killer, the lover, the sinner-

It's going to rain blood down upon him. Upon you both.

With a few more brutal thrusts inside of you, Mark grunts as he reaches his own climax, slowing to hard, deliberate strokes as he spills inside of you. You moan weakly, already sore, as he continues to move until he's fully spent. Eventually, his movements stop, and you can feel as his cock finishes pulsing inside of you.

Slowly, Mark's hands let go of your waist. He pulls back, off of you, and steps away.

You peel yourself off of the counter and stumble over to your couch, laying down as you catch your breath. After a few minutes, you hear Mark sit down beside you. A hand grazes your leg, touching it almost affectionately.

"We should have used a condom," you mumble.

"Yeah," He agrees, "Doubt you regret it, though," and you have to admit, he's right about that.

You sit in a comfortable silence together for a while. His hand strokes your calf, his fingers running up and down the bare skin of your shin in a soothing motion. It feels good. Calm, after the ferocity of the sex you just experienced.

"I think... I've got to go to the bathroom," you say suddenly, sitting up and surprising yourself with your words.

"I'm not stopping you," Mark replies, and you shake your head.

"No- no, the underground one. The Jigsaw one," You shuffle on the couch, turning fully to him, "I think... I don't know why, but I think I'll be able to find answers there. About the third apprentice."

Mark hums in thought.

"John doesn't know that you know about that," he says, "He and Amanda will be gone pretty soon. And I sure as hell want to know about any secrets waiting for us."

"Then we'll go," You say decisively. You think of your vision of the two other mysterious figures later, and the rainfall of blood. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. And hungry.

"...We'll go tomorrow."

---

A/N- I'm thinking there are one, maybe two more parts left in this story. I had a tricky time writing this chapter, so please leave a comment if you enjoyed! <3

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff

---

NEXT CHAPTER

[howtofightwrite]

What's gonna happen if someone gets shoot in the head? Will flesh and blood go all over the place, or will it be a small entry and exit, or will it be something else? Tryna write a zombie story rn and I'm not sure 😭

Usually, they die.

How much damage the head suffers will depend on what was fired. Specific cartridges result in different wound patterns, and if you have a forensic background, you may even be able to identify the bullet used based on the entrance and exit wound. Smaller handgun rounds are likely to result in less tissue disruption. Rifle rounds are more likely to cause serious structural damage, and shotgun shells (particularly buckshot) are likely to cause serious tissue disruption. But, there's another consideration, the more the decomposed the target, the more a round is likely to do. This one's honestly pretty hard to assess in generalities, because there are a lot of factors for decomposition.

This also leads into a far more difficult question, “what happens if you shoot a zombie in the head?” The answer might be, “nothing.”

So, there's two groups of zombies in popular fiction, and the answer to the above question hinges on which one you're examining. Zombies can either be infected with rabies or actual undead, and the latter are far more uncommon in modern pop culture.

A lot of popular zombies are, technically, alive, but cognitively functioning on a more animal level. In many cases, their symptoms are fairly similar to a sever rabies infection (though, the 28 Days Later series is one of the rare cases where the infection is, explicitly, a variant of rabies.) This also includes cases where the infection is from a parasite (many of the later Resident Evil games and of course The Last of Us are examples of this.) In these cases, destroying the brain stem (and, for that matter, destroying the brain) should be effective. The zombie is still propelled by using their nervous system. There's a bit of an exception in cases where the infection creates a second, parallel, nervous system in the victim, which can operate independently of the victim's original.

Living zombies became more popular in the 90s, and were extremely frequent in the mid-2000s. Most horror films that try to downplay the supernatural component, or look to play up the bio-hazardous nature of zombies, is likely to use some variant of these. (As mentioned earlier, a lot of these tend to behave like mutant strains of rabies. And, while it might sound like I'm being flippant here, rabies is a pretty terrifying virus.)

Living zombie apocalypses are, basically, impossible. There's the usual problem of asking how did the zombies actually get to critical mass? But even beyond that, eventually the infected would simply start dropping as their bodies decayed and the victims died. They'd still be a bio-hazard, but you wouldn't see waves of the undead pressing against the defenders' barricades.

If you want a much more detailed breakdown of the biology of various critters in pop culture (including a lot of zombies), Roanoke Gaming on YouTube is an excellent reference.

The other variety of zombie are far more rare in pop culture, and these are the actual revenants. Either they've been raised by some necromancer, or they're returning due to some other factor. Critically, these zombies are, truly, undead. Shooting them in the head might take it apart, but it's also quite likely that won't put them (back) down, as they're not actually using their original nervous system for anything meaningful. These kinds of zombies are far more threatening. In theory, things like extreme cold would cause further damage to these, but if the necromantic forces animating them don't care about the condition of the zombie, then having fingers or toes freeze off in cold weather, or setting them on fire, might not have the desired effects. You may need to resort to fully dismembering the corpses to get them to stop trying to kill you. (Note that these don't have to be, strictly, supernatural. The Dead Space series remains an excellent example of a non-magical zombie apocalypse of this variety, with some extremely “creative” uses of dead biomass.)

In the case of reanimated zombies, firearms are not a particularly great option for putting them down in general. The damage they inflict simply isn't relevant to destroying the undead. Firearms are designed to poke holes in people and get their body to spring a leak, but if something is already dead, that's probably not going to matter unless you're using the gun to deliver some other kind of payload.

-Starke

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[shuttershocky]

i was wondering if you could give some general tips for is3? i have a decently developed account but i still cant manage to even get to the first boss every run, let alone beat it. like most runs in is2 i could at least beat Lucian but here i feel like im hitting a brick wall

I've prepared something special for this ask today.

We will be doing a full breakdown of a squad I've run with restrictions. It's a run I just completed as I'm typing this, so I can go over my thought process on both team building and path taking. I also won a run on my first try with the restrictions in place (in fact my IS3 winrate is actually much higher than my IS2 winrate at this point), so I'm fairly confident my strategies are sound. If the massive text scares you, don't worry. I'll also make a TL;DR version at the bottom.

My Three Restrictions:

Ch'en the Holungday, Gavial the Invincible, Mlynar, Kal'tsit, Texas the Omertosa, Pozyomka, Horn, Ling, Goldenglow, and Yato x Kirin are banned - This is a combination of both CN's usual ban list for IS3 competitions, as well as the latest ban list on Lungmen Dragon's latest IS3 competition for Global. This is to show that I don't need meta ops to win that proper teambuilding is what wins runs

Must be Wave 5 - This means the difficulty is low enough to still be considered "low level IS3", but high enough to have the +1 hope cost, +10 RES, and +15% ATK and DEF on all bosses

CANNOT pick People-Oriented Squad - This means I've got to deal with the big hope costs.

And here is my results screen

Now I know what you're thinking. "What the fuck Shutters, your run got the -2 hope costs for 4 stars, AND for 5 stars, AND the 6 stars! Carried by RNG!" While it is fucking hilarious I got all three Hope cost reduction relics when I was trying to starve myself of hope, be assured I didn't get 6 stars - 2 Hope until late Floor 4 where it was hardly relevant. i'd actually rather have gotten combat relics since I still had Hope leftover by the ending.

Let's get into teambuilding and decision-making.

I started this run with 8 Hope (got the pre-run bonus for +2 starting Hope), which let me recruit one 6 star at the very start (I always go with As You Wish so I can get a 4 star for free). In this case, the random shuffle I got was a 4 star Defender voucher, a Vanguard voucher, and a supporter voucher. My starting squad was Gummy, Ines, and Orchid.

In both IS2 and IS3, a usual strategy is to have one core 6 star operator carry you through the early game until you grab more vouchers. Ines is an incredible starting core in this difficulty, since she sees through Invis, is a fast redeploy, is a vanguard, can block enemies, and has enough damage in S2 to get you through Symbiosis in the worst case scenario. I'm actually surprised she isn't considered ban-worthy.

