Simon Crying (on Top Of Being Drunk Lol) Bc There's A Weight Off His Shoulders About Maddie, Her Spirit,

*bangs hands on table* I love this au T-T

An inconsistently drawn comic based on the BillStill AU by @jellynut !

I really like this AU for a number of reasons, but my number 1 is the simple horror of having no privacy, and the idea of a character trying to bond with their family while knowing a demon is overhearing/mocking every bit of vulnerability. (I also have a comic about Bill messing with one of Stan's memories because I'm a sucker for psychological mess-ery, but it was too ugly to post!!) Have this drawing which is less unfinished and therefore allowed to be here.

Based on @jellynut's BillStill au and @mroddmod's art piece Rough Seas

So far, I'm working on an accompanying fic where Stan is thrown overboard and drowns, but he lives after Bill saves him... and the consequences that happen soon after.

I left a comment on mroddmod's post, but I'll put it here. It's basically the premise of the fic: "Okay, but now I'm thinking about the theory/au that Bill still exists in the depths of Stan's mind. Ford can't help Stan get back on board, or he's about to jump in to get him back when Stan all of a sudden is just chucked back onto the boat. Ford's confused as hell, but he hears "Stan" splutter and chokes out a "Not even a year in and you almost kill yourself, old man?" It's Stan's voice but there's a weird lilt to it. They later learn it was Bill who somehow managed to possess Stan the moment he passed out/drowned."

Although this isn't the scene I wrote above, I, for the love of me, could not get this specific scene out of my head even though I haven't written it yet. This takes place after Stan and Ford have had time to process the fact that Bill's alive and can communicate with Stan (that's why Ford isn't throttling him at this exact moment).

SCHOOL SPIRITS: 2 x 07

Thought I’d share a ff I’m currently writing. It’s been a project underway since March of this year and thought I’d start posting some parts. 

Mr. Anderson has become my favorite adult on the show. And now he's joined the ghost gang?? OH. SIGN ME UP.

Also, his muffled and frustrated "what the fuck!" is gonna play in my mind on a loop for all eternity. He's just a silly little guy. I'm gonna put him in my pocket.

Oh, he embezzled marching band uniform funds? Umm, nuh-uh. Your Honor, he was in a silly goofy mood to pay off his father's mistakes. I, uh, rest my case :P

their bill design gives me life Q-Q

bill posting on main

Take My Hand, Give Me Your Soul and Fire

Pairing: Zack Addy/Seeley Booth

Summary: A rewrite based on 1x09 The Man in the Fallout Shelter where Zack finds it odd that he keeps bumping into Booth at every turn even though they're locked down in the lab. He discovers something about himself while observing him.

Part: 1/3

Word count: 4.5k

Song: Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol

My bones ache, my skin feels cold 

And I’m getting so tired and so old 

Zack winces as the needle pricks his buttock. He isn’t the biggest fan of getting shots but, if it means not dying of Valley fever, then he can set aside his feelings for the pointed instrument momentarily. He slides his pants back up, not that he had lowered them much, and glances awkwardly between his colleagues and the floor as they talk about what to do next now that they’re aware of side effects or symptoms they should look out for. 

For now, they’re told to get some rest. Hal, the head of the hazmat team, bids them a good night and reasures them not to be too worried before packing up the equipment. Once they leave the medico-legal lab, it’s his team’s turn to complain about their ruined holiday plans. Well, everyone except for one person. 

“You know what?” Booth says humorously. “I’ve never realized how pretty all this shiny stuff is.” 

The others watch him with mixed feelings of awe and jealousy solely for the fact that Booth is the only one with the preferable side effects. There’s not much that they can do other than discuss how they should get some sleep and then regroup in the morning to examine the unidentified remains now that they have the time to do so. Once the sleeping bags are brought in, everyone grabs a sleeping bag before dispersing to their little nooks. 

Hodgins claps the back of Zack’s shoulder. “I’m calling our workstation if you want to bunk with me.” 

Zack doesn’t say anything but nods as he considers taking Hodgins’ offer, it’s the most logical seeing as they’re closer and more accustomed to each other’s presence. Plus, they’ve shared the same sleeping area before after having a few too many drinks while watching anticipated basketball games. There was no other reason as to why he shouldn’t. 

