cherry valley forever
Peter Solarz
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Kaledo Art
PR's Tumblrdome
Discoholic 🪩
Sade Olutola
Cosimo Galluzzi
Kiana Khansmith
No title available
Sweet Seals For You, Always
KIROKAZE
we're not kids anymore.
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
No title available
#extradirty
taylor price
macklin celebrini has autism
todays bird
ellievsbear
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Romania
seen from Palestinian Territories
seen from Malaysia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@bizzy-b
happy disability pride month and once again, FUCK lazy subtitles. fuck the [speaks foreign language] instead of actually transcribing the words, fuck shortening sentences and changing whats been said for no reason, fuck censoring swearing in captions but not in audio and fuck anyone who says youre being 'too sensitive' for being upset about a lack of accessibility
for this fourth of july I just wanna say: fuck this stupid ass racist ableist classist piece of shit country. fuck this bill that will kill MILLIONS of people and will kill the planet. fuck the oligarchy. fuck the military. fuck “border protection.” fuck the billionaires. fuck anyone who feels “patriotic” to be american.
Girl Dad Bobby
A/n: Going with Bobby knowing what the girls do because I say so.
Bobby was a lot of things.
Former idol trainee. PR wizard. Crisis manager. Demon-slayer scheduler. ( Because that was a thing apparently )
But his favorite title?
“Appa!!! She colored on your press notes again!!”
Girl Dad.
He came rushing into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants and a sleep shirt that read: HONMOON DAD CLUB. His hair was a fluffy disaster, there was a seal sticker on his cheek, and he was holding a glittery pink sippy cup like it was a grenade.
“Okay,” he said, voice low, rubbing his temples. “Which one of you adorable little demons wants to explain why the Seoul Music Award notes now have a rainbow unicorn barfing hearts all over Zoey’s outfit reveal?”
Three sets of eyes blinked up at him.
Hyuna (age 6, firstborn chaos) slowly raised a purple crayon like it was Excalibur. “It was for protection, Appa. Unicorns keep demons away.”
Bobby blinked. Then nodded. “Okay. Fair. Strong logic. Flawed execution.”
The man just taking the answer as truth because of course Bobby would, this was his baby girl after all.
You came into the room balancing the toddler on your hip—Yejin, age 2, your mini-me—who was babbling something in half-words while sucking on her thumb and proudly holding a plush Rumi doll.
“She saw her unnie do it and thought Rumi needed sparkles,” you explained.
Bobby glanced down at the Rumi plush. The face was now covered in glitter and stickers.
“…That’s actually an improvement,” he muttered, half-defeated. “She looks more unbothered by demonic possession now.”
You grinned and kissed his cheek—right on the seal sticker. “You’re handling this chaos well, Appa.” Your voice holding a teasing edge to it.
“I’m trained for PR disasters, not the glitter apocalypse.”
He took the toddler from your arms, and Yejin immediately clung to his neck, squealing “Appaaaa~” and smushing her tiny hand against his nose.
Hyuna poked his thigh with the crayon. “Are you going back to work now?”
“I don’t want to, but the press wants a comment about Rumi having a boyfriend, the fandom’s at war over whether Jinu has a crush, and Mira’s threatening to leak her high school mixtape if I don’t approve their concept shoot by noon.”
You smirked. “So… a normal day.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. Then smiled at you and kissed your forehead. “Except now I get to do it while covered in baby yogurt and seal stickers. Living the dream.”
As he turned to leave, Yejin pulled at his shirt and whispered, “Appa?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“You’re my favorite idol.”
Bobby stopped. His face crumpled with affection, and you watched as the man who routinely fought PR nightmares and raging idol scandals just melted under the weight of his tiny daughter’s love.
He turned around, pulled both girls into his arms, and said, “No award in the world beats that.”
His lip quivering as he places kisses all across his daughter's cheeks.Then he turned to you, eyes still soft, voice thick with emotion.
“You know, I was terrified about being a dad. Terrified I’d mess up. Or that I’d always be too busy. But these girls… they’re the only PR I’ll never spin.”
You smiled. “That’s because they see you. Not just the manager. Just… Bobby. Their Appa.”
As Hyuna climbed onto the couch and proudly declared she was going to “train to be the next demon-hunting pop star,” Bobby just laughed, eyes full of sparkle.
“I hope they never stop dreaming,” he said. “Because I’ll protect them. From demons, scandals, and heartbreak. Always.”
You leaned against him, and together, the four of you sat in the quiet hum of Sunday morning cartoons, K-pop awards waiting, demon scandals looming—and Bobby, your husband, your rock, right in the middle of it all.