Your biggest threats in the first two floors are Symbiosis, Sniper Squad (if emergency), and Malady. Always, ALWAYS try to have one operator capable of blocking enemies on the ground. If you get all ranged vouchers, bring someone with a summon such as Beeswax if Caster (or Amiya then change to Guard Amiya), an Artificer for Supporters, or Totter (to kill invis) or Rosmontis for Snipers. If you get Emergency Sniper Squad and have no way of blocking or killing invisible units, you autolose. Malady wants you to have either two melee blockers, or one melee with a medic and some ranged damage. Symbiosis is the biggest threat — One unit has to be able to block, and you need strong DPS to cut through the horde. There's no shame in losing to Symbiosis, you either got the operators you need, or you autolose, so I always make a starting team assuming I'm gonna get Symbiosis.

I got lucky with a medic voucher and got Pith (who is so damn good), and on my next defender voucher I got Spot instead of upgrading Gummy. This is because I wanted to get two sources of melee block-3 ASAP since I was lacking in AOE, and Spot is one of the best 3 stars in IS thanks to being Block-3, tanky, having a heal, and evasion. He's worth the 1 hope.

Once you get ground units and a heal, hopefully by Floor 2, you want to start preparing for Floors 3-5. In this case, I got a Sniper voucher and immediately got Kroos the Keen Glint. I consider Kroos the strongest Sniper in IS3 just behind Pozy herself, because she has two traits any IS3 team needs: a source of stun/bind/freeze, and strong anti-air. The Stun/Bind/Freeze counters two gimmick enemies, UFOs (I forgot their real names but you know which ones) and the hated Nethersea Predators from Stulifera Navis. Both enemy types get countered by crowd control.

So by early Floor 3, I had Ines (promoted), Kroos the Keen Glint, Pith (promoted), Spot, and Gummy. At that point I had pretty much everything I needed to make a run to Floor 5 (to reiterate: one fast redeploy, several ground operators, good anti-air, at least one source of stun that can also hit air units), so I began grabbing operators that synergized with my collectibles. Hand of Pulverization meant Rosmontis, uh, pulverized everything, Gnosis was a second source of crowd control in case I got unlucky with Kroos' stun crit RNG (protip: In IS, getting two different kinds of operators who have overlapping roles will carry you deeper into runs since it gives you leeway to make mistakes), and I got Firewatch for that mix of AOE burst damage, invis if need be, and for her incredibly high damage against ranged enemies.

I got two cursed relics on the way. - light per battle, and all operators start with -15 SP. I always try to pick a path with Fortuitous Opportunity since you can trade cursed relics for good ones. Luckily, I had two such nodes, one in Floor 3 and one in Floor 4.

If operators get cursed (which can indeed be instant losses if it's a bad curse very early on and on your core operator), I go for the node that lets you send units out for supplies, it removes curses and promotes operators. At Wave 5 or below you always start with 100 Light, so it's possible to avoid instant loss curses by playing well in Floors 1-2 and not losing any lives (so even if you roll a 1 you don't get cursed)

While you can start freestyling team building once you have your important roles all assembled, I personally like grabbing counters to Floor 4/5 stages that have the biggest chances of ending my run. For this run in particular, these are

Lin, for Out of Control - This stage is one of the most terrifying no matter how experienced in IS3 you are, simply from the sheer amount of Possessed and Bonethrowers coming at you. Lin hard counters this, since with her module active, Bonethrowers cannot break her shield, giving you a tank that doesn't need medics.

Franka for Ubi Bona Somnia - Those spear-zombies from originium dust have 2000 DEF and 80 RES (90 at Wave 5), Franka is there to kill the one that spawns in this stage specifically.

Pompeii (Territorial Tendencies) - I didn't need to grab a counter for in case I met Pompeii since I already had Firewatch and a hand-powered Rosmontis, but if I didn't, it's always a good idea to grab an anti-Pompeii unit like Jaye.

Then once I got to Highmore it was a simple matter of knocking down Highmore with Gnosis' freeze, pulverizing Phase 1 with Rosmontis S3, knocking down Highmore again with Gnosis, then killing Phase 2 with Ines. If you're aiming for Last Knight or Ishar-mla, your team needs will be different of course!

So! I hope that helped you understand how to think about approaching an IS3 run, but in case none of that made any sense and I wasted 3 hours writing this, here's a TL;DR

What do I generally need?

Floor 1

Ground units because you need to block

DPS to counter Symbiosis specifically

Heals

Floors 2-3

Strong Anti-air (IS3 has a lot of flying enemies)

One fast redeploy like Agent Vanguards or Executor Specialists (effective in a vast majority of stages in IS3)

At least one source of Stun/Bind/Freeze that can hit aerial units (to deal with UFOs and Highmore that need to be knocked down, Nethersea Predators so they stop fucking dodging)

You may realize that Texas the Omertosa has all 3 of these qualities. This is why she's considered an automatic ban in all IS3 tournaments

Floors 4-5

Specific counters to the stages that kick your ass the most

Specific boss counters if necessary

Specific operator combos with your collectibles (for example Cutter + Any spinach type collectible)

[vashtijoy]

Hey!

I have come to report a great, great thing. Remember your post about “I'm alone right now” not actually existing in the Japanese version of game?

Well, apparently, it does, after all! Just stumbled upon this in my new walkthrough.

Looks like it's in the pool of possible greetings. I'm currently only on the 2nd level of his confidant, idk if that could be connected. Something about that んだけど is so inexplicably suggestive to me, I can't even...

Conclusion: Goro has the capacity to be thirsty for Akira in Japanese just like in the English version.

[Here's that original post, btw.]

Amazing. You have done sterling work for the people here. Look at this, lmao.

いま一人で ima hitori de I'm by myself... いま一人で吉祥寺にいるんだけど ima hitori de kichijouji ni iru n da kedo I'm by myself in Kichijoji right now... 少し時間が空いちゃってね sukoshi jikan ga suichatte ne And I've left myself at something of a loose end, would you believe? 君が良ければなんだけど少し話せないかな？ kimi ga yokereba nandakedo sukoshi hanasenai ka na? How would you feel about meeting up and talking a little?

I've got to say, I don't know if that ima hitori de is as suggestive as the English "I'm alone right now". But it doesn't matter. Because look at the rest of this, lmao.

Look at how much Akechi is hedging here. That n da kedo on the first line of the message is fairly standard, just leading into an invitation—it suggests the listener should reply. Literally, "The thing is [n da], I'm alone, but [...and so I was wondering...]".

We go on into the second line. "... I've ended up [-chatte] with some time to fill, yes?" And then the third: "Only if you want to, couldn't we perhaps meet up and talk a little?"

Listen to him. Most of his text invites are very straightforward; they're nothing at all like this—maybe because this is a generic invite, not linked to a confidant level; you could get it as easily for conf 2 as conf 5, if not higher. His invite to Joker and Yoshizawa on 7/11 is a little like this, but not this much like it.

He has two softening uses of sukoshi ("a little"). He has that nai ka na ("I wonder/what if") on his actual invitation. He repeats that n da kedo from the first line of the message on his invitation ("only if you wanted to, perhaps...")

Idk, it almost sounds kind of feminine? He's being very conciliatory here; he's leaving Joker a lot of room to say no. I feel like this is the Akechi who tries not to put people off in his homeroom by not standing out too much and being Pleasant.

It is, in short, possible to take it as being at least a little bit flirty. And so we get "I'm alone right now."

Thank you very much, lmao, this was a blast.

[panlight]

Hi. I have a few thoughts about "Breaking Dawn". I am 50/50 with these options, maybe they are both correct or both are not correct. Mayer wrote that all vampires know how to use modern technology because

1. So that vampires don't look pathetic and insignificant in the eyes of modern people who are surrounded by these technologies.

2. Vampires actually interact with these things, Bella is an unreliable storyteller in this.

Imagine stone statues that used to be people, but now they eat people. The cute things they have they took from the corpses of their victims. They don't watch movies or listen to music (don't know how to use technology or don't their senses perceive it?), don't talk to people and fight to the death for territory and food with other vampires. Doesn't sound cool, does it? A vampire who is 300-500 years old with a MacBook and a Range Rover is something else.

Your thoughts?

