#I think the growths fall under that but please lemme know if there is a more specific tag for that!

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Fake bean? Can we have that tape, please?

WHILE BEAN WAS RECOVERING FOR THOSE FEW DAYS, I TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE ALONE TIME TO EXPLORE WITHIN THE STORY

IT WAS VERY INTERESTING, ATE MANY THINGS, INCLUDING THIS, BUT DO UNDERSTAND: IT WAS COVERED IN CHEESE

REGARDLESS, I HAVE NO USE FOR THIS, SO YOU MAY HAVE IT

OOHOHO, CINNAMON ROLL, THANK YOU

"-has developed a moderately sized growth on it's upper back. The subject appears unaffected by this, continuing normal documented behaviour. Closer examination is required.-"

"-owth within the last 12 hours. The subject still appears unaffected by this, but is aware of it, as it is not sleeping on it's back as normally documented. Parts of the growth are of an unusual sha-"

"-re now gone, but the subject is now acting aggressively, not allowing researchers to get close, even with the offer of it's favourite treat. It was advised to leave the subject alone for now, as it has acted violently in the past. Sedatives may be required in order to carry out it's regular chec-"

"-planation for the growths and increased aggression! The subject has reproduced! The offspring is identical to the subject, even down to the subject's unique flecked pattern. The subject has also developed a pouch, similar to a marsupial's. I must inform Mr D'Angiolini. More clones can be produced at a much faster rate with this metho-"

"-ing was taken away from the subject. The subject has never been documented with this type of behaviour before. It's cries are so... Human... This- This isn't right... I have to do someth-"

-N THE LOOSE. DO NOT APPROACH. 00258 IS KNOWN TO BE VERY VIOLENT. IF SPOTTED, NOTIFY SECURITY IMMEDI-

[the tape ends there]

WELL, THAT WAS INTERESTING, WASN'T IT?

[elvisgasm]

May we PLEASE have more like “and devour”??? I am in love with the way you write for him 😍

He watches you from the velour blue couch. A thick cigar threaded between two ringed fingers.

You're rolling about the floor and giggling in a blurry haze.

"I don't feel anything." You hold up a hand, turning it back and forth and back again to inspect the delicate veins and trickling fingerprints that decorate your fingers. "I feel the same."

Elvis chuckles lightly from above you, leaning down to run the tips of his fingers up and down your back gently.

You shiver and shuffle away to sit on your knees. Turning to him, your face falls flat in an unimpressed look – disappointed in the lack of "high" Elvis had promised you.

He smiles at your expression, scoffing lightly before cupping your jaw in a rough hand.

"Lemme look at ya' eyes," he turns you from side to side, letting out a small laugh when the light exposes the heavy black of your pupils.

He leans back with a smile, petting your chin softly before releasing you.

"Let's wait a bit."

Frustrated, you throw your hands up dramatically and fall back onto the carpet with a huff.

"Oh, I know." The sound of his lighter echoes throughout the TV room, "it's just the end of the world, isn't it."

The buzz of the TV tickles you in a gentle hum that echoes off the walls of the room.

Crawling over to the older man, you rest your arms on one of his knees, peering up at him under your dark lashes.

Elvis meets your eyes with a smile, pulling a drag from his cigar before turning his head away from you to exhale the billowing smoke.

"Y'need to go to bed soon." He chides, stroking the backs of his knuckles over your cheek.

A simmering heat floods your chest, and you pout.

Elvis laughs at your blown out eyes pulled down in furrow – you're so high you haven't even realized you've been swaying from side to side at his feet.

"Elvis?" Your voice cracks through a yawn.

"Hm?" He takes another drag.

"When was the first time you got high?"

He looks at you from behind his tinted glasses, thinking over the question.

"Think I mighta' been twenty-one or twenty-two." His knee bounces. "Why'da ask, hon?" He drops his hand down to stroke your jaw to your chin.

You shrug. "I don't think it works on me."

"Oh, trust me, it's workin'." Elvis shakes his head some.

"Elvis?"

"What, honey?"

"If I get taller, will you let me have your clothes and your shoes and all of your pretty jewelry?" You begin to pick at the vanilla carpet.

"You plannin' on havin' a second growth spurt soon or somethin'?" He leans back into the couch cushion.

"I don't know!" You meet his eyes. "M'not tryin' to be funny, Elvis."

"You're not gonna get another growth spurt in your twenties, thirties, forties–"

"Okay, I get it!" You pinch his thigh and he jolts with a faux cry of pain, pushing your hand away.

Elvis soothes out the front of his dress shirt, "but, if some magical unicorn comes down and gives you a second growth spurt – hey, don't pick at the carpet." He leans over to pull your hand away from the floor with a sigh.

"You smell good," you nuzzle into his forearm.

He lets you hold his arm, laughing softly at your inebriated behavior.

"It's bedtime."

[alligatorjesie]

So here we are again, another day of you being a fucking cunt to people in this fandom and me telling you to fix your fucking tags and get the fuck out of this fandom space if you hate it so goddamn much.

You’re not welcome here and you can fucking leave whenever.

You swear up and down you got such a huge problem with reylos because they cross post in the finnrey tag but try as I fucking might I can’t find any fucking examples of it but ironically you continue to this fucking day to post harassment in the reylo tag.

Where the fuck are these crossposts @the-pretty-corpse? They seam like they’re such a huge goddamn problem to you but God Fucking Help Me I can’t find a single fucking one.

You seam like you need some help redirecting all that needless fucking hate so you know what? Lemme help you out with a nice project to get you outside and touching just so much grass.

You see this plant here?

It’s called honeysuckle and if you live in North America you’ve probably seen some variation of this plant or another along roadways be it you realize it or not.

They’re some of the first things to leaf in early spring. They get an incredibly good smelling white flower that eventually turns yellow then later develops bright red or orange berries in clumps of 2 or 4 at the base of each leaf towards the end of summer.

They grow opposite simple oval shaped leaves. ‘Opposite’ means the leaves grow on each side of a node, not staggered like they are on poison ivy,

The term ‘simple’ means the leaf is very generic and doesn't have a distinguishable shape, color, or feature but the end of the leaf is always pointed.

The bark is thornless and the stems are often hollow on mature plants, mature plants getting easily 15 feet tall growing multiple ‘trunks’ that lean over from a central base.

I bring this plant up in such detail because it’s hugely destructive to the ecosystem, just like you @the-pretty-corpse who can’t seem to do much else besides periodically show up in areas no one fucking wants you in.

I regularly go out in my neighborhood and help removed these plants among many others because they’re such a big problem where I live and I care about real fucking issues like the collapse of my local ecosystems.

Which is partially why I took so long to reply to this post. Among plenty of other reasons. Don't fret, my sexually pleasing your parents is still very high on the list.

I’m actually making a infograph involving this plant so I can use it to counter protest a group of religious zealot asswipes who like to protest our local pride events.

I don’t really even have to do that much, just camp the sidewalk so the hateful fucks can’t set up in front of the venue but I thought I could use the opportunity to spread awareness of this invasive plant which means I gotta collect photos and details and I gotta draw shit up and get shit printed. It takes time yo.

I just didn’t want you to go on thinking you slipped one past me, because you didn’t.

I saw you being a needless fucking tart.

Butt back to the honeysuckle and why it’s as bad as you @the-pretty-corpse :

Honeysuckle crowds out native berry plants to the point of extinction in an area and the berries they grow in the fall are incredibly nutrient poor to migrating birds during a time they really need it. This plant is personally responsible for a lot of migratory bird deaths.

They grow readily by either from mature branches touching the ground and rooting from the mother plant or via seed drops from birds shitting seeds everywhere meaning a few plants can become a grove of millions in under a decade and the only thing that can survive in the grove is honeysuckle.

An entire complex ecosystem of native understory plants die under their unparalleled growth.

This is all honeysuckle growing in the understory. Nothing native can grow in this. No trillium, no mayapples, no Virginia spring beauty, no wild raspberries and blackberries, nothing that native animals might use for food during critical blooming times can be accessed anymore. The honeysuckle chokes it all out.

The groves they form are horrible bird habitat leading to a lot of non-migratory bird deaths since they don’t offer the same protection native thorned bushes do.

On the bright side, all it not lost; Honeysuckle ain’t too hard to get rid of but they do require some persistence.

Something you should be pretty accustom to @the-pretty-corpse since you’ve spent near a fucking decade harassing people in this fandom, 2 years should be a fuckin’ breeze for you.

Smaller year or so old plants can easily be pulled out whole after a nice rain but the mature plants are going to take a little more effort.

Chop the whole plant down then be prepared to spend the next few years bitterly stomping the very fucking life out of any branches that reemerge, and they will grow back.

It’s not recommended to just dig the entire root up because the roots are probably doing a lot of legwork in keeping soil from running off in rainstorms and upsetting that much ground all at once can do more harm than good to a forest’s root network, which is actually one of the reasons they were introduced in the first place.

You can blast it with herbicide but I have a personal issue with that because we already live in a toxic world that we should probably be trying our best to avoid adding more toxins to it but if you’re in a situation where the area can’t be cleared or there are power lines overhead, a chemical attack may be your only option.

Fortunately for us there’s one more way you can tackle regrowth on honeysuckle.

And that’s by burning that bitch down.

Prescribed burns are a lost art and can be hugely helpful in dying off persistent honeysuckle growth, but only do so in a Cleared Area after a good rain Not During A Dry Season to help ensure you don’t accidentally torch the entire forest.

The fire department would appreciate your concern.

First you clear a spot about 6 to 8 feet around the stump

Lay dried timber on top of the stump you wanna burn

Then set up some chairs with a few friends (you know, assuming you have any of those @the-pretty-corpse) and a few beers and watch the fire until it burns out.

It’ll probably come back one more time, but just keep cooking it until the bitch dies.

And you know what shithead, if plants ain’t your jam then that’s fucking fine there is a plethora of other ways to redirect your hateful bullshit.

There’s a homeless shelter that could use your help or a food kitchen that needs you to step up or you could spend the time you use being a useless dick to people in this fandom more usefully by instead writing your congressman and asking them to allow women have safe medical abortions.

There’s very likely a pride event going on near you that is going to be protested by fucksticks somehow more hateful than you and those pride attendees could use an ally to be bouncers.

You ain’t gonna enjoy hearing this @the-pretty-corpse, but I don’t think you’re any better than those shitass westboro baptist church fucks who hold up those ‘God Hates Fags’ banners and spend the entire night screaming at a group of strangers they’re gonna ‘rot in hell for eternity’ for attending drag shows.

I know you’re upsetty that reylos exists but they’re fucking harmless despite your concerns. One of the most fucking vanilla enemies to lovers ship to come about in media in the past decade isn’t anything to clutch your ass beads over, much fucking less deserving of Death Threats because you can’t get out of your own fucking way to avoid a goddamn fandom you personally dislike.

I’m an adult and understand there are actual real problems in the real world and not a single fucking one of those problems is ‘bitches who like a canon ship and are just vibin’.

Or you can keep being a fucking dick to a bunch of people enjoying a canon ship.

I suspect I’ll see you next month you living embodiment of honeysuckle (derogatory).

I know that I’m about to make some whiny pussy upset because they can’t accept other people’s opinions when I upload this hahahahahahahaha

[dadgonedeku]

When Someone Catcalls Their S/O Hcs...Pt.2

🥤~SFW & GN!Reader

🥤~Characters: Zuzu, Mirio & Tama

🥤~Warnings: cursing, catcalling, rude behavior, nasty wasty pervertedness, protective bnha boyfriends

🥤~Enjoy!!!

Izuku Midoriya🥦

🥦~ He’s honestly pretty damn pissed...

🥦~ Like yes he’s a very patient and pure individual, with a soft heart and empathic mind...but when it comes to his s/o, all of that can be taken away in a second.

🥦~ His eyes are on you as he reads your reaction to the invasive comments, and if you start crying or shaking because of how uncomfortable you are...it’s over.

🥦~ He doesn’t want to cause a scene or scare anyone under any circumstances if it isn’t needed, but that doesn’t mean it’s out of the question.

🥦~ He’s calm and rational at first.

🥦~ “Excuse me, what you said just now was uncalled for and honestly very rude and disrespectful, and it’s making my s/o uncomfortable...so I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.” He says with a stern tone and cold stare as he pulls you closer to him in a tight hug, turning your head away from the culprit and putting distance between you and them.

🥦~ But they just don’t seem to get it...

🥦~ “Come on man, I know you see that ass too! Like damn! Why don’t they come on over here so I can-“

🥦~ If your boyfriend didn’t look intimidating a few seconds ago, he certainly did now.

🥦~ You watch in awe through teary eyes as green lightning begins to swirl around Izuku, his eyes igniting with a new spark of anger and disgust, a low growl emitting from his throat.

🥦~ “I’m not gonna say it again. Back. Off.” He says sternly, catching the gazes of passerbys as he holds out an arm and moves you behind him, his hand taking yours and giving it a comforting squeeze of reassurance. He’s calling the person out publicly now by raising his voice, and soon enough onlookers have begun to gather.

🥦~ “Alright. Whatever man-“ You don’t even pay attention to the rest of their sentence as your boyfriend instantly takes your hand and walks you to someplace private. Only to pull you into another hug, but this time it’s gentle...and you can feel the small tremble that shakes throughout his body. He’s shaken up, and you know it.

🥦~ “Zuku-“

🥦~ “I’m so sorry s/o...you must have been so uncomfortable. I can’t believe people like that...who think it’s okay to say things that are so disrespectful and personal. I should’ve done more back there, but I didn’t-“

🥦~ “It’s okay Zuku, you protected me, that’s more than enough...thank you.” You catch the tear that threatens to fall from his bright green eye as you take him into your own arms, nuzzling your head into his shoulder as you hug him close to you. He happily obliges, wrapping strong and scarred arms around you yet again as he lets out his frustration.

🥦~ “It’s what I’m supposed to do, no one should have to experience that s/o...I’m sorry I didn’t stop it sooner.���

🥦~ “I don’t want to talk about it anymore now, whattaya say we get some ice cream and head to the mall okay? Like what we were originally planning?” You say in a whisper as you press your lips to his cheek, he responds with a hum and a small nod. When he finally pulls himself together and he’s sure that you’re safe and okay, the two of you head back out and about again, pushing the incident in the back of your minds as you take charge of the day again.

Mirio Togata🌻

🌻~ Most would expect him to be politely stern about it, or just brush it off and distract you from it...but honestly I don’t see it in him.

🌻~ Mirio is a very positive and open person, and while he seems very outwardly happy all the time, all of that can be crushed when it comes to someone disrespecting his s/o...

🌻~ So believe me when I say he would be nearly seething with anger at the thought of anyone even beginning to make you upset or uncomfortable...oooo in front of him?!...and causing you to cry??? Someone is getting their booty BEATEN-

🌻~ “What was that?” Mirio immediately responds with, stopping you in his tracks as he tightens his grip on your smaller hand. You instantly look up at your boyfriend, noticing the newfound anger and intensity in his stare. You’d never seen his mood change so fast. Your usually happy go lucky positive boyfriend turned into an angry menace with a stern gaze.

🌻~ You feel tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as you see him react to the small tremble in your body. You’re afraid...“Mirio stop...it’s okay I-“

🌻~ “I said that they’ve got some nice thighs...and look at their ass! Hot damn-“

🌻~ Before you can even register the person’s response your boyfriend is already leaving you behind and is up in their face, a strong fist around the collar of their shirt as he lifts them up off of the ground roughly.

🌻~ “Now that’s enough out of you.”

🌻~ Tears continue well in your eyes as you try and intervene before your boyfriend unintentionally makes a scene, “Mirio please-“

🌻~ “I think you owe my s/o an apology, so go on...apologize before I force you to.”

🌻~ “Ah! Jeez I’m sorry man, just- Ah- Lemme go already!!!”

🌻~ “Mirio please put them down!”

🌻~ He finally snaps out of it and he does, but harshly as he roughly tosses the person to the ground, leaving without a word as he turns his attention back towards you. His gaze instantly softens and his mood changes when he finally sees you shivering and nearly sobbing.

🌻~ He races to your side immediately. “Oh no s/o, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to react that way. I just- I just got so angry...I should’ve known better. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He says as he drags you into a nearby alley for privacy, instantly pulling you into a comforting hug.

🌻~ “It’s not you Mirio, you protected me. You did the right thing I- I just...I’m so sorry I-“ He shushes you as you start to cry. His hands move to gently pat your hair and rub smooth circles into your back.

🌻~ “Shhhh baby, you have nothing to apologize for. They shouldn’t have disrespected you like that, it’s invasive and disrespectful. You’re safe with me, and I won’t let anything else happen to you, I promise.” He reassures you and you feel your body destress and lose it’s tension. He always has the perfect way of making you feel better, and soon enough the two of you are on your way again with him back to filling your heart with butterflies and your lips with laughter as if nothing ever happened...

Tamaki Amajiki🐙

🐙~ Now here’s where it gets interesting...

🐙~ It has been made clear on multiple occasions that your boyfriend isn’t the best at confrontation or even speaking sternly to other people. But somehow...after the villain raid, you notice a change in his demeanor...it’s a small one at first...but the growth doesn’t go unnoticed.

🐙~ Even still, he continues to suffer from that nearly crippling anxiety that causes him to want to shrink everytime he has to speak aloud, and you still take notice to the way he tenses up or how his body trembles whenever he has to face his fears.

🐙~ But then he hears it, those rude and awful comments. He feels you stop and the small shiver that brings itself up and throughout your body...you’re shaken, disturbed, your eyes go wide and he can’t help but be upset when he senses the way you cling to him tighter in obvious discomfort.

🐙~ But when he hears another comment...his remorse turns into pure anger.

🐙~ “Hey hot stuff!!! I know you hear me! Why don’t you come over here and-“

🐙~ “Pardon me, but that’s my s/o you’re talking to, and you’re making them uncomfortable. I suggest you stop with the unnecessary comments.” There isn’t a single stutter or ounce of hesitation in his voice, he turns around with his head held high, pulling you close as you feel your heart swell with love and pride.

🐙~ He doesn’t know what else to do...his feet are cold, and you’re practically shaking in his grip, why did this have to happen now? This was just supposed to be a relaxing evening walk and nothing more-

🐙~ He moves to wrap his arms around you, instantly soothing your tense body as you nuzzle your teary face into his chest...fuck, now you’re crying. He hates the way his heart drops to his stomach.

🐙~ “Oh come on, I just want a good time now, so just calm down and let that pretty little piece of ass come on down over here-“

🐙~ “I said enough! My s/o isn’t an object to gawk at. They’re a person with a heart and soul who are so much more than just their body. So back away, before I make you.”

🐙~ And with that they groan and leave, and that’s when you hear your boyfriend let out a sigh of relief, he shifts his gaze towards your form, and brings a hand to your cheek to dry your tears. “Are you okay? S/o...”

🐙~ “Tama-“ you nearly shout as you cling to his chest even tighter than before. Your heart swells even more with love and pride for your boyfriend. You can’t help but be proud of him for being so assertive when you know it’s definitely not his usual.

🐙~ “Are you alright?! I’m so sorry about them s/o. Trust me I won’t let them bother you anymore. I should’ve said more, I’m so sorry I didn’t prote-“

🐙~ “I’m proud of you Tama, you told them off without a single stutter. That’s so good! You stood up for me without hesitating, I love you so much. Thank you.”

🐙~ At that point the incident is pushed in the back of both your minds, and Tamaki nearly cries at your words right then and there...

[pastabrand]

Unpopular PJO/HOO/TOA opinions

This is gonna be wordy but I’m not sorry for it.

Percabeth is hella overrated. It’s nice, but I would prefer other ships over it and some of y’all Percabeth shippers are scary as hell

I love TOA. A lot people don’t like it because it doesn’t include the main 7 and another topic that I’ll mention later but honestly, I could care less. I’m glad that the others aren’t there other than cameos. It means they’re getting a chance to heal after everything and honestly, good for them. People like to cast TOA as an unnecessary spinoff that didn’t need to be included yet it gives y’all the type of character development you scream and beg for in other books. It’s literally the perfect character development trope you crave, yet puts a good spin on it.

Some of you haven’t even READ toa and say you hate it. Like what? How is that supposed to work.

PJO was way better than HOO. TOA sits in the middle of the two.

I love TOA because it shows Apollo’s character growth from one of the most arrogant, cocky, and prideful gods. And even then, he doesn’t go from that to a helpless mortal loving fool, he stays arrogant and prideful but less so. Not to mention more understanding of mortals and demigods live and what they go through. He doesn’t go from one extreme to the other, but one extreme to more of a center balance. It’s more natural that way.

While Jason’s death in TOA was sorta cheap, it goes to show demigods can die at the least expected times. If Jason had died during the war, then it would be “oh, well, that’s what war does. It kills people. Nothing new.” Compared to Jason going about life as normal and one small mission is his end. It’s more impactful and realistic that way. It goes to show that life as a demigod is always dangerous, fighting or not.

Jason’s anger to Percy for not noticing Nico’s feelings towards him is absolute bullshit. Fuck that as a whole. Nico acting cold and hateful towards Percy doesn’t and shouldn’t equal “I like you, notice me please”. The internalized homophobia should be Jason’s focus, not Percy’s lack of attention at Nico’s feelings.

Same for Leo about Calypso. Not to mention they both shove the blame onto Percy like its his fault when it really isn’t. Having your memory forcefully wiped mere months after a war isn’t gonna help when remembering stuff like that. Not to mention the Gods are bums who will try to do as little as possible and leave the rest to demigods. It leads to one sided anger and unnecessary confusion and guilt on the other side. Bad writing on Rick’s part tbh.

