#under market sneakers

[dippedanddripped]

I Was SHOCKED He Took This Offer At A Sneaker Meetup..

[nvuy]

nuvy. nuvy have you heard of the boothill leaks.

YES i did *salutes*

boothill story leaks under cut;

girl dad girl dad

soooo what about boothill falling in love with a single parent with a daughter hmm hmm

like god if he doesn’t just accidently run into the kid and she squeals over him because “hey!! cool robot man!!” and you chase her down and apologise.

he freezes, because your daughter looks so much like his did.

same hair colour, same eye colour, same energy that he could barely keep up with, just learning to walk on two feet properly and string together words to form simple sentences.

it absolutely destroys him. in the worst and best way possible. especially since your daughter practically develops an admiration for him on the spot, begs to be carried, and you’re confused because “sweetie, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

like like.,,,, example……..

Something small and warm wraps around his hand and Boothill glances up quickly from his lap.

There was a little girl searching for his fingers, barely three years old by the looks of it. Pretty tresses of black hair flowing in the wind near the shoreline, sniffling and barely standing on short wobbly legs.

“I need help,” she hiccups, and Boothill melts on the spot. So small and helpless, like a baby bird away from its mother’s nest. “I can’t find my–”

And of course, he stands up, dusts off his pants, and offers her his hand. He guides her away from the beach back towards the market where crowds of people swarm the stalls.

It’s nighttime, cold, and definitely no place for a little girl to be by herself.

“What’s your parents look like, princess?”

He busies himself searching for any targets that would make sense given the girl’s prattling of your appearance down to the colour of your shoes—“White. Like mine.” Hers light up purple with each step she takes—too many faces, too many people.

He stands to give up when he hears somebody frantically running around like a lunatic to every single store, asking if they’ve seen a little girl with light up sneakers wandering about.

“Calm down. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” he heard one of the assistants try.

Another shopkeeper offers a pitiful frown and shakes their head.

Boothill nudges the girl, squeezing her small hand in his, careful of his strength around fragile bones. “Is that them?”

She quickly wipes the tears from her face. She then nods and takes off into a sprint to lunge at you, still sobbing when she wraps her arms around your leg.

You sigh in relief and scoop her up into your arms.

Boothill then has an entire conundrum in the middle of the market square. For one, your daughter is waving him over with a smile on her face. Two, you looked like you were about two seconds away from passing out in shock. Your clothes are askew, hair a mess, face flushed and yet simultaneously drained of blood.

He steps closer anyway, though hesitantly. He can’t say no to the little thing whose grin has now grown double the size of her face.

“This is the man that helped me,” she explained softly to you, pointing at him with a small finger.

You scanned him over.

For a moment, he thought you were going to turn around and book it in the other direction. A random ‘robot man’ in the centre of the town square was probably the least most inviting thing he could’ve been. Not to mention he had been sitting at the docks for so long staring out into the water he knew his hair had been tossed wildly from the wind.

Not that you appeared anymore put together.

Instead, you grab his face with a free hand and kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.

He almost damn near blue screens. The words ‘anything for you’ fight to come forth out of his throat.

Instead, he lets out a garbled noise before he clears his throat. “Of course. Couldn’t let the little princess run too far.” He teased your daughter with a tap to her nose.

She grabs his finger and presses the pads of her own across the metal rivets and joints like she’s studying them curiously.

Your daughter stared up at you with giant puppy eyes, still holding his hand. “Can we keep him?”

It was your turn to make a weird noise, spluttering with your face heating up. “You can’t keep people.”

All the while, Boothill was staring at you as you chastised her with hot cheeks.

No spouse by the looks of it—nor had the little princess mentioned somebody else. He knew kids liked to ramble on about their parents.

Well, his daughter did. Something cold and metallic turned in his stomach. She used to think her dad was a hero.

He wondered if she still would.

No ring on your finger. Adoration was such a gentle expression on your face, and the way you held her so firmly, yet so delicately, said it all.

Oh, if he wasn’t completely head over heels from the very beginning.

the angst potential. The angst potential. Theeee angst potential. i’m gritting my teeth.

i’m going insan e

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Sick as a Dog

Where Harry is sick and y/n just wants to help him.

Word count: 3,833

Content warning: cursing, mentions of being sick (no throwing up).

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. The familiar scent of him—clean, woodsy, with just a hint of his cologne—fills the air. For the first time in what feels like ages, Harry’s here. Really here. Not a FaceTime call, not a text, not a fleeting thought as I drift off to sleep alone. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily next to me.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement stirs him anyway. His eyes flutter open, green and warm like spring after a long winter. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his lips as he tightens his hold on me, pulling me closer.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy undertone I adore.

“Morning,” I reply, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.

For a while, neither of us says much. Words feel unnecessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, and finally my lips, slow and unhurried. His stubble grazes my skin, a reminder of how real this is.

Eventually, the world outside our cocoon of blankets starts to intrude. My mental checklist of errands creeps in, and I know his does too. But for now, we linger, soaking in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “I could stay like this forever.”

I laugh softly. “You say that, but we both know the list waiting for us today.”

He groans in mock protest, burying his face in my neck. “I just got home. Can’t we just…not?”

I want to agree. I want to cancel the errands, turn off the world, and spend the day exactly like this. But life has other plans. I kiss him one last time before sitting up, dragging him reluctantly along with me.

“Alright, Mr. Styles,” I tease, “up and at ’em. Groceries won’t buy themselves.”

With a dramatic sigh, he stretches and finally rises, his hair a tousled mess that somehow still suits him perfectly. The day awaits, but in this moment, everything feels right. He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s standing at the dresser, pulling on a simple white graphic tee that hugs his chest just right. He pairs it with light-wash jeans and his trusty white Vans, and I can’t help but stare. His hair is still a little messy from sleep, and there’s this ease about him that makes him look so effortlessly… Harry.

He notices, of course. He always notices. Turning to catch me mid-stare, he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Take a picture, Y/N. It’ll last longer,” he teases, his voice dripping with that cheeky charm.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight the grin tugging at my lips. “Maybe I will,” I shoot back, grabbing my phone and pretending to snap a photo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his wallet and keys.

I pull on my own pair of jeans, a plain tee, and sneakers. Comfort over style today—though Harry always insists I look good no matter what. As we make our way to the kitchen, he hums softly under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize but know I’ll ask him about later.

Breakfast is simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. Harry insists on making the coffee, declaring himself the “king of the French press.” I don’t argue; he really does make it better than I do.

As we finish up, he grabs his sunglasses and tosses me a lopsided grin. “Ready, love?”

We head out to his car—a sleek black Range Rover that feels way too fancy for a trip to the market, but that’s Harry. As he starts the engine, he glances at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Do you remember the last time we went to the market?” he asks as we pull onto the London streets.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not specifically, but I’m sure you’re about to remind me.”

He grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You tried to convince me we needed three different types of cheese for one dish.”

“Because we did,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“And we forgot the bread,” he counters, his laugh filling the car.

The easy banter flows between us as the city passes by outside. It’s moments like these—simple, mundane, yet filled with so much warmth—that make me realize just how much I’ve missed him while he’s been away. He reaches over to squeeze my hand, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

The market is alive with the hum of people, the scent of fresh produce, and the clatter of carts. As soon as we step inside, Harry grabs a cart and immediately veers toward the snacks aisle.

“We don’t need that,” I laugh as he tosses a jumbo bag of crisps into the cart.

“Don’t we?” he counters, feigning offense. “I’ve been deprived of proper snacks for months, love. Let me live a little.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning as he starts piling in more things—chocolates, biscuits, and a random jar of pickles. “Harry,” I warn, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” he says innocently. “Pickles are essential. You can’t deny it.”

We wander through the market, switching off who pushes the cart while the other roams the shelves. He sneaks in a box of cereal I’m pretty sure we already have at home, and I add a bottle of wine, pretending I didn’t see the outrageous snack haul he’s created.

As we pass the fresh pasta section, he stops, holding up a package of tagliatelle. “What do you think? Pasta for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a jar of marinara sauce. “What should we do for a side? Garlic bread?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And maybe a little salad. Gotta stay balanced,” he jokes, throwing in a bag of pre-washed greens with exaggerated flair.

By the time we’re at checkout, our cart is an eclectic mix of essentials, indulgences, and things we absolutely don’t need but couldn’t resist. As he loads the bags into the back of the car, he turns to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think about a movie night tonight?” he asks casually, though there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s up to something.

“I’d love that,” I reply. “I’d love to do anything with you.”

His grin widens, and he leans in just slightly. “Anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive tone.

I shove him playfully, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “What? I’m just saying we could… expand the agenda.”

“Let’s focus on dinner first,” I quip, climbing into the passenger seat.

As he starts the car, he shoots me one last cheeky glance. “Dinner and a movie, it is. For now.”

As we drive back home, the city whizzes by outside the windows, but my attention is completely fixed on Harry. His hand rests casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the radio. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a soft glow over his face.

I take in the details—the way his tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his tee, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends, looking perfectly imperfect. It’s all so him. Effortless, magnetic, entirely Harry.

My chest tightens with a wave of emotion I can’t suppress. For months, I’ve been waiting for this—to have him home, to watch him do something as simple as drive, to just be with him.

“I love you,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I even realize it.

He glances over at me, his green eyes warm and a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it but loves hearing it all the same. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

I shake my head, smiling as I try to find the right words. “No, I mean… I really love you. I missed you so much, Harry. I missed this. Us. You.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches over to place his hand on mine, squeezing it gently as his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I missed you too, love,” he says quietly. “More than I can even put into words.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence, but it’s filled with so much more than quiet. It’s filled with the weight of everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held onto while he’s been away.

As I look over at him again, I realize just how deeply he’s woven into every part of me. The sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like the only person in the world—it’s all part of why I love him.

As we pull into the driveway, Harry shifts the car into park and turns to me with a smirk. “Alright, love, get those muscles ready. It’s time to show me what you’re made of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Excuse me? I’m a delicate flower. I shouldn’t have to carry groceries,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

He rolls his eyes, playing along. “Right, how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll just do it all myself then,” he says, feigning exasperation as he climbs out of the car.

“Good plan,” I call after him, though I follow and grab a couple of bags because I’m not that cruel.

Between the two of us, we manage to carry everything inside, though Harry insists on making a show of flexing his arms every time he brings in another load.

“Impressed yet?” he asks, winking as he sets the last bag on the counter.

“Totally,” I say, deadpan. “Your talent for grocery-hauling is unmatched.”

He grins, leaning against the counter while I start unpacking. As I’m putting things away, I notice him setting a few things aside on the island—the pasta, marinara, garlic, and salad mix.

