#ergo: see my responses ^

[aroaceleovaldez]

What cabin are you in? (If you are a demigod, and Greek)

I usually say Athena for what I'm sure you can fathom are obvious reasons [gestures to entire blog], though one could probably equally argue Apollo and I would accept that.

I do also rarely as a joke say Trivia (Hecate's Roman "equivalent") purely because in a discord server I'm in that has godly parent roles we used to do Riordanverse trivia nights and I just kept winning.

Now which group (CHB, CJ, rogues [Hunters, Amazons, misc], Magicians, Einherjar, Valkyries, etc etc) I would be affiliated with is a different question, and a very good one that I feel is very underappreciated, but I will save that silliness for another time.

#riordanverse #pjo #ask #totallynots8tan #''equivalent'' in quotations because as i have already spoken to the historical translation of deities across cultures is not one-to-one #and is more conflation usually than a direct translation/adoption #but that is perhaps over-complicating things for this question i just find it a fascinating topic of discussion because i am a nerd #ergo: see my responses ^ #i do cabin ''vibe checks''/assignments sometimes for friends/friends of friends on occasion so this is actually a topic i find fascinating #i still need to figure out a good way to make a quiz version of that which doesn't involve manual sorting #but i'd need to find a branching quiz format for it to work because i verily overcomplicate it #and without the manual sorting i'd probably need like 20 more pages of questions to appropriately parse data through those branches

[ceescedasticity]

There are innumerable things happening in the world in general and even more in people's individual lives that could motivate depression.

Being depressed helps fix none of those things.

So treat your depression anyway. With medication, or therapy, or mindfulness, or some combination; with or without a diagnosis; don't just accept being depressed.

Please don't think I don't appreciate how difficult it is, to fight off depression when things are depressing. It's horribly difficult. Sometimes too difficult. It can be exhausting. But being depressed doesn't help me and it doesn't help anyone else, and once in place it makes everything difficult and exhausting, so I keep trying.

#whenever i see a post about 'of course we're depressed the world is depressing' #i remember being a severely depressed pre-teen #whose pediatrician did not diagnose clinical depression #because i was being bullied at school #and he thought my depression was a perfectly reasonable response to that #i had reason to be depressed ergo clinical treatment was not called for #i did have reasons to be depressed and they didn't go away for years #but even in the middle of that starting anti-depressants was life-changing #sometimes you're just treating the symptoms #sometimes you have to treat the symptoms or they'll kill the patient #keep the fever down keep the pain down #provide fluids provide rest #it won't fix the problem but it keeps you alive #unsolicited discursive opinions #unsolicited rl opinions #braaaaaaains

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #toji x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #x sub male reader #jjk x male reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut

[avis-writeshq]

05 — enchanted

summary: “please don’t be in love with someone else”/“please don’t have somebody waiting on you.”  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, no use of (Y/N) warnings: alcohol (reader gets drunk lmfao), jealousy, slight miscommunication, austin (aka: bartender girl from s4), special mention to special people wc: 4.9k a/n: everyone say thank you @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH ilyvm zara <33 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Although you haven’t been a part of the BAU for more than one year, it didn’t stop you from maintaining the connections that you had in all your years of working there. Sure, the scheduling times could be better, but that didn’t stop the team from spending their rare day off to spend time with you. After all, the adjustment of seeing you every day to once in a blue moon was a difficult one to make. 

O’Keefe’s has been the main victim of the team’s shenanigans, its doors open for the seven members of law enforcement, all eager to get their hands on some well earned rest and relaxation. Drinks are passed around the booth and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Derek get his ‘groove thang on’ with a few girls in the bar. Today is one of the rare occasions when the team didn’t have a case, an even rarer day when the team didn’t have to take on any new or incoming cases. 

“How’s life treating you?” Emily asks cheerfully, sipping at her strawberry daiquiri. You gather that tonight is one of those nights.

You smile, sipping at your own beverage of choice. “Good! Way less stressful than working at the BAU, that’s for sure. And the hours are good, too.”

JJ snorts from beside you. “Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not jealous. How’re the kids?”

“I can’t say much because of confidentiality and all that, but they’re doing well. A lot better, thank goodness but it just goes to show the aftermath of the things that you guys deal with. I mean, I still think about all the victims we’ve helped and it sucks that we can’t do anything to help them further.” You finish your tangent with a long sip of your drink before leaning back against the booth. “Anyway, how are you guys?”

Penelope comes shuffling past carrying a series of cocktails, her absolutely monstrous platform heels not aiding her in her slightly tipsy task. “Do not even get me started on work. No work! None! We’re having a fun day. Ergo, no work talk.”

You laugh in response, moving to the side to allow her room to sit in the booth. “No, Penny, you’re right. No work talk.”

The drinks are dispersed and your gaze shifts to where Spencer is standing, laughing awkwardly as he tries to follow along to Derek’s dancing and socialising. He looks incredibly out of place in his brown argyle sweater vest, navy tie and freshly pressed slacks, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt. 

“Nah, Spencer could definitely be a ladies’ man if he plays his cards right. And I mean that literally,” Emily says, bringing you out of your daydream.

Your head snaps in her direction, trying to calm your facial features and microexpressions. Regardless of your attempts, after a year of not practising, you don’t do as well as you hope. “What?”

JJ grins at you, her eyes lighting up knowingly. “We’re just talking about who’s the biggest hotshot in the BAU.”

“Wouldn’t that be David?” You ask meekly, your finger swirling along the edge of your glass. You had met David Rossi on occasion, once by accident when you were having a night out with the girls and the other during a proper introduction two weeks later. “Didn’t he have, like, five wives?”

“I had three thank you very much,” Rossi intervenes swiftly, holding his glass of whisky on ice. 

“Sorry, my bad,” you respond jokingly, snickering as he shakes his head and stalks over to where Hotch is sitting and drinking his rum. 

Penelope lets out a loud laugh. “I think we’re forgetting the obvious: our very own Chocolate Thunder.”

“Well, fine,” Emily drawls, waving a hand dismissively, “but Spencer has that innocent vibe to him, y’know? The kind of guy women go crazy over.”

JJ clicks her fingers in remembrance. “Didn’t a bunch of prostitutes try to pick him up in that one case?”

“What?” You ask again, albeit a little shrilly as you try to dismiss the surprise in your tone. 

“He didn’t take them,” Emily says quickly in an attempt to ease your discomfort. “But he did pick up a girl a few months ago. Austin?”

Penelope nods at that, putting down her cup. “Oooh, yes! I remember her. He showed me a picture. She’s pretty.”

“I mean, he did pick up Lila too.” JJ reminds the team, shooting you a sly smile. “You remember her, don’t you?”

You force out a laugh and bite the inside of your cheek in the process. “Yeah. Who’s Austin?”

“I think I still have a picture!” Penelope says, brandishing her phone from her coat pocket. She types something in before sliding it in your direction. “Pretty, right?”

Austin is certainly pretty, even in the uncoordinated selfie Penelope shows you of her and Spencer. He’s slightly out of frame, his lips set into a sweet smile while Austin practically glows. Her brilliant green eyes flash in the camera and her dark hair frames her face perfectly. She and Spencer are close in the photo, with him holding the phone clumsily and she has a hand on his arm. 

“Uh huh,” you murmur distractedly, averting your gaze from the photo as an ugly feeling creeps into your chest. “Really pretty.”

Emily looks at you curiously. “You didn’t know about her?”

You shrug in response, the smile on your face insincere. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about Spencer.”

The group exchange a couple glances at your tell-tale body language, watching as you scoot past Penelope and out of the booth, making your way to the bar. You’re all too grateful for a reprieve from the teasing as you order another drink and take a seat, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your mind goes through all the interactions you’ve had with Spencer over the years. Were you really that foolish to think that he would feel that way for you? Maybe you were reading too much into it, you try to reason, running your fingers through your once styled hair. Maybe, in some stupid and twisted way, all of Spencer’s interactions were platonic.

You scoff inwardly to yourself. Right. Because picking someone up at two o’clock in the morning is entirely platonic. Sleeping in the same bed as someone because of nightmares is totally normal between friends. In any case, you could have sworn that he–

“Trouble in paradise?” 

An unfamiliar voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and you turn to the man who takes a seat beside you. “Uh… something like that.”

The man hums, a smile on his handsome features. His dark brown hair is fluffy and, in its own charming little way, suits him. He reminds you a lot of Spencer, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles along with the timbre of his voice. He’s also very different to Spencer, especially with his sweater that has a bright orange pumpkin on it, paired with a matching orange scarf. A pair of red tinted sunglasses hang on the neckline of his sweater, and you doubt that it would do much good to block the sun.

“I’m Matthias,” he says good naturedly, beaming. “I’m with my sister, Laura,” he explains, gesturing to a lady sporting dyed auburn coloured hair, and she waves with a matching smile.

You introduce yourself, pointing to the booth. “My friends are over there.”

Matthias nods, undeterred by your company on the other side of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”

*** 

After what felt like hours of dancing (it was really only fifteen minutes), Spencer and Derek make their way to rejoin the group. The feeling of sweat matting his skin is one of many reasons as to why Spencer hates dancing. That, and the fact that there were far too many people on the dancefloor. What’s worse is the fact that he’s sure that none of them have ever heard of the word ‘deodorant’. He cringes at the thought of all the germs that could be festering on his skin as he sits at the booth, his eyes shifting to wear your bag lays haphazardly on the red cushions. 

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, turning to Emily and placing your bag so that it’s in a safer and less hazardous position.

She hums, pointing in the bar’s direction. “Getting a drink. She’s just cooling off.”

“Cooling off?” Spencer echoes, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean she’s ‘cooling off’?”

Penelope offers an apologetic smile, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “We… might have told her about Austin?”

“You what?” Spencer can barely believe his ears as he looks at the group incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it,” JJ says hastily. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“React like what?” Spencer’s voice is strangely stern, his eyes narrowing as he turns to the rest of the team. “I don’t like Austin. She’s nice but I don’t like her.”

Derek’s brows lift in surprise and confusion. “Did you go out with her after the case?”

Spencer’s ears burn in embarrassment and he turns to his friend in offence. “I asked her for help. I don’t like Austin like that. I needed advice.”

“Advice,” Emily repeats, turning in the direction of the bar. “You mean about…?”

Spencer doesn’t stay long enough to head the rest of Emily’s sentence or to answer it, making his way over to you are. Part of him wishes that he stayed put, especially when he sees what you’re doing. In an instant, his nose is scrunched up in distaste as he spies the random stranger chatting you up. His eyes lock with yours and he relishes in the way they light up as you wave him over.

“Hi,” he breathes, standing beside you. 

“Hi!” You gush, beaming at him. “Saw you on the dancefloor.”

“You’ll never see it again,” he says honestly, stealing a sip of your drink. It tastes like vodka and the strawberry lipgloss you use (he only know what it tastes like because of its very on the nose packaging: a giant strawberry. He wishes he knew for other reasons).

You laugh, bright and loud, before you gasp excitedly. “Oh, Spencer, this is Matthias! He’s been keeping me company.” Then, you lean closer to him, your voice a very exaggerated whisper as if the person you’re talking about isn’t in the seat next to you as you tell Spencer, “he’s a director.”

Matthias waves off the statement, chuckling along. “Nothing famous though.”

“He’s a liar,” you tell Spencer enthusiastically. “Did you know he went to New York University? Crazy, right? Like, the school of arts or something. Oh! And he’s also from Vegas! You two are so alike.”

Spencer nods half-heartedly as he tells you, “you know, I went to MIT and CalTech.”

“Well I know that, silly!” You say with a drunken laugh, poking at his cheek. You turn to Matthias with a proud grin before reaching for a shot. “Spencer’s a genius. He’s a super smart genius.”

“That’s what ‘genius’ means, angel,” Spencer reminds gently, prying the little cup away from you. “No more. You’re drunk and we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Your face falls and your lips curl into a frown. “But Spencer I’m thirsty!”

“You have water in your bag,” he prompts, squeezing your shoulder and helping you off the barstool, not paying this Matthias person any mind. “Okay? Let’s go back to the others.”

You nod eagerly, stumbling a little as you wave goodbye. “Bye, Matthias!”

“Uh huh,” Spencer dismisses, leading you back to the table by the small of your back. He leans a little closer to murmur in your ear, “why did you leave the others?”

You shrug dismissively, leaning into his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, angel, it does,” he says carefully, “tell me?”

You huff in your own clumsy drunken way. “You should ask Austin. Or go pick someone else up. Emily says you’re turning into a ‘ladies’ man’.”

Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. “I don’t like Austin,” he tells you in earnest, holding you close to his side as you stumble back to the booth. “I mean it, angel.”

“Bet you call everyone angel,” you grumble under your breath. “Bet you let everyone call you ‘Walter’ too.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately, a hand on your waist. “I only call you that. Besides, why would I let someone call me by my middle name if it isn’t you?”

You huff again, slumping in the booth as Penelope shuffles inward to give you more room. Your arms cross over your chest in annoyance and frustration and  you turn away from Spencer’s direction. He doesn’t need to be a profiler to know that you’re pissed off at him. Somewhere in your hazy drunk mind, you’ve made it out as him being the bad guy.

Spencer shoots the other girls a pointed glare, gesturing at you as if to say ‘This is your fault’ because, in reality, it is. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t be mad at him. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself drunk with some random guy who went to New York University. Spencer mocks Matthias in his head. Stupid Matthias and his stupidly good hair. Spencer runs a hand through his own growing locks, grimacing when he realises that it reaches his shoulders now. Maybe he should get a haircut later.