Covered in glitter.
With a Rumi doll in one hand, and his daughters in the other.
Girl Dad. Through and through
height check. how tall are you people in my phone
Just to see you smile || Rick O’Connell ||
A/n: this won't do well but i cont care
Sand clung to your boots as you crouched beside an ancient stone tablet, carefully brushing away centuries of dust and time. The hieroglyphs carved into the weathered limestone were familiar yet cryptic—echoes of myth, warnings whispered from the past.
You adjusted your spectacles and exhaled. “This is a curse tablet—meant to protect the tomb from desecration.”
“Great,” Rick’s voice drawled behind you. “Just what we need. Another curse.”
You smiled faintly but didn’t look up. “I told you. They’re more symbolic than supernatural. A psychological deterrent. Mostly.”
Rick raised a brow at that. “Mostly?”
From the other side of the ruins, the Americans were being their usual loud, boisterous selves—clinking bottles, laughing, accidentally detonating minor traps. You tried to focus, but the sunlight was brutal, and your notebook was practically useless without… well…
“I’d give anything for one of those magnifying readers Daniels was using,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. “You can’t make out these glyphs without one.”
Rick heard you.
He looked over, spotted Daniels, the beefy, cigar-smoking loudmouth from the American team, using a shiny brass magnifier with a retractable arm. It was perfect. Small enough to swipe. Useful enough to matter. And if it made you smile.
Well, then.
That night, while everyone was distracted by a rowdy fireside poker game and Ardeth was dramatically sharpening his scimitar in a corner like the brooding sand-warrior he was, Rick slipped away.
The next morning, you sat cross-legged on the floor of the temple chamber, trying again to copy the curse script into your journal by torchlight. Your brows were furrowed, lips pursed, focus narrowed.
A small shadow fell over your work.
You looked up—and there was Rick, arms folded, wearing that ruggedly smug expression that only spelled trouble.
“Morning, Doc.”
“Morning, Rick,” you said absently. “Don’t step on the—”
He tossed something into your lap.
You blinked. It was the exact magnifier Daniels had been using yesterday, polished and intact.
You looked from the tool to Rick, eyes wide. “How—where did you—?”
Rick smirked. “Let’s just say Daniels owes me… nothing.”
“Rick!” You bit your lip, half laughing, half scandalized. “You stole this?”
“I prefer ‘borrowed indefinitely,’” he said, crouching beside you. “You said you needed it. I figured I’d help.”
Your fingers tightened on the magnifier, heart fluttering. “You did all that… just so I could work easier?”
Rick shrugged casually, but his gaze was warm, fixed on you.
“Not really about the work,” he said gruffly. “I just like seeing you smile.
Your cheeks heated instantly.
And when you did smile—slow and soft, sweet and a little bashful—Rick looked like a man who’d just uncovered a priceless artifact.
“Worth it,” he murmured.
You laughed, eyes bright. “You’re impossible.”
He gave you a wink. “And yet, here I am. Your favorite scoundrel.”
And when you leaned over to press a grateful kiss to his cheek, Rick froze—just for a second—before grinning like he’d just won the jackpot.
He’d brave a dozen curses for that smile again
For scientific purposes, who was your FIRST romance in each DA game.
can u guys rb this n add how you crack your eggs in the tags? i thought cracking them in the sinks’s edge is universal until i saw my friend cracking an egg on the counter instead and it was so pervese and diabolical
➤𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬
↳𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖫𝖾𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗌, 𝖠𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗋𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖥𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗋
LEGOLAS — The Devoted, Overprotective Softie
Daughter’s Personality: A curious whirlwind of giggles and rebellion, somehow always managing to climb the exact tree he told her not to.
Nickname(s) for Her: Elenneth (“Star-maiden”), Tinu (short for Tinúviel), “Little Moonbeam”
|| Before She’s Born ||
•Legolas is quiet but visibly emotional when he learns you’re carrying a daughter. He places a reverent hand on your belly and whispers in Elvish, “A daughter of starlight.”
•He often sings to your belly in soft Sindarin lullabies and kisses your bump before every journey, no matter how short.
•He carves a cradle from mallorn wood, blessing it with Elven runes for protection and peace.
|| When She’s Born ||
•The moment he holds her, his breath catches—her tiny fingers wrapped around his own feel like a miracle.
•He swears he sees stars in her eyes. He names her something soft and lyrical in Elvish, meaning “gentle wind” or “shining dawn.”