“Getting a head start on dinner, are you?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Just being efficient,” he replies, pulling out a cutting board and inspecting it like he’s about to perform surgery. “Also, you know I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I tease, but my words are muffled as I reach into a bag and pull out a pack of cookies.

Harry spots them instantly, his face lighting up. “You’re a genius,” he says, grabbing the pack from me and tearing it open.

“Hey! I was going to do that,” I protest, but he’s already popped a cookie into his mouth, grinning as he chews.

“Too slow, love,” he says, holding the pack out to me.

I take one and lean against the counter next to him, snacking while we chat about nothing and everything. The kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, the clinking of jars and cans as I finish putting the groceries away, and Harry’s occasional commentary about how he’s “the true mastermind behind dinner.”

Harry hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirs the pot of simmering sauce. It’s a sight I’ve missed—his ease, his focus, and the way he somehow makes cooking look like an art form.

I sit on one of the barstools, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him. He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he dips the spoon into the sauce. “Alright, taste test,” he says, walking over to me with the spoon held out.

I lean forward and take a small sip, the tangy warmth of the marinara spreading across my tongue. “Mmm,” I hum, nodding in approval. “That’s really good.”

Harry grins proudly, but his expression turns playful as he tilts his head. “Really good, huh? Just ‘good’? Not ‘amazing’ or ‘out of this world’?”

I roll my eyes and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Amazing,” I say, teasingly.

He whines dramatically, turning to face me fully. “That’s all I get? A cheek kiss after slaving away over a hot stove?”

Laughing, I reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. He hums in satisfaction, pulling back just enough to look at me, his green eyes sparkling.

“Much better,” he says, his voice low and content. Then, with a grin, he gestures toward the living room. “Now go on, find us something good for movie night. I’ll finish up here.”

I linger for a moment, watching him as he turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing pasta into a pot with the other. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, and I feel a wave of love wash over me.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” I ask, heading toward the couch.

“Something good,” he calls back. “No pressure, though.”

I laugh, flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the streaming options, already knowing whatever I pick, he’ll make it perfect just by being there.

A few minutes later, Harry walks into the living room, balancing two bowls of pasta with garlic bread perched neatly on the side. His careful concentration makes me smile, and he lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as he sets the bowls on the coffee table.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a grin, plopping down next to me and handing me my bowl.

“Thank you, chef,” I say, nudging his shoulder.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replies, leaning back into the cushions and taking a bite of his pasta.

We settle in, the familiar hum of a rom-com filling the room as we eat. Every so often, Harry sneaks a piece of my garlic bread, and I swat at him in mock protest, though I don’t really mind. It’s comfortable.

When the credits roll, Harry stretches with a groan, his head tilting back against the couch. “I hate to admit it,” he says, his voice laced with playful regret, “but I think I’m officially an old man.”

I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re a spring chicken.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “As much as I’d love to expand the evening and, you know, do naughty things, I’m absolutely knackered.”

I giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s fine, Harry. Go on, get some rest. I’ll clean up here.”

He gives me a grateful smile, standing up and stretching again. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Don’t forget it,” I tease, watching him as he heads upstairs, his steps slow and tired.

Once he’s gone, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I rinse out the bowls, wipe down the counters, and straighten up the cushions on the couch. It feels good to take care of the space we share, to know he’s upstairs waiting for me.

When I’m done, I slip into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me, and I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

After drying off and pulling on a cozy t-shirt, I head upstairs and crawl into bed next to Harry. He’s already half-asleep, his arm draped across my side as I settle in.

“Night, love,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled but full of warmth.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of early sunlight streaming through the curtains. I glance over at Harry, expecting to find his side of the bed empty like usual—he’s always the first one up. But this time, he’s still there, lying on his stomach with one arm draped over the pillow.

It’s rare to catch him sleeping in, but he looks peaceful, his face relaxed in the quiet morning light. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully slip out of bed and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I decide to make breakfast—something simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. The rhythmic sounds of the whisk and the faint sizzle of butter in the pan fill the kitchen as I work.

I’m almost done cooking when I hear slow, shuffling footsteps behind me. Turning around, I see Harry leaning against the doorframe, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face looks pale, and there’s a groggy, pained expression in his eyes.

“Morning,” I say, but before I can say more, he groans softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like absolute shit,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Concern washes over me as I set the spatula down and walk toward him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning his face.

He rubs his temples, leaning heavily against the counter. “Head’s pounding, throat feels like it’s on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation at his own body. Then he waves his hand weakly at me. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my brows knitting in worry. “Harry, I don’t care about that. Sit down,” I say firmly, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t argue, letting out another groan as he sinks into the seat. His head drops into his hands, and I can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s clear he’s not feeling himself.

“I’ll get you some tea and medicine,” I say softly, already moving to put the kettle on.

He glances up at me, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with affection. “You don’t have to fuss over me, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I do,” I reply, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.”

He smiles faintly, leaning back in the chair as I set about getting him what he needs, determined to nurse him back to health.

I set a mug of tea in front of Harry, the steam curling up in delicate clouds. “Tea with honey,” I say softly, sliding the plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to it. I make sure to add two Tylenols, placing them neatly on the napkin.

He looks up at me, his face still pale but his expression grateful. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

I sit across from him, watching as he takes a sip of tea and winces slightly. “It’s the post-tour crud,” he says with a small, tired chuckle. “Happens every time. My immune system’s just catching up after weeks of running on adrenaline.”

“Well, it’s catching up hard,” I reply, leaning my elbows on the table. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel bad, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. And I don’t want to get you sick.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, I don’t care. You’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. Remember when I had that horrible flu last year? You didn’t leave my side.”

“That’s different,” he says, his lips tugging into a weak smile. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “Well, now it’s my turn. You’re always looking out for me, Harry. Let me look out for you this time, alright?”

He doesn’t argue further, just looks at me with a mix of gratitude and affection, his eyes slightly glassy from the fever. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yes, you do,” I say firmly, standing to refill his tea. “Now eat, take your Tylenol, and let me fix you.”

Despite his groans of protest, I can see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

After breakfast, I set to work transforming the couch into a fortress of comfort. I grab every blanket I can find, piling them up alongside a collection of fluffy pillows, creating a cozy little nest. I pick a lighthearted show—something easy to watch, the kind Harry loves to have on in the background when he’s feeling off.

“Alright,” I say, standing back to admire my work. “Your throne awaits, Mr. Styles. Sit down, relax, and get comfy.”

He shuffles over from the kitchen, looking every bit the part of someone who’s feeling under the weather. As soon as he sinks into the pile of blankets, a sneeze erupts, followed by a series of coughs.

“Bless you,” I say, walking over to him. I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he holds up a hand weakly, stopping me.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice hoarse. “I’m sick. You shouldn’t—”

I ignore him, leaning in anyway to kiss his warm skin. “I really don’t care,” I say softly. “You’re stuck with me, germs and all.”

He shakes his head, clearly too tired to argue further, as I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s definitely running a fever, but I don’t let go.

Once he settles, I sit on the couch and tug him gently toward me, guiding him to rest against my chest. He lets out a tired sigh, letting his body relax into mine as I drape a blanket over both of us.

I start running my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and rub his back gently. “You’re burning up,” I whisper.

“I told you not to get close,” he mutters, though his voice is soft and grateful.

“Well, I told you I don’t care,” I reply, pressing my cheek to the top of his head.

He shifts slightly, snuggling closer, his hand resting lightly on my leg as the show plays quietly in the background. I keep stroking his hair and tracing light patterns on his back, hoping the touch soothes him.

For the first time since he woke up, he seems to relax fully, his breathing evening out as he watches the screen. Even though he’s warm to the touch and clearly miserable, I can feel the tension in his body melting away.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding him a little tighter.

[pedrospatch]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags angels 🤍 @mrsmando @honeyedmiller @mermaidgirl30 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @thelightsandtheroses

here are snippets of some of the many wips i am actively working on. or trying to anyway.

the gold room - dbf!joel x stripper!reader

“Jesus Christ.” Joel stares at you, using every last ounce of strength he has in his entire body not to let his gaze wander past your chin. He’s trying not to look at the way your skintight, neon pink dress hugs every soft, heavenly curve of your body, how the matching rhinestone garter shimmers around your deliciously plush thigh. “Is it even legal for you to be fuckin’ workin’ here?” Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shift your weight from one seven inch heel to the other.  “You can dance at eighteen,” you inform him. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m twenty one, Mr. Miller. So with all due respect, chill the fuck out, okay?” “You went to college—“ “College is fucking expensive,” you interject with a shrug. “The job market is shit and I don’t plan on drowning in my student debt for the next ten years. Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Don’t stand there and judge me. Don’t act like what I do is so terrible when you have been paying good fucking money for girls like me to dance for you and sit in your lap all night long.” “That’s fuckin’ different. None of those girls are my best friend’s daughter.”

flutter - post outbreak! joel x pregnant!reader

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the stove, you crack a couple eggs into another, knowing the kid was on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast. “Morning!” Ellie pipes, the plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you. “Ellie,” you warn, walking over to the table. “Don’t—” “You’re bigger!” With a playful glare, you set her plate down along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks, you little jerk,” you say, feigning offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.” “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she starts to sputter. “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach—you didn’t look like this yesterday. You look great, just different.” She’s lucky your raging hormones decided to take the morning off.

chapter 10 for a safe haven

*this is just a short short snippet because it’s being heavily edited rn so i can post it soon!

He peels off his clothes, being careful not to further agitate his sore, inured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you sitting in bed under the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home.”

np tags! 🤍 @sugarcoated-lame @ozarkthedog @amanitacowboy @sp00kymulderr @ilovepedro @ezrasbirdie and anyone else who’d like to share their wips!

[nevernonline]

✧.* just for one night; yjh

for jeonghan's birthday he teased the gift he wanted wrapped in a pretty bow this time was you. little did he know that his joke would turn into his favorite present.

𐦍 paring: jeonghan x reader.

𐦍 genre: romance, bad humor, fluff, "friendly" date.

𐦍 warnings: drinking,  s3xy times, swearing,  smut, minors dni, reader has female genitalia.

𐦍 word count: 2.0k

𐦍 content: non-idol characters, food/drink, cursing, slightly- suggestive, pet names, afab! reader.

𐦍 note: I meant to post this on 1004 but.. maybe forgot to queue it LMAO. this wasn't intended to go this way and I don't rlly write smut often (or read it often tbh) so pls all my baddies who read and write smut give me feedback. (pls) lolol. anyway!! enjoy kk. ily.

It was that time again, time to find a gift for a friend who had nearly everything. Scouring around shops and market places, trying to find something special that had any meaning to the two of you. Sure, you could buy a lux gift or a fancy dinner, but that was basic and well beyond the things Jeonghan had given you. 

