#because like. i ALREADY felt guilty about that

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Link copy pasted himself

Fanfic prompt inspired by this … thing :

When the colors put the four swords back into the pedestal they didn’t though that link would feel guilty about them not existing anymore

So link pulled the sword again…

They put it back again because they were never real people to begin with and THEY also felt bad because link can’t exist when they do

Link pulled it out again

They put it back

Guess what link did…

He went to Zelda and then they figured out a way for the colors and link to exist at the same time

Or else they all would continue their game of hot potato

But it took time

So when the colors get copy pasted into living again they are all still 14 at most while link is already in his late twenties

Link and the colors then get too bond together and even grandpa was more then happy with his great grand kids

and eventually Vio and link figure out a way to locate shadow's soul with help from Zelda

It took even more time than figuring out cloning so the colors all are adults already

But the thing is they don’t have a body for him

So link copy pastes himself AGAIN

And shadow is a kid still

(Can’t age if you are dead and all)

so that makes him the youngest person in the house while Vio gets to play parent

Basically:

Link (first generation )

Vio Blue Red Green (second generation)

Shadow (third generation)

Imagine being so much that you as a single person end up overtaking three fucking generations

But it is all you and not you at the same time

When four went to linked universe he had the audacity to say he has kids already and one also has a kid already

Four pointing at the colors: those are my kids Vio , Red, Blue, Green

The chain : you color coordinated all of them and had the audacity to name them after colors

Four : to be fair I was like pretty young when they came to be and just named them after the colors they were wearing (the colors be like)

But unfortunately he didn’t consider the fact that he would technically be a teen dad because if the colors were 14 when he was thirty

He would have been 15 when he “had” the colors

And Vio would have been a teenager as well if going from shadow's age and his adult age

Two generations of teen parenting what a joy

The chain's older members making the uncomfortable calculations from the surprisingly small age gap between the family thinking :holy shit he was 14 with quadruples

Warriors: where was the other parent in this bullshit

Four and the colors still bitter about their dad choosing work over them and leaving them with their grandpa (no matter how nice he was) :

absent left us all ,no dad to be found,

they grew up without a dad

The chain then drew the wrong assumption that four was possibly dumped by a partner with his kids and then everyone felt bad about it

Because quadruples are already exhausting and raising them by yourself even with support is already challenging

Doing that while your still a kid yourself is a respectable accomplishment

But four accidentally made it worse somehow without even noticing: also it hurt a lot to get them into the real world and I was even contemplating regretting everything I did to get to this

(cloning yourself can’t be pleasant)

The chain was too creative for their own good

But they only felt horror because four is like 4 feet at most

Those would be four babies during birth

How hasn’t he broken his entire spine with that

[blimpintime]

jar of wind part three

Wynnie Lara is a fairy that was saved from a jar from Amarantha's reign of terror, but is soon figuring out that her time of peace is coming to a end.

warnings: angst, light gore, unedited

word count: 2.1k

eventual eris x oc

The wind helps me reach The Night Court in record time even though it was fighting me the entire way, my satchel holds mine and Eris’s gift for Nyx. A stuffed fox and a hand-crafted wooden play tea set. The weather when I get here is cooler than it was when I left, which makes sense considering Summer has come to an end. However, something seems off in the air and I can’t place what it is. Shrugging my shoulders and letting out the breath I was holding, I just blamed it on the nerves of being back here. 

When I finally get to the River House I notice some slight changes; like the wind chimes I had placed had been taken down or the sun catchers that were hanging are now lying in the dirt half haphazardly covered in soil. I roll my eyes and sigh. I grip my satchel a little tighter and fold my glowing wings behind my back. My pink glow has turned into a warm purple matching the sunset in the sky that is covering Velaris.

A sinking feeling coats me when I am about to knock on the door, hearing sounds of laughter and excitement escape through the small cracks of the door. I suddenly wish Eris was with me but shake off the thought. He is a High Lord now, he has more important things to worry about than you. I think to myself. My hand was hovering over the door for an awkward amount of time before I just decided to rip off the bandage and knock. 

A breath releases from me when it is Elain who answers the door and not someone else. Her face brightens with a huge grin and she practically tackles me with a hug. 

“Wynn!” She shouts, and I am wondering if she has had just a little bit to drink. I grin back and say her name in a quieter tone. 

She pulls me into the warm house, her pale pink dress fluttering around her as she moves. She was always so naturally welcoming to me. When she had first discovered me lying in the sun on one of her flowers she almost had a heart attack but quickly after that, we became close friends. I doubt I would have met the rest of the inner circle if it weren’t for Elain. So maybe that’s why I always felt like an imposter here. 

“You and I have so much to catch up on!” She tells me. I shoot her back a grin.

“As if we weren’t sending letters back and forth weekly?” I say with a teasing smile. 

“It is simply not the same, I must see your reaction.” She responds in a whisper as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear. 

“Ahh. I understand.” I whisper back in the same joking tone. We arrived where everyone else had been sitting and a silence went over the room. I internally wince at the awkwardness, but luckily it does not last long when Feyre and Nesta stand to greet me. 

“Wynnie Lara!” Nesta says she and Feyre pull me into a hug, Nesta in a gray dress and Feyre in a dark blue one. I look over their shoulder to see Azriel avoiding eye contact with where we are standing, and Cassian and Rhys both have guilty smiles on their faces. It seems I arrived a little too late and Nyx was put to sleep already. 

When the sisters pull away from their hug I am left there standing awkwardly with Elain hanging off of my shoulder. She’s keeping my body warm and relaxed even though I would rather be anywhere else right now. 

Rhys clears his throat, “Wynn I want to apologize for how things were left the last time you were here.” I give a stiff nod in acknowledgment before saying,

“Is that really how you feel or is that what your wife told you to say?” and the room responds in a thick silence. “Because I do not think I can trust any words that leave your mouth High Lord.” 

He gives a wince, “I deserve that.” Nesta coughs and takes a sip of her drink muttering something under her breath. 

“Did you come here to throw a pity party or did you come here to celebrate?” Azriel butts in as if he is bored of this whole show.

“I don’t know Azriel, what poor girl do you have feeding your hero complex to make you so relaxed?” I bite back. “Just a forewarning, she probably won’t stick around once she realizes how much of a little bitch you are.” He stands up abruptly and Rhys raises his hand as a warning and someone snorts in the background. 

“Wynn,” Rhys says shocked. I look at him and my glow turns pink and I mutter out a weak, “Sorry.” I’m not. 

“I actually do have a gift for little Nyx,” I say and reach into my satchel. Elain’s face is still tucked into my neck, and she whispers “You smell like clove and nutmeg.” 

I grin a little knowing that is the Autumn Courts doing, and my mood goes melancholy when I realize I miss it. When I pull out the little toys, Feyre’s face lights up and before she walks over Rhys puts a hand out in front of her to stop her. 

“Wynn.” He says, “Where were you for the past few months?” He asks although I suspect he already knows the answer.

“Home, High Lord,” I respond sharply.  “The Autumn Court. Eris sends his regards.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Azriel shouts out. “You’re a traitor Wynnie Lara.” I roll my eyes. 

“Oh to the Mother. No, I am not.” I breathe before continuing, “If any of you actually took the time to get to know me, you would have already known that is where I am from. I mean the girls already knew and to be honest the only one who has a right to be upset is Mor and she is not.” I take notice that Mor was not here which was weird considering it was Nyx’s birthday but that tells me she is probably on an important mission. 

“My kind also has a tragic backstory, just like you guys. My people, my species were hunted for sport centuries ago. Humans, fae, it didn’t matter it was a game. So when it was eventually outlawed across Prythian we had already borderline gone extinct.” I say with a shaking voice. I look to see horror across everyone’s face and it fills me with some sick satisfaction that they regret how they’ve been treating me.

“Wynn-” Elain starts but I pat her hand to let me continue. 

“The worst time though, was not the hunting. No, it was Amarantha. Yes I know I was stuck in a jar. But I watched her terrorize the rest of my people for fun, ripping them in half and plucking their wings off their backs as if they were nothing but gnats. All I have seen for my kind is gruesome bloodshed.” I have tears streaming down my face as I continue. 