See this is really fascinating to me, especially back when I was actively reading fanfic, to see how differently other people interpreted it. Because when I originally read the books, my impression was that yeah, they weren't doing any of this. They were living in the woods just eating people and not going near humans at all because they couldn't without killing them. I thought it was really super hard, borderline impossible, for human-killing vampires to really interact with the human world in any meaningful way. That they couldn't pop into a movie theater and watch a film because the temptation to kill everyone would be too great and then it would be a whole thing and the Volturi might come after them. Like, at the time I thought Jasper going into a diner in the first place was super weird; why would he do that (other than so the cute diner story can happen, of course!), especially when he was already thirsty! Seemed to be asking for trouble!

And so, yeah, I didn't think being a Twilight style vampire sounded that cool. Living in the forest attacking random hikers and then wearing their clothes? Can't sleep? Can only drink blood and not enjoy food at all? No thanks. Sounds awful. What's the point of immortality if you can't like, DO stuff? Even the Volturi, Patrons of the Arts that they are, allegedly have just sat still on their thrones for so long they have literally gathered dust and started to petrify. They aren't going out and exploring the world, they aren't being active and engaged. They're sitting there like the stone people they are.

But then other people interpreted it totally differently and wrote vampires outside the Cullens having fairly Cullen-like lives with enjoying human world arts and culture and tech. Other vampires who had jobs and cool cars and nice houses. And certainly I've read and seen plenty of other vampire stories that do that, but I thought originally that Twilight vampires were much more 'feral' for the lack of the better word and hidden, that the whole vegetarian thing DID allow the Cullens a level of access to the human world that other vampires didn't have.

I've now come to think it's somewhere in the middle. I think Twilight vampires are still pretty nomadic, generally, and out of touch with the human world, but not as completely as I thought before. The whole red eyes thing are a bit of problem, but with colored contacts (like Heidi uses) or sunglasses, it's not a huge thing in the modern world. And I think the temptation to hunt is not as extreme as I originally had thought, either. That they probably can sit in a diner or movie theater or library for awhile and be fine as long no one is actively bleeding. But I still think the average Twilight vampire probably leads a pretty 'boring' life that's mostly about where they are going to find their next victim and trying not to draw attention to themselves. The average vampire isn't scrolling TikTok on their phone, because they don't have one, and don't have money to pay for service, because they don't have a job or a bank account. But they might fool around with the phone of their victim for a little while before tossing it so they can't be tracked. They don't have a permanent residence (other than Amun and his hidden temple, I guess), but might "play house" from time to time in a victim's place for the novelty of it, take a shower, figure out how the TV works, before going back to the wilderness once their victim's disappearance is noticed. It seems really lonely and boring, and a waste of their incredible intelligence. Better if you have a mate, I guess, but even then. I think the James/Victoria lifestyle (other than hunting other vampires for funsies like James liked to do) is probably closer to the average vampire experience than the Cullens'.

But then again, in MS James knows how to fly a plane apparently. Or did he just like . . . figure it out as he went since it wouldn't matter if he crashed?

[lurkingshan]

Kinou nani tabeta/What Did You Eat Yesterday?

You should know that I attempted to start this write up about half a dozen times before I managed to get a single word down. Every time I tried I just ended up staring at the wall. I don’t think I’ve been this emotionally stunned by a show since I Told Sunset About You, and I don’t say that lightly!

So, is this a good show? My god, YES. What an understatement. Let me tell you, as my MDL can attest, I’ve watched nearly 300 dramas. I’m sure I’ve watched even more Western shows since I had a 30 year head start on those. And I can say confidently that I’ve never seen anything quite like this gem.

Kinou nani tabeta, or What Did You Eat Yesterday?, is a drama about two middle aged gay men living their everyday lives, making and sharing food, reckoning with their identities and expectations, and figuring out how to be together in a long term relationship. That’s it, that’s the show. If that sounds boring to you, I gotta tell you: YOU ARE WRONG.

We meet Shiro and Kenji when they’re in their mid 40s and already a couple years into living together. Over the course of the show, we learn more about their relationship - how they got together, how they differ, where they struggle, where they shine, what they are still figuring out - and we see them work through it all, together. We see them at work, with friends, with their families, out in public, and in the privacy of their own home - we get a full and complete picture of their lives. And we are invited in to experience it with them and get up close and personal with their relationship in a way that feels both cozy and thrilling.

Now, I am not going to go into detail about everything that happens in this show, or attempt to provide deep analysis about its story, its characters, or the various cultures it depicts. This show was released in 2019, the manga began its run many years before that, and there are folks on this website - like @isaksbestpillow and @bengiyo - who have been at this a hell of a long time and thus have a broader context and lived experience from which to critically examine the show and its messages as they relate to Japanese familial values, life as a queer man from an older generation, and building community while living in a culture that is actively hostile to who you are. I implore you to go read their thoughts and learn from their wisdom. But what I will do is mention a couple (3… no 4, okay 5!) things that really made it stand out to me, a lifelong romance reader, avid media consumer, and drama enjoyer (I’m going to keep plot stuff vague because I hope if you’re reading this, you will be watching very soon!):

Let me repeat: this is a drama about a middle aged couple in a long term relationship, and the ongoing growth and deepening of their relationship is the main plot. Do I have to tell you how unique that is? The romance genre is rarely interested in what happens after the couple gets together, and even in other dramas featuring a couple in a LTR, the plot is usually about something else with the relationship in the background. And I’m fairly sure this is the only show of this nature in the entire bl genre (@absolutebl please fact check me if I’m wrong). In this show, the relationship is the point. It’s a rare look at what it actually takes to learn to deal with your baggage and share your life with someone, and I found it deeply moving.

My god these actors. With all due respect to the many fine actors in the bl industry, these two are on another level. We just never get to see seasoned actors of this caliber headlining ql dramas. If I have one tiny critique of this show, it’s that I found the moments when they let us listen in on the characters’ internal monologues mostly unnecessary - every emotional beat played out in their faces and body language. There’s this one scene I can’t stop thinking about, where the main pair are fighting, and one of them says something he doesn’t mean, and you see the regret on his face instantly, followed by a quick aborted movement as if to take it back, but his partner has already turned away and doesn’t see it. Just perfection. And the acting was so good in the finale (@waitmyturtles informed me my absolute fav moment was improvised for fucks sake) that it actually laid me out for like an hour, I was just sitting there in a crying daze.

The writing is so fucking smart. What’s absolutely brilliant about this show is that it’s structured like an episodic slice of life drama, but there is a deeper long term emotional arc at play and the writers forget nothing. Just like in life, in each episode something will happen, it won’t really get fully resolved, and the characters will move on. But on this show, it always comes back around, usually when your guard is down and they can inflict maximum damage by sucker punching you right in the solar plexus. I can hardly believe how many times this show managed to sneak attack me with emotional realness (official Shan cry count: 8/12 episodes caused me to burst into tears, sometimes more than once).

This show will take you through every possible destination on the spectrum of human emotion. I was so emotional while watching this show, in every sense. Crying both happy and sad tears. Swinging wildly between giddy delight, deep sadness, low key anger, and belly laughing. Sometimes the switch happens literally one scene to the next! And yet, there is an evenness to the tone and assuredness to the filmmaking that makes it all feel smooth. You never feel jerked around by the narrative. This is a credit to the writing, acting, and editing all coming together with perfect precision. The people who made this show are masters of their crafts.

OBVIOUSLY I MUST MENTION THE FOOD. Every episode of this show features at least one instance of a character making Japanese food that looks like the best thing you’ve never gotten the chance to eat. I do not recommended watching this without feeding yourself first, because it will have you salivating. And they don’t just show you the characters making the food (even narrating the recipes for you!), they always show you the characters actually eating and enjoying it. Some real foodies were involved in this production and as someone who loves to eat and absolutely was raised to view feeding people as a love language, I loved it.

So now that you are obviously dying to watch it, you must be wondering: where can I find this show? Let me point you to this post on @kinounaniresource, where the amazing Siiri has compiled all the video files and English subs you need. If you’re not familiar with how to use these, you’ll find instructions on her blog (if you get confused come ask me, please don’t bug her about it). I know sometimes shows being a little hard to access is a big deterrent to watching them, but please trust me that this is absolutely worth your time and effort, you will not regret it.