You scroll back through texts and posts over the last few birthdays you had spend celebrating him, stumbling across a photo that gave you a good idea. You were sitting on his lap as he blew out his birthday candle. After that wish was put into the universe you recall his lips coming so close to your ear his lips were almost making contact with your pierced lobes. 

“All I want next year is you wrapped in a pretty bow.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t remember that wish, but you did. It was silly and stupid, but your friend did always know what he wanted and wasn’t shy to ask for it. 

You sprinted to the stationary store in order to find a big pink bow in under thirty minutes, so you could make it back to your apartment where Jeonghan was meeting you before his big night out with all of his friends. The options were endless, a sea of glitter, metallic, curling, satin, but you decided to be simple, just a large bound pink ribbon. 

After an overwhelming time spent pondering over pink fabric, you made it home with ten minutes to spare. Lacing yourself up from your sneakers, to your hair, your bag, even a dainty piece wrapped around your neck as a finishing touch just as the doorbell rang, you told him to open up where he found you laced in pink, wearing a black dress, holding a cupcake flame ablaze. 

“Happy Birthday, Hannie.” 

A smile creeped in as he came close to blow his candle out looking at the pink adorned ribbon tied all over you, he remembered. 

“My present I presume?” 

His fingers pointed towards you, again smiling from ear to ear like he couldn’t believe you remembered his wish. 

“Think I’d forget?” 

“You tend to forget your own name while drinking, so yes. I love it.” 

Jeonghan’s hands reached to run his hands over the ribbon in your hair, pausing before he touched the one on your neck. 

“So this means you’re mine for the night?” 

“Your wish is my command, birthday boy. Should we go?” 

“You know when I wished for you to be my present, I meant much more than you wearing bows right?” 

You huffed, watching his eyes still on your neck. 

“I did. I really will oblige any wish, as long as it’s legal and safe.” 

“No promises, babe. Let’s go.” 

Walking hand in hand into Jeonghan’s not so surprise party was not out of the norm for you, you’ve always been the type of friend that clung to close, even for your own comfort. Something seemed to linger in the air around you as a pair. 

“Mind getting me a cocktail? I’m going to go say hi to the guys and thank them.” 

“Again, here to please. Vodka Cran or G&T?” 

“Gin, please.” 

With a small salute as a send off you walked into a line behind three other partygoers in line. 

“Y/n? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in pink before?” 

The voice was Joshua’s coming from behind you. He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders in a half hug greeting you hello. 

“Really? Well, it's for Jeonghan’s gift. Last year he wished that I gift him myself, so here I am adorned in pink ribbon.” 

“You really took him up on that? You are one good friend.” 

“I know that you're thinking it's probably a mistake, you’re right.” 

“Na, he’d never hurt you or let anyone else. He likes you far too much.” 

Your eyes rolled now facing the bartender and placing the matching drink order before turning back to Joshua. 

“Come find me later okay? I need a Shua Hong dance for my payment for being Jeonghan’s bitch for the night.” 

“It's the least I can do.” 

Hours passed by just as quickly as alcohol entered your system, you haven’t left the side of your male counterpart for hours, he wouldn’t let you slide away other than grabbing more drinks or running to the ladies room.

Your buzz is far more prominent now. Jeonghan’s hands slid to the lower half of your body, resting between your bare skin and the hem of your dress and your heart followed along to the beat of the edm music playing over the club loudspeakers. 

“Dance with me, pretty?” 

His eyes burning a hole into your head, you obliged, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the center of the purple lights and faux fog. 

Jeonghan’s hands found a comfortable spot resting on your hips as you twisted around placing your back onto his chest, grinding slowly to the song. 

This proximity between you has never existed, while you’re touchy or clingy the feeling from the warmth of his pants's friction on your upper thighs made you feel differently about your so called friend. 

Thoughts swirled in your brain as you turned back to be face to face with his plump lips and siren like eyes. A hand, that same hand that was resting comfortably on your lower half snaked its way up to your neck, the ribbon placed there was now further from your skin as his fingers laced their way under it. 

“You want to know what else I wished for?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, no words formed other than some incoherent ones that sounded like soft moaning. 

“I wished that you’d be my present forever, not just for the night. I can’t let anybody else get this gift.” 

Your hands reached from the nape of his neck to the side of his face, trying to give him a clue that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

“Come home with me?” 

He placed a small peck onto your cheek, nearing the site of your lips that so badly wanted to feel the crash of his on them. 

The whole ride back in your taxi, your hands rubbed up his thigh. He knew you looked nervous, but also that you would tell him if anything made you uncomfortable. 

Truth be told he was nervous too. This was a line he never thought would be crossed. Jeonghan knew for years that he wanted you and only you for that matter, but he waited for the perfect moment to be put in your hands. 

Saying a quick thank you to your driver, you basically sprinted into his place, not even having a second to throw your jacket and bag down at his front door before you had your back against his white walls in the dark. 

The sense of urgency to kiss you was obvious. A near feral feeling. He tasted like cherries and gin as he kissed you quickly, helping you out of your outerwear and pulling you into his apartment that was only lit by the beautiful view of the city below. 

“Help me?” 

Your voice came out as a whimper, turning your back to him as an indication you needed help out of your dress. 

His cold hands wrapped around the zipper of your dress running a finger down your spine as it unzipped. 

“Wow.” 

His confidence suddenly washing away as he looked at your semi naked body only wearing a matching pink slip dress to the color of your bows and a pair of matching panties below. 

“Dressed up for me too?” 

“Nope. Just like to match.” 

The ‘P’ of your nope popped onto his face and a devious smile appeared. 

“Don’t be bad, gifts shouldn’t talk back to their owner.” 

His hands found his way to the place they didn’t seem to leave all night, your hips as he placed you down onto his fresh sheets. 

“Sorry, Hannie.” 

“It’s okay, just be a good girl."  

You nodded as he began kissing you starting at your lips and followed a trail all the way down to your sternum. 

“You know the best part about gifts is opening them.” 

Jeonghan’s fingers now wrapped around the waistband of your underwear as he slowly pulled them down below your knees, around your ankles and onto the floor. 

A pause from kissing came as his pointer and middle finger entered into your mouth and prompted you to spit on them so he could rub circles onto your clit before entering another space he had never been to before. His first finger came in slowly penetrating you softly, when he saw you getting needy his second entered and the beats became more rapid as he used his tumb to rub circles around your much more sensitive sweet spot. 

Your moaning became louder, reminding him of your voice yelling over the sound of the music in the club as you reached your first orgasm of the night. 

Sitting up now watching as Jeonghan places the same two fingers that were inside of you into his mouth, savoring every last drop of the finish you had because of him, you crawled onto you knees now prompting him for some pleasure. 

Undoing the button and zipper of his pants, letting him and his cock catch their breath before going down on him. You placed soft kisses along the pale skin of his stomach, making sure to nip his skin in between as you make your way down his torso. Just as you reach the waistband of his boxers, a hand comes to cup the hard thing lying beneath. 

“Wanted me that bad huh?” 

Jeonghan, now dethroned from his previous position of power, just groaned as a beg to have your mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock. 

“I’ve wanted you forever.” 

Hearing his breathless moans you released your hands from his cock and finished unwrapping yourself for him, leaving that small pink ribbon tied around your neck, before going back down to kiss your lips at the tip of his dick. 

As your hands and mouth worked their way around in unison all over his engorged flesh, it takes only a few minutes for him to fill the dirty mouth that was teasing him just before. 

“Didn’t take you for such a lightweight, Yoon.” 

“Shut the fuck up and please get on top of me.” 

Your legs came to straddle around his still sensitive cock as you teased your entrance. 

“Someone’s so needy.”

“Someone is supposed to be doing far less talking and far more fucking.” 

His arms pulled you down fearlessly so your lips could fall back into place and also so he could shut you up while you finally let him inside of you. 

“Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be so tight.” 

Jeonghan knew he wouldn’t last long being inside of you, not because you were tight, but because of the way he felt about you and how much he dreamed about watching your breasts bouncing as they hovered over his face while he fucked you. 

“I- Uh, Fuck.” 

“You what, pretty? Can’t handle me? Can't it last long? Want me to fill you up as you ride me?” 

“Yes, yes, all of it. Please, Hannie.’"

As his hips pounded their way onto yours, both of you running out of stamina maybe due to the alcohol or maybe the adrenaline reached your climax near the same time. 

“Can you come inside me, please?” 

You were practically begging him to mark you and since you looked so pretty he couldn’t say no to you. 

With the two of you now finished, his cock still inside of you. Jeonghan placed soft kisses on your lips. 

“I don’t want this to stop.” 

His hands came to untie the pink fabric now slightly wet from your shared bodily fluids. 

“Me either. I love you, you know?” 

You lifted your body off of him, now under his covers with your hands placed on his chest. 

“I love you too, Happy Birthday.” 

“Be my present forever, okay?” 

“Okay, handsome.” 

And with another year gone, Jeonghan finally got the birthday present he truly wanted. You.

[amymbona]

I love the thought of Tashi with someone younger, but her with someone older 🫠

Tashi's parents had ordered her a private coach to help her improve over summer break during college.

It was so hard to focus on her coach though, not when his hot, older wife sat by the pool in her tiny bikini.

The words of her coach went in one ear and out the other, all that was running through her mind was how plush your thighs were and how she wanted your legs on her shoulders while she buried her face in your cunt.

FUCK YEAH :33333333333 This is so Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

I'm absolutely imagining reader like a 1950s mob wife in her cute little dresses with ruffled sleeves that her insanely rich and hot husband bought her damnnnn.

You're a stay at home wife, but you enjoy it. Probably a major in marketing or economics, you answer to two or three emails per day, and your schedule is really loose during the holiday. Wanting to break the stereotype, you decide to accompany your husband to his summer house which is a part of the rich man residence somewhere in the country. He tells you that some neighbour offered him a ton of money for teaching his daughter tennis, stating that she's a prodigy and such a young age. And the greedy bitch your husband is, he, of course, accepts.

So there you are, in your black and white polka dost bikini, sun bathing and watching your husband teach Tashi. She's young, around 20, you'd say, but has the passion of a lioness. She plays like a machine and you're wondering if she's getting sunburnt under the tortuous caress of the July sun. You being her a milkshake or a bowl of freshly washed grapes every so often, insisting she should be taking care of himself while kissing your husband on the lips. His hands roam down your bare back, only bringing Tashi's eyes to the wonderful curves you choose to display. Fuck. She's never really felt attracted to females before but you're making her feel things she hasn't felt for a single man before.