“Angel,” Spencer tries again, kneeling down next to your chair. “Let’s get you home, alright? Please don’t be mad at me?”

You mutter something incoherent, not bothering to look in his direction.

“I’m not in love with Austin,” he tells you, his tone a mix of firmness and gentleness. “Really, I’m not. We’re just friends, angel, I promise.”

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath as you get out of the booth. JJ guiltily passes you your bag and you take it out of her hands as Spencer grips your arm with one hand, the other on the small of your back. 

“Not a lie,” Spencer says, walking you to his car. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Not after Lila.”

“Lie-la,” you say bitterly as you get into the passenger seat. “Stupid actress.”

He laughs at that, getting behind the wheel. “Yeah, angel. Stupid actress.”

“You kissed her in a pool,” you continue as you fumble drunkenly with the buckle of the seatbelt. “You don’t kiss me in the pool.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn at your words as he puts your seatbelt on, his fingers grazing yours. “It never came up. Besides, I hate pools, you know that.”

“Germ-y,” you respond knowingly, a silly giddy smile on your face. “I know you the best.”

“Exactly,” he hums as starts the car, his words flowing smoothly as he considers how drunk you are. There’s no way you’d remember this, right? “Why would I find another girl when I have you who knows me best?”

Your cheeks glow with pride at his words and you laugh. “Exactly.”

*** 

It’s late. Far too late and you toss and turn in bed. Your eyes are heavy but your brain won’t shut up, swirling with the memories of the previous night. You’re not really sure what happened after you got to the bar, only remembering snippets of the night. The entire time was a blur: you remember getting upset at the girls (or rather, at the information they were feeding you), meeting someone– Mason? Matthew? You can’t even remember– and then downing three shots. It’s awfully stupid of you, yes but then somehow you got home safe and sound with a note on your kitchen counter from Spencer.

You felt a little silly upon the finding of the note. Of course Spencer would take you home; it’s not like the girls were particularly sober by the time you wanted to leave. Regardless, reading the note made you feel incredibly stupid, more stupid than usual, and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself six feet underground. 

‘Hi angel,’ it read in Spencer’s messy scrawl with chaotic lettering and swirly g’s. ‘You’re probably really hungover right now so there’s a Tylenol on the counter and a sandwich in the fridge. Please drink water; I’m sure you’re also severely dehydrated from the alcohol. I know you’re upset at me but please just forget about what the others said about Austin. I don’t like her like that. Be safe and call me when you wake up.’

The note was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, just Spencer being his usual ridiculously lovely self. You didn’t mind that he took care of you, either. It’s more-so the fact that you genuinely could barely remember what you said that him. You’re betting on it being something exceedingly dumb (you’re making a habit of it, much to your own chagrin), especially considering how much you had to drink that night. Maybe you should start abstaining from drinking from now on, especially if Spencer was in the vicinity. 

The note is now pinned securely to your cork board, a pretty lavender thumb tack holding it in place. Your gaze drifts to it for a moment then to your clock and you groan into your pillow. This is dumb. Sleep is dumb. Your clock blinks with the numbers ‘02:01’ in red mocking letters and you resist the urge to scream. After blindly searching for your phone, you step out of bed while rubbing your eyes. 

The lingering question keeps you up as you pace back and forth beside you bed. If Spencer doesn’t like Austin, who does he like? It can’t be Lila. You would have known if they kept in contact. Then again, you had no idea who Austin was so who knows what secrets Spencer is keeping? What if there was another girl? What if your entire friendship with Spencer was exactly that– friendship. You slap the palm of your hand to your forehead. Were you really that stupid?

It’s in that moment when your phone begins to ring. The tune plays through the room and you know it all too well; the Doctor Who theme song that you spent a whopping two dollars and thirty-seven cents on to add it as the custom ringtone for Spencer. 

“Hello…?” You answer quietly, your voice choking. “Walter?”

“Angel,” he murmurs, and you can hear shuffling in the background. “Why are you still awake?”

You hum, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs quietly on the other side of the line, scratchy from the lack of sleep. “Can I come over?”

“Always.”

He hangs up after that and you press the pads of your fingers into the corners of your eyes again. You’re exhausted, far too exhausted to be hosting guests, but this is Spencer. How can you ever say no to him? So, instead of sulking around and spending far too long doing nothing, you fashion yourself a cup of tea and flick the lights on. The book you were reading is thrown haphazardly onto the cushions of your couch but you can’t bring yourself to pick it up. 

The jiggling of the door handle brings you out of your little mood, and Spencer lets himself in with the key you gave him, locking it securely and taking his shoes off to reveal his sock choice of the day: one bright green and the other in fuchsia with buttercup yellow spots. He’s wearing a crinkly white t-shirt that hangs over his gangly frame and grey sweatpants. For something so basic, he looks absolutely criminal in it. You pinch yourself as punishment for thinking such a thing. 

“Hey,” he breathes, sitting next to you. He runs his fingers through his hair, frowning a little. “Do you think I should get it cut?”

You laugh, almost spilling your tea. “You came to my apartment at two in the morning to ask what I think about your hair?”

“Yes,” he agrees before laughing, “no! Of course not. I just thought of it.”

A hum leaves your lips as you curl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I like long hair on you. Besides, you’d look good in any hair cut.”

Spencer preens at your words, enjoying the feel of your touch in his hair. “You’re a liar. I know what I looked like four years ago. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” You insist, beaming at him as you poke his cheek. “You were really cute back then. Like a baby.”

He flushes again at both the compliment and the contact, his mind committing the way you say ‘baby’ to memory. He thinks it again and again; baby, baby, baby. 

“I was not a baby,” He tells you, half in jest. “I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” you quip, the sleep deprivation making your head go loopy. “Barely. Doesn’t matter, you’re still baby.”

Spencer scoffs lightly, poking your side. “If I’m a baby, what does that make you? A foetus? A zygote?”

You let out a quiet scream in protest, whacking him over the head with a throw pillow. “Ew, Spencer what the hell?”

He snickers in response, shielding his face with his forearm. “If I’m a baby and you’re younger than me, you must be at an earlier stage of development. So? Which is it, are you a foetus or a zygote? C’mon, angel, you passed eighth grade biology.”

“You’re an ass,” you chastise jokingly, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. Sometime amidst the commotion he must have gotten closer to you. Your noses are almost touching and your breath hitches in your throat. 

He smiles sweetly, his own cheeks warm and flushed with embarrassment as he maintains eye contact. “I thought I was ‘baby’.”

What the hell? Is this really Spencer Reid? Silly, awkward, nerdy little Spencer Reid? This must be a very convincing body suit and an even more convincing voice altering machine because this is not Spencer Reid. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks and ears so quickly that it’s enough to make you go dizzy. Maybe you’re a lot more sleep deprived than you thought. 

“Are you drunk?” You croak out meekly as he cages you in, his forearms on either side of your head as he leans you against the couch. 

He laughs– he has the actual audacity to laugh– and he shakes his head. “No, angel, I’m not drunk. You know I don’t drink enough to actually get drunk. Besides, I drove here.”

“You drove here,” you repeat, a little dazed from how close he is. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Almost three now but yes,” Spencer agrees, smiling. 

“You hate driving,” you remind him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Especially at night.”

He hums in agreement. “I do. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

You kick yourself internally. ‘Oh’? Who the hell says ‘Oh’? This is it. Your life is over. Maybe you should move to another state. Change your name, shave your head, and get a different degree because you’re almost certain that it’s the end of the line for you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago?” You say it like a question and you suddenly feel yourself sweating. It definitely got hotter in here. 

He murmurs your name, his fingers grazing the skin of your jaw gently. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I ran into you four years ago and almost gave myself a concussion,” you say, averting your gaze as you tried to calm yourself down. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he repeats softly, his nose brushing against your cheek. “Look at me, angel.”

You wet your bottom lip nervously as you look at him, his hazel eyes a little greener in the low light of your apartment. His legs are on either side of your hips and he brushes his thumb against your chin. 

“I want to kiss you,” Spencer says lowly, albeit a little breathlessly, and you can hear hoarseness in his words. “Can I?”

You’re dead. You’re either dead or asleep, that is the only explanation you have for this entire situation. You’re either dead and in heaven or asleep and dreaming. It is that plain and simple.

“What?” You croak out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs. 

“I know you wanted to do it in a pool but I’m pretty sure your apartment gym is closed now, angel,” Spencer says, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”

The only thing you can manage to do is nod, your eyes flickering to his lips for a split second, watching as the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your brain barely has any time to comprehend the words he said (since when did you say that you wanted to kiss him in the pool?) because in a rush of confidence, Spencer cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a tantalisingly slow kiss. His eyes are closed and his hands are eerily soft, the gentleness in which he holds you reminiscent of one holding porcelain. 

He pulls away after a moment, his cheeks burning and a smile on his face. You can’t even breathe as you just stare at him, lips parted in surprise. What do you even say to that?

“Thank you?” You manage to stutter out, heat creeping up your neck.

He laughs again, breathless and beautiful, as he kisses the side of your face. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer brushes an eyelash from your cheek, beaming at you as he does. “It’s late,” he tells you, getting up from the couch and freeing your limbs. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” you respond, your head  spinning. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says back, trying to hold in a laugh. “I’m free next Friday. Do you want to go out?”

“Go out?” You echo, “we always go out.”

“I know.” He smiles at you again as he makes his way to the door. “I meant– you know. We can go out.”

A beat passes and your head is awfully slow, whether from the kiss or from the sleep deprivation, you’re not entirely sure. “We can go out.”

“Great.” He pauses, taking a step towards you before kissing your cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll–” you gape at him again as he opens your door to leave. “You hate texting.”

He nods, slipping on his shoes. “I also hate driving at night. Your point?”

“Right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course I will, angel,” he promises, “get some rest.”

Get some rest? How the hell are you supposed to get some rest after all that? With one last wave, Spencer leaves your apartment, leaving you hoping that this wasn’t just some thing. Maybe this was the very first page of your story– a very embarrassing start to your story. There is one thing for certain though: Spencer is not in love with someone else.

*** 

It’s a Tuesday when Penelope calls you. You had just finished up with a client when your phone begins to ring. 

“Penny!” You gush, unable to stop the smile from stretching onto your face. “I am stupid, I said ‘thank you’? Who the hell says thank you after someone kisses you?”

“Who kissed you?” Penelope asks, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own tangent you would have noticed that she sounded tearful. 

“Spencer did!” You exclaim, slapping a hand to your forehead. “He’s sitting there and he looks amazing and he smells really good and I am stupid.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Penelope says quickly, and you can imagine her waving her fluffy pen around. “He kissed you and you said thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that was very polite of you,” she says, trying to sound happy before her voice cracks.

You frown immediately, taking a seat in the wheelie chair in your office. “Penny? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Spencer,” she says woefully, sniffling. “He wanted me to tell you something. It’s not looking good, honey, but– but he wanted me to give you a message.”

“Penny–” You stop short when you hear Spencer’s voice. It’s a recording from his phone, and you can only really tell because of the crackling audio on the other side of the line.

“Is it on?” Spencer asks before clearing his throat. He sounds breathless, his words breaking off at some parts and you know that it’s not from the bad audio quality. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter. If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

Through the recording you can hear a shuffle, like the sound of a sliding door being opened, along with a quiet, “Prep the victim for transfer,” before the recording cuts out, leaving you with Penelope on the line. 

She calls your name quietly, choking on her words. “Are you okay?”

You hang up. 

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[bonefall]

Mapleshade Discourse O'Clock

It's that time again!!! SO I just kinda want to jot down all of my various thoughts about it as a story and just generally weigh in about Mapleshade.

I like the idea of Mapleshade more than the actual Mapleshade that is used throughout the books.

She has a really good gimmick-- to haunt Applekin though the generations. I don't like how they turn her into a generic "cat satan" for Tigerclaw's Fury and keep making her appear as a vain lackey demon.

I like her characterization in Mapleshade's Vengeance the most, of all her appearances.

But, I don't think my reading of the character depicted in MV is what the author intended.

See, I like MV as a story with no hero. The only blameless characters are the kittens who drowned and Perchpaw, while everyone else is some flavor of selfish, cruel, or vengeful. Everyone thinks they're in the right, but no one truly wins in the end.

Nothing about it was noble. Every tragedy that happened was utterly avoidable. In the end, everyone bears some responsibility for the pain and suffering that happened the day those children drowned.

BUT I'm pretty certain that the intended reading was that Mapleshade would be the one clearly in the wrong the whole time, as she justifies her own actions like a villain does.

Especially knowing how poorly the writers thought of similar female characters like Squilf and Leafp lying about the three, or Nightcloud being jealous her crummy husband is acting strange around another woman.

I feel justified in assuming that when Mapleshade is not happy she's being cheated on, or when she refuses to correct Frecklewish's record knowing it's unsafe if her kits are revealed as half clan, the writer really does think you're not supposed to take her side.

Because women should just not have emotions about being cheated on or something, and lying is unspeakably bad even if the truth puts you and your children in danger.

But. Y'know. We can all use the braincell for a moment and see that this is fucking stupid

SO when the book goes on to have Mapleshade ignore all the warnings about the swollen river, show both ThunderClan and RiverClan being obscenely cruel to her, and then walk across that bridge while insisting in her head that the deaths weren't her fault, I think the implication is obvious AND SHITTY.

