#they’re actually nice and toasty

[psychoticwillgraham]

took my new med an hour ago and now my entire body feels as heavy as lead and walking is currently a problem. my head feels like something is trying to push straight through my skull, everything around me looks like it’s moving and stretching, and the light around me feels like it’s burning my eyes. it also feels like something heavy is pressing down on my chest as my heart beats a bit fast. everything is so…. Sharp and not dulled around the edges like usual. also my left shoulder feels like there’s electricity running through it and it doesn’t feel terrible. im getting super tired, but ill probably be knocked out in the next half hour if not sooner because i just took my other two night meds which make me more tired as well.

all of this is completely normal from what I’ve researched so we’re ok, but for some people, it makes the nightmares worse which I struggle to see how it could be worse than what we currently experience. luckily that’s fairly rare. also we’re supposed to stay super hydrated which is going to be… a Challenge, but hopefully that will make the headache better.

im personally excited about this med and truly, desperately hope that it works, bc we can’t keep living like this by overdosing on caffeine every single day in an effort to prevent ourselves from falling asleep, bc when we do, we never know just how horrifying the nightmares are going to be, thus making us terrified to fall asleep at all. it’s also causing our poor appetite and slight fatigue, but our depression is mostly at bay for now.

I’ll report back in the morning, and it’ll probably be me or hannibal. gonna make this our goodnight post and reblog a few things before we sleep. goodnight, everyone.

[littlemisstoast]

.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[chronicangel]

Pacifica Northwest's Sweet Sixteen

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 4169 Date posted: October 17, 2024

Summary:

You are invited to the greatest party of the century!

When Pacifica wakes up, it’s still dark out.

She reaches over instinctively to turn off her alarm before she realizes that her alarm isn’t going off, and then she just stares up at the silk canopy over her bed. She must have had a nightmare, but she can’t remember it. That’s good, she thinks. It’s always harder to get back to sleep when she remembers them.

She picks up her phone to squint at the time. 5:03 AM. Happy birthday to me, she thinks, rolling her eyes. She’d check her social media, but it’s too early for any of the other people who actually care about her birthday to have said anything to her, and she doesn’t want to scroll through all of the pictures of happy families and families pretending to be happy for the holiday. She’s going to get plenty of that at home today, she thinks.

As much as she’d begged and pleaded for Susan to let her work today, her boss had rightfully pointed out that even if the diner wasn’t closed for the day to give all of the other employees time off with their families, they wouldn’t have any customers. No escaping her parents, then. They probably wouldn’t have reacted well if she tried to skip their party, anyway.

You are invited to the greatest party of the century! Celebrate Gravity Falls’ own winter miracle with us once again at the annual Northwest Winter Gala, Christmas and a birthday all wrapped into one. This year’s theme: Sweet 16. Colors are champagne, lavender, and the Canadian dollar. Gifts are mandatory.

She wanted to puke when her mother handed her the invites along with the guest list and told her the envelopes had to be in her handwriting as if she’d had any choice in who was coming.

She gives up on getting back to sleep. It was stupid to think she’d be able to in the first place. She almost never can, and her birthday is an especially miserable occasion. She still remembers when Mom used to wake her up at midnight with a slice of chocolate cake that she was absolutely not allowed to eat in bed, back when her parents still pretended to like her.

Despite the drafts of snow she can see through her bedroom window, her room is nice and toasty when she throws the blankets off. She used to have her own fireplace. It was probably a safety hazard, but she liked sitting in front of it to read on late winter nights.

She glares at her closet. The dress her mother has picked for her this evening looks like the middle step between a wedding dress and the sort of dress you stuff a toddler into for Easter pictures. She hates it, but she knows not wearing it will be a bigger issue than it’s worth.

For now, she skips right past it to put on winter clothes instead. Fleece-lined leggings, fluffy socks made from alpaca wool imported from Peru, a turtleneck that had been knitted for her by the Austrian prince’s grandmother, and a coat she bought with her own money during their last ski trip to the Alps make up the basics of her outfit, and by the time she gets downstairs and to the front door, they’re joined by a scarf that feels like running water in her hands and luxury brand hiking boots made from shell cordovan.

There’s something so refreshing about the gust of cold air that hits her face when she steps outside, immediately whipping her bangs into her eyes. It is not a still or quiet morning in Gravity Falls. After they had lost the mansion, they moved into a new one in the closest thing Gravity Falls has to “the suburbs,” and there is no big hill or private patch of forest to block the wind from biting at her nose and fingertips. She sucks in a deep breath of it and watches it fog up in front of her as she exhales.

Maybe it’s because she’s a winter baby, but she’s always found the cold weather so grounding. When her boots sink into the snow and it threatens to pour over the top against her socks, that’s when the world feels the most real.

The woods are never far in Gravity Falls even if your family doesn’t own their own private portion of the forest, and when every other scent has been crowded out by pine and the snow is in a thinner layer on the ground because it has too many tree branches to get through to pile up, that’s when she really relaxes. She thinks she can’t have been walking for more than twenty or thirty minutes, and a quick glance at her phone confirms it. Her hair isn’t being thrown around by the wind anymore, safe within the barrier of the trees, but the damage has already been done. She can practically hear her mom’s temper tantrum about what a tangled mess it is, but that’s a problem for later. This moment, right now? This is just for her.

She closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. There’s a richer smell to the forest with her eyes closed. Snow doesn’t smell exactly like rain, but there’s a hint of that earthy smell, wet trees and wet grass and wet dirt all drinking up whatever they can before they freeze solid. She walks until she finds a place to sit down, a knocked-over log that’s frozen over with just a little bit of snow, and she figures it’s not a big deal if her pants get wet because she has to change before the party anyway. Mom and Dad aren’t going to like it, she thinks, but rather than the anxiety that would have gnawed at her only a few years ago at that idea, it only brings a smile to her lips. The only thing that would make this moment better is a cup of coffee.

She doesn’t know how long she just sits there like that, soaking in the peace of a winter morning. She thinks the snow must have stopped, because there aren’t even stray flurries rushing between branches anymore. Her fingers are bright red, and she can barely feel them. She should have put gloves on before she left.

Eventually, she sees the sun starting to peek over the tops of the trees, casting a golden glow on the whole forest. More than that—the snow on the ground reflects the light in a gleaming rainbow that shimmers over the entire ground. She picks her phone up to take a picture, and once she’s snapped a few that she likes, her eyes catch on a few notifications.

Mabel Pines 🌟: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! 🩷💜💙💖💖💫🌠🦙🌲🎄Mabel Pines 🌟: omg i still cannot beLIEVE that your birthday is CHRISTMASWendy Corduroy : happy birthday, dude! hope your family is less terrible this year.Dipper 💙: Happy Birthday, Paz. I’ll call you later, ok?

She snorts. Dipper texts like such a middle-aged dad. Still, as she goes through replying to them, she tells him that she’s looking forward to it.

And she is. Even though the twins haven’t visited Gravity Falls in-person since that summer when they were 12, they’ve been a near-constant presence in her life since then. She calls Dipper in the middle of the night when she has nightmares and can’t get back to sleep (and he never seems to be able to get to sleep in the first place), she and Mabel send each other at least fifty selfies with a million filters each per day, and she jokes about running away to see them in Piedmont at least twice a week most weeks.

She hadn’t even realized that she was smiling until it drops when her mother’s caller ID pops up on the screen, and she answers before it even has the opportunity to ring and disrupt the serenity of the forest. “Where are you?” Her mother practically shrieks on the other end of the line. “We told you that we were doing birthday breakfast promptly at eight o’clock.”

Pacifica pulls the phone away from her ear to check the time and winces. It’s almost 7:45. There’s no way she’ll be able to get back to the house by eight. “Sorry, Mom,” she says when she presses the phone back to her ear, not feeling very sorry at all. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“Doing what?” Priscilla demands. Before Pacifica has the opportunity to answer, though, she continues, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just get your ass back here, young lady.”

It’s always bad when Mom swears. Priscilla Northwest insists that swearing is improper and unattractive, and that if you can’t get your point across without harsh language, you’re too dim-witted for high society. Pacifica thinks that most people think she and her mother are too dim-witted for high society anyway, and that if she cares so much about seeming intelligent, she probably should have spent the years curating a different image.

“Okay,” she says simply. She doesn’t apologize again before hanging up, just presses the button and hops to her feet. The cold has sunk into her bones by now, even through all of that expensive winter clothing, and it takes closer to an hour to get back to the house. It’s hard for her to feel very apologetic, though, when her mother immediately starts fussing about how dirty her clothes are and how tangled her hair is and not the almost blue color of her fingertips.

It takes hours to get ready for the party, and she doesn’t know where all of the time even goes. Hair, makeup, clothes, decorations, food, all of these things were settled so far in advance, so how can it still take until almost noon to get it all in order? By the time of the party, Pacifica is so tired she can barely muster up the energy to smile at the right people and make the right kinds of small talk. She’s sure it hardly helps that she doesn’t even like most of these people, and the few she does like don’t really like her back.

By the time dinner is being served (each attendee gets their own roasted quail and a side of rice pilaf), the only thing she wants to do is run away and hide in her room. She does the next best thing: lounging on a chaise in the parlor her parents keep their still-lightly-mud-stained white rug in when they have guests over, where people are strictly forbidden to enter, scrolling through Tittat videos on her phone. When she hears the door creak open, she knows it must be one of her parents, and she’s not sure which one she wants to see less.

“I have something for you,” her mother’s voice says, and Pacifca doesn’t really have to fight not to cringe because she’s been suppressing it her whole life, but she still feels something curl up unpleasantly inside her. Great, so I have to pretend to be grateful now.

