#yes I'm in socal now!

[kirby-the-gorb]

turns out the us forest service posted a whole series of videos on accessibility in the national parks of the pacific northwest produced and hosted by an actual wheelchair user available on youtube on the forest service channel under the name "accessible adventures", so for next month's patreon wallpaper I was busy thinking about trees.

[essektheylyss]

I will be writing a whole post on near-future global crisis books and how the genre is just rough and everyone should stop trying to write it and promote some nonfiction instead (once I actually finish this damn book) but I will say, shout out to the one chapter with the kayaker in SGV. LA does suck and we should rip it out and try all over again, so true.

[yourdakg]

Donation Found!

Remember Ryder? The SoCal pretty boy who was depressed that his life was a vapid, superficial, and party focused existence? He contacted Turnaround Technologies to ask, nay plead for a new body and a new life. See his Donation Request Form.

If only it were that simple. Turnaround Technologies utilizes some of the most advanced science on the market. When a body is fully adjusted, it's a slow and sometimes torturous process! If it was as simple as switching brains, that would be one thing. But the subjects have to physically transform into one another, and then brainwaves are overwritten. Chemistry, genetics, biology, and psychology are all involved in this elaborate process.

So Ryder had to come up with the $325,000 fee. Luckily, he had money saved and he was able to sell off the red Mustang convertible and his yellow Yamaha Sport Bike to meet the target. The final straw was giving up the deed to his WeHo apartment. Don't tell him, but his donor bought the items! Isn't that funny? He covered the rest with personal loans! Well, a little bit of debt won't hurt.

Let's remind you of where Ryder is starting his journey:

And now let's the see information plate for his donor. I think he'll be very pleased! After this, he'll never have to worry about being surrounded by vapid, beautiful people and fending off pesky pool party invites! Yes, this is the ideal swap partner for Ryder.

Meet Dr. Pervus Fondler. And wouldn't you know it? Dr. Fondler was a doctor in Ryder's hometown! They actually know each other. The good doctor cares very deeply for Ryder and was pained when he heard about his current circumstances. He decided that his job as a physician meant he had to step up and give the ultimate sacrifice! You know what they say: First Do No Harm.

Donor Statement: While I am nervous about the process, I am confident that I will give Ryder a new future, one where he won't have to worry about all that vanity and his gym obsession. True freedom for the boy!

Thank you, doctor, for going the extra mile for your patients. Turnaround Technologies will prepare the Exchange Chambers. Both subjects will be stripped down and cleansed before being placed in metallic, moisture wicking bikinis while our technicians prepare for the process:

Now that Ryder is dressed and the drugs are injected into his system, it's time to introduce him to his generous benefactor. I hope he has a positive reaction to the kind of man he will become. Let's check in!

Patient Statement: No! Holy shit! No, not Pervus the Perv! You can't put me in that. Don't force me into that body! I'd be going from a perfect ten to a zero. Please! No... LET GO. Please, oh my God. No, I thought it would be another buff guy like me. I change my mind, I changed my mi--**UMPH HRRMPH**

It's not clear why Ryder objected so strongly to his partner. Maybe it was the shock of knowing who the doctor was from earlier in his life. At any rate, he paid the fee and signed the paperwork so there is, quite literally, no going back. Swaps of this nature are once in a lifetime and, of course, quite permanent.

Subject had to be forcibly gagged and sedated.

Add another $125,000 for the service. Ryder sure is going to pay a lot of money for his new life!

When he came to in the chamber, Ryder was pounding on the door. I think he was crying. His oversize genitalia were mashed against the glass in his silver pouch. It was quite the sight. When the whirr of the machine began and the paralyzing blue light hit, his eyes went crossed. He fell backwards and pumped his hips in the air. Well, the erection is to be expected. I've heard the process somewhat erotic, though painful.

It takes a couple days and the exchange unstable during that time, but I am happy to report the following:

Donor Report: I feel good. Very good. I'm probably going to move to SoCal, sort of take over Ryder's apartment. I'll probably start using his name now too. Don't wanna confuse people. I don't even have my old, perverted urges. I hope he's comfortable with the mental traits foisted on him. Oh... he wants to take picture of me? Ha, okay. I'll flex for $100. Recipient Report: What do you mean I can't go back *whimper* why do I feel so strange. I'm already out of breath. Give it back! What do you mean a name change is included in the package *sob* MY NAME IS PERVUS NOW??!?! Oh. I have to take his medical practice in my shithole hometown? Oh God! I just... oh goodness, seeing it from this angle it's such a fine body. So tight and firm! At least flex for me, my boy? A little. So I can snap a few pics and... use them later. Eehehe. Oh God, what have I become?

[ghostlyloversworld]

»»————> 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲<————««

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙭'𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜-

-𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠- 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

We can go drivin' in, on my scooter Uh, you know, just riding in London Alright.

As she scrolls through her Instagram feed one thing stands out it was a news article she reads it -actress y/n Cox spotted in London with Actor Tom blyth.

She laughs before pressing on the news article. Curious to see what it had to say.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives.

She reads it. Actor Tom blyth and Actress Y/n Cox had been spotted at Trafalgar square. It had been reported both were holding hands and being a little more then friendly with each other. Could this be the next it couple?.. Only time will tell. She clicks off and goes to the comments of the news article

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you (ooh).

Catlover- even if they are dating we should give them their privacy.

Tombylyth'sgirl- stopp because Tom and Y/n's song have to be Dreaming of you by Selena quintanilla

↪️y/n'schild- stop because Selena quintanilla didn't deserve to die.

honeylove- honesty y/n isn't even cute

↪️ theonlyY/ncox- cool I'm definitely not going cry in the bathtub 😐

↪️ starsthebest- the sarcasm is loudd.