Ergo I reject it completely. I can see what the book wants to say, and I think it says something trashy.

In spite of how badly the writer wants it to be Mapleshade's fault the kittens died, I say it was the asshole who threw a bunch of kittens out into the rain for being mixed race, actually.

Oakstar had the power here. Ravenwing had some power as well, but he makes it clear it wasn't his suggestion to throw the babies out into the woods.

And when it comes to Bridge Discourse, it was at least the afternoon, raining heavily, and Mapleshade was trying to get to RiverClan Camp. A straight shot across the stepping stones.

I think it is ridiculous to imagine an extremely emotional parent managing three very scared children, attempting to get out of the rain and dangerous wilderness before nightfall, would be rational enough to realize a large detour would be safer.

MAYBE the distance from ThunderClan Camp to the Bridge is equal to the distance to the Stones. But the distance between the bridge and RIVERCLAN Camp is longer.

I hope this goes without saying; but Frecklewish didn't deserve the Dark Forest.

Even in Banana World logic where she was sitting on the bank watching those kids doggy-paddle. Do not fucking jump in to save drowning people if you are not trained to do that.

I'm dead serious, this is the first thing you learn in any kind of water safety course. They WILL panic, you WILL get dragged down, you WILL become another liability someone else has to save instead of helping your initial target.

And that isn't even mentioning this being a flooded river. That's POOL safety.

In spite of how I think Mapleshade was right to lie, I do think Frecklewish being that upset and angry was understandable.

You're entitled to your feelings, but not how you treat people. She still attacked Mapleshade and called the kittens a slur.

That's what makes her interesting, though.

I don't think she deserves the Dark Forest, but Frecklewish's anger is an interesting trait. I don't like how a lot of defensive interpretations of her character end up downplaying how she acted at the exile

why does a woman being rightfully angry suddenly strike people as "unsympathetic." Girls can also say things in fury they don't fully mean. OR girls can rationalize their unjustified, ballistic response post-hoc out of pride.

Idk let girls be mad. Admit they were wrong without deserving HELL. I don't like the woobification impulse.

It's not really a hot take anymore I think, but Frecklewish is definitely only in the DF because the writing team judges women characters more harshly. Oakstar threw babies out in the rain in fury, and Ravenwing didn't stop it. But somehow only Frecklewish, a normal warrior, gets DF'd.

But what really rattles around in my head about the whole story is the way that the in-universe culture is able to suddenly value ethics like peace, forgiveness, and tolerance when MAPLESHADE is ready to throw those things out, but BEFORE then, it's well established that Clan culture is violent, vengeful, and intolerant.

One of our earliest scenes is Rainfall snarling at Mapleshade that he loves the way Birchface and Flowerpaw drowned. He's threatening that he'll kill even more ThunderClan warriors.

Over in ThunderClan, everyone is itching for revenge against Appledusk for those deaths, even though it seems to have been an accident. Oakstar even hates RiverClan well into sequel books for this.

But then later on, everyone acts Shocked Pikachu that Mapleshade actually went and GOT revenge.

And like, let's be real. This is a battle culture. Yes, by OUR standards Revenge Is Bad.

But in these books, so full of war and clan conflict...?

What I'm saying is that I wish the books let Mapleshade be a little more "controversial" in-universe. Like some cats actually frame the story very differently, and you can learn a lot about a person by who they think the hero is.

And how RiverClan responds to the drowned kids bugs me a lot tbh

We just established over in ThunderClan that there are people who think the babies were born filthy for being HalfClan.

We know everyone there stood by and watched as Oakstar threw them out into the rain-- only Ravenwing even seemed uncomfortable.

AND we know very well that in a few generations, TigerClan will rise. Which openly executed a HalfClan cat and wanted to kill 2 apprentices.

We KNOW the bigotry in Clan culture is deadly and unfair.

But then they go over to RiverClan and Darkstar is sad these three kids are dead? And RC is furious with Mapleshade for that?

Again, YES, you and me with OUR morals know that this bigotry is insane and spiteful. What I'm getting at is that IN-UNIVERSE half clan kittens and their parents face extreme discrimination. Even within this book.

It's odd to me that Darkstar refuses to let Mapleshade bury their bodies, sends her away for the death of the kids while saying it's "not the season for losing warriors" to Appledusk, and it's meant to come across as delusional that Maple thinks her babies were buried dishonorably

I wish more women in WC got so pissed off at the absolute injustice of it all that they went on a girl rampage. Perhaps it's my own taste, but I like it a lot more when the villain isn't entirely wrong and there's several angles you can read the story from. If she didn't do what she did, she would have been the only one who saw any consequences for anything that happened.

Anyway in conclusion uhhh idk murder is wrong. But Mapleshade's allowed to do it because she's a silly billy. Her greatest crime was not killing Oakstar also

#bone babble #Mapleshade #Mapleshade's Vengeance

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for letting my grandpa do whatever he wants?

Context: My grandpa (98) has been living with my(19M) immediate family for approximately 20 years.

He's never had the best relationship with my mom (56?) And she's never particularly liked him, but has been taking care of him all this time. This includes scolding him (loudly, because he is hard of hearing and refused aids) whenever he adds too much salt to his food or refuses to drink water in favour of wine and many other things. I never scold him because I hate yelling, so I think he just sees me as the caretaker that doesn't complain about his bullshit.

Recently, my mom has found a job and has been leaving the house from morning to afternoon, I have university so I'm also leaving but I return earlier so breakfast and lunch are my responsibility, and during lunch specifically he doesn't hesitate to do all the things he usually doesn't when mom is around, ergo the salt thing and other health hazards for someone of his age and health (not particularly bad but still! Many medicines for many problems, had a stroke many years back he's recovered extremely well from)

I haven't said anything, and honestly I don't want to. In my mind he's old enough to make his own choices and my mom has (in a few extreme circumstances) vented to me about how much of a stubborn asshole he is (he refuses to even say her name when he needs help, he always calls MINE.) and even my dad has conceded that he's a bitter bastard. But part of me still feels like I should say something and that thinking like this is horrible.

So give it to me straight, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Katsuki Bakugou x Popular/MeanGirl!reader - oneshot about Katsuki loving his ruthless girlfriend!

Ok, the title is a little misleading, you're not that mean! you just do unto others what they do to you...and Katsuki loves it. As always, please let me know if you want more, and if you have any ideas for the future <3 calling this a songfic, because it's hugely based on Don't Touch! by Lil Mariko

warnings: lots of cursing, mentions of castration, and one chaotic good(?) reader

______________________________________________________________

When you first arrived at UA, a late entry as you lived in the Americas prior, everyone loved you, and surprisingly that included Bakugou. Of course, it took him a long time to warm up all the way, but you started dating after a few months of getting to know each other. What could he say? You were pretty, smart, patient with him, and best of all, you didn't take crap. He learned that the first week of your arrival, when his attempt to bully you fell short. You actually took a liking to him, so he was spared most of the passive aggressive fate he saw you give some others. You were just nice to people who were nice to you, ergo most considered you sweet as candy while some considered you a total bitch.

You were hot and you knew it, and believe it or not it caused a lot of people to spread rumors about you. He'll never forget the first time he saw you in action, it was as satisfying as it was attractive. While walking to lunch, a pair of 2nd years were standing to the side whispering and pointing to you. one of them yelled out, "slut," while the other laughed. You, being the bad bitch that you are, turned around, smiled pleasantly, and put on your best innocent demeanor. "aw, I'm really sorry for getting your dick hard, maybe next time try and keep your eyes a little higher, yeah?" It. Was. Magnificent. The two were flabbergasted to say the least, and Katsuki himself was glad to finally see someone who didn't act like a saint all the time.

Long story short, you were his other half, and he had gotten used to your mocking, sarcastic way of handling assholes...until the day of the Sports Festival. You and Katsuki were were perusing the food stands, you dragging him around from place to place, him trailing behind like the grump he was. One stand actually caught his eye, a sign claiming to have the spiciest sauce in the city to compliment their renowned Takoyaki. You were standing with him, looking around while holding his hand, when out of the corner of your eye you saw someone point towards you. You didn't turn your head, not wanting them to know you noticed, but kept an ear out to see what they were saying.

"yeah, he's the one I was telling you about."

"that guy? No way he's with a girl like her."

"I know, right? He has to be keeping her with him, probably scaring her into staying."

Oh hell no. You weren't going to let this slide, it was one thing to talk about you, but a whole other thing to talk about your relationship. You whipped around, yanking a very confused Katsuki with you. Katsuki had heard the two talking, but was far too enamored with the spicy sauce to actually listen. "Hey," You yelled, using a voice Katsuki hadn't heard out of you before as you raised the hand holding Katsuki's into the air for all to see. "See this?! This means he loves me, so next time you go and make assumptions, why don't you keep your damn mouth shut?!" You step closer to the pair of stunned teens, wearing a look that could kill. Your voice was low and menacing now, making sure they understood every syllable. "Next time I hear you talk shit about my boyfriend, I'll take the Louis Vuitton's He bought me, hunt you down, and castrate you."

The two whimpered, stuttering out a response but unable to finish before running off with their tails between their legs. You watched them dash, one hand on your hip and the other in Katsuki's, before turning to him with that same bubbly smile you always had. "Alright, let's go get ice cream, I'm still hungry!" He had this unreadable expression on his face, and when you tried to pull him to the ice cream he stood stock still. "...What...?" You were fearing the worst.

Were you too much for him? Did he realize he wanted someone nicer, like Ururaka or Momo? This time, he did dragging of his own, yanking you in the opposite direction. He pulled you along without another word, looking left to right, before stopping next to an empty vending stand. "Katsuki, what are you doing," You asked, he was worrying you.

He looked around again, making sure no one was watching, before yanking into the stand with him.

He never answered you with words, but the way he made out with you for the remainder of the Festival break kind of spoke for him. Right then, when you were threatening those extras, was the moment he realized he loved you. Actually, no. He already knew he loved you, despite the fact he never said it (yet). Right then was the moment he knew he'd marry you. You wouldn't know that story from his perspective until he told it at your wedding.

______________________________________________________________

hope you enjoyed, I had this story on my mind all last night and was just itching to write it! let me know if you want more of this!

#bakugou katsuki #fanfic #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #new to this #new to tumblr #mha

[00fairylights00]

I Guess You Just Don’t Love Me Anymore

GIF from @glowing-starlight on Tumblr

I was so taken by @ash-arts-but-sinful's post which mentions P being jealous of the cat and @oldworldghost’s post which contains the idea of him becoming more mischievous and sassy as he becomes human that I just had to write a little something, I hope it’s alright that I drew on your thoughts for some inspiration!

As a disclaimer, I haven’t finished my first play-through yet so this is more of a character study based off of what I’ve experienced in-game and what I’ve been seeing on Tumblr instead of delving heavily into the world-building and established story that exists within the game. So hopefully no spoilers and it’s very likely that this won’t at all line up with the in-game timeline.

Big thanks to @cupidsredcollar beloved for proofreading <3 

For as long you had known Pinocchio you had never known him to be a jealous individual, in fact, when you’d first met that bleak, overcast morning in Hotel Krat you had been almost unsettled by his uncanny nature. 

His features were perfectly human, aside from the metal prosthetic he’d been fitted with. He had freckles and soft hair, a face that looked fashioned from a real person instead of the smiling caricatures Krat’s puppets were usually fitted with. 

But despite his boyish features, his face barely moved, he nodded along to Sophia as she gave him the task of locating his father, Mr. Geppetto, and tilted his head in question as Lady Antonia explained the concept of lying but his brows didn’t so much as pinch, his lips didn’t quirk and his eyes looked straight through you as you had wished him safety on his travels.

So watching in real time as he came into his own was something you cherished greatly, you continued to watch him grow and change, become something new. Pinocchio chose to spend a lot of his down time with you, he said he found you interesting, that you had a way of explaining humanity that made sense to him and over the last couple of weeks something had started to shift in him.

No, Pinocchio had never been a jealous individual, for as long as you’d known him.

Until today.

Your morning had started normally, woken up by the cool feeling of P’s lips against your forehead, human hand smoothing back your hair. He mumbled something about needing to go out, you tried to convince him to come back to bed, he tried to convince you to get up (he always wins).

P drags you down to the kitchen, you eat and he watches, something that was initially a little awkward but you’ve come to really look forward to, then you farewell each other at the rear entrance of the hotel. 

He holds you close to his chest, resting his lips to your hairline and making you promise to look after yourself and your companions while he’s away, you make him promise to be careful though you know he’s not always able to, often catching glimpses of Sophia muttering blessings and incantations under her breath in the foyer.

“It’s just Ergo hunting today, I’ll be more than careful.” He whispers, human arm winding around your shoulder. You breathe him in, hands to his chest feeling the odd sensation of his heart, not quite a tick but not quite a beat. 

You lean up to kiss against the slant of his jaw, his mechanical pulse jumping in response. He looks down at you, you catch the fondness in his blue eyes without mistake, he captures your lips in his, holding on for a second longer than he knows is necessary (it’s not like you mind though).

Lounging against the doorway, watching him walk towards the entrance of Elysion Boulevard, he turns and gives a last longing look over his shoulder before stepping through the wrought iron gates and disappearing from view.