“Mom, I thought that we were doing presents after dessert,” she says, as though it’s actually possible Priscilla forgot her overstuffed itinerary for the night.

“Well, I can’t give you this one in front of everyone else,” Priscilla huffs, and that only makes Pacifica’s dread grow. When her mother sits at the foot of the chaise, she holds out a wine glass, and Pacifica stares. “I want you to meet my friend Chardonnay.”

“Mom, I’m turning sixteen. I’m still not old enough to drink.”

Priscilla rolls her eyes. “Oh hush. I’m doing something nice for you.”

Pacifica doesn’t exactly know how giving her a glass of wine is doing something nice for her, but she knows better than to argue at this point. She takes the glass and takes a tentative sip. She doesn’t have any of the fancy adjectives to describe a very expensive glass of wine. She doesn’t know anything about tannins or acidity or barrel aging or whatever.

It’s bitter. She can’t completely stop herself from cringing, and Priscilla laughs at her. “Yep, I remember that. It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Pacifica stares again. Her mother gave her bad wine on purpose? “You get used to it, eventually. You’re going to have to, being a member of this family. It’s the only way to get through these awful parties.”

“You don’t like the parties?”

Her mother laughs again, and there’s a bitter note there that she hardly recognizes. “Goodness no. Does anyone?” Pacifica’s brows pinch together. Then why do we keep having them? She wants to ask. “Sweetheart, I know being a Northwest isn’t easy. When I first married your father, I was petrified by all of the… rules and systems. I was sure I’d never be able to learn all of it.”

Priscilla stares down into her own glass of wine, and Pacifica watches her face. There’s a slight flush to her cheeks and nose that Pacifica is familiar with after a lifetime of exposure. She must be drunk already, which is impressive, because her father strictly forbids cracking the wine open before dinner at parties. Day-drinking is a private pastime, something Pacifica supposes isn’t classy enough to be associated with the Northwests.

“But it’s for our own good, right? These are the things that we have to do to maintain our lifestyle. And isn’t that worth it?” This is not a light Pacifica has ever seen her mother in before. Never before in her life has she ever been given any reason to think that Priscilla might resent all of the conventions they’ve been forced into as much as Pacifica does. You just don’t get it, she’d told Dipper once, and maybe she doesn’t get it either.

“The day you were born, your father and I still hadn’t chosen a name for you,” her mother says, and if there was some segue into the topic, Pacifica missed it in her introspection. It seems more likely that there wasn’t any. “We knew that we wanted it to start with a ‘P’ because both of our names did. That’s the sort of opportunity that doesn’t come up very often, you know. We figured early on that you would be our only child, so we might as well make you stand out, right? But it was almost impossible to find a name suitably dramatic. And then you were born on Christmas and everything was so hectic, and we worried you were going to end up with no name at all.”

Pacifica settles back against the chaise and takes another sip from her wine, and she manages to ignore the taste for how interested she is in her mother’s story. “They put you in my arms and you immediately started crying, and I thought, ‘Great, she already hates me.’” She laughs, but there’s an edge to it, something that jabs painfully at Pacifica’s chest. “But after a minute you calmed down, and then you looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and I thought they looked just like the ocean. ‘The Pacific ocean,’ I thought, and then I grinned at your father. Pacifica Northwest. It sounded like an actress’ name. It was perfect.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent minute, and Pacifica’s brows furrow. What was the point of telling her this? Was there any point, or is it just some of Mom’s drunken rambling? Priscilla reaches out to grab a strand of her hair and opens her mouth to talk some more, but she’s cut off by Pacifica’s phone ringing, and Pacifica startles to angle the phone so the screen isn’t visible because she knows exactly who’s calling and her mother does not need to see. “I’ll let you get that. Cake in 30 minutes, okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” she agrees, and her heart pounds with anxiety that she’s going to miss the call while she waits for Mom to leave the room before she answers. She almost drops the phone in her rush to finally hit the green button.

“Hey!” Dipper’s voice comes through a little tinny, which is a quality that Pacifica is used to when talking on the phone to anyone outside of Gravity Falls. She doesn’t know if there’s a scientific explanation, but it always feels like the rest of the world is just… dulled.

“Hey,” she says back, and whatever clawing sense of anxiety or discomfort had been lingering in her chest since Mom came into the room finally dissipates. “You’re early, I’m gonna have to go for cake and presents soon.”

“Your parents are giving you cake and presents?”

She snorts, bringing her hand up like she can catch the noise before it reaches him. “There’s still a whole party of people here to convince that we’re a happy family.”

“Ah, that explains it then,” he says, and she can hear the grin on his voice. He needs to get with the times and get a uPhone so she can see his face without going all the way upstairs to get on her computer. “So you don’t know which kind of sports car they got you yet?”

She laughs again as she hops up to her feet and starts the trek back to her room. “Oh please. They’re not going to get me a car. That’d be too much freedom. They couldn’t threaten not to let the chauffeur drive me to work anymore.” She rolls her eyes.

“They have to get you a car. It’s the whole sweet 16 package: Big fancy party with your big fancy dress, a bunch of bratty rich girls you can’t stand, and some luxury vehicle that costs more than my house. If they don’t get you a car, they don’t sell it.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs, bedroom door swinging shut behind her. She glances at her bed for a second, but if she lays down, she’s not going to get up again, and as nice as the idea of falling asleep talking to Dipper sounds, there’s still the rest of the party to get through. As she sinks into her desk chair, she sighs and says, “Did you do anything for the holiday?”

“Oh, you mean Just Some Friday Day? Yeah, we got Chinese food and watched cheesy romcoms. I guess it’s sort of a stereotype, but I think that’s kind of why we do it in the first place? It’s hard to explain.”

“Just Some Friday Day, huh? Wow, so I mean nothing to you.” He practically cackles on the other end, and she grins.

“Right, how could I forget the most important holiday, Pacifica Northwest’s Birthday? That’s why all the banks were closed.”

“Damn straight. What would they even need to be open for? All of the people with money are in my living room.” Another laugh. She sinks back in the chair, pressing the power button on her desktop with her toes as she asks, “Can I call you on DistantChat?”

“Is that such a good idea with your parents still prowling around downstairs?” He asks, with a legitimate tinge of worry to his voice. “I mean, you know I always like seeing you, but I don’t wanna get you in trouble or anything.”

“Oh come on. It’s my birthday, they can’t yell at me for calling a friend. Plus, there’s too many people still here for them to yell at me.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then, “...Okay. Let me get my laptop.”

It takes a minute for him to get everything set up, and they stay on the phone while he does even though it’s mostly Dipper mumbling to himself and the rustling of pieces of paper on his desk. When he calls her, he’s in bed, and he’s not wearing that stupid hat for once, so she can see peeks of his birthmark through his fringe.

“You need a haircut,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, without any input from her on the matter, and he laughs.

“You sound like Grunkle Stan. That was the first thing he said when we picked him and Great Uncle Ford up at the docks for Channukah. Kid, you need a haircut.” His impression of his uncle is terrible, and it makes her laugh, throwing her head back and her hand over her mouth.

When she’s done, his cheeks are a little flushed, but she can’t really call him out on it because her cheeks are a little flushed, too, so they sit in silence for a minute. “I like the dress,” he says eventually.

The camera quality of the call isn’t great. In the video, the delicate white lace that makes it look as though there are flowers painted directly onto her chest and shoulders just look like blurry polka dots (where they’re even visible), and the lace stops being visible completely at the sweetheart neckline of the bodice portion of the dress. Not only that, but from the angle of the camera, the silky lavender band around her waist isn’t even visible, nor is the princess-style skirt that fluffs out down her body in an A-line that could give Princess Diana’s wedding dress a run for its money if it wasn’t only tea length. But, more importantly…

“Ugh, this? My mom picked it.”

“Well, as much as I hate to admit it, your mom was right. It looks really good on you,” he says, and she sees his cheeks flush a little darker. Again, not that she can say anything.

“...Thanks.” She still doesn’t love the dress, still wishes Mom had let her buy the hot pink one that was half the price, but it’s nice that Dipper likes it. She wants him to like her clothes.

They return to silence, and she thinks of all the things she’d like to say. She wants to joke that he should see how much better it’d look off of her. She wants to ask him what he got her for her birthday just to see his little panicked reaction. She wants to ask him if she can run away to his house in Piedmont and never come back.

Instead, she just watches his face. He always looks so tired these days, and she wonders if he ever sleeps at all if she’s not on the phone with him. She knows that sometimes he doesn’t get to sleep even when she is on the phone with him. Sometimes she wakes up and the time is still ticking on the call and he seems startled when she mumbles good morning.

“Pacifica!” Mom’s voice calls up the stairs, and she almost jumps out of her skin. “It’s time for the cake and the presents, dear,” she says, and the pet name makes her wrinkle her nose.

“I have to go,” she says. She’d rather do anything in the world than hang up, and she thinks it shows, because Dipper looks more than a little guilty.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just sit here staring at you,” he says, and if she didn’t have to go she’d probably tease him for it. “Let me know what kind of car you get. I bet it’ll be an Edison. Your dad is just like that guy.”

She laughs. “Can I call you again later? Like, for bed or… something?” She asks, speaking quickly so he can’t hear the desperation in her voice.

“Of course,” he says without even a second of hesitation, and it makes her chest squeeze with fondness.