↪️ theonlyY/ncox- thanks I got it from you're dad 👍

And now I love high tea, stories from uni, and the West End You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride Babe, don't threaten me with a good time They say home is where the heart is But God, I love the English.

Tomblyth- shh 🤫 no one needs to know

↪️ doglover- what do you mean Tom?

↪️ theonlyY/ncox- Tom no 😐

↪️ Tom blyth- yes Tom

Eleanor laughs at the way her and Tom go back and forth on the internet. Maybe that's why everyone thinks they are together. She finally posted again

-TheonlyY/ncox

- Happy birthday my bbg @RachaelZegleristhebest

RachaelZegleristhebest- thank you love :)

↪️- theonlyY/ncox- you're welcome

You know I love a London boy I enjoy nights in Brixton, Shoreditch in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you.

So please show me Hackney Doesn't have to be Louis V up on Bond Street Just wanna be with you Wanna be with you Stick with me, I'm your queen Like a Tennessee Stella McCartney on the Heath Just wanna be with you (wanna be with you) Wanna be with you (oh)

Y/n was laying in her bed. She looks down at her necklace 'Tb' it had been Tom's initials. Her and Tom had been together for 3 years now. She was very happy with Tom. The more she thinks about it. Tomorrow was their 4 year of dating

theonlyY/ncox

- love a British boy @Tombylth

User98- oh my goodness! They were dating

↪️theonlyY/ncox- yeah ik that

↪️doglover- her freaking sarcastic is always back out to get everyone

Tombylth- love you more

↪️theonlyY/ncox- nah I love you more :)

So please show me Hackney Doesn't have to be Louis V up on Bond Street Just wanna be with you I, I, I fancy you, oh Stick with me, I'm your queen Like a Tennessee Stella McCartney on the Heath Just wanna be with you (ooh) Wanna be with you I fancy you (yeah), fancy you Oh, ah

[seasonsbloom]

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)

part 1

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics

note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???

Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.

The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.

You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.

Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.

All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.

He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”

It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.

“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”

Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.

“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”

Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”

“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”

Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”

It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.

Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?

Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat. 

“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.

“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”

The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.

So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”

His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad. 

Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.

At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.

It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.

Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.

Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.

But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.

Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”

Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. 

Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different. 

“No, I… I had this at home.”

Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”

The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.

“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”

After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.

“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”

And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.

But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm. 

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”

And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.

So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others. 

You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”

Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”

Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”

Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is. 

Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”

You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.

“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?

Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”

“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”

“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.

You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.

Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.

It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.

You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”

It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.

For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.

Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.

And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.

+

“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.

You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.

It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.

The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.

“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.

But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.

Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.

“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”

You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.

Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.

“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.

When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.

With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.

What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways. 

You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.

You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.

Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”

You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.

And still. None of it feels real.

The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.

It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.

Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.

“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”

Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”

“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”

You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…

Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.

When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.

It makes you smile.

“Thanks,” you say and mean it.

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.

Suddenly, you feel warm all over.

Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.

“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”

“Hello to you, too, Jake.”

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”

You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”

Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.

“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”

“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”

Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.

“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”

Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”

Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.

“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.” 

The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again. 

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.

Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”

“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.

Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?

Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.

You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt. 

“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.

“Is… are you okay?”

You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.

Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”

“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”

Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.

Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.

So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.

Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

+

The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.

“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”

The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it. 

And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…” 

“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”

He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.

Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.

If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”

“You… you do?”

He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”

“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”

Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”

“Who is, then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.

“Bradley?”

“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”

“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”

He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

[gallawitchxx]

weekly tag wednesday 🤘🏼

i was tagged by some cutie patooties (@deedala @creepkinginc @energievie @crossmydna @sleepyfacetoughguy @transmickey & @metalheadmickey) to play a new version of an old favorite! let's do it! 🖤

- - - - -

name: bee 🐝

age: thirty-five minus four 🙃

favorite color: turquoise ✨

what emoji best describes your current mood? 🗣

what season is it where you are right now? well, it's technically fall, but i'm in socal now, the land of eternal sunlight... so naturally it's 100 degrees F here today ☀️

were you up before or after the sun this morning? before, i think! 💤

are you currently in possession of a pumpkin? i am not 😔

do you prefer to carve or paint your jack-o-lanterns? carve! but it's been a million years since i've done it! 🎃

do you have a favorite pumpkin-spice flavored treat? If so, what is it? every year, i make my wife a pumpkin roll. it has cream cheese frosting enveloped in pumpkin cake & it's both beautiful & delicious! (maybe i'll make one this weekend!) 😋

what's your favorite season and what's your favorite pie that you associate with it? ooooh summer & key lime pie! 😎

we're having a pot-luck, what are you going to bring? i'm bringing a cowboy caviar, which is a corn salad/dip with black beans, peppers, onions, avocados, tomatoes & some other goodies! it's delicious, you'll love it! 🤠

it's chilly outside and you need a hot drink in your hands, what are you drinking? brewed coffee or a latte with oat milk ☕️

will you be wearing a costume for Halloween? Is it ready? yes hahahaha my wife told me that she wants to be alex & henry from rwrb, which was the LAST thing i was expecting & yet it's every dream of mine come true. stay tuned! 🇺🇸 🇬🇧

finally, what's something you've made or done recently that you're proud of? i whipped up a new creative proposal for work in a short amount of time & i'm quite happy with it & hopeful for its future. if you have any fingers to cross or well wishes to toss my way, please say a little spell for my new baby 😌

- - - - -

tagging @whatwouldmickeydo @howlinchickhowl @whatthebodygraspsnot @gardenerian @heymrspatel @deathclassic @francesrose3 @rereadanon @sickness-health-all-that-shit @lupeloto & @scurvgirl if you wanna play!! if not, i'm (with consent) smooching your nose! 💋

[sunflowerrboyy]

Would just like to say that this storm in SoCal is the perfect example of incompetence.

