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felinecryptid · 1 year

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A Local Delicacy

or the fic where hobie stares at pav and misses all the vital information

(please pay attention to the tags ✨✨ no cw's for this one)

"Wha's this thing called again?" Hobie frowned at the small, inflated crisp looking thing.

'It's called a Pani Puri, stop being so difficult," Pav reached up to hit him on the head, failing not so miserably. Hobie wanted to laugh at his disgruntled face. It had been a hot minute since they had hung out. Plus, Miles could probably use a break after the entire 'destabilising the multiverse' debacle. Pav had immediately dragged them to a nearby stall stacked to the top of the colourful umbrella with these Pani Puris, while blabbering non stop about foot traffic.

Hobie supposed some things transcend universes. Like crowds. Stray animals in narrow alleyways. Rude people. Rude cops. His crush on Pav. Capitalism. You get it. Hobie was broken out of his thoughts by the stall keeper handing him a tiny leaf cup. It was 5 centimetres at most.

"What are these for?" Gwen asked.

Pav smiled. Hobie's heart skipped a beat. "For eating. You'll see." He answered cryptically.

"Thoda time lagega beta, abhi kate pyaaz khatam hogaye," The stall keeper started chopping onions at the speed of light, his knife clacking against the ratty wooden board.

"Koi nahi kaka, aap aaram se karo," Pav bounced on the balls of his feet, replying to whatever the stall keeper said, in his sweet voice. Hobie loved when Pav spoke Hindi, there was something so flowy about it.

"What did he say?" Miles asked. Hobie was curious too. He only caught the heavily accented 'time'.

"He said it's gonna take a few mins, he just ran out of onions."

"That cutting board does not look hygienic," Gwen said, as Pav manoeuvered everyone to stand in a loose circle around the vendor.

"Arey bahut saaf hai beta! Very hygienic!" The stall keeper nodded at her, now chopping coriander. Gwen went red. Miles burst out laughing.

Pav looked embarrassed as well, and Hobie wanted to just. Hold him. He'd settle for standing close to him as he tried to sputter out something.

"Bura mat manna kaka, aapko pata hai yeh videshi log kaise hote hain." Pav scratched his neck, flashing a winning smile at the vendor and Hobie felt something stab in his heart.

"Chalega chalega, badi hi gori dikh rahi hai, pata chal gaya yahan se nahi hai." The stall keeper said while arranging the dishes around. "Uske liye kam tikha dun?"

"Gwen, do you like spicy food? Miles?" Pav asked.

"Nope." said Gwen as Miles nodded.

"What about you, Hobie?" Pav turned to him, his deep brown eyes glinting something pretty in the late afternoon light.

"Sure, why no'." Hobie shrugged, a grin inexplicably tugging at his lips. Pav turned back to the man, saying stuff in lilting tones Hobie didn't understand.

The stall keeper nodded, and cracked open one of the crisps, scooping peas and potatoes inside it and adding the green liquid and onions inside it. He swiftly placed it in Hobie's cup.

"Tha's it?" Hobie was unimpressed. This little thing?

"No, bro, you gotta eat it to get more. Put it in your mouth all at once. Don't nibble at it, or it'll get soggy and get all over your clothes." Pav said, entirely shoving his own Pani Puri into his mouth like a visual example of what to do. Hobie looked at the Pani Puri in his cup for half a second more before deciding to fuck it and copied Pav, mouth closing over the stuffed crisp.

Flavours exploded on his tongue. The sweet tanginess, the crunchy onions and the spicy peas; it was nothing Hobie had expected it to taste like and nothing like anything he had eaten in his life. He chewed, feeling the bits of the crisp puri poking all around his mouth, but that was the experience. It felt otherworldly yet somehow fulfilling. Hobie automatically extended his hand for another one.

Gwen got hers, stuffing it in her mouth, with no small amount of trepidation visible on her face. It was valid, considering she started coughing the moment she chewed it, going 'hoff, hoff, hoff!' which Hobie took to mean 'hot, hot, hot!'.

"Goddamnit Gwen, how are you gonna eat dinner with us?" Miles said easily eating the puri without breaking a sweat, his Puerto Rican taste buds used to the level of spice.

Gwen glared at him, face red and sweat dripping. "Can't you cook unspicy food for me?"

"Mami will never let you in again if you eat like a white person,"

"I am white."

"Yeah, and?"

"Hooo- kaay! Calm down children! Gwen, we can go get a kulfi for you later. Miles, stop antagonising Gwen," Pav made a 'chop' gesture at them, shaking his head frantically.

The vendor had plopped another one in his cup and was holding another one in his hand waiting for them to finish bickering. Hobie ate it, only a few drops of the green liquid spilling on his fingers. And the next one as well. And the next one. This street vendor was so fast, the fuck? With only Pav and him at the stall, because Miles was busy with Gwen, the vendor seemed to make three for each one Hobie ate. Pav didn't look bothered at all, scarfing down every one as it came.

"'oly shit, Pavi, ask 'im to slow down, 'M strugglin' 'ere, mate," Hobie managed to speak in between the positive barrage of puris.

"No way, it's part of the vibe, dude, keep up," Pav was way more graceful, easily talking between the Puris, time seeming to favour him and him only.

"Seriously?" Hobie muttered on the tailend of a particularly large Pani Puri. Pav grinned again, his right canine getting caught on his own lip. Hobie was well aware that he had a staring problem, and if he didn't get himself together, Pav will be too.

"Okay, okay," Sometimes Pav looked at Hobie in a way that had him swearing his feelings were requited, and this was one of those looks that made Hobie wonder how he's still standing up straight and not a puddle on the floor like he felt on the inside. "Kaka, thoda ahistha dena, Hobie bhi yahan naya hai."

"Theek, theek, beta," The vendor laughed. "Apke aashiq ko impress toh karna padega."

Pavi choked on his Pani Puri. Hobie turned to him concerned, as he said something in 3 octaves higher than his normal voice.

"Kaka- aashiq nahi hai woh- hum bas dost hain," Pav said, wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

"Meri beti bhi apne bf ko dost bolti hai. Woh dono bhi ek dusre ko aise hi dekhten hain. Usko lagta hai mujhe nahi pata lekin ham bhi toh aapke umar ke the," The vendor winked, and Hobie was sure this conversation was not about anything he could imagine. Why on earth would this random man be winking at Pav? "Aur hum yeh bajrang dal jaise vishwas nahi rakhte, pyaar toh pyaar hota hai na?"

"Ji kaka." Hobie could see Pav's blush that seemed to radiate because why else Hobie would feel flustered too? "Ahem," Pav looked at his wrist like he was looking at the time, except he did not have a wrist watch on. "Kaka abhi hame jana padega- chemistry coaching hai- kitna hua?"

"Itni jaldi? Theek hai, sukhi puri lelo," He said, handing over two flatter crisps. Without the liquid. Hobie felt it was easier to fit this in his mouth after all the other Pani Puris. "Sath rupay hue,"

"Kya kaka, angrez dekhte bhau badha dete ho? Main akele khata toh chalis ka hota," Pav said, his voice taking a complaining tone and Hobie was surprised to find him even more endearing.

"Beta, jab aap dhanda karoge tab samajh mein ayega, abhi apko coaching nahi jana?"

"Han, kaka, din dahade loot lo," Pav said, and Hobie got a sense of defeat from his slouch, as he forked over what Hobie assumed was the price of the Pani Puris. "Let's go, before uncle embarrasses me in front of someone."

"You paid money to your uncle?" Hobie thought it'd be easier to get around in Earth-50101 as time went on, but here he was, getting more questions and no answers as he hung around.

"He's not actually my uncle, I'm calling him that out of respect. It's a cultural thing, don't worry about it," Pav answered, grabbing Hobie's hand as he wove between the forming crowd. Hobie sighed, letting Pav drag him around, his hand warm in Pav's soft palms.

___

i have nothing to say.

translation (not literal translation bc then id have to explain a shit-ton of grammar, slang and indian pop culture to yall):

Thoda time lagega beta, abhi kate pyaaz khatam hogaye - it's gonna take some time, [I] just ran out of the chopped onions

Koi nahi kaka, aap aaram se karo - no problem uncle, take your time

Arey bahut saaf hai beta! - oh its very clean, kid

Bura mat manna kaka, aapko pata hai yeh videshi log kaise hote hain. - please don't be offended uncle, you know how foreigners can be like.

Chalega chalega, badi hi gori dikh rahi hai, pata chal gaya yahan se nahi hai. - It's okay, she looks very light skinned, [I] assumed she wasn't from around here.

Uske liye kam tikha dun? - should [I] make it less spicy for her?

Kaka, thoda ahistha dena, Hobie bhi yahan naya hai. - Uncle, please slow down [the pace], Hobie is new to this too.

Theek, theek, beta - Alright, kid

Apke aashiq ko impress toh karna padega. - [I know] you have to impress your boyfriend.

Kaka- aashiq nahi hai woh- hum bas dost hain, - Uncle- he's not [my] boyfriend- we're just friends,

Meri beti bhi apne bf ko dost bolti hai. Woh dono bhi ek dusre ko aise hi dekhten hain. Usko lagta hai mujhe nahi pata lekin ham bhi toh aapke umar ke the. - My daughter also claims her boyfriend is just a friend. They look at each other the same [way you do]. She thinks I don't know [about them], but we [adults] used to be your age.

Aur hum yeh Bajrang Dal jaise vishwas nahi rakhte, pyaar toh pyaar hota hai na? - I don't believe stuff like Bajrang Dal. Love is love, isn't it?

Ji kaka. - Yes, uncle. (in this case)

Kaka abhi hame jana padega- chemistry coaching hai- kitna hua? - Uncle, we need to go- It's time for my chemistry tutorial classes- how much [were the Pani Puris]?

Itni jaldi? Theek hai, sukhi puri lelo, - So fast? Okay here's your [aftersnack snack (that's that least complicated way to explain what a sukhi puri is)]

Sath rupay hue, - it's 60 rupees.

Kya kaka, angrez dekhte bhau badha dete ho? Main akele khata toh chalis ka hota - C'mon, uncle, y'all see a foreigner and increase the price? If I was here alone, this would have cost 40 rupees.

Beta, jab aap dhanda karoge tab samajh mein ayega, abhi apko coaching nahi jana? - Kid, when you grow up and have a job, you'll understand, now, don't you have classes to attend?

Han, kaka, din dahade loot lo - yeah, okay, why don't you just rob me,

Some context (you dont need to read this)

kulfi is an ice cream equivalent, usually flavoured with almonds, pistachios and saffron

beta literally means 'son' but its used to refer to any kid who's very young relative to the speaker's age; and also for jokes b/w buddies but that's a different thing

kaka literally means 'father's younger brother ie uncle', but can used to referred to any man who isnt related to you and is about the age of the speaker's parents; there are also other terms depending on by who and how you were introduced to the person

Bajrang Dal - an anti-societal group against religious and sexual minorities(as defined in the indian constitution, do not come at me with politics). Famous in pop culture for being vehemently against valentine's days and premarital eye contact (you think im joking)

The Chemistry Coaching thing is a big deal. Kids have great pride about which institute they go to. The institutes teach accelerated courses for specific competitive examinations, usually in an unethical way. It's considered kinda shameful if you don't go to one. (very dystopian, ik)

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anistarrose · 1 year

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Friendly but firm reminder that neither image descriptions nor audio/video transcripts should be in weird fonts, colors, or small text. With audio transcripts, it's presumably obvious why readability makes or breaks a caption, and with image descriptions, I genuinely understand the source of the misconceptions, but not all people who use IDs use screen readers. Some use large text instead, and weird fonts mess with that.

This is text that I personally have to squint to read more than a few words of, because the font has such a low weight.

