#this is probably going to ao3

[colfy-wolfy]

If I wrote a fic about the aftermath of Surv and Monk's family losing two pups at the same moment, would you guys read it?

it'll be filled with a bunch of my headcanons about them and I promise I'll make it interesting story-wise.

happy ending? depends on how generous i am. it'll probably only be a few chaps long. simply for fun!!

[dear-ao3]

i think the japan update of the f1 silly season post may in fact be the thing that kills me. this is all for you all.

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[ecstarry]

snippet from pt.3 of olympic villa au - full fic here

“No, tell me why you are upset.” 

Regulus snapped his arm back and stared at him with absolute disdain. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Potter.”

“So it’s Potter now?”

“What do you want from me?” 

To kiss you, James thought. 

“Why are you this mad?” James couldn't wrap his head over how insensitive Regulus was acting.

“I’m not fond of people who fake interest, whatever the reason for that may be.” Regulus wasn't even looking at James while speaking.

James was even more confused by that answer, and quite honestly, he was starting to get upset too. 

“Regulus what the hell? Why would I send an apology if I didn’t want to make things right?”

“Do you mind?” Regulus started walking away. “I really wanted to do my cardio for the day.”

[caroandcats]

Buddie + ao3 tags || 3x01

[marigoldwriter]

WHERE ARE THE FANFICS!?!?!?!?!?!? FOR ALL THAT IS MOST SACRED, WHERE ARE THE FANFICS?!?!?!?!?!?! It could even be an alternative universe, but please make fanfics!

[qourmet]

been talking a Lot about yu ziyuan on other platforms, sharing a Lot of headcanons and adopting a Lot of meishan yu headcanons...

featuring jinzhu & yinzhu!

[shima-draws]

Worst feeling ever is when you go to reread a fic you really like and find out it's been deleted. Even WORSE worst feeling ever is checking the author's profile and finding out they've deleted all of their fics entirely

[bright-and-burning]

begging hands knees please

(oscar piastri/lando norris, explicit, 2.0k)

Lando slides in, slow, steady, insistent, and pauses. He leans forward, covering Oscar with his body. Presses a soft kiss over the hickey on Oscar’s shoulder, and wraps his hand around Oscar’s left wrist. His right hand is left free, and yet it’s just as useless. Lando squeezes down, just slightly— And freezes.

aka is anyone else insane about this picture or is it just me. aka let that man get railed 2k24

[bornonthesavage]

Read on AO3

Eddie should have been out of the mall hours ago. And he would have been, if it weren’t for Gareth practically begging him to pick him up from the movies. It would have served him right, having to walk home for not inviting him. But hell, Eddie had a soft spot for his friends, and Gareth knew that well enough to exploit it. The mall was mostly empty at this hour, with all the stores closing up. Except the theater, of course, which stayed open late enough for the ten o’clock showings to let out.

Eddie swung around the wall separating the cinema from the rest of the mall and strolled inside. There was nobody in the lobby. Which made sense, seeing as there were no later show times. He stopped to take a drink from the water fountain, quenching his dry mouth, then straightened up and pulled out a cigarette. There was still thirty minutes until Gareth’s movie let out, so he had some time to kill. Maybe the concession stand was still open, and he could buy some candy. Eh, but it was always overpriced, so maybe not.

Eddie was still in the middle of weighing the pros and cons of movie theater snacks when someone stumbled into his line of sight. No, not just anyone. Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington wearing a tight little sailor outfit that did wonders for his ass and thighs. It wasn’t as if Eddie had never seen the little getup before. Oh no. Much to his friend’s annoyance, Eddie had started having pretty intense ice cream cravings at least twice a week. Sometimes more, if he felt like coming to the mall alone. Because while he wasn’t a huge fan of crowds, he was definitely a fan of Steve’s ass. He might be a douchebag, but at least he was nice to look at.

Eddie was so caught up in his deep appreciation of the male form, that he almost missed the strange way Steve was walking. As if he’d lost all control of his limbs and was instead being dragged along by an invisible cable linked to his chest. But once Eddie noticed that, his eyes trailed up passed toned legs and arms, and he almost choked when he got a look at Steve’s face. It looked like he’d lost a fight with a Kangaroo. Kangaroos could fight, right? He was pretty sure. Hadn’t he seen a cartoon where that was a thing? Maybe he had dreamt in. Whatever, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Steve was messed up. He had a swollen eye, a busted lip, and more than one bruise blooming under his pretty skin. He also seemed pretty out of it.