People need to stop acting like Jason didn’t die. That’s clinging into a ghost and not letting it move on. I hate to be the one who says it, but Jason is canonically dead and acting like he isn’t won’t change shit. It’s gonna lead to unhealthy habits in the future, trust me. You can’t write a fic post TOA then be like “oh yeah, Jason’s alive because I want him to :)))” because that isn’t how life works sweetheart.

People also need to stop pretending TOA doesn’t exist. You might not like it but you have to acknowledge that it is actually there and it follows the PJO/HOO timeline.

Paul was just a card to give Sally a nice man to lean on when it wasn’t necessary.

Percy should’ve been wayyyy more suspicious of Paul when he was first introduced. 6 years of abuse from a “father figure” isn’t just gonna go away because “oh he’s nice.” Guess what? Gabe was nice at first canoncially (even if it was for a very short amount of time).

Percy. Has. Serious. Anger. Issues. He’s sassy and stuff, sure, but he’s also got some severe anger problems that he both inherited from Poseidon and developed and festered over time from living with Gabe for 6 years.

Percy is the type to act like Hades or Apollo, attack a lesser being(s) because he can’t go after the big shot without fear of punishment. I wouldn’t be surprised if some his expulsions were from beating up various kids and/or teachers.

For the first half of TLT, Percy did not like Camp Half-Blood or consider it his “home” other than Grover and Luke. The camp treated him like shit because he was a noobie at first and then because he was a son of the Big Three. He hated Poseidon for his lack of care and lack of help when he and his mom were abused under Gabe. Had Luke talked to him during that time period and/or Kronos spoke to him in dreams, he would’ve joined the Titans. His loyalty for the camp didn’t form until near the end of TLT.

Nico and Percy basically had somewhat personality switches. Nico was an excitable, happy, laid back, and naive kid while Percy was a quiet, angry, and irritable kid. Nico’s switch came from Bianca’s death while Percy’s was more gradual. In the end, Nico became the quiet, irritable kid and Percy became the more happy, laid back kid.

Stop ignoring the fact that Nico, a literal 14-year-old, traversed into Tartarus. Alone. There’s always fics of Percy and Annabeth recovering or suffering from the after affects of the fall and war while Nico is relatively normal. The boy is not and has not been okay. His life has been one shitshow to the next ever since he was ten.

Both Percy and Nico have incredibly dark sides to their powers that they seemingly enjoyed that was fueled by anger. Percy with Achlys and Nico with Bryce. Percy admitted to liking torturing the goddess and Nico, though more subtly, seemed amused by Bryce and his attempts to justify his crimes and then frantic attempts to stay alive. Bryce literally says “I’m Bryce Lawrence! I am alive!” And Nico casually responds with “Who are you?” as he turns Bryce into a souless husk of a person. You cannot tell me that he wouldn’t have tilted his head innocently and cracked a small smile at that.

Piper’s portrayal as a Native American. Do I even need to go into that?

Percy. Liked. Luke. The boy knew the son of Hermes for what? 1 week? 2? Yet considered him to be a friend, possibly a close one at that. It probably went the same route Nico’s crush did. Hero adoration to actual romantic feelings but godspeed. Not because he just wanted to like a boy, but because, other than Chiron, Luke treated him with kindness, patience, and understanding as a male figure, something Percy didn’t really have growing up. Not to mention Luke helped Percy when no one else would. As a 12 year old, those type of feelings were bound to develop.

People who make the characters treat Percy and Leo as dumb, oblivious, or one dimensional sassy bois™️. Percy and Leo would be offended and/or defensive of such a thing because of childhood trauma. How many years do you think they can to endure that when they were younger from people they were supposed to trust or respect? You seriously can’t think they would be fine with it because their friends. Maybe a reference once or twice, but constantly? Absolutely not. Old habits die hard.

Solangelo seemed forced to me. I dunno, Nico’s whole confession felt like a ruse to get him set up with Will right away. I felt as though there wasn’t any real “connection” between the two prior to them getting together. It all felt rushed and out of place for the setting they were in. I’ve never understood it nor liked it and usually try to avoid it. That and Caleo seemed like a way to put all the characters in relationships so that they were “happy”, portraying that they needed to be with someone to achieve their happiness. Leo and Nico would’ve been better off single and learning to love themselves before loving someone else. Same applies to Sally.

Nico and Thalia would never get along because Thalia would be a reminder of what Nico lost (Bianca) and how easily how she could be replaced.

Demeter kids need more respect. I feel like that’s what Meg is for. To show that they can also technically be considered “Big Three” material because, if you forgot, Demeter is a child of Kronos as well. That means Demeter’s kids are cousins with the Big Three kids as well.

Aphrodite’s kids also need more respect. Aphrodite in the PJO universe is literally older than all gods, as she was born from Uranus’ gentials in the ocean and arose from there. Their powers could be exapanded wayyy more if they were focused on more.

Not to mention Poseidon kids could possibly gain attibutes of what would be considered Aphrodite’s powers since she was born from the ocean and vice versa. The possibilities are endless there.

That’s all I could think of for now! Lemme know what you guys think though.

[irrelevantwriter]

Daddy Isn’t In Charge

Pairing: Negan x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, daddy kink (majorly), oral sex (female receiving), dry humping, unprotected vaginal sex, Negan being submissive (bc why not?)

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Negan upsets you and now he has to get back into your good graces.

A/N: This is a request fulfillment for the lovely @pirateking289​! Thank you for being so patient! I loved the concept and I had a lot of fun writing it, despite my untimely writer’s block lol. This is based off a very memorable scene from the movie “Wolf of Wallstreet”. I’ll add the gif into the story to give a visual. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy and share with your friends!

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

You smiled softly as you fingered the wide grins plastered along the picture in your hand. The image was of you and Negan on your wedding day, the smiles you both wore a testament to just how special the day had been. Despite your current frustration at your husband, your heart beat faster at the sight of his attractive face. You cursed his enchanting abilities, even in photographic form.

You thought back on that day seven years ago and your whole body started to tingle. Negan was your soulmate, your clichéd other half. You were meant to be from the start. It might not have been a fairytale story, there were definite bumps in the road, but you’d have it no other way. But from your current spot on the floor in your spacious walk-in closet, you were cursing the man you’d entered into matrimony with.

The night before had been your annual Christmas party. The holiday was a favorite of yours and the party was a staple amongst your social circle. It had become a party described by many as “the event of the season”. You always went all out and Negan encouraged you. He knew how much it meant to you, which is why he always made an effort to put work aside and be there in support.

That did not happen last night.

The night had been running smoothly. The drinks were being poured, the food was being eaten. The music was echoing off the well-decorated walls. Your expansive home was quickly becoming filled with guests. It was perfect.

Until Negan received a call on his cell phone.

You knew he’d have to go. You knew there was no amount of begging or pouting you could do. Negan ran his own company. He was constantly busy, which had become a point of contention as of late. The man worked 364 days a year. He was a workhorse. And while that was admirable, you were ready to start having more of your husband to yourself. You’d expressed that sentiment to him recently and he’d made a conscious effort to try, but this night was not a night you felt like being forgiving.

“Doll?”

You were pulled from your thoughts by your husband’s voice calling you. Before you could reply, his figure appeared in the doorway. He was all black leather and denim. His hair was slicked back, his facial hair neatly trimmed. He was grinning at you, dark eyes managing to entrap you from across the room.

He looked devastatingly handsome.

Son of a bitch.

“Why’re you sitting on the floor?” He eyed your bare legs stretched out in front of you, the hem of your dress sitting high on your thighs.

You probably did look odd sitting in your closet in full dress and heels. You’d been getting ready to head out for lunch with the ladies when you’d taken a detour. You’d spotted the trinket box you kept near your shoes and decided to go through it, memories washing over you like rain. You’d been so wrapped up in them that you hadn’t even heard Negan come home.

“Can’t I sit on the floor in my closet?” You countered somewhat rudely. You’d barely seen him all morning, but you’d been sure to make your mood noticeable when you did cross paths. Negan caught on, but had yet to comment.

“You can do whatever the fuck you’d like in your closet, my dear.” He goaded, that intoxicating smirk now adorning his lips.

“So sweet of you to give me permission.” The defiance was alive and well, and you could tell Negan was enjoying it far too much.

He chuckled, rubbing at his beard growth. “You’re still mad about last night?”

You moved the photos back into their box and set it aside, freeing up your lap. You crossed your arms, staring up at him with your own wicked smile.

“Oh no, I’m not mad. Not anymore at least.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.” You popped the “P” for emphasis.

He started to move closer into the room, brow raised in doubt. “Well, you still seem pissed.”

You decided to stay silent, see if Negan dug his own grave. He would no doubt. You knew the man better than he knew himself.

“You need Daddy to make it up to you?” He said lowly, eyes bright with that predatory gaze he wore so well.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no humor behind it. “Oh no. No, Daddy doesn’t get to make anything up to me. In fact, Daddy doesn’t even get to touch me. Not for a long time.”

Your words and tone made him stop in place near your legs, your ankles crossed to hide your modesty. His features turned dark at your words, the mischief gone from his eyes. He suddenly didn’t find your mood so funny.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“Look…I said I was sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Negan said softly, the desperation in his voice apparent.

Your shrugged. “I know. Doesn’t mean Daddy doesn’t get punished.”

He went to protest, but you stopped him.

“It’s gonna be nothing but short skirts around the house.” You pulled your legs up, enjoying the way his eyes stalked your body.

“And you know something else Daddy?” You didn’t wait for a response, continuing to relentlessly tease your husband. “I am just so sick and tired of wearing panties.” You whined with an exaggerated sigh and roll of your eyes.

“Really?” He grunted, face impassive. His body was taut with tension already. His breathing had started to accelerate, his arousal mixing with his irritation. You knew the reaction well.

“Yeah. In fact,” You brought your knees up as you leaned back on your hands, your gaze luring him in like a shark to blood. “I’ve decided to throw them all away.” You emphasized your statement by spreading your legs, exposing your bare self to him.

Negan’s reaction was instantaneous. He fell to his knees in front of you, eyes glued to his favorite spot to worship. You could visibly see the effect your words had on him, the want and desire already spewing from his pores at just the thought of being prohibited from touching you.

“So take a good look, Daddy. You’re gonna be seeing an awful lot of this around the house.” You added with a smirk, enjoying the way his face crumbled.

He went to crawl towards you, but you shot a heeled foot out, catching him on his forehead. You gently pushed him back and away from the place he wanted to get to the most.

“But no touching.” You demanded, keeping him at bay with your outstretched leg.

“Fuck…” He cursed, clearly under distress from being denied. He let his face fall into the carpet, his muted protests filling the room.

“What’s wrong Daddy?” You teased with a faux pout.

Negan looked up, a strand of misplaced hair now in his face. He licked his lips, eyes flitting to your exposed pussy. The action made your walls flutter.

“Come on, baby. Lemme make it up to you. Let Daddy make you feel good.” He practically pleaded, long fingers now trying to wrap around your ankle.

You went to pull away, but he charged forward, splitting your legs open wider to make room for his hulking form. He took an exaggerated breath in, inhaling your scent. His eyes were closed, as if you were the best thing he smelled since apple pie.

“Goddamn I want you…” He said against your now throbbing pussy, lips and beard grazing your sensitive skin.

“I said no touching.” You repeated, hoping to gain control of the situation again. His nearness was throwing you off, his barely there touches affecting you more than you’d like.

He laughed, somehow finding your protest humorous. The action made you angry, not pleased that he wasn’t taking you seriously. You decided to use another tactic, something just as torturous, but pleasurable for you.

You stopped him from going any further by poking him in the cheek with your finger, gaining his attention. He was grinning up at you, feeling as if he’d made you crack. He did not.

“I want Daddy to use his mouth. And only his mouth. No hands.” You demanded, face impassive and tone cold.

Negan’s eyes shifted again, his jovial mood disappearing at your words. He didn’t make a joke or snide remark. He simply licked his lips again and nodded, accepting the challenge.

“Alright, doll. Whatever you say.”

He maneuvered his body so that he was propped on his elbows. The position of his body kept him from using his hands on you, something the man loved to do. Negan loved to use every single goddamn sense when fucking. He loved touching, tasting, smelling, and hearing the various aspects of sex…he loved to be consumed by it. He always gave himself over completely. The loss of his hands would kill him, you knew it.

You watched as he moved in slowly, taking his time. He was attempting to tease you in revenge. You smirked at his stubbornness, but shook your head at the powerplay. You were the one calling the shots and you were going to make sure he understood that.

“Don’t dawdle.” You ordered, the sternness in your voice making his grin widen.

He relented and without warning licked his tongue fully along your swollen lips. You jumped at the sensation, fingernails instinctually finding their way into his thick hair. He buried his face into your folds, his nose nudging your clit. His tongue sought you out immediately, tasting your flavor as he massaged your walls. You could see the enthusiasm behind his actions, his eagerness to make you forgive him almost comical. He may be unbelievable in bed, but he wasn’t about to think he’d made you surrender.

You pushed his face into you, throwing your head back and moaning when he sucked at your swollen clit. His tongue was trying to penetrate deeper, but without the use of his hands, he couldn’t gain purchase.

“Fuck, I gotta touch you. Lemme touch you, baby.” He practically begged, chest rising and falling in quick pants. His hair was mused from your hold, his facial hair and face soaked with your essence. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of you.

“On your back.” You demanded softly.

The pulsing between your thighs was getting worse, the role reversal between you and Negan making you wetter than you’d ever remembered being. Negan was a natural take-charge kind of guy. That attribute carried itself into the bedroom, not that you complained. You loved being dominated by your husband. But there was something about seeing him desperate and near delirious for you that made this so much better.

Negan didn’t question your words. He did as you said, lying back on the beige carpet. You shifted to your knees above him, eyes taking in the impressive bulge beneath his jeans. Your pink nails danced along his erection, making the flesh visibly twitch. He hissed at the action, his hands forming fist at his sides. You smiled at his effort to obey you.

“Looks like Daddy wants me. Bad.” You grasped his cock, rubbing the appendage slowly but with pressure. The gesture made Negan’s hips jump off the floor and into your hand, his head thrown back in barely tamed desire.

“Fucking shit, doll…” He growled as you straddled him and rubbed yourself against him. The friction made you whimper, the movement almost enough to make you cum.

You felt his hands on your thighs and you swatted them away, glaring down at him. “No touching, Daddy. That’s the rule.”

The vein in his neck was pulsing, his forehead beading with sweat. You picked up your pace, dry humping his clothed cock with lustful anger. You dug your nails into his chest, pleased at the grunt of pain he made in response. You could feel the fabric of his pants become damp with your juices, the clothing most definitely ruined. Then notion only fueled you, knowing that was at least what Negan deserved for the night before.

You used him for your pleasure, rolling your hips faster as that crescendo intensified. You could feel Negan’s eyes on you, but you were too busy with chasing your own end to notice. You threw your head back as a sudden jolt overtook your body, your limbs tensing as you shook with overflowing desire. You felt Negan thrust his hips up to meet yours, his orgasm close but not yet upon him.

“Doll, I gotta cum inside you.” He groaned, body stiff beneath your now pliable form.

You recovered from your orgasm and slide up his body, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. You could taste remnants of yourself on him, the mixed flavors of you and him making you hungry for more. Your lips moved to his neck and ear, leaving bruises behind as you marked him.

“Are you sorry, Daddy?” You breathed against his neck, feeling him shiver in response. His fingers were digging into the carpet, his threshold lowering against your repeated torture.

“Fuck, yes…I am. I’m fucking sorry, baby.”

You placed a wet kiss to his neck as your hands moved to his belt buckle. He moaned in relief as you undid his pants and pulled him free. He was a deep shade of red, the flesh hot and solid. He pulsed in your hand, cum dotting the tip eagerly. You swiped it away with your thumb and used it to ease up and down his cock. His hips met your hands, trying and failing to encourage you to move faster. You enjoyed seeing him suffer far too much.

“What does Daddy need?”

You situated yourself so that your bare pussy was level with his cock again. You moved against him, flesh sliding against each other. Negan reacted instantly and gripped your thighs as he threw his head back. You decided to let that indiscretion go.

“You. I need you.” He hissed, fingers digging into your flesh.

His thickness nudged your sensitive clit and you jerked away from it at first. You worked slowly, pushing Negan’s limits and your own. You smeared yourself all over his cock and his balls, never quite taking him in. His hips were trying to angle in such a way so that he could enter you, but you stopped him every time.

At what felt like the hundredth pass of him outside your opening, you slipped him inside of you. He slid in easily, both of you soaked from your arousal. He forced you to shift your hips so that he could fully enter you, his size always needing accommodation. You both released gasps and moans as you moved atop him, using his chest to keep your balance. His hands moved to your ass and pushed against you, urging you to increase your pace. You stopped moving altogether when he did that.

“Keep going.” He said between ragged breaths, dark eyes daring you to stop.

“Don’t get impatient, Daddy.” You began to move again as his hold loosened. You moved your hips in an up and down motion rather than rotating, feeling his cock banging deliciously against your cervix. He slipped out of you as you sped up, the slickness coating you both now obvious and obscene. You hurriedly slip him back inside you, the teasing now ceased.

“Fuck, right there doll.” He praised, neck now craned so that he can see you taking his cock. You give yourself over to the sensations, your game momentarily ended as a result.

Negan’s hips were meeting yours and you let loose a litany of moans as the dam burst, your body taking hold of him and spasming. He clenched his jaw and gripped your ass as he came with you, holding you to him. Your seizing body caught his spendings, your insides feeling immediate warmth as he coated your walls.

“Jesus Christ,” You panted, your heavily beating heart finally starting to slow. You collapsed on his chest, his softening cock still encased within you.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Negan chuckled, his hands caressing your back.

You rose and fell with the motions of his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your eyes started to feel heavy, but you fought the pull of sleep.

“We actually need to talk about this, Negan.” You whispered, feeling him stiffen slightly.

He sighed, arms embracing you. “I know, doll. I’m working on it for you. I promise.”

The baritone in his voice made you feel warm and tingly, reminding you of those nostalgic thoughts you’d been swimming in when he’d found you in the closet. Even though he’d promised such things before, you believed him.

“I love you, doll.” His lips rested against your hair, his hands still stroking a comfortingly pattern along your back. You smiled at his words, unable to not react.

“I love you too. Daddy.” You teased, enjoying the way his chest shook beneath you with laughter.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” He asked hopefully, hands wandering back down to your ass.

“Not a chance.” 

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Being Simon

Chapter 2: The Present

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 9856

Chapter 2/2 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon is back in his own time, but all he can think about is the man from his past.

Read on AO3

AN: Time for some pining!

———————————————

I wake up on Sunday feeling just as shitty as I did Friday night. No amount of comfort food, hitting my punching bag, or mindless TV have helped. And sleeping it off has done jack shit, because all I could dream was Ty’s soft looking black hair and pretty eyes.

I barely know who he is. I don’t even know his bloody last name. Yet I desperately want to see him again. How that’s going to happen is...well, that’s something I haven’t figured out yet. Every time I’ve opened a door, I’ve hoped I would walk into Dr. Margaret’s office. She can time travel and teleport, surely she’ll know something about one guy I talked to. Right? Right...

I throw off my blankets, sitting up and staring out at the London skyline, lit up in violet and gold by the rising sun. I wonder if he’s out there, looking at the same horizon I am. I wonder if he’s working at his mother’s law firm, or if he’s reading forever like he truly wants. I hope it’s the latter. I want him to be happy. Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about him. The urge to see him again is burning in my chest and gut and everywhere. I’ve never felt like this before; so intensely focused on one person. If only I had looked at his bloody number!

“God,” I groan, “I want waffles. At least I can have that.” I get up and stomp to my door. The second I walk through, I stumble onto a cold stone floor, bright lights flooding my vision.

“Nice pants,” Dr. Margaret says. I pull the hem of my shirt over my Monty Python boxers.

“Seriously, why do you always get me at literally the worst times?”

“Not my fault you never have a good time.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I sit heavily on her couch with my arms crossed. “So what happened? You usually do the post-regret session earlier than this.”

“Time is an illusion. Stop stalling. What did you learn?”

I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. “Well, I learned that Agatha and I didn’t just fall apart, I let it fall apart. I put myself and my own stuff before her time and time again. And I’ve done the same with everyone else after Agatha because I refused to see my part in our relationship ending, so I never tried to fix it. I need to actually be present in and put the work into my relationships. That’s the lesson, right?”

Dr. Margaret scoffs and laces her fingers together, elbows on her desk. “What the hell am I here for?”

I shrug with a little smirk. My ego feels way too inflated right now. “Dunno. You got something else to add?”

“Hm.” She leans forward and pins me with her intense eyes. She’s really good at that. “You’re too scared of being alone to end things when they’re not going well. Why you get dumped every time. See that?”

And pop goes my pride. My face heats up, most likely turning an impressive shade of scarlet. I sink into my seat. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point there...”

“Simon.” She moves even closer with a kind smile. “Don’t feel bad. Not a bad person. Were alone most of your childhood, don’t want to be alone again. But can’t keep making choices from fear. Have to make them for the right reasons.”

“What are the right reasons, then?”

“Happiness, growth, all that good shite on greeting cards.”

I let out a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll go pick some up at the corner store.”