["Chat" text reads: "This is text that I personally have to squint to read more than a few words of, because the font has such a low weight."]

Having to read text like this might be difficult for some people, or possible but eyestrain-inducing for others.

[Italicized text reads: "Having to read text like this might be difficult for some people, or possible but eyestrain-inducing for others."]

Here, the font is fine, but the colors are too low-contrast to be read on lots of tumblr themes.

[Green text reads: "Here, the font is fine, but the colors are too low-contrast to be read on lots of tumblr themes."]

And this is just way too small to be a useful accessibility feature for anyone who reads image descriptions directly, as well as anyone who reads transcripts.

[Small text reads: "And this is just way too small to be a useful accessibility feature for anyone who reads image descriptions directly, as well as anyone who read transcripts."]

For people using desktop who can't read some of this text, XKit Rewritten's AccessKit provides options to disable special colors and fonts (not to mention a nice alt text display option). But to my knowledge, there's no workaround for mobile users. That's why it's critical to include captions that are accessible themselves!

If you're on desktop and able to copy-paste, and a post you intend to reblog has an inaccessibly formatted ID or transcript, please consider taking just a second to copy the description in plain text. (Same for IDs under read more tbh, because we all know how glitchy that function can be.)

I do this often, and have never had anyone get mad about it — only the occasional sincere question as to why. Addressing misconceptions from well-intentioned users — and trust me, I used to have misconceptions too — is the best way to make Tumblr (or any other comparable website) more accessible, one or two posts at a time.

(guide to image descriptions) / (second alternate guide)

(guide to describing tags) / (make your blog's colors readable)

#accessibility #image descriptions #like genuinely i totally understand if you didn't know this #i periodically find old posts on my blog where i did IDs in italics and go back to edit it into plaintext #but i feel like i'm seeing it a lot lately so it's important to put this out there

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serendark · 10 days

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Too Many Triangles

Summary:

Stanley Pines never knew what to make of that creepy cult room full of triangles that he found beneath his brother's house. Decades later, as the portal turns on, he thinks about what he's seen in all three of his brother's journals. He thinks about the note that Bill left behind for Mabel. This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house and in this family’s lives. Hours later after the worst reunion Stan's ever had, he steels himself and travels back downstairs, back to the portal basement. He needs to talk to Ford about Bill. He needs to protect his family. Even if that family apparently includes someone who hates him now.

Word count: 8,717

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Language: English

Characters: Stanley Pines (major), Stanford Pines (major), Bill Cipher (mentioned repeatedly), Dipper Pines (brief), Mabel Pines (brief)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Self-Harm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Guilt, Minor Violence

Spoilers: Season 2 (canon divergent: s02e11 "Not What He Seems"), Journal 3 (lore reference), The Book of Bill (lore reference)

Read on AO3.

Glistening rainbow shimmers of long-abandoned pyramid prisms were indiscernible from the flutters of stale dust motes that fell around Stanley’s shoulders like a hideous ceremonial scarf as he tore pallid drapes down from the walls to the floor beneath his feet.

All too suddenly the room was all too small, walls caving in and seizing the man’s lungs while tumultuous needles pinned his frozen legs in place. He didn’t know where to look, but there was only one place he could, washing over him in waves of deep, dark, terror: Dozens upon dozens of eyes gazing back at him, staring right through him, every inch of his soul torn open and laid bare to see, to be chewed and drank by these confusing triangles… By the absurdly gaudy golden statue that might as well have winked back at him for all that it deigned.

Stan stumbled backwards, backside and hands meeting the floor as he struggled to process what he was beholding. This did not feel like something he should have seen, and he couldn’t shake the gross feeling bubbling under his skin that there was no taking it back, no undoing the fact that he is now privy to this awful, terrible room of goddamn cult secrets. He has become a part of this and he cannot scrub that away.

“What the hell, Sixer…?”

He never knew what to make of this room, and after scouring the piles, drawers, and corners for anything that might help with the portal he never once returned, preferring to forget about it entirely if he could. Unfortunately, forgetting was rather difficult since he passed the place every time he went down to the basement and he kept finding more of those damn prisms in random rooms in his brother’s home.

Sometimes he wondered if he should care more about this discovery, but it’s not like he had a lot of leads to work with. The journal in his possession didn’t mention anything about it and neither did any of the papers scattered around the room or lab, so other than the obvious similarity with the shape of the portal, Stan doubted if there even was more for him to learn, anyway. He just needed to fix the portal, get it running, and get his nerd brother back home. That’s all that mattered. No creepy geometry could alter the path which Stan has stitched into his very soul.

He will fix his greatest mistake or he will die trying. If this house does not see the two brothers reunited, then it will bear witness to the disappearance of both instead.

It’s the least Stan can do.

—

An extensive, wavering exhale rolled over Grunkle Stan’s nerves as he sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands and mind whirring over everything that had happened today. Finally, Stanford Pines was home. The real Stanford.

… Home? What was ‘home’ to Stanley Pines, now? Certainly not in his brother’s arms like he had hoped. Apparently not in the Mystery Shack, either. Not for much longer. A dark chuckle wheezed through his lips as he gingerly massaged the bruise on his temple.

No matter. His twin hates him now, but that won’t change what Stan needs to do. He’s almost tempted to hate himself for his own stubbornness, at this point, but that won’t change the facts. Ungrateful bastard or not, a sad 30 years of daring to hope only for it to leak down the drain… And Stan still knows what path he has bound himself to. He is going to protect his family. Even if that family now includes someone who, once again, is trying to send him away to never see his sorry mug ever again. Even if that family now includes someone who he himself disowned as family merely an hour or two ago.

…Shit, he really regretted that. He idly wondered if Ford might be regretting that whole conversation too, but Stan just shook his head before he got lost in that train of thought for too long.

Bill Cipher. It’s been a long time coming: Stan finally needs to confront the damn triangles with their damn eyes.

He still didn’t know what to make of the private study he found beneath this house all those years ago. But what he did know is that, whatever the geometric eyesore is, it’s dangerous. Stan has scoured every page of the second and third journals lately, blacklight included, and it was all… a lot to take in. Despite what Ford had said, Stan isn’t an idiot. He knows that triangle is bad news. He knows Ford was real chummy with the guy once and then fell out of line, with some rather disturbing pages in Dipper’s journal to prove it.

This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house, in his brother’s journals, in the kids’ dreams, in this family’s lives. And Stanley Pines is going to do something about it.

—

He swallowed down the static in his head and the cotton ball in his mouth as he waited for the elevator to carry him down to Hell. He was hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t a mistake.

Well, even if it was, he was doing it anyway. He’s pretty good at that. He’s sure Ford would be more than happy to remind him, even. Safest bet he’s ever gambled.

Once more partaking of their familiar 30-years-long song and dance, the elevator rattled and released Stan into the maw beneath this home for yet another time. Cautious feet stepped forward as he peered ahead, trying to locate his brother.

Stanford was in the portal cavern. Hands busy, head ducked down, sparks flying. The room was still a mess from the gravitational anomalies that had preceded the worst reunion in Stan’s life, though it looked like Ford had pushed some things into comparatively tidier piles. The portal was in even more pieces than it had been after the chaos earlier.

Alright. It’s showtime.

Stan wasn’t looking forward to it.

“We need to talk, Poindexter.”

The speed with which Ford whipped around, choking back a yelp, would have been impressive, perhaps funny, even, if Stan weren’t so anxious. Ford had damn near fallen over, peering towards the source of the sound with too-wide eyes as he dropped what he had been doing and reached beneath his coat towards his gun―

“Wh… Stanley–!”

Stan just shrugged. “Yeesh.” He felt as tired as Ford looked. It’s been a long day and now he’s come back down to this accursed old basement to make it even longer.

Before Ford could finish stringing together his thoughts or lacing his tongue with venom, Stan wagered to jump right into the train directly, disregarding the nausea settling in his stomach: “We gotta deal with that Bill Cipher guy, right? I don’t exactly understand what the sitch is but–”

He saw the ceiling rotate over him and felt his back collide with the floor before he could even blink, world spinning and stars infiltrating his vision as hard as his lungs hissed. He swallowed against the muzzle of Ford’s gun pressed to his neck, those angry owlish eyes boring mere inches away from his face, the man’s full body weight keeping Stan pinned flat; knees digging into thighs and wrists scrunched in a vice grip by an impossibly firm six-fingered hand. Ford growled. Oh sweet Moses, yeah this was going about as well as Stan figured it would.

Panic. Gotta say somethin’. “Oookay, uh, Ford… Stanford, care to explain why ya just came at me like a damn cheetah pouncin’ a bison?” A gruff cough betrayed the grin he tried to steady his heart rate with.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds–

Confusion crossed over Ford’s eyes like a delayed signal, eyebrows furrowing as the gears in his brain turned. Stan swore he could see smoke coming out of this nerd’s ears. He blinked, spluttering, leaning back slightly with his grip on Stan’s wrists slacking. “Cheetahs and bisons aren’t even on the same continent, Stanley!”

Stan simply offered him a million-dollar grin and the best shrug he could in response. Which was difficult, by the way, thank you Ford. “Get off me, dammit.” Ford leaned back, letting Stan sit up, but frowned at him the entire time with his gun still primed and waaaay too close to Stan’s face for comfort. Was that a snarl? Seriously?

He was seconds away from figuring out what he was going to say next when an offensively bright light beamed into his eyes and shocked his mind to blankness, Ford’s hands gripping Stan’s face as he forced each eye open in turn before the light disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Stan swore furiously, waving his arms in front of his face and trying to scoot away, only succeeding once Ford finally backed off and let him free.

When Stan finished rubbing his eyes and pulling himself back onto his feet, he saw that Ford had returned to his earlier position of crouching by the ruined portal. Okay, seriously? All that bullshit that just happened and you’re desperate to shove your nose back into some busywork like I’m not even here–

“...How do you know about Bill, Lee?” Ford was back on his feet, body facing Stanley though eyes downcast as though the floor could answer his questions instead. Stan hesitated, the bite of his anger gradually receding as his eyes took in his brother for what might truly be the first real time since he walked through that luminous, ephemeral, triangular frame of metal. His eyes drank in the deep, dark circles under Stanford’s cracked glasses, the pasty color of his skin, the patchy stubble on his face, the sweat sliding down his forehead from his mop of greasy mussed-up hair…

The way his closed fists were trembling as if taut with tension, just like his brow and his lip, presenting a portrait of a Poindexter who was teetering on the cusp of erupting into his own flaming supernova where he stood. Stan knew that feeling. Had partied with it multiple times. He was intimately familiar with the way it burrowed a hole in your chest in place of your heart: a fear that was all-consuming, an anxiety that buzzed beneath one’s skin; a frantic, off-kilter energy that kept a ragged man going on his feet when he had nothing else yet couldn’t bear to simply not care.

This was a man who was running on fumes, no fuel left in the tank, and ready to collapse into non-existence the moment the strings puppeting him forward decided to stop yanking him along.

A man with one reason to live, yet even that reason is barely enough. The worst buried secret in the world; a heavy weight plain as day upon his shoulders and carving out the marrow of his bones.

Stanley recognized pretty easily the poorly-hidden tells of devastated fear and utter exhaustion in his brother’s body language. Because he had lived like that, too. Because he still struggled to remind himself when it wasn’t one of those days.

Sixer had never looked so… small.

Stan heaved a deep breath, slow and rickety enough for him to feel it vibrate down his limbs.

“Read ‘bout him in your journals.” Ford’s head lifted slightly, eyes flashing to Stan’s face. “...‘Nd the kids had the misfortune of fightin’ him.” Stanley might as well have punched Ford directly through his core for all that the words, hanging in the air, impacted this man and hung despair on his face. “‘Course, they don’t know that I know that.”