You are so kind to her, perhaps kinder than her own mother (not that she ever isn't - and perhaps that is concerning, how kind can a person be), offering her soft smiles and clapping from where you're lounging by the swimming pool when you see her score. When your husband allows Tashi a break and talks her ears off, rambling some bullshit about strategy that he has already made her mind about, her eyes stay focused on the water dripping down the length of your body as you rise from the water, the fabric of your swimsuit stuck between the round cheeks of your ass. Fuck.

One day, when your husband gets an emergency call from a friend and has to call the training off, you really don't know and real don't care, you still invite Tashi to spend the afternoon with you. A girls' day, you say, that you need a female presence every so often. She's more than eager to accept.

Now Tashi's sitting between your legs with your feet in her lap, carefully applying a layer of red polish to your nails, while your hands work on neatly braiding her hair.

"Tell me if I tug too tightly," your soft voice breaks the peaceful silence and she almost completely misses one of your toenails and paints a knuckle instead. Luckily, no mess is made.

"It's okay, you can pull more," she responds, gaze focused on the soft skin of your feet, disguising her wish to really have her hair pulled onto by your hands as not wanting the braids to fall loose.

You smile, fingers threading through her dark curls, "Your hair is so soft, Tashi."

Fuck. Her heart is probably gonna burst out of her chest if you don't stop right now. "Um, thanks. I washed it yesterday."

After you're done with the braids, the fresh polish on your nails needing some time to dry, the two of you rest on the loungers, relishing the moments of tranquility. You close your eyes for a while, completely unaware of Tashi's hand that has sneakers under the elastane of hit bikini bottom, already feeling the wetness caused purely by your heavenly presence. Fuck. Being here next to you, in your absolutely adorable two piece swim suit, the soft skin of your body having touched here, the feeling of you thighs around her hips still deeply burning into her skin, it's driving her crazy.

"I'm gonna dip down."

Tashi announces, disappearing in the pool. She needs to her arousal, her sweating body somehow. And the cold, chlorine water seems to do the perfect job.

Just when she thought everything was going to be alright, that she won't have any other issues containing herself around you, you choose to cool yourself off as well. She watches, almost in awe, as you slowly walk down the steps to the pool. The water caresses your calves, knees, then thighs, pooling around your butt as you take one more step and then swallow you up to the shoulders when you fully dip in. You look like a mermaid, like a goddess in her eyes, completely oblivious to her own beauty and seductiveness. And she wonders whether your husband appreciates the beauty you offer, whether he goes out of his way to kiss and caress every square inch of your body, whether he worhips you like you deserve it and whether he fucks and eats your pussy like she would.

You're in front of her, your full breasts on display, the fabric of your swimsuit doing very little to barely cover your nipples and the pink circles of your areolas. At that point, Tashi has to contain yourself from reaching out and tearing your top off.

"This is nice," you comment with a smile, so sweet that Tashi wishes she could taste it.

Tashi never thought it would happen, really, that somebody would have such an effect on her that would completely shut her up. She doesn't know what to say, no snarky remarks, no flirting attempts. And how she wishes she could magically gain her confidence back and convince you that she's ten times better than your husband, that you should leave him for her.

"You good, Tash? You zoned out for a bit," she's broken out of her trance by a gentle splash of the water on her face and your almost childish laugh. God, you're such an angel.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," she responds you with a small smile, even through she if far from alright. In reality her whole body is, even enveloped by the cold water, on fire just from the close proximity of your almost bare body to hers. If only she could touch you, just a little, softly, without anyone else knowing.

[octuscle]

Hey im really confused and need some help from suport.

So im a male actor/ model and things have been really tough in the industry lately with the strikes and all so i was over the moon when a clothing brand reached out to me. But the wierd thing is this brand does not really catter to ny estetic. I usualy get jobs from high end luxury brands, but this company is a street wear blue collar clothing brand. I went to a meeting and gave me a out fit of a thick t-shirt, carpenters jeans, a flannle shirt, work boots, and a jock strap. All of them a size or more to bog for me. They also gave me a dinged up old cell phone. Then then told me to get comferable in thecloths and show up to the abandand site the next morning at the crack of dawn for the shoot. Im feeling realky weird and hungeryer then i ever been in my life. Please help.

The bag with the clothes for the photo shoot is in the trunk of your VW Beetle overnight. Cute little car. It's already got a few years under its belt. But still drives well. And that's all you can afford at the moment. You also need the money from this job. Otherwise you'll have to part with this car too. That's why you're so excited about the job. You're not sleeping very well. And normally you would go for an hour's run after getting up. But today you're hungry after a restless night. A huge appetite. You make yourself a large portion of scrambled eggs and bacon. You didn't even know you had so many eggs in the house. Yeah, that was good. Now the day can begin. You put on a white button-down shirt, plain Calvin Klein jeans and white sneakers and walk to your car at 05:00 in the morning. Yes, the Mustang is a bit rusty. But it's a classic. It suits you. It makes you feel a bit like James Dean.

Shit, you've left your iPhone in the apartment. But there's still the old Cat phone in the bag with the clothes. You type in the address and turn on the speaker. Looking at your hands, you're annoyed that you haven't had a manicure. You have hands like a construction worker.

One disadvantage of your Mustang is that it consumes an incredible amount of gas. You have to refuel halfway to the photo shoot. And take a shit. Hehehe, if you eat a lot in the morning, you have to shit a lot. And you're hungry again. It's almost 07:00 already. So you fill up at the next service station and then eat a burger with a large portion of fries. Your white T-shirt has a few ketchup stains and slips out of your old 501 over your belly, but now you feel good again. Your cell phone says there are only 50 miles to go. A stone's throw for your mighty pickup. The only thing you need before you arrive on the set of the shoot are cigars. Fuck, you left yours at home too. Luckily, you pass a tobacconist's just before you leave for the abandoned industrial site. The photo shoot is scheduled for two days, so ten cigars should be enough.

You are a star model in the workwear scene. You're actually a crane operator, but you can always use a little extra money. Besides, there's usually a lot to fuck on the set of the shoots. Photographers, marketing hipsters and the effeminate professional models love your huge cock. Your cigar is tiny in comparison.

[eugenedebs1920]

When a company decides they want to take their business venture forward and have it publicly traded, the Securities and Exchange commission (SEC) mandates the heads or owner of the company file a S-4 registration statement. This gives possible investors a background on the owners of the stock in questions past business dealings. Did they exceed expectations for growth in their previous companies? Was there any litigation or leans? What were the profit margins? This enables investors to make an educated and thoughtful decision before investing.

Since the 80’s it has been Trump’s priority to portray wealth. The golden decor, the foreign model wife, huge 747s with his name plastered on them, his name plastered on buildings, hotels and skyscrapers worldwide. This giving the illusion of success. What’s lesser known is often the buildings that bare his name do not belong to him nor are they financially affiliated with him. Some are. Some are just a marketing stunt that the name, Trump, brings luxury to, or used to, mind.

When the idea of making Truth Social a publicly traded company was introduced it was mandated that a S-4 registration statement be made public before the SPAC, Digital World Acquisition Corp could move forward with the merger of Truth Social and Technology Group Corp. it reads as follows.

Entities associated with President Trump have filed for bankruptcy protection. The Trump Taj Mahal, which was built and owned by President Trump, filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy in 1991. The Trump plaza, the Trump Castle, The Plaza Hotel, all owned by President Trump at the time, filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy in 1992. THCR, which was founded by President Trump in 1995, filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy in 2004. Trump Entertainment Resorts, Inc, the new name given to Trump Hotels and Casino Resort after its 2004 bankruptcy, declared bankruptcy in 2009. While all the forgoing were different businesses than TMTG, there can be no guarantee that TMTG’s performance will exceed the performance of those entities.

It continues,

Trump Shuttle, Inc, launched by president Trump in 1989, defaulted on its loans in 1990 and ceased to exist by 1992. Trump University, founded by President Trump in 2005, ceased operations in 2011 amid lawsuits and investigations regarding the company’s business practices. Trump vodka, a brand of vodka produced by Drinks Americas under license from the Trump Organization, was introduced in 2005 and discontinued in 2011. Trump Mortgage,LLC a financial services company founded by President Trump in 2006, ceased operations in 2007. GoTrump.com, a travel site founded by President Trump in 2006, ceased operations in 2007. Trump Steaks, a brand of steak and other meats founded by President Trump in 2007, discontinued sales two months after its launch. While all these businesses were in different industries than TMTG, there can be no guarantee that TMTG’s performance will exceed the performance of these entities.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. It’s all a lie. An illusion. Smoke and mirrors. The fortune Trump’s father left to him, Trump squandered quicker than he could recover, leading to a lifetime of shady deals, loans from foreign banks, failed get rich schemes and grifting.

Oh my the grift is strong in that one. From digital trading cards, NFT’s, ugly sneakers, bobble head dolls, $100k watches, madeIn china, sold from a strip mall in Wyoming, there’s ornaments, a $60 Bible, also made in china for $4, where the gold edged pages stick together, heck! He’ll even sell you a piece of the suit he was wearing when he was shot at in PA.

Another financial stronghold of Trump is to simply screw over people. Whether it’s not paying contractors who worked on his properties, not paying employees at his hotels, confiscating their tips as well, suing models who worked at his agencies for defamation, a charity, The Trump Foundation, was found guilty of fraud, stealing from those in need to line his pockets, or trying to cut out the very people who created his TMTG company in the first place. Trump doesn’t seem to care who he stiffs, as long as it benefits him.

The new and most lucrative venture is campaign donations. Whether it’s billionaire oligarchs who are buying favor, or little old Mr and Mrs MAGAdonia, Trump will happily take your money.

Lord knows he needs it. Between owning his rape victim 90 some million dollars and counting. The over half a billion dollars he scammed from New York he has to pay back. The hundreds of millions of dollars in lawyer fees. Not to mention upcoming cases and his lavish lifestyle. Things might get tight.

As you can see it’s a fake. A failed businessman who couldn’t just take the money his father left him and sit on an investment. He wanted fame. He wanted power.

After a lifetime of pursuing fame and power, a lifetime of fraud, cheating, grifting, ripping people off, and skirting the system has come back to haunt him. Accountability is knocking. Eventually it will kick in the door.

[alpineshift]

the latest seal post is making me think about selkie!nico

how’s he doing? i’m still thinking about him (and jack) (and the sweater #13)

selkie nico my belovedddd every day is a bold and beautiful day for him! (and jack!)

(nat geo narrator voice)

The first challenge of the day is waking up, especially on an off day, which is usually when Nico is the one who's conscious at the crack of dawn. First order of business, smile at the sight of Jack conked out on the other side of the bed and drooling into his coat, then gets up and goes to the fresh seafood market for his choice of raw fish.

