#it’s german that I’m getting all my point from and that’s Maybe cheating because I already spoke it but like. they do test for what level so

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Irresistible {6} || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader, Max Verstappen x fem!reader Summary: Gossiping drivers, alcohol and Charlotte. What could possibly go wrong? Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst, cheating, kind of taboo (future stepbrother) WC: 4.9k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Three weeks ago there had been an anonymous complaint raised about your presence in the paddock when you were nothing more than a spectator. Apparently an emotional support animal wasn’t an acceptable reason to travel with Charles and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who laid the complaint.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Charles asked as you placed a plate of food in front of him. 

“I’m getting paid to do what I would normally do anyway,” you pointed out once again. “And dad said I needed to get a job.”

You had been hired by Ferrari to work in the hospitality building; running food orders, making drinks, tidying the driver’s rooms. Okay, maybe the job was more than you would normally do, but not by much. At least you were kept busy and boredom no longer plagued you. 

“I didn’t realise you needed the money,” he murmured as he stabbed a seasoned chicken breast with his fork. His credit card in your handbag was yours to use however you wanted, he had assured you of that time and time again, and it was the only reason his apartment was furnished so brightly. You could never have done that on the measly savings in your bank account. 

“I don’t, but I’m not going back to Monaco on my own.” That was the consequence if you didn’t become an employee, at least while the Covid restrictions were in place. 

“Hmm, god knows what trouble you would get up to there on your own,” he chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Something had been off about him all morning, but you knew he would talk about it when he was ready so you let it drop.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you said with a wink as you leaned closer and laid a napkin on his lap. “I believe you called me a good girl just last night.”

You left the dining area before he could respond and met Sebastian at the beverage station. He was another of the drivers you had befriended, though much like he was to Charles, it was more in a father-figure role. The German was a gentle soul and you always had time for him, even when he called you out for the feelings you thought you were able to conceal in public.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” he commented as you made his coffee - double shot espresso with a dollop of froth, no sugar. 

“You obviously need this coffee to wake you up, Bassy, you are clearly dreaming,” you said as you placed it in front of him and showed your bare arms. “I have no sleeves.”

Sebastian smiled as he lifted the cup to his lips, the words entertaining him but not fooling him. “There is a little get together tonight with some of the other drivers. I think everyone is feeling a little isolated from society right now and could do with socialising. You should come.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug because you weren’t sure if Charles would be one of those other drivers, he hadn’t mentioned anything to you. “Maybe, it depends how busy I am picking up your dirty laundry.”

“My wife trained me well, maybe you are thinking of the wrong room.” He placed the empty mug down and departed with a wink. 

The rest of the day passed quickly and you made yourself comfortable in Charles’ room while you waited for him to finish his media duties. It wasn’t unexpected that he took longer since it was the first of the two Italian GPs, he had given you warning that the team’s homerace would be more hectic. Pierre was the first to invite himself in, lounging on the other seat wanting to know the gossip around the paddock. 

“Don’t lie, I know the best gossip comes from the kitchens,” he begged when you said there was nothing of interest. 

“What can I say? Everyone is tight lipped after Nora and Damien caught covid.”

That had been the hottest gossip of the week because Nora was from Renault and Damien from Racing Point. Both teams were still arguing over who gave it to who and there were talks of suspension because they were sneaking into each other’s rooms instead of isolating. 

“Ah bon,” he huffed. “Are you coming tonight?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to ask Charles what the plan is,” you answered as you checked your phone again to see no messages and the afternoon was dragging. “What is taking him so long?”

“You’re waiting here for him?” Pierre frowned as he sat up a little straighter. “He was heading back to the hotel after he finished, he had to go pick up Charlotte from the airport.”

You tried to police your face but from the pity on Pierre’s it was clear you failed to hide the disappointment, shock and betrayal. Charles had been quieter in the last few days but everything you asked what was wrong he said nothing and then distracted you.

“Sorry, I thought you knew and that’s why you were still hiding out here.” He stood up and reached into the pocket of his Toro Rosso jacket to grab his car keys. “Wanna catch a ride with me?”

You didn’t really want to go back to the hotel room you had been sharing with Charles but had no idea where else you could go. You definitely needed to change out of the Ferrari uniform you wore but you didn’t want to see Charlotte if you could help it. Why was she even here?

“I don’t know, but from his mood I’m guessing Charles didn’t invite her.”

You didn’t realise you had asked that aloud and you concentrated on your shoes as you stood up and followed him out to the carpark. You almost asked him to turn around and take you back to the paddock but there would probably be more gossip spread if you slept in Charles’ driver’s room instead of the hotel.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said as you stepped out of Pierre’s car. 

“No problem. Text me if you want a ride to the party.”

You weren’t exactly in the mood to party but the idea of liquor was growing on you so you said maybe and departed. Walking into the hotel, you passed the designer stores that lined the first two floors and felt the black credit card calling, but it was probably the devil whispering in your ear. And not for the first time you listened. 