He’s ready to follow Hodgins and grab a sleeping bag from the lone pile when his eyes latch on to the only other person who’s been quietly staring at the lab’s light fixtures. Booth turns away from the twinkling lights and locks eyes with him, the doltish smile still plastered across his face. Panic shoots up Zack’s chest and bubbles at the cusp of his throat as he looks for something to say. 

Booth is acknowledging him, and although he might not be saying anything he’s maintaining eye contact, which is something he isn’t used to. He feels like he’s under some kind of spotlight. 

“You see this?” Booth asks him as glances back at the lights, his eyes speckled with their reflection. “Wow, I mean these are… beautiful.” 

Zack’s fingers twitch from where they hang uselessly by his side. His eyes flit from one side of the lab to the other in a last-ditch effort at shifting Booth’s attention from him onto something else. There’s no one else in the lab other than the two of them. 

“Uh, Agent Booth?” 

All he receives is a noncommittal, “Yeah?” 

“Shouldn’t you be with Dr. Brennan?” 

At the mention of the anthropologist’s name, Booth turns, his brown eyes on him once more. 

“Bones?” he asks. Zack nods. “Should I be?” 

“I suppose not, but you always accompany her wherever she goes.” 

Booth lightly scoffs. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do,” he refutes. He’s not sure where his sudden burst of dissent is coming from but it doesn’t burrow itself back down immediately. “You tend to seek her out whenever you’re assigned to a case that requires the Jeffersonian’s resources.” 

“Because the FBI and the Jeffersonian have an agreement.” 

Zack shakes his head. “Although that’s true you never seek the others. You always seek out Dr. Brennan specifically.” 

Booth’s eyes shift and there’s an odd emotion in them Zack can’t quite identify (not that he can recognize most of the looks people give him anyway). All he knows is Booth would never give him this type of look during their regular, albeit limited, interactions. 

“Yeah well,” Booth scratches at the corner of his mouth and sniffs, “Dr. Goodman assigned her as the leader of your squint team, she’s the most qualified to be in and out of the field when it comes to our joint forces… we work well together.” 

“We as in?” 

“The FBI and the Jeffersonian,” Booth says quickly with an awkward smile. 

Zack doesn’t know what to make of that so he agrees. “Right.” 

“Right.” 

Booth goes back to staring at the lights. Zack sighs and makes up his mind to get the man’s attention again. He carefully makes his way over and lays a hand on Booth’s arm. It works and he earns a mildly confused Booth staring at the sudden touch. 

“Let’s go find Dr.Brennan,” he says with much effort. Zack feels like his heart’s going to shoot out of his chest; he’s sure Booth would be able to pinpoint his location with the sound alone if he had a gun trained on him in a dark room. “She’ll know what to do with you and I’ll get to keep all of my fingers.” 

“Why wouldn’t you keep all of your fingers?” he asks, genuinely confused. 

“Because I’m laying them on you?” 

Booth’s eyes soften.“You know I don’t mean it when I threaten you and Hodgins, right? I’d never hurt you.” 

Zack almost wishes the agent would threaten to shoot him and stuff his lanky body somewhere obscure where no one would find him. However, something inside of him grows fond of this side of Booth he’s never let him see and he learns why. It isn’t difficult to develop some kind of soft spot for him. 

The corners of his lips twitch upward. “Of course I do.” 

Booth returns his attention to look ahead of them, his eyes following the lights from time to time as they make their way to Brennan’s office. Zack’s sure he hears the FBI agent mutter some things under his breath but pays no attention to his hallucinogenic ramblings; he’s focused on getting Booth to Brennan in one piece and bruiseless… if only Booth could stop looking up at the lights every five seconds. 

*

“Where are you going?” 

“To the restroom,” Zack answers, showing Hodgins the packaged toothbrush and toothpaste they were provided with. “I just remembered that I haven’t brushed my teeth.” 

Hodgins made a sound of acknowledgment before settling comfortably into his sleeping bag and tucking the fabric beneath his arms. 

“If you find any eggnog that managed to survive the bone dust, bring it over.” 

Zack gives a short laugh. “No promises.” 

He can practically hear Hodgins roll his eyes and takes that as his cue to leave before he gets something thrown at the back of his head. 

The bathroom’s empty like it typically is even in hours of service. Still, Zack waits a few seconds to see if anyone’s inside before walking over to a sink and running his toothbrush under the faucet. The bristles are harsh on his gums but he powers through it finding that he’ll find it considerably worse if he doesn’t brush at all. 