Next, spend a good hour or two chatting up the local fish farmers and familiar selkie faces at the docks (and try really hard not to drool over the fresh king salmon). Carry home his choice 'catches', run into Jack as he's blearily stumbling out into the kitchen, and give his bf a kiss on the nose. Pretend like he doesn't see Jack's thousand-yard stare as Nico just happily loads his raw fish into the bottom shelf of the fridge and calls it day.

It's important for a seal to get their daily bout of exercise in. Today's a nice day, so head over to the rec centre where Jack can do his hot girl stretches and Nico can slip his coat on before tipping into the saltwater pool, zipping around under water until he misses Jack (takes about fifteen minutes or less).

Poke head out and splash flippers and make general seal noises in the direction of the athletic area until his husband finally notices and finally comes over. Demand approximately fifty nose boops. Fling that tiny devils red fish floaty across the pool and destroy it fifty times (it deserves it). Swim up to Jack and go 🥺🥺🥺 until his husband goes oh my god stop I have your snacks right here will you stop acting like Ive been starving you for days. Eat all the snacks. Swim until tired. Home time.

Get back home and immediately devour several fish over the kitchen sink bc he's so hungry while Jack watches on with a thousand-yard stare. Get a scrub daddy and industrial-strength cleaning solution handed to him after he's done. Spend twenty minutes scrubbing the sink until Jack is satisfied. Cook a human meal together.

Midday: it's nap time. Toss the fluffy coat over a pile of throw pillows and nap with Jack lying on his chest for upwards to three hours. Cuddle his snoozing bf when he wakes up. Cuddle some more on the couch while coaxing more nose kisses out of Jack.

They've got standing dinner plans with some of the boys tonight (Mexican food, because it's two-dollar tacos and bottomless pitcher night and they intend to make the most of it.) Shower first, bc Jack says he stinks like the pool. Loot through his bf's closet until he finds an oversized Michigan sweater that smells like Jack's cologne. Go back into the den and realize Jack's already dressed to go--perfect white sneakers, backwards baseball cap, wash jeans, and a familiar number 13 devils sweater. Proceed to sweep Jack off his feet and make out against the kitchen counter until they're going to be fifteen minutes late.

Finally leave the condo, hand in hand, laughing at each other as they walk onto the street. (Nico says he wants fish tacos. Jack will get anything but.)

[the-uncharted-cookbook]

Strange Fruit Juice

Non-alcoholic; POG juice, mango juice, lime juice, grenadine, and bitters

Bandicoots are small omnivorous marsupials native to Australia, Tasmania, New Guinea, and the surrounding Pacific islands. They have long thin snouts and sharp claws they use to forage for underground insects and larvae. In addition, they eat lizards, mice, snails, fungi, grass seeds, berries, and fruit.

As hard as it is to believe, bandicoots are not bright orange and usually don't wear jean shorts and sneakers. But that fact couldn't stop Crash Bandicoot from becoming an icon as one of the earliest PlayStation mascots. Genetically altered by the nefarious Dr. Neo Cortex, Crash ran, slid, and spun through a series of adventures on the Wumpa Islands, an archipelago named for the strange fruit that grows there.

The Crash Bandicoot games are not only personal favorites of mine, but also some of Elena Fisher's favorites as well. This love and appreciation for old school gaming is something Elena passed down to her and Nate's daughter, Cassie. When I heard that Cassie had finally beaten her mom's high score on Crash Bandicoot, I knew I had to whip up something special for her to celebrate. The Strange Fruit Juice is a non-alcoholic cocktail to be enjoyed by gamers of all ages, meant to answer the question we've all been wondering for decades: "What would wumpa fruit juice taste like?"

STRANGE FRUIT JUICE

Ingredients: 2 oz POG juice 1.5 oz mango juice 0.5 oz lime juice 0.25 oz grenadine 1 dash Angostura bitters Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with pebble ice or crushed ice. Shake and dump directly into a snifter or other similarly sized glass. Garnish with fresh mint, slapped to express the oils.

POG juice is a blend of passionfruit, orange, and guava juices originally created and produced on Maui, Hawaii. If you can't find a commercially available POG blend, you can make your own by combining those three juices in equal parts. For an individual drink, use 0.66 oz of each. You can also use fruit nectars in place of the juices, but they will often be sweeter.

Like most bitters, Angostura is actually alcoholic and has an ABV comparable to many spirits. Because of the incredibly small amount used, the total ABV of Strange Fruit Juice is well under 0.5%, below the legal limit for non-alcoholic beverages in many countries and not enough to have any intoxicating effects, even after multiple drinks. However, there are non-alcoholic bitters available on the market if you would like to completely avoid alcohol for whatever reason.

Store bought grenadine will be much more syrupy and sickly sweet than making your own so I absolutely recommend homemade if possible. Making grenadine is fast and easy and, even if you only use the pomegranate juice and sugar and skip the pomegranate molasses and orange blossom water, you'll still wind up with a much better end result.

The recipe for grenadine can be found here.

[dippedanddripped]

SELLING THE CHEAPEST JORDANS ON YOUTUBE! (CRAZY PRICES)

[the-hinky-panda]

300 Follower Celebration: Birthday

Birthday: Horacio Carrillo

Warning: Descriptions of graphic violence

He doesn’t even realize it’s his birthday until he makes his weekly call to Pablo. He had spent most of the day cleaning up the physical and emotional mess of a sicario hit that left eight of his Search Bloc men dead in the Medellín street. They had been on their lunch break, sitting on the grass in the park, sharing empanadas and tamales that their wives or mothers made them, along with lulos and pineapple chunks from the local market. One minute they were laughing, tossing a fútbol back to some kids, and the next their brains were splattered among the bright green grass. 

That was Horacio’s day. Helping put eight young men’s bodies in body bags, overseeing the clean up in the park so the kids could return in the evening to finish their game without having to wipe gore from their sneakers. Then came the eight knocking on the doors of families to tell them their sons and husbands weren’t coming home tonight. That the spiced meats and soups were now going to feed friends and family members coming to sit a vigil that evening. By the time he stands in front of the pay phone, his socks are still wet from the park and his shirt is still wet from mother’s tears. But when Pablo picks up the phone, all the hate, vitriol, and grief that Horacio has stored inside of him vanishes. There are no words to describe what he had to do today. 

“Did you like my birthday gift?” 

Horacio’s head jerks in surprise. “What?” 

“It’s your birthday today, no? I thought I would celebrate. Honor you and your efforts to keep Medellín safe.” There’s a pause as he inhales from his cigarette. “I’ll send some bows for the body bags. You’ll need eight, I believe.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Looks like I didn’t need to send a card. You got my message.” He chuckles before hanging up the phone. Horacio listens to the dial tone until the operator comes on asking for more money to put into the phone to make another call. What’s the use? That’s his mantra as he walks the ten blocks back to his house. This fight is all about who’s going to be left standing after a firefight. Horacio has a bullet with Pablo’s name on it and Pablo has a bullet with Horacio’s name. It all comes down to who’s going to catch the bullet first. But until then, there’s going to be blood in the streets. Celebrations tainted by empty chairs, beds that are left empty, and children remembering their father or brother by lighting a candle before going on with living. 

He makes a pass around his home, his faithful guards keeping watch over his sleeping family. He nods to them as he unlocks the backdoor and enters the kitchen. He flicks on the light over the small table to see a cake sitting under a glass dome, Julianna’s neat handwriting in icing wishing him a Happy Birthday. There are three cards with a neatly wrapped box next to the cake. He picks up the card that he knows is from his youngest and opens it. There’s a figure in a green uniform in the front that he assumes is supposed to be Horacio. He opens the folded paper and reads the words in his son’s messy scrawl, “Thank you for keeping us safe so we can have birthdays.” 

He fights back tears of frustration, of failure. He carefully puts the card back in its envelope and sits back in the chair trying to steady his emotions before stripping down and going to bed. But after a few moments, he hears one of the squeaky stairs announce that he’s not the only one awake in the house. He starts to reach for a gun, just in case Pablo had one last surprise for him, but then he hears his son shush the noisy stair. And the next two squeaks after that. Horacio turns around in the chair and waits for the six year old to peek around the corner. 

“What are you doing up, mijo?” 

He looks at Horacio with mild surprise before his dark eyes land on the covered cake. “Nothing.” 

Horacio hums as he stands up and goes to the utensil drawer to get out two forks. When he sits back down again, he pulls out the second chair for his son. But instead of climbing into the wooden chair, he chooses to sit on Horacio’s lap instead. 

“Did you read my card, Papa?” 

He pushes that swell of emotion back down to the pit of his stomach. “I did. It was very nice. Thank you.” 

“Mama helped me.” 

He nods in understanding as he cuts a small piece of the cake and hands one of the forks to his son, who doesn’t hesitate to take the first bite of the cake. He’s four bites into the piece before he turns wide eyes to his father. 

“You didn’t make a wish!” 

“That’s okay, mijo. There’s always next year.” 

His son nods sagely before continuing to shovel cake in his mouth as Horacio takes a bite and makes a wish anyway. He wishes his son would be able to grow up with his father, that his wife wouldn’t be a widow, and that hopefully his family would be able to enjoy a safer Medellín. 

“Happy birthday, Papá.” 

He glances up at the clock to see it’s almost one in the morning. It’s no longer his birthday and he breathes a sigh of relief.

[plutobutartsy]

FREELANCER TIME BABY!!! (she/it)

i was struggleing with this design but i finished it finally!! :3

fun fact: turquoise, yellow and pink are all colours that represent friendship <3

bonus: freelancer (exam season)

tag list and ID under the cut

[ID:

Image 1: A stylized drawing of Freelancer. She is depicted as a a thin woman of average height. Her skin is a light brown shade with warm undertone and light freckles covering its face, neck, shoulder and chest. It has dark pink, shoulder length hair that it wears in a side part and with the ends curled up away from its face. She has big hooded eyes that are downturned at the outer corners, with dark circles underneath them and brown eye shadow on the eyelids. Her lips curl up at the outer corners and are painted with a dark brown lipstick. It is wearing a content expression.

She is wearing a dark purple halter top that exposes her belly button as well as dark green cargo pants that sit low on her hips and are slightly rolled up at the bottom. Its black thong straps are also visible. Its shoes are simple white and orange sneakers with purple laces. She is also wearing a dark brown messenger bag that has some pins, a beaded turquoise, yellow and pink charm, and a safety pin attached to it. Additionally she is wearing a lot of gold jewellery: two thin arm bands around her left wrist, an arm cuff that wraps around her left upper arm twice, a septum piercing, an ear cuff on its left ear and a simple flat earring on its right ear, multiple golden hair pins holding back its fringe and a golden pearl necklace. It is also wearing dangly earrings with a turquoise stone that match her second necklace, as well as a yellow, pink and turquoise friendship bracelet with a zigzag pattern around its right wrist.