“Robin!” he called, stumbling closer to Eddie. “Robin! Come out come out wherever you are! Are you hiding from me?”

Robin? As in Robin Buckley, who also worked at Scoops Ahoy? Would she know why Steve looked like he’d been hit by a bus? Eddie took a drag from his cigarette, contemplating what to do. But before he could come to any sort of decision, Steve turned and spotted Eddie. He’d never seen someone do such a hard double take in his life. And then Steve was just staring at him, with his mouth hanging open and eyes wide and glassy. Yeah, he was definitely on something. Eddie looked around, hoping to see someone who could help him figure out what to do in this situation, but there was no one.

“Uh, you alright man?”

His words seemed to snap Steve out of whatever trance he’d been in, and he took several lurching steps forwards until he was directly in front of Eddie. Which, okay, Eddie may or may not have had more than one dirty fantasy that involved Steve crowding him up against a wall. But this was real life, not a fantasy. So the more likely thing to happen here was that Steve was going to try and fight him. Which, given his current state, Eddie felt fairly confident he could win that fight. Still, he leaned back against the wall in alarm.

“Dude, what—”

“Holy shit,” Steve slurred. “You’re the prettiest fucking person I’ve ever seen.”

Well, that made Eddie snap his mouth shut. What the fuck? There was no way Steve Harrington had just called him pretty, even if he was high. But Steve was still staring at him, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Um, what? Are you okay?”

And then Steve had the gall the give him an absolutely dopey grin. “I am now.”

Okay, holy shit. Steve was definitely trying to put the moves on him. Maybe he was hallucinating and thought Eddie was someone else.

Eddie chuckled nervously. “Um, maybe you’re too out of it to tell, but I’m not some hot chick. I’m a dude.”

Steve scoffed, as if that was the stupidest thing Eddie could have said. “Yeah, duh you’re not a hot chick. You’re Eddie. Which makes you a hot dude.”

Yeah, alright, Eddie was definitely blushing now. What was he even supposed to do with this? Did Steve realized what he was saying? Was there a drug that could make you gay? If there was, the government was going to be pissed.

“You—You know my name?”

Steve took another step forward, so he could lean his hand against the wall beside Eddie’s head, effectively trapping him there. Eddie felt like he’d been turned to stone, his entire body locking up.

“Obviously I know your name. You’re Eddie. You come into Scoops all the time and you always wear the tightest jeans and Robin makes fun of me because I just stare at your ass because it looks so good. And it’s not fair because you never even look at me! But I look at you all the time. You should look at me more, to even things up.”

Eddie stared, slack jawed. What the fuck? What the fuck? That… couldn’t be true. “Dude, um, I think you’re high on something. It’s making you say some wild shit. Maybe you should sit down?”

“No, I don’t want to!” Steve actually whined, like a petulant child. “Besides, I’m not high. I got injected with Russian truth serum. So, I’m just being truthful.”

Russian truth serum? Okay, yeah, Steve was having a bad trip. The best thing for Eddie to do was get him some water, make him sit down, possibly find him a ride home? Because, yeah, he was high. But it also looked like he’d been in a fight. So, Eddie probably needed to do something. That became difficult when Steve took another step closer, practically pressing his body against Eddies. Which, in any other scenario, Eddie would be completely on board for.

“Uh, Steve, you’re not in your right mind.”

“I’ll be in your right mind.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve jutted out his lower lip, giving him a full-on pout. “Eddie.”

Fuck, right, okay. Steve saying his name like that was definitely doing it for him. Eddie wondered what other ways he could make him whimper his name… No, shit, fuck. Not the time!

“Steve, come on. Why don’t we get you some water?”

“No.”

Eddie sighed. “Why not?”

“Because right now you’re looking at me and you never look at me and that makes me sad because I want you to look at me. And if we move, you’ll never look at me again.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, okay, that’s dramatic.”

Steve’s whole face fell. Somehow, he managed to give him perfect puppy eyes even with a busted face. “Why don’t you think I’m pretty?”