“Get some ice cream too. Deserve it after such a long regret.” She leans back in her chair, strong arms crossed behind her head. “Maybe give Agatha a call on the way there. Might know something about a raven haired bloke.”

My pulse goes into double time. I lean forward with eyes wide. “Wait, you mean-”

“Have fun.” 

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins into a blur of colour around me. Then I'm stumbling through my bedroom door like I haven’t been anywhere at all. Fuck, I hate when she does that. I have to stay against the wall for a few seconds, just until I don’t feel like I’ve been on a bloody tea cup ride for a million years. Part of that might be caused by Dr. Margaret said. My heart is still beating like mad. It’s bruising my fucking rib cage, I swear. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I scramble to grab my phone, half charged on my bedside table. Fourth in my contacts is one Agatha Wellbelove. It’s relieving to see for so many reasons. The phone rings three times, each one making my anxiety ratchet up, until it finally cuts off.

“Hello?” Agatha answers.

“Aggie!” I say a bit too loudly.

“Simon? What are you doing? It’s four in the morning here.”

My stomach sinks. Right. Major events don’t usually change after a regret. “Oh my god, you’re in California. I completely forgot about the time difference, I’m so sorry. I’ll go-”

“It’s alright, I’m already awake now. What’s up?”

“Um...this is going to sound random, but do you remember Ty? Your friend from third year uni?”

“Wow,” she chuckles, “that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. “Have you, uh, seen him since uni?”

“A little, but not in awhile. We only had a couple more classes together before exams started. We had drinks a few times after, then I went to California right after graduation and he went to Oxford. Both of us were too busy to keep in touch, I guess.”

“Oh. Okay...” I lay down on my bed, Part of me just wants to curl up under my blankets forever. Another part wants to stuff my face with pastries. (Maybe both.) (Both is good.)

“What’s up with asking about Ty?”

“I dunno. I was just thinking about that time we talked. It just, uh, popped into my head” Because I literally just lived it a couple days ago while in time travel therapy, but I can’t say that. I learned a long time ago that no matter how rationally I explain it, no one will believe me.

“Right, you talked to him after our breakup.”

“Yeah. He helped me a lot. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still be friends without him. He was nice. In his own weird way.

She laughs quietly. “Yup, sounds like Ty. He acted all haughty but he was such a sweetheart. Wish I had kept more in touch with him more.”

“Me too.” I hug myself, and it helps a little. “Me too.”

“Oh, I think I might still be Facebook friends with him.”

Almost all my despair washes away in an instance and I bolt upright. “Really?!”

“Lemme check.” She makes little contemplative noises through the phone. “Okay, yeah, there he is, Ty Black.”

“Black? That’s his last name?”

“No, he told me he had a crush on Sirius Black and wanted to pretend they were married.”

“Oh...okay.” I start to deflate again. I feel like a leaking balloon. “Does it say anything?”

“Looks like he hasn’t used it in awhile. His last post was a couple of years ago. Says he made partner at a law firm.”

“Does it say which one?”

“No, just that it’s in London. Not surprised, he always wanted to be in the big city.”

I’m grinning ear to ear. He’s in London, my city. He’s here with me. I can find him. “Cool, cool, good to know. Um, anything else you can tell me, Ags? Like his full name?”

“No idea, Si. I actually didn’t know much about him. We spent most of our time gossiping about our classmates or getting shit faced. If I asked him something about his family or past, he’d always change the subject. So I just don’t know.”

I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ty told me things about his family, about his past. But was that because he trusted me instinctively, or because I was just some random bloke who probably wouldn’t remember? Was I convenient? Well, he gave me his number, so he must’ve seen...something in me. Not sure what though. I've never seen much in myself.

“Okay,” I sigh, “makes sense, yeah. Thanks, Agatha.”

“Welcome, and good luck. From what I remember, he was really cute.”

My face turns a bright shade of scarlet. Luckily Agatha can’t tell over the phone. (I think.) “Um, I’m not sure-”

“Please, give me more credit, Simon. I’ve known you for most of your life, I can absolutely tell when you're smitten. Not sure why you’re thinking about him over ten years later, but I support you. I hope it goes well.”

I smile, and I kind of hope she can hear that. “Thanks, Ags.”

“Welcome. Now I’m going to go back to bed. Love you.”

It’s impossible to describe the utter joy and relief I feel at those words. I’ve got Agatha back in my life. Hell, as far as she knows, we never lost touch to begin with. I’m so, so happy.

“Love you too, Ags. Night.”

“Night,” she yawns. The phone clicks off, but I keep grinning. Well, even if I can’t find Ty, this is absolutely a victory. But I’m going to damn well try.

My stomach growls louder than a lion. Waffles first, though. Definitely waffles.

———————————————

“You don’t remember anything about him?” I ask through my mouthful of sweet, delicious fried batter and syrup.

“No, Simon,” Penny sighs. “I don’t remember the guy you mentioned, like, once in the few weeks before our third year exams.”

I grumble. Stupid past me, not saying more. It’s not his fault though. Past versions of me only remember bits and pieces of a regret, just enough so they don’t seem like total weirdos who blacked out and can’t remember a big chunk of time. So it's more like stupid time travel shenanigans.

“Damn, okay. I’ll just keep looking.”

“Are you really going to scour all of London looking for one bloke you met over ten years ago?”

“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Bye, Penny, got more work to do.”

“Simon-”

I hang up before Penny can talk me out of this. She absolutely will, and I don’t want that right now. I want to find him, no matter how impossible it seems.

First stop is the alumni website, obviously. We went to the same uni, he has to be somewhere in the system. My fingers fly like lightning across the keyboard. No one in the political science or English departments that looks close to him, just a lot of uptight white dudes or hippie looking magazine writers who probably smoke too much weed. None of them have his gorgeous skin or dreamy grey eyes. (God, I want to see those eyes again.)

Next, I try the Oxford law school site. It’s even more impossible to navigate than most uni websites. There aren’t even any pictures of their alumni, just a list of stupidly posh names. Lewison, Pemberly, Grimm, Fairchild, Abbot, Harrington, none of which have a first name resembling Ty. That’s another issue. His name could be a nickname for so many other names. Tyler, Tyson, Tyrell, Tyrone are all possible. (Hope it’s not Tyrone, bloody hell.) Or maybe his name is just Ty, for some reason.

That’s why London 411 is absolutely no help. Apparently there are literally thousands of Ty's living in my city. I narrow it down to people my age, plus or minus a few years and there are still hundreds of Ty’s and Ty adjacents. I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. Why the fuck didn’t I get his last name? I want to scream at myself but all that would achieve is getting noise complaints from my neighbours.

Eventually, I resort to just straight up Googling. I try everything I can think of. “ty university of manchester,” “ty university of manchester english,” “ty university of manchester politics,” “ty university of manchester english politics,” “ty oxford law,” “ty london lawyer,” “ty london,” “ty sexy hot university of manchester student ashwerhuertjwerh.”

I faceplant my keyboard for longer than I would like to admit. “This is hopeless,” I groan into my table. I lift my head up to the ceiling. “What’s the point of this, Dr. Margaret? Is this some sort of test? Are you trying to give me a bloody ulcer?! Cause the last one is absolutely happening!”

Of course, there’s no answer. I’m not even sure where Dr. Margaret’s office exists relative to myself, or to our reality period. Trying to figure that out makes my brain hurt. I look at the clock, and it’s already seven. Christ, have I really been at this for that long? I should be grading homework like a good teacher. I need to stop. I’m a thirty three year old person, dammit, not a love struck teenager. (Okay maybe I’m both.) I slam my laptop shut and go on a hunt for food.

I heat up some frozen macaroni and take out my munchkins’ worksheets. Okay, these are easy. Math tests are universally understandable and simple most of the time, unlike stupid time travel therapy tests. I shovel bad pasta in my mouth as I fly through grading. 

“Good job, Matt,” I mumble through my shitty food. “Got the formula right.”

This is easy. I can do this. And I’m not thinking about Ty. Not at all. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will come true.

———————————————

“Nice job there, Roy,” I say. “You summarized the text wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He beams at me with his gap toothed grin.

“You’re very welcome, bud.” I turn to Sufia, who seems to be stuck on the second question. I get down on her level, making my knees ache in the process. It’s worth it. “Need any help, Sufi?”

She holds up her worksheet to me a little too close. “What’s this word mean?”

I gently push the paper back so I can actually read it. (My vision isn't bad enough for that yet.) “‘Ascend,’ it means going up. For example you can ‘ascend the stairs.’”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Why doesn’t it just say go up then?”

“Well, that involves a longer discussion about poeticism that we’re going to have next week, alright?”

“Okay.” She goes back to the worksheet, sticking her tongue out in concentration. I chuckle under my breath. The strange and hilarious things kids do, gets to me every time.

I wander around the room, helping any kid who needs it and giving suggestions when asked. Teaching is less about telling and more about guiding children. It makes me wish a certain someone would guide me instead of leaving me to suffer for the last week.

I’ve still got nothing on Ty, no matter where and how I search. Everyday my hope gets whittled down bit by bit. I’m this close to giving up. There’s only so many hits one person can take, really.

“Yes, that’s a good point, Maeve, I like where you’re going with that,” I say. “How do you think that fits with our earlier readings?”

Maeve scratches her head with the top of her head with her pencil eraser. “Um...I don’t know...”

I crouch down near her. “Well, is there a way for you to remember? Do you have the books on you?”

“No, but I have something better!” She reaches into her absolutely massive backpack (I’m surprised she doesn’t tip over wearing that thing) and pulls out three notebooks. They’re all labeled with divider tabs. It’s insanely organized for a nine year old. “I keep a lot of notes.”

“Wow, I can see that. You like doing that?”

“Yeah! I keep all my notebooks, I like to read them.”

“Smart plan. Wish I kept-”

My mouth snaps shut. The gears are turning in my head. Creaking and slow, but still turning. I’m flung back to a vague memory of being 24, moving into my current flat from my old uni one, and Penny sorting through my random crap. She stood over a mess of all my uni papers next to my desk. Literal years of collected worksheets and notes that I never got around to throwing away.

“Why the hell do you have all these?” Penny asked.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need for later classes,” I’d said, “then it all just piled up...”

She shook her head at me. “Well, you can’t keep all of it. Pick some stuff you want to keep and we’ll donate or throw out the rest.”

I nodded, then sat cross legged in front of the anxious student hoard. I tossed all the random papers profs handed out but I never read, along with most of my notebooks. But I remember one moment, a single instance that might change everything, when I decided to keep the notebooks that looked nice. Like the green one with vines on it I used in third year. I always kept it in my book bag. I liked the pocket just inside the front cover.

Holy shit.

“Mr. Snow?”  I’m snapped out of my weird memory trance back to my reality as a teacher who needs to, y’know, teach. I smile down at Maeve.

“Sorry, mate, spaced out a bit there. Anything else you need help with?”

Maeve points to a new question. “What does this mean?”

I explain the question to her as calmly as I can, not showing how I’m simultaneously panicking and ecstatic inside. Like a fireworks display in every lobe of my brain. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————

The second all the munchkins are out the door, so am I. Luckily I’ve been distracting myself from the Ty search by furiously doing all my lesson planning. I’m set for the next week. But all I’m really thinking about is where I put my bloody notebooks.

I slam my door shut, only vaguely wondering what my neighbours would think. My office (really a repurposed storage room) is a huge mess of textbooks and lesson ideas, like a tornado tore through a Michael’s and a college book store. I make it even worse by throwing object around, searching for one stupid thing. I have to have it, I need to have it. It’s my last chance, honestly. Please, universe, let this go right.

Under my Teaching Theory 5th Edition textbook is a pile of old notebooks, including a green one with vines on the cover. I scramble to open it. My heart skips a beat when I feel a piece of paper. Slowly, I pull it out, and gasp under my breath.

023-345-9876 Give me a call sometime, Snow - Ty

I’ve never typed a number so quickly in my life, though I have to keep hitting backspace because my fingers are shaking so much. And I’m even more nervous as I bring the phone to my ear. Fuck, this is so stupid, but I’m not turning back now. The phone rings three times before it finally gets picked up.

“Basilton Pitch,” a smooth, strong, most likely male voice replies. Well, that sort of sounds like him, but wrong name. My stomach sinks a little.

“H-Hi,” I squeak. I clear my throat so I don’t sound like I’m going through fucking puberty again. “Um...”

“Hello? May I help you?”

“Uh, possibly.” I rub the back of my sweaty neck. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m looking for someone who gave me this number a long time ago. Do you know a man named Ty?”

There’s a long, extremely awkward pause on the other side. My face gets more and more red each passing millisecond. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I should just hang up-

“No one has called me that in ages,” he says. “Who are you?”

I gasp very audibly. Holy mother of all fuck. It’s him. I’ve found him! “It’s me!” I shout far too loudly. “I-It’s Simon. We met once in uni, after your friend Agatha broke up with me. I’m not sure if you remember-”

“You’re...you’re Simon Snow.”

“Yeah! That’s me! And you’re Ty, the really nice posh gay bloke who was getting his degree in politics and English then went to law school, right?” I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Holy shit, it really is you.”

“Yeah, and you’re you!”

He chuckles, and his voice sounds even brighter than it did all those years ago. “Yes, I am. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit...confused. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I gave you my number over ten years ago, and you’re only calling me now?”

“Um, yeah...” I scratch my blushing face, quickly concocting up a reasonable story that lacks time travel. “I got caught up in exams, then I, uh...kind of lost the notebook where I put your number. I was so pissed at myself for awhile but what could I do, y’know? Then I was, um, going through my old uni stuff today and take a wild guess at what I found.”

“A notebook with an ancient piece of scrap paper.”

“Still pretty smart, huh?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, but I’ll take the compliment.”

My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. I don’t mind at all. “Happy to give it, and that you haven’t changed your number in over a decade.”

“Thank God for being loyal to a mobile carrier.”

I’m about to say something else, anything to keep talking to him. But then there’s commotion on the other end of the line, and Ty (Basilton?) moves away from the speaker.

“What?” he says. “Yes, I can take a look at your notes, Vadoma, give me a moment.” His voice becomes louder again. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could keep talking, but I have end of the week work to do.”

My shoulders slump. “Oh, okay.”

“From your area code, I’m guessing you’re in London too, so how about we have coffee tomorrow and catch up? Around noon good?”

“Yes!” My voice squeaks again, fuck. Calm down, Simon. “Yeah, that sounds great. Any suggestions?”

“I know a nice little place in Camden if that’s alright.”

“Yeah! I actually live in Camden.” 

“What a lovely coincidence. I’ll text you the address?”

“That would be amazing.”

“Great, I’ll see you then, Simon.”

“See you.”

The phone clicks off, but it stays by my ear for another long moment. My brain is still playing catch up.

I found him. I actually found him. My stomach is filled to the brim with a thousand butterflies. I’ve never been this excited about...anything, really. How is it that one guy can make me feel like this? I have no clue, but I don’t care. I’m just looking forward to tomorrow so much.

———————————————

My leg won’t stop bouncing. No matter how deeply I breathe or push down, it just keeps jerking around like a hyperactive toddler. I’m somewhere between excited and completely, utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t show up? Worse, what if he does show up and he doesn’t like me anymore? It’s been over ten years, I definitely don’t look like I did when I was 21 anymore. He could be horribly disappointed with 33 year old me, with my dark circles and crow’s feet and only marginally better fashion sense. I would be.

Fuck, he’s going to laugh in my face isn’t he? My leg bounces even more. I stuff the last of my scone in my mouth then wash it down with strong coffee. Unfortunately that does nothing for my anxiety. I’m stewing in so much worry and fear that I don’t notice a shadow over my table until it decides to speak.

“Hello,” the same smooth, strong voice from the phone and from ten years ago says. I look up, and my heart skips more than one beat.

He’s just as beautiful as he was back then, but in a very different way. Same reddish-gold skin, same deep sea grey eyes, same raven black hair. But instead of looking like some preppy statue, he looks, well, human. He’s dressed in a tucked in white button down with a soft floral pattern. His collar is open, the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and it’s even wrinkled in some places, but none of that seems to bother him. More astounding, he’s wearing distressed black denim that hugs his legs in all the right places, a thumb casually hooked in one pocket. Never would I have imagined the uptight bloke I met in jeans. His hair reaches all the way to his shoulders now, falling in a lazy wave that softens the sharp lines of his face. His kind smile absolutely helps too. 

This isn’t the same Ty from twelve years ago. This guy is a lot more grown up, and looks so much happier.

“Hello?” he says again. “You there, Snow?”

I shake off the second Ty induced pan-panic of my lifetime. “Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Ty. Oh, wait, you go by Basilton now, right? Or do you like something else?”

He chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. It’s a simple movement yet surprisingly graceful. “Just Baz is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Basilton.”

“Okay. Hi, Baz.”

“Hello again, Simon. How have you been?”

“Good, good. How about you?”

“Alright. Honestly, I’m still in shock that I’m seeing you again.”

I chuckle and rub my neck nervously. “Yeah, me too. But, uh, you look good. Twelve years later and you’re still stupidly attractive.” My face immediately heats up. “Sorry, that’s weird-”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He leans back, arm casually slung over the back of his chair. “You’re still cute as ever, though I am glad your fashion sense has improved.

I must look so ridiculous right now, a thirty three year old man blushing like a smitten schoolboy. How can I help it when he talks like that? “T-Thanks. Your clothes have definitely changed too. What happened to the tweed jacket?”

Baz groans and hangs his head over the back of his chair. I like the way his hair falls. It’s pretty as hell. “Please don’t remind me. God, I don’t even know what I was trying to do back then.”

“Be some posh and professional prat while also being gay as hell?”

His head moves back up and he snaps his long finger and points at me. (I still want to know if he plays piano or not.) “Yes, that sounds right. Conformity and rebellion all at once. I had such insane cognitive dissonance back then, god.” He leans his cheek into his palm, pretty eyes fixed on me. “So what do you do now? Still attacking random men then stealing their cigarettes?”

I chuckle to try to hide my utter embarrassment. “No, but if I remember correctly, you offered me the cigarette.”

“Touche. You still haven’t answered though. What’s your life like?”

I shrug and sigh. “It’s pretty normal. I live in a tiny flat and I alternate between box food and take out, but I’ve got a pretty great job. I teach little kids.”

“So you did end up going into teaching like you wanted?”

“Eventually, yeah. I got sidetracked for...well, until a year ago. But I’ve finally been getting my life together lately. I do my laundry once a week now instead of once a month.”

He laughs, head bending back over the back. It’s so free and open, I’m amazed. “Yes, truly a sign of adulthood, I agree.” Baz sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I like how the black strands fall over his fingers. “I understand being derailed all too well. You should’ve seen me six months ago, I was a train wreck.”

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Baz as a train wreck. He was so pristine in uni, and even now he still looks absolutely perfect.

“Oh absolutely. I’m humble enough nowadays to admit that you were right, Snow.”

“About what?” I don’t mind being right, but I’m not really used to it.

“About me.” He leans forward, arms crossed and elbows on the table, offering more but still a bit closed off. “All those years ago, you asked why I couldn’t just do what makes me happy. And I said that what I wanted didn’t matter. I had many reasons back then, but in the end they were all bollocks. I learned that the hard way. So, you were right.”

Is it strange that I’m both happy and sad that I was right? It’s absolutely a bittersweet taste on my tongue, like figuring out a lesson about myself from a therapy session. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. But that sucks. Was the hard way, y’know...really hard? I hope it wasn’t.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. Honestly, he looks like some romantic hero when he does that. And I didn’t think he could get more attractive. “Well, it wasn’t fun, I can certainly say that. I did what I was supposed to do. Went to Oxford, became a lawyer at the family firm, fought all the cases the way I was supposed to. I kept waiting to not feel like shit every single day, but that never came. Nothing ever got better, and bit by bit small things piled up, completely crushing me. Then, well...” He winces, like someone has kicked them in the shins. “I did something pretty ridiculous.”

My head fills with a flurry of probably insane ideas. I only now realise that I’m leaning a lot closer, entranced and nervous for what Baz has to say. “How ridiculous are we talking?”

“Well,” he bites the corner of his lips (it looks way sexier than it should), “one morning over six months ago, I was looking over my case for the day. Checking notes and arguments, drinking too much coffee alone, smoothing out my suit, the usual. And for some reason, in that moment, a realization hit me; This was going to be the rest of my life. Reading cases, arguing for clients I hated, feeling completely numb all the time. I had been doing all this bollocks for almost ten years, and realistically I would be doing for decades to come. The thought sent me into a terrifying meltdown thanks to years of untreated mental health issues. I didn’t know what to do so I sort of ran away.”

“Ran away?” I chuckle. “In your thirties, I think they usually just call that a vacation.”

“It would have been, if I had told anyone I was leaving and hadn’t stopped answering my phone for weeks.”

My eyes go very, very wide. “Wait, what?!”

“Yeah...” It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but I think Baz’s cheeks turn red. Embarrassment looks cute on him. “After pacing around my flat for hours, I decided to simply leave. Packed a small bag, grabbed my car keys, and just started driving north with no destination in mind. Of course my colleagues started blowing up my mobile, then later my family and friends joined them. I couldn’t bear to answer because I didn’t even fully understand what was going on. I just needed to get far, far away from everything I knew and hated.”

“Where did you go then?”

“To a lot of places,” he sighs. “Mostly bad bars though. I basically drank and danced my way up the British Isle. I think. Honestly, I barely remember that time. It was an alcohol laden haze with brief moments of sober lucidity when I drove. And when I was lucid, I got depressed about my life again so I would drink more that night and pass out.”