“The only one to ever show me kindness during all of that was Eris. That is because he and I grew up together. When I found the Autumn Court there was a children’s shelter that I made my home for years. He and I found each other in the woods in our youth, he was the one to break me out of that damn jar when everything was over. Without him, I would have been stuck in the jar or worse.

Because of his father’s cruel reign, once I was healed enough Eris sent me here for sanctuary. I did not know any of you really besides Feyre and that was only because she was the Cursebreaker.” I managed to get out. Elain wrapped me up in her arms whispering words of encouragement while swaying us both. Feyre had tears streaming down her face. Nesta had a hand covering her mouth in dread and Cassian rubbing her back with the same grim look on his face.

Azriel is wrapped in shame and Rhysand looks horrified. He stands up and walks towards me, gently takes the gifts out of my hands, and offers me a hug. And for a moment I don’t return it, but when I do, I feel a weight taken off my shoulders. 

“Wynn if we would have known.” Rhys starts but I interrupt. 

“You would have what? Treated me better? Do I not just deserve your kindness as is? Or do people have to have some sort of traumatic backstory to earn your respect?” I clear my throat and nose once I pull back, “I did not tell you guys that to pity me, I am telling you because just because I am kind and small does not mean I am weak or some pushover. If you do not want me here that’s fine I will leave. But do not take whatever feelings you are struggling with, out on me.” I make it a point to hold eye contact with Azriel for that last part. 

“I think we all owe you a huge apology for how you have been treated since arriving in Velaris. This city was built to be and stay a sanctuary, so the fact that you have been behaved towards so unfairly is embarrassing, to say the least.” Rhysand says standing sternly next to me.

“I am sorry the most. I have no real reason to have treated you the way I have.” Azriel speaks softly.  “Please forgive me.” I look at him and give him a once-over. He is slouching in the chair he is sitting in, hands rubbing his face as the shadows around him twirl. 

“I do forgive you but I do not think I could ever trust you,” I respond in the same tone, he winces and nods. Everyone gives their condolences to me, even Elain but I think that’s because she is tipsy and her emotions are just heightened. 

After the tense moment is over I let the group know that I will be leaving. The three sisters all looked shocked. 

“I really do wish I could stay longer but I have work to do back in Autumn, plus something is wrong. Or is about to be wrong, I am not sure.” I say with a furrow of my brows grabbing my arms and wrapping them around myself.  My wings glow and twitch as I think about the shifting of the wind. And my hue finally changes back to its normal orange-pink. 

“What do you mean?” Cassian finally speaks up with a questioning look on his face. 

“I have a hard time trying to describe it in words, but I am connected to the wind as you all know. And it’s shifting weirdly and in abnormal patterns. I can normally predict how the weather is going to be based on it and I have been wrong little to none because of being able to read the wind. Recently though it is like I have never interacted with the wind at all.” I utter all at once. 

“I am not sure though. I have to get back to my research and experiments to figure more out. Once I do, I will make sure to write.” I let out with a soft smile.

I am sensing because of the heavy conversation and the lateness of the evening that the party is over. I give my goodbyes, hug Elain, and make sure she will still write to me weekly.  With that, I take off back into the night sky and head home. 

While gliding through the air I had almost reached the Autumn Court when the wind around me went frigid and midflight I dropped towards the ground. Once my wings regain their sense of balance I spin in the sky looking for a threat, and as expected I come up empty. As I am about to continue my flight home a hard spike goes through my left hand. A yelp leaves my throat and I look to see an arrow, piercing my hand. I yell as I start to fall, my wings having a hard time opening. I get shot with another arrow through my right thigh, I let an agonizing scream out and close my eyes once I hit the cold ground with a hard thud. 

Bleary-eyed trying to stand I feel warm blood coming out of my hand and leg, I see a figure walking towards me and I try to crawl away leaving a trail of fresh blood following me, “No, leave me alone.” I grunt out. Once they reach me I pray to the Mother that my death be swift, and then it goes dark. 

a/n: soooooo what did yall think?

i do not own any of sarah j mass's characters.

taglist: @cazrielsfairygf @buckyloki888 @litnerdwrites @the-fandom-ness @booksbypisces @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @fatimam6 @lees-chaotic-brain @love-bookprincess @paleidiot @slytherintaco @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @esposadomd

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

FOUR

FIVE

You put on a dress your mother gave you some time ago, one she called the "husband-catcher," telling you to wear it when you wanted someone special’s attention. Well, for tonight’s dinner, you want Steve Rogers' attention on you. You leave your hair down, choose the least uncomfortable pair of heels you could find at the last minute, apply light makeup, and a slightly bold red lipstick. You add a necklace that complements your neckline. Honestly, you feel like a seductive spy heading on a mission. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, but as you look at yourself in the mirror, you try to convince yourself that you can fool the handsome Rogers.

Grabbing your bag, you lock the door to your apartment, wave to the camera Barnes installed at the entrance, and head out for your meeting with Steve. It doesn’t take long to reach the restaurant on foot, as it's just across from your bakery. One of the perks of living close to work. From a distance, you spot Steve Rogers, sitting at one of the outside tables. He’s dressed in an elegant navy blue suit, his hair neatly in place with not a strand out of order, and his beard freshly trimmed. This man knows how to dress for a date — though this will be more of an interrogation.

"You take my breath away, Y/N. If your plan was to distract me with your charm, it’s already working," Steve says the moment he sees you approaching. You try to exude as much sex appeal as possible, making sure the slit in your dress is on full display while offering him a gentle smile.

"I believe you think I value your opinion on many matters. But thank you for the compliment, I do try to perfect my charm when I'm about to be interrogated by a stranger regarding someone he assumes I know." You respond boldly, watching as Steve pulls out the chair for you to sit. After settling into your seat and adjusting your bag, you realize you're actually sitting in a restaurant with a very handsome man. Your cheeks grow warm, which feels odd given how cool the evening is.

"You know Bucky, it’s only a matter of time before you admit it. I’d even bet you saw him before this meeting. That’s why you closed your bakery early, and don’t tell me it was just to get ready for our date. You look stunning, but I’m not an idiot. What did he tell you to do? Lie outright, I’m sure of it." Steve seems to know Barnes all too well, sounding completely convinced that he’s uncovered everything you’ve been hiding. You take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself.

"It's astounding how you think admitting to being a stalker is somehow better than understanding that I have no idea who the hell your friend is. Yes, he may have been a customer of mine. If you haven’t noticed, I serve a lot of people—including you. And as much as you don't deserve it, I closed my bakery early because I needed to prepare myself, not just by putting on a nice dress and makeup, but mentally. This is the first date I've had since I lost my trust in men. If you want to know why, it's because my fiancé cheated on me with my best friend. The week of our wedding. If you want more details, I smashed a vase over his head, he had to get over five stitches, and it was the first time I got arrested. He dropped the charges afterward because he felt guilty. Since then, I've been focusing on my bakery. So, tell me, smart guy—are you satisfied?" You speak with a certain flair, feigning near tears as you recount the story. You're lying, of course, about several details, but the performance is convincing enough.

Steve extends his hand across the table, gently holding yours and caressing it. You look at him with teary eyes while he gazes back at you like you're a lost puppy. "Where did Barnes find you? Until now, I thought you were just a regular bakery owner, but you're something else. If you tell me you know how to use a weapon, I’ll personally see to it that you become an agent." He laughs right after, clearly amused by your act.

You sigh in frustration, pulling your hand away from his, but he grabs it again, moving his chair closer to yours. He then pulls your neck towards him to whisper into your ear, "I'm starting to enjoy your lies. You can keep feeding them to me, but I’d prefer if you cut the nonsense and told me something real."

"I haven’t been fucked in almost a year. Am I lying or telling the truth?" You give up trying to fool Steve and decide to shift the conversation. You're still holding his gaze when the waiter clears his throat to get both of your attention. Your eyes dart away from Steve's as you straighten up in your chair, adjusting yourself. Rogers, too, composes himself, though he’s still chuckling at the situation.

“Gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption, but I would like to know if you are ready to place your order. For today, the merlot paired with the chef's special pizza is highly recommended,” the waiter says politely, clearly embarrassed.

"We'll go with your recommendation," Steve replies with a broad smile, as if he’s having the time of his life. What a complete idiot. The waiter notes down the order and quickly heads off to fetch the wine, leaving you and Rogers alone again.