[threewaywithdelusion]

Roy/Keeley/Jamie Fic Snippet

This is an except from a longer fic I'm writing. The set up is that at this point Roy, Keeley, and Jamie are doing V-shaped polyamory because Roy refuses to date Jamie while he's his coach. They're all aware of their feelings for each other though. Takes places post S3.

October brought with it the Rainbow Laces Campaign. A decade in, it was fairly uncontroversial to wear rainbow laces for two weekends in October to show support for the LGBTQ+ community. Roy admired the goals of the campaign, and he thought it had made some progress. There was even a player out in the Championship League. 

But Roy also knew that locker room culture was hard to change. The homophobic jokes at Richmond hadn’t stopped until Colin had come out and this was their first Rainbow Laces Campaign since. 

The lads seemed extra determined to do it right this year, in a show of solidarity for Colin. 

Every single player had committed to wearing the rainbow laces and Isaac’s captain armband was rainbow as well. Rebecca had set a policy that any homophobic slurs would get a fan immediately tossed out from the stands. 

All the rainbow in his face everywhere he looked made Roy think about his own sexuality. It wasn’t something he’d given a lot of thought throughout his life. The people he’d found attractive had been mostly women and while he’d occasionally found men alluring as well, he simply hadn’t acted on it because of football. It hadn’t been particularly hard — not when there were so many beautiful women looking to date or shag a famous footballer. Then men he’d found attractive had been few and far between and he’d never had an emotional connection with any of them, so it had never been anything worse pursuing. 

Until Jamie. 

The week before Rainbow Laces kicked off, Roy cooked dinner for the three of them. They were in the kitchen, Roy at the stove, Keeley at her computer working on promo for the team, and Jamie sitting on the counter and looking pretty. 

“I talked to Colin,” Keeley said. “He doesn’t want us to even hint at having a gay player on the team. So all of the Richmond Rainbow Laces promo has to talk about the queer community generally, so no one will point fingers.”

Roy hummed as he checked on the potatoes in the oven, extra cheesy the way Keeley liked. 

“But he’s not the only gay player on the team,” Jamie said. 

Roy turned around. 

Jamie was frowning at Keeley, who closed her laptop to give him her full attention. 

“But Colin doesn’t know that, does he, babe?”

“I suppose not,” Jamie said, looking torn. “I know Jake Daniels is out in the Championship League and everyone does all this rainbow shit every year. I just. I remember being a little lad and getting my first crush on a boy and thinking it was the worst thing in the world because if anyone found out, I would never get to play football. Not like this. Not at this level.”

Oh. 

Roy hadn’t realized that sexuality was such a big deal for Jamie. He’d figured Jamie was like Roy, a bloke who’d gone through life mostly without caring about finding boys attractive or what that said about him. 

But this was part of Jamie. This secrecy and shame and fear was part of what had shaped him into the man he was. 

“What are you?” Roy asked gracelessly.

Jamie frowned. “What?”

“You said gay, to Keeley,” Roy said. “But I just realized I’ve never asked. What are you?”

“I’m bisexual,” Jamie said slowly, looking surprised. “Like Keeley. Aren’t you?”

Roy grunted and shrugged. 

“But you like chicks?” Jamie asked. 

Roy nodded. 

“And you like blokes?”

“Some blokes,” Roy said. 

Jamie planted his hands on the counter behind him, leaning back and spreading his legs invitingly. He tilted his chin up like a dick and smirked. “Oh, yeah? What kind of blokes get you going?”

“You’re a prick,” Roy said, turning back to the stove. 

Keeley laughed, bright and loud, and Roy basked in the sound of her joy.

“So you don’t have a label?” Jamie asked. 

Roy kept facing the stove. “No. It never really mattered to me.”

“What didn’t?” Keeley asked. “Labels? Or your sexuality?”

“My sexuality,” Roy said uncomfortably. “I never felt like it defined me.”

“But wasn’t it scary, like?” Jamie asked. “Being a gay footballer?”

“I never felt like a gay footballer,” Roy said honestly. “I just felt like… Roy Kent, who occasionally checks out bloke’s arses.”

“A very straight thing to do,” Keeley says imperiously. Then, “You don’t need to label yourself, babe.”

The oven timer beeped and Roy pulled the potatoes out and set them on the stovetop to cool while he finished with the chicken. It was almost done, golden brown on both sides. 

“It matters to me,” Jamie said, voice small. 

Roy heard movement behind him and when he peeked over his shoulder he saw that Keeley had moved to stand between Jamie’s legs. 

“And that’s okay too,” she said. 

Roy grunted in agreement. 

He knew Keeley had realized her sexuality young and had dated women for a large portion of her twenties. He knew she was open about it, both at Richmond and to the few magazines that had asked. She’d always seemed so settled about being bisexual, like it wasn’t a big deal but also wasn’t a part of her worth hiding. When she’d started dating Jack, Roy had been hurt to see Keeley with someone else but he hadn’t been at all surprised to see her with a woman. 

He couldn’t imagine Jamie’s experience growing up bisexual. His mum would probably have been fine with it, if he’d told her, but Jamie’s dad would have hurt him if he knew. Jamie had carried ideas about toughness and masculinity with him to his first year at Richmond and he’d been an absolute prick. But it must have hurt a lot before he learned to harden himself against the pain. It must have hurt to think that the thing you loved most in the world wouldn’t love you back if you showed who you truly were. 

Roy imagined a young Jamie laying in his childhood bedroom wishing to be different and it made his heart hurt. 

Then Jamie’s words came to him: I hung a picture of her on my wall, didn’t I?

He thought of the poster of Keeley holding two footballs in front of her chest, hung right next to a poster of a much younger, much hairier Roy. 

He thought of Jamie’s reluctance to answer Keeley’s question about his first celebrity crush and the way he’d only answered once Keeley had stuck the word “woman” in the question. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Roy said. He turned around and and pointed at Jamie. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”

Jamie gave him a crooked grin, while Keeley hid her laugh against the skin of Jamie’s forearm. “Finally figured that out, did you grandad?”

“Who was your first celebrity crush?” Roy asked, stalking closer. Roy’s kitchen was pretty big, but he still somehow found himself pressed against Keeley between Jamie’s legs, Jamie grinning cockily down at both of them. 

“Well, I hung a picture of him on my wall, didn’t I?” Jamie asked, smirking. 

“Fuck,” Roy said. 

He’d been Jamie’s first celebrity crush. 

It was slightly weird, being reminded how much older he was than Jamie. But it also made him immensely aware of the scant centimeters between his hips and the insides of Jamie’s thighs. Made him feel the electricity arcing between them. 

“Oh, wow, you both have a praise kink,” Keeley said. 

It broke the spell. 

“What the fuck?” Roy demanded. “I don’t have a praise kink.”

“Your pupils got absolutely massive when Jamie said he masturbated to your poster on his wall,” Keeley said. 

“Oi! I didn’t say that.” Jamie blushed a pretty shade of pink and Keeley gave Roy a conspiratorial wink. 

“But it’s true,” she said, still instigating shit. She leaned in close enough that her lips brushed Roy’s ear then said, loud enough for Jamie to hear, “So’s the praise kink.”

Roy choked on his own saliva and almost missed the sound of Jamie’s whine. 

Keeley grinned wickedly. “I think dinner’s ready, don’t you?”

She pushed Roy back and casually sauntered from between Jamie’s legs, heading to the table. 

Roy looked at Jamie, whose eyes trailed after Keeley before meeting Roy’s. 

“She’s trying to kill us,” Jamie said. 

“Yeah,” Roy said. 

Five minutes later they were seated at the table and Roy’s hard-on had mostly gone down. Jamie had also been squirming in his seat the first few minutes but Keeley ate like she was absolutely unaffected. 

Roy knew she was having fun fucking with them, but he was impressed by her acting chops. He could never have acted that casual while this turned on. All he could see was Jamie’s red bitten lips and the hickey on Keeley’s breast just barely peeking out above her collar.

“You have to talk to Colin,” Keeley said, drawing Roy’s attention back to the conversation. 

“What?” Jamie asked. 