“And you did that for how long?” My heart is beating a bit too fast. I know he’s fine, yeah, but still, the worry is eating away at me.

“Only a month,” he says, like that’s in any way a relief. “At the end of September, I stayed at a shitty inn in Scotland. I remember walking down the hall, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with my aunt by my side. She equal parts screamed at me and was relieved I was okay. Turned out I had fallen down the stairs while severely hungover like a bad Monty Python skit.”

He laughs, but there’s sadness behind it. Just like his smile over ten years ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

“Obviously I was fine.” He waves dismissively. “I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Which gave me a lot of time to think about myself and my future. By the end, I had decided to take an actual leave of absence from my work to focus on my mental health. And I did. Started therapy, stopped drinking, bought some clothes that weren’t bloody lawyer suits.” I can’t help but giggle. Baz’s smile has no sadness behind it this time.

“So I guess you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I quit a week after I got back to London, then started applying for book editor jobs.”

I grin wide. I can’t stop grinning. “Reading books forever.”

There’s a lovely glint in his eye. Like someone ripped Polaris from the heavens and put it in the deep sea grey of his eyes. (God the poetry unit is getting to me.) It’s a kind of playful happiness that I really, really like.

“You remember,” he says amused.

“Of course!” He smiles wider, eyebrows raising up. Now it’s my turn to blush like a teenager. I sheepishly rub the back of my neck, thinking of a reason that doesn’t include time travel. Or obsessing over our one conversation for a week. “Well, I-I’ve remembered some stuff. You just kind of, uh, y’know, stuck in my head.”

“Hence why you still called me ten years later.”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head down a bit, uselessly trying to hide how ridiculous I look. “I mean, I’m not really sure why. You were just...really different from anyone I’ve met. You were so, pretty and posh and smart, and at first I found it annoying. But the more we talked I realised you were nice, in your own strange way. And without your help I would have lost Agatha in my life forever. I dunno. You made an impression. You’ve come up in my head from time to time.”

Technically that’s not a lie. By time to time I just mean all the time for days. Though I have a vague feeling, a whisper of a half memory, that past me may have thought about Baz too. Some things always stick post-time travel no matter how much past me is supposed to forget. Usually it’s only the super important, impactful things. Looking at Baz’s incandescent smile, framed by wavy black hair, I think he might count.

“Honestly,” he says, his voice low in a very private way that I like, “you’ve come up in my head too. Especially during my crisis. I thought about how right you were back then, how I should have listened to you and maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much of my life if I had. But I was too stubborn and blind back then to” 

“Hey, stop that.” I somehow lean even closer. I’m this close to actually getting out of my chair. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. Remember that you had good reasons back then, and yeah it really sucked to go through all that, but you learned stuff right?”

“I suppose...”

“Then it wasn’t a waste.” Baz’s eyes narrow. A softer version of a glare, but he's still not totally happy. “Yeah, I know that’s easy to say, but I do kinda get it. Working in jobs I hated, never dating, never really doing anything for years, that all felt like a total waste. Sometimes it feels like my life is only just starting now at bloody 33. But I think struggling also gave me the drive to work harder now, live better. So did being a lawyer give you anything good?”

Baz looks really cute when he’s thinking. I like the way everything in his face pinches up, from the furrowed manicured brow to the slight pout of his bottom lip. (Don’t think about kissing that pout, do not think about it.) (Fuck I’m thinking about it.) Slowly, his expression softens.

“I learned,” he starts, “that I can’t force myself to love something. I thought if I was a lawyer long enough, I would at least learn to tolerate doing it, but I still hated every moment. I can’t keep living for other people’s expectations. At least that’s how my therapist puts it. Maybe I’ll fully listen to her one day.”

I let out a laughing snort and immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. I hate when I do that. But Baz grins at me. The amused, affectionate glint in his eyes makes me want to blush even harder. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and butterflies all at once. It’s so overwhelming and wonderful.

“Took me a while to listen to my therapist too,” I say. “Actually fixing yourself is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Baz groans, hanging his head for a moment, hair like a wavy curtain around his face. “It took ages for me to realise that I didn’t know everything that was wrong with me. Instead I had to actually listen to someone else’s assessment of me and not interject my own thoughts every time. Do you know how frustrating that is for a know it all like me?!”

“I can only imagine,” I giggle. My thoughts immediately go to Penny and the first time she got drunk. My ears rang for hours from all her yelling about not actually being drunk. She and Baz might get along. (Maybe a little too well. God, could I deal with two of them together?) (Hopefully, because I want Baz to stick around for awhile.)

“I live in absolute agony.” He puts the back of his hand against his forehead like a dramatic Victorian maiden. I’m about to call him that when my stomach decides to rumble louder than a bloody earthquake. The corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up. “You hungry there, Snow? I can get us something.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m always hungry. But I can buy it, don’t worry.”

“Nonsense. I was the one who asked you out and picked the place, I’ll happily pay.”

“Out like a date?” The words spill out before I have a chance to stop them. 

I’m pretty sure even the tips of my ears have turned bright pink at this point. Shit, why did I say that? Calm down, Simon. This is (technically) the first time we’ve seen each other in twelve years. No need to make this something it may not be. I expect Baz to be shocked, or confused, or annoyed at worst. But once again today, Baz surprises me. All he does is smile, looking at me with such kindness, far more open than I remember he was back at uni.

“Would you like this to be a date?” There's no pretense or implication in his words, he’s legitimately asking me. I don’t feel pressured, but luckily I already know.

“Yes, yeah, I-I would. I’d like that a lot.” I reach my hand forward across the table and just barely brush our fingers together. The tips of his are rough. Maybe he plays guitar or something, not piano. Doesn’t matter. I like the way he feels anyway.

Baz grins pointy ear to pointy ear. He flips his hand over, long callused fingers pressing into the much softer skin of my inner wrist. He can probably feel the way my pulse jumps. Luckily, I can feel the way his own is hammering. “Me too, Simon.”

We spend a bit too long just staring at each other before my stomach grumbles again. Baz chuckles and flags down the very nice waiter. I get another cherry scone and hot chocolate (yes I am 12 on the inside), and Baz gets something called a pumpkin mocha breve.

“What on Earth is that?” I ask when Baz gets his drink. It’s pale orange with a mountain of whipped cream on top.

“Try it.” He offers the cup to me and I take a sip. My tongue is immediately assaulted with more sugar that I’ve ever tasted at once. I blink rapidly from the shock.

“It tastes like a candy bar.”

“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” He licks the whipped cream off the top like a toddler with ice cream. A dollop gets on the tip of his nose.

“You’ve uh, got something right...” I flick the cream off with my thumb, “there.”

He laughs quietly. “Thank you. Allow me to return the favour.” Baz brushes some scone crumbs from my cheek. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

“T-Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

We eat and drink and talk in between. Baz tells me about his work at the publishing house. It’s a small place that does mainly e-books and a few print ones, focusing on indie LGBT+ writers. He’s currently working on a book he describes as “gay polyamorous steampunk pirates,” which honestly gets me way too excited. I plan on pestering him for more details in the future. He looks animated the whole time, so passionate about what he’s doing. It makes him more beautiful.

He asks about my teaching. I tell him about my students, how incredible they are no matter how much they drive me crazy. I describe my lesson plans and all the new things I’m trying. Structured word inquiry, collaborative maths work, mixing subjects together to get kids engaged with stuff they don’t like. Luckily my principal is in favour of more out there ways of teaching too. Baz pays attention, asks questions and listens raptly. I can’t tell if he’s faking it. Most people do. I can’t blame them, it’s not very interesting. But as I go on and on, Baz never tries to change the subject or stares off into space. It’s not like he’s an angel for paying attention to me. It’s just nice that he’s making the effort. He’s really, really nice.

We eventually move off the topic of work. I tell him about my fencing class, something I haven’t done since I went to Watford. Baz calls me a bronze haired knight. I’m not too proud admit that made me blush. In turn, Baz tells me about getting back into playing the violin since he quit being a lawyer. (So that’s what the calluses are from).

“Cold I hear you play sometime?” I ask.

“My skills are still rusty,” he says over his near empty mug.

“Is that a no then?”

He sighs, but it’s with a small smile. “More like a ‘listen at your own risk.’”

“I can live with that.”

“Alright, another time then.”

I grin. Another time, I really like the sound of that.

Eventually, we somehow get onto the harder topics. I tell him about being in group homes, not having friends until Penny and Agatha, still feeling out of place and worthless sometimes. Baz talks about growing up without his mother, trying to live for her instead of himself until recently. Turns out we’ve both had a lot of hardship. We understand each other. We sort of match, I guess.

“I did like being with my younger siblings,” Baz sighs. “No matter how much I pretended I didn’t. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mother if I loved her husband’s children with another woman. But they were still my siblings and good kids, though I’m glad they’re all mostly tolerable ages now.”

I chuckle, leaning my cheek on my fist. “Mm, understandable. I always wanted siblings. Other kids to play with, y’know?”

“Group home kids didn’t play with you?”

“Nah, I was the weirdo who preferred punches over talking. No one liked being around me.”

Baz reaches out and brushes against my forearm. How can someone make me feel like I’m going to melt with just a touch? “If it’s any consolation, I certainly like being around you.”

I grin and touch his arm in turn. “I’ll certainly take that.”

We get away from all the dark shit, turning back to happier things. Baz describes the techniques and difficulties of the violin with dramatic gusto. I relay some of my worst customer service work experiences. I’ve never been good at talking, never liked it much. But I like it with Baz. He feels easy to talk to. I barely feel scared or awkward. We talk so much that we don’t even notice the sun setting on the horizon.

“Holy shit what time is it?” I say.

Baz looks down at his fancy leather watch. (A leftover from his prep days.) “Much later than I think either of us realised.”

I laugh and run a nervous hand through my hair. “Damn, sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Snow, unless you regret being here?”

“What?!” I gasp. “Of course not!”

He grins cheekily. I grumble and glare at him. Teasing bastard. Baz grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. Any bad will immediately vanishes. “You said you lived in Camden. How close are we?”

“Uh, not that far. I walked here.”

“Wonderful. How about I pay then walk you home like a gentleman?”

I hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

He squeezes back. “Good.”

Baz does just as he says, and soon enough we’re strolling down the streets under the dimming London sky. We chat some more, but also occasionally just walk in comfortable silence. I don’t mind either, because Baz doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time. I’ve never felt so excited just from someone holding my hand. I don’t know why. I don’t care, really. I just want to bask in it forever.

Unfortunately though, we do reach my building. Never have I hated my own home more. I consider not telling Baz so we can keep walking, but then I remember all the homework I was supposed to grade yesterday while I was too excited about Baz to focus. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to survive. Life is too cruel sometimes.

“This is me,” I say.

“Nice place,” Baz replies.

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not, I promise.” His head tilts to the side, a smirk on his lips. “Maybe I could see if your flat matches up sometime.”

I swear to god, my face is going to melt off from how much I’m blushing today. Baz laughs at my obviously flabbergasted expression. I playfully smack his shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Buy me dinner first, arsehole.”

He tugs me a bit closer by our joined hands. My nose is almost touching his. The smell of his post coffee peppermint gum hits me so hard I’m afraid I’ll stumble from the wonderful shock. “Are you free next Friday?”

I gulp, then nod slowly. I can’t look away from his mouth, fuck “Y-Yeah.”

“Good for you.” He takes a large step back, snapping me out of my daze. He’s got a cheeky little half smile on his lips. “I’m not, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time.”

I gape at the absolute bastard. I shove his shoulder a bit harder this time. “Arsehole!”

Baz throws his head back laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound in the noisy London night. He takes my other hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “Unfortunately, I am actually tied up for the next week, but I’m free the week after. Any ideas, Snow?”

I grin at him. “How about a scenic walk in Hyde Park?”

One of his eyebrows goes up in playful confusion. “Not dinner?”

“We’ll get to dinner eventually. I expect to be romanced a bit more first, Basilton.”

He smirks again and pulls me closer again “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Hyde Park will be lovely this time of year.”

“Agreed.”

Even though by all rational logic we should let go, our hands stay linked. Neither of us make a move to get away. I can smell the peppermint again, every time his hot breath brushes against my face. It’s somewhat shaky. But I imagine mine is about the same. I’m not sure. I’m too focused on his sharp cheekbones and blown pupils and pouty mouth. Mostly his mouth. Before I know it, we’re nose to nose. I’m getting whiffs of something other than his gum. Cedar, maybe, and bergamot. It’s perfect for Baz. He moves his face slightly, and our mouths almost touch. A spark still runs through my veins.

“Simon,” he sighs, and the sound of his voice hits me in so many places. Baz’s head moves again, brushing our noses together. I watch his eyes flutter like a pair of butterflies until they fully close. Mine follow suit. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and bergamot as I press my mouth to Baz’s.

He’s colder than I thought they would be, colder than anyone I’ve kissed before. Yet I like it so much more. Baz’s tepid mouth sends a calming wave through my constantly overheated body. He’s soft too, like how I imagine a cloud could feel if I was ever able to touch one. Our lips slot together so easily. His hands clutch mine tighter, nails even digging into my skin. Not good enough. Not close enough. I let go of Baz, but only so I can slide my arms up to hold his shoulders, pressing our bodies together. Baz immediately winds his arms around my waist, getting us even closer. He’s all lovely lean muscle pressed against me. And I fit into his arm so well. My lips fall open and Baz quickly follows. His tongue slowly over my back teeth, making stars explode behind my eyes and in my brain. I kiss him more fervently. Baz groans into my mouth. 

Part of me can’t believe that we’re doing this. Two thirty three year old men, snogging like stupid teenagers on the steps of my apartment building. Sounds so embarrassing. The other part of me really doesn’t care. I’ve never felt like this just from a kiss. Like I’ve left my body and entered another dimension where all there is happiness and pleasure and Baz. Is this how all kisses are supposed to feel? Or is it because of Baz? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just weave my fingers through his silky smooth black hair and keep kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.

Baz pulls away, and I nearly whine. Luckily I still have a bit of dignity. (Just a bit.) He doesn’t let go of me, thank god. He keeps his lovely hands on my waist, eyes still half closed, bright red lips pulled into a grin.

“Do you always kiss on the first date, Snow?” he whispers playfully.

“No, you’re the first.” I twirl a bit of his wavy hair around my index finger. “Feel special?”

“Extremely.”

I lean forward and kiss him again for a moment. Just a quick, hard press against him. Baz leans forward slightly when I pull away. My heart flutters happily in my chest. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this, it’s late, and I’ve got grading to do.”

He makes an over dramatic groan, leaning against my hands. “How dare you be a responsible teacher who is truly committed to educating the next generation?”

God, he’s making me want to kiss him again. He does it so easily. “I know, terribly inconvenient. We’ll figure something out, yeah?”

“Yes, give me a call. And don’t wait twelve years this time.”

I sigh while Baz smirks at me. I’m about to retort when he leans down and kisses me. My head is spinning like a tumble dryer. I don’t want this day to ever end. Unfortunately, reality is a thing that exists. And because of it, Baz has to pull back, leaving me wanting more.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, “alright?”

“Alright. Have a good night, Baz.”

“You too, Simon.”

He pecks my forehead, and I nearly melt into the pavement. We then slowly disentangle ourselves. My fingers trail on Baz’s as he lets go. He waves one more time. I smile back. And I keep smiling as I watch him walk down my street, only going for my keys when I lose sight of him as he turns the corner. I literally skip up my steps to my door. I’m so dazed with happiness that I barely notice that I walk into Dr. Margaret’s office instead of my dingy lobby.

“Snogging in public?” she says. “How very adolescent.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what you say after abandoning me for a week?”

She snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t abandon you. Just let you figure things out on your own. Point of therapy, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I know that. A little heads up would be nice though.”

“Not my style.”

It’s my turn to snort. I plant myself on her couch. “I know, you’re more of the ‘toss in the deep end and yell swim’ kind of therapist.”

“Mhm. And look how it turned out. Found your Baz.”

My eyes narrow even more. “How do you know his name?” Dr. Margaret just keeps smiling at me like a cat who’s caught a canary. The realisation slaps me in the face. My jaw drops open. “You knew exactly who and where he was the entire time, didn’t you?” No change, still smiling. “How?!”

“Though about him. Saw his whole life in my mind’s eye.”

My jaw falls further. Holy shit, how powerful is she? “Really?!”

“No.” She pulls a plastic card out of her pocket, holding it between her index and middle finger like a throwing star or something. “Swiped his uni ID and Googled him here. Much faster than powers.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. Godlike abilities have nothing on a good search engine, it seems. “Of course you did.”

She shakes her head sarcastically. “Can’t believe you. Send you back in time, and you wonder how I know about one bloke?”

“Uh, yeah. Knowing everything is a bit different from time travel.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about him then? Why make me suffer for a week?”

“Suffering now?”

“Well, no, now that I’ve found him-”

“And what made you want to find him?”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to coax the words out from my brain. “Uh, I dunno. I know we met only once, but he just stuck in my head. He was interesting, smart, funny and nice in his own way. And I wanted to talk to him again, learn more about him. It was overwhelming, really. How much I wanted to be around Baz again. I-I’ve never felt something like that so strongly before.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Margaret picks up a pen just to point it at me. “Felt strongly for the first time ever. Made you determined even to find him when it was hard. And never felt this strongly because you always settled for okay. Felt okay with Agatha, with Todd, with everyone. Need better than okay. Need to want someone more so you can build more. Make a relationship that’ll actually go somewhere.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I thought I needed to focus on the present more.”

“You do. In the present, desire Baz right?”

I think about Baz’s pretty eyes and his pretty laugh and the way he made my head do somersaults when he kissed me. My flushed face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Good.” She leans back again with her hands linked behind her head. “Build from there. Put the effort in like you did searching for him. Will want to put the effort in, because you actually want him, not just because he’s nice and you should like him.”

The puzzle pieces start to slide into place finally. It was all one big, weird life lesson, of course, like everything Dr. Margaret gets me to do. Looking back, I cared about Agatha, and I did love her as a friend. But I never desired her. I never desired Todd or any of my other exes either. They just seemed like the kind of people you should date. They weren’t even bad, they just weren’t for me, weren’t who I wanted.

But dear lord, do I want Baz.

“You couldn’t just tell me I was dating people I wasn’t actually attracted to?” I ask. “That I was actually supposed to feel more but I was settling for nice people I didn’t really like instead?”

Dr. Margaret shakes her head. “Not how therapy works. Supposed to guide you to find the answers, not tell you outright. Where’s the fun in that?”

I cross my arms and smirk at her. “Since when is therapy fun?”

She glares at me hard. “Brat. Lucky that I like you.”

“Aw. I’m touched.” My voice is sarcastic, but my bright smile is genuine. I’m glad she likes me. I’m glad she’s here to help me finally live my life. I hate to think where I’d be without her help. From her returning grin, I think she knows that.

“Go do your grading. Be a responsible teacher. See you next time.”

“See you later, Dr. Margaret.”

She waves her hand, gold rings flashing in the light, and the world spins like a cyclone. I yelp as I fall flat on my arse on my apartment floor. Well, at least she didn’t put me back in the lobby so I had to climb all those stairs. Small blessings, take 'em where I can get ‘em. And Dr. Margaret herself is already a huge one.

After getting out of my day clothes and into trackies, I set about to my teacher's work. It’s not the most fun part of the job but it’s certainly the most important. I’m lost in a haze of spelling tests and math activities when I feel my phone buzz. There’s one text on the screen, and it makes me smile instantly.

Baz Hey, made it home safe. I had a lovely time today and can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow at lunch?

Is it possible to die from such pure happiness and excitement? I hope not, because I’ve still got so much more of my life I want to live. And I want to see if Baz will be a big part of it.

Simon  me too. call you at noon <3

———————————————

AN: Mushy ending, as usual for me haha. I really hope you all liked that! Even if you don't know the original show, I hope it was good. I really liked the idea of Simon in time travel therapy, it would be good for him. Tbh I thought about making Ebb his therapist because she was such a mentor for him, but I wanted to try out Margaret and she ended up being a lot of fun. I may write more in this universe. There are other Being Erica plotlines that could be fun. And exploring Baz and Simon's relationship in this AU further could be great. We'll see. I'm taking writing day by day due to my health. Anywho, thanks for reading!

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 21

IN THIS EPISODE OF MURPHY IS SO VERY SLEEPY BUT THE UPDATE SCHEDULE TAKES NO PRISONERS (FOR THE MOMENT):

“So it’s true,” she wheezed between grit fangs—“that bitch really does have you on a leash.”

KINKY,

me: okay lemme refresh on what happened last chapter-- me: /remembers me: oh yeah! yeah that SUCKED,

lets us continue on the journey of deep and immense sadness with glynda ‘clown shoes’ goodwitch!!!!!!!! here we go here we go

It took a while to pry back the jaws of her soul and wrench herself out of them.

ooh i rly like the context change here. before glynda was kinda falling back into her soul as a way of just Getting On With Shit or protecting herself, but now it’s framed in a fun new way of please can i get out of here now. good job glynda. look at u GROUNDING YRSELF like a CHAMP who should have been in a TKO LIKE FIVE ROUNDS AGO--

What did that mean? Had she asked Cinder about Ochre? Glynda struggled to recall, but the memories swirled like clouded ink in her skull.

i still love the continuation of glynda’s Mysterious Messages To Herself. she leads such a thrilling life of ‘did i write that’ and ‘did i do that’ and ‘what does any of this mean’

Hating herself, Glynda found she couldn’t remember.

and also a less thrilling life of the squeaky clown shoes variety. glynda PLEASE

She had to know: was anything Cinder had given her real?

the YOU and the US,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, the DESTINY. dw babe im sure cinder Has Never Told A Lie, Even Once In Her Life, On Account Of Being A Very Open And Honest Person,

Had she been abandoned? Cinder had been unhappy when she left. Angry, maybe. Angry enough to take her leave for good? Or had she always planned to?

i love watching glynda slowly become kind of,,,,,,,,,,,, more aware of herself in relation to other people? sometimes she still Moves or Does w/o rly thinking it thru, but we’ve got quite a change from, like, early chapters of glynda where she was barrelling along with VERY little disregard for both actions AND consequences,,, but look at her now!!!!!!! using her whole ass BRAIN. im proud of her. 

