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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Time And Time Again

Dream x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Romance, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Basically a rundown of some of the most recent cute moments brought to you by the most adorable will-they-won’t-they couple: Y/N and Dream.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, it really made my day when I received it! I hope I captured what you wanted and what you had in mind in the fic and I hope you enjoy the read! This is my first time writing for Dream so I hope I don’t mess it up hehe. Love, Vy ❤

“I don’t wanna go in the cave!“ Y/N squeals in terror when she realizes that in order to make progress in the game and continue moving onward with the story, she has to walk Blake through the dark, dingy and danger-ridden cave in Outlast 2. The gang’s all there with her on a Discord call to keep her company, knowing she’s a scaredy cat underneath that tough girl exterior. And being the scaredy cat she is while also having a preference for horror games has made Friday nights very interesting for her and her friends: her, Clay, George and Sapnap sit on a Discord server while she streams whatever horror game she had planned for the evening to her close to her thousands of viewers.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll come with you, imma hold your hand the whole time.“ Clay volunteers wholeheartedly without a second to waste.

Much to his disappointment, however, Y/N’s reply to that is: “Not until you go wash off all that cheeto dust that’s all over your fingers.“

Clay gasps dramatically, “How DARE you? I offer you help and comfort and this is the thanks I get? I hope one of those heretics in teaches you a lesson!”

While the pair are now in a full-on ‘heated’ dispute on their manners and politeness, bringing back things they did wrong as far back as three years ago, George and Sapnap are just connecting the dots silently.

“Wait, Y/N...“ George is the one to finally speak up, “How’d you know he’s eating cheetos?”

Taking a momentary break from the bickering, Y/N reassumes her more sweet tone of voice as he addresses him, “He freaking raided my cabinets and has eaten all my snacks already! He’s only been here for two hours, damn it!”

“Don’t make it sound like I inhaled a mountain of snacks in two hours! You literally had only two bags of snacks - meant for one person, mind you!“ Clay argues back, neither him nor Y/N realizing that this accidental outing will send their fandoms in a fit.

Of course, people hang out at their friends’ all the time, nothing weird there. This wouldn’t have been such a big deal to anyone if Sapnap didn’t say:

“How come Clay has the privilege of coming over to place and George and I don’t?“

Oh boy...

* * *

“Hi everyone! I know you guys couldn’t care less for an intro so Imma get right into it...“ Y/N says, all seemingly in one breath, “You see this masked man next to me? This tree of a man right here? Yes? Good, well judging by that poorly made cardboard mask he’s wearing - curtsey of yours truly - you probably already know who he is. If not, meet Dream, aka Clay, aka the raincloud above my parade.“

That specific laugh echoes throughout the room as the said tree-of-a-man wraps an arm around the significantly smaller girl’s shoulders, pulling her closer till their sides collide, “She loves me, trust me, she does.”

“Only when you bring me food though.“ She corrects him, wiggling his shoulders to see if she could set herself free from his grip but relaxing in his embrace when she realizes she won’t be going anywhere unless he willingly lets her go.

Clay tilts his head to the side to look at her through the holes poked into the mask before lifting his free arm to reveal the plastic bag he’s been holding all this time. “Oh, well then I wonder what I’ve got over here...”

“Oh my God, Panda Express! You’re the best, Clay.“ She squeals, grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him down while she simultaneously pushes up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek which is a tiny bit exposed to her between the mask and the hood he’s got over his head.

Before the man could even recover, he finds himself empty handed, having lost the girl and having lost the bag of food to the girl.

That kiss was worth it though.

* * *

“Ok, so I’ve seen this ‘my girlfriend does my makeup’ challenge going around and since I’m single as all hell, I got my best friend Y/N here to do my makeup.“ Clay points to Y/N who’s holding a makeup bag in one hand and is giving him a very disappointed look, “Judging by the look on her face, she’s not at all impressed but I promise to make her a bit more excited to be here in editing.“

“Of course I’m unimpressed, this is the troll video of troll videos!“ She complains, throwing her arms up, “Sure I’ll do your makeup and get a kick out of it myself but none of them will see it!“ She points to the camera, “None of them will know what amazing makeup artist skills I’ve got.“

This leaves Clay speechless for a moment, uncertain of how to reply to her statement before just deciding to say: “Well, at least you’ll be getting a kick out of it, that’s all that matters to me.”

“Aww...“ Y/N bats her eyelashes at the camera as her bottom lip forms an emotional pout, “Please don’t be so sweet to me after I just verbally kicked your ass. You always do that and make me feel like the meanest person in the world.“

“Aww Y/N, I’m so sorry.“ He says, sounding genuinely apologetic as he wraps his arms around the girl that’s tiny in comparison to him, bringing her closer to him with his tight hug.

“YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN!“

* * *

“Hey Clay, I bought lunch on the way so I hope you’re-” Walking into her friend’s recording room abruptly, Y/N finds herself face to face with his webcam, the light next to which is glowing, suggesting the device is on and she’s currently on the screens of the thousands of people watching Dream’s stream. His mask is on - the one she made for him - of course, but she can still feel the aura of him smiling, relieving her of the worry that he’ll be irritated by her walking in like that - unannounced and without knocking. To be fair, they never announced to one another when they’d be stopping by and by this point in their friendship they have also stopped knocking too. “You’re streaming, huh?”

“Yup!“ The word is said in such a teasing manner she almost allows herself to blush, “What you got there tho?“

“Chipotle.“ She answers shortly, “And I’m starving so can we please turn your stream into a Mukbang?“ She furrows her brows as she inspects what’s on his computer screen, looking at a comment section instead of the usual screen of a game she’s used to seeing. “What are you doing, anyway?“

Looking back at his screen for a brief moment before turning back to her, Clay replies, “Oh, just reading mean comments, as one does to boost their self-esteem.”

The flash of anger he sees on Y/N’s face is most certainly not what he was inspecting to see. Mockery, yes. Humor, yes. Faux sympathy followed by some mean comments of her own, definitely. But he anger he did not see coming at all.

“Who’s talking shit about you? I’ll end them!“ Putting the plastic bag of delicious food aside, forgetting all about it in the process, Y/N grabs a chair and drags it over next to Clay’s so she too can look at his screen.

And that boy has never felt so much adoration for his best friend. Their fans - and especially their shippers - would’ve lost it if they had been able to see the look he was giving her.

* * *

(back to the ‘girlfriend/best friend does my makeup vid’)

“Ok, so what kind of look do you want me to give you?“ Y/N asks as she sits down on the stool in front of Clay, her makeup products placed on the dining table which is to her right.

“You ask me as though I know what I want.“ Clay laughs, the sticker of his mask floating above his face, following his movements as to keep his features hidden, “Just do the look you do on yourself everyday. It looks really cute on you, who knows, I might be able to pull it off too.“

“Sure thing.“ She smiles at her friend’s compliment, “Just stand still, ok?“

“Yes, ma’am.“

* * *

“Y/N, no! Stop!“ Clay warns her via the Discord call while the two are streaming Minecraft together alone for once, “Not another word!“

“But I really do feel bad!“ Y/N whines in response, “Why don’t you allow me to apologize?“

“Because there’s nothing to apologize for!“ He says, clearly done with the conversation, “I willingly gave you my jacket, you didn’t ask for it.“

“And now you’ve got a cold because of it!“ She continues arguing her case, “The least I can do is come over to take care of you.“

“I don’t need a pity nurse, thank you very much.“ Clay bites back, “But your company would be nice. Though I don’t want you to catch whatever cold I have.“

“I’d catch any cold for you, Clay.“ She replies teasingly - with a ton of honesty underneath that teasing.

Honesty both her and Clay are aware of. As well as the mob of people watching their streams right now.

~ ~ ~ And so the snowball effect continues with little moments sprinkled throughout their online presences that make the snowball of shipping get bigger and bigger. Every now and then, both Y/N and Clay let little bits of their true adoration and admiration for the other slip through. And time and time again do those moments send their fans in a frenzy.

Rightfully so.

@kia-isabelle

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kavufics · 3 years

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Found, never lost: Jung Wooyoung [Pt. 1]

Leaves rustled as the cold wind blew from the northern mountains. Winter was nearing and I had run out of food. I hopped down from Elzikar, my trusty steed. A white horse, the rarest of her kind.

Tying her reins to a nearby branch I wandered deeper into the forest, clutching my sword caution of any danger. A little further from my vision layed a pond hidden between the trees. The pond seemed to be quite big, and I was sure that there was clean water available to drink.

Satisfied with my finding I turned around to head to my horse. Only to feel a dagger pressed against my back.

“Who are you?” A voice asked. I detected anger and annoyance in his voice. Jeez, guess who woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It is predictable, after all I wandered into unknown territory. I must pay the price for my actions. Speaking of which, I can’t afford to get caught.

I gulped and tried hiding my fear. If I get caught, I’m as good as dead. Lords, I haven’t even found my parents yet have some mercy.

“I will not ask again, trespasser. Who are you and what brings you here?” He asked, pressing the dagger against my attire. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from answering with a sassy remark.

Heyo wassup, Mr.Iwokeuponthewrongsideofthebed, I’m searching for my parents, haha don’t mind me, imma just stop by to get some bread, cheese and water and imma be on my way!

I bit my lip as I felt the dagger dig deeper into my attire and pierce my skin. Okay. That’s it, no more fooling. Spotting a rock not quite far from where I was standing an idea struck me. God, I really hope this works.

Trying to throw him off guard, I rushed away from him barely avoiding his hand reaching for my hood. I dove towards the rock and threw it at his face, smiling in satisfaction after earning a groan of pain from him. Not sparing a second glance at Mr.Iwokeuponthewrongsideofthebed I ran towards Elzikar, desperate to get to her and run.

I couldn’t afford to get caught, not when I was this close to reaching my goal.

“There’s no point in running,” I heard him yell. “My men have surrounded you! Your horse has been kept captured.” I stopped abruptly, realising that there were silent eyes watching us through the bushes.

I was not too far from the guard, but I was quite far from my horse. Considering that they’ve captured her already, I must’ve wandered quite far.

“Drop your sword and walk towards me. No funny moves or you will pay the price.” I clenched my fist in anger. Dropping my sword beside me I walked towards him. I glanced at his face and held back a laugh.

He had defined features and wavy hair, adorned with blond highlights that framed his face. His eyes were fierce and sharp, yet he had soft, pink delicate lips, but right on his nose was a small red bump. Seeing the bruise that I had created fueled my pride.

Good job y/n, you caused some damage to him.

“Does it hurt?” I asked feigning concern. “Do not joke with me,” he looked me up and down and smirked. “Remove your hood.”

“Okay” I shrugged. Bringing my hand up to my hood I removed it, letting my hair free. “You’re a girl,” his eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, and the sky is blue. Nice observation, detective.”

He opened his mouth to retort but stopped abruptly. He glanced behind me and bowed. “My king.”

My eyes widened. Oh, I’m in so much trouble.

I turned around and my wavering eyes met the king’s. His eyes that held anger quickly dissipated to shock, sadness and guilt. No one present uttered a word. The wind blew, whistling against my ears, a mocking tune that didn’t help the jitters that I felt.

“It can’t be,” His eyes widened.

“y/n?”

“How do you know my name?” I spat out, reaching for my dagger that was hidden under my coat. I never disclosed my real name, not to one living soul, I used fake names in every kingdom I went to solely hide my identity. No one, not even a king should know my name.

“It really is you,” he breathed out, his eyes glassy. “I apologise. Please allow me to explain in your chambers.”

“My chambers?”

He smiled, “Yes, you are the Queen after all.”

_________________________________________

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itscookieoverlordtoyou · 4 years

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t nejilee owo

Miraculous Encounter

From an ice cream artisan’s negative emotion a monster arose on Pont des Arts. In an instant, the creature laid its rampage: covering everything in its passage in ice cream. Highly inconvenient really. Nonetheless, at the sight of trouble, Paris’ heroic duo is quick to jump in action.

“Why now of all times? I can’t lose this job!”, deplores Coccinelle as he meets up with Malchance on top of a roof.

“Late on rent again?”, she asks already knowing the answer.

“When am I not…” They swing from building to building to catch up to the monster.

“If Coccinelle and Malchance received a dollar for every time they saved Paris, we wouldn’t be struggling to make ends meet. LEFT!”

Malchance yells out that last part to her partner. Coccinelle swiftly turns left and punches the humanoid ice cream’s finger off, it slowly grow back. The dance begins.

“I took a job far below my qualifications”, says Coccinelle while dodging sorbet projectiles.

“I feel you; anything’s better than unemployment”, agrees Malchance breaking the waffle glove the monster wore.

“At least the guy I like works there.”

“Did you mean me?” asks a man appearing suddenly.

“The Monarch!”, They both call out jumping away.

“My Coccinelle, as pretty as ever!”

“Shut up!”

“Coccinelle!”, Malchance calls out to get his attention, “The ice cream scoop the monster’s holding has to be where the akuma is hiding.”

“Take care of it, I’ll handle the Monarch.” Malchance nods and takes off leaving them alone.

“I missed you, so I thought André’s glaces de l’amour could help us reunite”, teases the Monarch.

“Solid logic”, retorts Coccinelle kicking ice cream at his adversary’s face.

As the Monarch jumps to his left to dodge it, he’s met with the hero launching at him. He blocks the punch in time but not the kick that follows.

“Alright, let’s make this short and sweet; I don’t have time to deal with you today!”, says Coccinelle before summoning his lucky charm. The ladybugs gather and give him a golf club.

“What are you going to do with that?”, taunts the Monarch.

Coccinelle can think of one way to use it, but that’s probably not its miraculous intended use…He would’ve looked around to think of another way if it weren’t for the Monarch launching at him. He quickly counters his attack, but his club flies off. Whether it’s to defeat the ice cream monster or the Monarch, Coccinelle still needs it, but his enemy is blocking his way. He runs towards him; as the Monarch swings his cane, Coccinelle jumps. He lands on the cane successfully bringing in it and its wielder to the ground and jumps one last time to retrieve his club.

Unfortunately, Coccinelle realized too late that in doing so, the Monarch had seized his yo-yo. Coccinelle’s unsure which is worst, but he also needs it back pronto!

The Monarch unrolls the string and gets into a fighting stance. Well, if it’s a fight he wants, who is he to deny it. Coccinelle quickly gets in position and initiates the fight. Their spar is a mess of punches, kicks, and counter kicks, Coccinelle fights as swiftly as he can, but he can hardly land a blow. What’s worse, the Monarch takes immense pleasure in reeling him in with the yo-yo string.

Something about the Monarch is different today. Or maybe he’s the one who’s off his game? Coccinelle can’t quite put his finger on it. Suddenly, he sees it: an opening. A feint, a punch, and a trip later, Coccinelle has his opponent pinned down. The monarch smiles and with a swift roll followed by a strong kick, throws the Coccinelle away towards the Pont des Arts.

“Does your thingy come back like a boomerang?”, the Monarch asks before hurling the yo-yo in his direction. Coccinelle tries to catch it, but he’s slowed down by the string entangling him. He fails and the yo-yo flies through the bridge’s railing.

As soon as it comes back, the Monarch grabs it and pulls with all his strength. The string tied around Coccinelle’s wrist tightens around one of his legs and forcefully restrains him to the bridge. This is bad, Coccinelle realises, he has to escape, he cannot allow himself to be fully immobilized because then, the Monarch will be free to steal his miraculous. His free hand is suddenly pinned to the railing with the Monarch’s cane. Not good…

The Monarch steps forward.

Coccinelle’s desperate at this point. He struggles to get away, but the Monarch’s advance is inevitable. With all the strength his position allows him, he tries to kick the monarch away, but he easily grabs it and holds it firmly at his side. So much for a last stand…

“That’s what I love about you: you never give up”, whispers the Monarch uncomfortably close.

What?

“Bop”, says the Monarch lightly bouncing his index on Coccinelle’s nose.

The Monarch then smiles. If he didn’t know better, Coccinelle would say it’s a genuinely happy smile. But that can’t be it, right? The Monarch is their nemesis, an enemy who seizes every opportune negative emotion to terrorize the city, a menace bent on possessing the miraculous for his greedy needs, a villain whose ultimate plan must never be allowed to see the light of day.

“I’ll see you next time, my beautiful Coccinelle.”