“... What happened?” His brother’s voice was barely a whisper, almost a keening whine from his lungs as he ran his hands through his hair and down his face, fingers creeping under his glasses to push into his eyes as he massaged his temples. It was like his eyebrows hadn’t left his hairline in minutes, the creases in his forehead deep enough to age him by another few decades.

Stan hobbled over to the ruins of the portal, taking a moment to stretch his lower back before sitting on the cold stone and patting the ground next to him. Ford didn’t immediately follow, but kept his eyes trained on him the whole time. Stan just started talking anyway.

“Alright, without talkin’ to the kids about it I don’t got the whole picture, but I got enough. Some rascal kid that was freakin’ Mabel out tried to take the Shack. Same kid who found your second journal, wherever the hell that was.” Ford had carefully stepped closer, hovering over Stan before letting himself sink into place on the floor beside him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands and was awkwardly twiddling all twelve of his fingers while he listened, muscles in his face twitching.

“Mabes and Soos saw this kid, Gideon is his name, summoning the guy. Bill, I mean. Made a deal with ‘im to go in my head ‘nd find the code to my safe, so he could steal the deed to the Shack.” Ford raised an eyebrow, making his posture straighter for a moment as he prepared to speak before Stan just continued and cut him off. “The kids used that spell in yer third book to go into m’ head, uh, my mindscape, and fight him out. Whatever they did, it worked, though that piece of geometry didn’t seem to amount to much compared ta what that Gideon did next anyways. Kid had a plan B that didn’t involve Bill.”

“You weren’t there for this.” Ford said it like a statement, but with an intonation to his voice that made it an inquiry. Stan shook his head. “I was out cold. Not sure I even dreamed that night.” Ford nodded.

Silence chilled the air between these old men as Stan cracked his neck and began popping every one of his knuckles in turn, only releasing his breath once he was finished. Ford wanted nothing more than to break this silence, to urge Stan to continue, but it felt… sacred, somehow. Once Stan was ready, he balled his hands into fists and snorted. “S’next part really pisses me off.” He didn’t notice Ford gulp and tentatively hover a hand in his direction before changing his mind.

“I dunno what was said, I dunno what it all looked like, but that bastard got in Dipper’s head, got in his body.”

He suddenly turned to look at Ford, eyes wide. “He hurt him. Gave him scars. Gave him nightmares. Gave Mabel nightmares, too.” Stan’s mouth opened and closed, hanging strangely for a moment while his eyebrows knit together. “...Bill left a note, Stanford. For Mabel to find.”

One shaky inhale later, he continued. “Was gonna… jump off the water tower. Invited Mabel to the same.” He turned away from Ford, leaning back against the portal again and flexing his fingers, shoulders tense while he cracked his neck again. Stan’s gaze was forward and distant, a hollow feeling taking over his face and posture.

A loud slam startled him back into awareness.

Ford had sat up and punched the piece of portal he had been leaning against, struggling with growled breaths of air and trembling shoulders. He grit his teeth and punched it again. And again. Then he tottered to his feet and slapped both open palms into the metal, dipping his head forward and colliding against it. He hissed, rearing his head back like he was preparing for a larger blow―

“Woah― hey, hey, Ford! Stanford!” Stan was on his feet in no time and shoved Ford away from the portal, digging his hands down into Ford’s shoulders to hopefully keep him immobile. Ford wobbled and refused to meet his eyes, but Stan managed to keep him rooted where his feet stood. “What the hell was that about? Ford, buddy, are–”

Ford growled again and yanked himself backwards out of Stan’s hands, but made no move towards the portal. Stan’s hands floated, the man hesitating while he tried to put together what to say while his brain was still buzzing from whatever the heck it was that just happened.

“...My fault…”

Stanley froze, unsure if he heard that right.

“It’s my fault! I’m the reason why the kids are hurt, I’m the reason why they can’t sleep in peace. This is my fault, damn it!” Stan couldn’t entirely understand the next few words Sixer spoke, like some kind of foreign language, but he didn’t need to. His brother slumped over to the portal, giving it a half-hearted kick before leaning one shoulder on it and crumpling down to the floor. He tucked his face into his knees and wrapped his arms around his bent legs in a gesture that Stan well and truly understood.

Seeing his brother like this gave him flashbacks of a different time, of back when two young boys had spent the sweltering afternoon venting about life on a beach with grains of sand and glass between their toes. The shade of a patched-up wooden boat enveloped them in comfort much like the warm, salty air did the same. Stan needed to punch what was making Sixer feel this way. Stan needed to hug his brother. Stan needed to protect him and take care of him and make sure he never felt like this ever again. Down here in a stuffy basement in Oregon, Stan could have swore he smelled the ocean for just a moment. He licked his lips and tasted salt.

But when he reached a hand out to Stanford’s shoulder this time, his brother slapped it away and glared daggers at him. “It’s your fault for interrupting me during my fight! You should not have turned the portal back on!” Stan gaped at him and reeled back from the outburst of rage and accusation, his head feeling like an out-of-control jackhammer of confusion and pain.

He saw a nerdy little boy shaking his head, shoving his twin’s chest, and running out of the shade, running out of the sand, his snot-nosed face poorly hidden in the crook of an elbow.

“This was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal! Didn't you read my warnings?!”

“Stanley! Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!!”

Memories and voices from hours to years past spun a cacophony in his brain, a terrible chokehold that rattled the old man and stole his tongue. The room felt as though it were trying to take the air from his chest, twisting and swaying and becoming smaller around him. The broken portal sneered at him, trying to scare him away with taunts of his mistakes, with visions of a brother who pushed him into a burning hot panel 30 years ago and would gladly shove him out of his life today. It felt boiling, perspiration rolling down these walls of stone while sweat poured down his face and his burnt shoulder throbbed, stung, and scarred just like yesterday.

There was a painful pressure between his ears that urged him to leave, to escape, to find safety in a dark corner out of sight and as far away from here as possible like he failed to do three decades ago. If he stayed here then this grisly room, no, this ghastly portal, were going to squeeze his guts out inch-by-inch and break his bones one-by-one, the lightest punishment they could sentence him with. The eye of the portal would be judge, jury, and executioner, even from the floor as it was. He thought the laughter coming from the elevator behind his back sounded like his brother’s… only, higher-pitched and strangely distorted. Something off-putting, much like how he is out of place and out of his league in this basement. He was the one who willingly came back down here, letting his feet bring him to Hell. He was the one who dared to talk to Stanford. He should flee Oregon, he should ditch his name again, he should take Ford’s journal and go back out through the blitzing snow and leave and―

Stan closed his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as hard as humanly possible while he thought about why he came down here in the first place.

Bill.

Bill Cipher.

Right, that’s right.

That triangular devil.

The ruckus in his head slowed down all at once as he pictured Ford’s intricate drawings and written warnings, his mind’s eye blocking everything else out as it tunneled in on what mattered the most. A glowing triangle seated amidst a blackness that blanketed the cavern around him in an act of grace which smothered his fevered thoughts. A white hot fury in Stan’s chest that radiated outwards in this dark, musty basement, encouraging him forward. The portal was nothing more than piles of scrap, tape, and screws. The elevator was silent with only rust and age to its name. His brother was home. Stanford was here. Ford and Bill. His brother punched him in the face.

Stan huffed and abruptly spun away from Stanford, stomping over to the control hub area of the lab. Upon returning to the portal chamber moments later carrying one of those clear pyramid prisms, he made eye contact with Ford and then roared as he chucked the pyramid into the stone floor with all the might he could. Unsurprisingly, unfortunately, it did not shatter or break. Stan knew it wouldn’t. He’s taken out his stress on it before.

Ford was startled by Stan’s sudden violence, jumping at the impact noise and cringing as the prism rolled an echoing clatter across the floor. He swallowed when Stan whipped around to face him, his brother’s eyes searing a fierce unforgiving flame into his retinas as he glowered.

“Let me make myself clear. I’ve READ yer nerd diaries, Stanford. I KNOW ya have that really damn creepy room down here with this triangle bastard all over the walls, ‘nd I also know the last things you wrote about him were ugly as all hell.” He crossed his arms, turning his head to look real hard at the shadows in the corner. “I get it, whatever, you think it’s a mistake that I saved ya, you think it’s just another worthless screw-up from Stanley Pines. I don’t need a reminder of how much ya hate me.”

“Stanley–”

The con man snarled, meeting Ford’s eyes again. “What’s important right now is this guy is messin’ with our family. I dunno how you know this guy or what all happened between ya, but if you care at all about protecting the kids then let’s just go find some unicorns or whatever the hell and take care of this weirdo already! Then I’ll be outta your hair just like you wanted ‘nd we can pretend this all never happened.”

He shoved a finger at Ford, stepping closer. “‘Nd I don’t wanna hear it outta your mouth that any of this is your fault. I won’t stand for you badmouthing yourself, and I don’t wanna see you hurtin’ yourself again.” His eyes flickered to the portal frame briefly. “I am gonna protect this family from that demon monster and that includes you no matter how much you make it clear you don’t wanna see my sorry face. So DEAL with it, Poindexter, and stuff it.”

With that, Stanley stomped his foot and went to lean against the portal a little farther away from Ford. Ford couldn’t seem to swallow the tension in the air down enough no matter how hard he tried, sheepishly keeping his head turned down towards his feet.

The only sound that hazarded being heard now was the ever-present hum of resting machinery in the nearby control room. Red, white, green, and blue lights slowly blinking in and out of existence. Dark screens and large windows reflecting blackness and the distant visage of two upset twin brothers. A glossy, framed photograph of Dipper and Mabel smiling at the camera; Dipper giving Mabel bunny ears while she stuck her fingers in her mouth and stretched her face into the silliest, widest smile she could.

Twin siblings sharing the moment together like nobody else could do it better.

A captured memory of two kids being kids.

Happy memories from the beginning of an Oregon summer that supervised the final stretch of Stan’s very long 30 years, now bookended at last by the portal finally turning on.

Happy memories from nostalgic summers on Glass Shard Beach that safeguarded Stan through his shivers in the sleepless night, jacket pulled tight around his shoulders while he waited out the bite of winter in his car.

A worn photo of two boys that burned a hole in Stanford’s chest where the pocket of his black coat rested.

Dust hung in the air for minutes, fluttering in a draft so small it might have been imagined. Silence that built itself into a fortress, brick by brick. Tension that polluted the very air, threading it into thick, inedible cotton and dry tongues.

Breaking the silence had never felt less appealing. It would have been preferred had a chasm opened up and swallowed him instead.

Ford wiped his hands down his face again and sighed. “Alright. I can accept that I need to tell you about Bill. You are the other adult here and the primary guardian of these children. You’re already involved, anyway.” In his peripheral he caught Stan looking at him in the corner of his eye, clearly listening.

“Bill is… a dream demon made of energy who possesses no physical form in our world. He must manifest through dreams–projecting into our mindscapes–to interact with our realm. Or… make a deal that gives him control of a human body. Like… Like a puppet.” It didn’t escape Stan’s notice how Ford cringed, shame and fear washing over his face instantaneously.

“The purpose of the portal is to enable Bill access to our world in the flesh with his own physical body. Then he can use his god-like powers to take over and wreak havoc upon human society as we know it, bringing the whole of planet Earth, nay, Dimension 46'\, to pure chaos and ruin.”

As Ford continued to speak, Stan carefully came back closer and sat down on the floor again, trying not to grimace at his back as he did so. He was careful not to touch Ford. For but a moment he felt dizzy as he lowered himself, swimming colors in his vision putting his knees in sand before he blinked and was back on the stone floor.

“I… There is a deal between Cipher and I that is still in effect, but I have a metal plate in my head now that nullifies his influence over me. So I am safe.” At Stan’s raised eyebrow, Ford knocked his knuckles against his forehead. Sure enough, Stan heard the metallic echo.