Eddie’s stomach swooped. Alright, well. Here goes nothing. “Steve, I do think you’re pretty, okay? I hate that I think you’re pretty, because you’re a spoiled little rich kid jock and I should hate you, but you’re literally so pretty that all my common sense seems to be thrown out the window when it comes to you. So, I promise, if you just drink some water and sit down, I’ll still look at you.”

Everything about Steve’s demeanor changed, as he suddenly straightened and lit up like a damn Christmas tree. “Really? Oh man, Robin is totally going to have to put a tally on the ‘You Rule’ board!”

As if summoned by Steve’s words, Robin Buckley stumbled around the corner at that moment. Eddie breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank God, someone else that could take a very drugged up and affectionate Steve off his hands. But wait, no. No, because Robin was also stumbling and had the same glassy look to her eyes. Well, fuck. This wasn’t good. As soon as her eyes fell on Steve and Eddie pressed against the wall, she squealed and clasped her hands.

“Oh my god, Steeeeve!” she cried, racing forward. “Did you tell him? Did you tell Eddie about your big gay crush?”

Heat flooded Eddie’s face. Because while Robin was apparently high as well, what were the chances they were both having the same delusion? Which meant… which meant it maybe wasn’t a delusion. Eddie closed his eyes. He wasn’t equipped to deal with any of this right now.

Steve whipped his head around to look at Robin when she collided with the wall, but didn’t move from where he was pressing against Eddie.

“Robin!” he cried, looking ecstatic to see his coworker. “Yeah, I told Eddie! And guess what? He thinks I’m pretty too!”

She gasped and clapped her hands. “Oh my god, yay! Oh, oh, can I be your guy’s flower girl at the wedding? Or your man of honor? Maid of honor? Lesbian of honor.”

Eddie’s head was spinning. “Lesbian of—what?! Hey, both of you, chill out! What did you guys take?”

“I told you,” Steve said, as if Eddie were being purposely obtuse. “Russian truth serum.”

“Yep!” Robin chimed in. “They stuck that shit right in our necks. Oh my god! Steve, what if this gives us superpowers!”

Steve gasped. “Oh my god, we can be like Eleven! That would be so cool. I hope I get super strength.”

“I hope I get invisibility. Then I can sneak right past those Russians.”

They both burst into laughter, as if that were the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Eddie was completely lost. He doubted they had actually been drugged by Russians, but something was clearly going on. Besides Steve’s beaten face, Robin had several bruises blooming on her arms and legs. While playing nurse had not been on his Friday night wish list, Eddie was fully prepared to handle this. But before he could encourage them to follow him out to his van, Robin slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh man, I’m gonna be sick.”

Steve also stopped laughing all at once, his complexion going a bit green. “Shit. Me too.”

Without any other warning, Steve stepped away. The sudden air between them felt too cold, which made Eddie realize how warm Steve had been, pressed against him. Robin bolted away and down the hall, likely to find a toilet, and Steve was only a few steps behind her. But before he rounded the corner, he turned back and flashed Eddie one last grin.

“Bye Eddie, love you!”

All Eddie could do was stare as Steve disappeared. His brain felt like it had taken the same beating as Steve’s face. There was no way any of that had just happened. He glanced down at his cigarette, just to make sure he hadn’t accidently smoked a blunt laced with something heavier. Nope, just a cigarette. Steve had actually admitted to thinking Eddie was hot. Robin Buckley insinuated they were getting married. And also came out to him? What the fuck was he even supposed to do with all that? He considering going after them, but before he could movie, he heard the distinct sound of a crowd of people moving toward him. The movie must have let out, which meant Gareth would be looking for him. Which was the whole reason he was here. Right. Steve Harrington didn’t need him looking out for him. He was a big boy. A very big boy, if he’d gathered anything from having the other boys body pressed against his.

“Eddie?”

He whipped his head around, hoping he didn’t look too guilty to Gareth, who stood a few feet away. “Oh, uh, hey man.”

His friend gave him a strange look. “You ready to go?”

Eddie spared one last glance in the direction Steve had gone. Yeah, he really needed some alone time to process what had just happened. He stubbed out his cigarette on the ash tray against the wall.

“Yeah, man, totally. Let’s get out of here.”

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[puppetmaster13u]

I was reminded of a Thing from the reblogs on the Mermay 03 Prompt

Very similar vibes. But with platonic omegaverse, and dragons. Gotham? Already cursed to hell and back. But then another curse was formed via the museum bringing in this strange statue. That of course got stolen because solid crystal and gold. Then got broken, split in half. And oop. New Curse.