She ends the call without saying goodbye. She usually does. She hates saying goodbye, and it’s not like she won’t talk to him later, anyway. Still, she lingers at her desk for an extra second after the call is over like she’s waiting for him to call her back and scold her for it or something. She knows that he won’t. Even though they joke a lot about how terrible she used to be, Dipper rarely takes it upon himself to correct her for her social missteps, not unless she directly hurts him or Mabel by it.

Her eyes slide down to her desk drawer, and with a paranoid glance at her door, she pulls it open.

Emancipation papers.

Printing them out had marked her very first use of the Gravity Falls Library, a service her parents believed was for poor people. Once they’re filed, she guesses that’ll be her. It’d be nice if they bought me a car before I was out of here.

“Pacifica! What are you doing up there? You’re keeping everyone waiting.”

She shoves the drawer closed and trudges back downstairs.

They don’t get her a car. Giving her that much control over her own life would be against the rules, wouldn’t it? But when she calls Dipper later that night, he assures her that she’s welcome to use his car whenever she wants once she gets out of there, and she knows that he means it.

[ronearoundblindly]

Zones and Photography for Fools Rush In! Steve. Preferably pre-nomad 😆

I read every update of yours as soon as I get the notification. Keep up the good work. You are amazing <333333

From this dirty ask game but okay, wait, I hope I'm understanding this correctly.

Fools Rush In!Steve is post-canon--he's a version of Steve that came back after replacing the Stones from Endgame,--so technically, he already went through his actual Nomad years. I'm gonna have to assume you me pre-Dignity of His Choice (since that's when he kinda looks like Nomad or Ari Levinson whoops again) which is fine because after all of Dignity's angst, I'm sure people are afraid of where that leaves us--terrible of me to leave y'all hanging so long, sorry. OH CRAP! Welp. This is gonna have some spoilers sorta kinda for the honeymoon fic in the works...Yes, Ro, but when will we ever get that f***ing thing???

So. Right. Here we go! Sorry, but MINORS DNI for these still.

woahhhhh omg he glows so pretty 🫠🤤

Z - Zones

Oh boy, oh boy!

Is it hot in here??? Just me? Sure. That checks out.

Steve has diminished sensitivity after the serum. It makes him stronger to feel less pain, but it's slightly more difficult in nearly ever other aspect of life. He feeds his tactile experience with the acuity of his enhanced senses. Ever heard the expression 'eating with your eyes?' Like that.

The sight of you, the smell of you, what you sound like, how you taste, these are all things he can absorb to fill in the gaps of his touch.

Now, the caveat? He's not a fucking idiot. He can tell if you are kissing, biting, scratching, or gripping him. He knows these are things you do for your enjoyment as well, so that fuels his entertainment during sex. After a whole lot of wallowing over how disconnected he felt without sensitivity, he understands this actually brings you two closer together because pleasure and intimacy is truly a shared experience.

Uh. Also. His neck. No judgment but he can hear and smell you very well if you pay attention to his neck. That's pretty great. He likes that.

P - Photography

Honestly, I just want to burst out laughing even imagining Steve taking a dick pic much less sending it 🤣 If he did do something like that, it would be an accident, and that boi would rush into some lab and insist there was a super secret mission to completely delete the contents of your phone before you opened it. I feel like he'd be lucky if he didn't just smash the phone itself out of panic. Seriously, I'M IN TEARS. Just no, hard no on the sending nudes.

I also think he'd be super worried about privacy if you sent them. The idea is sound, and it's not like he wouldn't enjoy them. Steve doesn't trust technology that much though, so not digital. Analog. Old school is the way to go. Which bring us to this cheeky bastard on his honeymoon with Keeps.

Enjoy this excerpt I've sat on for a year!

“What’s that?” “Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.” He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you. “Thought they’d be nice for the trip.” You weigh it in your hands and eye the Polaroid then switch with Steve. “That’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag. As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around. Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your camera and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans. He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead. He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle. “Yes, out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke. “It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Also, lest we forget, Steve has an incredible memory. He does not need footage to remember exactly what it looks like when his cock is slowly dragging in and out of you, or how your ass jiggles as he ::cough:: enthusiastically fucks makes love to you ::cough::

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

SKETCH, MY BELOVED...

[forkloverr]

Hi! <3

I saw your Jim headcanons in time of crisis, and boy i’m glad! They were very nice and i loved them. I’m kinda having a bit of a bad day, the usual, so…

I wanted to kinda request some headcanons (or one-shot, whatever works for you) of Jim Hawkins with a sad gn! (or fem if you’d prefer that) reader. Just they’re very emotional, crying some, watching sad childhood movie scenes (cough Married Life from Up cough) and just needing some comfort and reassurance.

So sorry to bother, i wasn’t totally sure if your requests are open so i wanted to give it a shot, no pressure to write this whatsoever! You could literally just write something soft for Jim and i would be over the moon. Remember to take care of yourself first! <3

hello love! thank you so much, i'm so sorry you're having a bad day :( and don't worry! i love getting requests <3 i hope this is alright, i adore this idea, thank you 🤍 (take care as well!!)

What. A. Disaster. Not only are the skies filled with an unpleasant and dreary forecast, but you totally failed today's test at the Academy. Everything this past week--no- month has gone wrong. Unbearable sadness and stress have been building up inside you- with no outlet to escape. You can barely think a coherent thought. All that occupies your mind is the burning question: "when will it get better?" As you trudge through the squishy, muddy, path home, an idea strikes you. If you had one wish in the world, it would be to go back to being a kid. No responsibilities, besides chores of course. No anxiety, no sadness, just glee and bliss. (or so your mind believes) One way to live that dream is to re-watch your favorite childhood classics. Yes- that's it! That'll cheer you up for sure, who doesn't love those movies? Maybe this day would take a turn for the better. You enter your shared apartment, making sure not to bring in mud on the fresh floor. Tossing your bag on the floor, you make your way to the shower. The LAST thing you want is to catch a cold. The warm water wraps around you like a big toasty hug, giving you at least a couple minutes of serenity. But as soon as you step out, the only warmth is the steam on your mirror. And the sadness returns. After drying your hair, you slip into your precious comfy pajamas and make your way to your bedroom. Your covers greet your body, and you're ready to relax and reopen memories that haven't resurfaced in years. You decide to put on "Upward," (wink wink) you remember watching this movie every night as a kid. A perfect pick. Everything was fine, your body was melted into the mattress, the lights were off, soft pillows surrounding you, until that scene came on. Oh. What you didn't remember is just how heartbreaking this movie actually is. Your sugarcoated nostalgia charmed you to pick a movie you thought would make you feel better, which in turn, made you feel worse. So. So. So much worse. The screen became blurry, blocked out by the tears swelling in your eyes. That was your breaking point. All of the sorrow and pain built up comes rushing out, a neverending collection of tears stroking your face. Hiccups, sobs, and whimpers escape your lips, and the sadness completely swallows you up. That is, until your loving boyfriend, Jim, opens your door. "Hey star, just wanted to let you know I'm home." He gently speaks, peering through the small crack in the door. All he hears is the soft hum of a movie, and... sobs? "Star?? Are you alright?" His voice now has a tone of concern. He enters the dim room, eyes trailing up to your crying figure. "oh..." Jim rushes to your side, slipping under the covers with you. You lean your head on him, only wanting to be held by him. He holds your body like you're porcelain, caressing you as you cry into his arms. "Do you... want to talk about it?" He softly whispers into your ear. The only response he gets is a choked-back sob. "I'm guessing not. That's ok, you don't have to talk." He pauses. "I'm here for you, I always will be. I know what abandonment feels like, and I want you to know whatever you're going through, I'll always be by your side." Your dry yet also tear-stained eyes look up and meet his loving eyes, then you cry even harder because he's just amazing, more than you could ever ask for. You cling to his shirt, afraid if you let go he'll fade away, like a dream gone too soon. Jim rubs his hand along your back, tracing shapes and patterns in an attempt to soothe you. (spoiler alert: it's working) You swallow dryly as the sobs finally stop, finally feeling that sleepy sensation you get after a good cry. The calm after the storm. You snuggle your head into his chest, collecting the warmth radiating from him. Before you can thank Jim, or even actually say a word, your eyes heavily close, and your breaths mirror the beginning of sleep. Jim notices this shift, and chuckles softly. "Even stuffy and red, you're still my beautiful star.." --☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--☆--

[blush-blush-imagines]

Cuddling headcanons for Seth, Cole and Volks pls?

Another Anon asked for Seth and Scale Cuddling Headcanons, so they’re all getting rolled together.

Also this got posted on mobile, so, if things look awkward that would be why

~ Mod Sirina

Volks

Not being much for conversation, Volks genuinely appreciates a good quiet cuddle from time to time.

Prefers being big spoon or just cradling you in his lap, he might play with your hair or fiddle with the tips of your fingers

He’ll just rest his head in the crook of your neck, taking in your smell, very obviously relaxed.

Sometimes he’ll pepper your neck, jaw and maybe a cheek with little kisses and maybe a nibble or two.

Overall he’s a very unintrusive cuddler to boot, so he frequently just holds you while you keep on doing whatever it was you were up to beforehand.

Scale

He insists that he hates cuddles because Ninja Assassins can never be in a vulnerable position ever.

Which. Okay. He’s in ‘vulnerable positions’ around you all the time, if you catch my meaning. But whatever.

However, after forcing him into a nice cuddle night the root of the problem dawns on you very quickly.

Cuddles make him sleepy.

So most of the time, whether he likes it or not, he ends up cradled in your lap, arms loosely around you, and quietly sleeping.

It’s… Very heartwarming, seeing him in such a peaceful state. Especially when you gently stroke his hair and he gets the tiniest smile on his face.