She is standing with both hands holding onto the strap of her bag and most of her weight shifted on her right leg.

Around the drawing, there is text pointing out smaller details and personal headcanons: "sleeps with rollers in its hair!", "friendship bracelet + bag charm made by Caelum" (over an enlarged drawing of said bracelet and bag charm), "pins are merch from local artists/bands", "safety pin used to close bag since clasp broke", "big tired eyes; partly from sleep deprivation but mostly just look like that naturally", "Bag Content: wallet, 7-eleven receipt, flashcards, notebook x2, note from Gavin, energy drink x3", exclusively wears loose fitting bottoms; most clothes are thrifted", "extensive jewellery collection purchased from flea markets & small businesses".

Image 2: A very simplified doodle of Freelancer wearing a hoodie with the hood covering most of her hair, holding a can in her hand and looking at the viewer with a very disgruntled look and very prominent bags under its eyes. Next to the doodle it says, "energy drink #7 of the day".

End ID]

tag list: @oceanicwhitetipshark @febreze-bottle-without-febreze @teaseat @swanconcerto @beemybella @soup-scope (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3)

[doryyaaa]

Hii may I request a short fic of Kazuya x Fem reader on a date but Kazuya’s ideal date is showing off his massive shoe collection

It’s date night with Kazuya, and he’s brought you up to his office for a special surprise. The room is huge, decorated with dark wood and gold accents, plush leather sofas and glossy statues. You find no signs of any surprise, however, until Kazuya presses a button and the wall behind his desk slides wide open with a hiss.

“Woah.” Standing by the entrance, you gape at the sheer size of Kazuya’s walk-in closet, filled from floor to ceiling. There are sneakers of every kind, rare collectibles and limited runs from top brands all over the globe.

Kazuya snickers. “Well? Hurry up and get in there. Plenty more to see.”

You absolutely cannot believe this man. You follow him down the long corridor, and the tiny smirk never leaves his face. Few things ever made Kazuya this pleased, but he’s shown you yet another side of himself, a privilege granted to none other.

“So,” you ask nonchalantly, “how many pairs do you own, exactly?”

“Take a guess.”

“One thousand?”

Kazuya laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not even close,” he says, and leads you to an elevator off the side. It carries you up to another floor filled with even more sneakers, glowing from the shelves in pristine condition. Kazuya herds you around like an excited puppy, tugging your hand or clutching your waist whenever you fall behind.

“Hey, can I try this on?” You point to a custom pair behind a glass case.

“Foolish woman.” Kazuya huffs. “That’s the wrong size.” He goes to pick a different pair—pink diamond-encrusted, the latest designer model that’s not even on the market yet. It’s gorgeous, and it’s obvious he had it made just for you. Under the chandelier lights, the diamonds shine bright at his hand. Even under his three-piece suit, his chiseled figure cuts a godlike image.

“Aw, babe! You shouldn’t have.” You give a cheeky grin, then Kazuya plants you onto a velvet chair, leaning down close enough that your lips brush ever so slightly. He drops the shoes in your lap and whispers his command.

“Now try that on.”

Kazuya pulls back with his own teasing grin, knowing full well you wanted to close that small distance between you. He sits in the chair across you and beckons with a challenge.

“Well, are you going to show me or not? Don’t keep me waiting,” Kazuya says.

And oh, you’re going to enjoy this as much as he will.

[ladylooch]

Would love to see more about Lucie running into Connors ex’s/hookups

Miss girl would be PETTY and POUTY

I assume 🫠🤣

A/N: Timeline wise, this is when Connor is still playing with Lio on the Devils, Lucie is still at NYU, and Stella does not exist in any capacity. (Is this helpful or annoying to have before blurbs, LMK?)

On the bed, Lucie sits cross-legged, typing away on her mid-term paper for her Marketing Research class. Her finger nails click and clack away, creating consistent noise while Connor works on packing for his five day road trip. Lucie pauses, struggling for a word. She glances to where Connor is standing, scratching at his head while looking at his suits.

“You know my vote is blue.”

“I know, but I kinda want to save those for at home. Gets you all excited.” He smirks over his shoulder at her. “But if I wear blue on the road, you’ll sext with me.” She laughs, nodding in agreement.

“So blue seems like a clear winner to me.”

“You’re so right, baby.” He nods, reaching for his navy blue suit, white shirt, and plain white dress sneakers. He tossed them to the other side of the bed from her then goes back to picking out his options for loungewear and off-days. Those are much easier decisions. He looks everything over, then leaves the room to gather his bathroom items into his travel bag. When he comes back, he is rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Do you have time for a break? I need to talk to you about something.” He asks as he throws his travel bag with the rest of his pile. 

“Ooooo ominous.” Lucie teases. 

She tosses her laptop to the side, opening her arms for Connor to slide his body against hers. He wiggles his big shoulders into her lap, sighing at her feet resting on the back of his thighs. His nose nudges into her cleavage over her sweatshirt. Her manicured nails filter through his hair, getting to his scalp and stroking. Connor sighs, closing his eyes briefly, then tilting up to see Lucie’s face.

“MSG hired a new reporter who is traveling with the team beginning tomorrow.” Lucie listens, curiously. “Um, her and I used to have a…. thing.” Lucie’s eyes dart away, thinking, then returning to Connor.

“Like… a sexual thing?”

“Mhm.” He sucks his cheeks in. “Not like a one night thing either, but pretty consistently. She went to BC with me.” Lucie turns rigid under Connor’s body. He squeezes her tighter in response. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but I want to be honest with you about it, especially because she is traveling with us.”

“I don’t love that.” She scoffs.

“I know. I don’t have control over it though, Luc.” He responds. Lucie’s eyebrows squeeze together in annoyance. 

“That feels dismissive.”

“That is not my intention.” He sits up, wanting to look at her more head on. She pulls her knees up to her chest, crossing her arms over them and putting her chin on one knee. She’s retreating, her and Connor both know it. “Luc.” He whines. “Please don’t shut me out.” He grabs at her ankle. “I want to talk about this with you. What can I do to make you feel comfortable?”

“Nothing.” She snaps. Connor deflates like a balloon. 

“I’m trying to do the right thing here by telling you and talking to you.” She looks away, rubbing her nostrils on her knee in avoidance. She stays like that for awhile. Connor waits. When it’s clear, Lucie won’t be participating anymore, he sighs heavily. “Well, I guess it’s another night of me being punished for having a past.” He goes back to packing, beginning to put things in his suitcase. Lucie continues to stay quiet, watching his calm movements. “You know when we ran into your ex-boyfriend in Switzerland, I didn’t do this to you. And he was your boyfriend. She was a fling to me.”

“That makes it worse!” Lucie suddenly snaps. “All you wanted from her was sex! And now you’re going to be on the road with her all the time with someone that is familiar! What stops you from turning to her when you need to get off.”

“You, Lucie! You!” He throws his hands to the side. “Because I am in love with you! I am faithful to you.” He exclaims, getting louder. “Are you faithful to me when I’m gone? There are people you’ve hooked up with in New York. Do I worry about you running off to them every time I leave? No. Because I trust you. And that’s my problem with all of this. You don’t seem to trust me and that fucking hurts.” 

He snatches the cup of water that he had been drinking, then stalking from the room to refill it. Lucie chews her bottom lip aggressively, making it puffy and irritated before Connor returns with a full glass.

“I don’t want you to feel that way. I do trust you.”

“Then start acting like it. I need you to.” He insists, sighing heavily. “It’s really insulting that you act like I'm this horny bastard who runs off at the first opportunity. I’ve never done that to you. I’m not whoever did that to you in your past.”

Marco. It was Marco. They both know it.

This realization makes shameful tears build in Lucie’s eyes. She is embarrassed, ashamed, regretful that she is make her wonderful boyfriend feel so shitty because of her insecurities. She thought so much of that had been eased and worked through. But now it is rearing it’s nasty head again. She hugs her knees tighter, putting her forehead into her legs.

Sock-clad footsteps move towards her. Connor slides an arm through her arms and legs, then wraps the other one around her back to hold her close. He kisses her hair, then buries his nose into her hair. His thumbs rub her body comfortingly. 

Marco would have never done this. One of her hands slides to hold his other four fingers.

“I love you.” She sighs tearily.

“I love you too.” He squeezes her tighter. “Let me kiss you.” She tilts her face up and he consumes her mouth with his tongue and lips. Slowly, Lucie falls back to the bed. Connor climbs on top of her, holding her face in his hands as he kisses her hard. He grabs Lucie’s hands putting them up by her head and lacing their fingers together. 

“Close. the. fucking. door!” Lio grumbles with an angry noise from the hallway. He slams Connor’s bedroom door. Lucie and Connor laugh. 

“He doesn’t get it.” Connor murmurs down to the love of his life. 

No, cause Lio’s never felt what his best friends feel right now. 

[gravity-falls-dreamer]

Gravity Falls: Dreamer Chapter 11: Casa de Soos

Soos’s old, beat-up truck rumbled down the winding road, the trees of Gravity Falls flying by in a blur. The morning sun crept above the horizon, streaking the sky with shades of orange and gold. In the backseat, Dipper and Mabel sat shoulder-to-shoulder, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between their exchanged glances.

“So, where exactly is this house of yours, Soos?” Dipper asked, adjusting his hat as his gaze darted toward the passing woods. The trees seemed denser here, their branches arching over the road like a canopy.

“Oh, it’s just a little ways out of town,” Soos replied with a grin, his voice as cheerful as ever. “Not far in the woods. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s, uh... got a lotta character.”

“Character sounds adorable!” Mabel leaned forward between the front seats, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I bet it’s got all kinds of old-timey charm and, like, secret passageways or hidden treasures. Am I right?”

“Totally,” Soos said with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s got some... unique vibes. Let’s just say it’s a fixer-upper with potential. You’ll love it.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow, already feeling the skepticism creep in. “Unique vibes? Potential?” he echoed, his voice dripping with doubt. “That sounds like code for ‘falling apart.’”

“Pfft, nah,” Soos said, chuckling. “Well, okay, maybe a little. But it’s not about how it looks now. It’s about what it can be. After everything that’s happened, I’m ready to build something new, y’know? Melody and I have been talking about having kids, and the Shack? Great for work, but not so much for raising a family.”

Dipper nodded, his expression softening as he leaned back. “Yeah, the Shack’s fun, but it’s definitely not the safest place for a kid. Too many weird things happen there.”