"You saw he was coming over and didn't warn me on purpose, right?" you ask, a bit furious, looking at him as if you could kill him.

"Let’s say I didn’t see him coming, just like you don’t know Bucky. But let’s get back to the main topic; you haven’t had a sexual partner for quite some time. Tell me, why did you share that with me?" Steve speaks seductively, looking at you as if you are something he treasures.

"Because that’s the reason for all of this, right? Not to find your friend, but to try to seduce me so I’d let you sleep with me. Of course, all in the name of you thinking you’ll find your friend. You want to find him so badly that you came here on a date with me instead of going to look for him. Admit it, you don’t want to be wrong about me knowing Barnes, because if I don’t know him, you’ve got nothing. You’ve wasted your time trying to get into my pants. Also, you don’t need to be formal when discussing my lack of sex. I haven’t fuck with anyone for a while. In fact, I might be manipulating you to seduce you and then discard you. Have you thought about that?" You try to be more straightforward among the lies and deceitful words. You just want to see if you can hit a nerve with Steve Rogers to convince him of something. Even if it’s that you’re a woman desperate for his cock.

“Dance with me?” Steve suddenly asks, catching you off guard. You look at him, trying to understand what he means. There's no music playing, and the waiter is about to serve the wine. But something tells you this is a test, so when he extends his hand toward you, you take it firmly. He places his phone on the table, and an instrumental melody begins to play. He then presses his body against yours, one hand holding yours and the other resting on your waist.

He leads you with confidence, your bodies swaying to the music. At one point, it feels less like dancing and more like a silent battle to see who will give in first. Steve’s hands grip the contours of your dress, almost reaching your backside. Your hand wraps around his neck, your head resting close to his chest, allowing you to catch a whiff of his cologne—a woody scent that feels almost comforting, like a warm embrace.

"You’re right, I know your friend. Lying is just pure foolishness, and I can't take it anymore. In fact, I know him quite well. He was a secret crush of mine, not just a mere customer. The days he came into the bakery were the brightest. He’d order an espresso and the fresh bread I was testing the recipe for. I would come in early just to be ready when he arrived. I waited for months to find out his name, even though I knew he preferred savory over sweet, that he probably has a fluffy white cat, that he enjoys reading The Hobbit, and that he never paid me any mind. That’s why I denied knowing him; I feel pathetic saying all this. Like a silly teenage girl hoping to be noticed by the guy she finds attractive. And that’s all I have to say about him. He doesn’t know who I am, but I know who he is. I’d recognize him even in a crowd. " Your voice trembles, a mix of embarrassment and pretense, almost as if you feel utterly humiliated. It’s not a complete lie; it probably won’t work, but you have to try. Steve won’t give up easily if he doesn’t have part of the truth. And that’s what he’ll get from you—a fragment of the truth.

The waiter brings the pizza, interrupting the small world you and Steve had created during the dance. Both of you feel a bit embarrassed for being caught, but without saying much, you sit back at the table, allowing the waiter to serve you. The pizza is flavorful, but Steve seems distracted, still processing your ridiculous confession of love for Barnes. His usual confident demeanor falters for a moment as he picks at the food, clearly thinking over what you just said. The tension lingers, not from suspicion anymore but from the awkward truth you've offered.

"Since you've finally decided to tell me the truth, now tell me: when was the last time you saw James Barnes?" The crucial question is asked, almost as if it were another test. Between bites of pizza and sips of wine, you feel the need to reveal something to him. But if you tell the truth, Barnes could be at risk. He would be furious.

"The last time I saw him was…" You were just about to reveal the truth to Steve, realizing the mistake you were making when the sudden sound of a gunshot drew your attention. The bullet shattered your wine glass, leaving you horrified. The second shot was even closer to Steve, hitting his arm. Without much thought, you immediately drop to the floor, rushing over to Steve, who is pressing on his wound. You can hear people screaming in panic from inside the restaurant.

"What is so important that it's taking you this long to find?" you ask impatiently, panic rising inside you. You're more scared for Steve than he seems to be. Finally, he pulls out his car keys along with his wallet from his pocket. He places the money for the bill and tip on the table, then presses the car key into your hand. His grip is firm, and you're horrified when you see his blood smearing onto your skin from his hand.

"Y/N, I'm putting my life in your hands. Please, save me," Steve says as his eyes begin to close, his strength visibly fading. You quickly place his good arm over your shoulders and ask him to guide you to his car. He leads you as best as he can, and once there, you carefully put him in the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt. You try calling out to him a few times, hoping to keep him conscious, but he slips into unconsciousness. Without wasting another second, you rush to drive him to the hospital, heart pounding as you speed through the streets.

It didn’t take long before you arrived at the emergency room of the hospital. After shouting for help, a doctor and several nurses rushed to assist you in getting Steve out of the car. You were questioned for a while about Steve—whether he had any allergies, what his condition was. You decided to say you were his wife, explaining that due to his military service, you hadn’t seen him for a while. Once they finished removing the fragments of the bullet from Steve’s arm, you could finally take a breath, though your heart still raced.

“Miss, your husband asked to see you,” one of the nurses informed you as you sat in the waiting room for hours. You quickly stood up to meet Steve, who was in a hospital bed looking much better.

"My beloved wife, have you waited all this time for me?" Steve Rogers says, sounding somewhat dazed, likely from the pain medication they gave him. You give him a slight smile as you see him beckoning you closer with his hand.

"How is my dear husband?" you ask, fully embracing the character as you approach him, gently holding his hand. He leans forward and pouts, as if asking for a kiss. You give him a quick peck on the lips.

"I want to go home. Can we leave?" Steve asks, laughing as if he's finding something amusing.

"We could go but your doctor said you need to stay under observation and the hospital said you need to give your insurance number or a nice amount of money." You smile and casually respond to Steve's question, but unfortunately, he falls asleep before he can answer you. You inform the hospital reception that you will provide Steve's financial information once he is better. They are understanding, thinking of you as a concerned wife. They even let you leave, promising to call if he improves. Feeling exhausted, you decide to go home. You drive Steve's car back to your place, borrowing it for the night.

As you’re about to enter your apartment, you hear a noise coming from inside. Great, this is when things go south. Thankfully, you have pepper spray in your bag, and you grab it, preparing to defend yourself against whoever is inside. When you open the door, you come face to face with a man. As soon as he turns to look at you, you spray him in the face.

"Ah, Y/N, are you trying to blind me?" Barnes exclaims, crying out in pain from the pepper spray in his eyes. You rush to help him, dropping your bag on a nearby surface. Gently, your fingers brush against his eyes as you attempt to wipe away the remnants of the spray. You blow softly into his eyes, trying to ease the burning sensation, while he watches you in stunned silence.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," you say softly, your concern evident. "I thought you were an intruder." As you continue to tend to him, the tension in the room shifts from fear to a more intimate moment, the chaos of the evening fading into the background.

"It wasn't supposed to be you who got hurt," Barnes says, grasping your hand, which still bears the blood from Steve. For a moment, you're touched by his genuine concern for you. However, the realization of what he said sinks in, making you acutely aware that he has some connection to what happened.

"What do you mean by that?" you ask, your heart racing as you search his eyes for answers. "Did you know this was going to happen?" The tension hangs heavy in the air as you await his response, feeling both unsettled and intrigued by the depths of his involvement.

His eyes seem heavy as he searches for the right words, finally admitting, "It was Natasha's plan. She thought a small attack would distract Steve enough for him to stop looking for me. She figured you wouldn't be able to keep secrets. We planted bugs in the restaurant, and when we sensed you were about to spill, we had to act. I know you're going to be angry, but it was for your own good." James Barnes's words feel like a whirlwind, leaving you bewildered.

"You’re crazy. How could you let her hurt your friend? Or did you do it yourself? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to us? You put me at risk and left your best friend injured. He’s in a damn hospital bed, you son of a bitch." You step away from James Barnes, unable to recognize the man in front of you. How sadistic could he be to hurt Steve?

"Steve will survive. It was a strategically placed shot; we wouldn’t have harmed him if we didn’t know he would pull through. Please, Y/N; trust me. What Natasha and I did was for the best," James Barnes says, holding your hands again as if he desperately wants you to understand and accept that it was all part of his plan.