Cole

Cole ends up taking a lot of pages out of Volks’ book but cranks it up way higher.

He’s a sucker for even being in your proximity, so the idea of gently holding you while you go about your tasks alone is extremely appealing to him

But his grip is always a little tighter. His little kisses and nibbles are always a little rougher.

But he will always always prefer direct one-on-one cuddling, with nothing else going on.

Just you and him holding each other. Perhaps quietly whispering sweet nothings in your own corner of the world.

But on occasion he also suddenly squeezes you as hard as he can, as if he’s scared you’ll just slip through his fingers…

Seth

He’s very good for cuddling. Not because he’s very comfy- he’s rather bony actually- but he’s very warm

A comfortable warm. Toasty, even.

But also on account of the warmth not being something he can turn off, cuddles in warm weather are probably a hard no.

Because there are few things worse than sweaty cuddles.

This is fine by him, because things are already so cold around here anyway. You’re cold.

He copes by just absolutely covering you with hickeys and love bites

Because say what you will, it does make you less frigid

Like holding onto a cup of plain, slightly cold water in the middle of winter, instead of holding an ice cube

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (106-110)

Quick return to summaries, for: in which two dorks get married.

106 - Jitters

“It’s stressing me out,” Jared says. “Like, obviously I love Bryce, I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t, but like, figuring out how to say it and not like, embarrassing myself in front of everyone? I dunno. It’s hard.”

“You are your father’s son,” his mom says, and Jared can’t even argue that. His dad’s fucking awful at this kind of stuff, so Jared inherited it honestly, he guesses. Like, it’s so really clear his dad thinks his mom’s the shit? Jared’s over being embarrassed by his parents being happy in their relationship. But his dad kind of sucks at the expressing good emotions bit, to the point where him saying something really nice is the kind of thing that sticks with you for a long time because of how rare it is, but at the same time, Jared’s never doubted his dad loves him, and Erin, and his mom.

Jared is SO MUCH his father’s son, in a way he generally refuses to acknowledge, and yes, they’re both straight up awful at expressing their feelings, but no one doubts Jared loves Bryce after any time spent around the two of them. Ditto Don with Susan. (It horrified Jared and Erin as kids, how gross in love their dad was. Marcus Mathesons will be able to relate.)

“You’re not going to be a troll with your grandkids, are you?” Jared says, doubling down on the making her feel old since she can’t make him set the table twice.

“Oh no,” his mom says. “I’ll treat them like gold and spoil them rotten until they doubt every story you tell about me being a troll.”

Rude.

“Oh god,” she mutters. “I’m my mother.”

“Grandma’s a saint,” Jared says.

“Well,” she says. “At least I know firsthand that the strategy works. Table.”

She is going to do it and it is going to WORK and none of the M&Ms will doubt their grandmas are saints, no matter how much Jared insists only Elaine is actually a saint.

With a week to go Jared realises he totally forgot to ask Arvan for time off, and he only realises when he hears Raf ask Arvan for time off, that time off being, oh, Jared’s wedding.

“Um, me too!” Jared says. “And Chaz. We kind of need to all take that off.”

Raf gives him an utterly disgusted look

Raf will tell this story for YEARS, along with Bryce and Jared meeting. So many unflattering stories about Jared that Raf was forced to witness.

“It’s cool if you’re — you know it’s normal, right? To have — doubts.” “Cool, but I don’t have any,” Jared says. “…do you have cold feet?”

Bryce makes a very dismissive noise.

Please, Bryce has been ready for years at this point.

Him and Julius go over to his parents for his last dinner as like, an unmarried man — weird — and Jared’s half waiting all dinner for his dad to like, grab his shoulder and go ‘if you’ve changed your mind…’ or something, but he doesn’t. Best behaviour. Mom probably threatened him.

Honestly proud of Don for not doing that. (Susan definitely threatened him)

How’s the lake house?”

“It’s huge,” Bryce says. “You’re going to be so annoyed.”

I love that Bryce’s first thought about the place is ‘wow, this is so nice — that’s going to piss Jared off’, and he’s RIGHT.

107 - Preparation

“Nervous?” Julius asks him over breakfast.

“My feet are toasty warm,” Jared says, and after a very confused look from Julius, breakfast is briefly derailed to explain the concept of cold feet and no, Jared doesn’t know why it’s called cold feet, and then they’re looking up the etymology and Julius is making disgusted noises because it’s just based on some dude writing the words and it sticking, no actual clarification as to why

Nope, no proper origin to this idiom either. Enraging. I am Julius in this matter.

His dad insists on driving, saying it’s because Jared will be distracted, but actually because he’s a control freak who can’t handle not driving himself. Jared doesn’t fight it — he doesn’t know the area around the lake house at all, and if they get lost his dad will be unnervingly backseat stressed about it — but the fact that Julius gets dibs on the front seat, because ‘he’s a guest’, in Jared’s car, on Jared’s wedding day?

Jared sulks in the backseat, bags stacked between him and Erin like a barricade.

Shades of the blanket already. The brother Jared never had.

Elaine meets them outside, steering them towards the main house — apparently Bryce is getting ready in the bunk house, and Jared is very tempted to like, cut and run in that direction. It’s dumb. He’ll see him in three hours. He’s still considering it. “Don’t even think about it,” Elaine says cheerfully, apparently wise to Jared.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Jared protests.

“Bryce made that exact face when we heard your car pull in,” Elaine says. “Gail and my mom have him covered, and Gordie’s been instructed to stop you at the door by any means necessary.”

Do not mistake Elaine’s kindness for weakness.

“Wait, are there bigger rooms than this?” Jared asks. Because if so, this place is insane: this room’s the size of their living room and dining room combined. Maybe Bryce was right that Jared would be annoyed by how big it is — stupid thing to be annoyed by, considering how many people need to stay over, but there’s big and then there’s obnoxiously big.

It is nice and Jared is annoyed, just as Bryce predicted.

How’re you feeling? Jared texts.

pretty great get to marry the love of my life today, Bryce says

Bryce.

“Yeah, me too,” Erin says. “But it’s a pretty dress, so.”

Cue another twirl.

With a dress that swishy, you gotta twirl -- Erin is only doing what is necessary.

“Honey,” she says. “There’s going to be crying today. You’re probably going to cry today.”

He refuses.

“Bryce has already cried at least three times already,” Elaine says. Oh god. Every time Bryce cries Jared wants to cry. This is going to be a disaster.

Jared often stubbornly believes things despite evidence to the contrary, but I continue to have no idea how he thought he would get through his wedding day without crying.

There are going to be many matching PJs in his life, won’t there? He can’t even bring himself to mind.

It’s gonna get REAL cute with three generations in the same pjs.

“Wait, you gave Erin the rings?” Jared asks. “Why does Erin have our rings?”

“Because I’m maid of honour,” Erin says, with a little eyeroll like ‘duh’. “I’m standing up there with you, so I get the rings.”

“Do not do something to them,” Jared says. “Don’t — pretend you’ve lost them, or drop them, or—”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Erin says, sounding almost hurt.

Jared does not believe her.

“I wouldn’t do that to Bryce,” Erin adds.

Bryce is the brother ERIN never had. Because her brother is much worse than Bryce.

“When have you even tied bow ties?” Jared asks.

“Haven’t since my own wedding, but I looked it up on YouTube just in case you needed the help,” his dad says. “Now quit talking, I’m focusing.”

“Okay,” Jared says, and it looks pretty good after the third time his dad subjects him to a ‘wait, fuck, I’m trying again’.

“Don’t tell your mom I fixed your bow tie,” his dad says. “She looked it up on YouTube too, and she even bought one to practice with, she’ll be annoyed with herself.”

This right here encapsulates the Mathesons. A lot of snark and plenty of faults, but these hobgoblins love one another a lot. (Also randomly sneaky about their kindness because can't be obvious about their loving acts, how embarrassing.)

His mom wipes his eyes for him. “I did a really good job on that bow tie,” she says, sounding pleased.

“A great job,” Jared says, and bites down a smile when his dad gives him a thumbs up behind her back.

<3 Mathesons.

108 - Impaired Judgment (and other excuses for falling in love)

I’ve said it before, but this was the original title of the series, shortened for a few reasons (mostly brevity), and it felt right to use it for this part.

“Your dad spent the entire morning of our wedding day convinced I wasn’t going to show up,” his mom says. “You’re doing fine.”

“I didn’t really think that,” his dad mutters. “It was just a possibility.” If Jared was marrying literally anyone else, that’d probably bring the freak out to a new height, except it’s Bryce, so it doesn’t.

Seriously, can you imagine Bryce not following through with it? I can’t. Jared can’t. Dude’s cried with joy three times today in the presence of his mom alone. Nothing could get him to miss this.

Chaz does this goofy salute at him when Jared glances over the crowd of people ready to witness the inevitable mortification, and Jared smiles back weakly.

The person unironically referring to his time at the altar as ‘inevitable mortification’ does not get to call other people goofy.

“I’m not hugging you,” Erin says, when his dad finally lets go.

“Didn’t ask you to,” Jared says, which apparently is the permission Erin needs to hug him.

It’s like he doesn’t know her at all. Of course that’s the permission. Also: every time Erin and Jared hug my grinchy heart grows two sizes.

Jared looks over, sees Elaine and Bryce coming out of the back door of the bunk house, their hair glinting gold in the summer light and Bryce’s tux tailored perfectly, some full on James Bond suave shit going on, and Jared just — he gets to marry him.

We have TWO soppy ass dudes in this relationship, I don’t care what Jared says.