•Legolas is completely and utterly bewitched by his daughter from the moment she first wraps her tiny fingers around one of his. He’s faced trolls, orcs, and worse—but nothing terrifies him more than the thought of her being hurt.
|| As She Grows ||
•He sings Elvish lullabies to her every night, often while holding her to his chest and swaying near a window under the stars. Her favorite is one his mother once sang to him.
•Tries to teach her archery with the utmost patience—but she has your temper and his recklessness. The first time she fires an arrow (completely off target), he beams like she just saved Middle-earth.
•Gets wildly overprotective when she hits adolescence. “No, you may not ride alone into the woods with that boy. I don’t care if his father is a respected healer, I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
•Secretly carves her a new bow each year for her birthday. Hides them until she’s old enough to use each one.
•Once let her paint leaves on his face for fun. She called it “camouflage.” He wore it for the rest of the day like it was war paint.
They make flower crowns together, and Legolas wears his proudly if she puts it on his head—even in the presence of Aragorn and Gimli.
He tells you often that she has your smile and your strength. He thanks you for giving him a gift greater than eternity.
Sometimes he watches the two of you together, awe in his eyes, whispering, “How can one lifetime ever be enough for this?”
•Every time she runs into his arms with wildflowers tangled in her hair and dirt on her dress, he thinks: this is the purest joy in all the world.
ARAGORN — The Wise, Rugged, and Deeply Affectionate Father
Daughter’s Personality: Fierce and clever, always trying to live up to her father’s legacy while making her own name
Nickname(s) for Her: My lionheart, “Little Shieldmaiden”, “Star of my House”
|| Before She’s Born ||
•Aragorn is overwhelmed with emotion when he hears you’re having a daughter. He never had much of a family, and now he’s going to make one.
•He hand-carves a tiny sword for her—even before she’s born—and says, “She will be strong. Like her mother.”
•He’s surprisingly superstitious, refusing to let anyone speak ill near your belly, and constantly has his hand resting protectively over it.
|| When She’s Born ||
•From the moment she’s born, Aragorn becomes a gentler king. The crown may sit on his head, but you and her rule his heart. He swears a quiet vow over her cradle: to protect, to guide, and to never let either of you be alone in the dark.
•Tears roll down his face as he holds her for the first time. “My little queen,” he whispers, voice trembling.
•He kisses her forehead and swears before the stars that he will protect her always—even from fate itself.
|| As She Grows ||
•He takes her on long walks through the fields and forests, teaching her plant lore and healing herbs like how he was taught.
•When she asks why people bow to him, he kneels before her and says, “Because I serve the people. But I would kneel only for you and your mother.”
•She braids little flowers into his beard. He lets her. Every time.
His daughter loves to run around the halls of Minas Tirith barefoot, a crown of dandelions on her head. He calls her his “true queen.”
He lets her braid his hair when she’s little. She once accidentally tied it into a knot so bad that Legolas cried laughing and Arwen had to cut it out.
|| Soft Dad Moments ||
•He carries her on his shoulders through the halls of Minas Tirith, declaring, “Make way for Princess Trouble!”
•he sits in his lap during council meetings, often falling asleep curled against him while he signs decrees.
•He gives her piggyback rides in full armor, even though it kills his back. He insists he’s still as strong as a Ranger.
|| Protective Instincts ||
•The first time someone breaks her heart, Aragorn finds out and has a polite but terrifyingly intense talk with the poor fool.
•His sword is kept near her room—not because he expects war, but because peace is something worth defending with steel.
•He calls you the Queen of his heart and thanks you every day for giving him the one thing he never thought he’d have: a real family.
•Sometimes he wakes in the night, watching the two of you sleep, overcome with gratitude and disbelief.
•Despite her being raised in royalty, Aragorn takes her to the wilds often. He teaches her to track, ride, and survive. “You are my daughter, yes—but also your own sword. Forge yourself.”
•Will drop the “kingly” mask in an instant if she gets even a scratch. Once carried her through the entire Citadel because she stubbed her toe. No regrets.
FARAMIR — The Gentle, Bookish, and Sentimental Father
Daughter’s Personality: Thoughtful, perceptive, and incredibly intelligent—loves books, flowers, and asking deep questions
Nickname(s) for Her: “My blossom,” Níniel (“Tear-maiden”), “Sweetling”
|| Before She’s Born ||
•Faramir reads every book he can on childbirth, ancient lullabies.
•He writes her letters before she’s born, tucking them away to give her one day. “In case I’m ever not there,” he tells you quietly.
•He dreams of reading with her beneath Ithilien’s blooming trees, of teaching her about peace, not war.
|| When She’s Born ||
•Faramir never expected to feel peace until he holds her in his arms. Every harsh word Denethor ever said dissolves the moment she rests against his chest.