"Don't you dare ask me to trust you; you didn't trust me. You preferred to shoot Rogers rather than give me a vote of confidence. But I can promise you that if you don't step aside right now, I will make you regret not shooting me. I will tell Steve and the police everything I know about you, and I won't regret it. So get out of my apartment and don't come back," you say angrily, feeling something burn inside you. You are tremendously regretful for having trusted him, for ever thinking he could be yours.

Barnes's gaze conveys a sense of pain, as if he is truly remorseful. He heads toward the door as if to leave, but pauses just before opening it, turning back and practically rushing towards you. His lips meet yours in a kiss filled with emotion. James leads the kiss, as if he wants to consume you. The intensity of your tongues dancing within each other’s mouths, exploring, is sensational. There’s a strong urge to push Barnes away, to hit him, to cry for him. But in that fleeting moment, you savor the kiss.

"I'll come back when you’re calmer. Until then, don’t do anything reckless. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but just know that I’m truly sorry," James says as he breaks the kiss, his eyes still closed, relishing the sensation of your lips against his. When you open your eyes, he’s no longer there. For a moment, you wish he had never been in your life at all.

[spectralscathath]

Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 3- Monster Truck

Stan and Ford didn’t expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not a truck-stealing creature, not scary movies, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford’s smarts and Stan’s punching, there’s no mystery they can’t solve.

Ao3 Link

"A sleepover, Stanley, can you believe it?" Ford beamed as he screwed in another bit of plating on his magnet gun, Test Design #1. Lucky that the attic that had been turned into their room had a bunch of stored random stuff he could use. He'd cleaned up a bit in preparation for tonight, made more space. "We've never had one before!"

"What's all the 'we' about?" Stan flicked through one of The Grimdark Chronicles comics, lying on his bed. Ford had gotten the first one in the series because he thought he'd like the supernatural mystery story, but it was just depressing. Stan seemed to like it though, at least. 

Maybe it could get him to start drawing again? Ford missed reading Lil Stanley, it was funny. 

"Sixer?"

"Oh. Sorry." Zoned out again, too stuck in his head. It kept happening. "I just mean- we've never had friends to have a sleepover with? Aren't you excited?"

"They're your friends, poindexter," Stan rolled his eyes and munched on toffee peanuts. Ford had been trying to get him to store his food in the kitchen, where food was supposed to be stored, but Stan was convinced something was eating them. It was probably Grunkle Dipper. "Why would I be excited?"

"I- because-" didn't Stan want a sleepover? "What's going on with you?"

"Nothin'." Stan flicked a page of the comic and offered the bag of snacks. “Want one?”

"No, I don’t want a toffee peanut! Something's going on with you!" Ford knew it, he knew it- "First you don't wanna go to a party even though we've never been to one, now you don't want a sleepover? These are normal things boys our age do, it's exciting."

Stan sighed and closed the comic, sitting up and stretching. "Yeah, for you, maybe. Bet you're gonna do a whole buncha nerdy stuff. No thanks."

Ford pouted. "C'mon, Stanley, you could at least give it a try. Tad said he'll bring over his MonsterMon cards and his Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons kit. I've always wanted to play those." But dad thought they were frivolous.

"You know that stuff's got too much math for me," Stan laughed. 

"I could help you with the math!" Why didn't Stanley want to play with him? "Are you mad at me?"

Okay, now Stanley was looking at him like he was being dumb. Which was weird, because he normally made that face at Stan. Being on this end of it was not normal. 

"What? I'm not mad at you, doofus." 

"Then what are you mad at?" It had to be something. 

"Hot Belgian Waffles, I'm not mad at anything," Stan rolled his eyes. "You gotta stop overthinking things."

"But I-" was that what he was doing? He fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them over his hands a bit. "Hm."

"Told ya." Stan shrugged.

"What are you gonna do instead then?" The idea of Stanley being alone didn't feel right. Maybe he still felt guilty for ditching Stan at the party.

"I was gonna ask Grunkle Dipper if I could watch one of his old horror movies he's got beside the TV."

"Stanley, those are scary!" And absolutely none of them were PG-rated. 

"I know, right?" Stan's eyes sparkled. "Maybe he'll let me watch one of the really scary ones."

Ford pulled a face. "Then I'm definitely not joining you."

"Yeah, I figured," Stan snickered and hopped down off the bed, stuffing his toffee peanuts in his vest with a singsong. "Doo-dilly–doo, hidin' my snacks- You comin'?"

"Where?"

"To let your friends in?" Stan looked at him with That Face again. "It's four pm already, nerd."

"Oh my gosh, is it really?" Ford jumped to his feet like he'd been shocked and ran downstairs, nearly tripping over his extra toes in his haste to get to the door.

He adjusted his glasses and pulled it open, beaming wide at Tad and Fiddleford, Fiddleford's hand raised as if to knock. "Hi! You got the right door!"

"The gift shop entryway looked crowded," Fiddleford smiled, a banjo in his other hand. 

"Hi. I brought various activities." Tad lifted the boxes in his hands to show them off, and Ford forgot completely about everything else because there it was: Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons! 

Finally, he could put all those ideas he had for characters and enemies and dungeons into play! He'd done so much research!

"Come in!" He held the door open for them. "You've met my brother Stanley-"

"It's 'Stan' to you guys," Stanley leaned against the wall, jumping when Dipper leapt into the room, in full Mr Mystery gear, fists raised in a fighting stance.

"I heard intruders and I know Dan's fixing my truck! Come get some!"

"... and that's our Grunkle Dipper." Ford sighed. "Dipper, you said I could have a sleepover yesterday, remember?"

"Oh." Dipper relaxed from his fighting stance and scratched the back of his neck. "I did?"

"Yep. You were sleeping in your truck before though, mighta forgot." Stan confirmed. 

"Well." Dipper looked like he was processing before he waved at Tad and Fiddleford. "Hi, I'm Dipper Pines."

"Hello."

"Aft'rnoon."

"You both live in town?" Dipper joined Stan in leaning against the wall, scanning both of Ford's friends in interest. What was he looking for?

"I'm from Tennessee. Got sent up here to stay with my pa Tate on account of-" Fiddleford paused. "Reasons."

"Wait, the lake guy?" Dipper tilted his hat up. "Huh. I'm banned from renting boats there."

"Yeah… your picture's up on the 'banned forever' wall beside Old Lady Chiu's."

"Okay, we're gonna go set up, thank you!" Ford tried to rush his friends past his weird Grunkle. "Our room's up this way."

"Don't touch my stuff, poindexter," Stan reminded him before he turned. "Grunkle Dipper-"

#

"- can I watch one of your scary movies?" Stan asked, certain he'd get a yes. Dipper was pretty 'free-range' in his guardian style. 

Dipper stared up the stairs. "Was that kid holding D, D, & More D?"

"Yeah, Ford's always wanted to play it," Stan shrugged. "What a nerd, amirite?"

"Oh, I love that game," Dipper blinked a few times before he seemed to zone back in. "What was the question again?"

Stan groaned and smacked his forehead. Really? "I wanna watch one of your horror movies while my brother's having a sleepover. Can I?"

"You don't want to play with him and his friends?" Dipper's brows did that furrow they did every time he got puzzled. He seemed to do it a lot when talking to Stan and Ford. 

"Nah." Stan shrugged it off, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring at an old stain on the floor. "His friends, after all. I don't really like all that stuff anyway." 

He wasn't lying when he said he wasn't angry. Just wasn't happy either. He and Ford were supposed to do everything together, they weren't meant to have anyone but each other. But Ford did now, he had friends, and Stan wanted to be a good brother, be happy for his brother's success, like always. Ford succeeded and Stan stayed outta the way, that was how dad preferred things.  He could do that. He and Ford could hang out another time. Stan was no leech.

Dipper knelt down to his level and put a hand on his shoulder. Stan tensed a bit, just because. He wasn't big on touch, he and Ford just weren't. 

"Hey. I get it." There was a faraway look in Dipper's eyes before he focused. He and Ford both did that a lot, got stuck in their heads. "How about this: I gotta go give a tour before I close down for the day, so how about you go and get Dan to show you some car stuff, and after dinner you can pick a movie and I'll watch it with you. They're better when it's dark anyway."

Stan perked up. "You wanna watch a movie with me?" And not play Ford’s nerd game he said he liked?