With that, he steps away and a swarm of monarchs cover the Monarch’s escape. Malchance arrives soon after.

“What happened?”, Malchance asks kneeling to free her partner,

“The akuma was called back, I thought maybe you defeated the Monarch, but clearly something else went down.”

“I don’t understand it either. He had me completely immobilized, you were too far to come to my rescue, he could’ve taken my miraculous. But he didn’t: he smiled and left…It worries me how uncharacteristically our encounter went.”

“I’d say he was off his game, but I mean look at you. Kinda funny, though.”

“What could possibly be funny about our close call?”

“He has a thing for you and here you are tied to Pond des Arts: love lockets bridge...”

“That’s his game; flirting. But it doesn’t mean anything!” It doesn’t mean anything he repeats to himself.

“Who knows what goes on in his head…Five minutes before clean up?”

“Yeah, see you next akuma, Chance.” She turns around so he sees her roll her eyes, “Malchance.”

They part ways. Coccinelle heads back to work. When he’s close by, he finds a nice isolated corner to call out his creation powers and restores the city to its glory.

“Spots off.” After the words are uttered, the little kwami re-emerges from the earrings she inhabited. Tikki grabs the macaroon her wearer produces and hums happily as she eats.

“What do you make of our encounter with the Monarch?”

“Don’t worry, Neji. I’m sure our next time will go better.”

“Yeah…Well Tikki, time to get fired!”

Neji enters back to the café to face his doom. To his surprise, his new employer’s quite understanding about the excuse he provides.

“Don’t worry! I have other employees who are absolutely terrified of the Monarch’s attacks. I myself was outside enjoying a mountain of ice cream that fell nearby. Go to the kitchen, someone probably reappeared from their hideout by now; they can start your training.”

Neji thanks his employer once more and heads to the kitchen. There’s a man busy washing the dishes who doesn’t notice him, Neji recognizes him as the cute waiter he’s been crushing on for a while now. Gosh, how many times had he dinned there just to see him? Is he one of the employees who are afraid of the Monarch’s attacks? Neji feels an odd sense of pride knowing his heroic persona gets to protect him.

“Hey, I’m Neji!”

The man turns and smiles when he sees him, a smile he could live in Neji thinks.

“Hi! I’m Lee. You’re the new guy? Don’t worry, things here run smoothly. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Neji follows Lee as he shows him everything in the café. When they’re back in the kitchen, Neji notices a woman chopping fruits. Another co-worker!

“Tenten, this is Neji, he’s new”, introduces Lee.

“Oh, hey”, she says indifferently continuing her work.

“She’s a cook, so pretty busy. But she’s nice once you get to know her”, explains Lee.

“I just hope I’ll last long enough to actually get to”, Neji says that but he’s glad Lee’s the one who’s training him,

“You have no idea how many jobs these attacks have cost me.”

“Yeah, they can get pretty wild; it’s only natural to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Lee is taken aback by the firmness of Neji’s statement, impressed.

“I just wonder about of this whole hero/villain stuff, what their motives are”, says Neji. He also wonders why he tells Lee that…

“Hero complex I always thought.”

“I meant the Monarch…”

“Oh. Fun”, says Lee without a doubt.

“Fun? What could possibly be fun about remorselessly putting people in danger?”

“Collaterals. Think about it, since everything returns to normal by the end of the attack, the Monarch’s actions are inconsequential. Therefore it’s like a recess where everything goes, a moment where chaos can be set free.”

“Provided the Coccinelle’s there to clean up, but what happens when the Coccinelle’s tired of playing janitor?”

“I don’t think that’s possible. That’s what I love about him, he never gives up.”

Neji looks at Lee, registering what he had said…for someone this cute; he sure doesn’t make a lot of sense.

.............................

@alumort aaaaaaaaaaaaaa I did not forget you it just took me like a week to write, weesh the rarepairweek sucked me dry of ideas T^T i think imma take a break of writing because ouffff with that said it was really fun to write, hope you enjoy it and that youre doing well <3

@meloodles the nejilee miraculous au i was telling you about ^^

#wtf tumblr can you load text without making it a big chunk?????#nejilee #miraculous ladybug au #sorry for the long post #long post

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rooftop-dad · 4 years

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so after watching seunghyub’s let’s talk #53, i have decided to make a new side blog on this god forsaken website. ALL FOR THIS MAN!!!!! seunghyub is like,, top tier god level type beat. i watched this live at like 2 am and honestly, i could have watched this man read comments and search up song requests till noon. like.. the way in which he randomly plays piano and just has fun with it!!? like ?? no one else doing it like him. and he keeps playing rooftop which is objectively one of the best songs ever created and like.., the smile on his face every!! time!! it makes me simultaneously want to burst into tears and throw myself off a mountain. he’s so proud of this song and honestly, he should be. i listened to rooftop probably 50934 times today to the point where my brother started humming it, and I’M NOt GOnNA STOb !!!!! imma stream that shit EVERYDAY till i’m 80. also, seunghyub literally has so many lives of just him reading comments and talking to fans like you can truly tell he’s a very genuine and kind person who just wants the best for his bandmates and fans. i’m not even gonna mention how kind he is to strangers and how he’s always so helpful and polite and always wishes for people to stay healthy bc i will literally coMBuST into flames at the sheer thought !!! this tired dad is so wholesome and i just want more people to know about n.flying bc this group is so special and talented and makes me laugh so hard like they deserve the whole entire world

#seunghyub #n.flying #also i’m lowkey shook no one has taken the name rooftop-dad yet

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do-what-the-knight-tells-you · 4 years

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So I saw a post on here talking about how, when you take the shit Geralt says in the TV series at face value, it’s unbelievably hurtful and cruel towards Jaskier, just, downright mean, and callous, and designed to make Jaskier feel he’s wasted two decades of his life.

But I hate that, because it makes me sad, and on a rewatch, I found an alternate take.

So whether Geralt is neurodivergent in a way we recognize clinically (ASD perhaps? I won’t address that here, but I love Autistic!geralt headcanons), or whether he’s just built himself a particularly abrasive method of interaction over 100 years of shit, prejudice, and abuse, his really rough, rude abrasive words towards Jaskier are not genuine.

And I would expect/choose to believe, that if Jaskier has continued their companionship over two decades, he has not only recognized this about Geralt, but decided he’s more or less okay with it.

So I had the thought particularly during the djinn episode– saw it pointed out somewhere, how un-comforting Geralt is when the elf-healer tells Jaskier the Djinn-curse can kill him. Jaskier turns, desperate, scared, says “fuck, Geralt!” and Geralt sort of awkwardly pats him on the back and says “yeah, we’re not gonna let that happen” in a fairly begrudging way, as if suggesting that the whole situation isn’t that big a deal.

So what if that response has less to do with not caring, with being callous towards Jaskier’s life and fear, and more with either a genuine awkwardness and discomfort with the idea of comforting someone, he really doesn’t know what to say, he’s not used to being a comfort (most ppl are scared enough of him that even when he rescues them, they’d still prefer he left than comfort them in any way), and he’s probably received very little comfort in his life, doesn’t know how to do it, and is barely experienced with the idea of admitting one might want or need it.

And/or, we see the candid, unemotional way he reacts to the ghoul bite in ep7, to the knowledge that he’s seconds from death. So clearly the smooth, stoic, sarcastic, unaffected thing is his usual method of handling scary shit. He doesn’t even raise his voice unless it might help (i.e. out-yelling Yennefer to be heard over the djinn-hurricane, hoping that he can persuade he to give up the really terrible course of action she’s on that’s gonna kill her).

So the other part of it could totally be a case of him downplaying the danger, trying not to think, speak, allude to, mention the danger, possibly as his own coping mechanism (a lot easier to be “fearless” when you repress the shit out of whatever might scare you. if you never let yourself think about the possibility that things might go horribly wrong, then it’s a lot easier to conduct yourself as if nothing bad might happen).

So when he awkwardly pats Jask on the back, distractedly, begrudgingly, patronizingly says, “yeah, we wont let that happen.” It’s genuine awkwardness, and/or a coping mechanism to not let himself think about how bad it is (focus on the solution, not the problem, solve this one, and then the next, etc… he’d do a good job surviving alone on Mars, I think), and/or an attempt to keep Jask calm by not validating his panic, like how if you don’t make a big deal out of a kid’s scraped knee, sometimes then the kid doesn’t panic either and it’s fine.

And likely Jaskier has been his companion long enough to know some of that, maybe even to actually be comforted by Geralt’s lack of panic. Imagine how goddamn frightening it’d be if your super brave/tough/stoic friend actually looked scared.

(the line, when the elf dude starts talking about how in love with Yennefer Geralt must be, when Geralt says “you’re making me uncomfortable?” It’s definitely a funny line, but also it’s possibly genuine. Geralt genuinely expressing himself)

And then later in the episode, Jaskier delivers that line about “wait, is this the moment you decide to finally care about someone other than yourself?” We literally saw him drop everything, ride across the countryside (putting you on Roach, which he never does), seek help from several unknown sources, including this sketchy sorceress chick (and he admits to her and the audience that his concern over saving Jask’s life was such that he A: skipped the opportunity to seek help for his tortuous insomnia issue and B: was more than a bit willing to sell himself into indentured servitude/ something that looked a bit like prostitution)…

Like, fuck off, it’s clear he cares an awful lot about you Jask, and you have to know that. so are YOU being cruel back? or, are you playing along with what Geralt seems to be comfortable with, caring about you so long as neither of you look at that straight-on, or make him talk about it.

okay, so than the mountain-top divorce. like, Geralt’s p harsh through a lot of that episode, but there is a tiny bit of playfulness I think still in that dig about worthy travel companions. And if this is a method of talking to each other that they engage in regularly, that Jaskier willingly keeps subjecting himself to…

and then Jask comforts Geralt after the mountain crossing, and when he floats the bit about them traveling together again (maybe implying that these recent adventures are new-ish again, perhaps after a period of separation, perhaps Geralt is extra harsh… perhaps this is a normal-ish thing that Jask has noticed, that Geralt is always more brusque, more accidentally hurtful rather than just dry, right at the beginning or end of their travels together, a defense mechanism of sorts? protecting himself from the pain of separation he’s trying not to acknowledge even exists?) anyway, he floats the line, and I’m p sure Geralt nods.

Jaskier seems to know him pretty damn well.

So none of this makes what Geralt says not shitty, and not hurtful, but rather than let myself wallow in the idea that Jask is completely devastated, feels he’s wasted twenty years of his life on a person who is literally ready to throw him away…

Hopefully not. Hopefully he knows Geralt well enough not to… not to give him a pass, necessarily, Geralt def needs to learn from and atone for that really gross behavior… but enough to know that Geralt’s just very bad, unpracticed, and a bit oblivious when it comes to hurt feelings, to understand that Geralt’s just in a shitty toxic place, that it’s got nothing to do with Jask, that the best thing for all of them is for him to remove himself as a target and let Geralt sort his shit out in his own.

That Jask knows this is one of those times where he can trust his friend with his body, but not his feelings/heart.mind/energy, and he needs to take care of himself first.

So hurt, yeah, but not like devastated, knowing that Geralt didn’t mean his words, but did mean, in that moment, to hurt Jask genuinely and drive him off, not in the light-brusque-teasing way that they sometimes have between them. Knowing both that Geralt was reacting to Yennefer, to other hurts, not to Jask, but also knowing that Geralt was willing to put his own momentary vindictive satisfaction over Jaskier… and so knowing that is was time for them to part for a while, for his own sake. That pushing through at this time was gonna be more masochistic than beneficial or productive, so it was time to look after his own mental health.

Like, this is sort of a pattern I’ve seen in folks in the real world. There’s someone close to me who struggles with some nasty bipolar shit (he’s not found a good med combo for him yet, and even when he’s in a more healthy place, lots of his tools and learned behaviors are mostly crappy still from years of this barely coping while undiagnosed), and sometimes he’s cruel as hell, usually when he hates himself the most, and is lashing out partly in an attempt to get you to say nasty shit back, and justify both his resentment of you, and his belief that he is a worthless shitty person.

And when he’s in those periods, it behooves many of us to just… walk away. like, if you can be/are willing/able to be the person that supports someone through that kind of shit, that’s totes your call to make, and might be a really awesome thing for that person (and that’s where professional help and support can also be awesome! Ppl who have trained to be able to hear the bad shit without taking it personally, and to still be able to guide you to better tools afterwards!)

But sometimes, you also have to take your own health and energy and stuff into account and go “I know this person is being a cruel asshole because they are sick and/or hurting… but also I do not need to swallow the shit just cuz there’s an explanation. so imma peace out until they get their shit together a little more, and are gonna be less toxic/hurtful to me, stop taking it out on people. I can help them, maybe, but their mental health is NOT my sole responsibility, and I do a disservice to both of us if I decide it is, and abdicate personal responsibly for my OWN health in the process.” Put on your own mask first, and all that.

(I’ve seen this in alcoholics I know, as well, and the other side of that is letting them know “hey, I know you feel like you have no control, but one area where you do have some, is how you treat people. and if you’re acting like an asshole, then ppl won’t want to be treated that way. They aren’t leaving because You suck, they are leaving because Your Behavior sucks, and if you want to be around them in future, you should maybe work on your behavior. You are not inherently a Mean Person, but the things you do and say to people are Mean, and they don’t need to sit there and let themselves be abused” Like, it is possible to be ill, and make mistakes!, without being consistently cruel to folk.)

So, magical shenanigans and hissy-fits not a perfect analogy for BD, but it resonated a bit, so I figured I’d share

#witcher #witcher meta #my meta #asd!Geralt

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wwilloww · 4 years

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I’M SCREAMINGGGG I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT LIL GIF INSPIRED ALL OF THIS!!!! Ok first of all, how in the seven hells did Namjoon just “get a house in the mountains”??? But also, who am I to resist??? The whole interaction with Hoseok has me soft… like it’s so sweet and a lil spicey?? And I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks these two are a lil… too close. The fact that they’re getting the master suite and a whole ass bed to cuddle on has me reeling. My hamster brain can’t stop thinking “ISN’T

(spoilers for Sh. after the cut :)

lcksndkys said:

THIS A JJK FIC?!” HAHAH “Do you know what lies behind this door?... J-hope’s hot body!... Aren’t you curious?” I’M CRYING I CAN’T WITH YOU RN WILLOW!!! The way I nearly dropped my phone on my face reading this scene, I blame you!!! Def one of the highlights of this piece!! Honestly, what a perfect way to work that dialogue in the story. Well done!! Ok, but I have to mention the JK hoverbot 3000. He way he’s quietly trying to keep close to her throughout the night even when she went to go change with Hobi has me thinking. JK must’ve been quietly pining for her for a while now?? He must’ve watched her be handsy with Hobi for so long without letting his jealousy show. And I wonder if the quarantine kinda like… broke him? Like… he’s finally fed up with being passed over. I get the feeling she may be older or simply more mature than him since he said she’s always so good at taking care of them. And the part where she’s settling into his arms and realizes something feels different. “There’s a quiet kind of confidence to him that you hadn’t noticed before. An ability to sit still and silently and find comfort in that. God, it’s sexy.” Maybe she hasn’t seen him “as a man” in the past or something so he just stuffed his feelings down?? Ah, you’ve done too good of a job giving us just enough detail to their relationships, but not enough to get the whole picture! And the moment I’ve been waiting for… JungCOCK. “He has a boner from a car chase.” Sweetie, I don’t think cars inspired that erection HAHA the whole time she’s waxing poetic over his sweatpants boner, I’m hearing WAP playin in the background. I’m still cackling over her trying to quench her thirst with water cus I know firsthand that don’t do shiiiiiiiiit. And I cannot believe JK’s just nonchalantly walking around with his giant pussy destroyer dangling in his pants. “It’s a pretty little complement to have someone you like wanna suck your dick.” YES, im 10/10 sure he absolutely has been quietly pining over her and that thought makes my heart stutter a lil. “His hand glides up his chest to rub at his collar bone. His signature nervous tick.”  I love little details like this, makes JK feel so real to me. The way he asks if she’s willing to let him kiss her and how she asks to touch him tho had me SWOOOOOONING. I am a hoe for consent!! And I always find it so sexy when incorporated into smut. “Just by pulling slightly at the band of his sweatpants, the head of his cock pokes up, caught between the fabric and his torso.” Had me choking (unfortunately not on JK’s cock)!!! God, the sex was so hot and they haven’t even finished!! That cliffhanger had me shook. Like JK is balls deep… is Jimin joining them or??? They gonna move it into the bedroom? They gonna completely stop? Which boys know of JK’s feelings for her? Is there gonna be angst? Ah I’m excited to see this story unfold!!! I feel so honored that you chose to write something based off my submission!!! Like… I can’t put it into words how pleasantly surprised I am!! Pls know I appreciate you SO MUCH and respect your talent more than you know!! I hope you are well!! Pls accept all my love!