“If you want to say someone on the team is gay, you have to talk to Colin. Even if you’re only hinting at yourself, the media will speculate and every single player on the team will get scrutinized. Including Colin, who already said he doesn’t want the attention.”

Jamie nodded a few times. “What do I do if he says no?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Jamie,” Keeley said. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said, looking dejected. 

***

The next day at training, Roy saw Jamie drag Colin into the boot room. They were in there a long time and Roy had to fight the urge to burst in and see what was going on. He knew Colin wasn’t going to react badly or hurt Jamie, but Roy couldn’t stand the idea of Jamie in there alone. 

A long twenty minutes later, Colin came out of the boot room with a dazed smile on his face. 

Roy pushed his way inside and found Jamie sitting on the bench, looking shell-shocked and disappointed. 

Roy took a seat next to Jamie and pulled Jamie’s head into his shoulder. Jamie curled into him, wrapping an arm around Roy’s waist. 

“He said no?”

“He said no.”

***

That weekend they played Newcastle and every player wore rainbow laces. At the post-game press conference, Roy said generic things about supporting the LGBTQ community. 

They didn’t mention a gay player on the team. 

***

The next weekend, they were playing Arsenal. Right before the match, Keeley came into the locker room, one hand half-heartedly over her eyes as she called out a warning that she was walking in. 

Roy, standing at the whiteboard with Beard and Nate, watched as she beelined straight for Jamie and threw something in his lap. When Jamie held it up, Roy saw that it was shoelaces in pink, purple, and blue. 

Jamie gave Keeley a look of wide-eyed panic and confusion.

The whole team looked on as Keeley smiled and said, “To support your bisexual girlfriend.”

Jamie’s grin was a slow thing, unfurling until it occupied his whole face. He tugged Keeley down, giving her a dirty kiss. 

“You do not have to stick your tongue down her throat in front of everyone,” Jan Maas complained. 

Keeley and Jamie flipped Jan Maas off in synchronicity. 

“Oi, Tartt!” Roy yelled. “No being a prick without the signal.”

“Yes, Coach,” Jamie said, eyes shining. He immediately started unlacing his boots so he could switch to the bi laces. 

Keeley came over to Roy, smiling. He couldn’t help but smile at the look of pride on her face and the smile on Jamie’s and he heard Colin mutter, “his face knows how to do that?”

“And for you,” Keeley said, pulling a plastic whistle on a pink, purple, and blue lanyard out of her pocket. “So they don’t say Jamie’s the only boyfriend who supports me.”

Roy took the whistle. “I hope you don’t expect me to blow this thing.”

“That’s what she said!” shouted one of the lads. 

“I would never,” Keeley said, smiling. She pulled him into a kiss as well, before announcing to the room as a whole, “Good luck boys! I’ll be cheering you on from Rebecca’s box.”

As soon as she left, everyone started talking at once. 

Roy made eye contact with Jamie and he could tell that they were both thinking the same thing. I love her so much. 

Then Colin drew Jamie’s attention, gesturing at the shoelaces with a tentative smile, and the moment was gone. 

[orthopoogle]

Speaking as someone who grew up in a heavily Christian community, it makes me sad how much the people around me just…I don’t know, lost their faith in the last decade or so?

When I was little, my parents were really big on having us go to church. They were church hoppers in that they didn’t commit us to a single denomination and just kind of tried out different churches in town, but they still went out of their way to make sure their babies were baptized, that we made it to somewhere on Sundays, that my older brother and I went to Sunday school classes and participated in the church choir and watched VeggieTales and had church friends to play with and all of that. This sort of kept up with the next two kids—we weren’t so active at church anymore, but those babies were still baptized, we still talked about God and Jesus in the home, my parents sent me and my older brother to a Christian summer camp one year. But then, by the time my youngest two brothers were born, we just didn’t go to church anymore, not even on holidays. Jesus was an afterthought on Christmas and Easter. The youngest two were never even baptized. As of two years ago, my youngest brothers didn’t even know what Good Friday was for, let alone know anything about the Bible. We transitioned from being a fairly devout household to being all but agnostic.

I knew a lot of girls growing up who were very devout Christians in school. They were in youth groups, they made pledges to save themselves for marriage, they went to church every Sunday, they knew their Bible verses left and right. Now, I look at their profiles on Facebook, and most of the ones who didn’t unfriend me over Roe v. Wade being overturned are pretty much secular libfems now who will bite your head off if you even so much as hint that you don’t support abortion or the LGBT agenda.

There’s also generally just not as much open talk about following Christianity anymore. Growing up, my teachers who were Christians were open about it, but of course in a “this is my personal belief, but you don’t have to agree with me” type of way. Now, one of the teachers on my grade level team mentioned to the rest of us that she goes to a Baptist church with her husband, and she felt like she had to sound sheepish and apologetic over even mentioning it, I guess because she felt like there would be some snarky remark or demand for an explanation if she didn’t?

As a kid, I used to hear about how the end of the world would be devastating for non-Christians, and I always thought, “Well that’s silly! Who could reject Jesus?” Now I’ve grown up and am seeing the very same people I once considered to be intense believers reject Him like it’s no big deal at all.

[rongzhi]

Hi! I have been learning Chinese for 8 months now, and even though I'm doing okay on HSK3 level, i feel like I'm in need of more content for this level that i can consume and practice. A lot of the shows and tv programs are still too difficult for me and i only understand around 40% of words (at most 😆).

I already watched everything on YouTube channels like Mandarin Click or Mandarin Corner etc, but in general i cant find that much for low levels. Do you happen to know where I could find some more? It could be texts, stories or videos, just below HSK4.

Sorry to take your time. Have a good day!

First of all, great progress!

I would continue just watching some programs for the exposure, even if you can't quite keep up yet.

Aside from apps and standard learning material (which I assume you already have resources for), I think for HSK 3 which I assume is beginner/intermediate, you might just have to bite the bullet and follow along with elementary school content, even if it's boring.

You can probably also find children's programming on Bilibili. I gave a rec in this ask of some Chinese cartoons to check out. Make sure to check out any recs in the notes as well!

This playlist with videos aimed toward Chinese 1st graders. It is a little dry, but the teacher speaks clearly and fairly slowly and from the first few minutes, I think it should at least be good listening practice as well as reading practice with anything visual. A lot of the first videos go over things you should already know since the videos are aimed at teaching Chinese children to read, so you may just want to skip to part 43, 课文1, where the videos will begin class readings of elementary texts.

Check out this site for scans of pages from the Ministry of Education's textbooks. The link should go straight to the page for first grade, but if you find that too easy, the menu across the top of the page goes up to 6th grade. There are just one or two years' books for each grade, I think (you'll have to click around a look). The textbooks contain short stories with pinyin guides.

This youtube channel has Chinese nursery rhymes if you don't mind the ugly ass art

Generally speaking, I think after HSK3/HSK4 is where your language skills will really see improvement so when you're still starting out there's not as much material because that's when it's expected that you just have your head stuck in a textbook.

You might find it useful to give yourself some longer term projects or challenges; translation is a good way to really spend some time thinking about the language, so it might help to find a song you really like and try translating it line by line with a dictionary. Pick a pop ballad or something that sounds cute and simple because other genres like gufeng will probably be too difficult. Later, when your language skills have improved some more, you can try translating the same song again and see if you decide to make any different translation choices based on new insights.

If anyone wants to leave more links for beginners, please feel free to do so in the replies of this post!

[polakina]

the company of whiskey

'scars do heal' chapter 10

pairing: captain price x reader

rating: explicit

outline: the missile was gone. the job was done. what came next was the decision that would either make or break you.

warnings: canon typical war and violence, mentions of sexual activity, smut, shower sex, creampie, begging, flirting, dirty talk

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

a/n: this is it. the final chapter. i've loved writing this, and it feels sad to finish it, honestly. hope you've enjoyed this series as much as i've enjoyed writing it

masterlist II 'scars do heal' masterlist

II

The helicopter ride was fairly quiet, only the whirring of the blades filling the sound of the metal compartment. The helo swayed slightly every now and then with the weight of the missile suspended below. It made you nervous. Such a deadly weapon only held up by metal ropes and hooks.