Not from the community though.

It has now been 11 (eleven) days without snow plows. San Bernardino County is offering shelter and food at the local high school and other places but the people (including me and my family !) can't even get there because the roads aren't plowed.

The National Guard is supposedly up here but we haven't seen or heard any sign of them.

We've had one grocery store a town over have the entire roof collapse from the weight of the snow.

As a total, my area has gotten over 9 (NINE) feet of snow in just under two weeks.

Gas leaks have begun everywhere because the pipes are shifting from the snow. Two houses that I know of have burned (basically exploded) from gas leaking and the fire department can't get there in time, because the roads haven't been plowed.

The community has turned to help each other though, offering to shovel snow off of decks and roofs to prevent collapse, offering extra food, water, firewood, medicine, pet food. We can't get down the mountain because the roads haven't been plowed and those who are able to find a way down can't get back up.

People need medicine, food, water, heat. We had a diabetic just around the corner who ran a high fever and thankfully made it to the local hospital in time. An emergency CAT plow had to come, but it still took a long time for it to get through the snow. 911 is useless at the moment, they are two to three (2-3) days behind emergency requests. If you're in trouble, you're on your own.

In the meantime, the news is showing lovely helicopter footage of the pretty snow covered mountains (I'm tired of hearing helicopters overhead every 15 min) and San Bernardino County is patting themselves on the back during press conferences saying how good of a job people are doing to help with relief. They have done NOTHING. And the sheriff (who doesn't have jurisdiction over this issue) is trying to deny the hospital helicopter from taking off and landing up in the mountains because there "is too much air travel so it would be dangerous to have this helicopter in the air" but all of the news helicopters doing nothing are perfectly fine. That helicopter has saved lots of lives so far and is the only way down the mountain for those in desperate medical need.

There have been unprecedented avalanches in nearby mountain communities. Forest falls, just below Big Bear, has no water. An avalanche took their water tower out.

The mountain communities need plows. Yes, food and water and shelter are nice in theory, but get us PLOWS. If people can get down the mountain and around town to help others, that would be the best way to get through this.

My family has enough food and heat, thankfully. But we only planned for 2 weeks when we heard of the storm. It's been 11 (ELEVEN) days. The only news we've heard of a plow coming is within 1-2 weeks at minimum. We might run out of dog food, cat food, firewood. And what about other people who didn't stock up or didn't have the money to stock up? What about short time rental users who excepted to be up here for a few days and are stranded without supplies?

Get the mountain communities plows.

[squidyyy23]

tag game tuesday! 💫

tagged for macy's tag game tuesday by @celestialmickey @creepkinginc and @sleepyfacetoughguy

name: tina 🦑

pronouns: she/her

where do you call home? (finally) sunny socal. 🏝️

favorite animal: giraffe. call it height envy. 🦒

cereal of choice: reeses puffs. 🍫🥜

are you a visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner? hmm, i've never really thought about it? probably visual. i would rather just watch someone do the thing than listen to them talk about it. but even better, i'd like to just do it myself and figure it out.

first pet? black lab named shadow. my mom was out on an electrical job and found a box of neglected puppies in a basement. called it in and we kept one. he was neurotic and split his time hiding behind the toilet and attacking people. eventually he "went to live with someone with a really big backyard" but now i question that story... 😢

favorite scent? i don't know about favorite but i took my son to his first gymnastics lesson today and the smell of the gym was like whoa, bam, childhood. nice throwback (even if maybe not such a nice smell). 🤸🏻‍♀️

do you believe in astrology? i believe it's fun to learn about.

how many playlists do you have on spotify/apple music? 20ish?

sharpies or highlighters? these have two completely different purposes... i rarely have a need for a highlighter though.

a song that makes you cry: i am but made of cold, hard stone.

a song that makes you happy: bootylicious played today in the grocery store and yes, i was jamming.

and finally, do you write/draw/create? if so, use this as an opportunity to shamelessly (😉) promote yourself! write! on ao3 and some drabbles and stuff buried in the #squids words 🦑 tag. (it's still weird to say that? like i'm starting to accept that yeah, i write, but just barely)

plus a bonus picrew by @look-i-love-u @stocious @creepkinginc. it's summer and the freckles are out in full force.

oops. and forgot to tag people. 🙈 @auds-and-evens @howlinchickhowl @grumble-fish @crossmydna @metalheadmickey @heymrspatel @juliakayyy @mmmichyyy @rereadanon @gallawitchxx @thisdivorce @gardenerian @whatwouldmickeydo @suzy-queued @energievie @michellemisfit

[dynamic-power]

It's weekly tag Wednesday!

Thanks @mybrainismelted for the tag!! 😊

Name: Dyno 🦖

Where in the world are you? I am from California! 🌊⛱️⛰️🌲

Do you have a favorite towel? It's a favorite set of towels, actually. They are dark blue and very fluffy. 🟦

Can you skip rocks? No. Not for lack of trying, I just never really got the hang of it. 😅🪨

Tell me about a weird slang term from your area. My favorite is "tryna", means trying to. But we use it in place of want to. Most of our slang is actually about locations. Norcal, Socal. I'm in Norcal, so we use the bay, the city, Frisco, Sacto, up the hill. My fav of these is Yolo, which is a county. 🤷

Favorite toast topping? Butter and jelly 😋

Thoughts on bread pudding? I can count on one hand how many times I've had it before. It was okay, I guess?

City or country living? City. I grew up in the suburbs, and live in a city now. 🌆

How do you cheer yourself up after a bad day? My favorite way is very specific. Play stardew valley while having a show I've watched way too much (usually Futurama or Bojack Horseman) playing in the background.

Are you a pessimist or an optimist? I try really hard to be an optimist, but by nature I'm a pessimist.