Charles checked his phone as he received another notification from his bank. One part of him was pleased to know you were at least near the hotel since the charges were to the shops below, but a larger part was sick knowing you were lashing out because of the message he had left in your room down the hall. 

The shower turned off as his phone vibrated again and a bitter laugh bubbled at the $50k debit he saw for Prada before Charlotte appeared from the bathroom. There was a time before you showed up back in his life where he found her beautiful but now he could only imagine your face when he held her. He really had to do something about this because no matter how disinterested or rude he was, she ignored it to remain in his life. Looking away as she reached the bed, he returned his focus to his phone and sent a message to the person he actually wanted to be with.

The hotel room was silent when you finally built up the courage to leave the shops and take the elevator to the higher floors. The housekeepers had swept through and placed everything back where it belonged except for one square sheet of hotel-embossed paper.

Charlotte is here so I will be staying with her for the week. I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you in person. Love, Charles x

You sneered at the paper as your phone vibrated. “Love, my ass.”

Charles: Ma biche, if you are trying to bankrupt me you are going to have to do better than that. 

You: I just want to look good for the party tonight. Never know who I might take back to my room.

You slammed the stack of receipts down beside the note and went to see that his bags were gone from the bedroom. Your lip curled back in disgust and you tore the protective sheath off the little black dress you had purchased with his money. If he was going to be a coward then he would suffer the consequences of it. You were sick of waiting for them to break up, maybe their delusions for a perfect image actually made them perfect for each other.

Charles slammed his phone onto the bedside drawer and pushed Charlotte’s advancing hands away. “I’m not in the mood.”

Rolling her eyes, she settled amongst the pillows and crossed her arms. “You’re never in the mood anymore.”

“Whatever, just get dressed,” Charles ordered as he kicked his suitcase over before unzipping it and grabbing a clean set of clothes. “We’re going out.”

“I just got here.”

“So? It’s a party.” He didn’t even glance her way as he pulled his Ferrari shirt over his head and replaced it with a plain white t-shirt before moving onto his jeans. 

“Will Y/N be there?”

Charles’ foot caught in the legging and he nearly tipped over. “I don’t know,” he lied.

Charlotte knew him well enough to know when he was lying, or telling half truths - those were almost as common as breathing to him lately. 

–

Since social gatherings were frowned upon, the group had met in a large field that the motorhomes parked in near the Monza track. A roughly cut metal oil drum glowed with a fire and golden embers floated off into the evening light as you navigated your way in new heels to the circle of couches around it. 

“I think I overdressed,” you joked to Pierre as a dozen pairs of eyes flickered your way. There was no denying that you looked amazing, but you were more suited for the red carpet than a backyard bonfire. You should have gone with jeans and a shirt like Pierre wore when he picked you up.

“I think you look beautiful,” Max said with a smile as he shifted on his seat to make space for you. “You can sit here.”

You returned the smile and carefully stepped over the legs outstretched to warm by the fire. One pair of eyes burned into you but you pointedly ignored him as he sat opposite the flames with Charlotte on his lap. You stood in front of Max and put your hands on your hips as you cocked an eyebrow at the narrow space between him and the armrest. 

“I have caught you checking out my ass enough times, Verstappen, you know it’s not going to fit there,” you said with a smirk. 

An annoyed humph came from beyond the flames and Charles started to push Charlotte to her feet. “I’ll get you a seat.”

“She can sit here,” Max reiterated as he spread his legs back to get comfortable in his chair and patted his thigh.

“Mate…”

“Such a gentleman.” You turned on your heel, meeting the furious Monegasque whose eyes reflected the fire that was burning within him too. You held his steely gaze as you lowered yourself down onto Max’s lap, feeling the form fitting dress that barely covered your thighs ride even higher. 

“I didn’t think so many of you guys would actually be here,” you said as you draped an arm over Max’s shoulder to help balance on your perch. His arm curled around your back so his hand rested lazily on your hip and his eyes darted to Charles, the blue hue almost screaming at him, ‘what a fool’. 

“I only came for you,” Max admitted as he tore his eyes away to look at you. Those eyes narrowed and he brushed he cupped your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You’re wearing makeup. Why?”

You frowned, wondering if maybe the makeup artist had done a terrible job and Max shook his head. “You look beautiful,” he assured you as he saw the worry-lines crease your forehead. “You always look beautiful, but you don’t need makeup, schat.”

 You didn’t correct him on the endearment and he seemed to take it as a victory as his smile grew wider. Maybe you would have reminded him of the rules on friendship before the interruption, or maybe you would have just tucked the wayward strand of dirty blonde hair back where it had fallen over his face. 

“I’m glad you made it,” Seb said, breaking the tension as he leaned over a cooler and offered a bottle of Jagermeister. “You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled as you cracked the cap off. “You could have given me a little more information about this ‘party’.”

“Where is the fun in that?” Kimi muttered to himself as he sipped vodka from a teacup. The white china and blue glaze depicted an ancient scene and you stared at it as you took a swig straight from the bottle. Disgust screwed up your face at the taste before shivering, making both of the older men laugh. 