Who would dare pointed cough at him in the middle of his wedding? It’s probably a Matheson. Or Julius. Jared bets it was fucking Julius.

Chaz had a ticklish throat, sorry for LIVING.

Who let Jared open his mouth, holy shit. Someone stop him.

An excellent summary of Jared’s vows and also Jared’s life.

“I was such an angry person when I met you,” Bryce says. “Angry, and unhappy, and not — I didn’t want to be who I was. I didn’t like me. I didn’t like pretty much anyone. But god I liked you. And I wanted you to like me back so bad. And somehow you did, even though I wasn’t someone who even close to deserved you. And my biggest goal since I met you has been to become someone who does. And I don’t think I’m there yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be, but I promise you that’s going to continue to be something I strive towards every single day for the rest of my life.”

Bryce Marcus in his feelings is my number one kryptonite, and it got me good again.

He shakes his head, because he knows Bryce worked on it. Draft after draft, probably, trying to articulate his feelings for Jared, managing to land on the most devastating words possible, because he’s devastating in the best way possible.

Jared inhales, exhales, tries to get his breathing under control. Bryce waits for him to try to put himself together, and if Jared hadn’t been sure he wanted to marry him before this — and obviously he was pretty fucking sure — that would have done it, all by itself.

I’m not crying, you’re crying.

109 - Wedded Bliss

“Have a great season, guys,” she says, and Jared’s all panicky, suddenly, wondering if she’s a fan, which team she’s a fan of, before realising like — maybe she is a fan, maybe she isn’t, no way to know. If he was her, signing a non-disclosure agreement, he’d be immediately looking up the names if he didn’t recognise them, wondering what made an NDA necessary in the first place. And even if she is a fan, she’s not going to snitch; like, she signed a binding contract that would open her up to being sued for everything she’s worth, and also she’d probably lose her marriage licence…thing or whatever.

Besides, no Flames fan would be able to tell an Oiler to have a great season with a straight face.

Jared going through all the possibilities before stating the obvious.

(This reminds me of a fun fact I learned recently: in a map showing most hated teams by state and province, Alberta’s most hated team? The Calgary Flames. Meanwhile the Boston Bruins has all of Eastern Canada and two of three territories, for the largest geographical spread, good work dudes.)

“No one’s going to look at a picture of you standing alone in a tux and say, ‘hey, he must have been getting married to a man who plays for his rival team’,” his mom says dryly, which — fair point.

I mean…

“Bear, come here for a sec? I need a favour,” Elaine says, and Bryce immediately stops mid-conversation with Chaz and Ash and trots over, like the momma’s boy he is. Ridiculous.

Jared blinks when Elaine’s phone goes off. “Much better,” she says. “Thanks, honey.”

“I didn’t —” Bryce says, sounding confused, and Jared shrugs at him.

Elaine knows all the tricks. Jared’s smile went from strained to soppy watching that jog.

But, then, fuck it. He doesn’t need excuses. They’re literally all at his and Bryce’s wedding, who’s going to complain about a little kissing?

“Hey,” Bryce says, wrapping an arm around him when he comes over, mouth surprised against Jared’s when he kisses him, but only for a second before he’s kissing back.

“Okay, no,” Erin says. “Stop.”

Erin. Erin will complain about a little kissing. (They're so happy they get to kiss in front of PEOPLE. While OUTSIDE. Downright giddy.)

Also, Jared is pretty sure at a normal wedding, him and Bryce would get first crack at the food, but nope, he’s got to wait in line like everyone else even though he’s starving. Julius won’t let Jared butt in front of him, all ‘just because you’re married now doesn’t make you special’. Julius is the fucking worst. Jared can’t believe he even invited him.

I’ve said it before, but: truly the friend Jared deserves.

“So Jared’s like ‘I’ve never hated someone more in my life’ and ‘what a stupid flashy car Bryce Marcus has, don’t you hate Bryce too, Raf, I hate him so much that I can’t stop talking about him’ and ‘how dare Bryce Marcus say a single word to me, doesn’t he realise how much I loathe him, that handsome bane of my existence’, and he’s blushing bright red every time Bryce walks within ten feet of us, and—”

IJ(aoe), Act I: a summary.

“You didn’t bring lube?” Bryce says.

“No?” Jared says.

“You forgot lube?” Bryce hisses.

From comedy to tragedy.

Jared has to get up to hit the lights — they played rock-paper-scissors for it and Bryce lost but then he looked so dejected Jared got up anyway

True love right there.

“Thanks for marrying me,” Bryce murmurs.

There are so, so many sarcastic responses on Jared’s tongue. So many. And Jared’s sure that Bryce is expecting one, wouldn’t mind, would probably even laugh. But like. He doesn’t want to say any of them. And if there’s any time he can be like, unselfconsciously sappy, he thinks his wedding night probably qualifies.

“It was my privilege,” Jared says, cheeks heating anyway, because apparently nope, there is no time that he can be unselfconsciously sappy up to and including his wedding night, but the smile on Bryce’s face, small and sweet and almost shy, the way it lingers when Jared kisses him, well, it’s worth any embarrassment Jared feels.

They’re so gross, I love them.

110 - Refuge

And they order Thai from their usual place, but Jared doesn’t know if the orders got swapped or someone was new or not paying attention or what, because his usual order is his usual order, except there’s shrimp instead of chicken in his noodles and he can smell shellfish the second he opens his soup, and Bryce is ridiculous when he calls them back, all ‘how can you not see ‘shellfish allergy’ in the notes’ and ‘do you want to kill him?’, like Jared would actually die and not just be moderately to severely uncomfortable if he ate it, which he hadn’t.

Jared is right on the verge of telling Bryce how ridiculous he is when he remembers his dad’s pre-wedding advice, and he bites his tongue and lets Bryce take care of it, even if Bryce’s version of taking care of it is a total overreaction.

Bryce is PROTECTING HIS MAN. And look at Jared listening to his dad’s advice.

There’s a tiny part of Jared that’s faintly appalled he hasn’t left the house for days, hasn’t put on a shirt in just as long — Bryce has offered to be the one to get dressed every time they order food

Bryce transparently wanting to be the provider. Also not wanting Jared to put any clothes on.

“So hey,” Bryce says. He’s trying to make it sound casual, but it doesn’t, and Jared squints up at him suspiciously.

"I want us to keep wearing our wedding rings,” Bryce says.

Bryce being the initiatior of the first step of many that leads to their eventual outing. (I mean, the wedding would also count, but these rings get scrutinized at the time and then down the line).

“You’re worth like, everything,” Bryce says. “You know that, right?” Jared presses his face tighter against Bryce’s shirt, Bryce’s thumb tracing the heated shell of his ear.

Oh kids.

“So you’re okay with it?” Bryce says.

“If you stop saying nice things to me for like, at least an hour,” Jared says. “Then okay.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bryce says solemnly.

“Okay,” Jared says.

“I love you,” Bryce says.

“Bryce!” Jared says.

“That’s not a nice thing, that’s just like, a fact,” Bryce says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jared says, then commences to pull Bryce’s shirt up and stick his head under it, because the only way Jared can maintain the absolute fiction that he’s not blushing is to hide his face.

Jared would protest vociferously, but: he is adorable.

Bryce sacks out early that night, exhausted from his day of lounging around the couch and like, complimenting Jared too much. Jared’s half tempted to poke him awake to just like, not have the honeymoon end yet, but that’s mean. He looks so peaceful, Jared can’t do that to him.

Jared’s a place Bryce can rest, and he takes that role seriously.

[miss-tc-nova]

Naga Pet in Winter - Jamil

Been thinking about the twst pet!au created by glass cage of emotion 12 (now deactivated but you may find remnants of their writing) which is also based on the pet!au made by twst-drabbles.

Also, I just needed to write something fun. It's been a while.

So have a pet!au Jamil who can't handle the cold.

~~~~~

Your poor pet does not handle winter all that well.

As a naga, Jamil is all about that warmth and while he’s not entirely cold-blooded, he doesn’t generate enough body heat himself to endure freezing temps.

You can always tell when the weather is getting a bit too cold for him by the sluggishness that possesses him.

The typically-productive pet suddenly takes longer to complete his usual tasks, he forgoes the hobbies he enjoys, and he definitely takes longer to get out of bed in the morning.

If he usually runs errands with you, he’ll be less likely to volunteer to join you, preferring to remain in the shelter of your own home.

Don’t even ask him to participate in any snow shenanigans. Might end up in a vet visit otherwise.

Still, he’ll try to resist any pity you may give him. He says he’s fine and will still try to do the things you ask, so you better just take the initiative.

Around the house, creating warm spaces is essential. Space heaters, heat pads, and hot water bottles will go a long way to making this snek boi happy.

Wrapping him in blankets is also a good defense against the cold. As a bonus, he’ll also be a defenseless burrito ripe for cuddling.

Alternatively, be under the covers with him and he’ll be beyond ecstatic to share your body heat. He’ll try to contain the happiness, but you can feel it in the strength of his arms around you.

Once he’s all roasty-toasty, Jamil can easily be lulled into relaxing. He’s usually such a busy body—trying so hard to keep you happy—that seeing a pleasant little snek-cocoon sitting on the sofa is such a sweet sight.

If you ever wanted to play dress up with your pet, good news! You need to make sure he is layered when going out.

Usually he enjoys the casual layers. Give that boy a tank top under a long-sleeve shirt under a sweater under a hoodie. Maybe more if necessary.

On the other hand, he’s not opposed to some fancier layers. Dress him up with a button up shirt, a nice coat, and a scarf and he’ll feel some pride in his looks as long as he’s warm.

If, for any reason, you don’t have the space heaters and heat pads or you’re in a rush to get out the door and he’s not ready, fear not! For naga pets have not only the human and naga forms, but also, the snake form.

They’re actually one of the few pets that have more than two forms.

Jamil is quite portable as a snake.

He’ll coil in your lap, maybe hang out in the pocket of your hoodie.

He’d never admit he’d enjoy one of those cat hoodies with the pocket to carry cats around in.

But he wouldn’t say no if it’s just around the house.

Jamil’s favorite place to absorb heat though is around your neck.

Hiding beneath your jackets and scarves or your hair if it’s long enough, he hoards the heat you radiate like a dragon with treasure.

And he feels closer to you, sometimes pressing the top of his scaly head against your cheek.

Long walks like this are ill-advised though. He may be a snake, but he’s still a big snake and that weight around your neck isn’t great long term.

Also, let him sleep here at your own risk. This is one of the few times that Jamil will willfully resist any orders. This is his favorite spot. You may have to resort to physically removing him.

Beware the pouting afterwards though.

All-in-all, Jamil becomes an easy target for teasing when the weather cools, but he’s so cute while doing it. He’s normally happy to spend time cuddling, but expect a bit of clinginess in winter. He needs that warmth.