Can I tag you in random stuff? YES. Tag me, send me messages or asks. Seriously, it makes my day every time I see a new mention.

Tagging! @juliakayyy @sweetbee78 @depressedstressedlemonzest @spacerockwriting @callivich @dont-open-dead-inside-25 @redwiccanrobin @creepkinginc @transmickey @sam-loves-seb @softmick

And literally anyone else who sees this, consider it a tag from me!

[contentment-of-cats]

We were bitching about hot and dry.

So, now we in SoCal are on track to receive the first tropical storm warning in history. Yes, in history, because the last time this happened the NWS did not yet exist.

Here's the deal.

Meet Hilary, she's currently southwest of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico as a Category 4 hurricane.The red track is her projected course - and yep, she's heading right for Los Angeles.

*prays to dear baby jeebus for a direct hit on any properties owned by Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Peter Thiel, and assorted studio heads while also praying for it to rain money into the actors' and writers' strike funds*

My boss picked the wrong weekend for a romantic Catalina Island getaway for his 25th anniversary. Then again, he's from Florida. He's probably going to sit out on the balcony drinking beer, taking bong rips, and hollering at the store, "THAT ALL YOU GOT?"

Anyway, we might look screwed, but honestly... we are. Just not completely screwed. See that down there? That's water temperatures.

Hurricanes need to get their feet into warm water to be powerful, which is why Hilary is a hurricane now. In contrast, once you get off the tip of Baja, you get into colder waters the hurricanes don't like. Cold slows them down, so that's the only thing saving us from a hurricane our infrastructure is not designed to handle. We have had some 'bomb cyclone' storms - cold and wet with up to 75 MPH winds. Lots of damage, but the lights stayed on. We have Santa Ana winds, and what most people call a windstorm we call November. Still, winds are forecast between 40 and 60 MPH.

Lets go to the scary part - rainfall and flooding.

From Sunday night, my area is looking for between 3 and 6 inches of rainfall. We normally do not get that much in a year. The strongest storm I can remember dumped an inch and a half over 24 hours. This is a minimum doubling of that amount. Some areas could see as much as 10 inches.

According to my local forecast, the rain will start about 6:00AM on Sunday and ending on Monday afternoon. The heaviest rain and winds will tale place Sunday evening.

I ought to be okay. I'm on the 2nd floor, so no flooding, and the building has a new roof.

Here we go!

[travlersjoy444]

Not Quite What She Seemed (Pacifica Northwest x reader)

Gravity Falls Pacifica x Gender neutral reader

Word count: 2.5k

The one shot for a request I promised months ago- I'm sorry it's so horribly late!

Prompt: 'Sure I hate them, but I don't want them to die!'

*******

  I crossed my arms and glared at Dipper.

  “So you’re saying…you told Pacifica I’d help her learn about anomalies.”

  He nodded slowly. “...yes. I realize now that that may have been a bad idea, but Mabel and I have to go back to California soon and Pacifica said she wanted to learn more about them…And besides Soos and Wendy, you know more about the secrets of Gravity Falls than anyone else in Gravity Falls!”

  “Flattery only works in films.” I grumbled. “And why’d you say I would teach her of all people? Can’t you, like, video call her? Or-or Wendy! Wendy could teach her!”

  “Because you’re the only one who studied the journals. And I hate video calls, they’re uncomfortable and awkward.” 

  “So to get this straight…while you’re having fun in SoCal, I’ll be up here dealing with Princess Bratz doll?”

  “Actually, I’m from the bay area, and also…her family lost all their riches from Weirdmaggedon, so she’ll learn to be…less spoiled, you know?”

  “Screw that, Dipper Pines. If she becomes, like, a good person or something, I’ll eat my journal.”

  “She is a…better person, surprisingly. You just haven’t talked to her in a while.”

  “Hmph.”

*******

  Well…a few days later, the twins went home. Summer was fun, but summer ends…I was already looking forward to next year.

  I sighed and exited the creatively named Gravity Falls High School, grateful that the first day of school was a Friday.

  “Hey, you, (Y/N).” Said a familiar valley girl accent.

  Pacifica.

  “Northwest. What do you want?”

  She approached me. “Well…it was kinda fun busting monsters with Dipper and Mabel, so I got curious. And Dipper said you could tell me more.”

  “Figured. What are you, like some…valley girl scientist? Is- is that what you’re going for, Blondie?”

  “Jeez, what did I ever do to you?” She frowned, glaring at me.”

  “Hmmm…I don’t know….maybe it was how you bullied me all summer.” I said nonchalantly.

  “Well I’m sorry for that! I’m…I’m trying to be better, I really do want to learn about this stuff!”

  I snorted. “Aren’t you scared you’ll break a nail?”

  “Of course I am! But I always am, so what difference does it make?”

  “And can you even hold yourself in a fight?” I said loftily. I was winding her up, and I knew it too.

  She stared at me for a few seconds, her scowl deepening. I smirked harder, when suddenly I felt her grab the front of my shirt. 

  My eyes widened. “Uh…what’re you doin’ there?” 

  “Proving you wrong,” She smirked. She shoved me towards the school, and pinned me to the wall. I struggled, but she had a grip of steel. She held her fist up as if to punch me…

  “How’s that for fighting?” She grinned, letting go of me.

  I stared at her for a few seconds before returning to my cool facade. 

  “Pretty good, actually. I underestimated you. Maybe you do have something goin’ for you, Princess.”

*******

  “So this is the mission.” I said, reaching the dimensional rip. Ford had tasked me with closing all of them with alien adhesive before he left.

  I turned to see Pacifica about ten feet back, struggling to keep up with me. Good. I smiled, taking pride in the fact that I was faster than her.