Now before I get into the curse, lemme explain the omegaverse side of things. Everyone is born a secondary gender labeled Alpha, Omega, or Beta. There's also medical conditions where one is neither, usually a mix of genetic and hormonal issues. Gotham however, is Weird. They have no set scent according to Outsiders. Really? They can shift and switch (Yes there's a large LGTBQ percentage in the population) at will. It can take months for someone new to the city, but those that have been there for a few generations can do it in hours. For those like the Waynes or other founders who have been there since the beginning of the city? Minutes. It's more than a little unnerving to Outsiders who are used to things staying the same.

But that curse (or blessing as others call it) mixed with the new dragon one. See, they can all change into draconic form, and do their best to keep that secret. But they also have different forms depending on the secondary sex they are at that time.

@f4nd0m-fun & @golden-buddle idk if u'd be interested in this but-

[carlyraejepsans]

Halfway to the sofa, they stopped, making a small sound like a grumble of annoyance. For a second, the red glow in their eye grew faint. "Sleep," they rasped out in a low, halting whisper, "I saved you an ache in the neck." It took him a second to register that the kid wasn't talking to him. Mostly 'cause Frisk didn't speak. To him. Or ever.

Sans wakes up late into the night and sees something he shouldn't have.

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

No, no, because Mucho's death.

Aside from the obvious part of being killed by the very thing you raised that people - rightfully so - focus on, what about the other tragic aspects of it?

Mucho got released before the rest of S62 - because of his good behavior, because he's an exemplary inmate ig - and that kills him.

He dies because he goes out alone, because he was well-behaved. And that's not the worse because that'd be too easy if that was the case.

Honestly, S62 most likely doesn't like juvie (pretty sure nobody does, even if & because that's where they met Izana and he's not even there this time around. They came back here because Izana cannot come back anymore.) so it's not surprising Mucho got out as soon as he could; but they also went to juvie by their own volition and they most likely don't want to be separated again. But Mucho got out as soon as he could.

Because there were other people waiting from him outside - Toman which he had to apologize to, Sanzu of course, and also Kakucho who was waiting alone for S62, suffering alone about Izana's death while S62 had each other.

Mucho got out because he had to apologize, make amends, and find Kakucho fast after S62 learnt he made it alive.

But he got out alone, vulnerable, trusting.

I don't think he thought Toman forgave him; but I think he was at peace with what happened during Tenjiku. Losing Izana hurts a lot but he knows what remains and he's determined to right his wrongs, to work for a better life. And he trusts, and he's loyal, and he loves, and he didn't see that coming.

He got out because he loved. Toman, S62, Sanzu, Kakucho - everything. He got killed for it, too.

And Kakucho? If he exchanged letters with S62 in juvie - I don't know, but he caught on the fact Mucho died (and at Sanzu's hands). He had had to learn which day Mucho got released on and the fact nobody saw him afterwards. That there was maybe one person who would care enough to pick him up. And one person who would resent enough to get rid of him.

Mucho wouldn't just follow anyone, wouldn't let his guard down near just anyone and would also not disappear like that.

Mucho would have find him. Mucho should have find him.

He should've been the one to pick Mucho up

And that adds to Kakucho's depression during this time S62 spent at juvie - because he lost Izana and he lost Mucho and he's all alone to deal with it. Once again, he's alive and his loved-ones are not and he's too tired of history repeating itself.

[f1-giuki]

First Impressions

Miss Charles Leclerc, the daughter of a country gentleman, meets Mr Verstappen, a rich gentleman who owns land, at a ball in a nearby town.

At first, Charles is resolved to hate him, thinking him proud and full of prejudices against the people of her rank, but, as her life erupts in is various turmoils, her feelings start to change.