“Exactly!” Soos grinned, a little more earnestly. “So, while I was at a family reunion a few months ago, I found out one of my cousins had a house in Gravity Falls they were trying to sell. Been on the market for years, but no one’s wanted it. The place was too worn, too run-down. But I saw potential, y’know? I saw an opportunity. So I bought it.”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances, both surprised but impressed. “You’re really going to fix up a whole house by yourself?” Dipper asked.

Mabel clapped her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “You’re turning it into a love nest! That’s so adorable! Melody’s gonna love it.”

Soos laughed, his usual grin widening. “Yep! My handyman superpowers of awesomeness are ready. I’m gonna make this place a home—a safe, happy one for the family Melody and I wanna build.”

The truck hit a bump, jolting them back into the moment. “Alright,” Soos said, his cheer returning in full force. “We’re almost there. Get ready to meet... Casa de Soos!”

The truck rattled over a bumpy dirt road as the trees finally parted, revealing the house.

It stood at the edge of a clearing, hunched like an old man against the morning light. The faded paint was peeling, the roof sagged dangerously, and vines tangled around the crumbling porch. Broken windows glinted weakly in the sunlight, their jagged edges catching the light like teeth.

Mabel gasped, clasping her hands together. “It’s perfect!”

Dipper blinked. “Uh, Soos, are you sure this is the right place? It looks like it’s about five minutes away from collapsing into a pile of splinters.”

Soos hopped out of the truck with a flourish, throwing his arms wide. “Yep! Home sweet home! What do you think?”

Mabel darted toward the house, her sneakers crunching on the gravel. “It’s got so much personality!” she declared, spinning in a circle. “Look at all this space! And the vines—nature is basically trying to hug it!”

Dipper, still standing by the truck, muttered under his breath, “More like choke it.”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Soos said, clapping a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “You just gotta look past the... surface stuff. Once I’m done with it, this place is gonna be amazing. Melody and I are gonna make it a real home.”

Dipper looked up at the house, its sagging porch and broken windows staring back like hollow eyes. The air around it felt unnaturally still, the quiet only broken by the occasional groan of the wood as if the house were breathing. He shivered.

“Well,” Dipper said after a pause, his voice wary. “If anyone can fix it, it’s you, Soos. Let’s just hope it doesn’t fall apart before you’re done.”

“For abuelita,” Mabel said suddenly, raising her fist in the air.

“For abuelita,” Soos echoed, smiling. He gave the house an affectionate slap on the wall as if it were an old friend.

The wall creaked in response, almost... deliberately.

Dipper frowned.

The trio ventured up the rickety porch steps, the wood groaning loudly under their weight. Dipper took careful, deliberate steps, testing each board before committing his weight. Mabel, meanwhile, practically skipped, her boundless enthusiasm unshaken by the ominous creaks.

“I think this porch is a little... too welcoming,” Dipper muttered as one board bent alarmingly under his sneaker.

“Nah, it’s just saying hi!” Mabel chirped. She spread her arms as they reached the door, as if to embrace the house itself. “Hi, house! We’re gonna be best friends, I just know it.”

Soos stepped ahead and twisted the doorknob. The door resisted for a moment, then groaned open with a sound that echoed through the stillness like a sigh. Dust and stale air greeted them as they stepped inside.

The living room was a time capsule of neglect. Warped wooden floors stretched out beneath their feet, their dark grain marred by scratches and stains. A musty couch slouched against one wall, its cushions sagging and riddled with holes. Long-forgotten curtains hung limply by cracked windows, barely clinging to their rusty rods. Cobwebs swayed gently from the ceiling, where a single bulb hung like a lonely star, its light flickering weakly.

“This is...” Dipper paused, struggling to find the words. “Well, it’s got... potential.”

“It’s amazing!” Mabel shouted, spinning in a circle. She plopped down on the couch, sending up a plume of dust that made her sneeze violently. “This place is like a treasure chest of possibilities! Just imagine what we could do here, Soos. Movie nights! Pillow forts! Maybe even a secret lab for science experiments.”

Soos chuckled, setting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room. “Totally! Once I clean it up, fix a few things, and give it some love, it’s gonna be awesome. A home base for family adventures. But, uh...” His grin faltered slightly as he nudged an unidentifiable stain on the floor with his boot. “Yeah, it’s gonna need some elbow grease first.”

Dipper wandered toward the back of the room, his footsteps stirring up faint echoes. His eyes scanned the warped walls and the shadows pooling in the corners. “We’re gonna need more than elbow grease. This place feels like it hasn’t been touched in decades.” He brushed his hand against the wall, and a chunk of peeling paint crumbled to the floor.

As if in protest, the house groaned around them—a low, eerie creak that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Dipper froze, his hand still raised. “Did... did you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” Mabel asked, now balancing on the arm of the couch like it was a tightrope.

“That sound,” Dipper said, his voice dropping. “Like the house is... moving.”

Soos laughed nervously. “Oh, that’s just old houses for ya! They’re always creakin’ and groanin’. It’s like a free spooky soundtrack.”

Mabel grinned. “See? Character! This house has it in spades.”

Dipper wasn’t convinced. He shot one last look around the room before joining the others. “Yeah, well, let’s hope the character doesn’t try to kill us.”

They split up to begin the cleanup. Mabel started in the living room, pulling dust covers off the furniture with dramatic flair, while Dipper took the hallway, carefully stacking debris into manageable piles. Soos disappeared into the kitchen, his voice echoing faintly as he muttered about finding cleaning supplies.

The house seemed to react to their efforts. The walls creaked rhythmically as Mabel wiped them down, as if breathing in the attention. When she swept a pile of dead leaves out the front door, the warped floorboards under her feet groaned in what she interpreted as gratitude.

“You’re welcome!” she said brightly, tossing the broom aside. She leaned against the wall, smiling at her work. “See, Dipper? The house loves us already.”

In the hallway, Dipper rolled his eyes. “It’s a house, Mabel. It doesn’t-” His voice caught as he bent down to pick up a fallen picture frame. The floor beneath his feet shifted ever so slightly, like a subtle shiver.

“Uh... Soos?” he called out, holding the frame tightly. “Does this house have, I don’t know, a history of... earthquakes?”

“Not that I know of!” Soos called back from the kitchen. His voice sounded strangely muffled, as though the walls were absorbing it.

Dipper placed the frame back on the wall and frowned. The picture—a faded black-and-white of a family standing in front of the house—seemed oddly familiar. He recognized the grin of Soos’s abuelita, younger and standing proudly in the center of the group. Around her were people who looked like relatives, their faces smiling but their eyes carrying a strange intensity.

“Okay, that’s not weird at all,” Dipper muttered, stepping back from the photo. He turned toward the kitchen. “Hey, Soos, did your family ever-”

His question was cut off by a sharp crash from the living room. He bolted back to find Mabel sprawled on the floor, tangled in a rug that seemed to have rolled itself up around her legs.

“Mabel!” he shouted, rushing to help her.

“I’m okay!” she said, her voice high and breathless. “I think the house just tripped me. Or maybe it doesn’t like my dance moves?”

Before Dipper could respond, the lights flickered wildly, and a loud creak echoed through the room as the couch slid a few inches forward, seemingly of its own accord.

“Okay, that’s definitely not normal,” Dipper said, his voice trembling.

Soos appeared in the doorway, a mop in one hand and a bewildered expression on his face. “What’s going on? Did the house do something? Is it... is it trying to help or something?”

“It’s definitely not helping,” Dipper snapped. “This house is alive, Soos. And I don’t think it likes us messing with it.”

As if to answer Dipper’s accusation, a deep groan reverberated through the house. It started low and guttural, rising into a sharp creak that made the walls tremble. Dust fell from the ceiling in soft clouds, and the lightbulb above flickered violently before dimming altogether, plunging the living room into shadow.

“Uh, okay, what’s happening now?” Mabel said, her voice rising with nervous energy as she tried to untangle herself from the rug.

The couch let out a loud crack and slid another few inches toward them, its legs scraping harshly against the warped wooden floor. The sound made everyone freeze.

“This is fine,” Soos said, holding up a hand as if to calm the house. “Just a little hiccup! It’s, uh... the house settling! Totally normal. Happens all the time in fixer-uppers.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dipper muttered, his eyes darting toward the couch. “Settling. That’s definitely what’s happening.”

The rug finally released Mabel with a dramatic snap, sending her sprawling backward. She sprang to her feet and dusted herself off, laughing nervously. “Okay, so maybe the house has a bit of a temper. We just need to show it some love, right, Soos?”

“Exactly!” Soos said, though his grin was starting to look strained. “It’s just... excited. Like a puppy! A big, creaky, kinda haunted puppy.”

A loud bang from the kitchen made them all jump. Soos’s mop clattered to the floor as he whipped around to face the source of the noise. “I got it!” he said quickly, darting into the kitchen. “Probably just something falling over. Nothing to worry about!”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a wary glance before following him.

The kitchen was a disaster. Rusted pots and pans littered the counters, the stove was coated in years of grime, and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. But the mess wasn’t what drew their attention. The cabinet doors were swinging open and shut wildly, slamming with such force that the hinges screeched in protest.

“Okay, that’s definitely not normal!” Dipper shouted over the racket.

Soos was already at the stove, trying to wrestle the knobs into place. “Calm down, buddy! I’m just trying to figure out how to make you work!” As he twisted one stubborn knob, the stove let out a loud pop and belched a cloud of soot into his face.

The cabinet doors stopped abruptly, hanging ajar as if watching him.

Soos coughed, wiping soot from his face with a grimace. “Okay, maybe the stove’s a little grumpy. No big deal! I’ll fix it!”

As if in response, one of the hanging pots suddenly dropped from its hook, narrowly missing Soos’s foot. It hit the floor with a deafening clang, causing Mabel to jump.

“Yeah, I don’t think it wants to be fixed,” Dipper said, his voice tight.

“Maybe it’s just trying to get our attention,” Mabel suggested, her optimism flickering but still intact. She leaned closer to the nearest cabinet. “Hey, house? If you want us to stop, can you, like... give us a sign?”

The cabinet door slammed shut, so forcefully it rattled the dishes inside.

Mabel took a step back. “Okay! Sign received!”

Before they could react further, another loud creak echoed through the house, this time from upstairs. The sound was accompanied by a faint rustling, as if something was moving.

“Upstairs now?” Dipper muttered, crossing his arms. “Great. Can we just admit this house hates us?”

“No way!” Soos said, though his voice shook slightly. “It’s just... confused. It hasn’t had company in years. It doesn’t know how to act around people yet.”

As the noise upstairs grew louder, Dipper sighed. “Fine. Let’s go check it out before it decides to bring the ceiling down on us.”