  “As you know, Weirdmaggedon caused all sorts of….well, weird stuff. Like how the phone reception is weird now, and the new fault line in the forest- not that you’d know about the latter, considering you’re afraid of getting your boots muddy.” I gestured towards her feet- she was wearing Dipper's old ugly hiking boots, while I wore the sleeker black leather boots Ford left at the Mystery Shack. They were probably magical, considering they fit perfectly even though Ford and I wore different shoe sizes.

  “Yeah, well, we didn’t need to go on a mission right after it rained, (Y/N). Actually- you’re doing this to spite me, huh?”

  I chuckled. Her expression was gold. “Heh, maybe a little- Anyways, one of these new anomalies is dimensional rips. They lead into the multiverse, and are probably the source of most of Gravity Falls’ weirdness? I don’t know, it’s just a theory…” I paused, waiting for her eyes to glaze over as she pretended to understand what I was saying.

  They didn’t glaze over. 

  “Go on, you were talking about the multiverse?”

   I blushed as I realized I had stopped talking, and pulled my gaze away from her to continue.

  “Well, basically, we’re closing the rip to the multiverse with this alien adhesive.”

  “Ew. But I guess if it does the job…”

  “It does.” I said bluntly. “Careful, you might mess up your designer shorts.”

  “I’ll have you know, these are cheap. They’re only Balenciaga. Honestly, even your folk could afford them.”

  “My folk, eh? If I remember correctly, your family lost your entire fortune…so perhaps you should say our folk.”

  “Never. I’d rather not be associated with you.”

   “You know, you’re not doing a very good job of becoming a better person, you know that? Maybe Dipper was wrong about you.” I said loftily. 

  She stared at me for a moment, the sass in her eyes flickered into genuine hurt. Maybe I had gone too far-

  She stepped towards me angrily. “Well maybe you’re not making it very easy!”   

  “It isn’t supposed to be easy!” I said despite myself. 

  “Then why is it easy with everyone but you?!” She snapped, lunging towards me.

  I stared at her, a few inches from my face. 

  She stepped away, towards the tear. I saw what would happen before it did... 

  “Look, I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that-” She sighed, not noticing the panic in my eyes.

  “Pacifica-”

  A lovecraftian tentacle broke out of the rift and wrapped around her ankle, pulling her back towards the portal. 

  Her eyes widened and she tried to fight it off, and I ran forward, trying to help.

  “(Y/N), help! I’m sorry, really-” She screamed helplessly.

  I caught her hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll save you-” 

  But she was already slipping out of my grasp. I slid my jacket off.

  “Grab onto this! M-maybe-”

  She gripped the sleeve as I tried to pull her back.

  “(Y/N), this isn’t gonna work…” 

  “I-I’ll save you Pacifica, I promise!” I yelled as she disappeared into the rift, taking my jacket with her.

  There was a long silence, punctuated by the soft electric crackle of the void in front of me.

  “What am I gonna do?” I whispered.

*******

  I ran as fast as I could back to the mystery shack- Ford had an infinity belt that I would use to find my way back to our dimension.

  Now equipped with the infinity belt and an axe Wendy gave me, I was ready to descend into a multiverse of chaos. 

  By now Pacifica could be universes away… 

  I reached into my backpack, where I had Ford’s fanciest tracker. I inputted a strand of long blonde hair that I assumed was Pacifca’s- she was the only one with hair like that. I stared at the tracker as numbers flashed over the screen…

  DNA match found

  Location: Dimension PAZ

  Coordinates: Unknown

Yeah...that wasn't ideal.

  I put the tracker back in my bag and tied the infinity belt to a nearby pine tree. With a deep breath, I stepped forward into the tear.

  The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like everything, but nothing all at once. Same with the sights, once my eyes managed to register them….a world of possibilities, right here at my fingertips. It burned through me, the realization that out here….I could literally do anything.

  And….wait, was that my name? In the distance- which could have been anywhere between a hundred feet away and a million lightyears away- was what looked to be a fireworks display! The lights flashed and flickered into a word- (Y/N). It was my name- Oh yeah! Pacifica had my jacket- that meant she had Ford’s spare flare gun!

*******

  “....and so now I’m here.” I finished.

  “Wait, so you did all that for someone…you hate?” Asked the (H/C) boy in front of me.

   “I might hate her, but I also don’t want her to die!” I exclaimed, irritated at this (Y/N) variant. He kept bugging me about ‘my Pacifica’.

  “What do you mean ‘my Pacifica’?” I had asked the first time he said it.

  “Well, every (Y/N) variant has a Pacifica variant.” He answered earnestly.

  I had scoffed and said that sounded like a soulmate AU in a fanfic. He said it was just destiny. (...right.)

  The flare had led me to dimension PAZ, an in-between place where all the multiverse’s lost Pacifica Northwest variants wound up. Apparently matter was attracted to itself in the multiverse, similar to how weirdness was attracted to Gravity Falls, which was really quite fascinating…

  But anyways. I had barely been there for a minute before discovering two things: First of all, my dimension’s Pacifica would be really hard to locate amongst this crowd of Pacificas. Secondly….PAZ wasn’t just for Pacificas, but (Y/N) variants too. And as my guide had said, this was due to some weird predestined thing- Pacifica Northwest and (Y/N) (L/N) were just fated to be together in some context- from friendship to epic rivalry to…romance- even if both of them happened to be sentient furniture. (I cringed- a table version of me was not something I wanted to see, ever.)

  “Hey, you’re new, huh?” Said a Pacifica variant with three eyes. “You’re not as hot as my (Y/N),” She added.

  “Gee, thanks.” I sighed. “Wait- what?!” 

  “Hmm, you’re new, huh- Like I said, my (Y/N). My awesome girlfriend. Here she is, actually!”

  I stared as a girl with my face, three eyes, and a longer version of my hair  ran up to us, waving.