~~~~~

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[sugarsnappeases]

actually. whats your 1. favorite food 2. favorite drink (hot and cold) 3. favorite color

hiiiiii (assuming this is just you double checking w the knowledge you already have in ur (our) brain)

1. okay pretty much every single day when i’m home from uni i have a toastie with pesto, mozzarella and tomato so i reckon that’s probs pretty high on the list (i don’t have a toastie maker, or the money for mozzarella when i’m at uni lol so i have to stock up when i get home). my fave food for when i am at uni tho is probs the falafel wraps that you can get from the little kebab vans that come out at night they’re so fucking delicious and the main reason i ever go out clubbing is just to get one on the way home

2. aaa this is a good question bc i am not much of a hot drink enjoyer so i would probs just say like. tea. for a hot drink OH or maybe a chai latte i had one yesterday they’re such good vibes… for cold drinks i think depends on the vibe, like alcohol-wise i’ve recently become an avid red wine drinker (in fact i’m a tad red wine tipsy as i type this) but i’ve also recently been really craving like a nice crisp apple juice idk

3. my fave colour is either pink or red sorry to be indecisive!! but also if you could see me in person (once again lamenting the fact that we can’t hang out all the time) you would know that i own an absurd amount of pink shirts and like half my central accessories are red oh and i also have my precious darling hot pink gogo boots and also my hair tends to oscillate between like varying shades of brown and either red or pink mostly red…. i also quite like orange. i’m wearing an orange jumper rn

anyway that was a lot of rambling but love you!!

[citruslullabies]

Can you do a sickfic for Stein x Spirit when they’re younger and Spirit is taking care of Stein?

Sure can hon! Really sorry for the wait, I've been sick

Trigger warnings: none

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: anonymous

Category: sick fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): younger!Spirit Albarn x younger!sick!Stein

Word count: 314

Love is The Best Medicine

The two young men were close as peas in a pod, despite the very large contrast in personalities. Opposites attract I suppose.

But there was one VERY large difference between them. When Spirit Albarn was sick, he acted like he was dying. And when Stein was sick he acted like it was nothing at all and continued to push through everything, until this time he actually vomited while trying to stand up and walk around from the couch when Spirit was over. So before his friend could protest, the man took it upon herself to baby his friend in the very same way he'd want to be babied.

“Open wideeee~” Albarn cooed, holding a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon up to his mouth. Having a large smile despite Stein’s very obvious glare with a puffy red nose and pale lips. “Respectfully, fuck off.” The scientist said in response to his friend, but before he could shut his mouth in went the spoon.

Albarn hummed and shrugged, glad he managed to get the other to eat even just one spoonful. He set the bowl down for Stein to feed himself if he really wanted to, and instead checked the blankets which he had made sure were nice and toasty for the other. He carefully laid them up on his friend, and tied Stein’s hair back to help in case he needed to throw up again.

Stein sighed, hesitantly grabbing the bowl of soup since the broth did help his throat. He stared into the liquid and thick noodles as he took small bites. “..you're insufferable.” He said, before shushing himself with the warm liquid that felt heavenly going down his throat. He supposed he'd let Albarn stay with him this once.

Too bad the in the next few days he got a whiny and pitiful call from Albarn saying he was dying.

Thanks for requesting!

[cherryluvrx3]

meat lovers amirite??

Dave Strider x Reader x Karkat Vantas

Chapter 2

It’s been two days since I ordered that pizza and it’s been two days having that smug brat with the nametag “Dave” stuck in my brain.

Honestly I don’t know why I keep thinking about him.

Maybe because it’s been a while since a guy who wasn’t Gamzee has been nice to me or played along with my jokes? Or that he actually seems like a cool guy? Oh geez he is genuinely cool and he knows it. That’s probably why he seems so full of himself- but it’s like you can’t get mad because he has good REASON to be full of himself. I haven’t talked to anyone new my age since I was like a sophomore. The friends I have now are cool of course but I need to start making new bonds! New memories! I’m a senior! I should be talking to more people- well they preferably should be ones from my school but guys who work at Pizza Hut could also work!

Well anyways, as I was saying before, Mr. Dave who works at Pizza Hut has been on the brain and unfortunately for me, my friends also see him as a golden opportunity for me to open up the romance section of my life. So, he, a guy who doesn’t know us, and a guy who we don’t even know has become a recurring topic that my friends can’t just leave alone. Well I guess they’re just trying to help me get a boyfriend.. but still!

——— two days ago..

After I closed the door, I was already prepared to listen to the four dickbags I call friends tease and mock me till the sun goes down, well actually, three guys because Terezi’s sole focus was tearing up the pizza she just snatched from my hands.

“OoooH! Would you look at that? I think someone actually has a little crush?” Roxy giggled as she pulled out cups. “Oh my- shut up Rox. I literally just met the guy, saying I have a ‘crush’ is total delusion.” I grumbled snatching a cup from her.

“Really? Then what was with how you were acting hmm?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You were totally trying to impress him by ‘acting’ cool and don’t lie! You tried to drag out the conversation just to talk to him more!” Roxy smiled slyly and bumped me with her hip. I tried to hide the embarrassment on my face by digging my head in the fridge, pretending to look for something.

“Mhm! If you ask me -” “No one’s asking-” “I THINK! That adorable, nervous way you were acting was totally a purrfect example of having a crush!” “I'M JUST NATURALLY SHY!” I shout to Nepeta as I see her already adding Dave and editing her mental shipping chart. “Says the guy who’s currently blowing a motherfucker’s ear off..” Gamzee groaned as he was right next to me when I yelled. “Ah sorry..”

“Yeah right they have a crush on that guy! He’s ugly just like I thought!” Terezi laughed while still chewing all the food stuffed in her mouth.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Uh…Rezi?.. You’re blind ‘member..? Roxy awkwardly laughed.

“Okay and!? I can just tell! He has like- ugly energy y'know? I can smell it on him!” she said defensively, again, with food in her mouth.

“If you can smell anything on him it’s probably fuckin’ pizza grease.” I grumbled.

“I thought he was purrty cute right?” Nepeta asked Gamzee who was chugging a bottle of faygo that he pulled out of nowhere. “Hmm… he wasn’t too bad… the shades make him look a little douche-y though..” He murmured, now more focused on getting some sausage slices before Terezi ate them all.

“So?” Roxy slid next to me with a sly smile.

“So...?”

“Well are ya gonna try to get to know him or not?” She asked in a somewhat exasperated tone. I sighed before speaking, “Ok, lets say, hypothetically, I have somewhat of an interest in getting to know him- as a friend, literally how would I do that?” I asked before taking a bite of a slice that looked… extra burnt?

“I think they fucked up on the peperoni..” Gamzee pointed out how it was much more.. toasty. “Shit, I’ll eat it!” Terezi said, snatching up the most burnt piece and biting into it like nothing.

“..anyways!” Roxy said, bringing me back into the convo. “You can uh..hm..call? Right now? and complain about the burnt pizza so he can come give us a replacement?”

“Girl that’s not flirty, that's just asking for a new pizza.” I deadpanned. “Besides, it's not all burnt and it doesn't seem like Terezi minds eating it- god her jaw just unhinges like a snake..”

“Well you can call tomorrow for pizza to eat?” Nepeta offered. “Fuck I look like? A ninja turtle? I’m not eating pizza for two days in a row.” “Okay! How about like two days from now?” She pouted before shoving a cinnabon in her mouth.

“Hmm..”

“It’s the best ‘natural’ option ya got. A motherfucker gots to take chances if they wanna sniff the sweet aroma of the thorn covered flower we call love.” Gamzee patted my shoulder. “Ugh don’t let him start preaching again!” Terezi groaned, face planted on the table, clearly sick from overeating.

“I guess that’s what I’ll try..” I sighed.

———- present…

Okay.. it’s two days from now and I should call. But what do I say? Order a pizza duh! I mean when he actually gets here what do I say? I gotta stand out compared to all the other guys around town he delivers to know? But I also can’t make it super obvious I wanna get to know him because that’s… like.. creepy…

ding!

Roxy <3

-You call yet?

Tezi >:]

-if you’re gonna do it, don't pussy out!

Ugh! If I keep worrying about the details I'll never get anywhere. I’ll call now. Right now.