You sigh, making your way back inside to start on your usual round of chores, helping where you could to take the load off of Polendina who needed more time to focus on Lady Antonia and her illness. You had just returned to the puppet butler for more tasks when you noticed movement on the top of the shelf behind the front desk. 

Sitting tall and proud was Hotel Krat’s resident sweetheart, Spring, tail swishing steadily as she kept watch of the foyer from her perch. The white and orange cat jumped down to the desk as she noticed you, laying down across the dark wood and turning over in gesture for belly rubs; which you gave happily. 

“She’s been very noisy today,” Polendina explained, stroking the cat, “I wonder what she’s trying to tell us?”

“Probably trying to manipulate us into giving her more treats, isn’t that right?” You accused lightly, you were sure that if he could, Polendina would be smiling. 

“There is another load of laundry that needs folding, could I have a hand?” He asked politely.

“Of course Polendina.”

And it seemed you had found yourself a shadow, Spring making an unreasonable amount of noise as she followed you and Polendina around the hotel. She wound between your legs, chirruped in response to your voices and bumped her head against whatever part of your bodies were within her reach. 

It was no surprise that Spring was loved by the inhabitants of the hotel, and it was very apparent that she loved them back, well everyone except for P. Not for lack of trying of course, he followed your advice of trying to build trust between him and the animal but she wouldn’t so much as let P touch her, hissing her disapproval for all to hear.

You’d often watch as P would recoil from Spring, the feline swiping and spitting at the puppet. You couldn’t tell from his expressions if the cat’s dislike for him bummed him out but sometimes as he lay next to you in bed he would lament quietly that Spring hated him, which would award him a sound of humoured pity and a kiss for the cheek.

It wasn’t clear what it was about P that set Spring off so aggressively. In all the time you had spent at Hotel Krat she’d never behaved in such an unfriendly way, even complete strangers who would seek refuge for short periods of time were welcome to interact with Spring freely. 

She would bask in the attention. You hoped that she would eventually come around to the puppet, given it looked like he would be around for the long haul and you just knew the two would be the best of friends if she would stop being so nasty.

But P was patient, far more patient than you were and it showed as you folded and unfolded the same piece of linen for the third time without realising, Polendina placed a gloved hand over your own, silently relieving you of duty.

“Apologies, my mind seems to be elsewhere Polendina.”

“You worry for the boy, it’s only natural that your mind wanders.” You sometimes forget how long Polendina has been around, having been a close companion of Lady Antonia’s for decades. You had a feeling he knew more about human emotions than he let on, somehow he always knew what to say when it came to your thoughts surrounding Geppetto’s Puppet. 

“I just can’t help it, and with him figuring out who he is, I fear he’ll get himself hurt by being too kind.” You wring your hands in your lap, focusing hard on the lines in your skin as you try to keep yourself from thinking of anything too awful.

“He has met humans who have given him trouble before and he has a good head on his shoulders. I would wager that you have nothing to worry about, but I understand that may not put your mind at ease.” 

“It doesn’t but thank you.” Your hand went to Polendina’s shoulder with a smile. “I think I’m going to find something else to do, try and get my mind off of things.”

Polendina nodded once, going back to folding the linens, “I’ll send the boy your way when he returns.”

You smiled in earnest, appreciative of Polendina’s knowing kindness. 

Spring, who had been lounging between you and Polendina, got up, stretching herself out and scampering over to your side. She meowed frantically to grasp your attention. 

Her interruptions continued as you made your way around the kitchen. It wasn’t particularly dirty given how little it was being used now, however, the repetitive action of wiping down the countertops and sweeping the floor were just the distraction you were looking for. 

Your ears perked up at the heavy steps of boots on marble floors, the jingle of P’s belt was something you could identify in your sleep. He stood tall in the doorway, all sweet smiles and fidgeting hands. Happy to see you, always happy to see you.

He was shockingly clean as he approached, resting his forehead to yours as his hands found their place on your waist, all the scolding about tracking oil and muck through the hotel was finally paying off.

You ran your hands over the intricate designs embossed onto the lapel of his coat, smoothing the fabric down before hooking your hands behind his neck.

“Welcome home, pretty boy.” You cooed, brushing your nose against his. 

He liked the small intimacies you shared, bunny kisses you’d come to find were a favourite of his.

“You can go and relax if you want, I’m just cleaning.” You offered, but he shook his head. 

Spring had also gotten bored of waiting on you, brushing up against your legs. So there you stood, sandwiched between your two favourite beings. 

And two shadows wouldn’t be so bad if they would stop getting under foot, you laughed as Spring and P fought for your attention while you made your way around the kitchen.

P hovered close, slinging his arm around your waist as you tried to pass him. You stopped short as he pressed his face into your neck, leaning back against his chest and resting your hands over his wrist. You could feel him smile against your skin, a careful, small smile that only he could manage.

At that moment Spring took it upon herself to jump up onto the counter in front of you, hissing and swiping at P, he scowled and pulled you closer.

“Beast,” he scowled, you gaped at P, smacking the back of your hand at his chest.

“Don’t be horrible, she’s just protecting her territory,” you chided, 

“I haven’t done anything to her, yet she spits at me.” He complained, you thought your ears might be playing tricks on you at the distinct sound of a whine in his tone.

“You love her.” You reminded smugly, a truth he was unable to escape.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he mumbled, you pushed against his hold, trying to signal your want to move and he hesitantly loosened his grip. Hand ghosting over your waist as he watched you go, you threw a smile over your shoulder which he returned in kind.

You gave Spring a kiss on the head, letting her nuzzle her face against yours before scooping her up and putting her down on the floor where she went back to curling around your legs.

“Ah, so the cat gets a kiss but I don’t?” P asked. You snorted, flinging the rag you’d been using to polish the countertops over your shoulder.

You lent your hip against the counter and crossed your arms over your chest, “you never asked for a kiss, how was I supposed to know that’s what you wanted?”

“I feel like it was obvious.” He placed both of his hands on the counter, stretching his arms out straight as he pushed against the granite. 

You rolled your eyes in jest, unable to keep the fond smile from creeping onto your face, playfully exasperated you closed the short distance between the two of you. Lifting up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he was quick to move his head once you’d pulled back. Hands to your waist and pulling you against him, sealing his lips to yours so quickly it pulled a sound of shock from your throat.

“What’s up with you today, you’ve been awfully touchy.” You teased, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers. “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead tenderly. 

“I missed you too, always miss you when you’re gone.” You placed a hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing gently under his eye.

He pulled the rag from your shoulder and threw it behind you unceremoniously, taking your hand from his cheek to drag you out of the kitchen, a laugh bubbled out of your throat that P was happy to mischievously return.

He led you to the library, seating you at the piano and turning away to rifle through the sheet music stacked in a crate on the floor. He’d been getting better day by day. 

His body wasn’t exactly built to do delicate actions but that never seemed to stop him, in fact, he was inexplicably drawn to all the soft parts of being human even if initially he was afraid to get it wrong. The last thing he’d ever want to do is hurt anyone close to him and for that reason he was acutely aware of the raw strength he possessed.

Though his conscious effort to be gentle made all the difference.

Spring decided she’d had enough of being ignored, jumping up onto the piano bench and brushing up against you, pressing close and then curling down next to you. P turned around, the particular book of sheet music he was searching for held up in his hand, his expression dropped almost comically as he noticed Spring’s position next to you, taking up what was going to be his spot.

“Move her,” he says simply, you throw your head back with a hearty laugh but P’s serious expression doesn’t change.

“No,” you start with a laugh, “Spring got here first, you’ll have to pull up a chair.”

P continued to stand his ground, you wondered if he hoped his very presence would annoy Spring enough that she’d disappear of her own accord, but the cat only opened one eye. She regarded P from her curled up position before nestling her chin back down into her tail. 

It was like Spring knew she was in his spot and was smugly showing off to him, purring loudly.

“P, I’m not moving the cat. Just come and sit on the other side of me.” You insisted, watching as his unappreciated love for the animal won out and he stalked off to get a chair. You chuckled under your breath and passed your fingers through Spring’s soft fur.

“You are so mean to him, you know? He’s quite fond of you and I think you two would be very good friends if you gave him the chance.” You whispered to the cat who ignored you, continuing to purr unabashedly.

Unbeknownst to you, P watched your interaction with the feline from the doorway, his chest feeling warm in a way he wasn’t quite used to yet. Touched by your words that you thought were falling on deaf ears.

He gave in to your fondness for the cat, pulling his chair up next to you, fingers gently flitting across the keys as you hummed softly, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He decided he didn’t mind this so much.

Late in the evening, however, he decided he did mind. 

You were curled up in your bed a book in hand and Spring dozing lazily in your lap, he entered the room and his shoulders physically dropped.

“What’s the matter?” You asked, thumb placed between the pages of your book as a makeshift bookmark. 

“Nothing,” he mumbled, sitting down unceremoniously on the edge of your bed to take off his shoes.

You placed the now forgotten book on your bedside cabinet, the act of sitting up a little difficult with the cat in your lap. You reached for his shoulder but he shrugged off your hand, trying to hide the action by stripping off his coat.

He stood and draped the coat over the back of your desk chair and moved to unbutton his waistcoat, all while staring down Spring with a scowl.

It clicked.

“Are you jealous of the cat?” You wanted deeply to believe that your Pinocchio was not jealous of a cat, but you couldn’t come up with a more sound explanation.

“I don’t know what that word means.” He lied, avoiding your gaze entirely, unbuckling his belt and dumping it on the desk, Gemini didn’t say anything so you assumed he mustn’t be awake.

“Yes you do,” you rolled your eyes, “I remember very clearly the conversation we had about it.” 

He didn’t respond, turning his back to you and focusing his attention on rifling through the dresser drawer full of his clothes. The sleep clothes he was looking for were folded at the end of the bed.

“It’s okay that you’re jealous of-”

“I am not jealous.” Quick, concise and with no room for argument, he spun back on you. His snapping didn’t phase you.

“Uh huh,” you teased with a smirk, turning all your attention back to Spring who’d been ignoring your exchange.

Perhaps what you were doing was a little mean, given that before you hadn’t been ignoring him on purpose, but it was too fun an opportunity to pass up. P let out a disgruntled huff, shuffling around in your peripheral.

“I guess you just don’t love me anymore.” He offered with his arms crossed over his chest, your jaw dropped and a shocked laugh fell out of your open mouth.

“You take that back, immediately!” You snapped playfully, sitting up fully and annoying the cat enough for her to get up and move.

“Make me.” The challenge he’d levied would mean conceding to his childish behaviour but after all he’d been through, you thought it only fair. 

You pulled the sheets back and stood from the bed, crossing the room to him. He tried to act as though he was uninterested, tried to pretend that your hands on his chest didn’t affect him, tried to ignore the speed of his heart as it hammered under your palm.

Your hands travelled the beaten path they always did, from his chest to his collarbone, then hooking behind his neck. Trying to pull him down was useless, like trying to topple a brick wall with bare hands, but you caught him staring out of the corner of his eye.

“Look at me.” Your whisper was a command, and he had always been faithful to a fault. “I love you.”

He tried to hide the oncoming smile, dropping his chin to his chest, but you were quick to guide his gaze back to yours. There was no way you’d be missing that careful grin. His eyes were soft and gentle when they met your own, there was hesitance in them that you didn’t want to see, so you kissed him.

He melted against you, arms winding around your back and pulling you against his chest, you hummed and he couldn’t stop the full blown grin from forming on his lips; breaking away to look at you like a giddy school boy.

“Are you going to take it back?” You asked, brushing your nose against his in a bunny kiss. 

“Will I still get to kiss you if I do?” He joked, you rolled your eyes albeit in good nature, hands cradling his cheeks as he continued to smile.

“I think that can be arranged,” you mused, leaning in to kiss him again, the two of you falling into familiar rhythm with one another.

Spring slinked out of the partially open door, tail held high, she had seen more than enough.

#I started writing this in October when I had barely scratched the surface of the game #Still have not finished it though lmao #Also sorry for all the @’s I just wanted everyone to be properly credited and what not if that’s annoying lemme know and I’ll make sure it’ #Do I know anything about anything? No #Also P talks a lot in this one #Controversial I know :o #I’m kidding #I realised after writing all of this out that the game takes place over like 3 days #So just suspend reality for me if you would #I am no stranger to lengthening the timeline to fit my selfish needs I will do it again in fact #And you will not complain because I wrote the puppet boy kissing YOU 🫵🏻 #pushing my bunny kisses agenda once again #Lies of P x Reader #Pinocchio x Reader #Lies of P #Don’t ask me where the puppet is on the humanity scale because I do not know #jan 2024 #Pretty Boy series #🦋 let your conscience be your guide

[zoobus]

A.

I answer the doorbell. I see a sparkling Tinkerbell flitting in front of me (it could be shaped like something else but I need to instantly recognize that this is supposed to be a fairy).

Response: I take a sharp intake of breath, but (since the original pollmaker didn't specify immediate malicious intent) probably don't do much else except gawk. Until the fairy does something, I stand there bewildered, maybe scared IF I truly accept this is a mythical creature.

B.

I answer the doorbell. 4000lbs (1814kg) of writhing wrinkled grey flesh bends it's doughy head down from its 12 foot (3.66 meters) height to peer at me, two long white knives jutting from its hairy maw. It makes this noise:

Response: I scream. 100% I would scream if I saw a walrus at my front door. I don't scream very often but I know what conditions bring me to that state. A walrus meets those conditions. I don't have thoughts, I don't try to make sense of what I'm seeing. I scream and run.