“Ugh, I’ll take the rocket fuel please.” You didn’t give Kimi a chance to pull away as you stole the teacup and handed him the dark green bottle instead, though you were sure with those driver reflexes he could have moved if he wanted to. “That’s better,” you sighed as you tasted the drink to find it was a vodka lemonade mix. “I thought you would drink this stuff straight.”

“I’m not Russian,” he said as he jutted his chin across to Daniil who was in fact drinking pure vodka with Daniel, though the latter was coughing thanks to it. Reaching into the cooler, glass and ceramic clattered before he settled back into his foldout lawn chair with another china teacup that you didn’t bother to question.

Conversations between the drivers flowed, voices cresting and receding with the topics they were passionate about. Your stomach sloshed with alcohol and your body relaxed against Max’s, his smile growing when you rested your cheek on his head as you listened to him talk about the first thing he would do when the restrictions were lifted. It was to go to his friend’s concert, Martin Garrix to be specific.

“No fucking way,” Pierre laughed. “Not this again!”

You lifted your head and peered across the circle to where George and Alex were arguing over the suggested game of Truth or Dare.

“What are you? Prepubescent teenagers?” you teased as Alex took a pro-stance on playing. 

“No, Lando only looks it,” George joked.

“Hey!” The young McLaren driver spluttered with an indignant laugh. “Rude.”

“Leave little Lando alone. He got his first pube just last week,” Daniel chimed in before adding, “I’ll play. Max?”

Max shrugged with a quiet, “Sure.”

Alex grinned wider and elbowed George. “See, it’s fun.”

The younger half of the drivers around the circle started the game, daring each other to do silly little things that their PR teams would frown at or confiding the secrets they answered for a truth. Your ribs hurt from laughing until Daniel called your name. 

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you replied just so you didn’t have to get up from your cosy spot on Max’s lap. 

“Have you kissed a driver here?”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed on you through the flames and you grinned at Daniel as you combed your fingers into the short hair at Max’s nape. “Yes.”

“Who?” Daniel looked at Max, Pierre and Charles before returning to Max.

Your head tipped back with a laugh. “That’s not how the game works, Danny. It’s not your turn anymore. It’s mine. Max?”

“Hmm, yes?” he hummed as he looked into your eyes.

“Truth or dare?”

He debated the option for a moment before exhaling. “Dare.”

“I dare you to take me out.”

“You didn’t need a game for that,” he chuckled. “When?”

“Breakfast, tomorrow.” You leaned in and brushed your lips over his cheeks that flushed pink an instant after you whispered in his ear. “We could even make it breakfast in bed.”

You hadn’t noticed Charles had left his seat until you heard his voice beside you, plonking himself down on the cooler while he sparked up a pointless conversation with Seb. 

“Charles, truth or dare?” Max asked, noticing how still your body went and the stiffening of your spine. 

Charles turned slowly, his eyes drifting over the space where your body met Max’s and a sneer tugged at his lips. “I don’t play childish games.”

“Just the adult kind, right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said with that innocent smile that had fooled you. 

“Of course you don’t.” Max turned his attention to the fire pit and the woman sitting on her own, attempting to hold an air of carefree relaxation despite her gaze always returning to you with a scowl. “Charlotte, truth or dare?”

“Max.” You jumped at the sharp bite to Charles’ reprimand but Max didn’t even glance his way as he waited for the woman to choose.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to finish Kyvat’s drink.”

Pierre’s teammate grinned as he offered the tumbler that was half full of vodka. To give her credit, she only winced with the first swallow but she downed the spirit and cocked an eyebrow that challenged Max, is that all you have for me?

A cruel smile tipped up and she licked the drop of alcohol that clung to her lips, the burn of the vodka quickly hitting her veins and travelling to her head. “My turn.”

Charles abandoned his conversation when Charlotte called your name and the slight shake of his head warned you not to answer. 

But he had pissed you off.

“Truth.”

The choice echoed around the circle as everyone fell silent. Pressure brewed like a lightning storm approaching and everyone felt the charged atmosphere.

Charlotte closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them, staring you dead in the eye as she found the courage she had been missing for months. “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend?”

Max’s fingers stopped drawing abstract circles on your hip and Charles burst to his feet. “Charlotte!”

“What? It’s just a game, Cha,” she replied with a bland look of boredom. 

“It’s not appropria-”

“3 years,” you cut him off, your eyes never leaving hers. If she wanted the truth then she could have it. “The 8th of August 2017, if you want to count the precise days.”

“What?” Confused murmurs broke around the fire.

“Oh, shit,” Pierre laughed as he looked closer at you then to his friend who had frozen still. “She’s that chick you hooked up with at Jimmyz?”

Charles dragged a hand down his face but ended it with a nod before turning to his girlfriend. “It was before us, mon amour.” 

The way he said it made it appear it was only before they got together, ever the liar, and even you rolled your eyes.