  “Lookit, a new kid.” Said the three eyed Pacifica variant. My feminine variant looked me up and down-

  “Wow, you’re not as hot as me.” She decided.

  I blushed. “Hey- yes I am! We have the same face!”

  “But my hair is nicer!” She chuckled, not seeming to understand that my feelings were hurt.

  I snorted. “Your hair is just mine but longer. And c’mon, if you’re me, you ought to understand that I am absolutely gonna overthink this later, and I really don’t neEd that right now!” I said, unsure whether or not I was kidding.

  “Hon, your voice cracked.” Said three eyed Pacifica.

  I grinned impishly, about to say something, when a familiar (Y/N) variant grabbed my backpack and pulled me away.

  “Hey!” I mumbled, shaking him off.

  “Sorry. Just didn’t want you to deal with conceited (Y/N) and Pacifica. The only thing those two care about is each other and looking hot.”

  “...Well, at least they have a stable relationship,” I gagged, turning away from the sight of the two kissing. Extra feminine me and alien Northwest making out was not something I wanted to have seared into my memory, thank you very much.

  “Well- anyways. Do you know where I can find…’my’ Pacifica?” I sighed, rubbing my temples. 

  “Maybe? I mean…it’s hard to tell sometimes, but I found mine...after a few years…” He shrugged.

  “I-I….I don’t have a few years!” 

  “Can’t you just text her?” He frowned.

  “Can’t I just- No! Of course not! We’re universes away from Earth!” I sqeaked.

  “Dude, chill. We have Wi-Fi here, jeez.”

  I paused. “Wait, really?”

  “No,” He smirked.

  “You’re not very nice, you know that?” I sighed.

  “Why thank you, I do pride myself on my ability to….”

  But I had stopped paying attention to him.

  “(Y/N)!” Grinned a familiar face. There might have been a lot of Pacifica Northwests in this dimension, but there was only one that would be wearing a familiar aviator jacket that I bought at a thrift store for seven dollars.

  “My Pacifica!” I exclaimed, grabbing her hands. “Ahem, sorry. Just Pacifica.” I added, blushing and shoving my hands back into my pockets. 

  “Why’re you blushing?” She teased.

  “I’m just so…so pissed that you got me stuck in another dimension, is all.” I coughed. Shit, why was I blushing?!

  “(Y/N), I am…really sorry about this.” She said more solemnly. “Maybe you…were right. Northwests aren’t built for ghost-hunts. But do you really….do you really think Dipper was wrong about me?”

  I cringed, sitting down next to her on the bench. The time for jokes was apparently over.

  “No. I was the one wrong about you.” 

  Her eyes widened, and I crossed my arms around my body self-consciously. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up me-varient. I see you hiding over there.”

  She snorted as the guy from earlier tried to hide better. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to Pacifica.

  “I didn’t think you were a bad person before, I just thought you were shallow, vain, and dumb. And while you are all of those things….”

  She shoved me off the bench.

  “...Ohhh-kay, you did not need to push that hard…anyways, you are shallow and vain, but you’re not dumb. You’re actually really smart- who else would have thought to check my jacket’s pockets for resources? I wouldn’t have found you so easily if it weren’t for that flare gun! And the fact that you’ve chosen to come learn these things- from someone you hate, no less- is actually…really cool.”

  She helped me off the ground, blushing a bit. I tried to ignore the warmth in my face, choosing instead to break eye contact and fidget with my hands.

  “So. Um…” I tried to break the silence. “Stop feeling bad for yourself! You know how hard it is for me to say nice things to people!”

  She laughed quietly. “Actually, I don’t. I don’t know a lot about you yet, (Y/N), remember?”

  “Well, here's hoping we change that soon.” I said with a confidence I wasn’t used to. “With the twins gone, I’d say Gravity Falls could use a new mystery duo…” I held out my hand nervously. “Whattaya say- partners?”

  She shook my outstretched hand. “Deal. But I get to keep your jacket.”

  I snorted. “You know that’s faux leather, right? It’s dirt cheap.”

  “So you won’t be missing it?”

  I chuckled. “I guess not. Now let's get home!”

*******

  “So…have you tried showing Paz more about the supernatural yet?” Dipper said hopefully, over phonecall.

  “Yeah, actually.” I said, leaning back on the shoe rack. 

  “...So…how’d it go?”

  “I think…I think it might actually have been a pretty good idea.” I smiled. “She’s dragged me to help pick out 'nice boots’- your old ones weren’t doing it for her, Dip.”

  “My old ones are awesome!” He protested.

  “Your old ones smelled like old people and sulfur, Pines.” Pacifica said over my shoulder. “But your taste in friends is kind of good- I might have to steal this one.”

  I snorted.

  But she was right…Dipper’s taste in friends actually wasn’t half bad.

*******

[heatwavering]

when-harry-met-sally-ification of hangster is genius!!!! i would love to hear more about that if you don't mind sharing!

also - what's on your bradley bradshaw playlist? what's genre do you associate w/ him the most?

oh god. oh you don’t even know man. hangster being harry met sally (1989) is one of those things that only makes sense in my head or with a lot of background context, because if i were to just come out and say “rooster is like sally because he’s a chronic perfectionist and an emotional powder keg that lets everything pile up until the last moment (plus his mom is meg ryan), and hangman’s like harry because he’s an cynical asshole who’s actually gooey on the inside and doesn’t speak before he thinks and chooses to push peoples buttons and yearns more than he lets on” to someone who’s only seen both movies in passing, i’m going to get a lot of blank stares and nervous laughter. "isn't that every romcom couple ever?" yes. but i mean--