Ergo, I would be more shocked by a walrus at my front door than a fairy. I understand others might have different perspectives, but I feel like the people actually getting mad at walrus-pickers are talking past us. No fairies aren't real, but we're talking about gut reactions, right? Not imagined logical assessments of impossible scenarios.

#fairy vs walrus #like the obvious issue is that the pollmakers don't define what a fairy is/looks like/verifies it's a fairy while a walrus is concrete #so I'm left like hmm even the most malevolent depictions of fairies I've come across aren't like 'scream on sight' horrifying #while a wild animal is a wild animal #Youtube

[umekawa-eve]

Summer's Finale

Carlo x Reader

The reason I deleted the previous post because I found so many spelling errors in it(like, Carlo became Calro or Caro; stalker become Hunter or something). Damn the translator.

Every summer, your parents would send you to your grandparents' house up in the mountains during the school break. Their reasoning was that the air up there was cleaner than in the city, and breathing in some fresh air would be beneficial for your health.

You were always frail and prone to illness since childhood. It seemed like you were either catching one illness or another throughout the year. Your parents had to take care of you while managing their work responsibilities, so summer vacation was an opportunity for them to take a breather by leaving you in the care of others. At least, that's how you perceived it.

You didn't dislike living in the mountains. Every morning, you would venture into the forest, playing and making friends with small animals and flowers. Sometimes you would go fishing with your grandfather. When you got tired, you would return home and relish the delectable dishes prepared by your grandmother. In the evening, you would sit on the backyard swing with your grandfather, gazing up at the vast expanse of the starry night sky. The stars were so big and bright there, a sight that couldn't be compared to anything you could see in the city. Your grandfather would point out constellations and share their stories with you.

Although your days in the mountains were joyful, you missed your father and mother who lived in the city. And now, you longed for your grandparents who resided in the heavens.

You didn't attend your grandparents' funeral back then because you didn't like shedding tears in front of others. You believed it would only make your grandfather and grandmother sad to see you cry.

Since your grandparents' passing, you never returned to the mountains.

You don't know when it started, but the house became so quiet, eerily quiet.

One evening, your parents sat at opposite ends of the couch, resembling two books, without much interaction. Just a while ago, as long as the door between the kitchen and the living room was left open, you would hear laughter. Sometimes your father would crack jokes, making you burst into laughter, and even your mother would smile. You didn't always grasp the jokes, but because everyone was laughing, you laughed along.

But somehow, your parents gradually reduced the frequency of their conversations, and sometimes they wouldn't even glance at each other. You tried to continue being the book and engage them in trivial chatter, but it felt cold. Coldness emanated from both ends of the couch, and your defrosting mechanisms couldn't handle it. You had to leave because that coldness would freeze your cheeks, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

A few months ago, you tried once: "Would you like to hear a joke I heard at school today?"

Your parents remained silent.

Your father was reading the article in his hands. He glanced at his daughter, his expression somewhat surprised, then lowered his head and continued reading.

The article he was reading was about a mysterious stone called "Ergo," with complex content that you couldn't comprehend. Your father was a member of the Alchemist Guild, busy with work and shrouded in mystery. He never told you what his work exactly entailed, nor did he allow you to enter his study.

Meanwhile, your mother didn't even lift her head, her eyes fixed on the sheet music, occasionally making amendments. Your mother was a musical composer, currently putting all her efforts into her comeback piece (she had given up her work previously to care for you when you were young).

"Why don't skeletons fight?" you decided to stick to the plan.

"Why?" Your father casually replied, flipping through the article.

"My dear, what did you just say?" your mother asked. She had just written what she believed to be her best lyrics yet.

For some unknown reason, you sat there motionless, drenched in sweat yet shivering with cold, a chilling sensation that penetrated to your very core. In the end, you had no choice but to escape from your distant parents and seek solace in your own room. There, you lay on your bed, burying your head in the pillow, weeping. From that moment on, you often closed the door, retreating into your own world.

Your father had a demanding job that frequently took him away on business trips to distant places, sometimes for an entire month. The last time he returned from an overseas trip, he brought you a cute little cat. You named him "Spring" because he arrived in your home during the springtime.

At that time, Spring had just turned one month old. He was merely the size of a palm, with sparse orange fur that made him resemble a little old man. But his eyes were large and round, with a small nose and soft, tender pads on his tiny paws. You loved squeezing them.

Spring was fierce towards others; if someone reached out to touch him, he would hiss, warning them that if they dared to touch him, he would not hesitate to sink his sharp fangs into their hands. However, Spring showed no aversion to your touch. Every time you approached him, he wagged his tail happily, greeting you. He intentionally rubbed against your hand, indicating his desire to be petted. And when you stroked him, he emitted a contented purr, as if thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Sometimes, he would jump onto the windowsill and gaze outside, lost in thought. Observing his increasingly mature figure, you couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. You thought to yourself, if you were taken away from your mother at birth, you would also feel heartbroken.

You loved Spring, and you loved your father for giving him to you. You believed that your father loved you too, but he didn't understand you, and you realized you didn't understand him either.

Although you had some friends at school, you still felt an indescribable loneliness. It wasn't the absence of people around you, but rather the absence of someone with whom you could share the depths of your innermost feelings.

Loneliness is like an unfathomable abyss, without end, without a destination, only darkness and emptiness. You stand alone at the edge of this abyss, gazing into its bottomless darkness, feeling as if you are plummeting into it, unable to escape. Loneliness is your deepest fear because you are alone in the midst of a crowd, and there is nothing more terrifying than that.

In school, it is inevitable to encounter troubles at times, but you never speak up about them. You portray yourself as cool on the surface, but deep inside, you are fragile. Sometimes, you also want to show vulnerability, to seek comfort, and to cry in your mother's embrace, pouring out the injustices you have faced. However, your self-esteem prevents you from doing so. At times, you also wonder when and how you became so awkward.

But home is not always peaceful either. Sometimes, your parents argue fiercely, unabashedly expressing their hatred for each other through their words. During those times, you would hide in your room with Spring, covering your head with a pillow, as if it could shield you from the unbearable insults.

At the beginning of the new semester, your parents, who care for you flawlessly, send you to a boarding school. There is another boy who transfers alongside you. He has curly black hair, chestnut-colored eyes, and a few freckles on his fair face. When introducing himself, he only mentions his name and refuses to say another word.

He is reserved and never initiates conversations. Classmates perceive him as peculiar, and they all find it difficult to accept him, but you, on the other hand, don't mind. Sometimes, you also dislike talking. Even after a long time since the start of the school year, he remains solitary, often seen nestled in the music room, playing the piano alone, completely immersed in his own world. When it rains, he doesn't use an umbrella, yet he never falls ill. You envy him for that.

Perhaps there is some hidden force at work, as you always seem to encounter him here and there. When you meet each other's gaze, you see familiarity in the eyes of this boy named Carlo—a familiar loneliness that you also see reflected in your own eyes when you look in the mirror. Yet, when you pass by each other, you always want to say something to him, but the words fail to escape your lips. So, you lower your head, avoiding his sorrowful eyes, pretending not to have noticed him.

Lonely individuals stand out too prominently in a crowd, attracting some unscrupulous individuals. One day, you witness a group of senior students bullying him. Without a second thought, you courageously step forward to confront those individuals. However, relying solely on your and Carlo's strength, you are no match for the powerful and imposing senior students. You both end up being at a disadvantage until another boy comes to your aid. Only with his help do you manage to defeat those students, although the three of you sustain injuries. But you believe that after this incident, no one will dare to bully him again.

The helpful boy who introduced himself as Romeo had a ghostly mane of golden hair and fair skin, resembling a prince straight out of a fairy tale. He carried himself with grace and elegance, and his voice was gentle and soothing. However, he was the most valiant among the three of you. In the recent altercation, he single-handedly defeated a senior student.

"Why did you help me?" the boy asked in the infirmary, his eyes fixed on the bandaged hand.

After contemplating for a moment, you replied calmly, "There isn't any specific reason. I simply detest injustice and unfairness."

"Same here," Romeo said. "How could I stand idly by when I see someone being bullied?"

Carlo remained silent for a while, then spoke up, "Why did you come to Monad Charity House?"

Romeo shrugged indifferently and replied, "I'm an orphan. I was sent here a long time ago."

You couldn't bring yourself to reveal the truth as candidly as Romeo did, so you spoke in a low voice, "My parents didn't have time to take care of me, so they dumped me here."

"Me too," Carlo chuckled self-mockingly, but there was a tinge of sadness in his tone. "My father is a puppet maker, and he invests more energy in his puppets than in me. Sometimes I wonder what my purpose of existence truly is. Why didn't he just make a puppet son instead?"

"Perhaps we are all just accidents," you muttered.

Instead of feeling offended by your words, Carlo burst into laughter. His hearty laughter infected both you and Romeo, and you couldn't help but laugh together until the nurse warned you, and the three of you stopped.

From that day on, the three of you became inseparable friends. Despite the whispers and gossip of your classmates, you paid no mind because you had each other's company.

The pressure of schoolwork often made you yearn for an escape, but you didn't know where to go.

"Learning all these things that I won't need in the future will rot my brain," Carlo complained. "I want to be a stalker, not an alchemist. Why do I have to study all this unnecessary stuff?"

"If you want to be a stalker, you still have to graduate from here. But right now, you can't even pass a simple quiz. You better just dream about it," Romeo taunted.

"That's my dream, alright. Can't I have dreams?" Carlo retorted with annoyance. "What about you? What's your dream? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Romeo rested his chin on his hand and lightly tapped his lips with his index finger. "I also want to be a stalker."

Carlo narrowed his eyes. "How despicable! You're copying me."

Romeo rolled his eyes. "No, I did not. Don't make things up."

"Alright then. Y/n, what about you? What's your dream?" Carlo turned his head towards you, who had been diligently working on your math homework.

"Huh? Well..." Caught off guard by the question about your own dream, you couldn't answer immediately. After pondering for a while, you finally spoke up, "I want to be an alchemist."

Carlo and Romeo exchanged glances at each other, then turned their gaze back to you without uttering a word, just staring at you.

Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, you felt somewhat uneasy. So, you asked them, "What's going on? Why aren't you saying anything?"

They continued to silently stare at you for a while longer. Carlo was the first to break the silence, sighing before saying, "Ah, what a bore."

Romeo followed suit, sighing as well. "I thought your dreams would be more grand, like becoming a stalker."

"If word of that gets out, it wouldn't surprise me if you end up dead in the streets one day," you calmly retorted to Romeo. "And what's not great about being an alchemist? Sofia's father is an alchemist. He discovered the Ergo and supports this charity house. I think he's quite remarkable."

Carlo shook his head. "Alchemists are a bunch of hypocrites, driven solely by greed. Of course, I'm not targeting Sofia's father specifically, but all alchemists in general."

"Ah, typical Carlo! Saying things I dare not say," Romeo laughed.

"If alchemists are truly as you describe, then I'll be a breath of fresh air in the alchemy world," you half-jokingly, half-seriously said. Then, with long eyelashes lowered, you spoke in a detached tone, "I want to find a cure for petrification disease. Both my grandparents died from it."

You lowered your head, reminiscing about your departed loved ones, and a hint of bitterness welled up in your heart.

Carlo paused, no longer using sharp words to challenge you. He placed his hand on your shoulder and smiled faintly, saying, "Then I'll become your stalker, protecting you."

Romeo exaggeratedly shivered and rubbed his arms, saying, "Ugh, you're so cheesy, Carlo."

"Shut up," Carlo blushed, avoiding Romeo's gaze. However, his actions only made Romeo more eager to tease him.

Romeo leaned closer to Carlo, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Could it be... you have feelings for Y/n?"

"Uh—!" Carlo let out a sudden, awkward yelp, perhaps realizing his own indiscretion. He pretended to cough a few times to cover up his embarrassment and stammered, "Wh-who, who likes her? I'm just protecting her out of knightly spirit!"

"Oh? Is that so?" Romeo raised an eyebrow, looking at Carlo skeptically.

Romeo snorted. "I see. Well, just don't spout nonsense! I'm leaving!" With that, he picked up his assignment and quickly turned to leave the library.

Romeo turned to look at you, and you could only shrug helplessly.

"What about you? What kind of feelings do you have for Carlo?" he suddenly asked.

Caught off guard by the question, you hesitated for a moment before stammering, "I-I feel... what I feel towards Carlo..."

Deep down, you had always admired Carlo's talents and character, but you wondered if you had developed romantic feelings for him, the kind commonly referred to as love. You weren't entirely sure yourself. Although you couldn't be certain, you had similar emotions in your heart.

"I don't know either," you softly replied to Romeo.

Besides studying and doing assignments together, the three of you often wandered aimlessly, doing nothing in particular. Even though you didn't do much, you felt content because the feeling of companionship was wonderful.

Through your interactions with Carlo, you gradually understood why he enjoyed being in the rain. Standing there, allowing the pouring rain to drench you, there was a indescribable feeling. Under the relentless downpour, all worries were washed away, leaving only a pure sense of connection with nature.

When you were completely soaked by the rain, with your clothes sticking to your body and your hair softly clinging to your face, an unprecedented sense of liberation would envelop you. In that moment, you felt so light, as if all burdens had been washed away along with the rain.