“So you two…and your parents…” Kimi whistled before keeping his mouth busy with a drink. He was quietly enjoying the brimming heat too much for someone nicknamed the Iceman.

“My father was out getting a haircut-“

“-at my mother’s salon-“

“-when we met. I guess they kept in contact after we left.”

Charles turned his attention to Charlotte but she was already storming her way across the field. With a sigh, he made his way after her and you wondered if it was finally the day that you had been holding out for, the one where she would dump him. 

“She should have asked when you last fucked him.” The words were a whisper in your ear as everyone else returned to their own conversations, the game clearly over, but you knew those conversations were about you. Max sensed your discomfort, though even a blind man would have been able to see it. “Want to get out of here?”

“You still want to go somewhere with me?” It seemed unbelievable that he hadn’t thrown you off his lap.

“Everyone has a history,” Max said with a shrug. “I don’t care about your past…just your future.”

You left without a goodbye under the watchful eye of Seb but you didn’t miss the elbow George gave Alex, muttering sarcastically, “Oh yeah, let’s play truth or dare, he said, it will be fun, he said.”

“I didn’t know that was going to happen.” The angry whisper of a reply followed your departure and it seemed Alex was the only one too innocent to see what had been in front of them all along. 

Charles' car was already missing from the makeshift parking lot and you slipped into the passenger seat of Max’s Aston Martin before he closed the door for you. 

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know, can we just drive? I feel like a fucking idiot,” you laughed bitterly. All the memories made with Charles seemed to crumble like sandcastles with the tide as you remembered how he had chased after her. He always did, and it seemed he always would. Actions screamed louder than words. “He’s really not who I thought he was.”

“I’ve known Charles most of his life and I don’t think he even knows who he is,” Max said as he laced his fingers with yours and headed to the city. “Are you hungry?”

“No, but I have a full mini bar that is getting billed to Charles. Want to help me empty it?”

Max shared a conspiratorial grin as he headed to the hotel and when you walked past Charles’ room down the hall, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“What are you doing?” Max asked with a laugh as you hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the front door. You closed the door and leant against it, Max’s eyes following the curve of the Chanel dress, down the length of your legs to the Prada shoes and back up to the Bvlgari diamond necklace that accentuated the valley of your breasts.

“Making sure this party doesn’t get crashed.” 

—

It was a miracle there had been no complaint made as you turned the stereo up and pretended you knew how to mix drinks. 

“Max!” You fell into a fit of laughter as he poured four of the miniature gin bottles into the cocktail shaker, adding it to the three bottles of vodka you had put in. “That is pure alcohol.” 

He shook the container and poured the clear liquid into two glasses, spilling some as he reached the same level of drunkenness as you. “No, it’s just water. Here, taste it.” He tipped his glass back, his face pinching before he blew out a burst of burning air from his throat and spluttered a cough. “Mhmm, good water that.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk,” you shouted over the pounding in your head, but you knocked the drink back anyway. 

“You’re already drunk,” he countered, dropping into the couch and pulling you down with him. Empty bottles littered the coffee table and the dining table, the expensive mini bar almost empty. “I’m just keeping you that way.”

You settled on his lap and fingered the dirty blonde hair that was longest at the top of his head. “Is that so you can have your way with me?”

His eyes danced over your body, lingering on your thighs as your dress barely covered them. “No, schat,” he said with a small shake of his head as he cupped your face. “When I have you I want you to know that you chose me, clear headed and completely sober. Even if I really just want to fucking kiss you right now.”

You drew your lip between your teeth at the thought and his blue eyes darkened with envy. “We could just kiss?” you suggested as you shifted to straddle his hips.

“I don’t think it would be that easy to just stop there.”

“Fine.” Your hands stroked the column of his neck, feeling the cords of muscle that tensed under your touch before you traced his collarbones with your thumbs. “Truth or dare?”

He inhaled sharply and tipped his head back, watching intently as you popped the first button on his shirt and opened the collar wider. He didn't appear to breathe as you kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. He exhaled, knowing what you wanted to hear, “Dare.”

Your teeth grazed his racing pulse and he shuddered beneath you before you pulled back. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Perhaps it took having the flame of Charles extinguished for you to feel the spark of Max because this time when he pulled you close and captured you with a kiss you felt that spark ignite. 

—

You looked around the parking lot seeing all the other mothers dropping their children off for the first day of school. They all kissed their kids on the cheeks after a tight hug and said their goodbyes, complete with teary I love you’s. Confused, you frowned at the large hand that gripped your school bag and followed the arm up to your father. 

“Daddy, why isn’t my mummy here?”

He had known the question was coming, he just didn’t think it would be from his five year old. He thought he had more time to prepare as he dropped to one knee and held your hands. “Your mother was sick and she needed to leave so she could get better.”

“But she never came back.”

“Sometimes, that’s what’s for the best.” He kissed your forehead and draped your backpack over your shoulders, the weight more than just the lunchbox and books it carried. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I will always be here for you, pumpkin.”