Stan licked his lips, trying to choose his next words carefully. “If ya got that while in sci-fi sideburns land, then… you didn’t have it when ya asked me to come here, back in the 80’s.”

Ford seemed surprised, but nodded, looking at him.

“Is this guy the reason why you looked so god-awful back then?”

“...Indeed. I had only recently found out about his true intentions and was trying to thwart his efforts with the portal. He… was not happy about that and tried everything to get back at me, to sabotage my efforts, to win, and to punish me for even trying to resist.” Ford swallowed, glancing away while his fingers tapped at each his knuckles, eyes somewhere else and filled with long-buried memories. Was each word he spoke making him seem smaller, or was that Stan’s imagination?

Stan knew he was receiving the sanitized version of the story. It was written all over Stanford’s face: he was trying to be detached, objective, clinical. Like he was relaying scientific information from a formal paper and not reluctantly spilling secrets about his traumatic personal life story. But Stanley couldn’t find it in himself to blame him, not really, not when he knew he’d do the same if he had to talk about… Rico. Ford had created what might be the most acceptable version of events to present to Stan, the extent of what Ford himself could swallow, the most he could face his own shame and torment. It chilled Stan’s heart as he felt the cold sorrow creep into his nerves. This was just one more miserable thing that Stan wished he couldn’t relate to his brother about. Ford should never have gone through this, no, Stan should be the only one, and yet…

“...Stanford, in the days after I lost ya, I cleaned up a buncha junk in this house. Nonsense scribbles ‘nd piles of paper, old dishes, shards of coffee mugs, sticky notes covered in eyes, weirdo science books.” This time Stanley didn’t hesitate to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “There was a lotta blood. Random messes of it on piles ‘nd notes. Bloody bandages in the bathrooms. Bloody handprints on wrecked walls ‘nd doors with broken locks. Bloody clothing under your bed, crammed into piles of laundry...”

Ford leaned his head back against the portal and took in a large, stuttering inhale. His motions were slow, hesitant, like the pins and needles in his limbs were pinning the cavity of his chest open and revealing himself to Stan; the flayed pages of a tattered open book against his will. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to talk about this eventually, but he always hoped he could just ignore it and handle it on his own. His brother didn’t deserve to be roped into this burden. This was Ford’s problem, Ford’s pain, and Ford’s mess, no one else’s.

Yet, hearing the truth that Bill had been winding his spindly claws into the kids, into Lee, during Ford’s absence… made the gut-wrenching scope of this plague undeniable. The plague Ford unleashed upon not only this world but his family. He swore he could feel the sticky wetness of his great-niblings’ blood on his hands.

Ford noticed a question in Stanley’s wide eyes and, while hesitant, nodded. This was all the answer he needed to give. His brother simply understood. But Ford forced it out of his throat anyway. "Yes… The blood was Bill's doing."

This time, Stan was the one who punched the portal, cursing and sneering at what remained of the triangular structure. “I was so far up my own ass that I couldn’t even protect my own twin brother after he reached out to me for help… All I did was yell, fight, ‘nd shove someone who was hurt, someone who was scared ‘nd needed me to do something and I didn’t…!”

Ford’s reaction was immediate: clumsy and unfamiliar yet harkening back to what Stanley had thought was long gone and left beaten and buried in the sand. “Stanley, no… No, no no, you didn’t have a clue. Because I didn’t tell you enough, you could not possibly have known. I escalated the argument with you and I fought back. I don’t… think it would be right to fault you on that.” His hands were held up, fingers curled and loose and unsure what to do but yearning to reassure Lee, hankering to clarify and correct about Ford’s mistakes and where the blame lay so someone else need not falsely feel that vice.

Stan stared at him, shoulders rising and falling as his breathing returned to an even and steady rhythm. He didn’t really know what expression he had on his face, and judging by the look on Ford’s, that genius had no idea, either. He exhaled something fierce, erratically rubbing his hands up and down his face. He settled back down after a while of de-stressing and slouched against the portal debris again, looking like he didn’t really care about how he landed or if he were sitting comfortably or not.

One inhale. One exhale.

He twisted his torso to face his twin.

“But you think it’s right to fault me on other things.” Ford averted his eyes. Stan clicked his tongue. “Whatever… So what do we need to do? Make that unicorn barrier crap, smash this ugly piece of work back into scraps,” –he rapped his knuckles on the metal over his shoulder– “and then what? Anything we gotta do to the kids? Ya better not suggest installing metal into their skulls, Sixer, or so help me god.”

His brother spluttered at that, staring at Stan incredulously. “No, of course not! Besides, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this dimension to successfully pull off such a surgery.”

“Oh yeah? Aliens got it that much better than us?”

“Eh…” Ford shrugged his shoulders and made a so-so gesture with his hand. “It depends on where you look. I cannot say that consistency is a term the multiverse is particularly familiar with…”

Stan leaned closer and clapped Ford’s back as he laughed. “Ha! Not so different from us, huh.”

His brother could only just muster up an awkward chuckle alongside him.

“That aside… Yes, I believe you have the correct idea about how to tackle the… Bill problem. I intend to review my journals again for the sake of verifying my old memories pertaining to some key details, and then I will take care of it. I will disassemble the portal and erect a unicorn hair barrier–”

Stan cleared his throat in the most obnoxious way he could. “Ahem. You ain’t doin’ this alone, Poindexter. We’ll destroy the portal, and we’ll put up the barrier.” He raised a hand when it looked like Ford was going to protest. “Uh-uh, I’ve read those diaries more than you have at this point, or one of ‘em anyway. Ya can’t keep me out of this ‘nd you are not gonna do this alone, do I make myself clear?” He wiggled his fingers and flashed a well-practiced salesman’s grin.

Ford’s face contorted through a few different emotions before he finally hung his head and sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine.” He straightened to his feet and gestured over his shoulder for Stan to follow him to the control hub room, not looking back once.

This was going better than Stanley had dared to let himself hope. It still felt like Ford was at risk of exploding if Stan said the wrong thing, but his brother apparently didn’t have as much fight in him as he had earlier that day. Or when Stan first came down here, for that matter. He rubbed his wrists and winced his left eye toward what surely must be a fully formed bruise on his face by now.

He wanted to say he was happy, but as he swallowed around the rough feeling in his throat he knew he couldn’t fool himself about that. This sucked balls. His earlier attempt at levity seemed promising at first, but it was like trying to hold back the might of the entire ocean when Ford slipped right back into trying to exclude Stan again. This dense pressure surrounding his brother was suffocating, impenetrable, and something in Stan’s chest that he tried not to think about hurt like a raw wound at the realization that he didn’t really know how to broach this wall of Ford’s like he once used to.

Something in his chest chafed even more when he thought about how he didn’t really know how to talk to Ford like he used to, either. In fact, Stan didn’t feel like he had managed to actually talk to Stanford straight for once during this entire confrontation. He was being tolerated and he knew his brother was probably silently pleading for him to go away and leave him to his misery so he could mope around until this awful day finally came to a close. Would they repeat this song and dance tomorrow? …Would it be worth it to?

But despite all the eggshells, they had managed to connect just a little bit about their shared concern for the kids. He tried not to think about their shared pains from the past decades, something which was undeterred despite both twins living such wildly different lives.

Maybe Stanley doesn’t need anything else. Just think about the kids.

This is fine. This is surely fine.

Don’t think about the end of summer.

Don’t think about a rickety old boat casting shadows on the beach.

He entered the control room just in time to be shaken out of his daze. He watched as Ford arranged all three journals on the desk… and suddenly collapsed, holding onto the desk’s edge for dear life before he hit the floor.

Ford raised a hand to keep Stan away, fingers wiggling something indecipherable, limbs visibly shaking as he forced himself into a seated position on the nearby desk chair. He immediately staggered forward, elbows hitting the hard surface and his face sinking to hide in his hands, glasses falling down to land haphazardly on Journal #2.

Stan felt like he was watching his brother crumble into pieces.

Pieces of glass smothered in sand.

After another moment, he cautiously approached his twin, unsure what exactly happened.

“My apologies,” Ford rubbed his eyes, swallowing and bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet while he sat. “I’ve wasted so many decades of my life on that accursed charlatan.”

His sunken eyes glanced over at Stanley through his fingers like that was all he had the energy to do.

“I was one trigger away from having finally wiped myself clean of him before I was unceremoniously forced back here.” He scrunched his eyes closed, teeth grinding as he grimaced. “I shouldn’t be here, my life should have been spent on taking him down, on redeeming myself for being so big a fool as to fall for his schemes!” His arms swung to hang limply down at his sides as he leaned back, face staring up at nothing on the ceiling.

Like a doll with no control of its limbs. A puppet left to rot somewhere without strings.

“And yet he and I both persist, continuing to unjustly live, and it simply isn’t enough that he has me wrapped around his fingers, but now I find out that fiend is harassing the kids as well!” Ford’s words tapered into a roar, the spike of energy pushing him to lean forward far too fast while his round eyes located Stanley in the room’s dull light. He ground his hands against his knees, needing some kind of anchor.

“That’s personal, Stanley, I can’t help but fear that it must harken back to his gleeful torment of me all those years ago where he knew I was trapped and was toying with my psyche. He’s happy to hurt my family because he’s happy to hurt me, because he knew I wasn’t here to stop him, and he can laud his power over my head and rub my own powerlessness and failures back in my face, and… a-and…”

Stan’s arms were wrapped around his brother before he even finished registering that Ford’s voice tripped into a broken choke.

Ford cried out, “And when… when I saw all three of my old journals laid out bare here, I felt heavier than ever the monumental weight of my mistakes and how wretched my life has been. How, just how, could I have gotten my niece and nephew caught up in my disaster?”

The raw wound in Stan’s chest throbbed as he took in those words, the weight of them carving a home where he was already torn asunder and bruised.

Stanford’s full body lurched as he sobbed in his brother’s arms and gasped throttled breaths of air, returning the hug and scrunching the material of Stan’s shirt beneath all twelve of his fingers. “I’m so tired, Lee, I’m tired of Cipher! I’m tired of forcing those around me to continually suffer from my mistakes! I’m tired of running, I’m tired of being a puppet, of.. of being his toy, his property that he can jostle around the board as he pleases…!”

Stan began to rub small, gentle circles into Ford’s back while he thought over what he’d just heard, the motion so natural to him and so ingrained in his muscles that he didn’t need to think about it twice. For his brother to expose his heart like this… It was truly serious. It set Stan’s face in a grave expression. Not that long ago a rekindled relationship between the two of them had seemed impossible, and yet Stan now held the delicate reins of responsibility, an instinct burning inside him that made him want to protect his twin. He didn’t want to mess this up. He wanted to be there for his twin the way he should have been three decades ago.

He kept rubbing his brother’s back as the two of them sat there on the sand with their eyes closed, sniffles being carried away by the ambience of the ocean and tears falling down to the beach beneath their feet. Wet droplets left dark marks in the sand as though they could become sea glass.

Soon the sky was awash in pink and orange, and the cold shadow of the Stan o’ War stretched longer and longer, reminiscent of young boys chasing after the last remnants of dimming sunlight.

Once Ford’s sobbing diminished to but a few sniffles, Stan made his decision.

He picked up his twin’s glasses and gently sat them back on his face.

“I know this isn’t what you wanna hear right now, but, let’s get ya in the shower, and I’ll cook up some warm food for ya before we get ya to bed.” Ford lifted his head off Stan’s chest just a little, quizzically raising an eyebrow. “You need rest, Sixer, or else you’re gonna keel over ‘nd die before ya can do anything about Bill. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“But… The kids. Bill is too dangerous to ignore.” Ford’s voice was small and pathetic, yet as determined as he could make it. The familiar scared face of an insecure little boy standing on the edge of help and hurt. On the edge of where the tides meet the sands.