•Faramir weeps silently as he holds her. “I will not fail you as my father failed me,” he vows, voice barely audible.
•He cradles her like a treasure, calling her my little hope.
|| As She Grows ||
•He reads to her constantly—The Lay of Lúthien, The Silmarillion, even dry old histories. When she falls asleep mid-story, he always finishes the chapter in a whisper.
•She becomes his tiny shadow. She follows him everywhere—through the gardens, into the archives, into strategy meetings (where she falls asleep on a pile of maps).
•Teaches her to observe people. When she’s older, she can read a courtier’s intent faster than a hawk can spot prey. He’s both proud and slightly scared.
•Loves watching her wander the gardens of Ithilien. She names every flower, talks to bees, and brings him handmade flower crowns. He wears them to council meetings with no shame.
•Faramir nearly faints the day she climbs a tree in a dress. Éowyn cackles from the balcony. “She takes after me.”
•Keeps every letter, drawing, or scribble she makes. His office has a drawer labeled “treasures.” Even when she’s grown, he adds to it.
•His daughter once called him the “wisest man in Gondor.” He excused himself and cried in the hallway.
•He teaches her to write her name before she’s five. She writes it in the dirt outside the healing houses and beams when he kisses her forehead in praise.
•He tells her stories of your courage every night, instilling in her quiet strength and unshakable worth.
|| Soft Dad Moments ||
•She rides on his hip during garden walks, clutching a tiny basket of flowers.
•He lets her nap on his chest as he reads, one hand absently brushing through her hair.
•He kisses your hands and belly with reverence, still awestruck that you chose him, bore his child, and gave him the life he never thought he’d have.
•He calls you his heart, and your daughter his soul. And you? You’re the foundation of everything he is.
|| Protective Instincts ||
•Faramir is gentle but deadly if threatened. He does not shout—he warns. The one time someone mocked her stutter, the boy found himself escorted home by five guards and Faramir himself.
•He ensures her tutors and companions treat her with respect. He won’t raise his voice—but the disappointed silence of Lord Faramir is far worse.
I would DIE to see you write more stuff for Ian. He's definitely one of my favorites.
A/n: I CAN GIVE YOU THAT! If you want more please let me know
Chaos and Cooing that is what your life now consisted off.
The night is quiet—eerily so, considering that in this house, quiet is as rare as a perfectly functioning dinosaur park. Ian Malcolm leans back against the couch, his infamous black shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up as he cradles a chubby, giggling baby in his arms.
“Ah, well, now this is unexpected,” he murmurs, bouncing the baby on his knee, who responds with a delighted shriek and a kick of pudgy legs. “The real chaos theory at work—not in the form of dinosaurs, no, but in the genetic masterpiece that is my son.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Clearly, he takes after me.”
Across the room, you, his very tired but still stunning wife, groan from where you’re curled up in the armchair. One hand grips a cup of lukewarm coffee, the other rubs circles into your temple. “Ian, for the last time, he’s giggling because you keep making ridiculous faces at him, not because he understands chaos theory.”
“Ah, ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Ian counters, pressing a noisy kiss to the baby’s round cheek. The baby gurgles in response, drool dripping onto Ian’s wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You see, my dear, chaos theory states that small changes in initial conditions lead to vastly different outcomes—case in point, had we slept last night, we wouldn’t be in this state of delirium. But! Because our son, this delightful little agent of chaos, decided sleep was, ah, unnecessary, here we are.” He gestures vaguely to your exhausted form and his own slightly disheveled one.
Your eyes narrow as you sip your coffee. “Are you seriously trying to lecture me on chaos theory using our son’s sleep schedule as proof?”
“I lecture because I love,” Ian replies smoothly, shifting the baby in his arms as he gazes down at him with something absurdly soft in his dark eyes. “And because I haven’t slept in three nights, and my brain has officially left the metaphorical building.”
You sigh, watching as Ian continues his one-man performance, making exaggerated faces that send your son into another round of belly laughs. The sound is so sweet, so impossibly joyful, that despite your exhaustion, you feel your heart melt.
For all his dramatics, Ian is an incredible father—dotingly attentive, full of boundless energy (somehow), and completely enamored with the little miracle you both created. It’s a sight you never tire of: your eccentric, brilliant, sometimes infuriating husband wrapped around the tiny, chubby fingers of your son.
The baby coos, reaching up to grab a fistful of Ian’s dark curls, and Ian winces but lets him. “Ah, yes, son, excellent grip already proving Darwin’s theory of natural selection. If you can cling to my hair with such tenacity, surely you will thrive in this chaotic world.”