Gaz sat opposite you, and you swear you saw him looking at you when he thought you didn’t notice. But then again, you felt eyes on you constantly while in that helo. From everyone. Price was sat up at the front with Nik, you couldn’t hear what either of them were saying, but you wished someone would say anything back here. It was eerily silent.

The plan was set. There was an old rig out at sea that Hassan had used a few months ago when he transported the missile between his men. They used it as a safe house of sorts, nobody able to track him out there or see what he was doing. It was the perfect place to detonate the missile safely and out of the way of innocents. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Ghost kick Gaz in the ankle, and you were growing tired of whatever secrets they were keeping. “Got something on your mind, Gaz?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow at him, seeing him look at you like a deer in headlights.

“Nah, no. Nothing,” he shrugged off, looking to the ground. But you saw Ghost’s mask twitch upwards in a grin. Something was going on here. But pressing him on it wasn’t going to help the mission at all. You had to stay focused.

-

“I’ll keep her down here until you guys are done,” Nik shouted over the helicopter blades. He’d set the helo down on shore back on land after dropping both you guys and the missile on the rig. Soap had managed to rig a time-lapsed detonation, accessible from the control room at the rear end of the rig. Ten minutes was the maximum it could give you. Ten minutes to get off the rig, onto the boats still tethered to the lowest level, and as far away as possible. 

You and Soap were in the control room, you observed as he sorted out the detonation. You didn’t really know how he did it, but it was fascinating to watch him excel at something besides being a fucking idiot. Price was pacing, his phone ringing constantly. It was Shepherd. It had been Shepherd blowing up his phone for the past few hours, but he had been ignored, which enraged him even more.

“For fuck’s sake,” Price growled, pulling the phone from his pocket and answering it. Finally. Putting it on speaker, you all gathered around the cell, listening in closely. You could have been in a different room and still have heard him. His bellows could have shattered glass.

“Price where the fuck are you?! My missile is gone. The Shadow Company is gone. And you left Graves handcuffed to a fucking pipe like a stray dog.” Soap chuckled quietly at that last one. That was his idea. 

“You’re lucky we didn’t kill him, General,” Price spoke lowly, his tone dangerous. “It’s not your missile. It never was. You’re not using this to weaponise your army, to wipe out a whole fucking country.”

“You’ve got no authority here, Captain. You'd do well to remember that.”

“You act as though you’ve got a say in this, Shepherd. You’re not starting a war, not while we’re breathing.”

“You’re going to regret this, Price. I’ll have your command, your task force. Everything.”

Price grinned, but you could tell he was furious. You all were. “Once we’ve done this, we’re coming for you, Shepherds. You’d do well to remember that.” Not really the time to be having these thoughts, but it was so attractive the way Price held himself through that conversation. So commanding. Authoritative. Jesus, you needed to pick a time and place and this certainly was not it. Hanging up on the General, Price motioned for Ghost and Gaz to follow him, leaving you and Soap alone. You stood by the door, clutching your weapon tightly in your hands, eyes peering out into the darkness. The others had gone to check on the lifeboats, doing a sweep of the rig as they went. You were stationed in the control deck while Soap finished up. The waves lapped at the sides of the metal structure, and it sounded as though the rig swayed with violent waves crashing up on it.

“So,” Soap cast you a wavering glance. “How long you been fucking the Captain, Nix?” If your finger was on the trigger, you probably would have pulled it accidentally. Your head whipped round so fast it almost detached from your neck.

“What?! The fuck are you talking about?” You glared at him, but he had this mischievous smirk on his face, as though your facial expressions had confirmed it for him. Only he would feel so confident asking such an out of pocket question. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Phoenix,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now. Just answer the question.”

You sighed, your face showing a nonchalant expression, but inside, your heart was erratically racing in your chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Soap. Where did you even get that idea from? It’s so ridiculous that I’d be sleeping with my-”

“Gaz caught you both when we were all waiting for Nik to show up in the helo.” Well that stopped you dead in your fucking tracks. You side eyed him, and he noticed, causing him to laugh. A proper belly laugh erupted from his throat at your ‘caught red-handed’ expression. 

“Ummm…so…right okay. Yeah, I can’t defend myself here,” you admitted, shaking your head defeatedly. 

He chuckled again. “Nope, you can’t. So answer my question. How long?”

You huffed, turning towards him. 

“Since Chicago, when we were hiding from Shadow Company,” you admitted, it felt a lifetime ago that you were in that motel room.

Soap’s eyes widened. “Jesus, that long? I’m surprised you kept it hidden so long. Cap wasn’t nearly as subtle about it as you though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t see him after you got kidnapped by Hassan, Nix,” he looked over. “He was scary. Protective. Never seen him like that before.”

You smiled a little, casting a glance outside the door. “Huh. Never knew that.”

You waited in silence until Soap finished off, grabbing the receiver and following you outside, the two of you descending down the rig to the bottom level where the guys were waiting for you. 

“Feel like I’m gonna have to apologise to Gaz,” you giggled, walking down the steps hurriedly, Soap following close behind.

“Yeah, probably.”

-

The heat from the blast burned at the back of your necks as the boat drifted away from the rig. The missile was gone, as was General Shepherd’s leverage. He was going to be on all of your tails now, figuring out your every move. All you had to do was stay one step ahead.

“Laswell is meeting us tomorrow evening so we can plan our next move against Shepherd,” Price said as you boarded Nik’s helo.

“Our next move?” Gaz asked, looking puzzled as he took a seat beside you. “I thought that explosion was our last.” Price just shook his head, speaking through comms since it was the only way to hear him over the blades.

“Shepherd’s going to do everything to find us after he finds out what we did. That’s why Laswell is coming to us. She has ideas for a plan. But nothing she could discuss over the phone. Too risky.”

The ride was quiet. Price was no doubt thinking of what to do next, and it looked like Ghost was doing the same, from what you could see as he sat across the helo from you. His eyes were like pin fires, darting around the floor as the cogs turned in his head. 

Soap was asleep. Completely flat out. His head lolled to the side and he nearly whacked it on the metal walls behind his skull until Ghost noticed. He gently laid his palm on the side of Soap’s head, and guided it to his shoulder. Soap didn’t wake up once as he slept against Ghost’s broad shoulder. 

You smiled at Ghost and he caught your eye, pupils piercing into yours as his head tilted to the side in a warning. We never speak of this. It was as though he said it directly into your ear. You nodded once and turned to look at Gaz.

Gaz kept his eyes down, his hands fiddling with one another. “Oi,” you nudged him gently. Your comms were cut off. Nobody could hear eachother anymore. But Gaz could hear you. He turned his gaze to you slowly.

“What’s up, Nix?” He smiled, nudging you back.

You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder. He sat half a head taller than you, so it wasn’t uncomfortable on your neck to lean against him. “Feel like I have to apologise to you.” You felt his shoulder shift as he looked down at you. Gaz poked your arm gently with his finger.

“What have you got to apologise for?”

You tilted your head up. He knew exactly what you were talking about. Your eyebrows raised in that ‘really?’ sort of way and he looked away quickly. “Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Liar,” you smiled. “You know exactly what I’m on about. You just don’t want to talk about it.”

He laughed gently, his shoulders shaking and rocking your neck back and forth. “Talk about what? How I got a full view of your ass in broad daylight and our Captain fucking you? Get why I wouldn’t want to talk about it?”

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t stifle your chuckle. “You saw my arse?!”

He nodded between laughs. “Yep. And then some. Can’t lie though, it’s not a bad arse you’ve got there, Nix. Not as good as mine, but pretty damn good.” You both laughed with one another, happy to have that whole memory and scarring experience for Gaz behind you.

-

Alejandro and Rudy had departed you, but left behind the keys to the Mexico safehouse if you were ever in need of it. They had their vaqueros to take care of, and you didn’t blame them for parting with the 141 when they did. They had done their part, this wasn’t their fight. Not anymore. 

Nik dropped you and the boys off just at the cusp of the Mexican border. Price had arranged with Javier and Manuel to leave a truck by the drop point so they didn’t have to walk the six hours to the safehouse. It was ready and waiting with a full tank of gas. You took the passenger seat beside Price, who took seat as driver. Soap and Gaz took the two back seats and Ghost opted to ride in the truck bed. You didn’t question why. He needed the time alone. All of you had been through so much these past weeks. These past months. Time alone would do you all some good. 