————

Dave sighed and blew off the imaginary dust from the counter for the third time. John keeps this place really clean.. he wished he didn’t though… no, not really. It’s more like he wanted something to do. Today was a really slow day. Only thing he could do was count the seconds or annoy Karkat but he already over did it today, the guy seemed like he was on his last thread for real. Best if he didn’t go in the back for a bit and just let Karkat make his pizzas. It was sort of therapeutic for him? In a weird way?

Whatever.

He just wanted something to do.

Normally he could just talk to Aradia who was covering John’s shift but she was out on delivery right now. Even though she was always a bit weird to talk to, that's how desperate he was for something to do.

He sighed again.

.

..

…

….

Ring ring-

He never picked up a phone so fast.

“This is Pizza Hut, what can I do for you?”

“Yeah uh.. Can I get a delivery of a small pepperoni pizza?”

“Alright.. Anything else?”

“Uhm yeah can you...”

“Uh uh?”

“Can you..ugh.. make sure to send your cutest delivery boy again? Ok thanks bye!”

and the call ended.

Oh.

Must be that one guy from before. Last time Dave went he saw their friends peeking around the corner so he could figure out that the poor guy’s friends just set them up. Does that mean they’re doing it again? Already feels a bit like an old joke to play so soon but whatever, at least he had something to do.

A few minutes later Aradia came in looking as.. Aradia like as ever.

“Hey Aradia?”

“Yes, Dave?”

“We got another order for delivery but uh.. can I take it and you’ll man the cashier?”

“Hm.. alright.” Aradia said and just tossed the keys to him which he of course caught perfectly in a cool kid manor and he was out the door.

[adelaidedrubman]

1, 6, 8 for jestiny 👁️

THANK YOU MACY these were fun:3

1. What's their most trivial fear?

i would say flying but. post helicopter crash i guess it’s not that trivial. local woman’s mild hypothetical phobia that was at least partially founded in the class anxiety of being unable to afford plane tickets now full blown ptsd from a near death experience. sad!

6. Can they draw?

she can! it’s not a skill she’s ever invested much time or effort in mastering, but she actually really enjoys doodling and sketching as an absentminded “something to do with her hands” type of thing.

8. Are they a sock person?

oh absolutely, one of the clothing items she’s more willing to drop money on. probably one of the few lessons girlie has ever learned in her life is that getting blisters halfway into a twenty mile hike is not a mistake worth repeating, so she invests in nice, thick socks that hold up and keep her toesies toasty. that being said they’re probably still all mismatched.

[fluorescentvermin]

Chapter 9

Reclaimed Factory - Charlie

With our tummies full of delicious food, we continued our way to Gage’s place. The cold night air was chilling me, I hoped that our walk wouldn’t be much longer. Surely Gage was just as cold as me, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. His arms were covered in tattoos of different colours. He had a tattoo of a snake, a heart with an arrow, a police car that was on fire, a security camera, amongst other cool designs. Where did he get these from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tattoo studio. Maybe I just haven’t been looking.

“Are you still in pain from last night?” Gage asked, scanning over me quickly.

“A little bit. I’m fine mostly. My head and ribs feel a bit tender” I wince, poking my ribs to double check.

“We have an in-house doctor at my place. Their name is Artemis. They can look you over and give you some medicine, if you’d like?”

“That sounds great actually”

“Fantastic! Bit of a warning though, Artemis is tall and super broad. They might look a little scary, but they’re a big softie”

“Okay. Noted” I nodded.

Shortly after, Gage stops in front of what looked like an abandoned factory. It had boarded up windows and the outside was littered in graffiti and posters. The only sign of life was a faint glow peeking out through the wooden boards.

"This is it! It's more homey on the inside, I promise" he smiled at me.

"Here? No. No, that's an abandoned building. Surely, you're not serious" I wager.

"It used to be. We keep it looking like this to avoid cops and other assholes"

“So, are you or are you not a squatter?” I joke half-heartedly. I wanted to lighten the mood, but I was worried about this place.

“You’re still going on about the squatter thing?” Gage laughed and rolled his eyes.

“The look of this place isn’t very convincing to your argument” I mutter. Suddenly, sounds of laughter erupted from the building.

“How’s that for timing?” Gage nudged. He walked towards the front double doors of the building, and I followed him begrudgingly. I approached slowly and analyse the windows. They're boarded up but the wooden planks don't completely cover the glass. It would let some sunshine in, but it wouldn’t be enough to fully brighten a room. I tried to peak in through the parts of the window that weren't covered. Sadly, I couldn't make out anything. This is it, be ready for anything, Charlie. Don't even go in unless you're sure it'll be safe.

I take a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. Against my better judgement, I make it to the entrance.

Gage is holding open the door, enough for me to look inside. He wasn't lying, this place looked homey. This place had charm. Old, mismatched rugs sprawled out over the metal floor, and the entrance opened into a living room of sorts. There was a couch made from canvas material I think, a table that looked like it was made from a pallet, and there were a group of people sitting around laughing and chatting. Maybe this won't be so bad, after all, why would anything suspicious happen in a place filled with laughter? I can only assume anyway. So, I walk in. Gage closed the door behind me, and I took careful notice to see if he would lock it. He took his hand off the door and walked away from it, leaving it unlocked. I can't get my hopes up yet. I don't know these people; I don't know what they're capable of.

"I see why you guys didn't want to go to the bar" Gage chuckled, approaching the people drinking.

"Gage! Apollo was just telling us about his awful hookup last night" a woman with red coloured dreads responded.

"Go on" Gage eagerly walked over and took a seat in the conversational area.

The feeling of this factory was nice. It was toasty with sounds of a distant fireplace crackling and warm light eliminating from lit candles. I decided to gingerly approach them as they chattered. I took a seat next to Gage and listened in.

"This guy was disgusting! I know it's hard sometimes for us to find running water, but it was like he didn't even put in any effort to clean himself" I'm assuming, Apollo, recalled.

With a closer look, I was able to recognize how eccentric and varied Gage's friends looked. Quite a few of them had colourful hair, but they weren't wearing the same punkish outfits like the others I had seen at the bar. A short slender woman with choppy lilac hair was wearing many things layers of comfortable looking clothes and the taller woman sitting next to had grass green hair, wearing gumboots and a dress over a turtleneck sweater.

"Hold on, who is this? Oh my goodness! Your clothes!" The woman with the green hair noticed me, concern riddling her face. Wait, did she have stubble?

"You're all dirty! You poor thing! Are you okay?" The girl with the lilac hair cooed.

I guess I hadn't thought about whether I was okay. Today had been a whirlwind. I've been cold, yelled at, lost amongst maze like streets. Just thinking about it caused a lump in my throat. I tried to answer, but tears welled in my eyes.

"I... Um" I started, but I felt the sobs crawl out of my chest.

"Oh honey!" The green haired woman rushed over, sitting next to me and putting a hand on my back.

"N-no! I'm not okay!" I stuttered through my cries. The woman with the lilac hair came over as well, pushing Gage out of the way just to rub my arm.

"What happened, sweetie?" The green haired woman continued.

"My wife kicked me out of the house and I tried to find a hotel but they wouldn't let me stay because of my stupid credit score and then I got mugged and beaten up! I don't have anything! They took my phone, my wallet, my laptop. I couldn't even find a bathroom! I had to piss in the street like an animal" I blubbered frantically. It all just bubbled out of me, I couldn't control my sad rambling.

“Is that dried blood in your hair?” The girl with the lilac hair carefully inspected my tangled hair. These two were being touchy, but it was nice to have some comfort while fat tears rolled down my cheeks.

“We’ll take you to Arty. They’ll look after you” The green hair woman insisted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up!” The lilac haired girl added.

The two of them held me as they escorted me through the living room and up the stairs, rubbing my back as I let the tears flow.

We made it up the flight of stairs. I was already out of breath by the second floor, but the women assured me there was only one more floor to go. When we finally made it, they lead me down the hallway to what looked like an examination room. Inside looked sterile with clean white walls and linoleum flooring. There was no one here except for us three, but the two women let me sit on the examination bed in the middle of the room.

“I’ll go get Arty” The lilac haired girl announced before she left the room.

“What’s your name, hon? I’m Percy. That was Nova” The green haired woman, Percy, introduced.

“My names Charlie” I squeaked. Tears still flowing.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Charlie. Don’t worry, we’ll look after you” Percy declared with a warm smile.

“Thank you”

“Your wife kicked you out of the house? That’s terrible! I’m really sorry that happened”

“I-I don’t know why. I just came home, and I couldn’t open the door. We had an argument in the hallway, and it was really embarrassing”

“I can’t believe someone would do that!”

“Tell me about it” I roll my eyes. I was able to calm down a bit, but I still felt the gravity of sadness in my stomach.

The door opened and the girl with the lilac hair, Nova, came in, followed by a tall person with wide shoulders. They barely fit through the door.

“Were you sleeping Arty? Sorry to drag you out of bed” Percy cooed.

“I was just doing some reading, it’s no problem, my child” was this Artemis? Arty? This person matched the description that Gage gave me.

“This is-“ Nova started, looking at myself and Percy.

“Charlie” Percy let out.

“Charlie! They were beaten up. Would you be able to take a look at them, Arty?” Nova continued.

“Of course. I will have to ask you two for some privacy” Artemis looked at the girls. They both nodded and made their way out of the room.

“We’ll be right here!” Nova announced. They closed the door behind them, and tension grew as I remembered the strange situation I was in.

“Before we start, I feel it’s only polite I introduce myself. My name is Artemis, and I use they/them pronouns. What are yours?” they introduced themselves, sitting on a stool with wheels.