“I know, I know. You said the metal plate makes ya safe, right? The portal’s non-functional ‘nd in pieces that woulda taken me months to fix, ‘nd the kids are in the attic, prolly pretendin’ to sleep, so…”

“So…?”

“So I think we can afford to spend a lil’ time on makin’ sure you don’t fall apart first, brainiac. We’ll need that bright brain of yours runnin’ on something more than ten cups of alien coffee, right?”

Ford was struck with a look of astonishment following that comment. “Coffee… I can have Dimension 46'\ coffee again! Oh how I have missed it terribly; nothing else ever compared.”

His eyes glittered like Stanley had just hung the stars in front of an aspiring child.

Ford leaned back from Stan, using the collar of his black turtleneck to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “I… do not like it or feel entirely comfortable with it, but I will concede that you have a point that’s hard to argue. I’ll freshen up my hygiene if you include coffee with whatever food you make– I do not care what time it is right now.”

“You’re s'posed ta go to sleep, knucklehead, but sure, I’ll make ya a mean coffee,” Stan chuckled as he swapped his hands over to patting Ford’s shoulder a couple times before stepping back to give him some space. The soothing lull of cool waves echoed and receded from farther and farther away. “Ha! I am unsure even coffee could keep me going on my feet tonight, as much as I would prefer it to.”

They both turned towards the elevator and had managed to take a single step before Ford abruptly stopped. He turned back towards the portal room, glancing between it and Stanley, his brows set in a worry. “I need to check something…!”

Stan just shrugged. “S’long as it won’t be too much work.”

“Excellent! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” His coat billowed behind him as he rushed out into the cavern.

Stan didn’t follow him all the way, but did hover near the entrance, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “So what’s got ya in a tizzy?”

“It is of crucial importance that I check for any possible rifts.” Ford looked over his shoulder to verify where Stan was before he continued. “During my travels between dimensions, I had to track where potential rifts might form in order to continue my journey. While some rifts were man-made, or should I say alien-made, others simply occurred as a natural consequence of the unnatural frayed fabric of reality. Like a hole in a piece of cloth whose threads weaken, loosen, and allow additional holes to form.”

“So in other words, yer lookin’ for smaller holes near the portal?” He couldn’t help but smile like an idiot just a little bit. It was nice to hear his nerd brother again.

“Precisely! Seeing as our shiny punched hole in reality here was designed to lead to the Nightmare Realm, also known as Bill’s domain, I fear that any rifts will follow in those footsteps and do the– Aha! Stanley, could you bring me a borosilicate jar?”

“Come again?”

“Laboratory glassware! I need a resealable container, such as a jar. I used to have some spares sitting around here somewhere…”

Stan disguised a chuckle with a cough as he watched Ford crouch near the far corner, legs and hands splayed far apart, before turning to go fetch what was needed. When he returned, Ford was several feet away from the corner and busy with his hands on the portal instead.

He jumped when Stan suddenly slapped his shoulder. “What did I just tell ya about takin’ a break? Anyway, here’s your jar.”

Ford sheepishly nodded and retrieved it from him. He inspected it for a few moments, removing and replacing the lid a few times, before going back to the corner. Stan tried to stand on his tippy toes to peer at what the heck a rift might look like without getting any closer to the corner. He observed as Ford swung his arm in wide arcs and seemed to be capturing… floating blobs of spacey stardust? He thought they’d make for a cool alien lava lamp. I bet I can sell that.

His brother turned back to face him, sealed jar clasped between his hands.

“There we have it! It is but a small thing for the time being, but we will need to seal it and monitor it in case of any changes. I believe I know just the thing and can have this taken care of…”

Stan gave him a look. He put a lot of work in making sure that unimpressed eyebrow was as judgmental as it could be.

“...We’ll take care of it tomorrow.” Ford looked a little dejected as he changed course, sighing wistfully.

Stan gave him a thumbs up. His brother just snorted, shaking his head and smiling as he walked past and back into the control room. He seemed ponderous, one hand on his chin while he considered whatever it was he was thinking about, and then he opened a cabinet on the wall and locked the jar away inside.

“Ready to head upstairs now?” Stan was back by the elevator.

“Yes, I believe so. Well, no, but I accept that I should.”

For a short while, the tension between the twins had disappeared. But the elevator felt suffocating again.

Ford kept fidgeting and looking everywhere except at Stan. When Stan caught his eye once, he cleared his throat. Ford took in a deep breath.

“Stanley… It is very difficult. I do not have the words for everything it is that I am feeling, and everything that I want to say to you. I am still unsure of a lot of things, not the least of which is myself. But… I am glad to be home.” The wrinkles on his face were the softest Stan had ever seen them.

It wasn’t a thank you, but it was close enough for now. Close enough for Stan’s face to beam into a great big toothy, giddy grin. “Glad to have ya here.”

When the elevator reached their destination at the top and Ford made a motion to leave, Stan held him back with a hand on his shoulder. Ford turned to him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Stan averted his eyes and coughed into his free fist. “I, uh… Sorry. For earlier today. You’ll always be my family, ya nerd.”

Ford gave him a small smile. “Me too… I apologize for punching you earlier. I am not entirely sure why I did, honestly.”

Stan shrugged, then wrapped his arm around Ford’s shoulders in a hearty embrace. “Eh, stress ‘nd nerves probably. ‘Sides, you sound like ya could use somethin’ to punch!” He gesticulated dramatically with his free hand as though he were painting a picture for Ford to see. “Maybe we can pull out that boxing dummy from storage tomorrow ‘nd draw a triangle on it!”

“Oh that isn’t necessary, Stanley…” Stanford snorted, leaning into Stan as his laughter made him less steady on his feet. “Nah don’t worry about it Sixer, I wanna punch it too. And if that guy ever shows up here again, I’ll punch him for real!”

Stanley grabbed both of Ford’s shoulders as his laughter died down, turning his brother to face him. “I really mean it, ya know. Don’t gotta ask me twice. Easiest sell of m’ life, even. No one messes with my family like that ‘nd gets off scot-free, ya hear me?”

Ford visibly swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

“... Thank you. I appreciate it.”

They shook the sand off their shoes as they stepped out of the elevator.

They held each other for support as they trekked through the ocean, waves lapping at their calves as they climbed the stairs one step at a time.

When they stepped through the vending machine, the nostalgic laughter of two twin little boys wrapped around them like a scarf before evaporating into ocean mist.

The vending machine had only been closed for a second before Mabel bounded right up to her Grunkles and planted herself right into their legs, trying to wrap her short arms around them both in a hug. Stan gestured for Dipper to come over as he and Ford crouched down to Mabel’s height, apparently already knowing that the little dork was nearby. Ford watched as Dipper meekly came from around the corner and joined them, repeatedly glancing between Stan and Ford all the while.

Stan spread his arms wide and trapped all of his family in a big bear hug, laughing and feeling weightless and the most alive he has in years. “I knew ya little knuckleheads wouldn’t be asleep! Tell ya what, I was about to make some Stancakes ‘nd coffee for my nerd brother here. How ‘bout I make a few ‘nd some hot chocolate for the two of ya, ‘nd then you can head to bed this time?”

Dipper’s guilty smile fell sideways into laughter as Stan broke the hug to noogy him and his sister, but Mabel was undeterred by her hair getting ruffled. “You better give me extra marshmallows and heaps of glitter!”

“Yes Stanley, and I better have no less than four tablespoons of sugar in my coffee.”

“A-and I want four Stancakes, Grunkle Stan!”

Stan broke out in a belly laugh and clapped Ford’s back as he stood up straight. “Sheesh, no wonder none of ya can sleep!”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this positively about the future. The spring in his step and the healing salve on his heart nearly made him feel like a new man. As he pulled out the flour and baking soda and opened the fridge to grab the milk and butter, he couldn’t help but feel like no matter what may happen, things would work out just fine.

#seren's writing #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #ford pines #stan pines #this is my first gravity falls fic and my first time crossposting on tumblr like this #i don't have a lot of writing experience in general but i hope this is enjoyable #oh boy i hope i didn't mess up the ao3 page or this post haha #for some reason the italics for the summary are scuffed and no editing this post seems to fix it

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aroaceleovaldez · 8 months

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i hope this doesn't sound like a silly or weird thing to send you, but i'm autistic and have long thought of nico and a handful of other riordanverse characters as autistic and i love your posts about why nico in particular seems intentionally autistic-coded. but i've been thinking, if rick did intend for any of his characters to be autistic, why wouldn't he say so outside of the text at least? i can't think of a good reason why not, when he goes out of his way to be explicit about so many other characters' various marginalized identities and has confirmed things like reyna being asexual outside of the original text. so it gives me this nagging sort of doubt that maybe rick just made nico come off as so extremely autistic coded by accident, somehow. if it wasn't an accident i do kind of wish he'd say so because there's next to zero explicitly stated autistic representation in, like, any media so it'd be nice to have here even if not strictly necessary. either way though, like i said, i love your posts and i agree with you 100% about autistic nico! some others i like to think are autistic are annabeth and leo.

(Most of this is gonna be kind of a tangential ramble to your point and i apologize in advance just bear with me)

This actually touches upon something I've been meaning to do a write-up on recently, which is: depending on the coding, that is our explicit statement. In most coding, actually, that's kind of the point. (Also something something Death of the Author.)

You may have noticed a recent trend across media of characters saying things directly rather than expressing them in a natural way, and often this includes incredibly stilted dialogue of characters explaining things in very politically correct, wikipedia-esque descriptions and terminology that make absolutely no sense for the characters' personalities or mannerisms. This is born out of the idea that if something is not stated in explicit terms, no amount of evidence below an outright direct exact statement will ever count - if two characters of the same gender have an explicit kiss and wedding on-screen, it doesn't matter because they never said the word "gay," etc etc.

In PJO, prior to more recent books, we get plenty of examples of characters explaining parts of their identities without direct statements. Percy never needs to say in outright terms that he has PTSD from Gabe - and it doesn't make sense that he would! He's 12! He's never been diagnosed for that. He probably doesn't even know what PTSD is really. But we, the audience, know without a doubt he has PTSD, because it is clearly expressed to us. That is coding. Tyson is coded as having down syndrome. Nico is coded as being autistic. It doesn't make sense for Nico to turn to the camera and explain that he's autistic and what that means, because he definitely never got diagnosed for it and probably doesn't know what that means cause the diagnosis literally did not exist when he was growing up - and heck, autism terminology was still kind of getting sorted out back in 2007 when TTC was published, so it's unlikely we could have feasibly gotten any exact terminology wink-wink-nudge-nudges short of something like how Percy outright mentions other students called Tyson the r-slur in Sea of Monsters. And in fact we see that same exact style of coding with Nico later on in the series. Nico never turns to the camera and says word-for-word "I am gay, I am mlm, here's me wearing my exact pride flags" (until TOA/TSATS, which... did the exact thing i mentioned about characters speaking like theyre trying to get a good grade in therapy, or giving a powerpoint presentation). But it is never unclear that HoO is telling us outright that Nico is gay. It's not just hinted at. It's there, in your face. But entirely because no one ever outright says "gay" specifically it's technically still only coding. We know he's gay, we know the characters have trauma/ptsd, etc etc. We don't need it spelled out - that's just kind of condescending. It's like if you said describing a character with "eyes like moss" means they were "green-eye coded."