He rests a palm on the cold counter and leans into it, humming to himself as he gets into every crevice that he can. Zack rolls his head onto his shoulder and eases into the peaceful quiet especially after the commotion where everyone had been so quick to point the finger at one another. The quiet felt duly needed and he’s grateful for it. 

However, as if a testament to his dwindling luck, the door to the restroom opens and Zack looks up at the mirror to see a quiet and mild-tempered Booth waltzing in. Well, the mild-tempered part doesn’t last for long as the man’s entire demeanor changes the second he realizes he isn’t alone inside the men’s restroom. Zack almost finds it endearing actually. The sudden change in conduct reminds him of his sister’s golden retriever when he returns home for the holidays: bright, captivating eyes, perked ears, and a wagging tail that smacks him when she begs for pets. 

No, he reminds himself. Booth isn’t a dog and he doesn’t have a tail — but if he did, it would definitely be wagging, he concludes. 

“Zack,” the man breathes out a sigh of… relief? 

Zack quickly looks away from the mirror to spit in the sink. “Booth, what are you doing here?” 

“I was looking for —” he stops to look for the right words to say “— the restroom.” 

Zack cups a hand of water and rinses out the toothpaste before using the sleeve of his graphic tee to wipe away the remaining water that clung to the corners of his mouth. 

“Well, I just finished up here.” He finds that he can’t keep the eye contact Booth’s been so insistent on holding with him anymore and he looks down at the wet sink. “Restroom’s all yours.” 

“No, it’s okay. I’m not rushing you.” 

He rinses his brush and taps it against the edge of the basin all the while stealing a glance at Booth; he finds it odd that the man hasn’t moved. Zack decides to crack a little joke with Booth and see where he is in terms of reality while putting his toiletries away. No one really knows how long it’ll take for the effects to wear off. 

“So, did you finally wear Dr. Brennan’s patience down or did Angela kick you out?” 

No response. 

Okay, maybe Booth’s back to ignoring him. That’s fine with him, he knows what to do when Booth isn’t acknowledging him anyway. It’s clockwork. 

“I’m sorry by the way,” he muses. “I didn’t mean to blame you for keeping us here at the lab, I was just annoyed that you brought something for Brennan to —” 

The sound of footsteps causes him to look up at the mirror and see Booth approaching him. There’s something off about him, an indecipherable look in his eyes. It’s quick, like the snap of a rubber band tenfold, but noticeable all the same. Zack barely has any time to turn around and face him by the time Booth’s standing directly in front of him, the proximity of his broad chest making him take a step back until he’s met with the cold countertop digging into his lower back. His eyes snap up to meet Booth’s own, who are watching him curiously. 

“Why do you keep bringing up Bones?” 

Zack feels like prey being stared down by a predator, save for the fear that would usually be instilled in the prey, he feels small. There was something else deep within him. The sensation roiling in his abdomen wasn’t dread he knew that much, but it was disquieting nonetheless. He swallows anxiously and the motion triggers something in the man in front of him. 

Booth leans in closer and Zack feels his chest press against his own. It’s warm unlike the room they’re in, the dichotomy between his warmth and the cold marble drove him crazy, like a circuit on the fritz. He quickly shot his hands up and put them between them to stop the sensation. His palms pressed against Booth’s shirt while the pads of his fingers connected with exposed skin just above the seams. The feeling crackles and burns his fingers like exposed wire. 

It did nothing to calm the feeling. 

“Dr. Brennan this. Dr. Brennan that.” Booth’s breath fans over his cheek as he leans down, his arms caging Zack in. “You’re driving me crazy.” 

Zack finds it odd that Booth’s breath is fresh and minty. He assumed Booth had also forgotten to brush his teeth, like he had, and had therefore entered the restroom to do so but now he isn’t sure. 

“I’m sorry,” he pushes through a single breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “I just thought that, since the two of you work together, you’d appreciate spending more time with her. I’m surprised you’ve even acknowledged me for this long.” 

“I already spend enough time with her during work, Zack.” His body trembles at the way his name sounds coming from Booth’s lips. “Ever thought that maybe I felt intimidated by you? All that knowledge stored inside that pretty little head of yours and I don’t know what to say without making a fool out of myself in front of you?” 

Zack blinks. Huh? 