“I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you. My pronouns are he/him” I responded with a shrug. It will be nice to meet them if they actually patch me up.                                                                     

“Now, can you tell me where you feel the most pain?”

“I know I have an open wound on the back of my head. It should have healed at least a little by now. I’m not really in too much pain right now, but my ribs, neck and shins feel tender” I explain, pointing to each spot.

“The wound on the back of your head should be easy to fix, but I’d like to take some X-rays so I can see if your bones were affected. You were able to make it here, so I doubt there are any broken bones” they explained, looking at the back of my head where the split was.

“Are you going to steal my organs?” I blurt out.

“No, Charlie” they smiled.

Artemis took some X-rays and looked them over. They say that I’m lucky, and that my bones are fine. They took me back to the examination bed and cleaned my wound before giving me a local anaesthetic and sewing my skin back together. Artemis carefully dressed my wound and gave me some painkillers. The rest of my injuries were all bruises, and they instructed me on how to look after them. After they were finished, there was a knock at the door. Artemis called out, telling the person to come in.

“How are you feeling?” Percy asked, stepping into the room with Nova behind her.

“Still hurts but the medication helps” I let out. Even though it all went smoothly, I still felt uneasy.

“You should try to sleep on your side or your stomach if you can. The wound will be tender for a couple of days” Artemis instructed.

“Did you want to have a shower?” Nova asked.

“Excellent idea. We’ll happily launder your clothes for you in the meantime” Artemis offers.

“Thank you” A nice hot shower sounds so great right now. I feel slimy.

“We’ll show you where they are! We’ve got spare clothes that you can change into” Nova added.

We headed off, through this reclaimed factory that felt more like a makeshift home than an abandoned building. The walls of this place looked new, at least compared to the cold flooring. When we got to the bathrooms, the girls let me have some privacy after showing me where everything is. The bathrooms felt strange, they looked what I would assume prison bathrooms looked like. Multiple shower stalls and sinks under a gigantic mirror. They were toilet cubicles that were separated from the showers, the mirror and sinks were connected to a freestanding wall that split the room. Did they build this?

I felt calm hearing the sound of running water as I turned the shower on. The water was lovely, warming me from my skin to my bones. I took my time while washing myself, enjoying this peaceful moment of silence.

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

[wingsdreamt]

The gray storm clouds gathering over the bluffs outside Midgar’s limits feels so fresh in his memory. Years ago. He was, unequivocally, absolutely, definitely dead up until recently. For all intents and purposes, he shouldn’t be here. Zack’s gaze briefly follows the movement of Sephiroth’s hand. Up, then back down again. 

If their positions were reversed, he’d have been just as twitchy. Zack returns his attention to the matter of sleeping arrangements should Sephiroth feel the need to save face. Granted, having the opportunity to save face and feeling safe from future incidents worthy of embarrassment while in the presence of Zack Fair are not mutually exclusive. 

“Repeating the word ‘vacation’ is not a real answer,” Zack politely reminds his companion as he feels about the joining panels of the sleeping bag and pulls them apart to search for the right seam.

He mentioned cutting, but he lacks actual cutting tools. Attempting to brute force separation and failing would be plain embarrassing, especially if he royally messed up by missing the grain and tearing the fabric at a horrible angle. Not only would they be out of a sleeping bag, but there’d be fluffy stuffing floating around everywhere. More tinder for the campfire, perhaps, though he already had a plan in mind as far as ensuring they were nice and toasty.

The sleeping bag is about halfway up to his mouth when Sephiroth gestures vaguely at his wings, and Zack’s entire face lights up. 

“That is such a great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” 

The stupid grin might suggest he did certainly think about it and that he was more titillated than anything that Sephiroth was the one to actually bring it up first.   

“Alright, let’s try this,” Zack says, his voice distorted as he clenches his incisors over a thread and snaps it with a sharp yank. The fabric splits away without exposing any stuffing. Success! Teasing the sleeping bag apart doesn’t take long after that, and soon enough they have enough surface area on the ground for both of them to sleep on with a bit of mako residue to spare. 

“Hmm…”  Zack sizes himself up, then Sephiroth, then his own wingspan. Dropping onto his stomach on one side of the spread, Zack lifts the wing opposite and tries to envision Sephiroth fitting beneath it. “Like this, maybe? Orrr…maybe on my side? I think my wing still reaches…”

More thinking, more picturing, a bit of rolling around, and Zack comes to a sudden realization. Oh, okay. They’re going to have to be real close for this to work. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through as much as he initially believed. With a little extra color on his cheeks, Zack clears his throat. 

“I mean, only if you want to.” 

The weight of an unappended ‘sir’ lingers in the silence after his last word. Perhaps it’s obvious, the way his mouth hangs open a second longer than necessary. Funny, how old habits have a life of their own.

@wingsdreamt

Given the expression he's only so successful in pretending not to be watching on Zack's face, the comment about other people rather accidentally gets a soft snort out of Sephiroth. "'Other people' have never been particularly easy for some of us to begin with." There's no real bitterness in his own contribution; it's a simple matter of fact. Zack was the people person more than anyone else he'd ever come across.

He'd thought it much nicer, better, to be alone. It had been for a long while, and he distinctly remembers his absolute resistance to that being changed, to "letting anyone in", as it were. Then the discovery was made that some individuals will simply knock holes in walls via sheer determination. It's-- A good memory. But it's bittersweet. Like seemingly everything else. Considering the circumstances, however...

He's just dragged about the last person he ever expected to see again out of a mako pool and is still slowly wrapping his mind around it when he's overcome by the realization that sharing space is really quite-- Nice. Depending on the individual, it goes without saying, but camaraderie and comfortable silences felt rare enough way back when. Sephiroth never gave much thought to the possibilities of them happening again, of the way something about the idea seems like it ought to be held on to overly tightly and not be let go of.

He's lost in thought enough that he nearly startles when Zack seemingly collapses out of nowhere. For one startlingly real moment wondering if it's all already gone wrong, half crouched and reaching out as if that would do any good at all before--

No, that's just... Zack. Being himself, in spite of everything. He doubts he lets his hand drop or settles back down in time to not be seen, witnessed, but he can't quite feel embarrassed about it.

Which makes the question blindside him several times more potently than it normally would. "Vacation." Every individual syllable sounds like it's being read off a page for the first time. An unthinkable idea before, ludicrous now.

Downright normal in its own undefinable way. Right down to the swirling feeling of exasperated amusement that he's not certain he can hide as he stares back, though it's the moment when the sleeping bag is mentioned that he feels the slightest heat in his face again. "Permission granted to whatever extent the sleeping situation becomes comfortable." Sephiroth supposes he can't really be too hard on himself for not planning ahead for this eventuality, but it will continue to be a minor annoyance.

It's almost a distracted thought, showing the degree of tiredness and relief he's feeling as he lightly waves a hand toward the wings. Proper-looking ones, with feathers that look as healthy and well-insulated as any bird's. "You do seem to have blankets or tent walls already attached to you, regardless." Not the most serious comment he's ever made, but an honest observation regardless.

[parfummm]

Best Perfumes For Women

It can take years to find a trademark smell that accurately captures your personality and range of preferred notes. It should come as no surprise that fragrance is a cosmetic necessity that is well renowned for being quite personal, with each scent smelling different on the wearer. While we are aware that it can be difficult to select just a few favourites, starting with some of the most popular and recognisable perfumes ever is a fantastic place to start.

Miss Dior Eau de Parfum

Dior fragrances are so recognisable that a documentary was made about them. This modern classic actually combines several aromas, including fruity blood orange and mandarin, earthy patchouli, and delicate lily of the valley.

Black Opium Eau de Parfum Spray

The base is nice and calming because to the rich coffee and vanilla, and the floral heart provides some brightness. The cooler months are ideal for wearing it, but you can wear it at any time of year if you like.

N°5 Eau de Parfum Spray

The 100th anniversary of Chanel No. 5 will be in 2021, and it is undoubtedly the most famous scent ever. Layering aldehydes, a method that is now commonplace and gives perfumes an airy quality, was first used in this perfume. It smells strongly of jasmine and may rose. Now a classic, it was once a game-changer.

Baccarat Rouge 540 Eau de Parfum

Simply put, this well-known fragrance is a work of art that was created in collaboration with Baccarat to celebrate the company's 250th birthday. Florals, amber, and woody undertones are blended together in a sophisticated and never intrusive way.

Fenty Eau de Parfum

Almost everyone on the earth has cited Rihanna as having the best-smelling celebrity, therefore it was only logical for her to develop her own distinctive fragrance. This luxurious concoction of magnolia, musk, tangerine, blueberry, Bulgarian rose absolute, geranium, and patchouli instantly sold out, but if you're fortunate enough to score a bottle, know that it's well worth the hype.

Glossier You

You, a blend of floral iris, hot pink pepper, and toasty ambrette seeds, was an instant hit for Glossier and is now the brand's only fragrance. Its name pays respect to the fragrance's ability to smell differently on each wearer.

Flower bomb Eau de Parfum

With floral notes of jasmine and rose as well as toasty vanilla and patchouli for depth, this top-rated fragrance by Viktor & Rolf—which over 10,000 Nordstrom customers adore—is a cult favourite.

Daisy Eau de Toilette

The bottle with the daisy decoration rapidly became well-known, but what's inside is also rather astounding. A rite of passage for teenagers, Daisy is a light floral with notes of strawberry, sandalwood, and jasmine (and teens at heart).

Wrapping Up

The above mentioned perfumes have earned a permanent spot on our vanity until the end of time—or at least until they're discontinued. They range from those that have stood the test of time.