"Kid, they're my movies," Dipper laughed. "Like heck I'm missing a chance for a rewatch."

"You got yourself a deal," Stan grinned and stuck out his hand to shake. 

Dipper's whole body retracted like a mollusc Stan once saw on Glass Shard Beach, staring at Stan's offered handshake like he was going to be sick, before he put on a smile and ruffled Stan's hair instead. “Now go bother Dan."

"Okay." Stan grinned toothily and grabbed his sneakers, pulling them on and running outside, past the remaining tourist cars still in the dirt patch that was technically a parking lot. Some of the cars were nice, he thought, if he knew cars. 

He didn't know much beyond what Shermie had told him, but it sounded like knowing cars was a cool thing. Not only that, but Shermie finally buying his car with his own money had been the first time Stan saw what freedom looked like on someone else's face. Stan's freedom might have been a boat and a promise to sail away, but cars could be a good Plan B. 

Boyish Dan was elbows deep in Dipper's truck, flannel sleeves rolled up his biceps. He had to be the only sixteen-year-old Stan knew with a beard. He was huge. 

"Hi, Dan." He still didn't know how to talk to this guy. He seemed loud. "Grunkle Dipper said you're working on his truck?"

“Yeah!” Dan grabbed him with one hand and hefted him up onto his shoulder, no hesitation or strain in it.

Stan laughed in disbelief and waved his arms to keep his balance. "Jeez Louise- what do they feed you out here, Dan? I'm not that tiny!"

"Yeah, you are!" Dan grinned at him through the beard, a gap between his front teeth. This close, it looked a little wispy in places, but still. It was a beard. Stan didn't have one, didn't even have stubble. "Don't feel bad, Mr Pines ain't the biggest guy 'round either, but he's definitely the best!"

"Yeah, I'm curious about that," Stan admitted bluntly. "You're like, some sorta hardcore woodsman, right?"

"Whole family is!" Dan boasted proudly. "You seen that big mansion on the hill? Us Corduroys cleared that whole mountain and built it hundreds'a years ago!"

"Wow, so it's like, in your blood. Hardcore."

"Yeah, but my uncles are kinda weird about it." Dan's volume dropped to a normal speaking level, something Stan wasn't sure was possible. "They drive my mom crazy, always yellin', doing stuff just 'cuz they think it's manly. I love 'em, but I don't wanna stress out my mom too. And Mr Pines is the manliest guy in town and he doesn't do that stuff!"

"You think my uncle's manly?" He listened to girly music and did all the cooking. That wasn't very manly by Pines standards. 

"Listen, little man!" Dan closed the hood of the truck, lifting Stan to stand on it. He still wasn't sure about being lifted around in one hand like a kitten, but it was also super cool, so he could live with it. "Mr Pines is the smartest, toughest, strongest, bravest, MANLIEST man in Gravity Falls! And if he hadn't told me not to punch people for saying otherwise, I'da punched everyone in town who does! But I don't gotta punch 'em, because being a man isn't about throwing your weight around just because you can!"

"It's not?" Stan blurted out. Dad threw his weight around all the time. He had so much weight that all it took was a word sometimes. 

"NO!" Dan paused and cleared his throat. "Sorry. Workin' on a 'inside voice'. My uncles think that way sometimes. The Gleefuls think that way. But I ain't seen them take on a manotaur without blinking!"

"A what?" Did he say that right? Wasn't that one of Ford's myth stories? Stan didn't remember.

"I said what I said! Bein' a man's 'bout a lot more than flexing muscles and thinkin' you're the best 'cuz of it!"

"Is that why you work for him?" Stan still wasn't sure how Dipper was meant to be any of that stuff Dan said. 

"Yeah! And my mom thinks it'll be good for me, said a job might make me chill out!"

"You can tell her it's working." Stan couldn't resist a little sarcasm. 

"Yeah!" Dan threw his meaty fists up in the air. "So you ready to learn about trucks, little man?!"

"You kiddin'? 'Course I am- uh, big guy!" Dan was kinda weird, but not bad weird. Fun weird. He scrambled back onto Dan's shoulders as Dan opened the engine up again, and decided to be nice in return. "Hey, want a toffee peanut?"

He pulled out the bag of toffee peanuts and shook it in offer, a few crumbs falling into the truck. 

He didn't see a tiny three-fingered hand reach out from beneath the engine block and pull them in.

#

"Wow, you even have minifigures!" Ford's eyes were huge behind his glasses. 

"I do," Tad smiled serenely, setting out all his D,D, & more D stuff. "I'm not very good at being a dungeon master though. Would either of you like to take the role?"

Ford wanted to, so so bad, but- "Fiddleford?"

"Gracious, no, I'm fine being a player. Too much to keep track of," Fiddleford looked around Ford's room in interest, steering clear of Stan's stuff that Ford pointed out. Stan did ask them to stay outta it. "I like all the splinters."

"You sound like Stan," Ford laughed. "I hate splinters. You know- yesterday Waddles Jr. was on my bed? Sometimes Grunkle Dipper lets him in the house."

"Pigs are very affectionate creatures," Fiddleford smiled fondly, poking at the stained glass window. The window had a strange design, arrows and diamonds and circles. It looked a little like an anchor, but definitely wasn’t. "I like the design here, very intricate. Looks freshly put in?"

"Yeah, a lot of the windows are new," Ford had noticed as well. "Not sure why they all need to be Waddles-themed or question marks or whatever that thing is, you'd think he could keep the branding to the tourist part of the house."

"There's a recurring issue with property defacement in town." Tad noted, setting out all his dice in neat rows. "People find windows broken and scratches in buildings or landmarks. Very strange. Perhaps Mr Mystery was the most recent victim."

"Really?" Ford reached for the diary. If Fiddleford and Tad were going to tease him on it they would have done it already. "There's no mention of that in this diary."

"I was meaning to ask about that there book of yours," Fiddleford crossed his legs as he sat down. "What is it?"

"It's a diary of someone who came to Gravity Falls, I think they were… maybe a researcher?" It was ambiguous. "But they catalogued all of the weird supernatural stuff here, it's fascinating. And the pages stop halfway through, it's so cool!"

"Gravity Falls is quite unusual," Tad smiled, pulling emergency bread from his backpack. "My parents moved here from the Southwest, they quite like how it reminded them of their old town. Personally, I like how unique it is."

"So you grew up here? Maybe you know some stuff the diary missed?" 

"Maybe," Tad shrugged with a smile. "We'll compare some time."

"I'm not very fond of all that spookifying stuff myself." Fiddleford reached for his banjo, plucking the strings in a random pattern. "Back in Tennessee my family would tease me a lot, make up scary stories about things, things that sound like people but aren't, things that live in the fields and watch you, things that take the pigs in the night. Fake stuff, I told myself. But- I swear I saw somethin' in the lake here one time, somethin' big."

"Really?" Ford pulled out a pen. "Where did you see it? Did you get a look at any defining traits?"

"No. I wish I could forget it," Fiddleford sighed and tuned a banjo string. "I don't handle that type of things very well."

"That's okay," Ford hesitated before he patted Fiddleford's shoulder. "You just like other types of science better than cryptozoology, I guess."

"We can phrase it that way, sure," Fiddleford stated dryly. "You sure your brother doesn't want to join us?"

"Nah, Stan said he doesn't wanna play. Je and Grunkle Dipper are gonna watch a movie instead." Ford started setting up D, D, & more D. "Maybe after this you could give me some pointers on my magnet gun idea?"

"Sure can."

Ford smiled as Tad set down a figurine on the graph paper, and rolled the 38-sided die across the back of his fingers, blushing only a little when he fumbled it. He just had to practice.

Fiddleford and Tad were fun to play with, making good use of a Rogue/Cleric duo as they began working through the starter adventure provided by the guide. Ford grew more confident, starting to put his own spin on things, add in new enemies, build towards a twist in the plotline. 

They had just cleared their third encounter, a group of coldbolds with a surprise buzzbear from Ford drawn by the noise, and had entered the main starter dungeon when Boyish Dan threw open the door and yelled, "The truck! Ate! Stan!"

Ford dropped the handful of dice he was holding. "What?!" 

"I was showing him how to check tire pressure!" Dan pulled off his hat, clutching it in massive hands. His knuckles were raw and red. "I tried punching it and it didn't give him back!"