“All good, love?” Price asked you, his voice quiet. He patted your thigh gently, squeezing once before releasing his grip and moving his hand back over to his own lap. But you caught it before he could move it too far away, taking his hand in your own, your fingers tickling along his calloused, bruised knuckles.

You smiled at him, turning your head towards him. “Home stretch, John. We’re nearly there,” you grinned, squeezing his hand in yours. He returned your smile, turning back to face the road, his fingers still intertwined with your own.

The barn was quiet when you arrived. Eerily quiet.

“I’ll check around back,” Soap said as you all clambered out of the truck. He nodded in your direction and you followed him around the back of the barn, clearing the small sheds on your way. It was clear. The place was empty. You were safe here. For now. 

After eating, filling your stomachs after what felt like the longest time, you all sat around the meeting table in the centre of the open space. Laswell was meeting you across the border in a Texan bar the next night, so all you needed to do was to wait until then. From what Price had said, she was to help take down Shepherd, stop his plans and his deceptive ways. To take out Graves and the Shadow Company so that they could never find another way to leverage their army. With Graves and Shepherd gone, there would be no war. No death. No genocide.

“So this is it. Our final job,” Price was the first to break the silence. Ghost sat opposite Price, with Soap on his right. Gaz stood by the door entrance, keeping a wary eye through the window for any signs of…well, anyone. “We meet with Laswell. Secure the plan. Then we’ll be well on our way to take out Shepherd.”

Ghost leaned forward, resting his hand on Soap’s knee. “And what comes after that? We take out Shepherd, then what are we?” It was a fair question. One that Price couldn’t answer right now.

“We focus on the task at hand right now, Ghost. What comes after, we’ll figure that out later,” Price said.

“We can figure that out over the drinks that Cap promised us,” Gaz smiled from his place in the doorframe. You smiled with him.

Price huffed a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “But right now, we should sleep. Rest before tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day ahead of us.”

And that was that. There was nothing else to do but sleep. But to wait for the morning that was to come. Tomorrow would bring you some comfort, knowing how to take out Shepherd and his pawns. You’d find comfort in the plan that would be made. You’d find comfort in the whiskey you would drink, and the men you’d drink it beside.

Gaz retired to his bed first, a passing comment about being able to sleep in a room alone since he knew who’d be doubling up now. It only made you laugh as you turned your attention to Ghost, who’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“Sure…Ghost and I have no issue with it,” Soap smiled, oblivious to the knife-cut tension in the room. “Right?” He turned to Ghost, who only stared at him in return.

Ghost rolled his eyes, ignoring your faint giggle stifled by your palm. “Shut up, Johnny,” he whispered.

“Well, while you two have a little lovers quarrel,” you managed to say, holding back a smile. “I’m going to search for a shower. There has to be one here. This palace is fucking huge.”

Gaz was already asleep by the time you’d walked past his room. His snores filled the hallway and you swear you saw the doorknob shake from the vibrations. He and Soap were in serious contest here, you couldn’t tell who was louder. Eventually you found the shower. It was the room next to the bedroom no doubt for yourself and Price, since Soap had already dumped his and Ghost’s things in the bedroom at the other end of the hall.

Stripping yourself of your clothing, you didn’t even let the water warm before stepping under its cold embrace. Goosebumps appeared on your arms and chest, your nipples hardening under the cold water. You let it run down your body, into your hair until your head felt heavy with the weight of it.

Eventually, the water warmed, and you sighed peacefully. You were thankful that you’d picked up some bathing supplies. Mango was your favourite scent, so when applied to your body it soaked the air in that scent you loved so much. Your eyes drifted closed under the water as it beat against your skin, your face, your hair. 

You might have been in there for too long, but at this moment you didn’t care. This was your selfish moment of calm before the storm. In the trance of the shower air clouding your vision, the scent filling your senses, and the warm feeling that the water calmed you with, you didn’t hear the bathroom door click as it opened. Or hear clothes fall to the floor behind you.

But you felt a hand touch your stomach and you panicked, only for a second. Until you recognised the familiar touch.

“Easy, love,” Price whispered in your ear, stepping behind you. “It’s only me.” A sweet smell invaded his nose, and he smiled at it. “Mango?”

You nodded, turning your head, pulling your hair away from your face and behind your ear. “What are you doing in here?”

He smiled, kissing your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your waist. “Can’t I enjoy a shower with you? Before shit hits the fan?”

“Of course you can, John. Showering alone is not nearly as fun.” Your head tilted back as his lips met your neck, kissing your wet skin softly. His beard brushed against your skin and you couldn’t help but giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Didn’t think you’d be so bold though, while your men are sleeping down the hall.”

“Darling, when have you ever known me to be someone who isn’t bold, hmm? Besides, it's not like its a secret anymore. They practically forced us into the same room together,” Price smiled as you gasped, feeling his hand drift lower. “I think it’s best to relieve a little tension before tomorrow. Clear our heads.”

You turned to face him, his hands gently kneading at the flesh of your ass. Your hands came up to the sides of his neck, his wet beard now soft under your fingertips. “Is that all this is? Clearing our heads?”

He smiled, dipping his head to kiss your lips softly, passionately. “Not to me. To me, this is all I need. It means more to me than that.” You cupped the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Your kiss grew deeper, his tongue parting your lips and licking into your mouth. Price pushed you up against the tiled wall, the cold feeling soothing your burning skin from his touch. With your bodies pressed against eachother, not a breath of air between them, you could feel everything. How he hardened with each waking moment of kissing you, how his wandering hands grew more firm with each inch of skin he explored.

His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist before focusing his touch back on your arse, holding you up. Your weight was resting between his body and the tiled wall, secured in place as he gripped and groped your skin, kissed and bit at your lips gently, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please,” you whispered, almost pleading. He loved when you begged for him. It only egged him on further. “John, please.”

His lips kissed your neck, your collarbone, before devoting its attention to your tits. He pushed you up, higher against the tile. Sucking on the soft flesh around your nipples, his teeth left marks and his lips left red bruises. You covered your mouth as you moaned softly into your palm. The enclosed space of the bathroom would only amplify the noises you would make, and you really didn’t want them hearing you from their rooms.

“What do you want from me, love?” He muttered against your skin, his eyes tilting to look up at you. “Tell me.” He sank you down lower, slowly. You felt the tip of his cock tap your clit as he lowered you down the tile to meet his eyes head on.

“I-” You cut yourself off with a soft gasp as he teased the entrance of your cunt with his cock. “John, please.”

He just smiled, grabbing his cock at the base with one hand while holding you up with the other. “Use your words.”

God, you loved it. This side of him. The way he pulled words from your throat with such little effort. “Fuck me. John, please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He sank you onto his cock without a further word. He groaned quietly, feeling you tighten around him, gripping him with force until you finally adjusted to his size. You bit your lip, stopping your moans from filling the air. “Atta girl,” John praised, kissing your neck, sliding his cock in and out at an easy going pace, the sounds of skin on skin being the only thing you heard. “You got it, baby.”

His thrusts became more forceful, pushing into you harshly. His hand on your ass guided your body above him, bouncing you on his cock. You couldn’t keep quiet anymore, wrapping your arm around his neck to keep steady, the other digging your fingernails into his shoulder painfully deep.

But he was quick with it, his free hand covering your mouth the second your own hand left it. His little finger rested just under your nose, and you breathed heavily with each thrust, feeling your own breath blow warmly back into your face.

The water hit his back harshly, the temperature you had set the shower for burning sharply into his skin. How you could even shower in these temperatures was something he’d never understand. But he’d learn to get used to it.

Your eyes rolled, head pushing back against the tile with heavy pressure to the point you thought you were going to crack the tile. “Come on. Come on, darling. I know you’re close.” He knew your tells by now. Your thighs tightened around his waist, your ankles interlocking at his lower back, caging him against you. Your orgasm was powerful, violent as it hit you. Your walls clamped around his cock, unrelenting as you came. Moaning into his hand, your head lolled forward, your muscles squeezing around bone as your high overtook you.