When she tried to dismiss this first fear, another one was waiting underneath: had something happened to Cinder?

In her attempts to keep Glynda’s soul from smothering them both, Cinder had been quite willing to converse over the phone with her—even if her texts were short and snippy, she usually at least responded, to avoid backlash. Did she not care anymore? Or—

Or was she unable to?

/leans in, like, uncomfortably close to the microphone

glynda darling i do Not mean 2 worry u but yr (future) gf is currently grieving, pissed beyond belief, and also

/checks notes

failing her way into becoming strawberry jam

But, surprisingly, there was another half to Glynda now: one that worried, despite facts, that Cinder was in danger. That Cinder might need her.

GO AND GET THE GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The light caught in every golden thread of her crown emblem, embroidered with diligent precision. But something else caught her eye: the midnight black surrounding it had a sheen to it. Subtle red ducked through the fabric, glittering like burnished stars in a distant night sky: fire Dust.

The flash of a memory: Cinder’s face when Glynda had complained that her last cape had been burned.

This cape would not burn.

okay so no lie i cant read this bit without my eyes starting to water abt just how GOOD this section is and i have cried TOO MANY TIMES over this fic ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! T H A N K Y O U F O R T H E F O O D !

CINDER MADE IT FIREPROOF. SHE DIDNT HAVE TO. SHE DIDNT NEED TO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT THE SYMBOLISM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IS U N R E A L. I AM CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

GO GET THE GIRL YOU MORON

Glynda didn’t know what to do.

Glynda dialed Winter.

and i am INSTANTLY launched back into the comedy that is glynda goodwitch’s life at large THANKS FOR THE WHIPLASH

“No, I mean… I was awful to you the last time we spoke. I know I was. I keep thinking about it. I’m so sorry, I just… Don’t have anyone else to go to right now. I don’t know who else I’d call.” It was horrible to admit. Loneliness had never shamed her before because her soul had held it at bay. Now it made her sick. “I’m safe. If you don’t want to talk to me…”

LOOK AT THIS CHARACTER GROWTH,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, GLYNDA!!!!!!!! YR DOIN SO WELL BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EVERYONE COME LOOK AT HER THINKING WITH HER M I N D.

“I lashed out at you, Professor Goodwitch. That wasn’t right of me. I should have known that you weren’t truly to blame for what you said. I know Cinder. She’s manipulative. She twists the world and makes you think she’s a different person than who she really is. I blamed you in the moment, but Cinder Fall is truly the person at fault for making you believe that I would try to hurt you. I shouldn’t have raised my voice or said the things I did.”

/rubs face

like winter needs to be in this fic and og was bereft not having her actually take up 30% of the space as she DESERVES, but god i forgot that shes a whole Thing and winter please just. shush. for a moment. for a second. ilusm. but please shut up.

Glynda was pacing, her Scroll levitating near her.

side note but casual uses of glyndas semblance is one of my fav things i love seeing it. glynda ‘look mom no hands’ goodwitch out here,

Glynda closed her eyes. The tactile recollection of cats arching, bristling, and spitting. Backed into corners. “Maybe she was panicking. I don’t know.”

i dont rly have much to say here other than continuing to enjoy Cinder As Cat, the ongoing metaphor. glyndas just gonna pick her up the scruff of the neck eventually and we will ALL b thankful.

ughghghgb im not gonna copy paste this whole convo w/ winter because this is a liveblog not a shitty projection of the fic on the side wall of a bowling alley, BUT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD glynda is so WORRIED,,,,,,,,,,, past glynda is befuddled. bemused. why does future glynda Feel so much. but future glynda is FEELING and i love her. das yr gf yr worried abt. DAS HER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, and also yr other gf winter too but like that’s a long-con sort of egg to hatch,

While it had been some time now since Glynda had been in a proper fight, she expected no trouble. This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her. Still, she would bide her time and hold her silence, if only for the chance of getting a hint of what was going on.

This wasn’t Cinder—ergo: this wasn’t a real threat to her.

LADS,,,, LADIES,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, BEANS,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, IS IT GAY,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, TO SEE YR RIVAL AS YR ONLY REAL THREAT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The group crossed the room as one unit, guns aloft and eyes peeled, determined to not be ambushed.

Glynda intended to ambush them regardless.

i dont like 2 say when an au gets a character so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, but.......................... offal hunt gets glynda so right that all other interpretations aren’t valid, and thats that, on that,

One left. Glynda didn’t hesitate. She had been built to fight Grimm; far stronger, far quicker, far more bestial foes than these. She was herself a blade, sharpened far too fine for these intruders.

sounds hot

“Are they...alive?”

Glynda didn’t pause to check.

“Professor? Are they alive?”

glynda: fuck them kids

“How will you get to her?” Winter asked.

“I always find her in the end,” Glynda answered.

hrm,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, i wonder if that’s foreshadowing something

Her soul was churning inside her, longing for solace, for Cinder. She could picture the way like a burning trail in her mind’s eye; that bright-yellow tether between herself and Cinder, that pathway between their souls that she had tread so many times before. It always led her to Cinder.

HRM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, I WONDER,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“Good luck, Glynda.”

“Thank you,” she said again, pausing under the streetlights. “But I won’t need luck. I’ll find her.”

FELLAS,

what a good chapter!!!!!!!!!!! also i cried. BUT I HAD A REAL GOOD TIME. I CAN IMAGINE THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE LESS OF A GOOD TIME, BUT FOR NOW, I WILL ENJOY THE MENTAL IMAGE OF GLYNDA’S BICEPS AND HER FUTURE WEDDING ALSO,

[din-skywalker]

blood on my hands

eeeeyyyy another yancy fic! this one is super violent and bloody, and has some mild gore, as well as someone with unstable mental stuff happening, and a child killing their parents so like??? careful!

lemme know what you think!

—–

Yancy has had a bad day. Okay, no, scratch that. He’s had a horrible day. Every little thing has annoyed him to no end, causing his blood to boil and his teeth to grind together as he tried his best to tune out the world around him. That is what his therapist has told him to do when he was feeling angry; take deep breaths and think about something else. Ignore what is making you angry.

But he has had no such luck doing any of those steps, and now the palms of his hands were bleeding because he was digging his nails into them a bit too hard. He curses as he enters his home, wiping the blood off on the black and white shirt he was wearing. That is probably going to make his mom annoyed with him- she had just bought this shirt for him, and it was one of his only nice shirts left- but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too angry to focus clearly, and so he doesn’t even notice the way his palms sting every time he wipes them down the front of the shirt.

Man, he could go for a nice plate of spaghetti. He’s pretty sure that’s the only thing that could turn this day around for him. Spaghetti was, after all, his favorite meal. Especially if his mother cooked it; she was the best cook that he knew.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, smelling something cooking in the kitchen already. He always got home around dinner time because of his tutoring after school keeping him in later than most other students. Though, today, he was just too pissed to focus if he’d actually gone, so he’d instead hung around the school campus until the late release buses arrived to take them home.

That bus ride did nothing but raise his anger and stress levels. Everyone on it was just so loud and annoying, screaming at one another and making the air thick and hot and sweaty. Yancy had situated himself near the front- the back is where the loudest and most crazy kids regularly sat- and tried to block all the noise out by plugging his ears and leaning his head against the window. But, that proved futile, and his world got blurred together as he went into what his therapist calls “sensory overload”.

He didn’t know what that meant really, or did he care, but he knew he was going into one now. He could recognize the feeling of his muscles tensing and his head banging and his palms sweating and his eyes burning as the world around him collapsed in on itself. It made it difficult to breathe, and his lungs ached for fresh air.

He was only able to breathe again once he ran from the bus, two blocks away from his usual stop, and took deep breaths. It helped the overload go away after a few minutes of breathing, cold air prickling at his skin, calming him, but it did not make his anger go away. That stuck around, curling in his gut like a snake waiting to strike.

He walked the rest of the way home, and by the time he arrived, his feet were aching and the snake had traveled to his chest, coiling around his heart. He was fuming, ready to snap at the first person or thing that got near him.

Now, he was stepping into the kitchen, calming himself down as he went. The food smelled great- he hopes it’s spaghetti. The snake remains, but he’s calmed it down enough to speak with his mom. He hates snapping at his mom. His dad, not so much, but never his mom. She was too sweet, and always believed in him even when he seemed like a wasted basket case.

“Hey, Mama,” he greeted, clearing his throat to rid it of its tightness. He walks to the table and hops up on it, swinging his feet as they hang just above the ground. He frowns. His growth spurt hadn’t made him as tall as he would have liked.

“Hello, Yancy dear,” his mother replied, smiling down at the pot she was stirring. Yancy takes another deep whiff of the smell, grinning. It smelt like spaghetti, alright. The snake lowers its head. “How was your day?

The snake raises it again at the question, hissing at the thought. But Yancy shrugs, picking at one of the cracks in the ancient wooden table. They hadn’t been able to get a replacement for it in years, and they were overdue for one. This one was falling apart and covered in cracks. It probably didn’t help that Yancy was sitting on it, but he didn’t are too much. He only worried about taking care of the things his mother gave him specifically or the things she told him to care for. If she were to tell him to get off the table, he would. But she hadn’t, so he leaned back on his hands.

“Not the best, honestly,” he replied, kicking his toes together half-heartedly. His shoes, which he’s had a couple of years, have stayed in pretty good shape. He’s done his best to keep them looking good, after all. “Everyone was annoyin’ as hell.”

“Language, dear,” his mother reprimanded without looking up. He says a quick apology. “I’m sorry it was such a bad day for you. Tomorrow should be better.” She always said that.

“How was your day, Mama?” he asked, and then finally notices the blood he’d gotten on the front of his shirt. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing to his feet and walking to the sink. He hadn’t even realized he’d done that! His blackouts were getting worse by the day. He’d have to speak to his therapist about that next.

“Language,” his mother said again, throwing a glare at his back. He says another quick apology and starts wetting a paper towel, trying and failing to wipe the blood stains from the white parts of the shirt. His mother frowns. “Did you already ruin the new shirt I got you, Yance? I told you that one was expensive.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Mama,” Yancy said, and the snake was rearing its head. How dare she speak to him like that when he already knew he’d made a stupid mistake? He was already beating himself up over it, she didn’t need to do the same. That was just wrong! “I’m not sure how I did it.”

His mother moves to stand beside him, and her eyes widen. “Is that blood?” she asked, and quickly snatches his hands, turning the palms over so she could see them. She looks up at him, her eyes wide. “Yance, what did you do?”

Yancy pulls his hands away and waves her away. The snake is snarling, its teeth bared. He clenched his own jaws, teeth grinding together, head beginning to pound. He needed to calm down. “It’s nothing, Mama,” he said, keeping his tone flat. He would not snap at her. He could control himself enough to not snap at one person in the least, goddammit. “Was an accident.” He pauses, and smiles at her, though they both know it’s forced. “What’s for dinner, though? I’m starvin’!”

She frowns up at him, but she must see the desperation in his eyes, because she turns and returns to the pot she is stirring. She’s learned over the years not to push him on matters like these, especially if he didn’t want to talk about it. It could easily trigger an episode, and those were fun for no one.

“Nothing special,” she said, forcing her own casual tone back into her voice. Yancy appreciates that.

“Your food is always delicious, Mama!” Yancy exclaimed, trying to be happy. He could be happy. His head wasn’t pounding, his blood wasn’t boiling and his teeth weren’t flattening from his hard he was grinding them. He was happy! “I hope it’s spaghetti tonight! I’ve been looking forward to having some of your spaghetti all day!”

His mother glances at him through the corner of her eye, her shoulders suddenly stiffening. Why was she acting like that? Like she was scared of him? Didn’t she know he was happy, and that he would never hurt her even if he wasn’t? The snake tightens its hold on his heart, and it’s becoming hard to breathe, his own muscles tightening. Why did it suddenly feel so tense? Weren’t they both happy?

“I was making fettuccine…” his mother said quietly, trailing off.

The room is filled with silence then. Yancy’s eye twitched, and the snake strikes.

He grabs the nearby knife, stabbing it in the counter surface. His mother jumps as he drags it across, dropping the ladle she’d been holding. He lifts his gaze to her face, her features beginning to blur, the edges of his vision clouding with red. Why was she still acting scared? Why was she so fucking scared goddammit!

“Why the fuck… would you make… fettucini…” he snarled, his words as sharp as the knife he was yanking from the hole he’d made in the counter. When had he made that hole? He’d thought he was just slicing it back and forth. The blade reflects the light pouring in from the window, and he could see the fear growing in his mother’s eyes. That just makes him angrier. Why would she be afraid of him! He’s nothing to be afraid of for fuck’s sake!

“Yance… puh-please calm- calm down,” his mother stammered, a sob breaking her words apart. Tears were streaming down her face as she takes a step back from, stumbling as he steps towards her, the knife hanging at his side. Why was she fucking crying? Why was she backing away from him? Why the FUCK is she afraid of him?! “You need- need to calm down, sw- sweetie.” Her voice is turning to begging. “I- I can make you- spaghetti, if- if you want it!”

“Stop acting scared!” he screamed suddenly, and he doesn’t miss the way she flinches, the way more tears explode from her eyes. His heart is racing, hammering against his chest, causing his blood to burn, his entire being to burn. “It’s pissing me the fuck off!” He slams the knife into the counter again, and his mother yelps.

That was it.

“I-I’m so-”

She didn’t get to finish.

The knife was acting on its own, lodging itself in her throat. Her blood sprays onto his hand, onto his face, onto his shirt. The shirt he’d just cleaned, too! Fucking bitch. She was screaming, pleading, and quivering under him, her back digging into the counter as he pins her there, twisting the knife further into her flesh. The red was fully filling his vision, and he couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel or think.

She didn’t get to be scared of him. She didn’t get to stain the shirt he’d just cleaned. She didn’t get to act like a fucking coward towards him, when he was doing everything in his goddamn power to be good.

The knife sinks further, and he drags it downwards, closer to her chest. He pulls it out, and then brings it down against, directly into the ribs in her chest and the heart beneath. His mother sputters on her own blood, chokes on it, her body quivering and arching, before it goes still, limp in his hold.

How dare she make him hold him up, like she was better than him!

He stabs the same spot repeatedly, the blood splashing on him, on the floor, on his sanity. It was warm and thick and sticky, and it was covering his arms and chest and face. But he kept going, until a large, gaping hole was left in her chest, sliced flesh and broken bones sticking in the middle of the mess.

He leans backwards- when did he end up on the floor?- and draws a deep breath through his mouth, some of the blood- why was there so much?- slides into his mouth, onto his tongue. He spits it out, and drops the knife- how was it so coated?- leaning against one of the cabinets, the spilled pot of noodles forgotten beside him- when had he knocked it over?

It takes him an hour to calm himself down.

And when he does, his eyes landing on the dead, mutilated corpse of his mother- how did that happen did he do that why did he do thath0ow did he do that how did he not realize he did that what the fuck what the fuck what tfukc oh god oh god oh god- he screams at the top of his lungs. The scream tears at his throat, causing it to bleed, but he doesn’t stop, until he sobs, crawling to the body. He cups both of her cheeks, throws up when he sees the holes in her neck and chest and stomach- oh god oh god he did this he did this he did this- and cries and cries and screams.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face into his mother’s hair, body trembling, heart screaming.

His father comes home shortly later, finds him cradling his mother’s body, sees him covered in her blood, and the knife coated in the red liquid. He screams as well, points an accusing finger at him.

“I knew you would do this!” he yelled, and the sound tears at Yancy’s ears. Why couldn’t he just be left to mourn his mother? He already knew he’d done this. “I always knew you were a fucking monster!”

Yancy screamed, hand flying to the knife of its own volition, and tackles his father. Years of anger built up explodes in a single moment, and he cuts into his father’s stomach, lets the guts spill out. Watches his father choke on his blood. Watches him bleed out and die, a crumpled mess on the floor that had been clean seconds before.

He was covered in blood.

So much of it was drying on his arms and legs and face. It was making it hard to move, to breathe, to think.

He did the only thing he could think of doing.

He calls the police.

—-

REBLOGS>LIKES

[rahirah]