"Can you get Mr Mystery?" Tad smiled brightly. 

"He's doing a tour, he's doing a tour now." Dan fumbled with his hat. "Help?"

"Yes!" Ford yanked his shoes on. He couldn't even be mad that Stan had interrupted his sleepover and his game. How did a car eat someone? "Boyish Dan, did you see anything strange?"

"The back of the truck grew a trunk lid! And scales!"

"Scales…" Ford flipped through the diary. "Here! Gremobiles, it's a type of gremlin- they're a subspecies of the goblin family- that can meld with a vehicle, the author had to fight one that stole a bus and had to rip it out of the engine block." The caricature of the angry monster was super funny, the author gave it a silly face.

"How?" Fiddleford looked over his shoulder, scanning the page as well. 

"Grappling hook, apparently." Ford put the diary away. "If my magnet gun was finished I'd use that-"

"I can finish it," Fiddleford promised and pulled out his tools from his belt. "Go get your brother."

"Tad Strange would welcome the excitement of fighting a living vehicle." Tad grabbed a baseball bat from the pile of random stuff that the twins shared the attic with and gave it a twirl.

"Let's go." Ford nodded at him and Dan and rushed down the stairs, past the museum area of the house.

"Behold!" Dipper's voice was muffled by the closed door. "Genuine cursed pirate gold! Look at how the coins turn invisible when removed from the water! Who wants to try and grab a coin? Twenty bucks if you do!"

Ford scoffed at the shameless scam and followed Boyish Dan out to the dirt parking lot, looking for the offending Gremobile. 

Dipper's truck did not look like it was supposed to. The faded blue paint had been replaced by green-brown scales, the hood popped open to show the top half of the little monster fused with the engine block. The headlights glowed red and the back, normally open, had more of those scales, grown over the open space. The lil monster had a mohawk, shoving something in its mouth and chomping away. Ford recognised the packaging. 

"Toffee Peanuts. That must have been why it ate Stanley!" So maybe Stanley was right about something stealing his snacks.

Ford could hear muffled banging from inside that space and swore his vision went red, like that time Crampelter broke Stanley's nose and knocked out a tooth. Ford hadn’t been as good at boxing as Stanley, but he’d still pounced on Crampelter like a rabid possum, biting and clawing to protect his twin. 

"Over here!" He yelled at it. "Everyone spread out, we need to keep it distracted until Fiddleford finishes the magnet gun! Then we can hold the truck still and rip the Gremobile out!" He was gonna break every part of its face. No one hurt Stanley. Not in front of Ford.

#

Stan's hands hurt from where he'd been trying to punch his way out. He tried not to think about how much his braced wrist- two days 'til that was off- hurt more than the other. It was basically healed anyway, how much damage could he do?

Also- it had started getting really slimy and soft and slippery in here, and that was making it hard to find anything he could hit. 

He reached into his pockets, wondering if maybe now was the time for the pocket knife, he didn't think he could smoke bomb his way out. It was dark too, he was too old to be scared of the dark, but-

He heard the engine rev and roar before he was thrown around a bunch, elbows and knees knocking against the sides. The slime coated him and smelt gross, he clamped his mouth and eyes shut, hands over his ears so it didn't get in any of the holes in his face.

There was one massive move that knocked him against the far side, right as it stopped being all soft and squishy and sunlight hit him. "HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES!"

Ow. His head hurt. He cracked open an eye and squinted up at the sky. Ford's face appeared right in front of him and he yelped, leaning back and hitting his head again.

"Stan!" Ford beamed. "You're okay!"

"Sweet Moses, Sixer, warn a guy first," he grumbled. "What happened?"

"You were eaten by a gremobile, which must have gotten a taste for your candy. My magnet gun held it still long enough for Dan to rip it out- Look!" Ford pointed and Stan poked his head out of the truck bed. 

Dan held up a tiny weird thing in his massive fist, scaled and green-brown, with a wild mohawk and no legs. It held an empty packet of-

"Hey, my toffee peanuts!"

"Ready for a home run?!" Dan prepared to drop the evil little critter, trying to gnaw through his hand like an angry ferret.

"I'm a bit rusty, but we'll see." Tad stood right beside him with a serene, unblinking smile, and drew back a baseball bat, winding up a swing.

Dan dropped the monster and Tad knocked it clear into the woods, its fading shriek all that was left of it as it went flying off to probably die somewhere. Fiddleford stood beside them and whooped at the sight, holding Ford's magnet gun.

"Okay that was cool." Stan admitted. "Help me up?"

"Uhhhhh-" Ford leaned back from him. "I think that's some sort of mucus. Or saliva. Or- uh, other fluids. I'm good."

Stan looked at the slime covering him and got an evil idea, grinning at his brother as he shifted his weight. Slime time. Ford looked at him, recognition sparking followed by immediate horror.

"Stan? Stanley Pines don't you dare- STANLEY!" Ford shrieked like a girl as he jumped out of the truck, Stan's goop-covered pounce barely missing him. 

"Coward!" Stan clambered out of the truck after him, laughing even as he slipped and landed face first in the dirt. 

"Ohmygosh are you okay?" Ford dithered, just enough hesitance for Stanley to grab him and smosh ooze into Ford's hair. 

"Gotcha!" Stan went for the noogie, really wedge it all in there.

"Ew! What's wrong with you, I don't wanna get slimed!" Ford yelled, but he was giggling as he pushed Stan off.

Stan felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed, looking up as Tad Strange lifted his hand, examined the goo, and slapped his own face with it. 

"Slime fight." He looked way too pleased with himself.

"That's no slime fight," Fiddleford chuckled, standing with Boyish Dan with his arms crossed. "When your cousins dunk you in a pig pen- that's a slime fight."

Stanley's eyes sparkled as he glanced at Waddles Jr's shed. Since when were Ford's nerd friends into gross things? And giving him tips on messing with his twin? "Ford?"

"Do it and I'll dye your hair pink." Ford warned him. "I'm not joking, Stanley. Also we need to go wash off."

"C'mon, Fordsy-"

"No, seriously, this is disgusting." Ford's hands hovered over his hair, unwilling to touch the gunk. "Tad, why would you do this willingly?"

"I am driven by an insatiable curiosity."

"I like you, Strange, you and Fidds are pretty cool," Stan announced, brushing himself off a bit. His head wasn't even hurting anymore. 

Dan lumbered over to kneel down in front of him, face pulled in a scowl. "I'm sorry you got eaten, little man!"

"All good, big guy," Stan gave him a thumbs up. "You gotta show me more car stuff some time, it's really interesting."

Dan's frown turned into a smile and he hugged Stan so tight it mighta cracked a rib, hefting him off his feet. Stan froze up, fists clenching on instinct and sending a bolt of pain up his hand before he relaxed. He should have figured a hug from Dan would be like getting hugged by a furnace. A furnace with a chokehold. 

He patted part of Dan's arm, wheezing the words out. "Gotta breathe, big guy."

"Right!" Dan set him back down. "No injuries?"

"Nope!" Stan gave him a big thumbs up. "Thought I'd have to chew my way out though!"

"That would severely damage your teeth," Ford informed him. "Fiddleford, Tad? You alright?"

"I barely had to see that nasty lil beast," Fiddleford twirled the magnet gun over and over in his hands. "Workin' on a solution sure does help."

"Tad Strange has never felt more alive." Tad hefted the bat across his shoulders, and Stan…

Well, they were Ford's friends first, but maybe he could be okay with them. He could be friendly, or as friendly as he was capable of. These weren't going to be the kinds of kids who played mean games like 'pretend to be a friend to play a mean prank'. That happened once and Stan made sure it wouldn't happen again. Tommy-Tim still had a scar through his eyebrow from where the skin split.

"Whoa- what's going on out here?" All five heads shot to the entryway to the gift shop. Dipper stood with his hands on his hips, some of his Mr Mystery attitude in place. 

"Slime fight." Tad informed him. 

"It's coolant!" Fiddleford jumped in with a lie before anyone could tell their grunkle about the genuine supernatural creature. Stan clicked his tongue. Ford wouldn't be pleased about that.

"Oh- you should not have that on your skin," Dipper winced. "Anyway- everyone, outta the parking lot and out the back, this tour's on its way out of the gift shop and I don't want anyone getting hit by a tour bus, so go on, get, skoosh, shoo." he waved them towards the back of the clearing.