DEAR GOD MY LOVELY FRIEND 😭 Why is there water on my face? Why are my eyes wet?

Who are you even?!? Like who are you that you can just COME IN HERE with these beautiful, long ass asks and fill my inbox and heart up with love?!?!?! WHO said you could do that?!?!?!

But in all seriousness, I can’t tell you how freaking excited I am whenever I see your name pop up in my notifications. Your messages are so thoughtful and full and kind - and reading them makes me feel like I’m not just some rando on the internet throwing together “dick” and “cock” and “thrusting” and hitting the post button.

I’ve seen how you also take the time out of your day to go and support and encourage other writers here on tumblr and I just wanna say thank you thank you thank you. The detail and love in these messages create one of the most encouraging experiences I’ve had on this site. All that to say I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU.

And not to spoil anything (oh god imma have to be careful) but I’ve had this idea for a story running around my head since June or so - I’ve tried writing it a couple times but nothing quite clicked. And then you sent in this ask last week and my mind went REELING. It seems that all this story needed was a visualization of an unfortunate boner. (God, now that that’s written out, I’m not very impressed with myself 😂) So, please, give yourself a pat on the back for getting this story up and running!!! And also, don’t hesitate to send in whatever image or thought or prediction that strikes your fancy, because who knows, it might just end up in the next chapter.

You, my little inspiration machine, are a precious being and I appreciate you so much. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#lcksndkys #a true angel #mailbox #sh.#feedback

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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The (Once) Demon Barber From Robintree

Word Count: 1.4K Category: One-shot, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Friendship-Turns-To-More, Humor, Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Reader/Female O.C. Pairing(s): Sam x Reader/Female O.C. Warnings: None Author’s Note: *This is a re-post without tags and links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; from a reader’s request to do something involving a haircut Overall Summary: Sometimes accidents *do* happen accidentally, but most of the time, turns out it’s Dean. Now you might lose something you’ve worked hard for - though when it comes to Sam, perhaps you’ll gain something more.

“Peanut butter.”

“Second thing I tried.”

“Olive oil.”

“Third thing.”

“Wait, what was the first thing?”

“When Dean used two handfuls of a $40, six-ounce, brand-new tube of my conditioner.”

“Oh, shut up, Sam!” Dean exclaimed, and when he did, my head snapped to the side.

Because he was in a hand-talking mood. Because he was annoyed. And because his fingers were tangled in my hair.

So I jabbed my elbow behind me, but he dodged it and snickered.

“I’m gonna go get the scissors.”

“No!” Sam and I shouted at the same time.

“No,” I repeated, and quietly, trying to force myself into a calmer state. “This is fixable. We have beaten worse.”

Sam nodded, gave my knee a squeeze, continued to have that never-ending, grade-A, Sam-patented brand of sincere sympathy in his eyes.

And Dean continued to - I can only assume - pluck individual hairs from my scalp.

Slowly.

“Dean!”

“What?!”

“Bag in the kitchen, on the table - I got shortening, too.”

“I don’t—”

“GET THE DAMN CRISCO, DEAN!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got the gum in your hair, okay?” he said, coming around the chair to frown at me.

“You’re the one who gave the kid the gum. Still don’t know why—”

“Stopped his crying, didn’t it?”

“—or where you even got the friggin’ stuff!”

“It was on the floor. Y'know, those little machines that got knocked over.”

“You knocked them over!”

“Did you miss all of the vamps in that store?! I’m not bitching about you taking out that mountain of apples—”

“What in the blue HELL do APPLES have to DO with the KID that you THREW at me—”

“I did NOT, I just HANDED him—”

“You LAUNCHED him like you were at the FREE-throw line, you motherf—”

“Okay! Okay, guys!” Sam cut in, standing from his crouched position beside me.

He held his hands up, like he was trying to show a pack of attacking animals that he was no threat. I closed my eyes, since I was getting a migraine. Dean crossed his arms, because he’s twelve.

“Let’s try this last thing, take a break while it…. while it….”

“Makes her crust all nice and flaky?” Dean asked.

“Ass.”

“Likewise.”

“AAAAND,” Sam cut back in, shooting Dean a look as he did so, “then we’ll discuss cutting. That sound like a plan?”

Dean went off to the kitchen and Sam grabbed one of the other chairs, bringing it over and sitting directly in front of me. I glanced at the table. The remains of our failed experiments looked like some sort of bizarro-world, condiment-based hair salon.

“Hey, talk to me,” Sam said, and I turned my eyes back to his.

“It’s just hair,” I told him. Told myself.

“You trying to convince me?”

Mind-reader. That made me smile. But only a little.

“I’ll cut mine, too,” he added on.

And even though I burst into laughter at the mere thought of it, this - of all things - was what prompted the tears that had been waiting in the wings to finally make their grand entrance.

His forehead immediately creased, then he took both my hands in his, the big softie, and for once I decided to let somebody hold my hand - literally and metaphorically. And he decided to keep his mouth shut and let me sniffle for the five-point-two seconds I allowed myself to do so. And then we both decided one of my hands should slip away so I could wipe at my nose with my sleeve.

I let my hand drift to the side, tucking a few gooey pieces of hair behind my ear, let my fingertips slip through, let them run down, all the way to the ends. Kept them there, too. Now I was winding and twisting, something I’d never really done before, but it seemed apt - we were working towards a now or never situation.

“It’s taken years, you know? It was already short when I was old enough to hunt - Ma always kept it looking like I was two steps away from enlisting my entire childhood. Then it was growing, and I just had to go and chop it because I liked Jody’s haircut so much, and before you say—”

“You pulled it off.”

“—it, no, I did not pull it off.” I looked down at our clasped hands resting on my lap. “Ma said it a million times, if it was too long, it was gonna get in my way.”

“Not exactly what happened, and you had it up… which, you know, is probably how the gum…”

“Oozed from one side to the other when I unwound it? Yeeeeeaahh.”

“Anyway, I’m sure she meant more like… something grabbing onto it, using it against you.”

“Well, I got a feeling that’s not gonna be an issue anymore.”

Dean came walking back in, beer in one hand, scrolling through something on his phone with the other.

Sam waited for him to get well past the threshold of the door, giving him more than a fair shot to tune in to the rest of the world. “Hello?”

Dean looked up, still coming towards us. “Yeah?”

“Where. Is. The. Grease.”

I’d said it with the same growl of an accusation I’d used on that kid, when I’d passed him off to his father and asked after the giant wad missing from his stupid fat cheek.

Dean turned on his heel without breaking stride, heading back upstairs. “If I had a dime for every time a woman said…” he trailed off over his shoulder.

“‘Woman’,” I repeated softly. “Huh. I think that’s my problem. I’m a grown-up. Not supposed to have long, time-consuming, adds-to-an-already-messy-life hair when you’re my age. Supposed to keep it as uncomplicated as possible. So you get whatever TV mom cut’s the most popular at the time. That’s what women do, that’s a thing, right?”

Sam shrugged. "Doesn’t have to be your thing.“ Then he shot me a crooked little grin, ran his free hand through his hair. ”Our thing,“ he clarified.

And something about the way he said it… something about the way he was moving his thumb over my knuckles… if I were honest, something about the way we’d been looking at each other since about five minutes after we met…

"What is gonna be our thing?” I asked.

We were staring at each other, neither of us knowing the answer, when Dean jogged back in, carrying that same beer and nothing else.

“I looked in all the bags, it’s not….” A brief pause while he - accurately - read the mood of the room. “Yeah, well, uh, Imma go check under the seats of the—”

“Hey, Dean?” I interrupted, still looking at Sam.

“Hmmm?”

“Just go find something to whack this crap off, will ya?”

“Awesome!”

I swear to god, it sounded like he skipped down the hallway.

“I’ll do it,” Sam told me.

“You’ll get all nervous.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re nervous right now.”

We’d been drifting closer, ever-so-slightly, and now were almost nose-to-nose.

“First kisses tend to do that,” he whispered against my lips.

Eventually Dean bounded back into the room, and we pulled apart, turning at the same time to see him standing there with a no-nonsense expression on his face. He was flipping an angel blade. His eyes were practically dilated, and were absolutely sparkling with glee.

“Scissors are busted. Gotta do this cowboy-style!”

“Did you get possessed between here and your room!? And cowboys didn’t—-”

“I’ll do it,” Sam repeated, this time with more authority and beginning to rise from his chair, but ol’ Sweeney Dean had already come behind me and snatched up the middle section of my hair.

“Hey, knock yourself out - of the two of us, ain’t nobody calling me the hair expert,” Dean said, and he flipped the blade one last time, holding it handle-first towards Sam.

“No, no, no,” I told Sam, and he sat again.

“Are you sure?”

“Your job is to hold my hand." And I gripped both of his, probably too hard, but Sam just smiled.

"Long as you need.”

“Won’t be long at all!” Dean announced, and I gasped at the sudden lightness, cool air hitting the back of my neck for the first time in what felt like eons.

He actually chuckled at my reaction, the maniac, now stepping to the side to continue his hack-job. Sam’s smile turned toothy, though, and my shoulders instantly relaxed - another thing that had seemed eons-gone. Part of me wondered if I’d just traded one set of tangles for another.

That is, til he slipped a hand out from mine and ran it across the side of my neck, then to the back, rubbing gently as Dean kept lopping away.

“This is good,” he said.

“Not bad,” Dean agreed.

“It’s perfect,” I told them.

And it has been.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #Sam x Reader #Nash Writes

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 years

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Love Is Our Resistance (one-shot)

Synopsys: She is his mission and his salvation.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: none that I can think of, not even a swear word

Word count: 2072

(inspired by the artwork and beauty of min1919, here on Tumblr. Imma link to their page, just because they’re so talented like boo, you got a real gift)

(If you want, listen to Resistance by Muse, cause sorta kinda based on the song as well ;) )

The winter soldier watched from the rooftop as the coat-covered figure made her way through the snowy New-York streets. The city seemed completely abandoned, save for the woman and some stray cats rushing to find a warm place somewhere behind a dumpster or on a windowsill of a nearby apartment. It was the perfect opportunity. Her palm was pressed tightly against her ear, a phone definitely in between the stranger’s fingers as she spoke. He was high up on the top of a building but still could easily hear what she was saying. “Well, it’s not my fault I can’t control the weather. Do you think I like being stuck outside right now?” She wasn’t going to make it to her friend’s Christmas dinner. Her car had broken down a few blocks away, yet she still had miles to walk. “I’m sorry, Nat, I am. But let me make it up to you- tomorrow, brunch, just the two of us. And I’ll pay.” The soldier could imagine her smile even from so far away. Too bad she was not going to be able to fulfil the other promise either. He scaled the walls and rooftops until he was down and in an alleyway. Everything was deserted, not even one light shone in the windows. Yet even then no one would hear the shot. Nor would he allow her a second to scream. Snow crunched under his boots as he stalked towards her, pace matching that of her clicking heels. But then suddenly the atmosphere changed. Her head turned to the side. “Nat, I really am sorry.” The soldier noticed a tremble in her voice. “I really am but I have to go now. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. I love you.” She said the last sentence in the sincerest way possible and it made the man stop dead in his tracks. In front of him, she had as well. Slowly, the woman turned around, winter winds whipping the giant white flakes in a beautiful dance of twirls and dips around her like she was an angel and diamonds encrusted her Y/H/C hair. She smiled. “I was wondering when they’d send you.”

He aimed the rifle at her head, the scope putting a red cross right in the middle of it. There was a painful grimace on the woman’s face. “S, okay James. I’ll turn around. So, it looks like it was supposed to.” The soldier’s hold on the rifle tightened as she so freely, so contently moved her body to face away from him. He could hear her soft sniffle and see how her hand trembled, phone still tightly clutched in between the gloved fingers. Her whole body was shaking as the woman waited for the inevitable shot. Hot tears streamed down her face and almost immediately they froze upon her reddened cheeks. But the bullet never came. Instead, there was a soft clunk against the snow-covered ground and a strong hand gripped her shoulder, dragging her in the nearby alley. “Who are you?” Bucky growled in her face, looking up and down her body, trying to find a feature that would reveal the mystery of why he couldn't pull the trigger, why he couldn't kill her. “I’m no one,” she whispered, looking at the soldier. He removed the mask from his mouth and took off the glasses the dark glasses, his ice-blue eyes gazing into her Y/E/C ones. She couldn't speak anymore, so only salty pearls streamed down her face as Y/N gazed upon the man she had been in love with and still is. A man who didn't even recognize her. “James, I know you have to do it.” “I- I-“ he looked like he was struggling for words, the cogs in his mind turning and spinning, trying to click back into place. “No!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I- I won’t!” “You have to,” there was conviction, strength and determination in her tone. “James…” “Why…” he choked on the word. “Why are you calling me by that name? Who are you?” Y/N sighed, letting her gaze settle on a snowflake and watched as it looped down to the ground disappearing in a mountain of the white powder. “You know who I am. I’m quite sure they gave you a file of information before sending you away on this mission.” “But that is not the whole thing,” his heart ached at her words and the soldier didn't even know why. “Who are you to me? And who am I to you?” The girl looked defeated like she could no longer fight her own will. So she relented. “We love one another. And that is why I’m a liability to you. To them. We,” her words turned into a puff of steam and it fluttered up into the dark before dissipating into nothing, “we met while you were on another mission a few years back. I wasn’t your target, not that time. We were in a bar, started chatting. I was slightly drunk… and you just… took care of me. You got me home safely, put me in bed, made sure to leave a glass of water by the bedside table… when I woke up, I thought you’d be gone, but I was wrong. You sat in a chair, right by the window, looking out to the world, like it was a creature you’ve never seen before. But when you looked at me- it was like all the pieces clicked.” The soldier’s eyebrows scrunched up as flashes of what he could only describe as a jagged memory came back. “You were nice to me,” he muttered. “You made me feel safe. And I couldn't help it... you were just so soft and warm...” And then Y/N smiled. “You made me feel safe as well.” But there was such sorrow in that kind gesture Bucky’s heart felt like it was being ripped in shreds. “James, if you don’t do this, they eventually will come after me. No matter what.” Y/N said it so matter of factly, Bucky was astounded. It was like her life had no worth at all. “And then they’ll hurt you. And I could never live with myself if I knew I was the reason for your pain.” Her palm was so tender against his rugged cheek, Bucky practically melted at the touch. “I can’t. I can’t do that. I-“ there was desperation in his look, “I love you. I know who you are, and I love you.” “I know, but this… it can’t happen… we can’t do that,” there was a sad, a heartbreaking smile painted upon Y/N’s lips. “We both know it to be true.” Bucky was crying now as well because, for the first time in forever, he finally remembered, he knew who he was and who the woman he was sent to assassinate was. “I can’t lose you. Not again.” And his forehead pressed tightly against hers, the snowflakes fluttering down from the sky settling in his hair and melting from their combined heat. “I love you.” “I know, baby. And I love you too. More than anything.” She kissed him, then and there, throwing all caution to the wind. Bucky reciprocated. Tenfold at least. His hands snaked around her waist, one of them entering under the coat and feeling Y/N’s warm sweater, pulling her as close as possible by the hem of the garment. They were meant for one another- she was his salvation and he was her home. And yet the rifle still laid in the snow gleaming under the white streetlights, reminding him of what he was there to do. “I won’t do it,” Bucky said after pulling back, pain in his blue orbs. “I refuse to. If they wanna torture me after that, so be it. But I will not kill you. And I won’t let them do it either.” “You can’t protect me, James. They found me and sent you. With or without the Winter Soldier, they’ll do it again. Only this time it will be with someone who won’t hesitate. Who won’t even think twice.” Bucky wanted to scream, he wanted to punch the brick wall and demolish it with his own hands at Y/N’s words. “I can’t lose you,” it ended up as a choked-back sigh. Her arms wove around his neck, pulling at the long dark tresses, so slowly he leaned his head down and hid his face in the crook of her neck. Y/N smelled of something sweet, something like cinnamon and sugar and coffee altogether, so cosy and warm and nice. Bucky wondered how he could even remember what those things were, given his diet was mostly stale pieces of bread, water and sometimes an instant noodle package if he got lucky. One small palm slid across his bulletproof vest covered back and yet he could still feel the weight of her actions, how gentle and loving she was being. “You’ll never lose me, James,” Y/N’s words were lost in the night, but he still heard them, still trembled as she repeated how much she loved the man. Then her palm settled on the knife at his side, pulling it out from its holster. “But you have to do it,” the blade was pointed at her stomach. Bucky immediately clutched onto her wrist, terror consuming his body, scared eyes looking into her calm Y/E/C ones. “Stop.” “Don’t think about it,” her gaze didn’t waver, so much love shining through, Bucky couldn’t help the sob ripping out of his throat. “Just aim it here and don’t think.” Y/N raised his hand and leaned forward, the knife now pressing against her ribcage where with an upwards push he could end her life. “I love you, James.” She rested her forehead against his, uncontrollable tears flowing down both of their cheeks. Bucky’s hand trembled, the grip upon the handle tightening and tightening. One push and she’d be gone. Forever. Hydra wouldn’t be able to ever hurt her or destroy her life. She would no longer be in danger just because the girl knew of him, loved him, cared for and adored him. It would all be over, and he could mourn the loss of this amazing person without the terror of finding her locked up in one of the damp cells in Siberia. He could make it so easy and swift she wouldn’t even be able to take a breath, nor would she feel a thing. But Bucky was weak and selfish, and the knife snapped in half, the razor-sharp blade dropping to the ground. He threw the heavy handle down as well and shook his head. “Not gonna happen.” “James-“ “No! I’m done with being controlled. I’m- I’m done with that life. It wasn’t even mine! It was some monster created by people who didn’t want their hands getting dirty. I wanna live. I want to love. I want to be with you.” And Y/N was just as selfish and weak, if not even more than Bucky, so how could she say no to those eyes, to that desperate mind breaking through decades of brutal chains, wishing for freedom and a home. She didn’t need much encouragement to once again kiss him, only this time there was a promise of future and hope sealed within the touch of their lips. His tongue glided along her freezing mouth until she let him inside and it was like homecoming for Bucky. It felt righter than anything in the world ever had. “Where do we go now?” Y/N whispered after coming back for some air. “We kinda need to go down real low.” “I’ll figure it out,” he squeezed her hips tighter and brought the woman closer to share their warmth. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.” “You do realise we both have a hefty price on our heads now, right?” Bucky huffed, looking around the deserted New-York street and the dark alleyway they were still in, huddled against one another. Suddenly, he broke off and walked back into the light, picking up the rifle and strapping it to his back. “So, we’ll move. We’ll move every day if we have to. I- I can’t lose you, I can’t give you up like that. Not ever again.” Y/N nodded, weaving her arms around Bucky’s middle and pressing her face against his chest. “Love is our resistance,” he heard her faint mumble. “No matter what they throw at us…”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @wishingforahome @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @pizzarollpatrol @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea @california-grown