You woke in a cold sweat and felt the haunting thought the dream had inspired linger in your brain as you slipped out of the sheets. Beside you, Max slept soundly with one hand buried under a pillow and the other stretched across the bed as if he was searching for you. 

You didn’t regret sleeping with Max, though part of you felt he surely would, and you watched his back rise and fall a few times as you dressed. You were busy trying to write a note, tearing off each piece that failed to convey what you wanted to say and balling it up, that you didn’t hear Max’s footsteps. You jumped in surprise as his hands came to rest on your hips and his lips teased the same sweet spot beneath your ear that he had found last night. 

“Going somewhere?” he asked as he saw your bags by the door and he saw the latest attempt of a note. Max, thank you for last night. How about a raincheck on our-

“I think it's time to go home,” you admitted as you turned in his arms and draped yours around his neck. “Because the next time we do this, I want you to know that I chose you, clear headed and completely sober.”

He chuckled, surprised you could remember what he said. Then his own hungover haze lifted and he realised what else you said. “Next time?”

“I still want you to take me to breakfast,” you assured him with a smile. “How about you call me when you’re back in Monaco?”

“It’s a date.” He tipped your head back and kissed you with the same passion that left your toes curling and your body warmed with the memory of how that kiss had led to much more last night. But Max was sober and more in control of himself as he reluctantly broke away first.  “Do you want me to take you to the airport?”

“No, thank you, I’m going to drive back. Take a bit of time to myself and figure my shit out.”

Max frowned. “You don’t have a car.”

“Yet,” you said with a wink. “But if the offer for a ride is still on the table…there is somewhere you can drop me off.”

—

Charles woke to a call from his bank and he swallowed deeply as he listened to the request to release $250k to a dealership. There was only one reason you would buy a car and the thought left him feeling empty as the bed he woke up alone in. It was a surprise there was no noise complaint after the argument he had with Charlotte, the one where he snapped and broke things off. She had left in a rage and he didn’t have the decency to ask where she went. 

He had gone to your room, his feet carrying him light on a breeze as he finally had what he wanted. But then he had seen the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and heard your laughter sneak through the panel of wood that separated him from where he should have been. 

Sitting up in bed, he wiped away the tears that had dried on his cheeks overnight. 

“Yes, allow the payment to proceed,” he muttered, though the sound of his voice was no longer one he recognised. 

Charles: Drive safe, ma biche x You: I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person.  Charles: I guess I deserved that.

Click here for the final chapter.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen imagine #f1 x reader

[bluudpop]

If you can’t hang - Sleeping With Sirens 

He/they Italy, WWII, uhh, cheating, Germany has a breakdown, Japan is a supportive friend, GerIta, ItaFra (is that their shipname...), you get the point

Slight NSFW warning, it mentions sex literally once in the second paragraph. :)

Feliciano knew what he was doing was wrong. A lot of things they did were very out of pocket, including being part of the Axis Powers, but everything he did was out of passion - it could even be considered selfish.

They joined the Axis for Ludwig, because he loves him. He destroyed their relationship without his lover’s knowledge because he bribed Francis with sex, just to get him into the Allies; but their reasoning behind this is that if the war goes on like this, Germany will fall completely. It’s already so close.

So really, he’s just trying to protect Ludwig, but at the same time, he’s going to hurt him severely. Thinking through their actions felt more painful than the action itself, and Feliciano knows they are to blame, but maybe if they just explain their intentions…Even if Ludwig gets angry, at least he’ll get the truth out, right?

Feliciano anxiously steps towards Ludwig’s room - Each step feeling heavier as he approaches, until he’s at the door. He knocks on it twice. Immediately, he hears the other man walking over to the door before it's opened; he looks surprised at how fearful Feliciano looks.

“Feliciano? What is it?” Ludwig can tell something was severely wrong by the way the Italian isn’t all over him, or how they didn’t yell “Germany!!” at his door instead of knocking. In fact, it was usually Kiku who knocked.

“I… I need to tell you something, please don’t scream at me, I’ve had enough of it from my own thoughts.” He fiddles with his sleeves, practically dying of anticipation. They know Ludwig is going to yell at them - that’s just how he does things. He never means any harm by it, but it is quite frightening. Even more so in the situation Feliciano has put them both in.

Ludwig steps out of the way to let the other into his room, and closes the door behind them. Feliciano sits on the bed and Ludwig sits on his office chair. “So?” He questions expectantly, observing the Italian’s unusual behaviour.

“I know you might just yell at me anyway, but I did something very bad, so I’d much prefer it if you didn’t, but…” Feliciano straightens his back, trying to gain the courage to say something. “I…I’m leaving the Axis. I, um, bribed France to let me in, because he’s the easiest for me to bribe, but…” They look up for a brief moment to see the German’s baffled expression; he was clearly hurt, but there is no going back now. “I did it… To protect you!”

There is a few moment’s silence, before Ludwig speaks up. “...How is this “protecting” me?” His tone is flat, and his voice is quiet. Now Feliciano is even more terrified; why wasn’t he yelling?