Before he can ask what he meant, ask for some type of clarification, Booth withdraws his arms and takes a step back. Zack feels his skin prickle at the cold that rushes over him and finds that he misses the warmth, the way his body felt pressed against Booth’s, he craves its comfort and pulls closer — he snaps himself out of his thoughts and looks up to see that Booth is still standing close, brown eyes dark and piercing. His body betrays him and he shivers. 

They stand there, looking at each other for a few moments, when Zack finally gains the ability to speak.

“It’s late,” he whispers. Booth nods. “I told Hodgins I was only going to go brush my teeth. He’s probably taken my sleeping bag hostage by now.” 

Booth blinks and his gaze softens. “You were getting ready for bed?” 

Zack nods, not fully trusting his voice. 

“Sorry for keeping you up.” 

Heat rushes up Zack’s face, he’s unsure why. He wants to jump off of the Jeffersonian’s roof. 

“It’s okay.” 

* 

“What’s he doing here?” 

Hodgins is no longer inside his sleeping bag by the time the two of them get back to the shared sleeping space. It looks as though his friend had been ready to go looking for him if he hadn’t come back the moment he had… he isn’t even sure how he’d attempt to explain why Booth had pinned him against the bathroom counter if he had found them. In all honesty, he still isn’t sure how to explain it to himself. 

Some sort of display of dominance? Zack’s already seen Booth do that on a few occasions but he’s proven his dominance over him on multiple occasions through a multitude of ways. This time it felt different. 

Ugh, he really — really — wants to jump off of the Jeffersonian’s roof. Lucky, or rather unlucky for him, they’re in quarantine and he didn’t have access to it. 

“He followed me here,” he whispers to Hodgins as he makes his way over to his sleeping bag. 

“You know I’m just high, not deaf, right?” 

“Shut it, Shrooms.” Hodgins points at him and then shoots a mildly annoyed look at Zack. “I can’t believe out of all of us he’s the one who gets to be blissfully stoned out of his mind.” 

So far, from how he’s seen Booth act, Zack’s not sure he wants to be blissed out of his mind. He’d rather be in control of himself, thank you very much. 

Booth walks over to a shelf stocked full of all sorts of equipment and pulls something out of its proper place. He turns it over in his hands, reading the label if it has one before putting it back to grab something else. If it doesn’t have a label he proceeds to ask Hodgins, who only has so much patience before he’s itching at the band on his wrist, what it is. Zack steps in and answers a few of Booth’s questions to diffuse the situation. 

Booth grows quiet for a few moments… before moving onto the next shelf and pulling something else to examine. Zack goes to take it out of his hand and shush him before he can ask but he’s too late. 

“So what does this –” 

“Alright, out.” Hodgins shoots up into a seated position. “Both of you need to go find somewhere else to sleep.” 

Zack scrunches his brow in confusion. “Both of us? C’mon —” 

“Yes, both of you. You brought your little friend here and he’s worn my patience down enough.” 

Zack groans and, not wanting to put up a fight, pulls both his sleeping bag and pillow off of the observation table. He doesn’t even attempt to roll it back up and lets it drag across the floor as he makes his way to the door. When he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, Zack turns to look at Booth and glares at him. 

“You heard him.” 

Booth falls into step with him. “Where are we going?” 

“We’re going to my office.” 

“You have an office?” 

“Kinf of… not really,” he says as he tries to find the right words to use. “I call it my office but it’s more of a workstation than an actual office. There’s a couch thrown in there by the Jeffersonian but it’s nothing like Dr. Brennan’s.” 

“Huh. For some reason, I never entertained the idea that you'd have an office.” 

Zack spares him a glance. “Not sure why you’d waste a second of your day wondering if I had an office or not.” 

Booth hums as if reminding himself of something. “Right.” 

Zack looks up to see him staring straight ahead, a pensive notch carved on his brow. He decides not to question what that look meant, it’s far too late and Booth’s been enough of a pain in the ass as of tonight. He just wants to sleep and hopes that somehow they will all be given the green light to go home when they wake in the morning. 

Zack smiles at the sight of his ‘office’ door and pushes it. Thankfully, it’s a part of the quarantine zone and it opens without much resistance. Booth follows close behind and gives a quick look around, not that there’s much to look at. 