via Barb's Place So before setting out on our Grand Canyon adventure, I of course checked the weather. Supposedly it was going to be highs in the 50s and lows in the 30s. Cold and rainy, with a small chance of snow on Friday, but we'd be back home by Friday, right? Right? (Wrong!) As You Know, Bob, the Grand Canyon Railway runs twice a day: one train leaves Williams at seven-thirty in the morning and returns at two-thirty in the afternoon, and the second one leaves at eight-thirty and returns at three-thirty. We were on the later train. Since the train trip takes about two hours, that meant that we'd be leaving Williams around six in the evening, and it would take about three hours or more to get back to Phoenix. After we told Kathy's mom about that, she decided that it would be better if we spent Thursday night in Williams instead, and drove back to Phoenix on Friday. That was fine with us. Unfortunately, the GC Railway Hotel, where we were to stay Monday night, was totally booked on Thursday. During the holidays, the railway does two Polar Express (TM) runs to the "North Pole" every evening, in addition to the two runs up to the Canyon and back in the daytime. So the hotel was completely packed with families running around in matching pajama sets, with kids chanting "I believe! I believe!" No worries, though – there are lots of hotels in Williams! Except Kathy's mom, for mysterious reasons, rejected all of them, because they did not explicitly advertise a free breakfast bar. Why she needed that when all she ever wants for breakfast is oatmeal and coffee, I do not know. We ended up making a reservation at a Days Inn in Bellemont, which is a flyspeck about twenty miles north of Flagstaff. MORE OF THIS ANON. When we got to Williams on Monday afternoon, it was reallyfuckingcold. No problem, right? We'd expected this! We'd brought coats and sweaters and boots. What we hadn't expected was Kathy's mom practically collapsing in the visitor's center. Turns out that she (elderly, ex-smoker, lived in sea-level Florida for the last thirty years) reacts REALLY BADLY to high altitudes. The slightest exertion sent her into palpitations. This more or less scotched our plans of walking around Williams and window shopping, so we got her to the hotel, and... it started snowing. Not raining, snowing. WELL THEN. About this time I started getting emails from places where I'd sent resumes, wanting to set up interviews. On the one hand, yay interviews! On the other, I really hadn't expected to get any responses this week. I had to reply and ask if we could please do it after I got back to Phoenix, and hope that didn't put them off doing it altogether, and then fret about them periodically. Everyone assured us that in a day or two, the MIL would acclimatize. In a day or two we'd be heading home, but whatever. In the meantime, we managed to borrow a wheelchair from the hotel to get her to the restaurant across the parking lot for dinner, because she literally couldn't walk ten feet without gasping for breath. MIL was deeply unhappy about this, as she is very active for a woman in her eighties. Maneuvering a wheelchair with an unwilling passenger across an unfamiliar ice-slick parking lot in a snowstorm is a fun adventure, lemme tell ya. The next morning it was still snowing. We got the MIL down to the train depot, and made the cardinal error of going to watch the Wild West gunfighter show. Wild West Hijinks (TM) which would be mildly amusing when the temperature is in the 70s are merely irritating when the temperature is in the 30s. I felt sorry for the performers, who not only had to stand in the slush, but roll around in it whenever they got shot. After standing in the sleet and slush for fifteen minutes (no one wanted to sit on the snow-covered metal bleachers) we (along with about half of the rest of the meager audience) left early to make sure we got on the train. Once we got MIL on the train, the ride was mostly fine. The scenery was beautiful. There were free snacks. The minute we got to the Canyon, we were bundled off the train and onto a tour bus. Unfortunately there wasn't much to see; the Canyon was entirely invisible, just a vast white snow-cloud void, and half the stops on the tour were canceled due to the snow. When we got back to our hotel, we ran into more mobility issues. We were staying in Maswik Lodge, the budget, i.e. one-step-up-from-the-campground lodge, which is a whole bunch of separate cabins. They had a wheelchair available, and the nice desk clerk asked if we'd like to change our cabin for a more accessible one. We said "Sure!" What the nice desk clerk failed to mention was that the more accessible cabin hadn't been cleaned yet, and it would take a full two and a half hours of us shivering in the freezing cold (I am not exaggerating – every time the lobby door opened, and it opened a lot, more snow blew in) lobby to get it cleaned. If we'd known that it would take that long, we would have said to hell with it and gone with the less accessible one. Finally we got to our cabin, turned on the heat, and thawed out a bit before having dinner at the Maswik food court. The following morning, we encountered the next challenge: getting the MIL anywhere outside the vicinity of the lodge was a nightmare. Since the wheelchair belonged to the Maswik, we couldn't take it with us if we wanted to visit any of the other lodges or points of interest. So that morning, Kathy and I went out by ourselves to look around and do some exploring. It was still snowing, the forest was a magical winter wonderland which I was too cold to properly appreciate, and I slipped and fell on the ice twice. It occurred to me later that I dodged a bullet, because in my current jobless state, I have no insurance, and had I really injured myself, I would have been really screwed. Luckily the only thing really hurt was my pride. We did get to see a few sights: El Tovar, Hopi House, the art gallery, etc. A lot of the tours and whatnot had been canceled due to the weather, but we still saw a few intrepid hikers. We wanted to eat at the steakhouse at Bright Angel Lodge on Christmas Eve, so we ended up walking the MIL out to the stop for the free shuttle in very careful installments. Unfortunately, we took the shuttle driver at his word when he told us we needed to transfer from the eastbound to the westbound shuttle to get where we were going. (It turned out that we could have just stayed on and gone all the way around.) This meant walking the MIL over a couple hundred yards of icy/snowy mud to yet another shuttle stop, and then, finally, getting her up the dozen or so stairs to the steakhouse parking lot. I was absolutely terrified that she'd fall and break a hip. Still, things were going pretty well until it came time to go back to our cabin. By now it was completely dark, the wind was blowing, the snow was pelting down, and it was well below freezing. We stood at the shuttle stop...and stood, and stood, and stood, with the wind cutting right through our coats and snow building up around us. It probably wasn't more than twenty minutes before the shuttle showed up, but it felt like hours, mainly because the MIL (who has zero patience even under optimal conditions) kept proclaiming that it was never going to come and she was going to die of the cold. Under the circumstances, we were not sure she wasn't right. Finally, the shuttle showed up, and we got her back to the cabin. At that point, Kathy and I realized that we had a further problem. We had reservations at El Tovar, the super-fancy lodge, for Christmas dinner. Since we were not staying at El Tovar, we hadn't been able to make the reservations until 30 days out (as opposed to the actual El Tovar guests, who were allowed to make reservations 90 days out.) This meant that by the time we could make ours, the only one available was at 8:45. The free shuttle only ran until 9:00. You see the dilemma. Not to mention that the steps up to El Tovar from the shuttle stop were like five times as high as the ones to Bright Angel, and the MIL had barely made it up those. Plus we really, really didn't want to go through another Freezing At The Shuttle Stop experience if we could help it. Luckily, at this point we had a "D'oh!" moment and noticed the taxi service in the brochure. They picked you up right at the door of your cabin, and took you right to the doors of the other lodges! Woohoo! We were saved! So through the Christmas miracle of Grand Canyon Taxi, we got the MIL over to El Tovar for dinner, and over to Hopi House to do some shopping the next morning before we left. And for a post-Christmas miracle, it stopped snowing on the 26th, so we were finally able to see the Canyon! Double woohoo! Thursday afternoon we took the train back to Williams, and Kathy and I parked the MIL in the depot gift shop while we went through the Exciting Adventure Mark II of finding our luggage (which was not where it was supposed to be) and digging the car out from beneath about six inches of snow. It had, of course, started snowing again on the train trip back, and the roads were all black ice. Now, I am a Phoenix native, and I don't have a lot of experience driving in snow. However, as you may recall, the MIL had rejected all the hotels in Williams proper. I cursed them faintly as I drove past, with their goddamn welcoming VACANCY signs. We ended up crawling twenty-odd miles down the iced-over I-40 at 35 mph, in the dark, in the snow, along with a bunch of other people (some mad speed demons doing 50 mph) who were no happier about it than I was. By the time we got to the Chosen Hotel, my shoulders had seized up completely, I'd been gripping the steering wheel so hard. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the MIL chirped as we pulled into the hotel parking lot. I did not murder her then and there, which I think speaks to my growth as a person. I may have mentioned before that my MIL, though a lovely and generous woman in many respects, is... well, look under "entitled white lady" in the dictionary and her picture will be there, and there will be a note from her under the picture complaining that the photographer got her bad side and demanding to speak to the manager. And this hotel we pull into is not a rat-infested pit or anything, but it's not the sort of place she usually goes for. It is reasonably clean, and it has free wi-fi, and that is about all you can say for it, amenities-wise. There's not even any carpet in the rooms; it's all linoleum. It is exactly the sort of hotel you'd expect to find when you say "God, I can't drive another mile, this will have to do." Kathy and I are completely underwhelmed. We have seen the MIL rip into far, FAR nicer establishments than this for failing to meet her exa The MIL LOVES it. We throw up our hands and contemplate the mysteries of the universe. There is no restaurant, only a McDonalds across the street, so we warm up the leftovers from our El Tovar dinner in the microwave. Thank God for microwaves. The next morning, we get up. The free breakfast bar, which is the entire reason the MIL insisted on this hotel, turns out to be a dozen packets of instant oatmeal; a Froot Loop dispenser; a sad rack of Wonder Bread for toasting; a warming pan which apparently once held sausages, but is now quite empty; five mini-muffins; one raisin bagel; and a waffle machine with which one can, if one can fight one's way through the throng of desperate breakfast-hunters besieging it, make waffles. The MIL (you guessed it) loved it. I grabbed the raisin bagel. There was no butter, no cream cheese, only packets of grape jelly. Grape jelly, if you are wondering, doesn't go all that well with raisin bagels. You'd think it would, but you'd be wrong. I did manage to nab a couple of sausages when they were finally replenished. They turned out to be incredibly salty, ice cold, and somewhat suspiciously soy-product-flavored. I took them and a slice of Wonder Bread back to the room to microwave them, and made a sort of sad, weird sausage sandwich. Kathy and I then went out to scrape snow off the car – for the moment, it had stopped snowing, but a couple more inches had fallen after we parked for the night. During this process, the head of the driver's side windshield wiper snapped right off. I guess the unaccustomed cold weakened the plastic. Since it was supposed to start snowing again at any moment, I was less than thrilled with this development, but there was nothing for it; I had no idea whether or not there was a mechanic in Bellemont, and I didn't want to wander randomly around trying to find one. We packed everything up and got on the road. It did indeed start snowing again shortly thereafter. Thankfully it never snowed very hard. The snow eventually turned to rain as we came down off the Rim and into the Verde Valley, and it rained all the way into Phoenix and the rest of the day. But we got home safely, I avoided being cited for driving through a rainstorm without working wipers, we picked up Bo from the vet's, I bought a replacement wiper, and the MIL got on a plane back to Florida Saturday morning. So that was my first ever white Christmas. Despite everything, it was a good trip. The scenery was absolutely spectacular. I'll try and post some pictures later. And now, back to the normal stress of job hunting. The end. comments

[aniseandspearmint]

@sparklecryptid

*gleefully rubs hands together* OKAY, here’s several versions of Citrine! These were all made with the Mega Fantasy Avatar Creator, which can be found on dolldevine, rinmarugames, and azaleadolls (no link bc tumblr hates those now *sigh*).

#1

Bright red hair swept up with a braid, mid tone tanned skin (*squints* the skin looks a lot lighter than it did? wtf?), and the darkest orange eyes available. I tried several purple shades, but none of them seemed to suit. And with this color it kinda matches the name. :D I gave him/her some interesting ear piercings in this pic, and one brow piercing just for fun. Also some nice green eye shadow bc green almost always looks excellent on redheads. A carved green stone leaf (jade or adventurine probably) on a gold chain seemed thematically appropriate (treasured gift from Slate or Ivy maybe?), and she’s got a hand full of some dusty-earthy looking magic.

#2

Same shade of red, but a curly bob this time! I like this hair a lot tbh. Same skin tone/eye color/shirt as #1, but I lightened the eye shadow, changed the facial expression (I think this one says, ‘I am in my element and you should be afraid.’) and gave him a different eyebrow piercing. I gave this one a leather rope for the necklace, and a handful of twining new growth instead of earth magic.

# 3 (I had the most fun with this one tbh XDDD)

This one is basically how I picture Citrine meeting the bros. Lemme paint you a picture, lols. 

Citrine is not looking for anything like a fateful destined meeting. No, Citrine rolled out of bed around dawn after snatching like, two hours sleep (which did nothing for the general exhausted look tbh *points to the bags under his eyes*). He (this is a he morning, he thinks) pulled on clothes that he definitely washed this week, totally, for sure, pulled his hair up in something resembling order, and zombie walked his way to the nearest coffee kiosk/cafe. (He left off any make up and earrings bc who cares it’s 5AM. He forgot to take out the eyebrow stud last night.)

He gets there, gets in line (there is a LONG line, ugh, dammit) behind like, twelve equally exhausted looking students. He may kinda fall asleep standing there a bit, as you do, mindlessly shuffling forward as the line moves. He grabs an apple out of a basket of slightly old freebie fruit (score!). He’s mildly regretful he wasn’t fast enough to get any pears. He skips over the bananas. Too bruised for his taste, and Eosian bananas taste weird anyway.

Someone bumps into him and nearly makes him drop his apple, he turns and  takes a breath, a ‘heeeey!’ on his lips, and is hit with a warm scent that smells like everything good in the world and damn can he just crawl into that for a year please? There are four guys behind him, expressions all caught somewhere between surprise and a pleased hello.

Wait. Waitwaitwait, oooooh noooooo. Is that? Citrine has always been good with faces. He knows those faces. This is NOT happening. Not today Satan. or Ifrit, or whomever. Not before coffee at least. The guy with glasses opens his mouth, Citrine holds up a finger and shakes his head firmly.

“No.”

Ignis (fucking Ignis Scientia, and that is definitely the Crown Prince peering gleefully around him, and Gladio Amicitia towering over them, and he’s iffy on the little blonds name but he has totally seen him in tabloid pics with the Prince, and fuck his life- REALLY? THESE FOUR?) blinks. “No?”

The barista shouts, “NEXT!” and Citrine turns on his heel, clutching his fruit protectively, and proceeds to order the biggest damn espresso he can afford (and, yeah, okay, he was already gonna do that) and after a moments consideration, a mixed berry muffin. He’s gonna need it. 

Not pictured: He is also wearing two different fuzzy socks, and a pair of slightly over sized silky lavender sleeper pants with pink and yellow chocobo chicks dancing with stars and moons. His shoes are a pair of not quite falling apart trainers. There may or may not still be imprints from the books he fell asleep on top of, and notes scribbled in pen up and down his arms.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Storytime!

Sanders Sides Canon Divergence AU - fluff/angst - hurt/comfort - some intrigue - actually has a plot (side eyes my other fics) - largely Virgil centric - it’s about growth i guess idk

Words: 4,140 Warnings: Fire, Gross things, Fighting, Food, Teasing Characters: Virgil, Patton, Remus, Janus, Roman Universe: Storytime! Genre: Clingy Idiocy

Chapter 25: In Which They Opt to Burn Comic Books Instead of Self-Immolation

Virgil continues to be a clingy idiot tbh touch starved people rejoice

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Virgil woke to a gentle buzzing in his pocket. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and slowly looked around. He must have not been too deep asleep. He keeps his phone in a gentle setting so it wouldn’t startle him when D needed something. He was somehow still holding Patton on the couch. He was almost impressed with himself. Patton seemed to have woken up to the vibration under him as well, as he looked confused. Virgil gently kissed Patton’s Forehead and he smiled and seemed happy. He watched Patton yawn widely with no sound.

   “Lemme get this, Pat,” Virgil mumbled sleepily and dropped his hood, then fished his phone out of his hoodie pocket from under Patton’s legs. ‘The room is ready. Just shoot the duke a note when you leave. I will be working here alone until then.’ The message said. Attached was a map pin of the mind palace. Oh, he hoped it was Deceit’s study. Virgil loved that fireplace. He could walk right in it was so huge. Something about resting in front of a furnace of death really spoke to his inner goth. He slid his phone back into his hoodie pocket and went back to holding Patton tight.

   “Did you fall asleep with me, Pat?” He asked gently and rocked him.

   “I guess being that spooked wore me out,” Patton said with a little yawn again.

   “Believe me, I’ve been there. But I bet you’ve got other things to do today now that you’re all full up on cuddle power,” Virgil said with another gentle kiss.

   “I do, but it’s so warm and snuggly in here with you,” Patton said and nuzzled into Virgil’s chest.

   “Oh, I can fix that,” Virgil said with a laugh.

   “What do you mean ‘fix that’?” Patton asked apprehensively.

   “I can make it not warm anymore,” Virgil said and released a little chill of anxiety. Patton suddenly shivered and looked shocked.

   “Boo!” Patton whined in objection. “Wait, do you have ice powers like Elsa?” Patton asked with wide, curious eyes as he took the blanket and crawled out of Virgil’s now chilly lap.

   “I wish, but no,” Virgil said with a laugh and pulled Patton in and kissed his cheek. Virgil backed up and saluted Patton. “I’m just the boogeyman,” He said with a cackle and sunk out of the room leaving Patton wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and looking more confused than when he woke up with his hand holding his cheek.

   Virgil rose into the location Deceit sent and summoned his notepad and wrote ‘f u’ and sent it off to the Duke. It was Deceit’s study, after all, though heavily scaled back. Probably because it was near the edge of the Mind Palace. It was less of a library/study and had more empty space and empty walls. The desk and Deceit’s big wingback chair was still there, and so was Virgil’s favourite fireplace and rug. But Deceit added a black leather loveseat with side tables on either end. Virgil summoned a big, fluffy throw blanket to cover the chair, just in case the duke was nasty again. Virgil walked over to Deceit’s desk where he worked and waited. After a pause, Deceit looked up at Virgil.

   “The throw was a terrible call,” Deceit said casually. Virgil stepped around the desk and held open his arms expectantly, and Deceit nodded, sighing. Virgil came over and wrapped his arms around Deceit for a moment and kissed his scaled cheek, then rubbed his cheek to it.

   “Thanks for everything, D. I think you’re my favourite, too,” Virgil breathed and smirked at Deceit’s slight flush on the human half of his face.

   “Have you been a menace?” Deceit asked with a distracted cough.

   “The worst,” Virgil smirked. “I mostly took a nap with Pat,” Virgil added quietly. “But I think it’s nicer to sleep with something else cool-blooded,” Virgil said with a coquettish smile. “I’ll try not to rile up the duke, but I get it if you have to kick us out,” Virgil said with a nod and let Deceit go. Virgil summoned a little pile of comic books and two pairs of headphones as he walked over to the table and loveseat and dropped them on the table. He put the headphones in a splitter and hung a music player from the back of the big chair and laid back to enjoy some Batman.

   Remus landed so suddenly next to him in the loveseat that Virgil jumped up in surprise and hissed. He punched Remus in the arm who smiled widely and punched right back. A strong smell punched Virgil in the face, and he shook his head in confusion. Strawberries?

   “Ream, you chose something that smells good!” Virgil said in surprise and lowered his headphones. “Is that your way of flirting?” Virgil asked with a little breezy snicker.

   “No, my way of flirting involves tentacle ooze and me and my date ending up on fire!” Remus said with a laugh and grabbed a volume of Deadpool.

   “Well, warn a side, so I can make myself a fire-and-ooze proof suit,” Virgil said and started to pull his headphones back on. “Hey, I don’t suppose you can summon food? I can only make drinks,” Virgil asked as he dropped his headphones midway. Remus laughed and held a plate of what looked like worms and bloody goose livers. “Oh god, send that off! That’s fucking gross,” Virgil said and sputtered slightly. “What do you want to drink?… And if it’s like expired pigs’ milk or something, I’m not fucking making it,” Virgil stuck his tongue out and grimaced in disgust.

   Remus rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to drink cornea juice, I’d summon it myself,” Remus said haughtily. Virgil shuttered at the concept of juicing eyeballs. “I’ll take a rum and coke,” He said, surprisingly reasonably. Virgil summoned a highball glass and tapped the side of the rim and it filled with skull ice cubes and the drink requested.

   “I can’t make, like top-shelf rum or anything, but it’s good enough for the likes of you,” Virgil said teasingly and handed the duke the glass. Virgil summoned himself a tea latte. He paused for a moment and then remembered to summon coasters, handing the duke one and placing one on his side table to put his latte on. “If we make a mess in here, we will get strung up, so please reign in that need till you get back to your room,” Virgil asked with exasperation. Remus unexpectedly just nodded and leaned up against Virgil and started reading. Virgil took a deep breath and settled down. He was a little baffled by the duke being reasonable for once, but maybe Deceit told him to be less of a shit head in here.

   Virgil put down his comic on the side table, seeing that Remus obviously wanted to cuddle again, and grabbed and yanked Remus closer on to him, and punched him in the arm. Remus smiled widely and punched back. They both laughed and started wrestling on the couch, the duke dropping his copy of Deadpool to the ground.

   A loud throat-clearing echoed across the room and they both froze. After a beat they chuckled nervously and Virgil ended up lying across the Duke’s lap and holding himself up on his elbows to read, and the duke sat up with his legs on the table. Virgil straightened the cord on headphones and handed Remus the other pair so he could listen if he wanted. Remus took it, and Virgil grabbed Deadpool off the floor for him and passed it up. Remus also liked his music, and it was one of the few things he never made fun of Virgil for, and it seemed like it was a safe assumption that he wanted to listen after all when he slid the headphones on. Virgil focused back upon his Batman comic and they read together, listening to screaming metal music.

   Virgil had gotten through 2 volumes of Detective Comics and yawned. He reached down and put the volume on the floor with the others and stretched across Remus’s lap.

   “Hey, don’t fall asleep, purple-pus,” Remus said and punched Virgil in the back. Virgil couldn’t really punch back at this angle, so he just groaned.

   “I won’t fall asleep, ooze-for-brains, just let me sit up and get my tea,” Virgil said with another little yawn. Remus punched him in the back again and left him pinned. “Don’t think I’m above freezing your ass. I will totally do it,” Virgil warned. Remus put his Elbows on Virgil’s back and hummed a nonsense tune. Virgil groaned. “You asked for it,” Virgil hissed and let out a powerful wave of anxious chill. Remus yelped and quickly lifted his arms to warm himself. Virgil took the chance and rolled off him to get his latte. He stood next to the couch and shuttered from his own cold.

   “You bitch,” Remus said and shivered, though he didn’t look upset in the least.

   “Takes one to know one,” Virgil said and took his latte to go sit down on the rug in front of the fireplace to warm up. Remus followed him and laid down facing the fire on his stomach, kicking his legs and entranced by watching the flames dance. “You can’t self-immolate in here, I asked,” Virgil said with a laugh and laid down facing up and Remus’s back. Remus groaned in disappointment.

   Virgil rolled to his side and laid lackadaisically across the duke’s back. He sighed and resisted the urge to reach up and jab Remus in the side. He knew they’d get out of hand and stopped himself. He saw Remus’s arm outstretched, and his hand twitched parallel to him and laughed.

   “Are you trying to resist the urge to fight, too?” Virgil asked quietly.

   “I’m innocent!” He blurted and pulled his arm back. “Wait, too?” Remus asked with a chuckle.

   “Yeah, your face is just so damn punchable,” Virgil said with a laugh. “I’m already kind of feeling your intrusive bullshit and it makes me antsy,” Virgil said and got up to grab the comics to move them over. “Hey, know what’s not self-immolation but involves burning stuff? We can chuck the volumes we finished in the fire,” Virgil said and placed the Deadpool stack in front of the duke. Virgil chucked one of the completed Detective Comics in the fire and they both watched it go up quickly, the ink staining the flames as it burned through the thin pages. Remus cheered and threw another one in. All the red in the pages lit up the fireplace.

   They went back to reading, taking breaks to throw comics in the fireplace, and sometimes chatting and showing each other particularly brutal parts in the comics they were reading. Virgil knew Remus would want to see, and he assumed Remus did it because he wanted to see Virgil cringe. But he didn’t mind as long as Remus let him get in a good punch or kick for it.

   “Hey, 8-eyes, it wasn’t that scary, turn off the fucking A/C,” Remus whined as he pulled back his comic. Virgil was paralyzed on the spot. The darkness in the corners grew, and he involuntarily felt himself shake. “Deedee, Your pet spider is freaking the fuck out over here,” He could hear Remus distantly as a static sound overtaking his brain overwhelmed him. “Your pet spider also smells like it’s about to fucking electrocute me and I am pinned by it,” Remus called out again, sounding a little strangled and panicky. Virgil could feel a vague sensation pushing against him, but he couldn’t move. “Though, maybe it could be fun!” Remus’s distant cackling meshed with the voices that were even more overlapped and louder than before. He saw Deceit walk over and Virgil’s mouth was too dry to speak and tell him it started.

   Deceit reached down and placed a hand on Virgil, and his eyes widened. Virgil’s vision waned, and he grabbed his head, trying to block out the loud sounds in his ears. But no matter how hard he pushed, he could still hear their muddled voices just as loudly. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, but it didn’t feel like enough air came.

   “Virgil, look at my face,” He could make out a voice say. He peeked open one eye and saw Deceit sitting right in front of him. Virgil opened both eyes and glanced around, seeing he was in his own room and sitting on the floor. He couldn’t stop his eyes from looking around wildly and he felt a tight squeeze on his arm. “Virgil, look at my face,” Deceit said again, firmer. “You’re fine. You are not there anymore,” Virgil shivered and leaned into Deceit’s chest. Deceit pulled him in, and they laid back on the floor. Virgil’s breathing went back to normal when he realized the sound and the voices were gone again.

   “Thanks,” Virgil said with a shutter. He felt a tear run down his cheek. “D-do you know what that is?” Virgil asked nervously. 

   “I couldn’t hear anything,” Deceit said calmly. “I just felt the change in environment and saw the shadows,” Deceit said and stroked Virgil’s head. “I think you have about 2 hours you can safely be in there,” He added.