“If- If this war goes on, you’re going to die! The blood will all be on me and Kiku’s hands, and I’ll never forgive myself.” Tears start to drip down the Italian’s face, who hurriedly wipes them away with his sleeve. “You understand… Don’t you?”

Ludwig knows he’s right - he will fall if this all continues. But did he really have to do it like this? “Okay.” He clenches his fists. “Just leave.”

“Wait, no, I’ll take it back! I’ll stay in the Axis!” Feliciano tenses up, and lifts his hands a little in case he needs to defend himself.

“You said what you said, and I know you meant it.” The German’s voice rose in volume. “You’re so fucking selfish.”

“S- Selfish?!” Feliciano matches his volume and his voice cracks, but immediately regrets it when Ludwig slams his fist on the desk.

“You only care about how you’d feel if I died. What about how I feel, knowing you’re a traitor and a cheater?!” Ludwig stands up, and points to the door. “Get out!”

After a moment’s pause, Feliciano nods, hopping off of the bed. They shakily make their way towards the door, “I love you…” He whispers, leaving the room.

“And don’t even bother telling Kiku goodbye.” Ludwig crosses his arms angrily, watching the other leave. Once Feliciano successfully drags his pathetic self outside the house, the German collapses onto his bed. He knows he was right for making the other man leave, but hurting him back was painful.

Out of every possible way Feliciano could have left the Axis, why did he cheat on him with Francis? That Italian is smart, they know how to manipulate a situation whether they’re aware they can do that or not - and it just had to be some form of psychological warfare.

Now Ludwig is sure he and Kiku aren’t going to win, or stay in this war for long, now that Italy has left. In fact, Ludwig still has to tell him Feliciano walked out on them.

He sighs as he arrives at Kiku’s room, knocking on his door three times. After a moment, the Japanese man opens the door.

“Germany, hello.” He bows in greeting, but when he looks up at him, he notices how distressed he looks. “...Did something happen?”

Ludwig is a little surprised Kiku didn’t hear what happened - he was sure he was loud enough. “Italy left.” He averts his blue gaze to the floor.

Kiku’s eyes widen a little - he usually keeps a straight face anyway. “I am sorry. Why did he? Also, come in.” He lets Ludwig into his room.

Once Ludwig finishes explaining, he allows himself to cry in front of the other, who doesn’t really know how to comfort him. But also, how does he know he can trust Kiku, anyway? “I… I’m unsure of how to comfort you, but if it makes you feel any better, I do not plan on leaving.” Kiku looks down at the broken Germany on the floor of his room.

“That’s reassuring,” Ludwig whispers. “But Italy was…” He cuts himself off  with a sob - he can’t be dwelling on that past relationship. That bastard means nothing to him now.

“Maybe when the war is over, you can talk it over more. I do not think his intentions were all bad - they may not even love Francis the way they love you.” Kiku kneels down and pats Ludwig’s back, in an attempt to comfort him.

“I can’t… That idiot is so annoying anyway. I hate them.” He declares through sobs, not even sparing the other a glance. Kiku is a little surprised at his words, although he knows he doesn’t mean it. “You should rest for now. You can stay here if you would like.” The Japanese man offers, but Ludwig just shakes his head and stands up.

“Thank you, Japan. Goodnight.” Ludwig wipes his eyes with his wrist and walks out of the room, returning to his own room. All he can think about now is how much he “despises” Italy, and how he hopes for his downfall.

But truly, everyone can agree that he’s just severely hurt.

#hetalia #hws italy #aph italy #hws germany #aph germany #hws japan #aph japan #gerita #my writing #based on a thing my friend said yesterday #she said that italy cheating would make a great metaphor and i took that and RAN

[missnoirr]

What language are you learning though?

Started with Spanish but really I’m just doing German and the occasional Swedish now

#it’s german that I’m getting all my point from and that’s Maybe cheating because I already spoke it but like. they do test for what level so #Swedish was just for practicality reasons but it’s too Hard lmao #asks

[wolfish-trickster]

Liar

Word count: 1,9K

Warning: angst, kinda messy writing, bad grammar

Tag list:@gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

You were always a hopeful person. Trying to be positive no matter what. Seeing the good in people. Even in Loki.

You first met him in his glass cell in helicarier (a/n i have no idea how to spell it, it's that big flying thing in Avengers 1). You two talked and got to know eachother. He told you how his father lied to him, how Thanos tortured him and how he doesn't want to hurt anyone. You believed him. And promised him he will be okay.

Two years after the battle of New York you finally talked to your team mates. You made an entire power point presentation for Avengers to show them Loki is not evil anymore and they should at least give him a chance, like you did.

That's how you and Loki became close friends. Always spending time with the other one, talking about your interests, your cultures, books, movies, anything the both of you came up with.

You comforted him, when he had nightmares. He cuddled you when you watched horror movies and got scared.

He always came to you for advice and opinion and you were more than happy to help your best friend. He always hugged you afterwards as thanks.

Sometimes he even brought you a cake and some flowers, just because he 'felt like it'.