Nico being autistic-coded isn't hidden. It's not a secret. It's very overt. If you know what autism looks like, well, yeah, there he is. Even if you only know very vague 2007 media presentation of autism, Nico in TTC is easily recognizable enough as autistic because that's the point. Tyson is easily recognizable as being coded as having down syndrome and it's very clearly very intentional! It's just never spoon-fed in exact terms to the reader because it's not necessary! You've already been told the information necessary to tell you what is up with this character, so just plainly going "oh they're [x] in exact terms" is very much telling-not-showing and feels redundant. And while there are places for that kind of thing, most of the time it's very unnecessary. Sometimes coding is subtle, sometimes it's obvious, and yeah there are times where writers code characters unintentionally, but the textual evidence is there, and that's the whole point.

And that's what Death of the Author is about - it doesn't matter what the author intended at the end of the day, because if it's in the text it's in the text. You can look at author intent to try and figure out what that text means, but the text is the text. A Separate Peace is a very classic example - author John Knowles denies there being homosexual subtext, and meanwhile one of the protagonists living in 1942 puts on a pink shirt while saying he doesn't mind of people think of him as gay. What the author says after the fact doesn't matter - if it's there, it's there. So Rick saying anything outside of the books is completely irrelevant. And Rick talks about this a lot - he actively tells people that his statements outside of the books are just his own thoughts, but what's in the books is what's in the books, and if the text supports it then that's all the evidence you need.

Nico specifically is a case where yeah, he's clearly autistic-coded. It's very obvious and very obviously intentional when he's younger, and as the books progress it remains a background trait of his but is still notable (except for when it gets forgotten in TOA/TSATS like everything else, including the adhd/dyslexia, but i digress). It's a clear pattern within the first few books that Rick is intentionally including. It doesn't make sense, especially for the year the book was published, for the reader to be directly told in explicit terminology that Nico is autistic, because the reader is already being told that Nico is autistic.

And yeah, Rick doesn't mention Nico being autistic-coded outside of the text, but he also doesn't mention Tyson being coded as having down syndrome. He also said one time that Percy doesn't have PTSD at all, which is very incorrect starting from book 1. Again, Death of the Author. Whatever Rick says outside of the books does not matter, because he already said it in the books. And there's plenty of other stuff in the books that Rick doesn't touch upon, particularly relating to character identity - did you know Leo is Native? Sammy mentions that the Valdez family is Native in Son of Neptune but we don't get any specifics and then it's like never brought up again anywhere. That happens all the time in the series - and outside of the series - Rick can't possibly address every single point to confirm/deny everything from the books. That's what analysis is for! And that's why my blog exists 👍

#pjo #riordanverse #nico di angelo #autistic nico #analysis #ask #Anonymous #long post //#tone indicator just to be sure cause i know i used a lot of italics: this is all non-agressive/not mad i prommy #im just very passionate about this topic (coding & fandom concepts surrounding ''canon'' + death of the author)#also controversial opinion cause i know some people have talked about wanting the use of the r-slur in SoM censored #but i think it should stay because. well. yeah no that was still very commonly used in 2006 #trust me i heard it a lot. i was there. in fact it was commonly used after that point. for awhile.#it wasnt until like a bit into the 2010s iirc that campaigns started to go ''hey maybe. dont use that word.''#like that was RECENT #and yeah! these books are not old! TLT is only just coming up on 20 years. thats not super old for a book!#and yeah! that term was considered a-okay terminology to be used in a middle grade book in 2006! which is startling to think now!#but that's also why it's important to not erase that #because otherwise you forget that up until very recently that word was considered Perfectly Acceptable #and in SoM it's even specifically acknowledged to be used in a hurtful way! Percy is actively condemning it!#like. dont put it in the show or whatever. obviously. replace it with a different indication/coding to explain Tyson's struggles #not that i think Disney would put the r-slur in their show. but like. dont erase it from the book??? from 2006??????#i am frightened to see how the show will handle tyson though. its not gonna go well i can feel it in my bones #anyways man i should post that excerpt from A Separate Peace though #just cause that scene has lived in my brain rent-free for years

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hunny-pp · 9 months

Text

good lord theo wants to smash

screenshots of theo being Very Down Bad below

#coral island #coral island theo #shigeru higanbana tag #hunny's ocs #dollhouse's art #i think abt the 'anything' between ellipses and in italics a lot GOOD GOD #i like when i showed this around to different friends everyone was in common agreement that theo wants my char CARNALLY #bro cannot be normal

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itsohh · 4 months

Text

With You

A/N: Female reader, the cheating tag is there cause well I mean, Deimos has a wife lol.

Summary: After a mission goes wrong you find yourself in a decade long coma only to find out that your mentor betrayed your team and is currently the world's most wanted.

Word count: 4784

Warnings: Angst, cheating, age difference, power imbalance

Masterlist AO3

2012

A curse left your mouth as he held you pinned against the floor. The second that he kept you there was almost a lifetime, eternal as time slowed down. Completely trapped under him as the heat radiated from his body onto you. If you weren't already hot from training you were certain your checks would have heated up. Time sped up again and he removed himself from on-top you. “Going to have to last longer than that Rookie.”

By no means were you new to combat, yes you were younger than most of the operatives but you weren't a rookie. You didn't dare say that to Gerald though. At the end of the day he was right- you were less experienced than most of the other Rainbow operators. Gerald knew that your enemies wouldn't go easy on you so he didn't go easy on you.

“I know.” You finally answered him as he handed you your bottle of water.

“We're doing overtime tonight, I want to see improvement.”

“Can’t, I've got prior plans.”

Gerald froze at your refusal. “Prior plans?”

“Uh huh.”

“How in the hell do you have prior plans? This should be your biggest priority.”

“Yah know they reckon half of the fight is menal right? Plans Morris. A life. I need to breathe a little or else I'll get lost in our work.”

“You should be lost in our work. It's us or nothing.” He took a swig of water from his own bottle, obviously eager to get back into it. Yet you ignored his body language.

“I should go. It's certainly late enough.” You mumbled the last part and got off the mat. With a small goodbye wave to Gerard you headed towards the locker room. Yet when you reached the corridor which lead towards it a hand suddenly yanked your arm.

Gerald looked you in the eye with a look you couldn't quite gauge. It wasn't quite fury but more akin to authority. Control. “Cancel your plans rookie.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I need to just let loose for a moment. I need to relax.”

“You need to train more if you want to stay alive. I think that's a little more important than putting on a cocktail dress and getting wasted like a whore.” He mocked.

Your hand went slap him but he caught your wrist and pinned it to the wall. He took a step towards you and used his body to sandwich you against it. For a moment neither of you spoke. Each time you breathed his chest would press against your while your eyes remained locked on his.

“You can't speak to me like that.” You finally found the courage to speak.

“I don't think your in a position to make demands are you sweetheart?”

At his question silence ring in your ears and you were painfully aware the pair of you were the only ones left in the room, hell even the building. His free hand came down to your chin. “I don't know how you have lasted this long. Sweet thing like you.”

Your brows narrowed at him. He had been in combat with you, he had seen what you could do. But you had to admit hand to hand was your weakness. The possibility that he was trying to rile you up did occur to you and you studied his face. There were a lot of things people had said to describe you sweet was not one of them. “No one gets close enough to take me.”

Gerald hummed and his body pressed against you. No longer did you breath to touch him, his entire body was for against yours and you could feel his warmth through his shirt and your bra. “This job swallows people. I have to have time to remember I'm a person.” Your voice was practically a whisper as his lips brushed against yours.

“I can show you that. Cancel your plans with your friends. Stay here. We can take it easy and be productive.”

“I never said I was going out with friends.” Each time you spoke your lips brushed against his and you could feel his breath on your face.

His eyes flicked to your lips and then his lips were firmly against yours. With a moan you kissed back against him. He kissed like he fought, hard and full of passion like his life depended on it. His lips were consuming, controlling and demanded everything from you. With your free hand you found the back of his neck and tangled your fingers into his hair before you yanked his head back.

Gerald let out a groan that seemed to ignite in his eyes and he stared at you.

“We can't.” You whispered.

“Why not?” He let go of your wrist and parted slightly from you.

“You’re my superior.”

“Trust me, that won't affect anything.”

“You’re- you're married. You have a wife and kids. You love your family and I'm not going to ruin that. I'm not going to be the other woman.” Despite how bad you wished to continue, you pushed on his chest and slipped away from him.

“Europa.” Your nickname fell from his lips like a prayer. Lips that had been just previously against yours. Lips that you ached for, your body so cold now that his was gone.

“I won’t tell anyone. I care about you too much for that. A moment of weakness.” You swallowed and looked to the floor. He repeated the name again but this time was a little bit closer.

“Go spend time with your wife Morris. I'll improve on my own time.”

2021

The sun was almost painfully bright, your body disobeyed your commands. Weak in your own skin it took almost your entire strength to move. Each breath was heavy as you sat up and attempted to look around.

It was obvious you were in a hospital and you let out a little groan. The fucking grenade. You had seen it and reacted a little too slow. The metal table had taken the brunt of the impact but you had still been sent flying. A breath left your lips. Morris would no doubt give you a hard time about the matter.

There wasn't any flowers near you. Only an empty vase that hadnt been filled in a long time and a teddy bear which had ‘get well soon’ sewn on it. A layer of dust covered it and you couldn't help but wonder how long you had been there.

When you tried to move your legs they only barely moved and you decided not to test your luck by standing up. Your eyes found the call button for a nurse and you pressed it.

A brief curse was heard out of the open door and a few moments later a couple of nurses locked eyes with you.

“Holy shit she's awake.”

2024

It had taken you three years but you were almost back to were you used to be. Your coma had left your body frail and weak but over time and therapy you managed to build your muscles and strength back up. No one from Rainbow had contacted you but you found you did have pension and quite a lot of backpay.

That was the case until a knock tapped on your door. You had only barely heard it through the small gap of you changing songs on your phone as you worked out. “Coming!” You called and put the phone down.

The door was opened only a crack and you peered outside. A red headed woman and an older man stood here. “No soliciting.” You went to close the door before the woman jumped into action and called your name.

Still you went to close the door.

“Europa!” She called and you froze. It has been a long while since anyone had called you that. “That's what they called you right? May we come in and talk?”

Your hand went to the pistol you kept next to the door and aimed it through it. “Who the hell are you people?”

The man pulled out his wallet and showed you his identification. GIGN. The woman fumbled for a second and did the same. FBI.

“We're from Rainbow.” He smiled and you paused and slowly you pulled open the door and flipped your gun into your jacket.

“I thought Rainbow disbanded.”

“It did but was reactivated in 2015.” She explained. You allowed them both inside and closed the door behind them. “My name is Doctor Gustave Ketab and this is my coworker Eliza Cohen.”

You brought the two over to your lounge and sat down at the sofa. “I would offer you two some tea or coffee but I don't really want you in my apartment so can we cut to the chase?”

They glanced at each other before Gustave took the lead. “We heard that you recently woke up from a coma-”

“-If you call three years recently okay.” You interrupted him. “Look cool you guys got reactivated but I'm never going to be the same as I was and I've already been discharged. I'm actually quite happy living my little life here.”

“It's not you that we are looking it's about someone you worked with.”

“You want information?” You cocked a brow. Despite having to write reports about everything you didn't blame them coming to the source, there was a lot of information that was omitted from those reports.

Eliza pulled a folder from the inside of her coat and placed it on your coffee table. With the corner of your pinkie finger you flicked it open to be met with Gerald's face. A breath of air was sucked through your teeth and your brows shot up. A chill ran down your spine and your heart ached at the thought of him. You hadn't seen him since that night.

“Gerald Morris. That's uh a name I haven't seen in a long time.” You looked away from a moment as you pressed your lips together. “He was my superior, my mentor I guess. What do you want to know about him?”

Each word had your heart race and you could practically hear the blood rush in your ears. “Can you tell us what he was like?” Gustave asked.