“Or he’s just a baby, Ian.”
“Ah, ah, but is he just a baby?” Ian lifts a dramatic finger. “Or is he the next great scientist, the next disruptor of the status quo, a bringer of groundbreaking, world-altering change?”
The baby sneezes.
Ian nods solemnly. “I rest my case.”
You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head as you set your coffee down and push yourself up from the chair. Walking over, you press a kiss to your son’s soft, round cheek before meeting Ian’s gaze. “You know, for all your rambling, you’re really just a big sap.”
Ian gasps, feigning offense. “Me? A sap? I’ll have you know, darling, I am a man of science, a man of logic, of reason.” He pauses, looking down at the baby, who is now sleepily sucking on his fist. Ian’s voice softens as he gently rocks him. “But… if loving my son so much that it defies logic makes me a sap, well… I suppose I can live with that.”
Your heart clenches, and you lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, at least one of us is still functional,” you murmur, feeling your own exhaustion creep back in.
Ian chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, my love, that implies I was ever functional to begin with.”
A scoff left your lips yet a smile remained and with that, the baby sighs, nestling against his father’s chest, and finally...finally...falls asleep.
Chaos has, at last, taken mercy on you.
For now.
As your eyes drifted closed, Ian's fingers running through your hair gently.
did your 3DS/DS break and how?
circle pad broke
face buttons broke (abxy and dpad)
shoulder buttons broke
screen broke
hinge broke
other/im bald/infinitely nuanced answer
my 3DS/DS didnt break
if multiple parts are broken just click the first one you noticed!
I feel like Ian would be the type of partner who goes off on random tangents when he's talking.
I would love to hear him talk about something he's passionate about and just smile as he talks even if I don't understand half of what he's saying.
A/n: -Sobbing- Thank you Anon
You sat on the porch swing with a cup of coffee cradled between your hands as Ian Malcolm paced in front of them, his dark curls catching the golden glow of the setting sun. His hands gestured wildly, his voice rising and falling like a symphony of enthusiasm as he dove into another impromptu lecture.
“Chaos theory, you see, isn’t just about unpredictability—it’s about understanding how small changes in initial conditions can lead to vastly different outcomes,” Ian said, his eyes alight with passion. “Take the butterfly effect, for example. A butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can set off a tornado in Texas. It’s all connected, every little thing, every decision, every action. Isn’t that just… exhilarating?”
You didn’t fully follow what he was saying but you couldn't help but love the way Ian’s mind worked—how he could find fascination in the unpredictable, the strange, and the interconnected. A small smile forming on the edge of your lips as you took a sip of your coffee, eyes twinkling as you watched him animatedly flay his hands around.
“You’re smiling,” Ian paused mid-pace, his dark eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You’re not even listening, are you?” He was teasing you of course, a habit of his.
“I’m listening,” you insisted, setting the coffee aside pushing off the chair. “I just might not understand all of it.” You stated with a small shrug of your shoulders.
Ian folded his arms and tilted his head, a grin playing at his lips. “Ah, so you’re humoring me. I see how it is.” His voice light as he stepped forward letting his arms drape around your waist.
You laughed, shaking your head. “No, Ian. I love watching you get excited about these things. Even if I don’t get all the science, I get you. And that’s enough.”
He stared at them for a moment, his expression softening. The swagger he so often wore fell away, replaced by something quieter, more genuine. His head now dipped to crouch down to your level. “You know, sometimes I think you’re the anomaly in all this chaos,” he murmured. “A constant. My constant.”
Reaching your hand, you let your fingers brush a stray curl from his forehead. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, Ian.”
“Impossible,” he said, his grin returning, though softer this time. “Besides, if chaos theory has taught me anything, it’s that the most beautiful things are often the least predictable.”
You let out another soft laugh as you tugged him down to sit beside you on the swing. His hand found yours, you two sitting together, watching the sun dip below the horizon, chaos and constants blending into a quiet, perfect moment.
[ negroni ] - Alɑn Grɑnt.
A/n: Can't get enough of this man
[ negroni ] - for date night, they head to a more upscale establishment than usual and dress up for the occasion
Alan Grant didn't do fancy, he'd rather spend his days at a dig site but for you. For you he would make an acceptation. It was a prefect summer evening, a light breeze drifting through the streets as you and Alan strolled arm in arm to the restaurant.The upscale establishment was a significant departure from your usual casual haunts, but tonight was special. Alan had insisted on making reservations, and judging by the slight flush of pride on his face, it seemed he was as excited about the evening as you were.