Perhaps that was why Carlo was so fascinated by the feeling of rain. Only through the powerful impact of heavy rain could you both escape from the mundane world, briefly forgetting the realities that couldn't be avoided in daily life. Even if it was only for a short while, this experience of freedom far surpassed the ordinary.

Just that alone was enough to fill the emptiness and monotony in your heart. And perhaps, it was because of this that Carlo allowed himself to be engulfed by the rain time and time again.

Even though you would catch a cold after getting drenched in the rain, you had no regrets.

When the mid-semester arrived, your parents separated.

From that day on, you felt exhausted, unable to muster any energy to do anything. Whenever you thought about the fact that your parents no longer loved each other, an inexplicable sense of suffocation welled up in your heart.

If possible, you just wanted to sleep forever, to escape the weight and pain that burdened you.

Perhaps you could never regain your composure. You despised yourself for being so lifeless, yet you couldn't summon the strength to change that. You didn't know how to deal with these emotions, so you allowed yourself to drift along, at the mercy of the tides. You thought, if you couldn't rise above, why not sink beneath?

You spent quite a long time in this state of despondency until Carlo and Romeo uttered those words to you.

"Let's leave this place together!"

On that midsummer night, the three of you packed your bags and secretly escaped from the Monard Refuge. You traveled by train, a farmer's truck, and walked along mountain roads for a long time until you reached your grandparents' ancestral home. Apart from a bit more dust and the absence of two adorable old people, the interior remained unchanged, as if time had ceased to flow here, and your grandparents were just out for a walk, about to return any moment.

Carlo discovered grandfather's piano and began pressing a few keys, transforming the fragmented notes into a beautiful melody. Inspired, you picked up grandmother's violin and accompanied Carlo's tune with your fingertips and the bow.

The piano's unrestrained melody flowed like a free-spirited river, while the violin's delicate and melodious notes sailed alongside, like a small boat adrift. They journeyed side by side, chasing and evading each other, intertwining and leaning on one another, yet leaving enough space for the other to shine, completing a graceful composition.

As the piece concluded, Romeo sitting nearby applauded and handed you a bunch of freshly picked bluebells. You closed your eyes and smelled the flowers, but all you could detect was a faint scent of rust.

"Strange, why does it smell like blood?" an indescribable unease arose within you.

You opened your eyes again and noticed that the blue petals were covered in dark red streaks. Panicked, you lowered your head and discovered that the back of the hand holding the flowers was already stained with fresh blood.

Only then did you realize that the tingling sensation deep in your nasal cavity was due to your own nosebleed. You tried to wipe it away with the back of your hand, but the blood continued to flow incessantly, staining the entire bluebell. Startled, your hand loosened its grip, and the blood-soaked flower slipped from your palm and fell to the ground.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Carlo looked at you with concern, his brown eyes filled with worry.

"I'm fine," you managed a weak smile, attempting to reassure him.

"Sit down for now, I'll go get a towel for you," Romeo said and walked away.

"Are you really okay?" Carlo asked, his expression still filled with doubt.

"Don't see me as so fragile. It's just a nosebleed," you said with a smile, trying to ease his concerns.

Carlo nodded, although he didn't seem entirely convinced.

When night fell, you wandered through the serene forest. At the end of the forest lay a beautiful lake. In the past, you often went fishing with your grandfather in a small boat.

In the stillness of the night, the lake appeared pitch black, adorned with stars that resembled scattered golden dust. The radiant moon hung high in the sky, its reflection resembling a jade disc sinking into the water. You paddled the small boat to the center of the lake and lay down, gazing up at the starry canopy. In the profound darkness, the starlight shimmered like a vast sea, captivating and captivating the imagination. No words were spoken, as you immersed yourselves in this mystical and enchanting starry night.

You wished time could freeze in this moment.

After this brief journey, you fell seriously ill, even more so than before. Throughout the day, you were only awake for one or two hours, spending the rest of the time in a semi-conscious state.

The dreams concocted by your feverish mind were terrifying and distorted. You dreamed of endlessly falling into an abyss of darkness, much like the protagonist of that well-known tale who fell down a rabbit hole in pursuit of a rabbit. However, she arrived in an incomprehensible realm after landing, encountering a group of peculiar individuals, while you simply continued to descend endlessly.

You struggled to grasp onto something, but found nothing around you. Your descent resembled a runaway roller coaster, with suffocating fear filling your chest. Finally, you woke up, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.

At that moment, a small hand reached out immediately. You strained to open your heavy eyelids and saw a seated figure in blue, albeit blurred.

Your lips curled slightly upwards as you spoke with your frail, broken voice, "Oh, Carlo... I fell."

"Hey, but I caught you." Carlo said with a smile. "Would you like some water?"

"No, drinking water makes me nauseous now. How long have you been here?"

"I came right after school. I begged the principal for a long time to let me come see you."

You remained silent. Speaking was a laborious and unbearable task for you. So, you simply held onto Carlo's hand. But as you gazed at him, your face slightly lifted, you noticed a glimmer in his clear, wide eyes. You couldn't help but ask, "Did you cry?"

"No," Carlo denied vehemently.

"I saw your tears."

"It's just... some sand got in my eyes."

His actions only confirmed your suspicion. Thus, you said, "Did you think I was going to die, so you-"

"No, it's not like that," Carlo softly interrupted. "It's just that seeing you in so much pain made my heart ache. I was upset with myself because I couldn't take away your suffering or become you to bear it for you. And then, tears fell without me even realizing it. But I'm not crying."

"You fool."

Carlo looked up, his face filled with astonishment.

"You don't need to blame yourself at all." you said. "Even if you could become me, I wouldn't want you to endure this pain. I'm already grateful that you can be here with me."

Carlo didn't say anything, and neither did you. Words turned into a clear pool of water, with one teardrop after another gently sliding down from your eyes. And then, nothing remained.

※※※

As the summer drew to a close, she vanished.

It was a few hours before her passing when Carlo last spoke to her.

At her request, he wheeled her wheelchair and took her to the garden outside the hospital.

"The weather is lovely today," she said, gazing at the sky, her face slowly breaking into a gentle smile. "But I truly wish I could take another walk in the rain with you and Romeo."

Carlo listened perplexed, unsure why she was saying such things.

"There will be a chance, so you must live well," he replied.

She silently gazed into his eyes. "I'm sorry... but I am happy because I had the chance to know you all, and I truly like you all. I really like you. Become an extraordinary stalker, Carlo."

She smiled faintly, no longer saying anything more, and Carlo felt that he had been waiting a long time for these words.

Then they fell silent, just quietly observing the scenery.

Suddenly, the view before them became radiant. Thin clouds in the sky parted, allowing sunlight to pour over the earth, and the green grass and trees stood tall as if blessing the world.

This conversation became their final exchange. A few hours later, she passed away.

At the beginning of September, during a rainy autumn funeral, Carlo once again played the song they had performed together on the mountain during the summer, but this time without the accompaniment of the violin.

The melodies of summer, long gone, soared through the autumn, seeking their old fortress.

The flower language of Gentiana is "Falling in love with the melancholy you."

#lies of p #lies of p x reader #lies of p x you #carlo x reader #drabble #random shit #SoundCloud

[sirenjose]

Norton is Alive in the Final Game

This is going to be less of an organized post and more just a collection of points. I wanted to post a theory I wrote about Time of Reunion here based on quoththeowl31's request, but I wrote the original theory right after the event (I needed hope) and it's been quite some time since then. I would've felt guilty just copy pasting it here considering how long its been, but I didn't have the energy to make it nice and neat. So I'm just going to take the important points from my previous theory, revise them based on what info we currently have, and go from there.

(Sorry, I only had the energy to be lazy for this. Hopefully this is good enough for you.)

Alice (Little Girl) is running from Orpheus during Time of Reunion in-game.

She disappears in Da Capo after Orpheus beats up Norton, leaving only her diary behind. The same thing happens at the end of the Time of Reunion event in-game. The diary is left on the ground near where Orpheus lies.

Possible Orpheus scared Alice due to his actions, even if he thought he did it to defend her.

This is the “final game”. No bodies are found except Orpheus’. The fire didn’t consume everything, so if Norton really were dead, his body should be around there somewhere, but it isn’t.

Melly and Alice are never found either, but if they did manage to leave, we’ve heard nothing about them.

(Reusing an idea I read from quoththeowl31 that I really liked)

Little Girl helps other survivors. If Orpheus was Nightmare, that’d mean she’d have to help Norton, Melly, or whoever the 4th survivor is (whether that’s Frederick or otherwise). Novelist was banned in this mode, meaning Little Girl couldn’t support him (and it’s possible this could have been meant to also signify Little Girl didn’t support him in the story either).

Alice is a rescuer. The only person we’ve seen hurt and chaired during the in-game cutscene was Norton. Ergo, it’d be her responsibility to rescue him.

Norton is a survivor built to harass the hunter (and potentially by-time for others/help others escape from the hunter), while Melly is built for kiting and running. This could explain why Norton is the one who is the one wounded during Time of Reunion

Norton and Melly, each time they appear as hunters during the animations, are always reaching towards Little Girl aka Alice, not Orpheus.

Norton was using the axe to break the door to the room Orpheus had locked himself and the girl in. The axe disappears right after he makes a big enough hole, meaning Norton didn’t intend to use it to hurt either of them.

Melly in Alice’s diary was said to be trying to persuade Alice to leave, but she refuses due to not finding the answer she’s looking for yet.

If Alice/Little Girl knew Norton and Melly were trying to help her, she likely would’ve sided with them. That could also be why she disappears after Orpheus beats up Norton (as well seeing how Orpheus truly is/how messed up he is). Or she disappeared so Orpheus, upon losing sight of her, she’d be freed and could help Norton without Orpheus stopping her.

Orpheus isn’t a reliable perspective. The memories we’re seeing are because of the Hydra drug, which “rebuilds” memories. “Rebuild” rather than “regain” or “remember” means the “rebuilt” version can look the exact same as the original, but it’s also possible for it to somewhat differ from the original version. For example, the memories Hydra gives Orpheus has Orpheus being chased by Nightmare, which we know is impossible as Orpheus is Nightmare, as well as shows Alice as Little Girl rather than her actual, present day version as Alice the Journalist. (Similar to what happens to Sora during Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories.)

There are inconsistencies in the animation, which can help show that it, like the Time of Reunion event in-game, isn’t the exact truth. Besides Alice appearing as Little Girl rather than Journalist Alice, as well as how we can see hallucinations exist considering we see Melly and Norton appearing as hunters, but we know this is a hallucination as, for example, after Orpheus punches Melly, we see the real Melly briefly afterwards.

Norton doesn’t have his signature burn scar over his eye

Norton doesn’t have his nose piercing

Only Orpheus and Little Girl are in color. Norton and Melly are in black and white.

Only Orpheus and Little Girl have real eyes. Norton has button eyes.

Norton isn’t fighting back. When Orpheus tries to punch him a 2nd time, Norton actually grabs his hand, struggles to keep him still while Orpheus continues to try to attack him, and then grabs Orpheus’ other hand when he tries to swing that at Norton too. In the second or so that Orpheus can’t attack, we see Norton trying to say something to Orpheus, but Orpheus isn’t listening and continues to attack. Norton this whole time hasn’t made any moves to attack Orpheus himself.

The strange scene where Melly is hiding in a locker, Norton touches something on the floor, walks over to the locker, shakes it once, hits it once, shakes it one more time, then runs out. It’s kind of nonsensical. If he was running from something, we’d see Norton moving quicker and more furiously, yet the nonchalant way he goes about his business before slowly walking to the locker says otherwise. Right after this, Melly opens up a trapdoor once Norton leaves. It’s possible Norton’s actions were a signal to Melly, potentially signifying that it was Norton, not Orpheus, and him trying to potentially say Orpheus wasn’t around, and that could’ve been why Melly only opened the trapdoor afterwards. This could mean Melly and Norton are working together, and as both of them seemed to be trying to reach for Little Girl specifically, that could help further prove the idea.

The only time we see Norton and Melly going against each other is when Norton punches Melly and causes her to drop the flashlight that Orpheus then picks up. I think the only reason this happened was because they might’ve known Orpheus was watching and had to pretend. Even when Orpheus firsts locks himself in the room with Little Girl, closing the door right as Hunter Melly appears in front of the door, in a few seconds, we see the axe coming through the door, signifying Hunter Norton is right outside the door now. Both Norton and Melly should be nearby, outside the door, but they’re goal is getting into the room, not fighting each other.

We also see both of them running past Orpheus at about the same time.

There’s also how Melly during Time of Reunion is shown to be using her bees to try to get Orpheus hit and killed by the hunter.

“Da Capo” is a music term and means to “go back to the beginning” of the music. This only happens once, with the second time you reach this symbol it doesn’t repeat, and instead goes to a different measure. This basically seems to symbolize doing things over but reaching a different ending.

Da Capo and redoing something can connect to COA 4, as Highway Cavalier and the others repeatedly die and are forced to redo the race over and over. Highway Cavalier does defeat Molten Hound and win the race in the end, receiving a “powerful life force” as his reward in the end. Molten Hound, who is absorbing the life force of the racers forced to redo the race in loop after loop, can parallel Orpheus as Nightmare, who does something similar with the participants of his experiments. Highway Cavalier obviously parallels Norton, while Melly can parallel Reflective Mirror, someone who at first did not get along with and was on different sides from Norton, but after Norton changes and starts to care, he saves her from dying at one point, and they become allies.