“A real fucking hard ass. Let me tell you he pushed you to the limit. A real bastard but he took care of me.” You swallowed. “He took care of his team. Was pretty instant on sticking to the book.”

“We're you close?” Gustave asked.

Sweat stuck to your bra and you were sure if you were glad that you had been working out of not. “I mean yeah, he was my mentor. We were close, sure.”

You leaned back against the sofa back and looked at them. “Why? He's not still at Rainbow is he? Should have retired by now.” You mumbled.

“You haven't had any contact with him since waking up?” Eliza asked.

“Last time I saw him was ah probably what ah 12 years ago? Is he okay?”

Eliza turned the page on the folder and you started to read the file properly.

“I don't- no he wouldn't.” You frowned. “Gerald cared about his team. He wouldn't-” You cut yourself off with a frustrated sound and rose to your feet. “He wouldn't kill Bogart.” Your teeth clenched and you walked away from them.

“I'm sorry this must be hard for you to hear-” Eliza started.

“-We were a team. I didn't even know Daniel died.” Your voice grew quiet and you leaned on the back of the sofa. “We always had each other's backs.”

“Can you tell us anything about them?” Gustave asked.

“What can I tell you? They were both good men. They both cared so much about helping and saving people. Both of them trained me but then again who didn't in Rainbow? I was everyone's little pet project.”

“Pet project?” Gustave prompted.

“Everyone had something for me to improve on. With Gerald it was hand to hand, Daniel helped me with improving my marksmanship, when he had the time Six would help improve my stealth, Bishop would teach me tactics when she could, you get the idea.”

“Your record says that you were a marksman, yet you had Bogart teach you?”

“That man was insane. Definitely one of the best shots I've ever seen. I would have been a fool to overlook his help. Why did Gerald kill him?” You were fast to get the question out and be done with the small talk.

“There's a lot that's happened. It's best if you read it.” Gustave answered and you sighed. A link blink later you sat back down on the sofa and resumed reading his file.

For five minutes you didn't say a word. All you could do is reread the file over and over.

“We're wonder if you would know of anything that would set him off and lead him down this path.” Eliza explained when you glanced at them.

“I don't know. I was already in a coma when all this happened.”

“Look if there's anything at all?” Gustave leaned forward and you could see the implication behind his eyes.

“If there's something you wish to ask, doctor, ask it.” Your nails dug into the sofa.

“Were you sleeping with Morris?” Eliza immediately asked and the man slowly turned to face her. The question certainly wasn't subtle.

*No.” You spoke without hesitation. “I didn't sleep my way to my position if that's what you were wondering. Six brought me on because he saw the potential in me and because I was fucking good.”

A breath left your lips and you forced yourself to calm down. It was a reasonable thought, you were young and one of the only women there. “Things weren't left entirely professional though.”

“What do you mean?” Gustave asked.

“The last time I saw him, we had an argument. He wanted me to train in overtime and I wanted to have a break that night. Things got heated and he kissed me before I rejected him.”

“You weren't afraid of the consequences that it would have on your career? Normally rejections don't go well for most people.” Gustave asked.

“I was more worried about the consequences it would have on him and his family to be honest. I’m not sure if I loved him.” A lie. “But I certainly cared about him and I like to think he cared about me. It wasn't a rejection based on unrequited feelings. It was a matter of circumstances. Gerald isn't that man- wasn't that type of man. He wouldn't let it affect our work life but it didn't really matter in the end did it?” You bitterly chuckled to yourself.

“I wanted him to be happy with his family but it seems he had other ideas. I guess I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. Maybe at all.”

“Would you come back with us and speak to Gerald. We are hoping that he will open up to you.” Gustave asked.

“Gerald isn't that type of man. His principals are always going to take priority over how he feels. I won't do jack squat and I really don't feel like being used to get a reaction out of him.”

“It-”

“-You lot seem like good operators hmm? I mean your part of Rainbow. You don't fucking need me to do your job. Figure it out.”

“Join Rainbow again. We could use your skills-” Eliza started and you barked out a laugh.

“-Are you fucking insane? Rejoin Rainbow? I thought I made myself clear earlier. Fuck no, I just fucking said I don't want to be a puppet in your game. Do you people not listen? Is that a requirement for being a Rainbow op these days? Now I think you two have outlasted your stay.”

“He's hunting us down. Even in captivity he seems rather certain he has plans to kill us all. Currently that's 62 operators. He has the skill, the smarts and the information to do so. Every day we don't get through to him is another day that he gets close to accomplishing that goal.” Eliza leaned forward and you could heard the desperation in her voice, the slight crack in it.

“These are our people. Our friends and right now your one of our biggest leads.” Gustave backed her up.

“What about his wife and kids? Did you dangle them in front of his face too?*

“Non. They believe he is dead, it's nicer that way.”

“Why not just let me believe the same?”

They didn't answer you and you sighed. “I will talk to him but I'm not being your puppet. I will say what I want to say to him and what I want him to answer. There's not going to be any integration room or one way mirror. No cameras. I want to talk with him normally in a fucking room.”

Gustave started to make a sound of protest but Eliza spoke.

“Done.”

“May we request someone to be there with you? For your safety. At least.” Gustave asked.

“No. I told you. This is for me. Not for you, say what you want afterwards I don't care. I'm not being your puppet.”

“Okay.” Eliza nodded and stood up. Gustave didn't seem happy but didn't complain. “Here's a flight back to base, we will meet you there.”

“At Hereford?”

“Yes.”

It was strange being back. Somehow the place was completely different but almost exactly the same at the same time. A guest lanyard stayed around your neck as one of the operators showed you around.

“Here's were you will be staying. It's close to the SASR ops but the walls are pretty thick.”

“Thanks Campbell.” He opened the door and you dumped your duffle back on the bed. There wasn't much for you to take.

“Please call me Miles.” He smiled warmly. “If you have any questions feel free to hit me up.”

“Alright thanks.” He left the room and you were finally alone. There wasnt anything to unpack, you prefered to keep everything in your bag. The only thing you did get out was a chunky bracelet which you put on and his beneath your hoodie.

Ten minutes later there was a knock of your door and you promptly opened it. “Cohen.”

“Normally I would have done this tomorrow but I doubt you really want to wait that long.”

She started to lead you down the hallway. “There's not a lot of places he can go unsupervised so I'm afraid we have to put him into an integration room if you want to be in the same room with him.”

You started to protest but she continued on.

“I know this isn't what you agreed to but we can turn off the cameras and the one way mirror. No one will be there with you, you will have complete privacy. It wasn't easy to get you the department leads protested a lot.”

“...Thanks.” You weren't very overly grateful but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“You have fifteen minutes and if we don't hear from you someone will come in after. Knock four times when you're ready to leave.”

The pair of you reached the interrogation room relatively fast at her slightly uncomfortable fast walking pace. “He's already in there.”

She looked towards the door. “Black out will happen when you go in.”

You opened the door and walked inside. The first thing you noticed was the one way mirror turned clear and then the orange light from the camera turned off. Behind your hoodie you hid and sat down opposite to Gerald.

He didn't say anything, he didn't seem to care about your presence. You took the bracelet off your wrist and placed it in the middle of the table before you clicked the switch on the side of it.

Curiosity got the better of the man and he spoke up. “What's this?”

“It's known as the bracket of silence. It's microphone jammer.” You looked at hima nd brought your hoodie down. Right away his face softened up and his lips parted slightly.

“You’re awake.” His chained hand reached towards your face, specificly the scar that had formed on the side of your head. You flinched slightly when he touched you but didn't stop him.

“Of all the time for you to wake up, it's now.” He seemed frustrated by the thought.

“I've been awake for three years now.”

His brows narrowed and he pulled back his hand.

“Been doing physical therapy and shit like that. Maybe if you visited you would have known-”

“I visited.” His voice raised before he swallowed and repeated himself quieter. “I visited you whenever I could even after Rainbow collapsed. Even after I faked my death I visited you. But after 7 years…”

“You gave up hope?”

“I accepted that you weren't waking up. I had someone who was supposed to keep an eye on you but it seems like I'm going to have to have a long conversation with them after this if it slipped that you were out of hospital for three years.” His first clenched and his jaw tightened.

“Does it matter? From the sounds of it, your hunting down all of Rainbow anyway-”

“No, not Rainbow. Not us, those imposters who parade in our name. I could have helped you, I should have been there to guide you-”

“When? In between your terrorist hobbies? In between killing Bohem? Cause it sounds to me like you are killing us-”

“That was an unfortunate sacrifice I didn't have a choice-”

“You always have a choice!” You slammed your hands on the metal desk. “He was out leader, our commander, my mentor, our friend.” Your voice choked nd you looked away. “You made the decision to kill him.”

“You weren't there.” He growled.

“No shit I was in a fucking coma but it doesn't change the fact you killed him.”

“They set you up!” He jumped up from the table.

“What?”

“They set you up. Your mission I read-”

“-No I fucked up. I didn't react fast enough.”

“Just listen to me for one moment, woman!” His loud voice had you paused and you nodded for him to continue. “Your entire mission was fucked the moment you got it. There was no possible way that you could have completed it alive. I'm surprised you even completed the objective. Not because your bad, far from it. The mission was stacked against you. They should have sent in more people with you. It wasn't fair to you and they were going to leave you behind when you failed.”

“How am I here then?”

“Because I found out about it. I was on your extraction heli and went in after you when you went dark.”

Silence grew between the pair of you as you absorbed the information. “Aren't you tired of being a pawn?”

“Yes.” You looked him in the eye. “I am. Which is why I'm in my retirement. Something you could have done.”

“I couldn't just retire.”

“Why not? You could have been happy with your family. You would have been an honorable man who finished his time.”

“There's still too much work left to do.”

“What? Killing the next generation? Doesn't sound like work. It sounds like you're a bitter old bastard who can't let things go.”

Gerald stood up for his chair with fury in his eyes and you continued. “You know they offered me a job. If I took it would you kill me too? If I was there instead of Daniel would you have killed me?”

“No. No it wouldn't have reached that. You would have listened to me.”

“Would I?” You titled your head as you challenged him. Slowly you walked around the table until you were next to him and looked at you. “I told you once that I needed breaks because this job could swallow you whole and this is exactly what I meant. I think you need therapy. Proper therapy where you want it to work.

I think if I was there that day you would have put me in the ground the same way you would put me in the ground now if I got in your way because you see people not as people anymore but pieces. Pieces in the game where only you can win. It will never be enough though, how far will your righteous crusade go? How many lives must be taken until you're satisfied? Fuck it let's make it a little easier huh.” You grabbed his hand and brought it to your throat.

“Kill me. That's what you do right? Kill your own people. Betray those you're close to. Who else was closer to you in my team but me right?”

Gerald stared at you and you watched as the clockwork behind his eyes turned. He blinked and you could tell right away he was back in control of the situation.

His hand tightened around your neck but he didn't choke you, it was just to hold you. This thumb gently stroked your jugular before he pushed you back against the wall. Gerald's eyes lined with yours and his lips parted.

“I wouldn't have killed you. Maybe you wouldn't have listened but I never would have had a reason to kill you. I could disarm you with ease. If I had to I would have taken you with me. I would have kept you safe.” He came closer in a proximity that reminded you of last time.

“You're not a threat to me, you've never been. I couldn't kill you back then for that same reason I won't kill you now. It's the same reason why you wouldn't have killed me if you were in Daniel’s position. You’re not a threat to me.” The repeated phrase of your own words had your hand clench into a fist. You weren't sure what pissed you off more, that or the fact that he didn't take you as a threat.

“I hate you.” You whispered as his lips brushed against yours.

“No you don't. I can tell you want to, you really want to but you don't.” His hand moved from your throat up to you jaw where he used it to hold your face as his lips connected with yours.