A/N: I’m seeing Bohemian Rapsody on Wednesday, so you bet I’ll have at least one fic based on a Queen song :D

P.S. please, tell me what you thought :)

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged or have any requests, drop a message :)

P.S.S.S. please, don’t repost without credit :)

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specialmindz · 5 years

Photo

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE!”

“*Sigh* Why...why do you do this? You know that’s not right.”

“...I’s ready to go Daddy...”

“No. No you’re not.”

“I’s ready to pay in da’ snow...”

“We’re visiting the king,” said Gaster, taking Papyrus’s boots and putting them on correctly.

He should be doing this himself.

“The king in the snow pace?”

“No.”

“He building a snowman?”

“NO.”

“alphys is sick baby bro,” said Sans opening a cabinet. “so i have to help dad work for the next few days. the king volunteered to babysit you for a while-”

“HE GONNA SIT ON DA’ BABY?!”

“no pap-”

“HE GONNA SIT ON DA’ BABY!”

“papyrus…”

“YOU GOTS TO TELL HIM I’S NOT AN EGG BIG BUTHER!”

“what...?”

“You gots to tell him I’s not an egg! The king be reeeaal tall and stuff so when he sees a tiny skelly baby such as myself, he only see mah bald widdle baby head and he probably think ‘wowie, I find-ed a tiny widdle egg on mah doorstep! I bet there be a baby chicken inside...I bedder sit on it, or is gonna get cold-”

“you’re wearing clothes bro.”

“Yeah, but he can’t sees em’ cause’ he too big...Imma draw a smiley face on my head. Where the markers be?”

“You’re not allowed to have markers.”

“Dat don’t mean I doesn’t need em’. Baby is NOT a butt-plug.”

“what’s a butt-plug?”

Gaster sighed, already exhausted. He didn’t want to bring Papyrus all the way to New Home, and he wanted to leave him there even less. King Asgore was the Underground’s only hope of escape at the moment...the only solid one at least. He was Gaster’s safety net of sorts if Sans turned out to be unable to teleport his brother past the barrier. Without the king, the royal scientist would be an even bigger nervous wreck then he was now, but no one else was willing to watch Papyrus and there was no way on earth the little troublemaker would leave them alone while they worked.

Picking up the baby bones with his wingdings so as to avoid being bitten, he looked the infant in the eye. “His Highness is very lonely Papyrus,” he said gravely. “and what’s worse is he doesn’t know the full extent of your horrendous behavior. That means he’s going to be spending a lot of time with you rather than simply leaving you to play his lost children’s video games; that being said, you need to be kind to him. If he dies, there will be no one strong enough to wield the human souls and break the barrier, understand?”

“Ooooh! Fluffy Buns gonna pay wit da’ baby?!”

“yep, so be nice to him bro. no hitting, no biting, no tearing anything up-”

“Okay, okay. I’s gonna be nice and quiet and just read books like a good bae.”

“NO BOOKS. Do you hear me? NONE. Do not read him ANY stories. He can read to you, but do NOT read to him, do I make myself clear?”

The last thing I need is an hour-long phone call from the old fool trying to find the right words to tell me how to raise my child.

Gaster got a lot of those from the queen long ago if he remembered correctly and they annoyed him to no end. Not just because she took forever to get to the point, but because she refused to even consider the possibility that HER kids were the ones that needed a talking to. In her eyes, it was always Gaster’s fault, not her precious Asriel or Chara.

Even though Papyrus spent most of his time around those two and I’M always working, it’s still somehow more likely MY influence, right.

I do wonder though, whatever happened to the old hag?

I know she abandoned her husband and the kingdom, but where exactly did she run off to?

“I can pay wit da’ snails?”

“You’ll do what he asks you to do.”

Papyrus blew a raspberry in the scientist’s direction, splattering him with drool.

“NYEH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”

“have fun baby bro, and tell me everything when you get back okay? maybe if you’re reeeeally good, the king will help you get into daycare!”

“Absolutely not,” said Gaster, placing the baby bones under his arm. “sending him to daycare is out of the question with its current management.”

“huh? why? what’s wrong with undyne’s mom?”

His father shook his head. “I know the woman who works there personally. She uses her child’s temper as a tool for suing parents who leave their children at the daycare she now runs. Whenever Undyne throws a tantrum and hurts someone there, her mother accuses the parents of child abuse, claiming that despite Undyne’s reputation, the children keep trying to play with her because their parents order them to. She has the king completely convinced that they’re getting their kids hurt on purpose so they can sue her. It’s a complete lie of course, she used to work at the lab pulling the same money-grubbing stunts until I fired her.”

And this was BEFORE the Underground was such a poverty pot.

No doubt she’ll try to use Papyrus somehow, wretched woman…

“Her husband fought and died in the war and so Asgore not only sees her as a lover of children who does everything in her power to enrich their lives, but also sympathizes with her. He sees her as a single-parent with a troubled child living in a bad economy and thinks she’s selfless and kind, when in reality she’s as greedy as they come.”

“well...she can’t go doing that forever and ever and ever though right? even if everyone’s poor, the king will eventually figure out she’s lying. he can’t believe the ENTIRE underground’s out to rob her.”

Even if everybody IS poor, he should know he’s being punked. Not EVERYONE is gonna gang up on ONE person, especially if they need that person to watch their kids.

“He’ll figure it out eventually, yes...but for now, Papyrus needs you. He’s better behaved when you’re watching him anyway; now I expect the beakers to be in place by the time I get back Sans-”

“Nyeh? Snas not gonna tellyport da’ baby?”

“nope. dad wants to make me do all the prep work and use your trip to asgore’s as an excuse.”

Gaster rolled his eyes and left the lab. There was no point in retorting, Sans would never understand how lucky he was compared to the other children in the Underground. Unlike them and himself, he wasn’t a victim of poverty and no amount of arguing on Gaster’s part would rid the boy of the entitled attitude that came with living comfortably.

Lazy ungrateful brat...he really thinks every kid sits on their ass all day while their parents work. Preposterous. Back in MY day, we used to work in mines and factories at his age and both places were messier than the Nursery. We spent most of the money we earned on medicine just so we could work more and he’s complaining about setting up a few beakers...?

“I thought Sans Serifs made up for their lack of strength with superior intellect, but clearly I was wrong. Damn that Charles Dickens and his god-awful Oliver Twist novel! If Sans hadn’t gotten ahold of that book-”

“To be, or not to be! Nyeh hee hee!”

“That’s Shakespeare.”

“I has look-ed upon all da’ universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.”

“And that’s Lovercraft.”

“Waz Lovecafe?”

“Dr. Seuss for adults; you know what it is, you just quoted it.”

“Is mac and cheese?”

“YOU JUST QUOTED IT.”

“Yeah, but maybe I read-ed it off the box?”

“I highly doubt any form of Kraft Mac and Cheese would put the words ‘horror’ and ‘poison’ on their box,” said Gaster tightening his grip on the baby bones. The spring platforms were dangerous in Hotland when you were carrying things. It made him (and a lot of other people he imagined) wish that the elevators were better maintained as good food was only really found at the Resort or in Snowdin. That meant people who lived in Waterfall not only had to brave the harsh climate of Hotland, but also somehow carry their groceries back home across the springboards if ever the elevators were to break down, which was often...and today.

“WHEEEEEEE! DO A FLIP DADDY!”

Despite the overpopulation problem, there just weren’t many people who knew anything about complex machinery. Some monsters knew about the compromise Asgore had made with the humans long ago, but most did not. The deal was if he worked together with them to destroy the Horrors, they would refrain from mass genocide and settle for the monster’s self-imprisonment within Mt. Ebott. The king, in his cowardice, took the agreement and kept it secret from all his people, aside from the handful of Boss monsters he needed to raise the barrier itself...Boss monsters that had to put the barrier up from the outside in order to get it to work, which resulted in their destruction. His Highness, claiming the reason for the team up was because the Horrors posed a bigger threat to the earth, was left with weak monsters of all sorts with different backgrounds. None were prepared for Mt. Ebott. They weren’t a group of scientists, engineers, or soldiers, they were simply confused citizens who were one day told to gather inside a mountain by their king before being sealed inside and fed a bunch of lies.

There’s no one left down here who knows how to fix the elevators except me now, thanks to Papyrus. Asgore’s lucky I was already in here before this place was sealed, or he’d have quite a problem.

It would’ve been nice if he could go back to what he was doing BEFORE the monster came to Mt. Ebott and began piling work on top of him. He wanted and had been studying the strange climate changes within the mountain, trying to hypothesize if the volcanic activity had anything to do with the strange weather and if the source of all magic really stemmed from the Earth’s core, or if it was just a chemical reaction; but it had been so long since he’d seen his notes, he doubted they hadn’t already been chewed up by the hellspawn under his arm. Luckily, skeletons had the lifespan of a monster, and Asgore not only knew about the lack of educated monsters in the Underground, but was doing something about it, putting emphasis on certain subjects in schools and introducing the students to daily logic puzzles so that the next generation would be more tech savvy. It would take a while, but by the time most of the children in the Underground reached adulthood, most of them would know the basics of at LEAST electrical engineering and be able to fix those damn elevators.

If Sans didn’t have one hp I’d absolutely enroll him, but I need someone to watch Papyrus and he’d most likely be killed by one of those bratty school children. He’s too shy, small, and weak to be near anyone immature...I can’t risk it. Especially when I’m so swamped with work.

“It almost makes me want to try again...make a new clone and split it in half, this time the RIGHT way...but if I make another mistake, I’ll have FOUR children...”

“Nyeh?! You’s gonna make more babies?!”

“Absolutely not.”

“I wish to have a widdle sister. Not like Snas, I mean a REAL sissy-”

“Sans is the closest thing to a girl that will ever come near you, and I can say that with the utmost confidence.”

“Undyne a girl...”

“You heard what I said.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Who there?”

“What?”

“Snas say, when he do dat, I’s supposed to say ‘who there.”

“...”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Who there?”

“Stop that.”

Opening the door, Asgore greeted the two with a warm smile. “Welcome Gaster, I’m so glad you decided to bring your little one in person rather than having Sans simply teleport him here.” He bent down until he was eye level with Papyrus. “You’re looking adorable as ever Papyrus, it’s nice to see you too! You look like you’ve gotten a bit bigger since we last saw each other, ho ho ho!”

“You too.”

“PAPYRUS! I’m so sorry your Highness-”

“Oh don’t worry about it, I’m sure he means well.”

“NYEH HEE HEE!”

Handing Papyrus to Asgore, Gaster frowned as he watched the baby bones snuggle into the king’s chest...a tactic the infant usually used to distract the people he was trying to steal from.

“Get your wingdings out of his pocket. I told you to behave yourself!”

“He’s only curious my friend! I remember when my little Chara was still alive, they used to go through everything-”

“Where all da’ monies at? You’s a king aren’t you? You’s supposed to be wich!”

“Ho ho ho, you’ve got your brother’s sense of humor I see!”

“YOU’S NOT FUNNY!”

“We’re gonna have such a fun day!”

“ERRRNNN!”

“Alright, I’m heading off. I’ll return for Papyrus as soon as you call me,” said Gaster turning to leave.

“As soon as I call you?”

“Correct. When you reach the point where you no longer wish to watch him, give me a call and I’ll pick him up. One, two days would be nice, or whenever you feel like your life is in danger-”

“NYEHHHHHHH!”

“Ah! Oh dear, it’s alright little one, I’m sure he was only joking,” said the king, bobbing the infant up and down in his arms.

“He’s not upset. He’s only crying because that’s what babies do when their parents leave for work, or in my case, to go shopping. Papyrus will do what’s expected of other babies, as long as you’re watching him, in order to convince you he’s a normal infant…despite his exceptional talents. If he gets hungry, simply leave him by himself and he’ll fetch his own food, in fact, leaving him to his own devices is probably the best thing to do in general, especially if you’re at a loss.”

“Leave him by himself? That’s madness! I know he’s not a monster Mr. Wingdings and so should thus be raised differently, but my house is built for large creatures…my cabinets may as well be closets in his eyes! What if he gets into my cleaning supplies? He could be poisoned!”

“I’s going straight for da’ soap!”

“NO you’re not. He’s not your Highness. Remember, he’s a natural born liar and unfortunately, another trait he shares with his brother is he’s very attention-seeking.”

“Is you seeking mah foot up yo’ ass? Cause’ dat’s what it sounds like douche Daddy…”

Gaster didn’t respond. He simply turned and left, leaving behind a very confused and concerned king.

“We’s gonna read a book Fluffy Buns? Daddy said I could read alllll the books I wanted while I’s here…”

“Um…s-sure…” said Asgore, carrying the Horror into the living room. He sat down into his chair and watched as the baby bones used his wingdings to grab a random book from the shelf, all the while struggling to shake the uneasy feeling that had been steadily growing within him since he picked the infant up.

He was familiar with Horrors…he had fought them in the war after all, but he had little to no experience with their children. Apparently, the majority of baby bones were supposedly more intelligent than monster babies, though it did differ with each infant and had a lot to do with their typing. Verbal Fonts, which is what Papyrus was if he recalled, were the first to learn language and so were able to hold entire conversations at a very young age; entire coherent conversations. While other children struggled with multiple lisps, Verbal Fonts would speak clearly and be careful to only alter their speech enough to sound cute and maintain the love of the adults around them.