Your hand squeezing his as a smile formed on your lips glancing up at him, his suit impeccably tailored yet comfortable enough to suit his unpretentious style. The dark navy fabric contrasted perfectly with his tan complexion, a reminder of all the time he spent under the sun during digs. His silver hair was neatly combed back, though a rogue strand had already fallen free, softening his usually rugged appearance. His signature hat left at home, just for you.
“You clean up nicely, Dr. Grant,” you teased as your lips grazed his cheek.
Alan smirked, glancing down at you. “I could say the same about you. You might just outshine this whole restaurant.”
You let out a soft laugh, a warm sound that seemed to loosen the faint tension in his shoulders as his gaze fixated on you, watching how your hair fell past your shoulders.Compliments weren’t his forte, but the sincerity in his voice made warmth spreed across your chest.
The restaurant loomed ahead, its entrance marked by soft golden lights and a valet waiting to greet guests. Inside, the air was filled with a low hum of conversation, the soft clinking of glasses, and the occasional tinkling of piano keys. The ambiance was intimate yet polished, the kind of place where a Negroni was considered a house specialty rather than an afterthought.
Alan glancing around nervously as his free hand ran through his hair messing the once slicked back strands. Your gaze softened as you then wove your fingers through his. "Alan...we don't have to do this you know...I'll be happy with some burgers."
Blinking, Alan shook his head then brought your hands to his lips. "Nonsense...I can do this. I'll be fine...I can handle a few fancy people for you."
Giving you a smile, Alan pulled out your chair as you settled at the table, a small gesture that made your heart swell. Though he was a man of science, often preoccupied with fossils and theories, he never failed to ground himself when it came to you. He always found a way to make you feel like the center of his world.
“Fancy, huh?” he murmured, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile as he scanned the menu.
“Very fancy,” you agreed, picking up your own menu. “But I like seeing you in this kind of setting. You’re like a fish out of water—just a little bit.”
“Let’s hope I don’t end up like one,” he quipped, setting the menu down. “I’m trusting you with the drink order. I assume you’re the expert on these… upscale concoctions?”
You grinned and motioned for the waiter. “Two Negronis, please.”
Alan arched an eyebrow. “Negronis? You’re not ordering wine?”
“Trust me,” you said, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “You’ll like it besides I never had one so I alway's wanted to try it.” You winked.
When the drinks arrived, Alan inspected his glass with mild suspicion. The vibrant orange liquid, garnished with a twist of citrus, was unlike anything he typically ordered. You raised your glass in a toast, waiting for him to follow suit.
“To stepping outside of our comfort zones,” you said.
“To whatever this is,” he replied, clinking his glass against yours before taking a cautious sip. His eyebrows lifted slightly as the bitter-sweet flavors unfolded. “Not bad. Strong.”
“Like you,” you teased, taking a sip of your own. “I knew you could handle it.”
Alan chuckled, his expression softening. The initial stiffness he carried when entering the restaurant had all but disappeared now, replaced by the easy confidence you adored. You fell into conversation, the kind that meandered from topic to topic effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and the occasional playful jab.
By the time dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate tart you both agreed to share—Alan leaned back in his chair, his tie slightly loosened, and his drink half-finished. He studied you in the candlelight, a glint of something tender in his eyes.
“This was a good idea,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You know, I don’t do this sort of thing often.”
“That’s why it’s special,” you replied, smiling softly. “You deserve special.”
He reached across the table, his hand warm and calloused as it rested over yours. “I don’t say it enough, but… I’m lucky. Lucky you put up with me, my work, my quirks. Nights like this make me realize how much I have to be grateful for.”
The sincerity in his words left you momentarily breathless. Alan wasn’t one to speak from the heart easily, but when he did, it was like uncovering a rare treasure—something profound and worth holding onto.
You squeezed his hand, your voice gentle as you replied, “You don’t have to say it. I feel it every day.”
The two of you lingered at the table long after the plates were cleared, enjoying the warmth of each other’s company as the night stretched on. It wasn’t just the Negronis that left a pleasant buzz in your veins; it was the quiet understanding that, in the middle of all life’s chaos, you and Alan were each other’s greatest discovery.
𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 ||Stanley Pines||
A/n: Stan would be an amazing father, and him being a girl dad! Just 👏
Request: found here
Plot:
So, like Stanley Pines is a girldad, we know that (he and Mabel are so🥺) and have twin girls. The dude starts to bawl his eyes out when he finds out when you tell him you are pregnant.
Even more when he finds out you are having girls
Bonus if they have inherited the sixth finger from Uncle Ford(as soon as he has his little nieces on his arms, he won't let his brothers take the girls from his arms)
"Ford, give me back my daughters!"