The three of them climbed the creaky staircase, each step groaning under their weight. At the top, they found themselves in a narrow hallway lined with closed doors. One of them—a small cabinet door near the floor—was ajar, its hinges squeaking faintly as it rocked back and forth.

Soos knelt down, pulling the cabinet open. Inside was a stack of old photographs, their edges curled with age. He picked up the top one and froze.

It was a picture of his abuelita, younger and smiling brightly, standing in front of this very house. Her hands rested on the shoulders of two children, who looked like Soos’s cousins. Behind them, the house loomed in much better condition—its paint fresh, its porch intact.

“I didn’t know this was her house,” Soos whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. He flipped through more photos, each one capturing his abuelita and her family in this home. There were birthday parties, Christmas dinners, lazy summer afternoons on the porch. The house had been alive with joy once.

Dipper and Mabel peered over his shoulder, their earlier fear replaced by quiet curiosity.

“Soos,” Mabel said gently, “this place was really special to her, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Soos murmured. He glanced around the hallway, his eyes softening. “I get it now. The house... it’s not mad. It just misses her. It misses being a home.”

As if in response, the walls creaked softly, no longer ominous but almost... content. The lights flickered, this time in a warm, steady rhythm.

The trio returned downstairs, the earlier chaos replaced by an odd stillness. The house felt different; less hostile, more inviting. The couch, which had slid across the floor earlier, was back in its original spot, as though the house were trying to apologize.

Soos patted the wall gently, his expression resolute. “Don’t worry, little buddy. We’ll fix you up. For her. For Melody. For all of us.”

The house let out a soft groan, its creaks almost sounding like a sigh of relief.

“Well,” Mabel said brightly, “looks like we made a new friend! I’m calling it now: this house is officially on Team Soos.”

Dipper smirked, shaking his head. “Just don’t blame me when it decides to redecorate by throwing furniture at us.”

Soos laughed, his confidence returning. “Don’t worry, dudes. It’s all part of the process. This place is gonna be amazing.”

By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, the living room of Casa de Soos looked like a different place. It wasn’t perfect but it had started to feel like a home. The furniture had been dusted and rearranged, the floors swept, and a cozy corner had been set up with snacks, a stereo, and a few mismatched cushions. String lights, borrowed from the Mystery Shack, were draped across the room, casting a warm, cheerful glow.

Mabel surveyed the setup with pride, popping a chip into her mouth. “We did it, team! This place is officially ready to party. Now all we need are the guests.”

“Already on it,” Soos said, holding up his phone. “Stan, Ford, Melody... even Evalin said she’d come. They’re all on their way!”

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “Stan and Ford, in the same room at a party? That’s either going to be amazing or a total disaster.”

“It’s gonna be awesome!” Mabel chimed in, her voice brimming with excitement. She twirled toward the stereo, cranking up the music. A peppy, upbeat tune filled the room, the kind that practically demanded dancing. “And when has Stan ever not been the life of the party?”

Soos chuckled as he placed a pizza box on the coffee table. “Hey, as long as there’s food, Stan’ll be happy. And Melody’s bringing cookies, so we’re covered on dessert.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Soos practically sprinted to answer it, throwing it open to reveal Melody, holding a tray of neatly arranged cookies and wearing her signature warm smile.

“Soos!” she exclaimed, stepping inside and glancing around. “Wow, this place is... it’s got so much character.”

“That’s what I said!” Mabel chirped, bounding over to greet her.

Melody set the cookies on the table, giving Soos a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve done an amazing job already. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s all finished.”

Soos beamed, his chest puffing out with pride. “Thanks, Melody. With you and the gang here, it’s already feeling like home.”

One by one, the rest of the group trickled in. Stan arrived first, with a cooler slung over one shoulder and a stack of paper plates under his arm.

“So this is the famous Casa de Soos,” he said, giving the room a once-over. “I gotta say, I’ve seen worse. Pretty sure my first apartment looked like this, and that was after the raccoons moved out.”

“High praise from Stan Pines!” Dipper said with a smirk, earning a chuckle from everyone.

Ford came in shortly after, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and approval. “Impressive work for just one day. You’ve really brought this place to life, Soos.”

“It’s a team effort, Mr. Pines,” Soos said modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t have done it without these guys.”

Evalin arrived last, stepping into the room with her usual quiet grace. She smiled warmly at the lively scene before her. “This is lovely,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on the string lights. “You’ve done something special here, Soos.”

“Aw, thanks, Evi!” Soos said, practically glowing under the praise. “Grab some snacks! This party’s just getting started.”

“Actually, Soos, I brought you something,” she said, her tone a little shy. She pulled out a small charm dangling from a loop of braided string. It was simple but elegant; a smooth, oval stone with a symbol etched into it, almost like a sunburst.

Soos tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Whoa, what’s this?”

Evalin handed it to him, her expression soft. “It’s a charm for happiness and good fortune. In a lot of traditions, it’s used to bless a new home.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “I thought it might bring you and Melody some happy times here. And, well... help the house feel like a sectura- a place that holds light.”

Soos’s face lit up, a mix of awe and gratitude washing over him. He held the charm up, admiring the intricate etching. “Evalin, this is... this is awesome! Thanks so much. I’m gonna hang it somewhere special.”

Before Soos could decide on the perfect spot, the house itself seemed to make the choice for him. A soft creak echoed through the room, and one of the nails in the wall near the entryway gleamed faintly, catching the light.

Evalin tilted her head, as if noticing the house’s subtle invitation. “There,” she said, gesturing toward the nail. “That feels like the right place.”

Soos grinned. “Alright, little buddy,” he said, addressing the house. “Let’s make it official.”

He walked over and carefully hung the charm on the nail. The moment it settled into place, the house seemed to sigh, a low, comforting creak that rippled through the walls. The string lights flickered briefly, then glowed more brightly, casting a warm, golden light across the room.

Everyone turned to look, the sudden brightness catching their attention.

“Whoa,” Mabel breathed, her eyes wide. “Did the house just... smile?”

Dipper crossed his arms, his expression skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know about smiling, but it definitely seems... happier.”

Evalin folded her hands in front of her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s a good sign,” she said softly. “The house feels at peace. Like it’s ready to be a home again.”

Soos placed a hand on the wall beside the charm, his voice brimming with affection. “You hear that, buddy? We’re all in this together. Thanks for letting us be part of your story.”

The house creaked again, the sound warm and welcoming, as if agreeing.

Melody stepped up beside Soos, wrapping an arm around him. “You’ve really done something amazing here, Soos,” she said, her voice full of pride. “This place already feels like home.”

Soos leaned into her, his grin wide and heartfelt. “It’s just the beginning. We’re gonna make this the best home ever.”

The party continued with renewed energy, the warmth in the room mirrored by the glow of the string lights and the contented hum of the house around them. For the first time in decades, Casa de Soos felt alive. Not just as a structure, but as part of something bigger. A place where memories would be made and shared, carrying the echoes of laughter and love through its walls for years to come.

As the party kicked into full swing, the house seemed to come alive in a different way. The floorboards creaked in rhythm with the music, and the string lights swayed gently, as though caught in an invisible breeze.

Stan, seated in the corner with a slice of pizza, eyed the lights suspiciously. “Are those supposed to be moving like that?”

“They’re just vibing!” Mabel declared, spinning in the middle of the room with her arms outstretched. “The house loves a good party!”

Dipper raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead keeping a close eye on the house’s subtle movements. He wasn’t entirely convinced the house wasn’t up to something.

Meanwhile, Ford and Evalin stood near the snack table, chatting quietly. Their conversation seemed casual at first, but the occasional shared laugh and small, almost imperceptible touches between them hinted at something more. Stan, ever the opportunist, caught on immediately.

“Well, well,” Stan said, sidling up to Ford with a mischievous grin. “Looks like you’re finally making a move, huh?”

Ford stiffened, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “What are you talking about, Stan?”

“Oh, come on,” Stan said, leaning closer. “You and Evalin. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the looks, the laughs, the... whatever this is.” He waved a hand vaguely in their direction. “You’re practically glowing.”

Ford sighed, adjusting his glasses. “It’s not what you think.”

Stan snorted. “Sure it’s not.” He slapped Ford on the back. “Just don’t let the house steal your thunder. It seems to like being the center of attention.”

As the party wore on, Soos stepped back to take it all in. The room was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of soda cans. Melody was chatting with Mabel, Stan was regaling Dipper with one of his many wild stories, and Evalin and Ford were lost in their own little bubble of conversation.

The house creaked softly, the sound no longer ominous but comforting, like an old friend settling into a warm chair. Soos placed a hand on the wall, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” he said quietly. “This is just the beginning.”

The lights flickered once, almost in response.

As the night went on, the laughter and chatter filled the living room, spilling out into the quiet woods beyond. The group had settled into an easy rhythm. Stan and Dipper were deep in a heated debate over the best pizza toppings, Mabel was showing Melody her plans for future “artistic renovations,” and Evalin and Ford were quietly sharing stories by the snack table, their voices occasionally punctuated by soft laughter.

Soos stood back for a moment, taking it all in. He leaned against the wall near the charm Evalin had given him, his hand brushing the cool surface of the stone. The house creaked softly, as if nudging him in encouragement, and Soos couldn’t help but smile.

“This,” he said quietly to himself, “is what it’s all about.”

Melody appeared beside him, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “Hey, dreamer. Penny for your thoughts?”

Soos chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. I mean, look at this.” He gestured to the room, his voice filled with pride. “This house, this party, you guys... it’s all coming together. It’s starting to feel like home.”

Melody rested her head on his shoulder, her smile soft. “It already is, Soos.”

Across the room, Mabel raised her soda can, her voice cutting through the buzz of conversation. “Alright, everybody! I propose a toast to Soos, Casa de Soos, and all the adventures waiting to happen in this awesome house!”

The group raised their glasses, cans, and plates in unison, a chorus of cheers echoing through the room.

“To Casa de Soos!” they shouted, laughter spilling over their voices.

As the toast subsided, the string lights flickered gently, casting a golden glow that seemed almost alive. The house groaned softly; not the eerie creaks from earlier, but a sound that felt warm and content, like the house itself was toasting alongside them.

Soos grinned, looking around at his friends and family, then up at the charm hanging on the wall. “Thanks, little buddy,” he murmured under his breath. “We’re gonna make you proud.”

The night ended with the same warmth it had begun, the laughter lingering even as the guests began to trickle out. When the last goodbyes were said and the house finally grew quiet, Soos and Melody stood together in the living room, surveying the cozy chaos left behind.

“So,” Melody said, slipping her hand into Soos’s. “What’s next?”

Soos looked around, his heart full. “Next? We keep building. One step at a time.”

The house creaked again, the sound steady and reassuring. For Soos, it was as good as a promise.

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