An intelligent infant is a dangerous thing…combine that with Papyrus’s ability and my love for children in general, and I’m at even greater risk.

I must be very careful of what I say…

“So Papyrus, if I recall correctly, each time you’ve visited my home you’ve crawled straight for my children’s room to play. We’ve never really gotten to know one another, have we?”

Papyrus stopped flipping through the book. “Nyeh?”

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself little one?”

The baby bones looked at his book and then back at the king as if he were unsure of what to say. For a moment Asgore thought he wasn’t going to speak at all; perhaps talking to Papyrus like an adult wasn’t the best idea. Gaster DID say he tended to act like a regular baby in front of others…

Did I make a mistake?

“*Ahem* My name be Papyrus and I’s two years old,” said the baby bones holding up two fingers. “I enjoy cuhwering, long crawls on da’ beach, and my big Buther’s company…his peasants I mean, he not own a company.”

“Heh heh ha ha!”

“As for my own endevors, I help the Underground by selling cheap affordable drugs to junkies so they overdose and die…or I WOULD do dat, if SOMEBODY would stop cutting off my supply.”

“…”

“Dat someone be YOU Fluffy Buns…”

“…I would appreciate it if you’d get out of the drug trade Papyrus,” said Asgore averting his eyes.

“Well I would appeciate it if you’d stop fuking wit my job security, NYEH!” Papyrus threw the book he was holding onto the floor. It didn’t have any pictures, so it was basically useless.

Not something meant for babies anyway.

“Dis book suck! Where da’ pictures at Fluffy Buns? You get dis from the weird part of the library?”

“Seriously Papyrus, about your job-”

“One time I went to the library to get some books for Snas, and I found a book just like this…cept’ it wasn’t like this, it was all soft like a blankey!” exclaimed the tiny skeleton hugging his Highnesses beard.

“Papyrus.”

“Dis book was weird as hell Mr. Buns! I open it up and it had zippers and buttons in it! BUTTONS! Who puts buttons in a book? They didn’t do nothing either! I undid the zipper AND the buttons and there no pockets or nothin’. What dat spose’ to teach the baby? How that edgy-cation-al? I thought it would at LEAST have pockets with stuff in em’ but it didn’t have CWAP!” yelled the baby kicking his tiny legs.

“…”

“I talked to Dirt-Butt about dis and he said the book was a met-a-phor about life. He said is supposed to teach you that life is full of disappointment and people who look for free hand-outs deserve to BE disappointed-”

“What? No!” cried Asgore horrified. “The book you’re describing is most likely a sensory book. It’s a book that acts as a toy for-who is this ‘Dirt-Butt?’ Why would he say something like that to you?!”

What kind of-

“…I thought it was deep.” Papyrus picked the abandoned book back up. “Dis a meta-book too? What it mean?”

“It…it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a book about snails.”

“I think it mean…exercising yo’ ima-gin-ation be more important than relying on someone else’s. Dat’s why it don’t gots pictures. Is saying ‘exercise your ima-gin-ation and make yo’ own pictures. Make your own books wit pictures so OTHER peoples can enjoy them. Give back to da’ community.’ What you think Fluffy Buns?”

“I think it’s a book about snails.”

CA-CLACK!

Papyrus dropped the book again.

“…”

“I liked dat book, is easy to read.”

“You didn’t read it.”

“There was dis one meta-book I find-ed that I still can’t read dough. Is hard like dis one, made of wood, but it had weird stuffs inside dat was scratchy and rubbery and foamy and-”

“That’s another sensory book. Babies are supposed to touch the things inside the book to learn what they feel like.”

“Even the dead kitty?!”

“Dead kitty?”

What?

“There be a page inside that say ‘kitty’s are soft, feel how soft the kitty is?’ and there be fur sticking out page! I touched it and it was real fur Fluffy Buns! Someone squished a cat in a book and put it on the shelf!”

“No.”

“They squished it flat like Undyne…”

“No, also don’t talk about Undyne’s chest like that…it’s not nice.”

“Why not? She do! I ask her one time, ‘hey Fish-Lady, where your boobs be? Yo’ muder gots boobs, so where yours?’ and she go, ‘I don’t know, I think they ran away while I’s sweeping. My mama keeps hers in a hammock cage thing so they don’t get away, but she never bought me one cause’ she cheap.”

Asgore rubbed at his temples as if trying to will away a headache. He didn’t know if it was Papyrus’s seemingly boundless energy, continuous change in subject matter, or lack of listening skills, but the boss monster was feeling more and more drained as the conversation continued.

He expected a Verbal Font to be a chatterbox of sorts, but he didn’t expect it to physically affect him. It felt as if his mind were currently running a marathon whilst leaving his body behind.

Perhaps I’m just getting old, it’s not as if Asriel didn’t ask a million questions when HE was younger after all…though he wasn’t anywhere NEAR as bad as this. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised however, toddlers are one thing, but babies are quite another; they know even LESS about the world around them. Everything is new and exciting for a baby, so of course a Verbal Font like Papyrus is going to want to talk nonstop about even the smallest of occurrences.

Peeking through his fingers, the king watched Papyrus chatter on, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

Stars above, I can only imagine how tired Mr. Wingdings must be on a regular basis. Perhaps I’ve been pushing him too hard with all these demands…as important as they are, his children should come first.

“…So I say, ‘you needs boobs Fish-Lady for your footure babies! Erybody knows muder milk be the most nutritious!’ and then she did dat thing where her eyes get real big and her voice get loud and she scream, ‘OH MY GOD! WHAT IF SOMEONE STOLE MY BOOBIES WHILE I WAS SWEEPING SO THEY COULD HAVE FREE MILK?! WE MUST CAPTURE THESE VILLAINS AND BRING THEM TO JUSTICE!”

Asgore brought his hands down. “Was this last week?”

“Nyeh? I don’t know, why?”

“Because I got a lot of complaints about Undyne last week. That’s why.”

“Then yep, probably, cause’ she and I went around asking people bout’ her boobs and she beat up lossa people. The ones who laughed. She said only bad guys laugh at the unfor-tune-ate.”

“That’s,” the king groaned pitifully. “That’s not a good reason to assault people…”

“Is good enough for her.”

“I CAN SEE THAT,” said Asgore loudly before quickly catching himself and correcting his volume. “How about I make us some tea?” Getting up, he sat the baby bones on the chair behind him and headed towards the kitchen, a tactic he often used whenever he was in an uncomfortable situation, however he didn’t miss the glare the little Horror shot him on his way there.

“Babies don’t dwink tea! Babies dwink MILK! Dat’s why Undyne’s boobies be so important! Why you no listen?”

“I’m listening…”

“No you’re not, you weave right in da’ middle of mah story!”

“You’ve told many stories already, why not take a break?”

“A bake? I don’t need no bake! I gots to pactice my font daily or I’ll be weak when I gets big!”

His Highness glanced over his shoulder, placing a full kettle of water on the stove. “I see…so these stories of yours are a way for you to practice your lying without suffering any severe long-term consequences. I suppose it’s safe to assume then that most of what you’ve said about Undyne’s…rampage, is entirely false?”

“I doesn’t remember ERYTHING she say, or the EXACT words she used, but I’s still telling the tooth. I’s a good bae, ya’ know? I help Undyne when she was feeling sad about not finding her boobies even dough I didn’t have to. I told her mah Daddy could make her some new boobs wit his science and then she was happy, all cause’ of me.”

“Your father eh? So if I call your father, he’ll tell me the same thing?”

“Yep. I aspect so. He the one who solved da’ mystery of the missing boobies too! My Daddy a hero even dough he suck.”

“Right.” The king stood in near the stove watching the kettle, he was torn between going back to the living room and hiding in the kitchen. He WANTED to keep listening to Papyrus, but he was tired and the infant’s loud high-pitched voice was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure how much helium Gaster was pumping into that baby’s room, but it sounded lethal, which was too bad because one of the few things Asgore took pride in was the fact that he was a much better listener than his wife. He loved her, but he was all too aware of her awful tendency to jump to conclusions before hearing an entire story and how much pain it could bring others, so he made it a point to do better. To BE better. It was almost like a secret and silent competition of sorts where he would struggle to become the prince’s favorite parent…though it was embarrassing to admit and deep down, he knew it wasn’t right.

There was even a shameful time when he went overboard and blamed her a bit for their children’s deaths, though he NEVER said anything about it verbally. As king, he had to work most of the time to maintain the Underground, especially considering the shape it was currently in, which meant TORIEL was in charge of watching the children throughout the day. He didn’t know exactly WHEN Asriel left for the human village, but there was a time when he suspected it was while his wife was supposed to be keeping an eye on them. The idea should have made angry or sad, but instead he only felt an embarrassing sense of triumph that he hated himself for.

That is, until Gaster set him straight one night at Grillby’s.

“Don’t be a fool. Your child left in the middle of the night; it was no one’s fault, much less your own, unless you make a habit out of watching your offspring sleep.”

“How can you be so sure? We don’t have cameras around our house OR the barrier.”

“Common sense. Her Highness homeschools them in the morning so it’d be impossible to leave at that time and had the prince left in the afternoon, it would have taken him hours to traverse his way down the mountain due to the unfamiliar terrain and to even FIND the village. He’d only be able to reach it by nightfall when most of the humans sleep.”

“I…I see.”

“You’ve spent most of your life in the countryside, you must know what it’s like. The small villages that dot such places usually comprise of farmers…an early to bed, early to rise type of people. There’s little to no chance that there’d be enough of them awake to swarm your son, unless he left in the middle of the night and arrived at the village in the morning. Blaming yourself is irrational behavior, as is drinking away your day at the bar.”

“Y-You’re right…thank you.”

“…Then I tell Undyne to use her cute voice cause’ my stink Daddy don’t look up from his papers, but she still scu it up. She go ‘peas mister science man, can you make me some new boobies? I needs em’ for my wife and kids.” Papyrus shook his head. “Stupid Fish-Lady, I told her she stupid too. Wives don’t need milk, BABIES need milk, but she call me a clown fish and told me to shut my cwap mouth. ‘You doesn’t know ANYTHING stupid baby! I saw my mama use milk for her coffee and big people LOVE coffee, so he gonna feel bad for mah wife and kids and give me boobs for a bargain!”

“…I’m curious as to what your father’s response was.”

“Daddy told her dat she took after her muder and to ask HER where her boobies were.”

Asgore nodded, though the baby couldn’t see him.

Ahh, the old ask-your-mother response. I remember using that many a time.

If he recalled however, it never ended well. Passing uncomfortable situations like that onto his wife proved to be...problematic, as the queen was stubborn in her ways.

“I do hope you didn’t bother that poor woman Papyrus.”

“Nyeh? Poor?” Papyrus looked confused. “She not poor! Undyne’s muder wich! I knows cause’ she gots vases with no flowers in them. I asked her why that be and she said it was none of my beeswax and to not come in her house when the door be locked…I think she sold Undyne’s boobies Mr. Buns, but I can’t proves nothing…I think dat’s what Daddy was trying to tell us.”

“I assure you, she did nothing of the sort-”

“Can I borrow yo’ boobs Fluffy? You doesn’t need them no more right? You give them to Undyne?”

“I don’t…I don’t have those things,” said Asgore, wincing as he heard the pitter patter of tiny boots headed towards the kitchen.

“You look like you do…” said the baby peeking around the corner.

“WELL I DON’T.”

“But you look like you do…hey, what chu doing?” asked Papyrus tilting his head.

Picking up the infant, Asgore began carrying the Horror towards the room he was currently renovating. “Why don’t we go play a game while the water’s boiling, hm? I’m sure you’d rather spend time playing than talking to an old man like me. I’ll even play with you! How’s that sound?”

“Annoying…”

“Ho ho ho!”

As his Highness began to set up the game counsel (something that had to be done every time his children played a game), Papyrus glanced around the room, the previous conversation forgotten. Nothing had really changed since he’d last been in here…in a sense anyway. Chara and Asriel had always been very competitive and it continuously resulted in the destruction of everything in the area except the game counsels they were using. The place itself was a mess of broken toys like the Nursery, but there were scorch marks every which way and bits of splintered wood from destroyed furniture. To his right he could see something that may have once been a table of sorts, so he imagined the princes might have been eating and gaming in the same place; a practice he THOUGHT their mother had banned long ago due to the stains on the wall from food that had no doubt been thrown in a rage after one of the children’s gaming sessions.

Despite spending so much time together, the two had personality traits that contrasted greatly with one another. Asriel was a coward and Chara wasn’t.

That being said, the little goat monster had a tendency to use underhanded tactics to win games when he saw he was losing, such as complaining to their mother about Chara killing Yoshi so he could keep his high score in Mario, or pretending to “accidently” pull his controller out of its socket so his loss wouldn’t count. It infuriated Chara, who was much more mature when gaming, and it often led to violent fights and ultimately their games being taken away for a week or so while the king and queen had the game room repaired.

As a baby that valued courage more than most, Asriel’s behavior disgusted Papyrus, but he stayed quiet about it while he was over. After all, the baby was a guest and no one was perfect. He suspected that Asriel’s parents and environment in general played a big part in feeding his friend’s cowardice, that and monster babies weren’t like skelly babies. They didn’t seem to have the natural instinct Papyrus had to try and grow up properly. They weren’t born with a sense of discipline or ambition; In fact, from what he DID see, all monster babies did was sit around and wait for others to do things for them. He knew because they didn’t change when they became toddlers or even children like Asriel. They still spent all day playing for fun and making demands instead of practicing their magic or trying to intentionally learn new things.

“They spoiled.”

“Hm?” Asgore turned from the counsel and looked around. “Yes, I suppose we did spoil our children a bit. There are times when I wonder in fact, if they’d still be alive if I had been stricter with them…made them afraid to leave the house without permission.” He chuckled and sat on the floor next to Papyrus. “Then again, children will be children and Asriel shared his mother’s stubbornness. He’d of left no matter what I threatened him with.”

Papyrus took up a Gamecube controller and glanced doubtfully at the king. “You know how to pay dis game, or is you gonna be an old person da’ whole time?”

“Excuse me? I set up the game-box didn’t I? Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean ALL technology eludes me young man!” Turning on the game, they watched through the cinematics until only the title screen SUPER SMASH BROS MELEE remained with the words “PRESS START” fading in and out at the bottom.

“…”

“…Why isn’t it starting?”

“See dat button in the middle of the controller there?”

“Which button?”

“The only one in da’ middle. The one that say ‘start.”

“This one?”

“Pess it.”

Asgore pressed the start button and they were taken to another screen with multiple choices that immediately made the infant regret keeping quiet about the choice of game.

“So this is that Super Smashing Fighters game you all love so much! Look at all these options…since I’m a ‘noob’ heh heh heh, I think I need some training…what does ‘1-P’ mean?”

“Go to ‘VS. Mode.”

“Alright…oh. Oh I see,” said Asgore as he was taken to the character screen. “Going straight to the game are we? You’re like Asriel it seems. You don’t want to give me a chance to learn how to play, you just want to win.”

“No Fluffy.”

“You wish to take advantage of my old age and lack of understanding.”

“No. We’s gonna fight as a team. Pick yo’ peoples.”

“OH! OH I KNOW THIS MONSTER! IT’S PIKACHU!”

“Pick yo’ peoples.”

“How do I pick Pikachu?”

Taking the controller from Asgore, Papyrus hovered over the yellow mouse and pressed the ‘A’ button. “You see dis button Mr. Buns? See how it gween like a stop light? Think of dis button as the ‘yes button’ If you want something you use the ‘yes button’ to get it. The red button here be the ‘no button’ if you don’t want something, you pess the ‘no button’ kay’? Cause’ red be a bad color dat means STOP like a stop sign.”

“What?”

“Use dis to pick stuff and dis to go back.”

“Oh alright.”

So as to avoid more annoyances, Papyrus went ahead and made the proper arrangements for their team battle, choosing Kirby as his character.

“Dis game needs more babies…”

“Papyrus. Papyrus look.” Asgore pressed a button on his controller. “He’s got a little hat, ho ho ho!”

“…”

“Aren’t you going to dress up your pink guy?”

“He don’t get clothes till he eat you.”