   “I didn’t hurt Remus, Did I?” Virgil asked quietly. There was an amused hiss.

   “He can sleep it off,” Deceit smiled with grim humor. Virgil laughed weakly. Crap, he was having a nice time with Remus and ruined it. And they both needed the break from all the stress Thomas has lately. Hopefully Remus wasn’t too mad at him for fucking it up. Thomas’s stress affects Remus almost as much as it does Virgil. He sighed and felt his stomach growl. 

   “I’m starving,” Virgil trailed off quietly.

   “I’ll summon you something,” Deceit said calmly and sat up to stand. He pulled Virgil with him and deposited Virgil at the table. “What do you want, darling?” Deceit sat next to him and placed his hand on Virgil’s back.

   “Something warm,” he said quietly as he sat down. Deceit summoned him a bowl of hearty stew and hot apple cider. Virgil looked up at Deceit’s face. It was very soft, but there was a pain in his eyes.

   “Will you eat with me?” Virgil asked quietly, dropping against the table, already anticipating his answer.

   “No,” Deceit said calmly and held his stomach.

   “Did I get you, too? I’m so sorry,” Virgil said and grabbed Deceit’s arm before he could protest and pulled as hard as he could. He felt a cold sweat break out on his brow.

   “I would have been fine,” Deceit said in exasperation. Virgil tried to take a deep breath, and a dead sounding laugh broke out of his chest. “It wasn’t very much. I just can’t stay,” Deceit said quietly.

   “Oh, right, my room,” Virgil said with disappointment heavy in his voice. “We could go to yours?” He asked, a little hope sparkling through.

   “I think that’s not the best idea, darling. You need to recover here for now. Eat and take a nap,” Deceit ordered resolutely. He summoned the fat snake plush Virgil left on his bed. “I’ll keep an eye on you,” He said, pointing at his snake eye and clearly trying to placate Virgil. What in the world did Virgil accidentally push on Deceit to make him act like this? Virgil nodded, and Deceit, raccoon eyes evident, sunk on the spot. Virgil reached out and grabbed the snake plush from the table and held it with one arm while he slowly ate with the other.

   Virgil woke up from the nap feeling much better than earlier. He was still fuzzy and weird, but it didn’t matter much as long as he had a better handle on himself. He yawned and stretched out and crawled off the couch. He was still hungry, so he summoned some fruit juice and downed it. It wasn’t the same. He threw the glass in frustration and it disappeared mid-air. It felt like it had been so long since he was last alone. Not knowing what to do with himself, Virgil flopped down and scrolled Tumblr on the couch. Seeing the cool fan art and the friendly comments were awesome. Virgil also liked to keep track of the mean comments. Just in case. While scrolling Tumblr, a red shield sticky note fell on his face.

   Virgil rose into Roman’s room right away and immediately tackled Roman where he stood. He was glad he didn’t have to sit alone any longer after this afternoon's debacle. 

   “I missed you,” Virgil whined and rubbed his face against Roman’s tunic and squeezed Roman’s arms to his side, trapping him. Roman chuckled awkwardly and slightly tried to shift under his arms.

   “It hasn’t been that long, panic station,” Roman said with a soft laugh. “Are you going to let me out?”

   “If I let you go, you might leave,” Virgil groaned.

   “You’re in my room!” Roman said with a laugh and struggled under Virgil’s arms again. Virgil groaned and squeezed again. “C’mon, Virge, this hurts,” Roman winced. Virgil let go of him and rolled off of him, lying flat on the floor and whining incoherently while Roman sat up and took a deep breath. Roman leaned over Virgil’s face and smiled sardonically. Virgil stopped and stared up at him in confusion. Then Roman punched him hard, right in the face.

   “What the fuck?” Virgil said, holding his cheek and glaring at Roman’s smug smile.

   “I win. Come on, you clingy weirdo, couch,” Roman commanded with a chuckle. “And that’s an order,” Roman added with a wink and laughed. Virgil chuckled with a little embarrassment and followed Roman over. Roman yanked Virgil in when he got close and Virgil latched on.

   “What are we up to then, Sir?” Virgil said with a catty smirk. Roman flushed slightly. Virgil made a face. That wasn’t enough payback for the teasing or the guerilla victory. He’d have to come up with something else.

   “First, why don’t you tell me why you’re being a little extra crazy today?” Roman asked and brushed Virgil’s hair out of his face. Virgil shook his head, and the bangs came back.

   “Excuse me, I was informed in the past that I needed that to be an emo nightmare,” Virgil said and tried to smack Roman in the arm, but Roman caught him. “I’m still mad you got the drop on me again,” Virgil whined. “Let me punch you back,”

   “I refuse. I already won,” Roman chided light-heartedly. “Though, I’m not convinced you couldn’t just throw me across the room if you really tried,” He mused.

   Virgil pulled his lips into a thin line and looked away. “I’m not supposed to,” He mumbled.

   “What do you mean you’re not supposed to?” Roman asked inquisitively.

   “Woah, when did Logan get here,” Virgil said and rolled his eyes. Roman huffed and made a face.

   “How dare- That's off subject," Roman quickly caught himself in his righteous indignation and settled back down. “Well, then, what else are you not supposed to do?” Roman asked.

   “I’m too hungry for this,” Virgil whined. “And full of blood lust!” Virgil laughed and tried to punch Roman again but he stopped him once more.

   “Quit trying to attack me and I’ll summon you some tacos,” Roman offered and rolled his eyes dramatically.

   “Oh, yeah. Deal,” Virgil conceded quickly.

   “So tell me why you’re being a little weirdo,” Roman said and held up his hand, a silver platter appearing on top of it.

   “I am the weirdo, Mister,” Virgil semi-quoted The Craft and reached up for the tacos, but Roman pinned him with his other arm. Roman just raised his eyebrow. “Come on, I’m starving,” Virgil whined and reached for the platter again.

   “I can send this away,” Roman said punitively. Virgil moaned in objection.

   “My prince is letting me wither to nothing,” Virgil said and curled up on himself in Roman’s lap.

   “You don’t need food, disaster emo,” Roman said with a bit of frustration.

   “I do,” Virgil whined. “I’m wasting away. You know I can’t tell you,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes.

   “I don’t know what,” Roman said, raising his eyebrows again.

   “You’d be mad at me,” Virgil said quietly.

   “Well, now I have to know,” Roman said with curiosity in his voice.

   “Other than the stress of all the work eating away at me?” Virgil asked hesitantly. Roman nodded, and Virgil groaned. “I, uh, I went back to the mind palace,” Virgil said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible.

   “What, you went there again? After last time?” Roman said and held his arms and wouldn’t let him cross them.

   “See?” Virgil frowned and drooped his shoulders.

   “Well, you got out. You won’t, like, puke or whatever the heck that was again, will you?” Roman eyed Virgil suspiciously.

   “No, I’m fine. Maybe,” Virgil shrugged. “Other than my acute lack-of-taco-itis,” Virgil whined and reached again for the platter. Roman groaned and lowered the platter for him. There were a few tacos with little wax paper wraps on each. Virgil greedily grabbed for one and Roman laid the platter on the back of the couch and grabbed one for himself. Virgil finished one and yawned heavily, rubbing his head against Roman’s chest again.

   “What are you, a cat?” Roman asked humorously with a lop-sided smirk.

   “Yes, I require pets and I know I’m better than you,” Virgil said and reached out for another taco. Roman stopped him.

   “Ah-ah, I need another fact for another taco,” Roman said with a rising inflection. Virgil pouted and crossed his arms.

   “About what, exactly?” Virgil asked cautiously, leaning back. “I’m taking my killer recipe for nightmare bacon to the grave,” Virgil joked airily. Roman laughed, and that made Virgil smile in satisfaction.

   “Something interesting about yourself,” Roman said temptingly, raising his eyebrows and the taco plate higher.

   “I’m starting to think you’re very cute when you’re stubborn,” Virgil teased and leaned up to kiss Roman’s cheek. Roman flushed and the arm holding up the tacos wavered. That’s better. Now they were even. “Luckily for me, that’s almost all the time,” Virgil added with a chuckle.

   “That’s not the kind of fact I’m talking about. And I’m not always stubborn,” He objected with a slight pout.

   “Oh, no! You’re getting cuter by the second! I’ve never stood a chance! You’ve basically got a giant bow on your head!” Virgil cried in mock distress and angled his head up to nuzzle Roman’s neck. Roman shivered, and the tacos lowered, but Virgil didn’t care much about them anymore. He had some food and now required cuddles. Maybe he was a cat. Virgil tittered to himself.

   “Virgil, quit being mean,” Roman said with a flush, pushing Virgil away slightly.

   “I’m not being mean, I’m being a cuddle monster who wants more contact,” Virgil said, waiting patiently at the distance Roman pushed him away, though crossing his arms. Roman looked at him, confused for a moment before he slowly lowered the tacos to the table. Virgil waited for Roman to finish his dramatics.

   “Why do you suddenly not care about the tacos? You said you were starving,” Roman asked carefully.

   “This is better than food,” Virgil purred and smiled mischievously at him.

   “You want-” Roman started.

   “Can I come back to the cuddle or not, Princey?” Virgil asked with a pout. Roman just nodded wide-eyed and Virgil quickly latched on around his neck, pulling Roman in. Roman wrapped his arms around Virgil. Virgil said softly and ran his hand through Roman’s perfect hair, messing it up just to pay him back for messing with his. Virgil gave him a toothy grin and Roman rolled his eyes at him and the remote flew into his hand. Roman flipped through the options and held on to Virgil with the other. He seemed a little annoyed, but the hug didn’t end. That just meant Virgil won in the end.

   Virgil angled to watch the TV when Roman finally picked a movie and summoned his bucket of popcorn. He offered Virgil a piece and tossed it into Virgil’s open mouth. Roman hummed with satisfaction when the popcorn landed in Virgil's mouth. They focused on the TV and relaxed, finally. Virgil didn’t even realize he needed this until he felt himself slowly loosen up. Virgil nuzzled against Roman and he rubbed Virgil's back in return but didn't take his eyes off the movie. Virgil sighed in relief and stole a piece of popcorn out of habit as he watched the colorful nonsense on the TV.

tags: @itsaamood-33 @elizabutgayer

[alligatorjesie]

So here we are again, another day of you being a fucking cunt to people in this fandom and me telling you to fix your fucking tags and get the fuck out of this fandom space if you hate it so goddamn much.

You’re not welcome here and you can fucking leave whenever.

You swear up and down you got such a huge problem with reylos because they cross post in the finnrey tag but try as I fucking might I can’t find any fucking examples of it but ironically you continue to this fucking day to post harassment in the reylo tag.

Where the fuck are these crossposts @the-pretty-corpse? They seam like they’re such a huge goddamn problem to you but God Fucking Help Me I can’t find a single fucking one.

You seam like you need some help redirecting all that needless fucking hate so you know what? Lemme help you out with a nice project to get you outside and touching just so much grass.

You see this plant here?

It’s called honeysuckle and if you live in North America you’ve probably seen some variation of this plant or another along roadways be it you realize it or not.

They’re some of the first things to leaf in early spring. They get an incredibly good smelling white flower that eventually turns yellow then later develops bright red or orange berries in clumps of 2 or 4 at the base of each leaf towards the end of summer.

They grow opposite simple oval shaped leaves. ‘Opposite’ means the leaves grow on each side of a node, not staggered like they are on poison ivy,

The term ‘simple’ means the leaf is very generic and doesn't have a distinguishable shape, color, or feature but the end of the leaf is always pointed.

The bark is thornless and the stems are often hollow on mature plants, mature plants getting easily 15 feet tall growing multiple ‘trunks’ that lean over from a central base.

I bring this plant up in such detail because it’s hugely destructive to the ecosystem, just like you @the-pretty-corpse who can’t seem to do much else besides periodically show up in areas no one fucking wants you in.

I regularly go out in my neighborhood and help removed these plants among many others because they’re such a big problem where I live and I care about real fucking issues like the collapse of my local ecosystems.

Which is partially why I took so long to reply to this post. Among plenty of other reasons. Don't fret, my sexually pleasing your parents is still very high on the list.

I’m actually making a infograph involving this plant so I can use it to counter protest a group of religious zealot asswipes who like to protest our local pride events.

I don’t really even have to do that much, just camp the sidewalk so the hateful fucks can’t set up in front of the venue but I thought I could use the opportunity to spread awareness of this invasive plant which means I gotta collect photos and details and I gotta draw shit up and get shit printed. It takes time yo.

I just didn’t want you to go on thinking you slipped one past me, because you didn’t.

I saw you being a needless fucking tart.

Butt back to the honeysuckle and why it’s as bad as you @the-pretty-corpse :

Honeysuckle crowds out native berry plants to the point of extinction in an area and the berries they grow in the fall are incredibly nutrient poor to migrating birds during a time they really need it. This plant is personally responsible for a lot of migratory bird deaths.

They grow readily by either from mature branches touching the ground and rooting from the mother plant or via seed drops from birds shitting seeds everywhere meaning a few plants can become a grove of millions in under a decade and the only thing that can survive in the grove is honeysuckle.

An entire complex ecosystem of native understory plants die under their unparalleled growth.

This is all honeysuckle growing in the understory. Nothing native can grow in this. No trillium, no mayapples, no Virginia spring beauty, no wild raspberries and blackberries, nothing that native animals might use for food during critical blooming times can be accessed anymore. The honeysuckle chokes it all out.

The groves they form are horrible bird habitat leading to a lot of non-migratory bird deaths since they don’t offer the same protection native thorned bushes do.

On the bright side, all it not lost; Honeysuckle ain’t too hard to get rid of but they do require some persistence.

Something you should be pretty accustom to @the-pretty-corpse since you’ve spent near a fucking decade harassing people in this fandom, 2 years should be a fuckin’ breeze for you.

Smaller year or so old plants can easily be pulled out whole after a nice rain but the mature plants are going to take a little more effort.

Chop the whole plant down then be prepared to spend the next few years bitterly stomping the very fucking life out of any branches that reemerge, and they will grow back.

It’s not recommended to just dig the entire root up because the roots are probably doing a lot of legwork in keeping soil from running off in rainstorms and upsetting that much ground all at once can do more harm than good to a forest’s root network, which is actually one of the reasons they were introduced in the first place.

You can blast it with herbicide but I have a personal issue with that because we already live in a toxic world that we should probably be trying our best to avoid adding more toxins to it but if you’re in a situation where the area can’t be cleared or there are power lines overhead, a chemical attack may be your only option.

Fortunately for us there’s one more way you can tackle regrowth on honeysuckle.

And that’s by burning that bitch down.

Prescribed burns are a lost art and can be hugely helpful in dying off persistent honeysuckle growth, but only do so in a Cleared Area after a good rain Not During A Dry Season to help ensure you don’t accidentally torch the entire forest.

The fire department would appreciate your concern.

First you clear a spot about 6 to 8 feet around the stump

Lay dried timber on top of the stump you wanna burn

Then set up some chairs with a few friends (you know, assuming you have any of those @the-pretty-corpse) and a few beers and watch the fire until it burns out.

It’ll probably come back one more time, but just keep cooking it until the bitch dies.

And you know what shithead, if plants ain’t your jam then that’s fucking fine there is a plethora of other ways to redirect your hateful bullshit.

There’s a homeless shelter that could use your help or a food kitchen that needs you to step up or you could spend the time you use being a useless dick to people in this fandom more usefully by instead writing your congressman and asking them to allow women have safe medical abortions.

There’s very likely a pride event going on near you that is going to be protested by fucksticks somehow more hateful than you and those pride attendees could use an ally to be bouncers.

You ain’t gonna enjoy hearing this @the-pretty-corpse, but I don’t think you’re any better than those shitass westboro baptist church fucks who hold up those ‘God Hates Fags’ banners and spend the entire night screaming at a group of strangers they’re gonna ‘rot in hell for eternity’ for attending drag shows.

I know you’re upsetty that reylos exists but they’re fucking harmless despite your concerns. One of the most fucking vanilla enemies to lovers ship to come about in media in the past decade isn’t anything to clutch your ass beads over, much fucking less deserving of Death Threats because you can’t get out of your own fucking way to avoid a goddamn fandom you personally dislike.

I’m an adult and understand there are actual real problems in the real world and not a single fucking one of those problems is ‘bitches who like a canon ship and are just vibin’.

Or you can keep being a fucking dick to a bunch of people enjoying a canon ship.

I suspect I’ll see you next month you living embodiment of honeysuckle (derogatory).

I know that I’m about to make some whiny pussy upset because they can’t accept other people’s opinions when I upload this hahahahahahahaha

[crazyartdad]

Good Timez

The blaring music seemed to dissipate to a pleasant buzz the more Stuart drank. Shouted lyrics rumbled through the speakers, lyrics from a forgotten Doors tape that was all but mumbles to his ears. The noticeable bass line that pulsed through the Winnie Keeping him awake as he tried to focus on his moving lips. Murdoc was blatantly aware of Stuart losing focus but none or less loved to hear himself talk, as well as gazing to the no-tooth loser as he nodded to deft words. He gives a smirk to the songbird, rubbing small circles with his finger to gain the other's attention.

“We, ok there faceache?” Murdoc asks, voice hoarse from the night's drinking.

As he starts to pull through his eyes focused on the misshapen nose, why was he so close to Mudz now? He was practically leaning on the older man and they both seemed, comfortable? Glancing to the burning eye he leans over to grab the bottle of tequila at his side, taking a long drain from the neck till he hacks from the burn in his throat.

He can't really remember how he got here and he sort of blames himself. His medications and rum before a shoot(or was it a concert?) don't normally mix, But he can't all complain. Especially since it feels this nice against him.

He kept his hazed eyes on Murdoc as he watched him finish his roach with a quick hit. Flicking it to the ash trash as its own form of incense burner till it eventually dies out. This is good, its soft. Really soft

Did he eat the worm on a dare what's going on?

“Whats with that look?, Fuck your not gonna throw up are you?” He asked with worry, not for him but for himself and his cigarette singed couch.

“Mudz, are you” He makes a gesture with his hand finding himself uneasy to voice the matter “You know, bent?”

“What makes you say that?” he said in that voice all to predator like. He knew that warning tone signified he was treading on serious ground if he didn't play his cards right, and right now he felt like a rabbit having a heart attack.

Fuck it was nice before let's go back.

“Its,, its jus nice. Its really nice right now an- your close.” He rambles drunkenly over his sentences, unaware of the arm around his shoulder pulling him into a kiss till it currently happens.

It surprises him, Its soft with sultry undertone to where the longer it happens the more it feels right. The room starts to blur in colors thanks to the effects of Codeine, taken God knows when, melding together with what looked like multiple shots from the empty glasses across the table. He parts his lips with a groan forgetting the identity of the man in question till he pulls away with the bottle in his hand.

Stuart opens his puzzled eyes, mouth still parted from the irrupt kiss that Murdoc laughs as he takes a swing from the bottle.

“That answer ya question poof?”The Bassists says with a smirk. “I..um,” He says completely ignorant of what was said not even 2 minutes ago.

Murdoc rolls his eyes as he places a hand on the ramblers knee, watching the Singer eye the hand inching up thigh, it was nothing but priceless, and the blush that crept along his face when he whispered took the cake.

“I-...I dont know”

“Ahh eyy, we had a good night tonight yeah?, why not make it better~?”

2D chuckles, reaching a hand to the scruff of his neck as he watched the the pair of lips lag in movement.

“You're drunk” he says softly “And you're on some other level” Murdoc(?) says with a smirk.

Stuart runs his fingers through the black mess of hair, the oily locks feeling like serpent tongue as it wrapped around his fingers

“You're gonna ‘it me inna morning” He slurs with caution observing the blissful look of the other as he tugs lightly at the roots. “Mmnn iim too drunk ‘t care” He finishes, closing the sentence with another kiss as he lowers him down onto the ratted couch.

Everything about this dance was quick. The blur of rushed movements and hitched breath made Stuart dizzy as they fumbled around for friction. They paid no mind to the ended tape rewinding back as moans started to fill in its place of silence. He couldn't get enough of the tongue that melted in his mouth, as he squeezed him closer with his tangled legs.

His hands were hot, boiling. It made him sweat against his goosebump flesh and Murdoc thought it fun so see him squirm under light scrapes of his nails, He soothed the skin as a form of apology.

A demon, is what he sees as Murdoc breaks the kiss. His horns(or was it just hair) stood proud as he he makes a show of tossing his shirt to an uncharted map of the place, claws taking place as it pushed up the hem of his tee, kisses from a tongue slowly creeping up.

He felt small despite the lanky limbs dangling off the side. He thinks to himself as Murdoc eyes became the only thing visible, he can't see him, he can't see the room.

“Mud...z. Mudz i” “I turned off the lamp nitwit” “Jesus fuck” He says with relief “Cute” He says with a laugh as he smooths his hand across a small patch of chest hair. “Everything matches hu?” he states rhetorically as he messes with the sensitive bud between his fingers, Drinking in the pleasured mewls to the tripping mess beneath him.

Oh he’ll give him a good time.

The older male tweaks both as he watches Stuart do nothing but bite back the falling noises from his lips. Wanting nothing more then to fuck his throat as Stuart decides to rake his fumbling fingers along the hair of his happy trail.