"Yes, Mr Pines!" Dan agreed, before he physically pushed the truck back into place, because Dan was a beast and Stan was quickly placing him high on the 'cool person' list. Not above Carla, but still. 

"And clean up before dinner! Don't get gunk all over my house!" Dipper called as Dan started ushering them around the back, towards Waddles Jr.'s pen.

Fiddleford stopped at the edge, reaching over and giving Waddles Jr. a friendly scratch behind the ear. "Golly, that was terrififying. Are you alright, Stan?"

"Eh," he shrugged it off. His hand would be fine.he punched Ford's shoulder, not too hard. "Told you something was stealing my snacks."

"Okay, okay. You told me so." Ford smiled, punched him back. "Knucklehead."

"Nerd." Stan sat on the grass. "How's your nerd game going anyway?"

All three of them immediately began chattering in excitement, and he felt surprisingly okay with it. Ford and his friends dropped their nerd game to save him from an evil car, maybe that meant something. 

#

Dipper set down a big bowl of popcorn and sat on the couch, aching joints glad of the softness that fit him perfectly after many a movie marathon. "Whatcha picked out, kid?"

"There's so many good ones," Stan looked over all the DVDs, stacked higher than the TV. "You've got a lot."

"Yeah, I got way better stuff than the Gravity Falls Horror Movie Rerun Channel, they exclusively have B-movies." He still watched them though. Guilty pleasure. "I got all the classics."

"How about this one?" Stan held up The Exorcist. 

"That's something a responsible parent probably wouldn't let a kid watch," Dipper commented. "Good thing I'm an uncle! Let's do it!"

"Yes!" Stan scrambled to his feet and started setting it up. Dipper watched him as he had some popcorn. The Exorcist, huh? He remembered seeing it in theatres when he was on his own. Scared him half to death at the time. Now he could probably recite the whole script off by heart.

"Got it!" Stan finished setting up and sat back on the rug.  

"Hey, you wanna share the couch?" Dipper offered. "And the popcorn?"

"Really?" Stan looked at him, suspicious and hopeful. 

"Yeah, get your butt up here or I'm gonna eat it all myself." Dipper pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it in Stan's face.

Stan laughed and hopped up on the couch, settling in on the other end as Dipper got the lamp, the room plunging into darkness as the title flashed on the screen. 

"Grunkle Dipper?"

"Shh. Movie time."

Stan hesitated, voice surprisingly quiet from such a boisterous kid. "Thanks for watching this with me. I know you like Ford's game."

Dipper paused, hand in the popcorn bowl. "Yeah, sure, but who wants to have a sleepover where an old guy plays a board game with them?"

"Ford wouldn't mind. He said once it's a game that's best with more players. And you're smart enough to be great at it, I bet." 

"Yeah, true." Dipper didn't want to admit this but fine. "I didn't really… aw man. Look, I-I wasn't a sleepover kid growing up. But-" Mabel and her slumber parties, he used to hate them- "your gramps was. Had 'em all the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I know it can feel-" irritating, lonely, jealous, bitter, what's wrong with me- "annoying, being the one that doesn't want to do what everyone else does." 

“Yeah.” Stan pulled his knees up on the couch, wrapping his arms around them.

He reached over and messed up Stan's hair, still damp from where he'd gotten clean. "But you can always come watch a movie with me, kid."

"Heh." Stan smiled, eyes still on the screen. "Cool."

"Yeah, yeah, now shh. You're missing key plot information." Pazuzu was a hack.

#

"Wow, pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles?" Ford had never seen so many colours on food before. 

"Eh, someone once told me it was perfect sleepover breakfast food." Dipper flipped a pancake over the stove. Ford had been woken early by Fiddleford, who apparently woke with the sun on account of 'farm life'. 

It had been weird to see Dipper reading a book when he came downstairs, an arm around a snoring Stan, even as Ford felt a pang of something that wasn't worth investigating. It was good Stan wasn't alone for the night, he probably wouldn't have slept great anyway, they stayed up really late playing MonsterMon after finishing the starter dungeon and defeating the evil wizard, a servant of Probabilitor called Algebraius the Beatable.

"How ya holdin' up there, Stan?" Fiddleford checked in.

Stan had dark rings under his eyes, haggardly cutting into a pancake and nursing a glass of milk the way mom did with her morning coffee. "Pfft, I'm fine. No nightmares at all. That screaming you heard last night was coyotes."

"Well, Tad Strange slept great." Tad had denied the offer of pancakes, instead buttering some of his bread and adding sprinkles to that instead. 

"I did too," Ford agreed. "I had a super cool dream, I was playing chess in space." The other details had slipped away, as dreams did.

"Nerd," Stan poked him with a tired laugh. "Of course you did."

Ford poked him back. He didn't remember much else, but… he felt like he was playing chess with a friend.

[meowmedusa]

started actually spiraling out today i am. unwell

[batsplat]

do you know why vale seems to have a soft spot for pedrosa?

there's not any single one reason, I don't think, but here's are a few contributing factors that come to mind:

history! in large part because of the honda link, dani's the alien he's known the longest... valentino was the number one honda rider at a time at which dani was honda's rising star. photo on the right is from the 2001 honda celebrations at the last race of the season (when dani was sixteen); from oxley's valentino rossi: all his races: "that night vale celebrated in style at a raucous honda victory party, where he taught honda youngsters daijiro kato and dani pedrosa how to drink". they've known each other forever! valentino was getting teenage dani drunk! quite natural to be fond of someone you've seen grow up like that, even if they are being moulded to be your next big rival

circumstance! the way it basically works with valentino is that if you want to have a feud with him, you generally need to have a title fight with him when you’re already ‘established’ rivals (ignore marc, that’s its own thing, 2015 is a freaky season). biaggi and valentino were enemies headed into 2001 and then were worse enemies, he was cool with sete in year one but not year two, mostly *wiggles hand* the same with casey and jorge… feuds aren't build overnight. valentino and dani weren’t ever really direct title rivals - closest they got was 2006 and 2008, but in both cases valentino probably didn’t see dani as his main problem that year. there wasn't really any competitive necessity for valentino to get nasty... also with one or two notable exceptions, valentino did kinda have dani handled in their actual wheel-to-wheel fights, which let’s face it probably didn’t hurt

yapping! so this is just a theory but it’s one I believe strongly in. you know how valentino loves to talk, right? the thing about pressers and podiums is that you're always going to have a few regular attendees, if you will, corresponding to the front runners in any given year. now, unfortunately for valentino, there were periods of time where almost every other regular attendee was someone he had pretty active beef with. that doesn’t mean he always avoided yapping at them, but relatively speaking you want a guy you can build up some good repartee with to pass the time. dani was his guy… less complicated than casey and jorge, plus dani is polite enough to go along with it and maybe even enjoy chatting to valentino (it’s been known to happen). pressers can be boring and at podiums you're still full of adrenaline, valentino wants to share a joke with someone! my completely unscientific sense is that valentino does this a lot with dani around 2008-ish to 2012, then for two years marc is the number one yap victim, then for a while it’s a bit…? oddly valentino does seem to chat quite a lot with jorge in 2015... he likes to throw in a quirky behavioural pattern sometimes to keep you guessing. anyway then in 2016 he is Actively Ignoring two of these men so vale goes!! hi there dani!! and takes it from there (though the field is more mixed up post-2015 so he becomes more of an opportunistic yapper). in general, valentino will chat to pretty much anyone with A Few Exceptions, but he does usually have a bit of an order of preference

dani’s personality! now, obviously dani is very much capable of feuds, but he’s not that naturally combative a character. valentino generally needs a competitive justification for beef, though some personal animosity can help too… but he never really hated any of that trio of young riders to come through. valentino's known dani forever, he’s been around dani a fair bit because of their respective statuses in the sport, dani isn’t going out of his way to pick fights with valentino, so no reason not to get on! he does clearly quite like chatting to dani and seems pretty fond of him even towards the start of the alien era, at a time in which it was broadly expected that dani not casey would emerge as vale's primary challenger... god knows if the relationship would have soured if dani had assumed that mantle (probably at least a little lol) but failing that, valentino does just seem to quite like him. y’know, sometimes it’s like that