“Oh my goodness, there’s a princess in the game! Papyrus choose the princess, I bet she has nice clothes…oh no wait, be Pichu! That’s Pikachu’s baby right? We can be a family of fighters!”

“Pichu sucks.”

“But we can be father and son and-”

Papyrus quickly changed his character to Pichu and put Princess Peach and Kirby in the other two slots as their opponents. “Okay, there. I’s Pichu. We pay now?”

“Does he have any-”

The baby bones changed his costume.

“How adorable! This game is so very very cute! I don’t see why Tori had such a problem with it…maybe she didn’t know about the outfits? She had a habit of making mountains out of mole hills that woman…how do we proceed?”

Pressing ‘Start’ they made it to the stage selection screen where, thankfully, the king immediately chose the one with the giant pokeball on it, having apparently recognized the object from an old video series his children had found miraculously intact at the Dump.

As the game began, Papyrus’s annoyance faded a bit as he watched Asgore test out the controls without asking about them. He may not have known much about technology, but obviously his battle instincts transferred into the game, as he seemed to instinctively know not to distract Papyrus during the fight…that is…until he noticed their opponents where no match for the Horror.

“How do I catch you?”

“Nyeh?”

“How do I catch Pichu? Every time I throw these pokeball things at you they turn out to have someone in them already. Where are the empty ones, or how do I empty them out before catching you?”

“DON’T CATCH DA’ BABY!”

“You’ll be safe in the pokeball. It’s part of a grand strategy-”

“Dis not Pokemon! Dis MELEE! You just supposed to kill da’ pencess and the pink bae-”

“What? Killing?! This is a FIGHTING game Papyrus, we’re supposed to be JUST fighting, not killing!” His highness grumbled in frustration as the princess sent him flying into the abyss.

BOOSH!

“Is just a game Mr. Buns.”

“There are more important things in life than winning, child. Don’t-DON’T YOU PICK UP THAT HAMMER PAPYRUS! Did you not get in trouble for using such a thing in real life?!”

BOOSH!

Once again, Pikachu met his end to a frying pan.

The baby bones patted the king’s arm in an attempt to comfort the agitated monster. “Don’t be mad Fluffy, you do bedder next time!”

“What? I’m not angry! I’m not angry and that’s not the point!”

“You are. You’s mad cause’ the pencess be kicking you in your asshole.”

“She’s not-she’s not beating me, I’m letting her win because she’s a woman. It’s not good to hit women Papyrus, that’s not how a gentleman behaves!”

“Liar. She kick yo’ ass and now you’s mad.”

“I’m NOT angry. There’s nothing to be ANGRY about! This isn’t even a real GAME child! I told you I didn’t know how to play, so I need training. This game doesn’t count, it’s merely a learning experience!”

“A learning ah-sperience?”

“Quite.”

“Hm…then perhaps during dis game you can learn to be less of a bitch.”

“…”

“…What?”

“I’m calling your father.”

“Nyeh? Why? What I do?”

“You’re using naughty words and doing naughty things.”

“Ohhh, you wanna cry to my Daddy cause’ you feel embarrassed and you wants time to get good.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You wanna send baby home so you can pactice.”

“Absolutely not!”

REEEEEEEEEE!

“Oh look, yo’ tea be done! Now you can go to da’ kitchen and peetend mah Daddy just called to check up on things!”

“PERHAPS HE WILL CALL!”

CA-THUM!

As Asgore stormed away, slamming the door behind him, Papyrus crawled over to the prince’s toy chest to scavenge for new crayons to take home with him.

It was unfortunate that Asgore and Asriel were so very much alike when it came to anything competitive, but that didn’t mean he and Papyrus couldn’t get along in general. He had had a good time talking to the king and even though he was mad, the infant wasn’t worried in the slightest. His Highness was upset, but he wouldn’t stay that way forever. Despite the fact that he was definitely going home, he knew he and the king would play again some other day and the baby was looking forward to it.

And as for Asgore himself, he decided allowing Papyrus to ingest a bit of soap wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

Merry Christmas everyone! Sorry for the wait, I had a computer error that erased ALL of my progress. Even if I did make the one month deadline, this still should have been done earlier, so I made it longer as compensation.

Also I finished another chapter of Fonttale 3, so there’s that too. I hope you all have a good holiday with your loved ones and remember to cherish them while they’re still around.

On another important note, I’ve no idea who drew this, but appreciate it’s existence. I tried looking it up through reverse image searching, but after it showed me a ton of results and I clicked on one, Norton freaked out and warned me that it had just blocked something...so if you want to know who drew this, reverse image search is NOT the way to go, otherwise you’ll risk your shit. Just thought I’d warn people who don’t have computer protection.

#Fonttale #Fonttale au #Undertale #Undertale au #Papyrus #Baby Papyrus #Gaster #Sans #kid sans #Asgore #a bit of deltarune

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tamgerines · 5 years

Text

KH3 First Impression and Complete Thoughts

BACKGROUND: i've played kh1, com, kh2, bbs, 2.8, and a bit of khux. i've watched coded and 3d on yt, so i know the story relatively well. this is an impression of my first playthrough. i did my run on standard mode and watched the secret ending on yt. i mostly did this for story, so this will have my initial impressions based on my run that will not cover extra content like the phone mini games and cooking. my opinions are subjected to change if i ever do any later playthroughs. pls, feel free to disagree w/ me.

!!! WARNING: THERE WILL BE A LOT OF STORY SPOILERS!!!

AUDIO:

Music: utada is queen!!! that opening song!!! also i kept noticing how lit the songs are in each world esp frozen??? and aqua's. worth a replay just for the soundtrack alone.

Voice Acting: everyone sounded great for the most part. sora’s va have certainly improved and sounds less strained. his vanitas voice has suffered significantly though lolololol. i think i read that someone called it a wannabe dark knight voice? the organization sounded incredible, w/ my fav being xemnas, marluxia, and larxene. the disney and pixar va’s are incredible w/ my fav probably being randall in monster’s inc.

some ppl did not get vas like xaldin and laxeaus. and phil in hercules. which were all very disappointing bc in the scenes that they were in, they would just stand around woodenly, and it’s very noticeable.

VISUALS:

mostly a+. environments are beautiful. water and frost textures are amazing!!! you can really feel that waterga and blizzaga. fur textures in monster's inc. could use some work. little details like the sails moving in potc rly make the worlds come alive. this could be a me prob, but environments in certain worlds make it very hard to see map markers, treasure chests, and disney emblems (which are supposed to be hard to find, but still). mostly in tangled.

strangely enough, this is the only game where i prefer in game graphics to cgi. it's already highly expressive and there's something creepy and uncanny about the cgi esp in the final fight. and it's mostly bc sora's thin chapped lips throughout the entire game suddenly becomes full.

DESIGNS:

i don't love everyone's outfit or sora's outfit changes in this game besides toy story. this is something i alrdy knew going in, but i've always felt like the outfits in kh1 and 2 rly suited each of the character's personalities. and this is not just destiny trio but even chars like roxas, the twilight town kids and the hollow bastion crew. the move towards a uniformed look makes no sense to me like is it to unify the key bearers as one force against the organization? i could understand why destiny trio was wearing plaid but why the twilight town kids also? by the end of the game, almost everyone was wearing black and it's just boring to me. like there's a right way to do uniform while retaining characters' individual looks, and that's the wayfinder trio in bbs. in this game, not so much.

an aside, but i'm sort of disappointed in the hud moving to 3d too. the 2d portraits have always been part of kh so it's kinda a bum to see it go away.

i don't love the lvl designs but it might also be due to a narrative and pacing issue that i'll expand on. any case, vertical maps are a challenge to figure out. i don't consider myself bad at directions but there are so many moments, esp in hercules and tangled where i would be like where the heck do i go next (and i have the map) only for me to look up and find a shotlock teleport point (and this isn't so much a thing that heightens the difficulty but a time waster).

lvls and bosses in previous kh games have always been known for their gimmicks and mechanics, but in this game particularly i found it to be more tedious? and this mostly applies to frozen: who the fuck designed frozen? who the fuck thought it's a good lvl design to have sora climb a mountain, get kick off it twice, and climb it again as good lvl design? who?

all the disney bosses started blending together for me bc they're literally all giant monsters and rly easy. i think the mistake here is the fact that the disney worlds are put back to back whereas in kh1/2/bbs you have the interruption of original worlds and an actually playable important parts to the main story, in this game all the important storyline in radiant garden are locked in cutscenes interspersed throughout the game between finishing disney worlds.

a lot of ppl might disagree w this, but i miss the cinematic reaction commands and limit attacks. we still have them but i find them to be on a much smaller scale in the form of drive finishers and situation commands, but i find them to be less imaginative in kh3 in order to be less """"disruptive""" to the gameplay. i've always found cinematics charming in previous games as a way to show sora interacting with his party members during combat. little things like beast putting a hand on sora's shoulder, aladdin leaning on him, or riku bumping his fist have a way of making the friendships he forms feel organic. outside of link commands/ summons, in this game, he........just throws a lot of ppl around or is thrown around?

GAMEPLAY:

already sort of went through parts of it in the previous section, but overall combat was smooth. i love how mobile sora is in this game. the improvement to his running speed and addition of all the mobile skills like dodge roll, super slide, flow motion, blizzard skating, etc. makes combat feel fast paced and juking so easy.

magic is super improved on ever since 2.8 and feels satisfying to use esp bc i feel like ur given a lot more mp now and with the ability to save the last of your mana for cure, it feels like you're not always budgeting your magic.

underwater combat was smoother than i expected.

it's a mistake putting almost all the commands on the triangle button. there's so much options you can do in combat and you'd mean to activate one thing, but then an attraction flow comes out and you just want to die. it gets a bit easier as i went on and got more used to the controls, but in general, i still think it's a mistake to not to have an ability or something to disable certain features like in kh2 fm.

gummy ships continue to be a thing. why. i don’t like how i have to turn the camera myself now ;;;.

i'm not a speedrunner or anything, so i can't say too much else about fighting. the physical combos to me did feel like he was spinning a bit too much tho.

STORY: oh, fucking boy.

i'm not mad, i'm not disappointed, and i'm not even surprised. i already knew that post bbs, kh has already departed far from the franchise i loved as a kid and still today, at least story wise. but let's walk through it.

Disney Worlds: the disney worlds was literally a retelling of their movies. and unlike in kh2 and bbs, where visits to disney worlds were split into two parts, with the first part following the disney story and the second part being heavily tied to the main kh story and thus having original content, the disney worlds in kh3 only get one long visit. and the integration of kh into disney was just done so poorly. remember how kh villains used to kidnap princesses? remember how they used to actually conspire to take disney characters' hearts and turn them dark? remember, you know, when they were still evil and actually interfered with the worlds? in almost every world in kh3, an org member just comes says vague menacing things to sora, calls him stupid, and then leaves. yeah. and oh, maleficent and pete looks for a black box only to not find it, and leaves. AND THEY DON'T DO ANYTHING ELSE FOR THE REST OF THE GAME.

the pixar worlds + bh6 were the only ones with any actual new content and they feel so fresh. i esp loveeeeeeeed toy story omg. the script was so good, funny, and heartwarming. the pixar consultants should have helped kh all the way tbh.

like previous games, there's an attempt for each disney world to thematically tie into the main kh story. in this game, it was as heavy handed as ever, probably even more so.

Original Worlds: onto the meat of kh, the main story was rushed up until the end. you have a slew of disney worlds, then bam, they slam you with all the human bosses and the important story stuff.

the ‘awakening’ of roxas, xion, and ventus were very rushed. you literally have one moment they’re no there then two seconds of white screen and all of a sudden they’re there.

there’s a shit ton of shoehorned character redemption arcs: vexen, demyx, saix, eraqus, xehanort, xemnas, ansem. all were done either offscreen or by some miracle, they reached an epiphany after sora beat his keyblade into their heads.

the only death scene that i actually liked, that a lot of ppl complained about, was vanitas bc yes, although i thought his character had so much potential, it was at least a consistent and sympathetic death. bless him, born a villain die a villain. same with xemnas bc i loved his last speech.

xehanort was a shitty villain through and through. no one understood his motivation; it’s like nomura took a page from thanos’ guide of how to write villains, gave him some stupid ass goal to have a keyblade war to restart the world, and then just have him...get everything he wanted? his estranged friend comes back in ghost form for whatever reason and is just like ok we’re cool man even tho u took my student and indirectly murdered me and then gets taken up to heart heaven, like O K. and like what’s the most frustrating is that it’s implied they’re keeping him as a villain??? bc fucking ymx is like ooohh imma just go back to my own time via time travel. it’s too late for u sora hurdur.

and the younger members of the organization, the ones that we do know were in khux. we don’t get to know how they became nobodies and they don’t get a redemption??? really???

you can tell they tried, TRIED, hard to give everyone closure. and they miserably failed to close plot points. they actually opened more. who the fuck is the unnamed girl in lea and isa’s storyline? why the fuck did you mention her if you were going to play the pronoun game and not name her??? what the fuck was in the black box??? why are they looking for it when no one know what’s in it??? why the fuck was repliku inside of riku the whole fucking time??? why have org members be norted if they can still have agency and choose to betray xehanort??? why the fuck was BOTH sora and riku in different worlds in the secret ending????? ? ? ?

and tho i’m very glad that wayfinder and sea salt trios get their happy ending, the destiny trio had their characters assassinated. kairi was teased to become an independent character of her own and fight alongside sora, only to get shafted to become a damsel in distress, again, literally replaced by xion in one of the last battles, AND referred to as ‘motivation’ for sora by xehanort lol. sora, the guy who’s always going my friends are my power, ONLY grieves about losing kairi, accrediting all of his strength ONLY TO HER. riku, who spent the first game desperately trying to get kairi’s heart back, and who protected her from saix in the second, suddenly doesn’t give a shit about her and is just there as sora’s moral support. it’s so frustrating that nomura has the audacity to say that this series is primarily about friendship and then pull this shit lol. it’s transparent.

CONCLUSION:

i think for me, the quintessential kh trilogy has always been kh1, com, and kh2. as far as i’m concerned, the story should have ended there for destiny trio. and it’s like nomura said, how he feels more sympathetic towards villains now, i think nomura’s ideas have outgrown his main character.

sora’s journey worked in 1, com, and 2 because he had an overarching goal to find kairi and riku and return home. not everyone has to understand heartless vs. nobodies or dark vs. light but at least, anyone can understand the desperation of saving your friends. when that framework is taken away, sora’s goals and motivations become unclear; he’s a kid and has little reason to be caught up in xehanort’s plans, the keyblade war, or the organization’s agendas. and his failure to grow with the increasing complexity of the plot, to investigate for himself the bigger picture or even come into a similar realization of his own darkness/ balance like riku, makes him unfit; he’s a reactionary character instead of an active one. that’s why this game, being experienced from his point of view, felt mostly like a catch up to speed for sora and a set up to nomura’s next big thing instead of a genuine ending. i honestly don’t think nomura knows what to do with him and with kingdom hearts anymore.

kh3 is a game wrapped in nostalgia and promised something bigger than it could fulfill. and aside from better graphics and improved gameplay, the story wasn’t worth the wait.

#kh3 spoilers #my thoughts #i didnt mean for my ramblings to get so long but #yeah im im sad

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darveyfics · 6 years

Note

Could you please write a fic that deals somehow with the scene in the promo where Donna asks Harvey "Do you want to come in?"

‘Dreams’

*** @darveyfics, Guys feel free to do your own version. I think we all know what kind of fic imma write… ;-)***

…

He shrugs off the cold rush shiver down his spine, as his right hand knocks against her door, his heart thudding with an impatience that his feet can barely stand up against as the other hand cradles that folded piece of paper, willing himself with every stretched second against the potent urge to crush it in his hand.

But he’s ready, still, and his hunch was on point, he thinks to himself, as the door swings open, and she stands neatly behind it.

“After all this time, I’d have expected you to come to me, at the very least and tell me to my face. Not leave me a god damn letter on my desk like a parting gift…” He spits, thrusting her letter back into her hand like it burns to the touch.

She draws a breath. “I guess you read it, then?” She offers limply, piecing together his presence at such a late hour. It lights his senses on fire like she’s been holding a torch, waiting for him. “Do you wanna come in?” He watches her say out of the corner of his eye, as she points minutely to the door in a very on-Donna like gesture.