BAR. FOR BAR. I have wayyy more examples and comparisons but my computer explodes every time I try to add a picture or god forbid a gif. mostly, the "we've met before and it went terrible both times, but the third time we met it stuck and we managed to finally find equal footing and fall in love," is sooooo special to me. and since when harry met sally is an 80s movie (derogatory) and people bog down on the "men and women can't be friends" thing it gets a lot of flack, but by the end of the movie the whole dynamic shifts and becomes more like "why are we putting such big expectations on a relationship when I just love you. plain and simple. no wishy-washy philosophy applies because we've outgrown it and now know each other as equals." (plus that whole first "idea" is brought up by a cynical twenty-something who changes his entire worldview by the end of the movie bc he's fallen in love. why stick to your guns about an idea that's outdated when (a) people are too complicated to fall into your boxes and (b) uhhh who cares. you're in love. I always thought the change in harry's character is supposed to reverse his previous claim in the beginning of the movie and make fun of it for being kind of elementary. but maybe I'm thinking too hard about it.) I'm definitely glossing over some plot points and nuance and whatever but again, this dynamic is something that came directly out of my mind and basically only applies to how I've sandcastled hangster into what I want to see. plus I watched WHMS at like nine years old and it might've had some debilitating side effects. enjoy with an entire pile of salt.

about music now. I'm one of those people that is the ugly kind of pretentious about character playlists (his ass would NOT listen to hayloft by mother mother, shit like that) but also spends net zero time actually building a playlist that follows a timeline or theme. so I just sort everything into two separate playlists/categories: songs that [insert character] would listen to "canonically" and songs [insert character] is aligned with in my own opinion. sometimes there's overlap!!! and sometimes I'm forcing myself to decide if Bradley listens to third eye blind or is the kind of guy who makes fun of people who listen to third eye blind. I still can't decide. I wasn't alive when he was in high school. and you know you're up a creek without a paddle when American Pie (1999) becomes reliable historical material. anyway here's the best way I can describe the difference in the two:

Bradley's own playlist: teenage boy from SoCal in the late 90s early 2000s. in my mind he was always kinda quiet in school and did partake in band so he could play the piano (yes, in jazz band. if I hear a Whiplash joke I'm airing the room out) and spent a lot of time listening to anything and everything that wasn't uhhh Britney Spears adjacent. but lots of blink-182, foo fighters, Pearl Jam, nirvana. probably some early Coldplay. maybe some of The Killers when he got to college, and Radiohead but in secret and when Maverick wouldn't bully him for listening to so much "sad ass (unspoken: gay) music." and of course he's Goose's son, soooo: Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Jim Croce, Billy Joel, Allman Brother's Band, Hall & Oates, CCR, Eagles, etc. From Maverick (and Ice): U2, Pearl Jam, The Cars, more dad yacht rock, maybe Metallica (??) depends on if you think Maverick would ever mess around with something hair metal adjacent. of course he prays at the alter of Bruce Springsteen like his fathers before him. and his mom filled in everything else: Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Paul Simon, Wham! (George Michael being outed....hoo boy. #1 topic NOT discussed at the Bradshaw-Mitchell-Kazansky dinner table.), George Strait, Hootie & The Blowfish, miscellaneous female country music from the 90s like Faith Hill and Shania Twain. Alison Krauss & Union Station! Alanis Morissette! The Goo Goo Dolls? now I'm just listing things but you get the picture.

my playlist about Bradley: anything about hating your dad or your hometown with lyrics that apply. see photo below and you'll get the vibe.

[also, that ONE specific photo of miles teller in project x is the photo that sailed a thousand fics. i love that photo. i wrote this entire fucking fic around that photo. it’s so bradley nicolas bradshaw to me.]

but overall my biggest examples of songs that apply to him (for me) are Little Giant by Roo Panes, Release by Pearl Jam, and The Long Way Around by the Chicks. Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten bc of how it makes me feel about Maverick and him (sick in the head.) souvenir by boygenius. faith by bon iver. Hot & Heavy by Lucy Dacus and The Steps by HAIM for hangster vibes. too much Taylor Swift and Maggie Rogers that I don't know how to explain without having a published fic. I have a ton more and I want to pick like 10 songs from each section and go into heavier detail, but I should probably put something out before I dig myself a hole pffft.

[onedesertrat]

for the past couple of months I've slowly been having some doubt that my band would ever break through or actually reach the ears of people outside of socal that genuinely like it and this morning I made a new friend who not only actually liked the band but also asked if Zaniak could be included in his zine out of south Korea then one of my local homies asked if we wanted to play a show with two touring bands one from NYC and one from Japan. of course I said yes 🤣 I'm beyond stoked right now. I know Zaniak's music is pretty niche and I would never expect us to be on a major fest or on a record lable but this is pretty fuckin cool.

[lizardlicks]

15 questions 15 mutuals

i was tagged by @erisenyo

were you named after anyone? My dead middle name, yes. My chosen name is all me.

when was the last time you cried? Just watched the new Spiderverse movie today and oh boy. Gwen. Greeeeeen. My baby girl

do you have kids? Three fantastic kiddos that I'm so so so proud of!

do you use sarcasm a lot? Probably more than I should.

what's the first thing you notice about people? How much they laugh! How fast they are to crack a joke, or smile at someone else's.

what's your eye color? gray

scary movies or happy endings? Depends! I think that the story is well told and the ending is satisfying is the most important thing.

any special talents? Uuuuuuuh idk I can pick stuff up with my toes?

where were you born? SoCal, baby

what are your hobbies? That's. A very very long list.

have any pets? I own a farm and have lots of critters! But if you mean pet pets then we have two cats, three dogs, and a Holland lop bunny.

what sports do you play/have you played? I don't really do sports. I do enjoy recreational kayaking though, idk if that counts?

how tall are you? 5'2/157.48cm. yes yes, get the sort jokes out of the way now.

favorite subject in school? Everything except math when I was doing the traditional mandatory schooling. 

dream job? If my current attempt goes well, once I'm finished with my rad tech certification, I'm going to specialize into nuclear medicine then go into radiotherapy!