Price followed not far after, a more shortened version of your own orgasm, but just as powerful. His thrusts halted suddenly and his cock twitched inside you, spurting his seed inside your walls, coating your insides with his release.

He kissed the side of your head, letting his hand fall from your mouth to rest on your hip. “There’s my girl,” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours. “Told you it’s good for clearing your head.” You couldn’t help but smile, laughing softly.

“As long as this doesn’t stop, I think I’ll be good,” you said softly, a pang in your chest preparing you for any sign of a rejection. For him to tell you that you’d just remain professional after all this was over.

But he smiled, kissing your cheek before letting your feet touch the floor, reaching behind you to switch the shower off, stopping the water in its tracks and allowing for cool air to hit your bodies. “That sounds like a good plan to me, rook.”

Drying yourselves, you returned to the bedroom and climbed into the soft bed, covering yourself in the sheets. His body pressed against yours, a warm broad chest hitting your back. That’s how you slept, encased in his arms, his breath against the back of your neck as he hummed gently in his sleep, sending you to your own slumber.

-

The bar was quiet, and dark. But that’s how you liked it. Nobody questioned your presence in the bar. Everyone went about their time in the bar, finishing their drinks and often ordering a second in replacement. You sat at the corner of the bar, Ghost on your right, Price on your left with his hand resting on your thigh comfortingly.

“Glad to see you all alive, still,” Laswell announced her presence from behind you. She watched as you all turned to face her, a smile on yours and Gaz’s face.

“Kate,” you smiled, standing to embrace her. “Glad to see you made it.”

“You too, Nix. Heard it’s been pretty rough for you guys recently,” Laswell said as you all seated yourselves at the bar once more. She patted John on the back as she sat in the empty stool.

“You’ve got no idea, Kate,” Price responded, smiling at her. “But we’re out of the woods for now.”

Kate motioned for the bartender to bring her a drink, and he nodded and poured her a glass, sliding it down the bar into her waiting hand. “Not for long. Shepherd is pissed. At all of you. He’s going to bring heavy fire down on your heads once he finds you.”

“Not if we find him first,” Ghost muttered from your right hand side, his fabric mask showing his eyes, and the rage you saw in them even more evident now.

Laswell smiled. “Exactly. So that’s what we’ll do. But first, a drink. You lot stopped a war. I think that’s cause for a celebration, don’t you?”

“Well, if we’re drinking,” Gaz pointed out from the end of the bar. “I heard that drinks were on Price.” A low chuckle emanated from the group and Price accepted defeat.

“Yeah, I suppose they are,” Price admitted, waving down the bartender and ordering a round for you all. 

You were quiet, as you sipped your whiskey, and Ghost noticed. Price had conversation with Laswell about the upcoming ambush you were planning. He nudged your arm, eyes meeting yours filled with concern.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Nix?” He saw your fingers trailed across the deep scars left by Hassan’s men all that time ago. Ninety two days worth of suffering that had been forced upon you. Your eyes deep in thought, your face fixed in a brooding glare. 

“Nothing, just…thinking.”

“About?” He questioned, coaxing a full answer out of you.

You sighed, dropping your hand from your slashed arm. “About whether all of this, the shit we’ve been through as a team. Hassan, Valeria, Graves. Whether it’s all going to be worth it. Whether we can actually beat Shepherd. Or this will have all been for nothing.”

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning against you gently, little weight on your shoulder. “We’ll make it worth it. Scars do heal. I would know,” he gestured to his own arms, adorned with his own faded scars. “It all depends on whether you let those scars consume you, or fuel you into getting your own revenge.”

You smiled softly. “Is that what you did?”

He looked away momentarily. “Not at first. But I learned. And now I guess I’m teaching you the best way to handle it. We’ll finish this. One way or another.”

More drinks flowed as your plan came together. Now you just had to enact it. Then you’d be free. You’d all be free of the grip that Shepherd had on your throats. No one singular man could be left to start this war. As a team, you had to make that happen. With the 141 by your side, you felt more confident. You could do this.

This was what the 141 was made to do. Now only one man stood in the way of your freedom from this caged war. But not for much longer.

His time would come soon.

[decepti-thots]

would you be down to give me a rough outline of how Prowl has been characterized over the publication history of the tf comics? I mean, in as far as you know about it. Every time you mention the costa stuff it makes me curious

I can try! I can't really drill down well without a thing to focus on specifically, but here are some general highlights.

Furman (and stuff that directly draws from Furman's run, like AHM as a whole) characterizes him basically as he did when writing Marvel G1, and gives him so little to do that not very much really comes out even then. Uptight, stick-in-his-ass, still a basically Good Guy TM and while he puts people's backs up a little, he's not under any level of suspicion. This is the closest to continuity-agnostic "fanon Prowl" you get in IDW, because that fanon figure draws quite a lot on the Marvel G1 characterization (when it isn't simply making things up wholesale, anyway). Furman copies his own homework, basically, lmao.

Roche is the guy who wrote phase two Prowl into existence as we know him. Rather infamously because he thought it was an interesting take on the character to er, ignore all the above stuff and make the Autobot SIC a rat bastard, lmao. Roche and Barber's interpretations came to dominate the character in IDW going forward, but they do differ. Roche's Prowl is more isolated from other characters (one does not really imagine Wreckers Prowl calling Bumblebee his best friend sincerely, as exRiD Prowl does), and people treat him as disliked by default. Even before the worst of what he does comes out, his reputation precedes him. Also, Roche's Prowl speaks fairly neutrally, whereas exRiD Prowl speaks more casually than fandom tends to admit to! Finally, Roche's Prowl is less spontaneously, outwardly emotional than Barber's is later on, and tends to fit the fanon stereotype of "always restrained" more.

Costa came in post-AHM but pre-Wreckers and hated all that, so he retconned it. LMAO. His Prowl is the archetype of the "good cop" protagonist surrounded by corruption, combined with surface level noir tropes that sort of work in tandem with those but lacking any grit. (Costa seems to understand what noir looks and sounds like, but none of the underlying narrative devices that make it function as noir.) This Prowl is specifically supposed to be (here's the retcon) someone who used to be more deliberately cold, removed and logical but who has specifically decided to change to be different following his experiences on Earth. (Spotlight: Prowl is a good one-issue explanation of Costa's perspective on Prowl, which is not the same as being a good comic.) As time goes on, the sheer unpopularity of this take pushed Costa to undo it a bit, and reintroduce some level of ambivalence to him... but by and large he remains kind of the "good authority figure who objects when the systems are misused" type, almost? His conflict with Spike is very much over the fact he expected better of Spike, see.

Barber's Prowl notably does not wholly throw the Costa stuff out the window. (This is why the Spike stuff features a lot; it's really the only strong emotional hook Costa's work gives you for his version of the character to grab at.) But Prowl is back to being a morally gray figure whose moral ambivalence is very strongly tied to his role as an authority figure- and that's worth mentioning. Prowl's downward spiral being intrinsically linked to his refusal to relinquish authority, and his abuse of it, is something that is all Barber and not Roche. (In Wreckers, Prowl is an asshole because of personal arrogance. In exRiD, he's more an asshole because of his role enabling a wider system, by the end. IMO that's a big difference, anyway.) He is not starting off exRiD loathed by absolutely everyone, or a figure of preexisting serious mistrust. That's something that develops over the course of the comic as things come to light for the characters in-universe, meaning exRiD Prowl feels like he's put up a more convincing shield in front of his worse dealings over the course of the war, perhaps. His position deteriorates significantly over the comic. He is more prone to balancing his deliberate cold-heartedness with angry or emotional outbursts than we saw in Wreckers, leading to him having multiple outbursts that worsen his situation over the course of the comic. This is the Prowl who holds grudges.

Roberts' Prowl is kind of different to talk about to the above because his Prowl in Shadowplay and his Prowl in Titans Return are different genres. I can do a post on that if folks really want but it probably is its own post, haha.

IDK feel free to clarify any specific stuff you'd like a vibe on if you want, this is all just what came to my mind instinctively!