He turns back to her, his senses catching on her tone, matched only by the way his right foot seems to fill with a led weight to fix him to the spot. There is a jarring hopefulness in her voice that he can’t understand.

Did she use this like a lure? Was it all some kind of game? Had he really misjudged her that much?

“I thought you’d said everything there was say?” He replies harshly, referring to her written word, swinging his shoulder just to give him enough the momentum to suggest walking away again.

“Harvey….we can’t do this anymore.” She tells him.

He feels a heavy lump in his throat, swallowing against the glassy look in her notably paler hazel eyes. So many words. So much said. So few agreements on the status quo.

“Donna…you were the one who started this.” He reminds her. He waits a moment, the emotions clearly flitting about her face like mismatched colours, waiting for her to take a shot.

She smiles bitterly to herself, rolling her eyes tiredly, her arms folding across her body. “Harvey…if you really think that. Then…we really are done here.”

The words could be nothing, a mere frost on a warm car, or fog in the wilderness. But the look in her eyes is something else entirely. Something raw. Something unyielding. Something final. Something that scratches at his soul.

“That’s really how you wanna leave this?” He gestures between them, feeling her unpacified response.”

He waits for the tirade of words. She’s always been so good at words, so now should be no different.

“I…I can’t, Harvey.” She sighs, “I’m, I’m sorry..” She stutters, her hands reaching as the door shuts abruptly in his face, the sound, clip and all at once so low, echoing around him an into the hall.

He could have stopped it. He doesn’t.

~She wanted you to fight~

Some things never change…

And like that,

Donna Paulsen is stripped cleanly from his world, like a worn bandaid.

He turns in one fluid motion, his legs automatic in forcing him towards the stairwell. He only acknowledges the slight shake, the unsteadiness in his right hand, when it clenches at the railing, stiffly supporting the sinking feeling in his legs as he descends, laboured with every footstep towards the heavy glass door at the bottom of the stairwell.

He stalks out onto the sidewalk, his conscious mind floating now, disconnected from his body like a fallen cloud below the peak of a mountain as he approaches the curb, his hand raising up numbly to flag down the nearest cab. He couldn’t feel the evening chill if it bit him on the ass, for the way he’s holding his breath, his heartbeat growing louder and louder and louder in his ears with every second that he must wait for a ride out of this mess.

Why did he come here?

For what?

He blinks, meeting canary yellow, as he slides into the back of a beat up yellow cab, slamming the door behind him and lean back onto the worn leather, his hands flattening out to brace more than just the threat of motion, the heavy thrumming in his chest pulling his attention away from the world around him.

“Sir? Where to Sir?” He hears finally, his bloodshot eyes drawing to the young man in the front of the cab. “Hello?” The man presses, causing him to open his mouth, forcing his brain to engage.

“Uh….Central Park…West.” He mumbles, wincing at the contradiction of sound in his ears, the cloudy underwater feeling against the harsh grain of his own voice dragging in his throat.

As the car moves, so does his stomach, churning with bile to meet near his windpipe, the lash forcing all the air out of his lungs; the thud of his heart beating louder and louder and louder. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing a thread of control to knit himself back together, but the pressure inside him is so deep, do dredged in conflicting emotion, that he lurches heavily, his left hand slashing to plant, palm down onto the already smudged glass of the window.

“Sir, if you’re gonna throw up-”

“Stop.” He chokes the words, as the cab jerks, pulling over, his hands fumbling with the silver latch in a panic, to pull it with snatch, pushing the door open with a distempered grace, his polish black shoes hitting the muddy tarmac at once, as he bends over, eyes watery and bulging only to gag, that bile and acid taste filling his mouth.

In seconds the entire scenario is purged, as he spits, grimacing at the sandwich on rye pooling towards his shoes, his currently thrown state of mind aching against the front of his brain, as he grips the still open car door, folding back inside the cab with a sense of internalised embarrassment.

“If you’re drunk I can’t take you.” The cab driver warns.

“I’m not drunk.” He protests weakly.

“I reserve the right, Sir, to refuse.” The man presses.

“It’s ugh…a panic attack,” He barks, his jaw setting as he glances at the rear view mirror to witness the reaction to his outburst. “Please….just drive me home. I’ll pay double.” He half-pleads, the interchange a strangely welcome slice of a moment out of the ache in his head and he unease of his pulse.

After a moment, the car begins to move, pulling back into the slowly streaking amber and reds of a calm New York night.

…

He falls into his apartment in a blur, immediately dousing his throat and stomach with Macallan just to numb himself out of this one day above days.

Hours later, stumbling as if trying to free-fall, he eventually collapses onto bed drunk and disconnected from the world, his voicemail filling with unwelcome calls, and all of his usual mental acuity drenched dick deep in liquor.

Harvey Specter had fought against the day,

But forgotten,

About his dreams.

He dreams about Donna Paulsen,

Until the sun comes up and reminds him of her.

Light,

Against the ensuing dark in his mind.

… …

Guys for anyone who’s interested, I had some questions for myself regarding this promo scene and spoilers we’ve seen on twitter, posted at - @redwineonavanillaskye

#author: atheniandream #author: redwineonavanillasky #darveyfic #darvey #suitsusa #donna paulsen #harvey specter

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thislittleoneiscurious · 3 years

Text

Make do ideas for high school projects and assignment in this pandeMisery year.

I was suffering with the sudden dump of projects on my head and reached out to here for what the netizens think. What can you do with your teammates thousand miles apart? Especially for Physics, Chemistry, well actually every subjects. But maybe because Imma newbie, I couldn’t find the trace of a dog wink. So I decided to include some ideas my class came up with. (Hehe I happen to be the Class Leader [It’s a thing in Indian classrooms, I don’t get the hype, I thought we become democrats?), the only advantage is that you get the novelty of all these school stuff. Sorry classmates, this is for the greater good.]

Btw, this is most applicable for Indian high school sufferers in the CBSE system where they come up with colourful but often catastrophic ideas to humour us. (Art integrated project, sister this is the reason for my mental decline)

1. The ever so easy Power Point Presentation - Split them works, put them together, record it and make your lives easier. Ain’t no way you are gonna present it from cute little boxes on your google meet/whatever without being pissed off cause that one classmate in the Antarctica with ‘heavens, show mercy’ wifi couldn’t hear you. We have a special breed of classmates known as the ‘I’m not in the same world as you are’ classmate. It’s me, I am the ‘I’m not in the same world as you are’ classmate. We tend to blame it on the poor wifi, play for keeps, mute the speaker, ‘who you bruh?’ and ‘Leave me alone Stacy’ everyone.

2. Video Role play - (no, if you think of what I though of ‘role play’, we need saving, internet, what have you done to us?) The Pig teammates exist, the good teammates will try their best to perform, the nice teammates edit and the legends of the group write the script, y’all know how this works. Find a similar background, record, put it together and screen share, thus ending the misery of waiting for someone to recite their lines thus ending the awkward ‘who am I, where am I’ scenario. One of the good teammates of mine is cosplaying, sis I’ll worship you if you did.

3. Talk show - like role play but make it a coincidence, all natural and casual look. My friends did it on ‘Whether laws work in India’ and dude, it left us on wheeeezee for three days straight. (Extra: Praise heavens, in India, you can be a doctor, an engineer or a family disappointment)

4. Model Making - Science people, this is our easy fix! wanna talk about Fluids? bruh i’ll show you how ships float! You say Hexasodium Hexametaphosphate? here’s a cute lil ball and straw model. Even my pig teammate made this with some m&m’s (Do not miss out on this excuse to sneak in some candies!!!). You can use Clay, some sticky flour mix (go organic brother), all types of sweet tiny candies and them stuffs. I mean, flip through that holy chemistry book of yours that now successfully collected hundred layers of dust. Show them some love.

5. Posters - how you ask? let’s say you wanna do something on ‘Twinkling Star’, your Master Picasso can draw the sun, he a star too. Kind sir Socrates can pen down a poem about the blinding light and Mister Dickens can write a ‘See through ceiling to watch the stars’ essay. All the great literary prodigies that mastered the art of internet can give out snippets. (pig teammates? Ma’am I am the face of the new era) Anyway, put this together with a photoshoot tool and make it look like y’all are not separated by the 100 mountains and 7 oceans.

6. Comic strips - If you have been a netizen for years without knowing what them comics, mangas and anime are, sir you are doing life wrong. Weebs, sympathise! Anyway, you don’t have to create a ‘Demon Slayer’ series or draw a seggy Gojou Satoru (Simping? I am simping, you are simping hehe). You know, them circles and 5 stick limbs hangman would do! Here you have to be creative if you want to be looked at with respect (RESPECT, POWER, BANANA! ...BANANA!) . Please don’t be that average Cathy who steals others’ work and not give credits.

7. Demonstration video - say you wanna explain some simple concepts like laws of motion, do an experiment. My amazing teacher did that ‘drop and throw the ball simultaneously and voila! it reaches the ground at the same time too because horizontal velocity doesn’t affect vertical motion’ and stuff. Split the work and edit dude. There is the ‘Candle, glass and water’ kindergarten experiment that actually is related to PV=nRT and stuff.

8. Document containing random drawings, writings, photographs and all that makes you look you know what’s going on and you are doing a marvellous job at it.

9. Performance - Say unlike me, you like to dance, act and sing, go for it. Hmm, you have centre of mass concept in physics, dance ballet while your nice teammates explain it and all that. Sing a song about TCA cycle and how ‘why do I deserve this pain’ it is. Act out what happens in a Replacement reaction, eg. how Iron mercilessly wrecked Copper Sulphate’s ionic relationship. (make it dramatic and fun so your ‘I’m not in the same world as you are’ classmate can have some fun as well.)

10. I will never do this but a prim and proper research will do. With hypothesis and participants them bois. I did an individual research with 50 of my reliable and inner circle friends exclusively during pandeMisery. Guess what, we all are going to hell after graduation. Freaking dummies, we be spending an average of 6.3 hours online doing dumbest of things, like this post for example. 6.3 hours, average among 50 people, India’s gonna have 50 blind people in another 50 years for sure. I’ll be the first probably. Research is hella deep, for reference, find chapter 2 of NCERT class 11 psychology.

Thats it for now my dear reader that read until here. Really, school works are a pain but once you figure this, you will have real fun. Don’t be stressed as my classmates. In a year or so, you won’t remember this anyway. if something ain’t important in 10 years down the line, it ain’t important now too ;p that’s what I tell myself.

I am evidently not a native english speaker, but I said what i wanted to say. multilingual people, is your brain like this too? mentally google translating on its own?

If there is another clueless but curious ‘me’, I hope you see this and cut some stress out <3

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i-am-adlocked · 6 years

Text

Got tagged by two people and since the questions are custom-made (lol) I guess, I’ll answer twenty-two instead of eleven LMAO. Love you both guys!

The rules are:

• Post the rules

• Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

• Write eleven questions of your own

• Tag eleven people

QUESTIONS FROM @equusgirl

1. If you could have lunch with anyone alive or dead, who would it be?

This is a tough one. I have many different aspects of myself—several masks. My joker-self would want to be with my friends because I never fail to make them laugh their pants off. My lonely-self would want my future spouse, whoever that person is, right now. My artist-self would want Vincent Van Gogh so I could do the Doctor Who thing where I would reassure him that he is amazing.

My desperate-self would want Bob Ross because I bet he’d inspire me the hell out. My sad-self would want to have lunch with my dead happy-self because I bet I’d slap the hell out of my face. My family-oriented-self would want my maternal grandfather I never got to meet because he doesn’t know me and it’s nice to have a family who would probably say that they’re proud of me. Estranged relatives are like that, I think lmao

OH and I would also want any psychologist, so I’d have free sessions to deal with my ADHD because I can never afford to have more sessions, and I’d finally get a prescription cos I need dem meds.

2. You’re stuck on an elevator with whoever is on your lock/home screen. Who is it?

If we’re talking about my phone, I guess I’m stuck on an elevator with the Eiffel Tower (lock screen) and Mona Lisa (home screen). If we’re talking about my computer, I guess I’m stuck on an elevator with Sherlock (lock screen) and Leo Valdez (home screen). Ho-ho-ho I will be in an elevator with self-loathing mask-wearing joking-but-dead-inside heroes. That will be fun.

3. Last TV show/movie you watched?

I rewatched the last episode of The Crown again after I binged-watched Riverdale and re-re-re-binged-watched The Good Place. Movie-wise, it was the Filipino film called “Ang Larawan”. It’s actually hard for me to watch films because it takes a lot of time for me to stay focused in one episode.

4. A cottage on the beach or a cabin in the mountains?

Cabin in the mountains. I hiss angrily at beaches because I tan so easily and I kid you not, I haven’t swum in a beach since 2009. In a country where lighter paler skin was more cherished, and being an insecure bullied 10-year-old. You’ll understand why. Nowadays, I guess the habit just stuck. ALSO CABIN IN THE MOUNTAINS HOW FREAKING COOL WOULD THAT BE... I’d be surrounded by trees, it would be cold there, I can sit by the fireplace, look out my window to view the beautiful forest and night sky, and just drink whiskey, read a book, and quietly whisper, “Bless.”

5. Last song you listened to?

If we’re not including Brooke Simpson’s performances (specifically, “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World”) in The Voice which I legit just binge-watched before opening Tumblr, it would be the Riverdale Cast’s cover of “Mad World.” I was shookt that I liked it.

6. Most recent obsession?

Video-editing. More-so than usual. I legit have anxieties when I’m not making a video. I should probably stop after finishing these videos I’m doing because I know it will hinder my studies (which I’m already failing at because of my worsening ADHD), and it’s already ruining my sleeping patterns and eating habits. It’s a toxic kind of obsession.

7. Last thing you googled?

“people find out harry potter is abused fic rec” shut up (if interested, click here)

8. Which city would you most like to visit?

(for the first time?) Athens. (again?) either Assisi or Rome or Paris. You can’t make me choose.

9. If you could bring one (1) fictional character to life, who would it be?

I’m having a hard time between Mary Watson (Sherlock) and River Song (Doctor Who) *sobs*

10. Favorite thing about yourself?

My... God, I don’t know, really. I don’t really like myself so how can I find a favorite thing about myself? My ability to brag for things I’m not even good at, I guess? False advertising of myself, I guess? HAHAHAHHA WAIT NO! My ability to make anything sad or depressing. Yes, I’m good at that. It’s not my favourite thing about me but out of all, that’s the only thing I think I’m really good at.

11. Ideal career?

Becoming a wife and mother. Some people give me odd looks for this but I really want to take care of people in ways I never experienced. I want to be there for some people—to feel needed and depended on—to be trusted, long-term.

Younger-me would be furious. She was aro-ace. As a person who grew up only relying on books as company, I thought I would grow up as the typical strong independent woman who is a CEO or is an actress, or a musical theatre performer... I used to want to be that...

But those dreams were based on what my family wanted. CEO because I grew up poor and being a CEO would make me financially stable which my parents wanted. Actress/Theatre Performer because my sister and I bonded through musical theatre, TV shows, and films, and we both love the arts (but I have to admit that she’s better than me with everything srsly im not kidding)...

But as just for myself? I really don’t see myself working for money, or working for the arts. I mean, obviously I want to work for money and for the arts, but... I want to work for people I care about—for a family I will finally not be scared enough to say “I love you” without fearing they would laugh in my face.

—oOo—

OKAY, NOW QUESTIONS FROM @musical-chick-13

1. If you could wake up and be magically good at something you’ve never done before (or have little experience doing), what would you want it to be?

The ability to quickly understand things I’m not interested in and explain them to people easily with how I understood them. I think that would help me a lot in my Law class now at uni. Seriously, I’m having troubles reading, and I always stutter in class because I’m not good at formal English.

My stupid brain needs time to process what I learned (which was written in English), explain it to myself (in Filipino), translate my explanation from Filipino to English, and focus enough to say those things out loud.

2. What is/are your favorite genre(s) of music?

I have an odd range: musical theatre, rock, indie, classical music, PIANO IS LIFE, ANYTHING AS LONG AS IT IS GOOD PIANO AT THE BEGINNING (usually starts with an A, idk why). Also, Lady Gaga and Beyonce. Hands down.

3. What was your first fandom?

Avatar: The Last Airbender. THE SERIES OKAY. A year after that was Harry Potter and Sherlock AT THE SAME TIME 2010 was a crazy year. Just like that, since I was eleven years old, I went down the road to fandom hell.