"I need to check if they are alright!"
Stan knew he must have hit the jackpot when he met you, after years of failed relationships the man had honestly given up of even dating.
And then his brother pulled your car off the road. It could have been a fling, sure he liked you. You were a beautiful woman, you were kind to Mabel and Dipper. To be honest, he couldn't help but feel his heart race a bit fast when he saw your interactions with the 13 year olds.
Sure it was painful knowing you were leaving, you did spend weeks with him.
But you didn't...when it came time for you to leave, for you to just pack your things and go instead you stated and he couldn't have been more happier because while he may not believed it back then, he had found his soulmate.
Maybe he should actually owe Edna an apology for her saying it would happen one day.
Though this....this was even better. If he was being honest, this was a better feeling than when Ford stepped through that portal.
"You're what?" His voice croaked, he swallowed thickly.
"Pregnant." You gave him a weak smile, you didn't know how to tell him, part of you scared not knowing how he would even react to this sort of news.
Stan's eyes went wide, his heart nearly coming to a stop. 'Pregnant'
He stared down at you for a long while, trying to get his thoughts in order. After a few moments, Stan pulled you even closer against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. His eyes closing for a moment as he buried his nose into your neck.
"How...how long have you known for?" His voice was soft, a mixture of panic and excitement in his tone.
Blinking a few times, shocked at his reaction you looked up at him the best you could. "A...a few days...I wanted to make sure..wait...you...you're not upset?"
Stan could only chuckle. 'Upset? He was ecstatic!'
"Why in the world would I be upset? You're kidding, right? Dollface, you're gonna have my baby. I'm the luckiest man alive."
He leaned down and pressed several soft kisses against your head. Then gave you a smile as he let his finger glided across his cheek though his eyes then went wide as he stepped back looking you over making sure you were okay.
"I didn't hurt ya did I?"
Letting out a snort, you gave him a grin placing your hand on his cheeks. "No you didn't hurt me Stan, I'm fine...I'm wonderful actually." You muttered resting your head against his chest as the man slowly wrapped around your body.
"I'm feelin wonderful too sweetheart....I'm the happiest man alive right now." Blinking back some tears, he smiled as he placed a kiss to the top of your head.
Months passed and Stan did his best to help you out with all your needs. Ford helping his brother and you move into a house near by knowing it would be safer for you and the child.
But it was one ultrasound that had the man bursting into tears. His eyes glued to the screen as the Obstetrician applied the jell to your belly. He felt your hand holding his but it still did not feel real, especially when the woman informed him that he was not only having twins, but twin girls.
"I'm not cryin! You can't prove nothin!"
Grinning you tucked your phone away as you tugged the dress down. "The video I have saved on my phone say's other wise." Shaking your head you took a deep breath in placing a hand on your belly, the sonogram photos securely in Stan's wallet. "Now let's go home...I am tired." It would explain the excessive kicking you've felt.
Sniffling, Stan cleared out his throat then brushed his tears away as he placed his hand on your belly doing his best to sooth you. "You two hear that...your mother is tired so let her rest."
Smiling, you let your fingers run through Stan's hair, the man leaning into your touch. "They love your voice Stan."
Still holding your hips, he gave you a watery smile as small tears ran down his cheeks. "Thank you."
It was a hard birth, but Stan never left your side. The man letting you hold his hand, squeeze it whenever you were in pain. Him often telling you jokes to make you laugh, or stories of him and Ford, the things the saw, things about his childhood then soon his little girls were in his arms. "Ha can you believe it...six fingers...just like your Uncle Ford."
Relaxing into the hospital bed, a weak chuckle escaped your lips as you let your gaze focused on Stan. It was an adorable sight, to see someone who held his emotions in to break down from just holding two infants. "They're gonna be daddy's little girls aren't they?"
You can see he held so much love for them, that he would do anything for them.
Shaking his head for a moment, Stan blinked away his tears as he slipped his glasses off due to them fogging up. "Damn right they will be. Nothin will be out of their reach..." he wouldn't hold them back, he wouldn't scream or yell at him, he wouldn't kick them out for a little mistake.
He wouldn't be like his father...he will be better.
"....hehe...I can't wait to show em off to everyone. Mabel said she made em little hats...gonna be adorable."
He muttered looking down at the twins asleep in his arms until his gaze landed on you. "Get some sleep beautiful...I got em."
Stan knew everyone wanted to see the twins and while he let the people he trusted take a look at them he refused to let anyone hold them that was not him or you. Oh no they will have to wait until his precious beans were older.