Considering what we know about Alice based on her letter to Orpheus in the 2nd anniversary package, where she says she’s going to save him (Orpheus) this time, she could parallel Pumping Tires, who sacrifices himself for Highway Cavalier to ensure Highway Cavalier can win the race and defeat Molten Hound.

There’s also how the COA 4 races were taking place in Yidhra’s Dreamlands, and Yidhra in canon seems to relate to Oracle and Orpheus’ drugs via the fern, as well as to Darkwoods where the Final Game takes place.

Norton in his 2nd letter was asked to assassinate some female in exchange for a lot of money. Despite this, we see in this letter that he (Hunter Norton/Fool’s Gold) is trying to convince himself (Survivor Norton) to go through with the job and kill the female for the money. This is similar to Norton’s backstory trailer, where we see Norton fighting with himself before he sets off the explosion in Golden Cave. We see him holding his head, as well as both him and his hunter version at the same time, before seeing Fool’s Gold win and cause the explosion.

It’s possible during the Final Game, Norton chose to reject the assassination request and side with Alice instead, similar to Highway Cavalier’s change from selfish to working with others during COA 4 to the point in previous loops he gets himself killed while trying to help them.

Norton in Time of Reunion is shown to be eliminated via chair rather than bleeding out. This means there is a chance he survived. (Orpheus is also shown with scars on his hand from the wires on the rocket chairs, meaning he survived despite being chaired. It’s possible he was rescued, but in-game, if you’re eliminated via chair, it does say “returning to manor”, which could be what happened to Norton).

Little Girl, as well as Nightmare, disappeared because Orpheus forgot about them. Because the gas he released via the valve is shown to have the Dionysus/Mnemosyne symbol, which is the drug that makes a person forget.

Strange split screen during the scene Orpheus attacks Norton. Suspicious we can’t see exactly who the shadows are, even though the left side shows us Orpheus and Norton. Considering we know the hallucination drug can cause people to see someone as something else, it’s possible the fact we can’t see who’s on the right may hint that maybe they aren’t who they seem to be. It’s possible rather than attacking Norton, he’s actually attacking Alice, which could also tie to why she sees him as Nightmare, as well as why Little Girl runs away from Orpheus during the Time of Reunion event.

Orpheus is focused on the past before the tragedy. He is “looking back”. He also “looks back” after attacking Norton in Da Capo, and when he does, Alice is gone. And like in the original myth, when Orpheus looks back, Eurydice vanishes forever. The fact Alice is gone could mean he did in fact attack her and caused her to disappear despite what he thought he saw.

Last thought. We see Little Girl disappear at the end. And based on Alice’s letter to Orpheus, this seems to echo this. If Yidhra really is involved, what if she made Alice, as well as Norton and Melly, disappear. Similar to what happens to the Lakeside villagers. And potentially similar to what Eli describes in his 4th letter, as he describes “dissipating” just like how we see happen to Little Girl in the animations as well as in-game at the end of Time of Reunion.

As Yidhra’s letters seem to connect her to the fern used in the drugs, as well as to Darkwoods, where the final game is, and where we can find a bonfire that Yidhra’s form can appear in, it’s possible she could’ve made Alice, Norton, Melly, and potentially all the other participants of Orpheus’ game disappear, similar to how she makes the investigators who wander into her territory see the steps to the Dreamlands.

Alice in her letter to Orpheus in the 2nd anniversary package does say “As I gradually regain my consciousness, I’ll find a way to escape from the prison that locks me in”, and though I don’t see how she could write a letter to Orpheus if she had already been sent to the Dreamlands, I still wanted to suggest the idea that the “prison” she refers to is the Dreamlands. In which case, the “hunter” Alice references she could potentially use could be Yidhra: https://www.tumblr.com/sirenjose/738327507924828160/oracle-orpheus-drugs-and-yidhra-theory?source=share.

That or Joseph. Both him and Yidhra seem to be potential solutions: https://www.tumblr.com/sirenjose/737972149259829248/did-joseph-make-the-portraits-are-they-still?source=share.

Joseph is all about saving people from death, which he does by taking a photo of them, causing their souls to be trapped within the photo and their bodies to seemingly go missing. He had a wall of portraits of people that went missing, and we are now getting portraits of survivors for their 5th birthday. In which case, the “prison” Alice references could be that photo, and the hunter she suggested wanting to use could be Joseph.

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #melly plinius #entomologist #idv melly #identity v melly #idv entomologist #identity v entomologist #alice deross #journalist #idv alice #identity v alice #idv journalist #identity v journalist #time of reunion #ashes of memory #orpheus #novelist #idv orpheus #identity v orpheus #idv novelist #identity v novelist #sirenjose analyses and theories

[lavinialost]

“Boop!”

One moment, Todd’s dozing, one earbud in his ear blasting Soundgarden at max volume. The next, without warning, a hand firmly plants itself smack dab in the middle of his forehead with a resounding thwack.

His eyes fly open, the nap he’d been trying to finagle at his desk in the middle of a workday thoroughly interrupted, to find Dirk standing over him, grinning like an idiot. Todd pulls the earbud out of his ear, the tinny hum of Black Hole Sun still barely audible.

“Wh– what the fuck was that?” 

He presses a hand over where the skin of his forehead is smarting, still trying to process what had just happened.

“A boop, Todd, obviously. I booped you. You have been booped.”

“You just–? I was–? What were you–? I just–?” Todd stutters, trying to come up with the right sequence of words to express the potent cocktail of abrupt shock, burgeoning annoyance, and utter bewilderment flooding his brain in response to being hit on the head for no reason. “Why?”

“Well, you see, I spent the morning observing our beloved shat’s behavior–”

“Please stop calling her that.”

“But that’s what she is,” Dirk protests. “She’s a shark and a cat: ergo, shat.”

“She has a name that we all voted and agreed on that isn’t… shat.”

For the record, it’s Cecilia, not that Dirk ever uses it. 

“Yes, well, semantics aside, I spent a significant portion of my morning conducting an observational study on her behavior, and came to the conclusion that, when in a playful mood and faced with a familiar individual whose undivided attention she desires, she performs what I have expertly dubbed a ‘boop’.”

Todd’s experienced– he’s not going to call it ‘booping’, he’s still got some pride remaining– whatever this is from the agency’s adopted shark-cat many times before. She’ll drape herself across the nearest occupied desk and bat at its occupant with her paws until she’s gotten what she’s wanted. But while (as long as she’s not using her claws) the shark-cat’s attempts at diversion are endearing at best and distracting at worst, Dirk’s attempt to emulate her had been downright painful.

“Don’t do it again,” Todd says shortly. With any luck, Dirk will actually listen. 

“Of course you wouldn’t appreciate it,” he frowns. “I should have guessed, since you’re a self-professed dog person for some indiscernible reason.”

“I promise you, there’s not a single person on Earth who would appreciate being hit on the head, dog person or not.”

As if summoned by the universe itself, Cecilia picks this moment to join the argument, jumping up onto Todd’s desk and flopping down next to his arm, purring, totally unaware of the chaos she’s wrought on the agency today. 

“Well, the shat agrees with me, doesn’t she?”

Cecilia flicks the tip of her tail and bumps her forehead against Dirk’s hand. Traitor. This is why Todd prefers dogs. 

“Now, where’s Farah gone off to?”

“Bad idea,” Todd warns.

“I don’t know what you mean, it’s an excellent idea. I’m sure she’ll appreciate my foray into feline methods of affection much more than you did.”

“Dude, I’m warning you–”

“And I don’t want to hear it. She’s in the interrogation room, right?”

Whatever Todd says isn’t going to matter; Dirk’s obviously not listening to him. Mustering up all the judgment he has in him (spoiler: it’s a lot), he stares Dirk down with flat condemnation in one final attempt to dissuade him.

“Right?” Dirk tries again, totally unaffected.

Todd sighs and gives in. “Whatever, it’s your funeral, man.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Dirk practically skips out of the room, hurtling headlong into what Todd’s sure is certain death. 

Whatever happens, it’s out of Todd’s hands now. He sits back in his chair, arms crossed, and waits.

Sure enough, Dirk’s voice rings out from the next room moments later.

“Boop!”

Thwack.

And then, from the other room, there’s a startled cry, the all-too-familiar crashing sound of a table collapsing under the sudden weight of a fully grown adult, and a brief moment of stunned silence broken by muffled, distressed groaning.

Todd winces. That sounded painful.

“Dirk, what the hell was that?!” comes Farah’s exasperated cry, echoing sharply down the hall.

Well, Todd thinks, putting his single headphone back in and resting his head back down against his desk, he had tried to warn Dirk.

#in honor of april fool's day and the boop-o-meter my beloved #dghda #dghda fic

[fuel-me-coffee]

Tea break and butterflies

((Screwllum x Reader, Fluff, CW: probably ooc, implications of reader having accidentally consumed hazardous liquids in the past))

The floral aroma of brewing tea filled the air around you as you sat at a small round table in a garden house with your lover. Your attention was drawn away by the flock of vibrant yellow-cyan butterflies floating around the two of you as the man poured the drinks: a cup of lavender black tea for you and some motor oil for himself. As he finished pouring the drinks, he slid your cup in your direction before you got a chance to grab it yourself, the incident from last time where you almost ended up chugging a cup worth of oil still inscribed clearly in his memory. You smile softly at the gesture as you pick up the cup, Screwllum mirroring your actions, albeit replacing the smile with a small nod. As you sip your tea, he asks:

"Have these butterflies caught your attention?"

"Yes, they're quite beautiful!"–the excited notes in your voice are like a beautiful melody to Screwllum's ears. If he had the capability for physical sensations, he sure it would be making him feel fuzzy all over, – "the color of their wings is so bright compared to other types I've seen before,"–you put a finger on your chin as you squinted slightly at a nearby butterfly: "Hmm, they look kind of like your eyes."

"Do they? How so?"

"Yes, the tips of their wings, see?"–at this moment one of the butterflies landed on your finger, and you took the opportunity to bring it closer to Screwllum's eye level.

"It indeed appears so. Ergo, I must remark you have exceptional pattern-spotting skills, y/n."–he replied after a momentary observation of the subject presented to him.

Your grin grew wider. How could you not smile after receiving a compliment from one of the greatest minds of the genius society, who on top of that was also your lovely partner?

"Allow me to present an observation of my own,"–Screwllum proposed, setting down the butterfly atop your head, it merely lazily clapping it's wings during the process.

"Go on"–your curiosity was piqued.

"These butterflies are quite beautiful and gentle in their nature, quite alike yourself. Affirmative: I think it would be suitable to call you "butterfly", too."

Screwllum looked on as a gear turned in your head, cup suspended mid-air with your hands. Eventually your face flushed as the meaning behind the genius's words fully sunk into your brain. He let out a small chuckle as you scrambled for a response to the flattering words that spilled out of his mouth oh so naturally, the lights of his eyes flickering in sync with his voice.

#i do not like this one that much #but also this tag needs more content watch me get jumpscared by my own posts again next time i scroll it #hsr #screwllum x reader #screwllum #i was given tea date idea for screwllum by a comment on my other post and i loved the concept sm

[gabbasposts]

]I’m not him…[

Lies of P: P x Fem!Reader

Warnings: !!SPOILERS!!Angst, no use of Y/n, arguments, P stands for pissed and the boy very much is 💀

(Gif not mine)

A/n: I’ve yet to write angst for Lies of P, so basically here’s a little angst from a P x Reader fanfic I’ve been working on.

For context, this takes place right after P collects Sofia’s Ergo, but Reader and P get into an argument because he has to remind her that he isn’t Carlo, and trying to “help” him remember being him when he simply is his vessel is wrong. (Again everyone has their own headcannons on the lore, personally for this fic, I wanted him to be his own individual and co-exist with Carlo who’s Spector lol)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“C- I mean, P!” The moment the name slipped past her lips, she rushed to cover her mouth, but it was too late. His ears had already registered her words, and his expression told her that much…

His eyes stared at her with a look of hidden rage, as his body tensed. She could only stare as her heart began to race and the shift of his gears filled the sudden silence that had interrupted.

She adverted her gaze, her eyes scanning the ground as she stood there trying to mentally shift through the right responses that could hopefully help ease the tension of the situation and make him understand that she regretted it…

“You don’t understand me at all…” The stillness of his voice suddenly came through, and she lifted her gaze to his face. It still held a look of indifference and stoicism as he continued to stare at her with unblinking eyes, but even behind his mechanics she could sense the hurt and anger that bubbles just beneath his exterior…

He suddenly took a step forward. The action immediately making her take one back in response. She had never seen him angered before despite how he fought, but even then she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and neither would he…

But he had to convince her to understand him. To listen to truly listen to him, because as much as he wanted the strong and intense emotions he felt for her to be love, he couldn’t deny the fact that she… hurt him to an extent.

Not physically of course, but her continuous implications and refusal to see he didn’t like being compared to Carlo, was taking a toll on him and not for the better…

“I’m not him. I’m not.” He spoke softly, and for the briefest of moments his face softened. But it wasn’t long before his eyebrows furrowed and he glared at her.

“I’m not him. I wish… I wish I could’ve remained clueless to the fact that every piece of me was constructed in his image… I even have his heart, yet I’m nothing like him.” There was an edge to his tone now, and every word stung and couldn’t help but to wrap her arms around herself in a effort to calm herself, as she also fought the urge to advert her gaze from him.