His lips moved slowly against your but firmly. It was like he was testing the waters but savouring every last second of it. “You would have done so well at my side.” He mumbled as he parted, his facial hair still brushing against you. “Bishop was wrong to sign you off on that mission. She should have sent me with you.” His other hand cupped the other side of your face.

“I completed the objective, that was a solo mission for a reason. Bishop’s tactics worked.”

His fists slammed on the wall above your head and the chain on the cuffs rattled.

“It would have cost you your life.” He hissed and his eyes pointed at yours. You looked away from him and you heard him sigh. Slowly you looked back at him. Gerald calmed himself with a deep breath and his forehead met yours where he gently rested it.

“It already stole a decade from you. The risk of a solo insertion was too high. I should have been there.” Gerald's voice was quiet. The bottom of his face pushed forward and once again his lips were against yours. Once again there was a sense of slow urgency, as if he couldn't properly speak. Like somehow those kisses could make it better, that they couldn't explain matters.

“But you weren't.” You whispered when he parted. You ducked down from under his arms and went towards the table. “You weren't there Morris. I went into a coma and you betrayed Rainbow. You became the very thing we were supposed to stop. I heard the stories, how are you any better than Nowak?”

“Nowak was an incompetent arrogant asshole who turned traitor because he didn't have any self worth.” He spun around and grabbed your wrist.

“Well you have three of those traits down don't you?” You snatched your wrist back and turned away from him dead set on the door.

“Europa.”

“You know I think I would have preferred it if they just told me you died. It would have been kinder.”

He called out your name once, twice but didn't move to stop you.

You took a few steps toward the door and knocked four times. The door soon swung open and you didn't look back.

#deimos x reader #gerald morris #r6s x reader #rainbow 6 siege #r6s #hes a lot more serious in this one because theres that inital respect of being in Rainbow together #posted this on mobile so I think all the formatting wiped #goodbye italics my beloved ✊😔

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normal-thoughts-official · 2 years

Text

Why Joe and Nicky deserve to win the sun and moon showdown, and if they don't I'll end up in the INTERPOL Most Wanted list

A not at all dramatic essay

(Plain text version here)

1. Not only do they canonically use moon imagery to refer to each other, but their context adds new symbolism to that metaphor that other duos don't have

If you haven't seen TOG and aren't familiar with the van speech, well, I recommend that you do, but I'll transcribe it for your convenience:

"He's not my 'boyfriend'. This man is more to me than you can dream. He's the moon when I'm lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And his kiss still thrills me even after a millennium. His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of. I love this man beyond measure and reason, he's not my 'boyfriend'. He's all and he's more"

Yeah, pretty long way of saying "actually we're husbands", but let's focus on the "he's the moon when I'm lost in darkness" bit. That bit alone is already insanely romantic and enough to make us fans go rabid with this tournament, but there is an extra layer of romanticism to it, because Mr Yusuf al-Kaysani (aka Joe) is Muslim, and in Islam, the moon represents the guidance of Allah through life, the calendar is based on the moon cycles, and the brightness of the moon is compared to both the face of the Prophet Muhammad and the first batch of souls to enter Paradise. Therefore, the moon, in Joe's culture, is intrinsecally linked with the divine, guidance, holiness, and time

So, when Joe compares Nicky to the moon, he's not only saying that he brings light into a dark world; he is saying that he is the very guiding light that leads him to a blessed life, that he is the foundation through which the world and time can be understood, and that his beauty and holiness is comparable to that of the souls of Heaven themselves

Which is all already enough for me to bite through wood, but the specific relationship between the moon and the understanding of time in Joe's culture is also particularly meaningful for Joe and Nicky, because Joe and Nicky are two of the 5 people who are immortal in the entire world. And one of the core themes of the movie is how that sense of timelessness leads them to isolation, and a constant state of loss. There is a deep melancholy that permeates their entire existence due to the fact that time as we know it no longer makes sense to them, and they live outside of it, skirting around eras and history. So, by comparing Nicky to the very body that marked the passage of time for Joe, he is saying that Nicky is what helps him make sense of the impossible, that he is the constant in Joe's eternity, that he brings meaning to their confusing and sometimes alienating existence

But wait! There's more!

Because Joe and Nicky met in al-Quds (also known as Jerusalem) in the year 493 AH (also known as 1099 CE in the Gregorian Calendar) and had to travel together across the desert for a long time, which means that, for the first few years of their life together, they were in fact relying on the moon to guide them in their path. So they both have a deep intrinsic understanding of how the moon is a compass, the most reliable thing in uncertainty. And the moon has been guiding their steps, their relationship, since their paths were first joined. And they weren't separated since

Like. Listen, I'm sure Star Trek is great and its fans are lovely, and I salute the Star Trek fandom for everything it did for fandom history in general, but you cannot tell me that Spirk has this much baggage associated with the sunmoon symbolism. It just doesn't. If this were a hand touching tournament, no one would have as much symbolism linked to it than y'all, but when it comes to being the sun and moon, no one is doing it like Joe and Nicky

2. The most appealing aspect of the SunMoon dynamic is how they need to defeat all odds to be with each other, and Joe and Nicky have that in spades

"Oh I don't think that's the most ap-" IRRELEVANT. I'll talk about the other ones too. Just keep reading, okay? /joking

As you might know, Joe and Nicky met on opposite sides of a battlefield. They killed each other. (Many times). And what happened then?

They ressurrected and became immortal. That alone is already impossible, but it gets better - even for the rules of immortality in their universe, Joe and Nicky are still an impossibility that has never happened before or since

Because in The Old Guard, immortality is extremely rare. There have only ever been 7 immortals in the entire history of humanity. There are usually several millennia between the appearance of one immortal and the next one. Other than them, the shortest time gap between one immortal appearing and the next was 800 years. But Joe and Nicky became immortal at the same time, on the same day. Their very existence bends the rules of an universe that already bends the rules of the universe they lived in beforehand anyway. Joe and Nicky being together defies the very fabric of time, and if that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

But it's not just some destiny shit either. Joe and Nicky were also not supposed to be together by other standards. For starters, they were on opposite sides of a war. Nicky was a fucking priest, and he joined the goddamn actual honest to god crusades. He was hateful and ignorant and awful, and when he chose Joe, he left behind everything he knew before him. All his certainties, his beliefs, his faith, his family, everything he had ever been taught. I'm also gonna go ahead and say that that ties into the whole "the sun is what makes the moon shine" metaphor - because everything that defines Nicky as he is now is the direct result of how meeting Joe changed him

And listen, listen to me. I'm not saying that he stopped being a bigot for Joe, because if he did, I doubt Joe would want him. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and he was wrong and ignorant and indoctrinated by the church. But he still had to make the choice to turn his back to all that, and that plain and simply would not have happened if he hadn't met Joe. It was Nicky's own effort, but meeting Joe was the catalyst

Joe, similarly, had to overcome a lifetime's worth of (well earned) resentment and hatred for what Nicky did. Joe forgiving Nicky at all is already nearly an impossibility (and he would be well within his right to never do that), but he didn't just forgive Nicky, he fell in love with him. And he chose him, well aware of how bloody and terrible his past was, and despite the fact that there is no way he wasn't deeply conflicted about what he felt for Nicky after everything the Christians put him through. I cannot even begin to imagine how hard this process must have been for Joe, and it was one he didn't have to go through at all - which means that he chose to

And that's not even taking into account the very personal resentments between the two of them, because they weren't just on opposing armies, they literally and personally killed each other. Several times over. And yet, impossibly, against all logic, against everything they had ever felt and believed in prior to each other, against possibly their own desires, they fell in love. They fell in love and have been hopelessly devoted to each other every since

And THEN, on top of all that at the beginning of their relationship, they lived as an interracial, interfaith*, gay couple, through what were undoubtedly the worst times in humanity's history to be either of those things. For 900 years, they had to love each other in secret and with varying degrees of risk associated with ever being found out as a couple, or even with being associated with each other at all to begin with

(*It is debatable what their current relationship with their respective original faiths is, since it isn't mentioned in the movie. But even if both of them had turned their back on their religions, they are still culturally Christian and culturally Muslim, and that makes a difference. Personally, though, I don't think either of them turned their backs on their religions, although I do believe Nicky turned his back to the Catholic Church as an institution for obvious reasons)

That's not even counting all the incredibly traumatic shit that they went through ever since (which I won't mention in detail because it's spoilers and also this is long enough already) and that would definitely break a couple with a less unbreakable bond. Through centuries and centuries of pain and regret, they have chosen nothing and no one but each other, first and foremost, no matter what that meant.

Nicky even brings it up in the comics:

[ID: Joe and Nicky touching foreheads with their eyes closed. Nicky is holding Joe's chin and he says, "why is it so difficult, Joe? We've been afforded more time than any lovers I can name. And still, every moment we scrape together feels precious. Something always happens-" End ID]

(From the Tales Through Time one-shot series. I generally think the comics are meh and the movie is where it's at, but I do recommend reading this one. It is set before the movie happens so there are no spoilers)

There has never been a time where being together was easy, and yet, Joe and Nicky chose each other no matter what. They chose each other even when it meant being separated and getting only scraps of time together in secret. If that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

3. They complement each other

And not in the dumb stereotypical "the sunshine one and the grumpy one" way either. For starters, Joe isn't bubbly, and Nicky isn't grumpy. No, they have two characteristics that I think represent the sun and moon way better than that anyway - Joe is an extremely intense person, and Nicky, an extremely cool headed one

Joe doesn't feel anything by halves, and despite the fact that he has lived through several lifetimes, it still seems as if everything he goes through is happening for the first time. Every time Nicky or another one of the family dies, Joe looks just as desperate as he would a millennium ago, despite the fact that he's had centuries to get used to the fact that they die and then come back to life. He's the only one who's that affected by it (obviously none of them enjoy seeing each other die, but the rest seem to have accepted to some degree that it's a part of their lives, or at least gotten used to it). He has experienced so many horrible things, yet he is still as affected and disgusted by it every time, going as far as lashing out sometimes. When he's angry, no one is able to hold him back from yelling at the person he's angry at (not even Nicky). Similarly, not even an actual van full of armed homophobic guards is able to stop him from simply dropping a passionate speech about how important Nicky is to him, complete with getting misty-eyed and kissing him at the end (and I'm not even bringing up the fact that both of them have their hands and their feet tied)

To me, that is the most sun-coded possible trait, because the sun is intense, hard to ignore, and quite literally burning. The intensity with which Joe feels also feels like it could burn, but it's also what makes him so warm and loving

Nicky is also a pretty intense person, but, unlike Joe, he is super cool headed about it. For starters, Nicky is a sniper; he is capable of staying still for hours at a time, observing, figuring out the best time to strike. That demands an amount of control over himself, his feelings, even his instincts, that is admirable. But he's not just like that on a mission; Nicky is very careful with what he says, when he speaks, what he lets other people see of him. His expressions are all subtle, contained, and even when he is in a state of murderous rage, he doesn't lash out. He doesn't lose control. The same way that the moon and the sun share their brightness, Joe and Nicky share their intensity, but Nicky is able to subdue it while Joe burns with it and lets that be his strength

Where Joe is expansive and wears his heart on his sleeve, Nicky is cautious and guarded. Where Joe gets lost in his own feelings and loses sight of what they need to do, Nicky keeps their heads straight and reminds him of what they need to do. Like the moon that guides one through the desert

They're different and complementary, but also intrinsecally tied to each other. They have the same spark where it matters, but present it in different, complementary ways. They are a part of each other, but they're also themselves first and foremost. That's what the sun and moon are all about

Sun and moon imagery has been the staple of the Joenicky fandom since day fucking 1, and for good reasons

VOTE JOE AND NICKY IN THE SUN AND MOON DUO SHOWDOWN

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