"Just let me hold them Stanley...it's been a month." Ford glanced at his brother rolling his eyes. "You're being a baby hog."
Scowling, Stan glanced at you. Giving him a smile you nodded your head. "Just...be careful." He muttered reluctantly.
Once in his arms, Ford smiled down at his nieces as he then spotted their six tiny fingers. "How adorable....I will protect you both with my life...you will not be bullied like me."
Shifting his weight from one foot to another, Stan then cleared out his throat. "Alright give'em back Ford."
"I think not! I would like to spend time with my nieces Stanley." Turning his back, the man powered walk away.
"Stanford! Give me back my daughters!"
"I need to check if they are alright!"
"What! Ford! Get your ass back here!"
Sighing, a smile tugged at your lips as you watched Stan chase after your brother. Shaking your head you sat down in the plush chair closing your eyes. It was good to be home.
➤𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 || Stanley Pines ||
Song Inspo:
A/n: I loooove this song and I think it fits perfectly for Stan 🤭
Getting out of New Jersey...out of this dump town, far away was the first thing on his mind though of course that plan soon went out the window the moment you told him you were pregnant.
All he could think about was I'm too young for this.
Got my whole life ahead.Hell I'm just a kid myself.
How'm I gonna raise one.
Pressing his back against the locker he didn't even know how to tell his father. Running his hand down his face. Everything in his bones was telling him to go after you but he just felt numb, he could almost hear his father's voice yelling at him for being so careless.
All he could see were his dreams goin' up in smoke.
So much for ditchin' this town and hangin' out on the coast.
Oh well, those plans are long gone.
And he said
"There goes my life.There goes my future, my everything.Might as well kiss it all good-bye."Stan muttered hitting his head against the locker.
"There goes my life."
Taking a deep breath, he stood up then shook his head, he had to deal with this. He was going to be a father....with you with the woman he loved.
Smiling to himself, he rushed off to find you. He had to let you know he will always be with you.
Stan owed a lot to your parents for not kicking you out like his father did, for taking him in. Pressing his face to your belly a sigh escaped his lips as he glanced up at you with a nervous smile.
"You think I'll be a good dad?"
"Stan....you'll be a wonderful father...someone who is as sweet and loyal as their father."
Heat rose to Stan's cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and bashfulness.
"Oh stop it...don't start this now. You're gonna turn me all soft 'n sappy..." he muttered, looking up at you he let out a huff, his expression softening even more.
"I'm just...I'm blown away, princess. I never thought I'd ever get to do the whole family thing...let alone with a beautiful woman like you."
"Well let's just say we're both lucky Stan."
A couple years of up all night and a few thousand diapers later.
That mistake he thought he made covers up the refrigerator.
Oh yeah..........he loves that little girl.
Chasing after his little girl, Stan grasped her, lifting her in his arms. "Gotcha! It's bed time squirt! You can cause trouble at Uncle Ford's tomorrow."
Holding her tight, he did his best to not trip over her toy's that littered the ground. Glancing at the fridge his gaze softened seeing a her little drawings, a smile forming on his lips as he placed her down. His daughter eagerly crawling up the stairs to where you were waiting.
Momma's waiting to tuck her in,As she fumbles up those stairs.
She smiles back at him dragging that teddy bear.
Glancing back, the little girl gave her father a bright smile as she finally made it to your arms. Nuzzling into your chest, you gave Stan a smile of your own as you carried her off to her bedroom.
"Sleep tight, pretty eyes and bouncin' curls." He whispered brushing away a few tears.
He finally found his happiness, he finally felt whole thanks to you and his little girl.
He smiles.....
There goes my life.
There goes my future, my everything.
I love you, daddy good-night.There goes my life.
Packing the rest of her things in the car, she tucked a strand of her hair behind ear as she then watched her father to look the car over.
She had that Honda loaded down.
With Abercrombie clothes and 15 pairs of shoes and his American Express.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Stan cleared out his throat as he checked over the car one last time. His little girl wasn't so little anymore. She looked so much like you he wasn't so sure that he wanted to send her off on her own.
He then checked the oil and slammed the hood
"you're good to go princess"
Blinking back her tears, she rushed towards you and Stan, hugging you both goodbye. "I'll see you both in a few months." Stepping back she smiled then slipped into the car as she drove away.
Feeling tears prick his eyes, Stan let his arms wrap around your waist as he held you close
And he cried
"There goes my life.There goes my future, my everything.I love you.Baby good-bye."
There goes my life.
There goes my life.
Baby good-bye.
Eeveelutions in a neon galaxy~