He doesn’t have much in there, not many personal things at least. He keeps most of his belongings in his apartment, of course, but a few things are scattered throughout his workspace like his favorite books mixed in with research texts and trinkets from shows or comics he enjoys. Besides that, he has a throw pillow his little brother made him a few years back when he first moved out to DC. It was one of the first sewing projects he made in his art class that had sturdy enough stitches in it to have not fallen apart during the move. He makes his way over to the couch and fluffs the pillow before returning it to its rightful spot. 

Right, they still need to figure sleeping arrangements out. There’s enough room for Booth to set up his sleeping bag parallel to the couch if he moves the cart of tools closer to the shelf. Zack turns to instruct him to do as such when he realizes a crucial detail. 

“Where’s your sleeping bag?” 

“My what?” Booth’s confusion only serves to raise Zack’s eyebrows… until he remembers and snaps his fingers. “Oh right, I left it with your boss.” 

“You left it with Dr. Brennan?” 

He shakes his head. “Your boss’ boss.” 

Was that who Booth was with prior to finding him in the restroom? He hadn’t spoken much with the others after they had all gone their separate ways but it wasn’t too far of an assumption that Booth would’ve bunked with Dr. Goodman; Booth never did fit the type of person that likes being alone. 

“If you left it with Dr. Goodman, then why aren’t you with him?” 

“I – good question – I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Eh.” 

Zack smacks a hand over his face. “Okay well you can either return to Goodman so you can sleep in your own sleeping bag, or –” he raises the sleeping bag “– you can stay here and take mine.” 

The gesture surprises both him and Booth. He’s not sure why he’s giving Booth an option; knowing Booth, he would take the option to spend as little time with the socially awkward assistant anthropologist. But this new side of Booth? Zack isn’t sure what he’d do now… and he’s a little curious as to what he’ll do. Besides he would feel bad for kicking him out after Hodgins had done the same. 

“You’re letting me bunk with you?” 

Zack shrugs and furthers the man into making a decision by motioning Booth to take the lump of fabric in his hand. “I’m being nice and letting you take this rather than the cramped couch.” 

Booth smiles in that dopey way he’s been doing since receiving the shot. Even his eyes have this odd attentiveness to Zack in a way he’s still not used to… he’s not quite sure what to make of it or how it’s related to the side effects of the shot. 

“You are nice.”

Zack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “That’s what I just said?” 

“I –” Booth sighs and fails to continue his thought before taking the sleeping bag. “Never mind.” 

Silence falls over them as they tend to their sleeping arrangements. Zack plops the pillow on one end before dropping himself onto the couch and hugging his brother’s throw pillow to his chest. He stares up at the ceiling and listens as Booth zips himself into the sleeping bag, the rustling fading as he settles into it. 

“These are far more comfortable than the army–mandated ones we got in Kosovo.” 

Zack stays quiet for a good second before something in him prompts him to blurt out: “Army–mandated?” 

“Yeah —” he hears Booth take a deep breath “— we never got much sleep but when we did, and if we were lucky, we’d get a few hours of sleep in these really thin sleeping bags. We were extremely lucky to even get them sometimes.” 

“That sounds terrible.” 

“It was terrible,” he chuckles quietly. “You wouldn’t believe the places we used to get some shut-eye.” 

“Try me. I’ll listen,” Zack says quietly when he doesn’t say anything else. Booth looks up and they lock eyes, curious eyes chipping at his to find some answer. “Where else did you sleep?” 

A faint smile graces Booth’s lips. 

“Anywhere we could. We’d sleep inside our operation vehicles, sometimes on or under them. Depending on where we were, sometimes we’d dig a trench and bunk there. And sometimes, if you wanted some space away from the others, you would go look for an isolated spot in some shrubbery or other foliage.” 

“What if you overslept? Wouldn’t you be left behind?” 

“Yeah, well… it happened to me once.” 

Zack turns on his side and peers over the edge with an alarmed look on his face. “What?” 

Booth snorts, entertained by his outrage. “I mean yeah, but they found me not long after. I woke up to see the OV gone and none of my teammates there.” 

“Weren’t you terrified?” 

Booth’s eyes flit to the ceiling above them. “Of course I was. We were close to enemy territory and we had been very close to being spotted a few times but we toughed up, we pulled through. We were trained for those kinds of situations.” 

“I’m assuming you found each other again.” 

“Maybe half an hour later they realized I wasn’t in the vehicle and they hauled ass to turn around and find me.” 