One rainy day he fall asleep on your lap in your room. As you played with his black silky hair you realized you don't view him as your best friend anymore. But as a crush. You felt a shy blush come up to your cheeks as you imagined how would it feel like to cuddle him whole night, to be held by him, kissed by him.

You caressed his cheek and hoped one day he would feel the same.

And as always, you became hopeful. You started to remember all those times he was very close with you, doing something only couples do (like the afore mentioned cuddling, falling asleep on your lap or even the freaking flowers) and hoping he is developing feelings for you.

You were wrong.

You remember that day clearly. It was nice and sunny outside. A perfect day for a walk in the park. You walked out from your room and started looking for Loki. You wanted to have a walk with him.

You heard some voices coming from the kitchen below. Including a velvety one you knew all too well.

You jumped down those 20 stairs. Voices got louder as you came closer. There was Loki and some woman in the kitchen. And nobody else. Your name fell from one of their mouth's.

Quiet as a mouse you stood behind the corner just outside the kitchen and listened.

"Don't tell me she's not annoying! She's practically your shadow and trails after you like a lost puppy. And not even a cute one!" the woman giggled. From her tone of voice you imagined her as a classical blond plastic fake gold digger. You expected Loki to stood up for you, like any good friend would.

He only chuckled. "You are right! She is always behind my back. So bothersome and clingy..." you heard gulping. Maybe they were drinking some alcohol. You prayed for him to be just drunk and not knowing what he's saying.

"So why do you keep her around so much?"

A moment of silence. "I don't really know. For fun, I suppose? She was only good for me to get out of prison. She's so naive to really think I am her friend it's hilarious!"

You couldn't breathe. You stood there like a statue. He was only manipulating you and playing with you. All this time.

Tears clouded your vision as you walked away from them. The whole world looked like a big grey blur to you.

You still went out. Better than stay in the same building with him. Sitting on a bench in the nearby park, listening to birds chirping and watching dogs play with their owners was somewhat comforting. The pain in your chest was still too big though. How could you trust someone who's a 'God of Mischief' or a 'Prince of Lies' of all people? He really did go out of his way to make you trust him, didn't he? All those gifts, hugs, hanging out, watching movies under one blanket. All of that was just him pretending. And you believed him.

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. You're friends with spies and trained soldiers, what if they're pretending just like him and they secretly love when you aren't with them? What if everytime you talk to them they secretly wish for you to shut up and leave? Paranoia and anxiety just won't leave you, will they?

"It will get better after high school they said," you stood up from the bench, "you will be more confident they said. My ass-" suddenly you tripped over a string and fell on your face. Your right cheek stung, your knees were scraped. As you were standing up a wet tongue started to lick your face. A golden retriever's way to greet you, apparently.

"Ollie, stop! I'm so sorry," the dog was yanked back by his leash. Ollie's owner held out his hand to help you stand up.

"It's okay. It's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going," you dusted your clothes when you were finally on your legs. Ollie was jumping up and down, still trying to lick your face. Even through your emotional pain you couldn't resist and smiled.

"He's still an untrained pup, sorry if he's bothering," the unknown man was trying to calm him down once again, but you stopped him.

"He's not bothering," you bent down and scratched behind his ears. "Hi there little fella, aren't you one cute boy? Yes you are," you scratched and caressed his fur.

"He is cute, but quite handful. Still I wouldn't exchange him for anyone in the world."

"Anyone?" you asked.

"Yeah, you see I got him when I found out my partner cheated on me. I felt so betrayed I thought I'll never trust anyone else again," he said and sat down on the bench you were previously sitting on. "Sorry, I'm telling way too much than I should."

"No, it's okay. I know exactly how you felt. Something similair happened to me too," you looked away sadly and stopped scratching Ollie's fur. "That's why you got a dog? To replace that somebody who was previously in your life?"

He nodded. "At first I though I needed a pet to distract myself from the pain, but in reality all I needed was a life long friend who will never betray me. And what's better than a man's best friend?" he hugged his goldie and he licked his face.

You smiled. Maybe that's what you need. A loyal dog to keep you company. To give you emotional support through cuddles and to never leave you or lie to you. Unlike certain someone.

You chatted with him for few more minutes and then made your way to the nearest dog shelter.

*

The cutest little fluffy german shepherd was dozing off in your arms when you walked into your room. You naivly thought Loki will greet you and pretend to be nice again but he was nowhere to be found. Actually, none of the Avengers were nearby. 'That's okay' you thought. 'I'll at least be alone with this cute guy.'

You let him run around your bedroom, sniffing every corner of his new home, chewing on everything he could reach with his tiny snout. You threw him some of the squeeky toys you bought and watched him play. It lifted your mood, somewhat.

The dull ache from your chest didn't leave. Even when it got dark outside and your new companion dozed off in your lap. Soft laughter was coming from the party deck, which was quite far from your room so in reality it must've been much louder.

'So they returned, huh? Didn't even check on their supposed friend' you thought. Maybe you were right afterall. They never concidered you a friend.