READ HERE!!!!!

and thank you sweet amazing darling Nyx ( @breathofnyx @girlcharles-ficfest ) for organising this amazing and wonderful fest💖💖💖💖 it was the best ever!!!!💖

[idkaguyorsomething]

The Problem of Susan Fic Recs

For many reasons, The Last Battle is probably the most contentious addition to the Narnia canon. The standout, though, has to be the infamous Problem of Susan, wherein the Pevensie children are all killed in a train crash and brought to Narnia 2 Electric Boogaloo aka heaven, then declare that Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia because of her interest in “lipsticks and nylons”. Hardly any time is spent on this, but the implications have been the ground for a lot of argument and discussion. What exactly would happen to Susan, and should it have happened? Over the years, dozens of fic writers have thrown their hats in the ring and weighed in on the subject, making the Problem of Susan almost a prism for the fandom: everyone shines through it a bit differently, resulting in a wide spectrum. Here’s some of the highlights under the cut.

http://shedletsky.com/blog/the-god-who-loves-you

Starting with the fic that coined the term, written by Neil Gaiman himself, this fic is a reflection and deconstruction of the idea that Susan would be able to find Narnia again by delving into the trauma that the experience of losing all her family at once as well as the social injustices that a young woman of her time would’ve faced, something that the narrative of The Last Battle never really addresses. It took off for a reason, as it presents a lot of good food for thought, but it’s also got some pretty weird shit that can feel like it’s conflating adulthood with edginess. Well worth a read for all the points it raises, but if you’re fond of canon you probably won’t like the way it takes a hammer to it.

Now this one is exactly what you’d want to read if you wanted some feel-good time. This story is probably the closest to how C S Lewis would’ve written Susan’s return to Narnia, detailing her rediscovering all the things she put away as well as what led up to her rejecting Narnia in the first place. It falls more to the end of being almost uncritical of canon, with the focus on Susan basically having the same sort of religious rediscovery that C S Lewis himself had in his life. Because of how she was treated in canon, that can be pretty frustrating, but the ending feels nothing short of joyous.

Swinging back to the other end of the spectrum, this fic is very critical of the idea of The Last Battle being a pretty happy ending for everyone, unambiguously stating that life is always worth living for all the Pevensie kids. It explores what their lives could’ve been like if they didn’t die, being a rebuttal of C S Lewis’ themes rather than a continuation of them while feeling equally as happy as the fic directly above.

And this story feels like a midway point between the above two. It dives really deep into the emotional damage that Susan would’ve suffered before and after the train crash in some absolutely gorgeous prose, showing both her and Aslan with great sympathy while maintaining that what happened to her is not a punishment in any way. Bittersweet and very, very good.

Heading back towards the more critical end of the spectrum, this fic presents a Susan who is not interested in finding Narnia again, only her family. She is very much a character straight out of an ancient myth rather than a teen trying to make sense of a senseless situation here, filled with determination as much as desperation. It’s probably the closest fic on here to having something close to a plot as well as a character study, with the exception of The Queen’s Return and one other:

Being a crossover with what’s pretty much the antithesis of the Chronicles of Narnia, His Dark Materials, it’s probably easy for you to guess which side of the spectrum this story falls on. It’s more of a HDM story than a Narnia one, but the two worlds blend together surprisingly well, and it gives us a rare look into a Susan who’s lived decades of her life when the story picks up. She’s pretty much the Professor and it is fascinating, as is everything left to interpretation by this gem of a fic that is ambiguous yet deeply satisfying.

¡And here’s Susan as a Doctor Who companion! This isn’t directly a Narnia story so much as it is one about two people much older than they look mourning the loss of their worlds, with a Susan who is a queen wise beyond her years. Reading it is like taking an ice shower. It doesn’t hold back on the grief, and as a result it manages to feel honest as it reaches a warm ending.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/24311

Despite also being a crossover, this is in some ways the opposite of touch the sky with two arms. Susan is more of an everyday young woman than a queen, and [SLIGHT SPOILERS] Narnia itself does feature directly. But y’know, that’s part of what makes fandom so interesting. Not everyone is going to have the same take on everything, and the ending of this leans more happy than melancholy.

¿A shipping fic that’s also a crossover with Peter Pan that features neither Neverland or Narnia? Yes, this one probably has the least to do with Narnia or Aslan, but it tells a very compelling story about living life and growing up, something that isn’t perfect but can be good if you find someone you want to spend your life with. Susan Pevensie and Wendy Darling are a really good couple, pinky promise.

Technically more a series of ensemble oneshots, but Susan features very prominently in a lot of them, and they will make you feel every feeling that everything else on this list might’ve given you. Satisfaction, devastation, simple joy, just go give it a shot.