Zack feels the need to lighten up the mood a bit. He’s sure that what Booth just told him is something extremely personal that’s probably left him feeling vulnerable, so telling him a story from his own past might be helpful. From what Angela’s told him about interacting with other people, replicating conversation or body language is beneficial to forming a connection with someone. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. 

“One time when I was twelve, my brother thought it would be funny to prank me by taking me out of our shared tent and leaving me out on an open field in the middle of January.” 

Booth does this sound like he doesn’t know if he should laugh but does anyway. “Older brother?” 

“Third oldest, just by three years.” 

“Sounds about right. Older brothers can be a pain in the ass like that.” The smile on Booth’s face turns mischievous. “So what happened?” 

“Luckily we were only camping in the woods behind our house, but he pulled out the air mattress I was on and packed everything up just before breakfast was called,” he explains and stops for a second to brace himself. He’s not sure why he feels embarrassed telling him now and curls into the pillow. “I woke up buried in a pile of blankets and snow with a deer licking my face.” 

Booth breaks out into a fit of laughter and Zack feels his face burn hot. He presses his face against the pillow in a poor attempt to hide it. Rarely does he see Booth this talkative and unabashedly open so hearing his boisterous laughter tugs at something in his chest. 

“I just thought of the perfect nickname for you and it’s better than Mini Bones,” he says between gasps of air. “It’s perfect.” 

Zack’s aware of that nickname, Booth’s called him as such before and he found no offense to it. If anything, it was an honor, he is her assistant after all. (Even if the name was at the expense of Dr. Brennan.) Still, he’s intrigued as to what Booth could’ve come up with so quickly. 

“You did?” 

Booth tilts his head away, stifling (poorly, may he add) more laughter. It’s an odd gesture to do, seeing as he’s already laughed a couple of times inside the enclosed space, but Zack says nothing and studies his features. The stretch of his neck, the slight crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, the lightly scarred tissue stretched over his knuckles and forearm as he hides his laughs behind his hand, the scrunching of his nose. He takes it all in. 

He knows this won’t last. The effects of the shot will wear off by morning and everything will go back to normal. Booth will go back to ignoring him and Zack will go back to stealing little glances when they share the den during cases. 

“You ready for it?” Booth regains enough breath and turns to look at him with teary eyes. “Bambi!” 

Zack groans and rolls onto his back. He takes it back, he really hopes it goes back to normal after tonight so Booth wouldn’t have to call him that. 

“Oh, c’mon it’s great!” 

“I should’ve taken you back to Dr. Goodman. Let him deal with you.” 

“Don’t be mean, Bambi.” 

“Do not call me Bambi, it’s demeaning. I’m a Ph.D. student and deserve the utmost respect.” 

“But you look just like him: lanky, fluffy hair, big brown eyes, long eyelashes… all the reason to call you Bambi,” he teases with a stupidly charming grin. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” 

Zack freezes, astounded by the comment, and unsure how to respond to something like that. Booth just said he’s cute — scratch that — he said he’s cute when he’s annoyed. He’s merely saying this to get a rise out of him. Zack opens his mouth to tell him just that but finds that Booth has already closed his eyes and is humming to himself, the notes later replaced with soft breathing within a matter of seconds. 

“Booth?” Zack asks and receives a soft grunt. He can’t help but smile softly. You only have tonight, he reminds himself. And that’s fine. “Goodnight.” 

“Night, Bambi.” 

shit, this song's going in the playlist now ig!

Also, love the way @simonssweater put the two images to make them look like they're actually looking at each other 🫶 (they're so cute)

“You with the dark curls,

You with the watercolor eyes.”

In some of the different ships I love.

HA HA! Oh, I didn't think this would have me cracking up so much. I imagine Stan singing this so often and it has me thinking what he's doing that he has to keep singing it, or he just misses Mabel.

I think it'd be funny if Ford reads up on using music and its effects on the mind when it comes to memory in order to help Stan. So then Bill's just hearing Stan listen to all kinds of songs... and then, of course, Disco Girl starts playing (bc the twins made him a tape/cd). It would drive Bill up the wall... until he starts singing them himself lol

Managed to crank this bad boy out. Hope y'all enjoy it :)

did not expect their friendship/dynamic this season but i'm enjoying it so much that i'm scared something gonna happen to one (or both of them.

We tell her. Together.