They Have Also Had Their Disagreements, But There Hasn’t Been Much Cause For It To Escalate Further. these disagreements have tended to be over racing standards, where dani is generally in the ‘you people are all insane’ camp and valentino is generally in the ‘ah it’s fine’ camp (though, obviously, there is nuance here… cf vale also criticising sic over the le mans 2011 incident that left dani with the broken collarbone). generally, they don't get into direct conflict over it, more of an underlying difference in positions (hey, aragon 2013 is an example)... but there’s been dani’s suggestion that valentino’s sepang 2015 stance is inconsistent with his generally laissez faire approach, and also some other isolated little scuffles over the years like say 2017 aragon (see below). pretty small scale stuff in the grand scheme of things and if you've been on-track rivals for that long it's kinda inevitable you'll eventually disagree about some stuff, but perhaps worth bringing up

went through all of the alien combos in my head and these two slot in just behind dani/casey as probably the two most consistently beef-free inter-alien relationships? dani/casey gets extra credit for surviving The Teammate Test. but, y'know, the thing about valentino is that he's a sociable, outgoing guy... he likes talking to people... he's actually interested in them... he's a decent conversationalist, easy to get on with, all that stuff. so if you expose valentino to this nice fella who at most was like... perhaps a bit more reserved towards the start of his time in the premier class (partly due to his mentor's approach), but really was generally pretty chill... well, if valentino isn't given any reason to hate dani, then default state is that he won't. good on them etc

[edwinisms]

I know how it sounds at first, but I really gotta feel bad for the boys that sacrificed edwin; I mean even the term “sacrificed edwin” paints them in a more sinister light than they really deserve– considering that wasn’t really, actually their intention.

they were bullies, they were homophobic (and/or were self loathing gay boys themselves taking it out on edwin, or were equally likely peer pressured into acting a certain way), they planned something stupid and mean to do to an innocent, anxious boy with the goal of scaring the shit out of him, all because he was effeminate and an easy target. but they didn’t know or expect any of the ritual stuff to be real. they were all laughing and joking during the ritual because it was just that to them– a joke. a cruel joke, but a joke.

teenagers can be mean and stupid and they usually regret it as adults and grow out of it / grow from it. they were stifled the chance to grow out of it, at least while alive. none of those boys deserved to be instakilled and sent to hell; they’re really not that much less deserving than edwin himself. they were all just kids, after all.

[eatember]

-

[the-casbah-way]

i suppose i owe it to myself to not die but also to stop talking myself out of things that might make me happier because i would be a much better person for everyone around me if i were able to navigate the world in the way i want to because insecurity and bitterness and constant suicidalness do just make you not as kind sometimes i think. i would like to be confident enough in myself to speak and be seen and therefore be as kind as i feel i am on the inside. i hold back so many things because i am scared of being perceived so maybe if i let myself do the things that will help me be ok with being perceived then i will put more good out into the world. i always get hung up on the fact that i so badly want to be good and kind and i care so so much about other people but as it stands currently most people would not really bother too much if i wasn't here anymore because i'm so cut off from everything emotionally and physically. someone send me c.300 quid so i can pay for therapy and you can stop being subjected to posts such as these, by the way.

[pink-vulpix]

.

[bluejaybytes]

💘🍛 I like both of these. What's most important to your oc (of choice but I'm thinking of Maggie), and what their usual dinner looks like <3

Hiiiiiiiii <3

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

Maggie has sooo few people she's close with BUT the people she IS close with she is VERY close with, the three main ones would be her brother, Hawke, her Girl Best Friend (come to your own conclusions on this one, they'll never have an actual discussion about it), Jenna, and one of the ghosts that hangs around her, Opal. Hawke she was always fairly close with as a kid, while he never actually believed her when she would talk about the ghosts and their various shenanigans, he was always one of her strongest and most reliable supporters, and would claim to believe her. She knows now that he never actually believed her (She figured that out as a preteen), but she definitely appreciates the fact he was still always there for her and standing up for her when she'd get talked over by others. When she wakes back up after her murder, finding where he lives is one of her first priorities, because she's basically having like a million crises at once and figures he's the person she trusts must to be able to help her.

Paragraph break because I'm going on longer than anticipated WHOOPS. For Jenna, she's close with her for several reasons. The first part is... honestly just a bit of necessity. Maggie's lost and scared and has no idea what's going on, and Jenna's the first person to approach her and is someone willing to try and help her figure out what's going on, during a situation where anyone else would've just forced her to go to a hospital (Which... to be fair Jenna definitely should've suggested they go to some sort of medical help, given that she was passed out in the middle of a field and wakes up talking about being murdered). Outside of necessity, however, she and Jenna just like... basically instantly latch onto each other. They're frankly both a bit obsessive with each other because they both... really don't have anyone else? Once the plot ends and their lives calm down they'll get some other friends and their dynamic will become more sustainable longterm, but in the moment they've only got each other and GODDAMN do they have each other. Jenna's like 90% of the reason Maggie wants to actually take care of herself, because if she's not doing it, Jenna just does it for her, and she doesn't like feeling like a burden, even if Jenna's doing it willingly and without viewing as such. Their bond is so largely based on their willingness to support each other, so. yknow <3

For Opal, she's known Maggie since she was only a few months old! Ghosts took notice of Maggie's ability to see them LONG before Maggie would be learn this was Not normal, AKA, as a several month old baby, she'd track ghosts with her eyes and try and interact with them like any other person, which alerted the ghosts to the fact she could actually see them. This made her essentially a bit of a celebrity/VERY weird and kinda creepy to the ghosts, so word of the Magic Baby Who Can See Dead People spread, and tons of local ghosts would hang around just to see her themselves. Opal ALSO heard of her, and she just generally loves kids, so she went to go see baby Maggie, only to realize that oh man. This is going to be. a tough life for this kid. So she takes it upon herself to watch over her, and chases away other ghosts who bother her so that Maggie doesn't have to spend her entire life being harassed by ghosts. Their dynamic is a bit weird throughout Maggie's life, as Opal tends to be a bit overbearing, and also tends to talk over the living people Maggie's trying to talk/listen to, making it difficult for her to concentrate, but as frustrating as Maggie finds her to be, they still are very close, Opal's someone Maggie can be actually open with, and someone who is always trying to look out for her and protect her any way she can. Their dynamic gets WAY more strained after Maggie's death but this is already a VERY long ramble and that would involve a LOT more so I'll save that for another day

🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner?

Bad it looks bad.

Okay the actual answer is more nuanced <3 Prior to her murder, Maggie was still living at home (She was only 17 and had JUST graduated highschool, graduating a year early), so her typical dinner was just... whatever her mom made! Nothing too fancy, just pretty generic dinner items. Maggie's never really had much of an appetite, but also stayed up extremely late every night, so typically it'd be eating like half the normal portion of whatever dinner was -> stay up until 2am -> Get hungry and finish off the other half of dinner -> stay up until [god knows how late]. Her favorite meal is probably stew, though while she is an extremely picky eater, of the foods she's okay with she doesn't tend to have really any standout favorites.

Once she wakes back up after her murder and has to care for herself, her dinner is... crackers. As mentioned, she's an extremely picky eater, but she also has no skill in cooking and is also just deeply depressed, so she can't really give the effort to care about it enough to want to eat properly, so she just. doesn't! However, once Jenna starts hanging around more, specifically hanging around for long enough stretches of time to see Maggie's abysmal self care and eating habits, THEN Maggie's typical dinner stops being "crackers" and starts being whatever Jenna makes her. This is typically things like easier to prepare meals like mac n cheese, but Jenna always adds things to them that aren't included to make them nicer, so it's always more than just "box of kraft mac n cheese", its got some added vegetables and meat added in there to make it better!

Once Maggie actually starts trying to learn how to cook herself, her typical dinner consists of one single bite of whatever she tried and promptly failed to make, and then a plate of Whatever Jenna Made Instead. She's trying her best but oh boy. its not great.

[cherrygarden]

,

[theflyingfeeling]

still sick but alive, unfortunately 🤧

[tariah23]

Ppl still be calling Sasuke abusive, it’s crazy to me-

[pepprs]

STILL wide awake! i did not put down my phone! and now im hungry. so i will not be sleeping tonight ♥️