“Treading lower hu?” ‘Lemme-” Stuart loses his sentence as he grabs for his belt yelping a loud moan as hands grip his hips to pull him flushly against himself. He gives a few teasing thrusts with equal hazed eyes as his tongue starts to lolle. “uh-uhh, let's give a little guess before revealing the goods luv” He says with a pleased sigh, getting a good feel of the growth happening underneath. “Good boy~”

Stuart scrabbles for his belt, yanking him closer to pull him down once more for a kiss. Murdoc denies his request and instead goes for the neck, giving a rough bite as he ruts against the chirping song bird.

Why hasn't this started sooner and other variations were the only inebriated thoughts rushing through the Bassists head. Moaning as he licked the bruising mark starting to form on his ghostly skin. He’s as beautiful as the day he hit him with his car,he tells himself. A tall no eyed God that was fit for the decaying man he called himself. He couldn't help picture bruises covering every form of his body. The chest, his legs, neck anywhere his mouth could reach.

And as he undid the belt he didn't see why not.

[stardustandheart]

GRADUATING COLLEGE

[personal]

‘What she tackles, she conquers.’

-Richard Gilmore,  Gilmore Girls, Season 6, Episode 5

wow. it's been a while. hello, my lovelies. i'm back. life is crazy.

this is me. i graduated college. yep, nbd. oh, and i LOVE Gilmore Girls.

i can't believe it. i can't believe I'm done. your girl got a Bachelor's Degree in 3 and a half years baby! just how she planned it. i get shit done because i'm a boss!

it's just crazy. it feels surreal. just like that- it’s all over. as all of my friends are getting ready to go back to class, i feel like i too should be getting ready for classes, but instead i am sitting here in awe (still) at the fact that i am done and ready to start my future as a complete adult living on my own and working!

yes, working. because I got a job. and i couldn't be happier. because, not only did i just get a job fresh out of college, but i got my DREAM job with a GREAT company. in just 3 days, i will set off to Phoenix, Arizona to begin my adventure of becoming a flight attendant, something that i knew i wanted to do since i was 5 years old. it's all happening.

okay, that's it. that was my moment to brag. but no more.

lemme tell you something. a lot, and i mean, A LOT, can happen in 3 and a half years. 3 and a half years is a long time. and whoa, i am completely different than i was back then. lemme tell you that straight up.

college is...awesome. and i don't mean awesome in the way that that word is commonly used (like "cool"). i mean awesome as in full of awe. 

it's a crazy concept, right? at the age of 18, many of us go off to a new school (often in a new city/place) to study for at least 4 years. but, if you think that getting an education/getting a degree is the main point of college, you are wrong.

think about it. we are basically thrown out there into the big, big world, after being sheltered all of our lives. it's like a survival game. it's literally a real-life survival game. and that's exactly what it felt like for me. when i first started college, everything felt so big and scary...but...it soon became comfortable.

i would argue that college is THE most important phase in someone's life. it is where we uncover the completely different side to us that we have had covered all of our lives. the freedom to be on our own enables us to think for ourselves and to make our own choices. it is where we do THE most learning. mistake after mistake, we eventually learn and we come to our own definitions of the meaning of life and what our own personal missions are in this lifetime. it is where our core values, beliefs, and perspectives are redefined and where we make the friendships that will last forever. the most beautiful thing of all? we create our own reality of the world in which we live in.

college is a beautiful time. whether you agree or not, it is what it is. and, it's beautiful. it's beautiful because it made you who you are. but, unlike everything else that happens in your life that makes you "who you are," college is special because of one thing: freedom. the freedom to look around you, the people, the places, the activities, and to think, "this is my life to make. i can take what i want here, take some over there, and i can combine it in my own beautiful way."

you feel me?

what i mean to say is, throughout my college experience, i loved the fact that i could just look around and think my own thoughts and make my very own choices, without anybody to tell me how to do anything. it was...exhilarating.

i loved college. every minute of it. even though a lot of it was really shitty. the reason i say i loved it all is because it was all just a part of my growth process.

i was fortunate enough to attend a beautiful campus that i seriously adored. i loved my environment. although i wasn't necessarily ecstatic about the energy and the vibes coming off of people around me a lot of the time, i created a beautiful aura for myself that i loved. it was like this beautiful personal little bubble around me that came with me everywhere i went. i created my own reality. life is what you make it.

i started watching the gilmore girls series on Netflix in the Fall of 2014 (the semester i began college), and was still watching it up until my last semester, this spring. no, i wasn't still trying to finish it, i had been re-watching the entire series for a second time. and, it's a lot. 7 seasons. episodes are 40 minutes each. why? because i love it and i'm obsessed. that's why, uhm duh. if you've never seen Gilmore Girls, you cray. no, i'm just kidding, but seriously. watch it. i absolutely adore this show and every time i even close my eyes to think about it, so many feelings of warmth and happiness come because i also associate it with my love, Chris, as we started talking and getting to know each other at the time. for me, Gilmore Girls is more than just a Netflix show. i lived vicariously through those girls, and i loved it. it is sweet, homey, and funny. there's romance too. i love it. there is nothing but positivity and love when i think about what that show means to me. it was a lifestyle, not just a TV show.

this quote means a lot to me, as it involves words that apply to my own self. i am an overachiever, i always do my best to go above and beyond when i am placed in a situation where i am given the opportunity to do so. that is my nature, and i am similar to Rory (who is one of the characters in the show) in that manner. going above and beyond is the only way in which you will get noticed. stand out. you'll see why in the future. and, you will thank yourself for it.

so, what did i do in college? besides party? haha, no seriously. i mean, we do go to college to study a degree of interest. as for me, i decided to pursue a Bachelor's in Communication with a concentration in Communication Studies and a Music Minor in Voice, so i could keep music under my belt.

i fell in love with my major. contrary to popular thought, the field of communication is a very fascinating one and opens the door to many careers. since i am a strong believer of communication being one of the most powerful forces in our known universe, i advocate strongly for the field and i defend it passionately. i absolutely loved going to class and learning more and more about this art every single day that i attended class. the choosing of this major (as well as the combination of my majors) did not come easy, however. a lot of discernment went into my decision. and when it felt right (you just know), was when i made my decision and made it official on paper.

i met my sweetheart, my love, Christopher, in college. we've been together for 3 years now. so. crazy. that in itself is a great plus about my own college experience. it may be the same case for some of you as well, and well, you know exactly what i'm talking about.

there are those college graduates who were involved in a hundred different clubs and organizations, sororities/fraternities, and such. there are those who got to do more fun stuff, like going on a cruise or traveling outside of the country. then, there are those who had it even "worse" than i did. i put that word in quotes because everything, and i mean everything in life is all about perspective. from the outside, people can judge somebody's college experience and say it was "bad," but to that college graduate, it might have been the best time of their lives. or, if it wasn't, they have learned to accept that they still wouldn't trade it for anything because it was all a part of their story. they trusted the process. sure, i could have had a "better" college journey (call it what you will). i could've traveled more, gotten a nice, new car, etc... but, i wouldn't trade my experience for anything in the whole world. why? because it was mine, all to call my very own and nobody else's.

SO. my overall message to you beautiful souls today?

freedom. seek it. be HUNGRY for it. go get it.

create you own unique aura. make it beautiful, please.

always go above and beyond. be the fruit loop in the bowl of cheerios.

love everything.

trust the process.

life is what you make it. make it great.

XOXO- jami

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

One Millimeter

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20514710

Pairings: None

Rating: Gen

Notes: I’ve never posted a fanfic to Tumblr before, so I figured I’d try it. XD This is just 2600 words worth of fluff, hastily written and lightly edited but hopefully fun fluff.

“Yup! Mabel’s got exactly one millimeter on you.”

“Whoop! AL-PHA TWIN! AL-PHA TWIN!”

Dipper folded his arms. “So? That doesn’t mean anything. We’ve always been the same height, I’ll catch up. Besides, no one even uses millimeters.”

~~~

A year later, Dipper and Mabel walked into a movie theater. If that sounds like the setup to some kind of sick joke, it’s because it was.

“I must say dear, I love your sweater. You’re so adorable,” said a little old lady on her way out, stopping to pinch Mabel’s cheeks.

Dipper raised an eyebrow. That did not look comfortable, but at least it wasn’t him. Mabel was all over uncomfortably personal conversations with old ladies, though.

“AAAHHH! Thank you! I knit it myself out of yeti hair!” she squealed, reaching out to pet the old lady’s sweater. “Yours is so fuzzy, is it merino?”

“Yes!” replied the old lady, smiling. “It’s so nice to meet another knitter.” She looked at Dipper, seeming to notice him for the first time. “Does your little brother knit too?”

Time stopped. Metaphorically. But oh, how Dipper wished it were literally so he could get out of this situation right now immediately because Mabel was looking at him and she had better not start this again and-

“PFF-.” Mabel put her hands over her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle her laughter. “He’s- he’s little- PFFHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-”

Clearly, Mabel wasn’t going to be able to form coherent sentences any time soon. Dipper spoke up, hoping against hope that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I don’t... knit.”

The little old lady patted his head. “Don’t worry, son, knitting is nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of men are accomplished knitters. I’m sure your big sister could teach you a thing or two if you asked.”

“I’m not ashamed, it’s just not my thing! My uncle knits, actually. The thing is-”

But the little old lady cut him off before he could explain that he was not, in fact, Mabel’s little brother. “You poor dear, you don’t have to fib. Your face is as red as a tomato." She checked her watch. “It was lovely meeting such sweet youngsters, but I’ve got an appointment to get to. Enjoy your movie!”

And she took hold of her walker and slowly ambled away from the disaster she’d just caused.

Dipper facepalmed.

Mabel wheezed.

“C’mon, our movie’s starting.” Dipper started off, but his sister didn’t follow. “Mabel?”

Mabel was doubled over with laughter.

“Mabel.”

“Okay, okay, I’m just- hold on- BWAHAHAHAHA”

“MABEL.”

“I’m sorry, Dipper, really.” She laughed again.

“Really? I seriously doubt that.”

Mabel’s gasps turned into deep breaths as she tried to calm herself. “Really. I’m- I’m done now.”

“Good. Can we never mention this again?”

“Okayyy, fine.”

The two began heading towards the auditorium their movie was playing in.

“I just don’t get it.” Dipper broke the silence after about three seconds, gesturing wildly. “Why would she assume I’m the little brother? Girls get their biggest growth spurt before guys do, it’s basic science. I’ve done research on this.”

“Research? When? What happened to never mentioning this again?” Mabel snickered.

Dipper glanced at her, then back down at the floor. “Well, maybe I need to vent first. And I looked it up last year because I was curious, no other reason.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don’t ‘mmhmm’ me. You’re not even that much taller.”

“Only two point zero six inches taller. I can use your head as an armrest.” She attempted to demonstrate, but Dipper batted her arm away.

“No you can’t, at least not without it being super awkward!”

“I know you don’t like it, Dip-dop, but someday you’re going to have to face the grim reality that I am the alpha twin, unless puberty does you some serious favors in the height department. I’m practically Godzilla! BLAAAAAGH!”

“You’re crazy.” 

“Yup!” Mabel grinned back at him. “Seriously though, I’ll stop teasing you now. It’s just so much fun.”

“Yeah, I know.”

~~~

Three years later, the twins were in the middle of their annual summer vacation in Gravity Falls. Mabel was on her stomach, draped over the front counter in the Mystery Shack  gift shop, swinging her legs and scrolling through pictures of Waddles on her phone, and Dipper was chatting with Soos as he helped restock the shelves.

“Really? That’s great, dude!” Soos almost knocked a snow globe off the shelf in his excitement.

“Yep!” Dipper squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height (which still wasn’t terribly impressive). “It was close, but I had a couple growth spurts, and now Mabel and I are finally the same height again.”

Mabel looked up from her phone. “What do I keep telling you? Everything is possible if you believe in yourself! Dipper was short because his bad attitude was dragging him down.”

“That’s... not how that works, Mabel.”

“Sure it is!” She rolled off the end of the counter, landing with a thump on the ground, then picked herself up and walked over to Soos and Dipper. “If it isn’t, then I dare you to explain why Soos is so tall.”

Soos rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She’s got ya there, Dipper.”

“Anyway, we’re 16, so we should both be done growing now. Looks like we’ll always be the same height.” Dipper put his arm around Mabel’s shoulders.

“Now wait just a minute, dude.” Soos squinted at them thoughtfully.

“What?”

“What is it?” the twins asked, slightly worried.

Soos’s eyes widened. “One of you... is taller.”

“WHAT!? Ooh, is it me, please say it’s me!”

“That can’t be, we just measured!”

“Yup. Definitely taller.” Soos nodded.

“Now you’re just dragging it out!” Mabel shook her finger at him.

Dipper shut one eye and flinched as if Soos was about to smack him upside the head with the answer. “Who is it?”

“It’s... oh man, I forgot, lemme get a measuring tape.”

“GAH, SOOS!”

“C’MON, MAN!”

“Hold on, dudes, I’ll be right back.” Soos hurried across the room and disappeared through the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” door.

The twins waited in tense anticipation. Mabel bounced on the balls of her feet, and Dipper looked around for a pen to chew on, but decided he was better than that. Apparently he wasn’t, because thirty seconds later he found himself chewing on his jacket.

Soos burst back into the room. “GUYS!”

“WHAT!?”

“Oh man, you guys. I’m so sorry. I can’t find a measuring tape.”

“What’s wrong with the one on your belt?” asked Mabel.

Soos patted his belt frantically. His fingers touched the measuring tape, and he took it off. “Oh. Phew. Thought I’d lost ya there,” he told it.

The measuring tape didn’t reply.

Mabel and Dipper moved to stand back to back, and Soos carefully measured them. Then he re-measured just to be sure.

“Well, Mabel, it looks like Dipper’s got exactly one millimeter on you.”

“FINALLY!” Dipper shrieked. He looked at Soos and Mabel, who were on the verge of bursting into laughter. He coughed into his fist. “Um. I mean, okay. Nice.”

“Dippingsauce, that’s great! You finally did it. I’m so proud of my little brother.” Mabel hugged him aggressively.

“Owowow, watch the ribs! Can’t- breathe- SOOS-” The last word came out a bit strangled as Soos hugged both of them from behind.

“Good job, dude! This definitely deserves a group hug. Not like you need a reason for a group hug, hehe.”

Mabel adjusted herself to include Soos in the hug. “You said it.”

~~~

Six years later, Dipper, Mabel, Stan, and Ford sat squished around the tiny table in the cabin of the Stan o’ War II. They were playing poker, and unsurprisingly, Mabel was winning. Dipper was slightly suspicious that Stan was letting her, although there was no way to be sure since Mabel could play a pretty mean game of poker.

“AGH!” Stan threw down his hand on the table. “You’re counting cards. Little cheater.”

“I learned from the best,” Mabel grinned, scooping the chips toward her. “I believe I’m… what, two pounds of leprechaun gold richer than I was earlier tonight?”

Stan humphed and leaned back in his chair, but he was definitely trying to hide a smile. 

“I’m not even sure why I play this with you,” said Dipper. “You and Stan win every time.”

“Remember when you and Grunkle Ford tried to gang up on us?” Mabel giggled.

“Hah!” Stan laughed. “That was really somethin’. You had a whole big convoluted nerd plan, but neither of you can lie to save your life. It was hilarious.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Ford replied. “I’m not proud of it, but lying has saved my life on more occasions than I can count.”

“Maybe if you’re lying to gullible space blobs. You’ve got nothin’ on professional liars like me and Mabel.”

“Come on, Grunkle Stan, I’m not a professional liar,” Mabel scolded him.

“Sorry, sweetie. Shrewd and adaptable.”

Mabel patted him. “That’s right.”

“All right, now that that’s over, who wants to play…” Dipper pulled a box out from under the table, “Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons: Urban Fantasy Edition!”

Ford’s eyes lit up, but Mabel and Stan groaned in unison.

“C’mon, guys, we’ve never played it this way before. In this version, you get to think about how fantasy races would work in a modern cultural setting. The game mechanics are different too. It’s more story based and less rule based. You guys’ll like it.”

“I’ve wanted to try my hand at this one for a while,” Ford said, already getting up to retrieve his dice. “The worldbuilding opportunities for this sort of scenario are fascinating.”

“What, like werewolves with office jobs? Where’s the fun in that?” grumbled Stan. “ ‘Grr, I’ve gotta file my paperwork before the full moon but I can’t ‘cause I rolled a one.’ Sounds dumb.”

Mabel pressed a finger against Stan’s lips and leaned forward. “Back up, Dipper. Less rules, more story? And werewolves in suits? I’m listening.”

“All right, it’s settled.” Dipper was already unpacking the box. “Do you want to use your characters from last time or create new ones?”

“New ones!” Mabel said, already preparing to draw out her character’s design. “I’ve been working on this one for a while. She’s a sparkly vampire named Cornelia who hides her identity from the from the world by being so bubbly and adorable and pink that nobody suspects her because of their preconceived notions and assumptions about what vampires should be like. She’s secretly dark and tortured on the inside because she wants to drink blood but she won’t. Chaotic Good, kicks serious butt.”

“I’m gonna use mine from last time,” said Stan. “He was good.”

Dipper opened up a folder marked “D.M.”, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to Stan. “Stam the Human Who Punches Things?”

“Yeah.” Stan grinned. “Not gonna lie, I missed the old geezer.”

Ford pulled out his chair and sat back down. “I think I’ll make a new one as well.”

Dipper handed him a character sheet, and for a while, everyone sat in silence, getting everything ready.

Eventually, Stan got bored and looked over Ford’s shoulder at his sheet. “Randall Evans, Ghost- what kinda name is Randall, anyway? We s’posed to call him Randy the whole time?”

“It depends on whether our characters are on a first name basis or not, but even then, just Randall should be fine.”

Stan shook his head. “No one’ll take him seriously unless you give him a good strong name with some weight behind it.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “Like Stam?”

“Exactly!” Stan went back to reading Ford’s sheet. “42 years old, businessman, 6’8”- hang on, why’s he so tall?”

“I thought the tall and lanky design served his spectral nature well,” Ford replied.

“He’s taller than my character, though. Stam is only 6’6”. Can’t you make Reginald or whatever shorter?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re not taller than me.”

“Stanley, these are characters. None of them are us, exactly, except for yours. And, besides, I am taller than you.”

“What?” Stan stood up. “I’ll take you on right now, old man, back to back. Dipper! Get a yardstick or somethin’.”

Dipper laid down his pen and got up. “Oh man, here we go…”

“Yes! A challenge! Take him on, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered.

Ford stood up as well, and the two men moved to stand back to back in the middle of the cabin.

Mabel eyed them critically. “I hate to say it, Grunkle Stan, but Grunkle Ford does look just a tad taller.”

Dipper came back with a measuring tape. “Mabel, can you hold the end of this to the floor for me?”

Mabel bounced over, and together they measured the older twins.

“Yeah, I think Ford is- hang on, both of you stand up as straight as possible.” Dipper measured again. “That can’t be- Stan, are you standing on your tiptoes?”

“I can confirm that he absolutely is,” came Mabel’s voice from the floor. 

Stan grunted.

“Okay, now if both of you are ready…” Dipper measured one more time. “You’re exactly the same height.”

“What!?” Stan and Ford exclaimed at the same time.

“Yep.” Dipper retracted the measuring tape, and everyone went back to the table. “Stan just slouches.”

“We should get that checked out,” said Ford, “Bad posture can cause spinal issues, but it can also be a symptom of them.”

“My spine is great, thank you very much,” said Stan. “Hey, by the way, which one of you kids is taller?”

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other. “We’re the exact same height,” said Mabel.

“Yeah,” said Dipper. “We checked a couple years ago. Mabel was taller than me for the first year of high school, then it evened out, then I finally got a little bit taller than her. But last time we checked, we were exactly the same height again.”

Stan looked at Ford. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Thomas Edison is overrated, there are so many greater scientists and inventors throughout history we could be learning about, why does everyone keep coming back to him?”

Stan looked at him harder.

“Yes, of course, Stanley, I’ll hold the other end of the measuring tape for you,” Ford laughed.

“Great!” Stan clapped his hands together.

So everyone got up again, moved to the center of the room, and set up things for yet another measuring session. 

“That’s… darn cataracts, can’t see a thing.” Stan squinted at the tape. “Okay, looks like… I’M TALLER!” Stan shouted.

The twins jumped.

“Ha ha,” Dipper deadpanned.

“Mabel, you’re standing on my hand,” said Ford.

Mabel hopped backwards. “Oops, sorry, Grunkle Ford!”

Ford stood up, shaking out his left hand. “So, Stanley? Who’s taller? They look the same to me.”

Stan put on his best showman voice. “Lady and gentlemen, drumroll please.”

The other three obligingly began thumping on the nearest hard surfaces.

“Da da da DAAAAA- It’s Mabel. Mabel’s taller.”

“Whoa-ho-ho-ho, what? You sure you didn’t measure funny, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel said.

“That doesn’t make sense. By how much?” asked Dipper.

“One millimeter.”

Of course. Of course fate would never truly be on Dipper’s side. He was too old to be embarrassed, or to let it get to his head; they were adults, after all, and a millimeter was so tiny and ultimately insignificant. But even so, he allowed himself a tiny resigned sigh.

Mabel was clearly thinking something similar, at least as far as the “being too old for it to matter” part. She looked like she was pleased, but trying not to show it. “Sorry, bro bro.”

Dipper smiled, holding out his fist. “Looks like you really are the alpha twin.”

“Alpha twin,” Mabel repeated, her face breaking into a huge grin. She gave him a fist bump. “Only by one millimeter, though.”

“Technically,” said Ford, “that only makes her taller than you in Canada.”