4. What is a play/musical/opera/etc. (basically any fictional work that’s not a book, movie, comic, or TV show) you like?

BOY YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN UGHGHGH ILL JUST PUT MY TOP SIX

Spring Awakening, Next to Normal, In the Heights. (I listen to the full album completely. The music is divine and the stories are beautiful. You got a story about sex, a story about mental illness, and a story about Hispanics). Spring Awakening’s and Next to Normal’s rock + violin music in a setting of 1800′s Germany and a typical family house, gets me on, ya know?

Sweeney Todd, Wicked, and Rent. (The typical classics I love, note that whenever Sweeney Todd’s Prologue and Wicked’s As Long as You’re Mine starts, I get orgasms just as much when the peak of Rent’s Goodbye Love goes). Great songs, seriously.

5. If you could get paid for doing a mundane task, what would you choose to get paid for?

Organising files.

6. What is a joke you really like?

My death.

7. If you had to have a job working under a fictional character, which character would you choose to be your boss and why?

Sherlock. He would know how to take care of me. He would know how to make me feel better. He has great work ethics, and he knows when to be harsh with his words and gentle, because he knows which people are deserving to be called idiots and those who are just insecure. Though I’ll probably annoy him because of how nervous I’d be but since “Faith Smith” I’d think he’d know how to deal with me, I guess.

8. What article of clothing is your favorite to wear (i.e., dresses, skirts, pants, suits, hats, jewelry, etc.)?

A gold necklace my grandmother gave to me because out of all my cousins (or our generation in our lineage), I’m the first one she gave an “inheritance” to because I happen to be her roommate. Considering that I am the dumbest in the family as well as the family freak, I consider this as my sole victory.

9. Do you consider yourself to be an optimist, a pessimist, or something else entirely?

A total pessimist. An optimist to those who are feeling pessimistic. In my head, there is nothing but hopelessness, despair, and utter misery and pain. But homie, you say shit like that to me? You tell me you are feeling those? Yo, imma throw my rainbows and sunshine up your ass, you are gonna vomit glitter and light, I swear to all deities out there.

I may claim to say that I’m like this because I’m the only one who should be pessimistic, like I’m some narcissistic the-world-revolves-around-me idiot because I don’t like being depicted as anything else but manipulative, cruel, and an arsehole. So please stop telling me I’m nice or that I’m a good person. It makes me feel weird. They’re like unnatural things to say to me.

10. Feelings on cats?

Tolerable. My sister loves them. My school has cats just chilling around. They love me idk why. I love dogs more so I’m surprised they let me in their pack.

11. Favorite soda (or beverage in general if you don’t like soda)?

ALL MY FRIENDS KNOW OF MY WILD ADDICTION TO COCA-COLA.

—oOo—

MY QUESTIONS:

1. Are you feeling okay right now?

2. What is the funniest thing you have ever first-hand witnessed/experienced in real life?

3. Who is/are the most important person/people in your life and why?

4. What is a memory that wouldn’t fail to make you smile like an idiot while you’re in public?

5. How did you come to your current obsession?

6. Why do you ship your OTP (either real-life or fiction)?

7. Let’s pretend speed and distance (lol basically velocity), and quality are the same, would you rather be in a plane or a ship in a storm where there are many lightnings and thunder involved in December?

8. What is the object that is most sentimental to you?

9. If you could be in any fictional world, which one would you explore, and will you or will you not interact with your favourite character? Why or why not?

10. What animal do you most relate to or you consider to be your spirit animal? Why or why not?

11. How do you define the word, “Happiness”?

Tags: @thank-you-for-being-with-me @sentimentalgenius @addignisherlock @randombiochemist @simpleanddestructivechemistry @its-sentimental-adlock @themissadventurer @sorrowsflower @throughtheparadox @theleftpill No pressure, guys! Also to anyone who wants to answer, too! I even tag those who tagged me.

#personal #tag thingies #i love dem tag thingies

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tyranttortoise · 7 years

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Fam. Fam. Why must you hurt me with the soulmates thing? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF IT WERE FRISK AND SANS THO YEAH WELL I DID & now I dislike myself ._. Ples imma just think of the two as soulmates T_T

I’ve had this drabble in my drafts for a week now, and I just realized I never posted it. So have some Frans soulmate happiness-with-a-dash-of-angst.

Frisk is gendered and aged-up. If that’s not your cup of tea, keep scrolling.

The first time he felt the Resonance was when Snow Drake had Confronted her on the path to Snowdin, calling out the floating red SOUL into existence. The moment he saw the color, he balked, momentarily caught off-guard. None of the other humans he’d seen possessed a SOUL of pure Determination.

Her SOUL was the most powerful in the entire Underground, and yet… she chose to laugh at Snow Drake’s ice pun, making him feel validated enough to continue on with a sharp smirk on his beak. The human waved him farewell and continued forward, while Sans pressed the heel of his palm to his sternum.

There was a pull between their SOULs… but that was impossible. She was a teenage girl, someone who he had promised to protect. But even with that promise hanging in the air, he couldn’t bring himself to let her out of his sight. He consoled himself with the constant reminder of the promise, of the fact that Toriel was a name that carried considerable weight (even if the old lady had never admitted her royal standing out-loud), of the fact that he was doing a favor for a dear friend by watching over this human as she joked, flirted, and hugged her way through Confrontation after Confrontation.

He told himself that he was watching her progress as a Judge–that he was waiting for her to slip-up, to reveal her true nature as a human and attack one of them.

It had nothing to do with the ache in his chest whenever she progressed without him. Nothing at all.

The first time he acknowledged the possibility of the Soul Resonance being real was when he was staring at her across from the table at the MTT Resort restaurant. The candlelight flickered between them, casting shadows on his face, emphasizing his hollow sockets while he idly threatened her. It also made the tears rapidly gathering in her gaze look like glitter.

He felt a pang in his chest, one that had him clenching his jaw and tightening his fists in his pockets. He tried to play it off–even tried to allude to the fact that he knew of the power that existed in her SOUL–but it still made him feel like garbage.

“i’m rootin’ for ya, kid.”

He winked and took a short-cut, even as he could hear her chair scraping across the floor, her voice calling out to him, cracking on his name. Sans stood in the alleyway, his fingers balled in the front of his T-shirt, and clinked the back of his skull against the brick.

Soulmates with a human? A human that could bend the rules with Determination alone, no less, and one that was also Determined to go home. One that would probably end up killing their king and using the power of his SOUL to pass through the barrier and out of his life forever.

Yeah, Sans had that kind of luck.

The first time he admitted the Resonance was actually real–that they were actually soulmates–was when she smiled at him while they stood on the cliffs, gazing at the setting sun of the Surface. It had been the first time any of the monsters had seen the sun, the first time their sight had to adjust to something other than fire magic, magical crystals, luminescent foliage, or lava. Sans couldn’t believe it; after so many failed experiments, so many timeline loops (which he couldn’t remember much of, other than the fact that they gave him a general distrust toward flowers), so much Hopelessness…

A single human teen had managed to befriend nearly every monster in the Underground and subsequently break the barrier to release them from beneath the mountain.

She looked so radiant, features cast in hues that he’d never even seen Underground. Her smile was bright, spread even wider than his own grin, and while Toriel proudly set a paw on the human’s back, Frisk reached out and gripped the sleeve of his jacket.

“You’ve got a weird expression on your face, Sans,” she murmured, trying not to be overheard by Toriel as the goat woman conversed with her ex.

Sans tried to amend his expression. "heh, guess you could say something just dawned on me.“

Frisk laughed, her fingers still lingering on his jacket. Did she feel it, too? Could humans feel the connection like he could?

“Pretty sure the sun’s setting.”

“welp, that’s a downer.”

She laughed harder, and he finally gave in and let himself feel the Resonance without trying to fight it. This human–his human, the possessive part of his mind whispered–had managed to do the impossible.

She’d given him HoPe again.

[ R E S E T ]

Does she remember the life they had together on the Surface? The years they spent together– gone?

Is she even in there?

The hardest thing Sans ever had to do was to watch her stride through the Underground, wearing that empty smile. It didn’t belong on her face. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, and even though he tried so hard to get her to turn back, she refused.

She was Determined.

He didn’t want to stop her.

But once she went through Papyrus, he knew that wasn’t her.

Like a coward, he watched her until the end, grieving the loss of both his soulmate and his brother. He should have stopped her. One bone straight through the chest, before her LOVE was too high…

But he couldn’t. Not when his SOUL felt like it was being ripped in two.

Bathed in golden light, he stood across from her, just as he had before. The last time, he had been so proud of her, so amazed at her progression, but this time…

He warned her; he searched for any sign of the girl he loved in those crimson eyes. She twirled the knife in her palm, her skin caked with grit and dust.

“c'mon, frisk.”

MISS

“do you remember me? please, if you’re listening… let’s just forget all of this.”

MISS

Over and over, he watched that little crimson SOUL shatter. He begged. He pleaded. He lost track of the times she was impaled or incinerated.

“i know you feel my soul. there’s no way you don’t.”

MISS

The bite was gone from her shoulder, wiped clean from the RESET, but the Resonance was still there. And every time he watched his soulmate’s SOUL shatter, he felt like he lost a piece of himself. It became a gnawing pain, one that made his voice raw, his bones rattle, his wit crumble.

“please come back to me.”

The knife flashed, and a bone jutted through her shoulder. The tip of the knife dug between two of his ribs. He was grimacing, tempted to just rock forward on his heels and give up entirely, but…

The expression she was wearing…!

Frisk was crying, her trembling fingers unfurling from the knife’s handle. Its clatter was deafening as it echoed in the Judgement Hall.

“I’m…s-so…sorry, I… I couldn’t…” She could barely speak, but Sans hushed her by dismissing the bone and cradling her against his chest.

“shh. shhh, it’s ok.”

They both stayed like that, huddled in the corridor together, openly sobbing. An eternity stretched before Frisk finally wiped her blotchy face on his hoodie and pulled back. "I’m going to RESET. If I… If it’s not me this time… Please…“

Sans nodded slightly; he knew what she was asking him to do. "i’ll stop it before snowdin if i have to.”

She sighed in relief and cradled his cheekbone against her palm. He could smell the dust. She pressed her lips to his teeth, and he could taste the saltiness of her tears. Her hand began to tremble, so he reached up and covered it with one of his.

“see ya soon, kiddo.”

“See you on the other side, Sans.”

[ R E S E T ]

“don’t you know how to greet an old pal?”

He could feel his bones rattling as he held his breath, waiting for her to turn around. Would she be covered in dust and wearing that smile?

Frisk whirled around and bypassed his extended hand to throw her arms around his neck, clutching onto him like a lifeline. His arms wound around her, just as tight, and she could hear the sound of the whoopee cushion deflating against her back. Her giggles were watery, and she shook her head against his neck.

“You know how to kill a mood, huh?”

She winced as soon as the word kill registered, but Sans just grinned and winked. ”farting is such sweet sorrow, kid.“

Frisk snorted. "You dork.” Her tone was affectionate as she hugged him again, burying her face in the side of his neck. He lowered his head to her shoulder, grazing his teeth lightly over where his mark would soon be.

She went through the familiar motions, befriending everyone while he watched over her from the sidelines. With every Confrontation, he felt that familiar fear well up in his chest… a feeling of deja vu that made him wonder if that last timeline had happened more than once.

He didn’t threaten her at the MTT restaurant; instead, they had a meal, and he even got on stage to tell a few jokes. Her smile (the genuine smile he knew, not the one that didn’t reach those empty eyes) made his SOUL soar. They skipped the Judgement Hall altogether–Sans took her through a shortcut instead.

Then, they ended up standing on top of the mountain again, watching the sun set. Uncertainly chilled him, even as the sunlight cast a warm, orange glow over his pale bones. This was the second time she had done the impossible.

(No, the third. The second time she did the impossible was when she caused them to end up Underground again. He was too terrified of the answer to ask her why she did it yet.)

And then a hand brought him out of his somber thoughts. Finger slipped down his arm, into the pocket where his fist was buried. Like so many times before, Frisk laced her fingers with his, and Sans’s eyelights shifted over to her. The sweater slipped away from her shoulder slightly–just enough for him to see the healing bite there, marking her as his.

“gotta hand it to ya, frisk. you know just what to do.”

The stirring in his SOUL quelled as he squeezed her hand.

Her grin was lop-sided. “I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it dawned on me that should touch you.”

“c’mon, i set you up for that one, and you recycled my garbage joke.”

“I’ll give you that.” Her smile brightens, and Sans chuckles. After their amusement dies down, he searches her gaze, but sees no trace of the other entity. He decides it doesn’t matter. Their SOULs are bound, interwoven too tightly for that threat to break them apart. If he has to relieve the same loop over and over, he’ll do it.

It’s worth the uncertainty if it means he’ll get to keep spending these moments with her, forever.

*Mobile Imagine Masterlist

#beeswaxdraws #frisk #sans #undertale #frans #gendered frisk #female frisk #soulmates #soul resonance

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cathygeha · 5 years

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REVIEW

Handle With Care by Helena Hunting

Shacking Up #5 Couldn’t put it down...nope...no way...no how! Wren Sterling is a “handler” of people and situations they create. Her job is to keep the PR positive even when the person responsible for messes deserves to take a hit. Having worked for awhile to clean up Armstrong Moorehead’s messes and try to control his antics she is asked to take on the other brother – Lexington. With the goal of starting her own business and the job lucrative enough to perhaps do so...she signs on the dotted line. Lexington is NOT like his brother and has managed to distance himself from the dysfunctional family he was born into...until his father dies suddenly and the will is read. With a plea from G-Mom to help run the media company and no way to say no he settles in to see what has happened and needs to happen to keep the company going and perhaps thrive again. Wren’s meet-cute with Lexington was...interesting and the hook that started the book. The next one had to do with an interesting situation involving a breeze and a skirt flying up and from there on this book had me smiling and caring and laughing and sometimes wanting to pound on a few of the family members Lexington had to contend with. And, that secret apartment that is found and the mystery that unearths is...VERY interesting. I am now wondering if perhaps a person introduced near the end of the book will get a story of her own – I do Hope so ;) As for Armstrong...I have no idea if there is ANY hope for him but perhaps there is a woman somewhere in the world that can redeem him...or perhaps not. The chemistry between Wren and Lexington was definitely there and when they acted upon it...oh my! I so enjoyed reading their scenes together. I found them both intelligent, warm, caring and just the sort of people I would like to be friends with. Did I enjoy this book? Definitely! Would I like to read more in this series? Without a doubt Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Paperbacks – This is my honest review. 5 Stars

Synopsis:

New York Times bestselling author of SHACKING UP and I FLIPPING LOVE YOU Helena Hunting mixes humor and heart in this scandal-filled romantic comedy.

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

Buy-Book Link:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250183996

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

WREN

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway. 

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.” 

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

 He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles. 

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”  

“No booze?” 

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

 He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”

He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles. 

“Thanks.”

 The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.” 

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

AUTHOR BIO

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Q&A – with Helena Hunting

Q: Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care?

A: Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye.

Q: Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each characters best and worst traits?

A: I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption.

Q: What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward?

A: Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun.

Q: Which do you find easiest to write-the humor or the heart?

A: Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again.

Q: Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing?

A: I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed.

Q: What did you edit OUT of this book?

A: A lot of f-bombs.

Q: Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing?

A: I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husbands list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favorite.

Q: When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally?

A: The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book.

Q: What do you like to do when you aren't writing?

A: I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there.

Q: Name three things on your desk right now.

A: Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover.

Q: What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

A: The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one!

Q: To get to know you a little bit better... do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?

A: I have two cats, Digit is a 14 year old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6 year old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table.

Q: You've written many books & bestsellers, in many genres. What has been your favorite to write thus far?

A: That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine.

Q: What was your favorite book or series in your youth?

A: I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, bery different!

Q: What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story?

A: That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them.

Q: What is your favorite platform to connect with your reader to date?

A: I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HelenaHuntingBeaverDen/

Q: What project(s) are you currently working on?

A: I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years!

Q: Do you believe in love at first sight?

A: I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.

#Helena Hunting #Shacking Up 5 #St. Martin's Paperbacks #Contemporary Romance #NetGalley

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