Now I'm gonna tag @ablueeyedarcher, @ultfreakme, @ranilla-bean, @saccharineomens, @lovelyelbowleech, @fireflaked, @curlicuetruth, @moldavitemanatee, @thepioden, @solluxisms aaaand uh I guess whoever else wants to do a fun little ask game??

[cherryozyi]

OG Tag from: @mspa-reader

Glad you asked because technically I have a small AU concept of a Deltarune inspired Universe!!

(Rambling starts here so)

I say inspired because instead of Bosses being already in a dark world, some classmates become the bosses the trio have to face. Also it's more of a Fun AU that isn't meant to be taken too seriously like Deltarune is. Also every classmate (except Squish Pod and Peggy) just thinks it's a dream.

Example for Chapter 1 & 2

Lynnwood is the Boss for the first Dark World and his world consist of a Theater Theme rather than a Chess Theme. His design/how he'd see himself would be something similar to Phantom Of The Opera design would be. Shirley is there too and she'd take a more Susie like role but unlike her she wouldn't stick with the team. Though she would get something out of it, she'd learn to be better friends with Squish and his friends and grow as a character similar to how Susie grew in that chapter. Although it would be both Squish and Shirley having their character arch's since the chapter would most likely focus on those two if that makes sense.

Chapter 2 is Helen as place of Queen and her world is a bit tricky to come up with but so far it still would be a science tech like world but it's mostly because of Franny's influence on her. (Also admittedly she does look up to her girlfriend but doesn't say much out of embarrassment and pride) OR something more based on Socal Media or something. But I like th first idea better

Also Franny and Basil would take the role of Noelle and Berdly but obviously with major changes. Here Franny and Helen would have a character arc but instead of with the trio it's with eachother. (Obviously the trio would help sort things out). Since Helen and Franny are pretty new to dating there is alot of doubt and insecurities both would hide or have, which would get resolved in the end and yes they'd still be bitter towards the main cast after everything. Basil does have his own arc and reason to be there but that will be explained another day because I'm wondering if it'd would work or not. It is similar to the last Chapter where Shirley and Squish work something out. (Also its based off another idea for the show itself and need to explain that first before I can explain it in AU form)

Anyways..

This AU is mostly in my head and I haven't drawn anything, except of a very very messy sketch when I was still new to the whole Squish TV Show but that doodle is literally just Squish as Kris, Pod as Susie and Peggy as Ralsei costumes. Now they'd have new designs and keep their same personality but I never gotten around to draw it yet. Also because this is all in my head I didn't exactly have everything set in stone yet and yes there are a few plot holes that needs fixing. One thing I can confidently say is there is no Secret Bosses like Jevil or Spamton and there is no Genocide or "Player" controlling Squish. It's just the trio accidentally stumbling upon a RPG like world. This is just an AU for fun.

Apologies for this making no sense btw, tried my best to explain everything.

(picture is just used for filler)

[gallawitchxx]

weekly tag wednesday 🎄

i was tagged by @deedala @mybrainismelted @energievie @sleepyfacetoughguy @mmmichyyy @sam-loves-seb @creepkinginc @metalheadmickey @transmickey to do today's game! thank you pals! when i have more time/energy, i'm going to respond to each & every one of yours!

- - - - -

🔠favourite nickname you’ve ever been given: bee :)

🗺️ where are you located? la la land

🥶⛱️ what season is it where you are now? i have no idea lmaooo. what is socal in december?

🥳 favourite tradition this time of year: going to see the rockefeller christmas tree! & we were just in new york, so i did it bayybeee! 13 years running.

🥧 favourite holiday food: pumpkin pie <3

☕️ mulled wine, eggnog or hot apple cider? hot apple cider, please & thank you

🍗 turkey, ham or nut roast (Or tofurkey?)? turkey turkey turkey

🏔️🏖️ would you rather spend the december holidays in: a cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, or a house on the beach with sun and sand? this year? on the beach with sun & sand! let's get a tan for christmas.

❄️ are you pro-snow or anti-snow? i'm pro-snow! i'm just not pro-live-in-the-snow-without-even-the-shittiest-of-city-infrastructures.

⛄️ have you ever built a snowman? honestly, i don't know? oh my god–

⛷️ skiing or Snowboarding? neither, whoops.

🎍 do you decorate for the holidays? yes! this year we're in a new place & so we got new decorations! it's all pretty simple, but i'm digging it! i love our mantle - it's got colorful little trees & sparkly garland & fairy lights... ahhh!

🎬 favourite holiday movie? ok this is not my favorite by any means, but it is very near & dear to me & i feel i must spread the gospel -- please please do yourself a favor & watch A New York Christmas Wedding (it's on boooo amazon prime boooo). it's the most unhinged thing i've ever seen. it's got time travel, it's got guardian angels, it's got a bisexual lead, it's got chris noth as a catholic priest changing his mind about gay people, it's got PLOT TWISTS! on second thought, it's absolutely my favorite holiday movie (after The Holiday & Home Alone.)

📖 favourite holiday fanfic? something kinda special, (a two of your earth minutes christmas special) by @the-rat-wins. it's perfect, your honor.

🎥 if you were to star in a Hallmark movie, who would be your love interest? i want to be in the most cliché, heterosexual, christmas movie of all time -- my character leaves the big city & her businessman boyfriend for her burly hometown neighbor & high school sweetheart, who's now a widower that runs a christmas tree farm now -- opposite tom welling (of smallville fame) in a holiday comeback moment.

- - - - -

i'm not going to tag anyone because i simply do not have the spoons, but i love you all madly. i love you! i love you.