“Ever since Romeo’s message, you imprinted this idea in your head that I must have to remember something from when I was him, to be me again… to find myself when the truth of it all, is that I am a separate entity from him.” He spat out, feeling himself grow more angry but even in his rage, he didn’t want to hurt her. But a small part of him felt good seeing his words finally set in place in her mind.

She recoiled from his tone, turning her head from him in shame, but he didn’t let her. “Did you know Carlo or something? Tell me. My father or more so my creator, has already lied to me enough and now I have to face him. It feels like I’ve been surrounded by nothing but lies since I woke up at Krat station. I’ll have it no more… so tell me.” He hissed and she couldn’t help but to scoff in disbelief, her hurt evident in both her expression and words.

“You know I didn’t! P, I’m sorry, after we found out about the ergo, I-I… I assumed that his soul” she began start, but he cut her off from her explanation quickly.

“-His soul keeps me conscious, and who I am now, but I am not him. You know this.” He bit out, causing her lower her gaze. She felt her eyes brim with tears, and she hated herself for it…

Before this argument, she had wanted him to speak more, and to express himself more around her, but not like this… not in anger that she was the cause of more importantly.

“P… I-I’m sorry-“ she tried to apologize turning to face him, but he scoffed taking a step back.

“From now on, I’ll deal with Geppetto myself. Stay here, and help Antonia or anyone else.” He turned from her, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he made his way down the hall to the main entrance.

She stared at him as his back, watching as his now grey and silver like strands moved with him, as he almost rushed to get away from her…

#lies of p x reader #lies of p carlo #lies of p #gabbasdumbthoughts #angst #I like to imagine that P is the type to be scarily call when he’s pissed

[anonymergremlin]

What it means to be a good king

[GIF by @lenreli]

[Name]'s blade sliced through the last carcass like it was nothing. With a final scream, the mutated creature fell to the ground, lifeless and silent. They wiped the sweat from their forehead with the back of their hands as they finally felt some relief. The amount of carcasses had increased in the last few days. "I think that was the last one, Romeo, at least for now," they muttered before looking around for their friend. "Romeo?" they said when no answer was given. [Name] glanced around once more, expecting to see their puppet friend beside them, but instead he was busy with a broken puppet on the side of the street.

Romeo knelt before the puppet as it sat against a wall. Its lower half was completely missing, and one of its arms was hanging loose from its torso. "Is this my king? Oh… even in this form… you look so tall…" the puppet said in broken words. It was so badly damaged, probably from the carcass' corrosive acid. Had it fought them? Romeo's eyes widened slightly when he finally heard the formal title. King. He had almost forgotten that he is their king. Romeo, the king of Krat's puppets, the role he was meant to play, but what king would let his people fight such horrible creatures? Puppet or human, it doesn't matter. He felt bad seeing one of his puppets like this. "I thought you were dead… you look so different" the marionette said cheerfully, "but I can tell it's you… Your Ergo… Only our king would have such a strong Ergo". "I may have been your king," replied Romeo, "but not a good one. I never meant for you…". "Don't say that, my king. Not only did you try to save us… we who remember… you also tried to save people from… this terrible disease… We know you tried your best…".

"By sending you on a suicide mission? You… who are as human as I am… I…". "No, my King, by believing in us, by treating us as living beings… and so we believe in you, we see you as a living being… yourself… good and bad… my King… I". Romeo was on the verge of tears. Was that really the way all those puppets felt about him? Had he really been a good king to all of them? Although he wished they never had to fight at all. As he realised that the puppet had become far too quiet, his gaze fell on [Name]. His expression said enough about what he wanted to say, but [Name] could only shake their head in response.

"I'm sorry, Romeo, but I can't fix this puppet." The king slowly got up from his knees. Eyes focused on the doll one last time before he picked up his scythe. Its 'death' saddens him, but he hopes that one day he'll find another way to give poor souls, like this puppet, another chance for life.

Oh, my king. We are so proud of you. You do not rule over us and command us as others Kings do. You simply put your hands around us, protecting us all. And make us realise that we deserve to be here. We want to serve you, to help you. And whatever command comes from you. We follow it. Because you are our king, our ruler with a kind heart. And we know, even though we are not human. You would shed a tear for all of us.

#lies of p #lies of p x reader #kinda #[Name] is mentioned #but it's mostly a romeo piece #lies of p romeo #i almost cried writing this #inventor!stalker!reader #au where romeo survived

[clintbartonswife]

i achoo you

Pairings: Peter Parker x Wade Wilson Summary: Peter is sick and Wade is smitten. Whumptober prompt #26 : working to exhaustion / 'you look awful' Notes: i love this pairing so much ill cry. (also, peter is mid 20s) masterlist   || whumptober2023

"I'm totally 100% definitely dying."

Peter stretched out on the couch, sniffling woefully. His phone was pressed against his left cheek, sticky with sweat.

"Is it that even possible?"

"Yes. Yes it is. And I've got two college essays due in this wee-ee- ACHOO"

Matt let out a laugh, "You know spiders cant actually sneeze?"

"Lucky for the-em- ACHOO"

"This is pathetic, even for you."

"Wow, thanks Red. This is the last time I ever call you for advice."

"Yet you'll call me next week over a stubbed toe no doubt."

Peter could practically hear the eye roll in his voice, frowning as shivers once again decided to wrack his body.

"I dont have any other semi-responsible friends that I can talk to, and I - I dont want to bother May -"

"Dont make me feel sorry for you, or I'll really regret sending the backup."

Peter groaned, "Oh god, who?"

"Blasphemy - and he should be arriving any time now. Foggy's just arriving at the office so I've got to go. Drink lots of water, okay?"

Matt hung up before he could answer, a knock at the door occurring seconds later.

"It's op-ehh-eehhh-ACHOO"

"Say it, don't spray it baby boy!"

Peter groaned again, louder this time, and threw his arm across his eyes. "Why you?"

"That's not a nice way to greet someone bringing you soup!"

Peter made a pathetic noise, halfway between a sniffle and a cough, moving his arm so he could sneak a peek at the merc as he made himself at home in the kitchen.

"That's a pathetic excuse for an apology, but I'm willing to accept it due to your pretty face." Wade was humming quietly to himself as he rummaged around in the cupboard, taking out a bowl with flair and transferring the soup in to it in one smooth motion.

"That wa-aa-as -" Peter paused a moment, waiting to see if the sneeze was about to escape him, continuing as the urge dissipated, "was the most elegant thing I've ever seen you do."

"I dont fuck around with my food," He replied, walking towards the couch, "Unless it's in a sexy-I'm-going-to-lick-chocolate-off-your-body-way, which I'm totally down for any time."

"Charming." Peter rolled his eyes, fighting against his tired muscles and moving into an uneasy sitting position.

"Always for you, baby b- wow. Petey pie, you look awful."

Peter let out a hoarse laugh, accepting the soup with a sarcastic smile.

"Not holding back, huh?"

Wade collapsed backwards on to the ratty futon opposite the couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. After wiggling in to a comfortable position, he lifted his mask to just under his nose and popped a bright pink unicorn lollipop into his mouth. "So, how did the amazing spider-man come down with the common cold? I thought you were immune to shit like that."

Peter shrugged, gulping down the soup.

Wade looked around the room for a few moments, sucking loudly on the lollipop. "How about this for a theory: you worked your pretty little butt off, on your daily patrols, part time job and now... college?"

Peter paused his eating for a moment, "Bio-chem."

"Smart and sexy, the whole package!"

"How you find me sexy right now, I have no idea."

Wade slurped extra loudly on the lollipop, looking Peter up and down. "Those hello kitty pyjama pants look good on you. Plus I can't get sick."

"Is that so?"

"Scientifically proven, baby boy. My skins so fucked up because my cells are dying and reproducing every second. Ergo, can't get sick."

"That... proven how, exactly?"

"Trial and error." At Peter's questioning look, he smirked, "There's only so many times you can regrow the majority of your body and not realise that something's funky."

"Funky is one word fo-oor-ACHOOO."

Wade jumped up from his seat, running to his bag and pulling out a disney themed box of tissues. "I came prepared!"

"Princesses? Really?"

"Yes, and look there you are!" He replied, pointing at Cinderella.

"Okay... I'm going to need an explanation."

"She's broke, you're broke. Twins!"

Peter rolled his eyes, though accepted the tissues. Wade laughed, "I guess you're just lucky that I'm here, your knight in shining armour, offering to be your sugar daddy."

"Oh god - don't phrase it like that. I've been getting by on my own just fine, tha-ahhh-ahhh-"

"Bless you."

Peter glared at him. "You jinxed me."

Wade pouted, "Want me to kiss it better?"

At this, Peter threw the tissue box, successfully hitting him in between the eyes.

"Ow!"

Peter grumbled something under his breath, placing the empty soup bowl on the table and burying himself once more into the couch.

"I take back the Cinderella comparison. You're much more like Grumpy Peg-Leg Pete."

Wade laughed at the offended noise emanating from the sofa, finishing his lollipop with a satisfied sigh and jumping up from his seat. "Well, if my assistance is no longer needed..."

"Wait."

Wade grinned, holding his hand up to his ear mockingly, "Sorry what was that? I didn't quite hear you."

Peter huffed, sticking his head fully out of his blankets, enunciating his words clearly. "Don't leave... please."

Wade's grin widened, throwing himself on to the end of the couch, grabbing Peter's feet and placing them on his lap. "I knew you needed me Petey Pie."

"How did you know," the boy replied, sarcasm strong in his tone, "I want you, I need you, oh baby, baby."

The merc's smile didn't drop, relaxing into the chair as he began massaging one of the spider's feet. "Jokes on you, your sarcasm just turns me on more."

"You're insatiable."

"For you? Yes. I'm all the big words. Unquenchable, titillated, concupiscent." He gave a look off to the side, "Thanks for the tutoring Prodigy."

"You -" Peter tried to see what he was looking at, writing it off as one of Deadpool's quirks, "whatever. You missed a word though: persistent."

"How else am I going to get you to admit your deep and passionate love for me?"

Peter rolled his eyes, though didn't offer a rebuttal, instead allowing himself to melt into the pillows as Wade's fingers methodically worked out all the tension in his feet. He let out a sigh, arm thrown over his eyes once again as he willed for the grogginess to leave.

"What's troubling you, baby boy?"

"College essay is due in three days and I still haven't started it."

"Oh?"

"'S all about chemical bonding agents and I - aaaACHOO -" He paused, using his webs to grab the tissue box from across the room and blowing his nose with a pathetic lack of energy before continuing. "I just think that if I think too long about one thing I might die."

"And you can't get an extension?"

"No."

"What about if Bea and Arthur ask?"

"You're not going to threaten my professor with your katanas."

Wade sighed dramatically, but let the issue drop. Now bored, he began to tap out the tune of Grace Kelly on Peter's legs, humming quietly under his breath.

In that moment, the weird domesticity of the scene hit the student, peaking out from under his arm to watch Wade. It felt comfortable, safe in a way that he hadn't felt since developing his powers. He felt cared for. Loved.

Eyes flaring slightly, he pushed that thought away.

"Thank you, 'Pool."

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For coming to look after me."

"Anything to spend time with you and your tight little ass, Petey!"

He snorted, rolling his eyes fondly at the intentional lewdness, gently kicking his chest with his foot. "I mean it."

Wade pressed both hands to his cheeks, shoulders raising as he let out a squeal. "Oh em gee, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"This is what I get for trying to be serious -"

To Peter's surprise, Wade paused for a moment. When he next spoke, it was with a certain genuineness that he rarely heard from the merc. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what. There's nothing to thank."

Breath caught in his chest, Peter allowed himself to sit up, looking at Wade with new eyes. Without even realising it, his hands had moved to lie on the edges of the mask, waiting for an answer.

"Webs -"

He could feel Wade's breath brush along his palms, finally removing the mask as the merc let out a hesitant nod.

Wade's eyes were blue, deep and endlessly curious.

Mask laid to the side, Peter's eyes rushed to drink in every detail of the man's face, fingers moving across the textured surface with barely restrained admiration.

"I think you're my favourite person."

The confession escaped him, surprising even him with the certainty behind the words.

Wade's eyes sparkle when they smile.

"You're going to make me blush, baby boy."

His eyes flickered to his lips.

"Did you mean what you said... about not caring that I'm sick?"

Wade's eyes widened, wordlessly nodding.

"Good."

Their lips clashed together with unbridled passion, Peter pushing away any doubt he held on to and clinging on to Wade's deceptively strong arms for balance.

The merc met him eagerly, gleeful as he buried his hands into the boy's hair, gripping just hard enough to send a shiver down Peter's spine. At his reaction, Wade smiled, nipping at his lower lip in order to pull another delicious response from him.

The spider had to pull away first, cheeks blazing and chest heaving.

Wade moved one hand down from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb caressing the smooth skin as his eyes searched for any sign of regret. "Webs..."

"I think - I think I lo-oo-ACHOO." He quickly turned away, sneezing into his shoulder.

Wade roared with laughter, offering a tissue as Peter's blush deepened.

"I achoo you too."

#whumptober 2023 #marvel #whumptober #peter parker fic #peter parker #wade wilson #peter parker x wade wilson #spideypool #spiderman #deadpool #team red #marvel fluff #fluff #whump and fluff #whump #spiderman whump