Your phone started buzzing, a silly selfie of you and Loki lightened up the screen. 'What does he want? I don't wanna talk to him.'

You picked up. "Yeah?"

"Y/N!" hearing his voice nearly made you cry. "Thank Norns you finally picked up! Where are you?"

You squinted your eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon! I couldn't find you anywhere and I have called you 5 times already. Are you okay?" he sounded worried. He really should've been voice actor.

"5 times? I didn't hear anything."

He groaned. "Yes, 5 damn times. You made me really sick with worry."

Liar.

"Whatever. I can do things even without you, you know."

"Why the attitude?" he asked a little less worried.

"You know what Loki? Do me a favour and leave me alone," you hung up sooner than your voice could crack. Silent tears streamed down your cheeks.

As you were standing up with the little pup in your hands and putting him in his bed Loki practically smashed down your door. You jumped back startled and nearly let go of your little friend who woke up and started barking.

"What the fuck Loki?!"

He looked at you, mix of fury and happiness in his eyes. "Okay, I don't know what I did that made you react like that to a simple 'where have you been the whole day' but you could've at least tell me you were going out. What if someone attacked you? And I wasn't there? What if-" he took a deep breath, anger leaving his eyes. "I'm just glad you are home and safe."

Liar.

Your puppy stopped barking and started wagging his tail, excited to have a new friend. He is just like you. Naive.

"Oh, and who is this little bundle of fur?" he reached out to pet his tiny head but you backed away.

"He's my new best friend. This is Rex."

Loki's face turned into confusion. "Darling, I thought that's my title," he laughed awkwardly.

You glared and hugged Rex to your chest. "Not anymore. Not after what I discovered about you."

"Discovered about me? What are you talking about?"

"Drop the act. I heard you. I heard you saying how I'm naive enough to think I'm your friend, how I'm bothersome and clingy and I was only good for you to get out of prison!" tears were flowing freely but you didn't care.

"Darling, what are yo-"

"I wasn't finished! I really thought you were honest with me. I thought all those times we hung out meant something to you! That you at least respect me. But no! You used me. You were pretending to be nice. All those times! And I believed you!" you started taking steps towards him, he was backing away.

"You misunderstood, I-"

"No! I don't want you to tell me anything! I'm not your plaything anymore! I grew a spine. And you can bet your ass I'm training Rex to bite you whenever you get close to me again!" his eyes started glistening but that must be just your imagination.

"Love, please let me ex-"

"Get lost Laufeyson," with those words you slammed your door in his face.

#loki #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki angst #loki x reader angst #loki x you #angst

[motherjoel]

hot cocoa (spencer reid x reader)

summary: spencer accidentally spills some of penelopes famous hot cocoa onto a beautiful stranger in the airport (who just so happens to be sitting next to him on the plane)

a/n: this one takes place during the holidays but its not all about xmas! also i tried to make this gender neutral and i think it is but if i missed something let me know

wc: 2.2k

warnings/includes: reader curses a lot & has flight anxiety, spencer is awkward and sweet

-

Spencer was rarely late- even when he had food poisoning from some bad chinese food, he made it into work with time to spare. Sure, he might have turned green at the sight of the evidence board, but he even made it to the trash can in time. His punctuality had come into question today, however, as he booked it to the boarding area. I shouldn’t have let Garcia distract me, he thought back to the holiday party at the office. Well, surprise party- they had all returned from a case sore and exhausted, but of course Penelope had baked an entire array of cookies and decorated the office to the brim. He stayed for one cup of hot cocoa, which turned into three, and before he knew it, his flight was an hour away. With his travel mug filled with cocoa in hand, he awkwardly ran through the airport to catch his flight home to Vegas.

Spencer never considered himself a coordinated person- sure, he had to have a certain level of finesse to be an FBI agent, but if he wasn’t a genius he never would have passed the physical. So when he found himself tripping over his own feet in the middle of an airport, he wasn’t as much surprised as he was perturbed. That annoyance soon shifted into pure embarrassment when he looked up to see you- the ethereal being he had just spilled Penelope’s famous hot cocoa onto. The beautiful person whose “I <3 DC” sweatshirt was now stained an unattractive shade of brown. His mind went completely blank in that moment, the apology he had wished to conjure up lying dead on his tongue. As he began to stammer in shock he stopped in his tracks- you were laughing. A noise Spencer swears could find world peace and end world hunger. A voice that finally encouraged Spencer to find his own.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized, hands frantically flying to his personal pack of tissues he kept in his bag. You continued to laugh, doubled over as you accepted the wad of tissues.

“Oh, it's okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “God, I definitely seem insane. Sorry, I’ve just been having one hell of a shitty day,” you began to explain, confusing Spencer even more. “So my boyfriend breaks up with me the morning of my flight across the country, which I’m running a bit late for,” you continued, glancing at your watch. “But I have to go home for the holidays of course so I pack my shit and head out anyway, but I forget a sweatshirt! I’m freezing cold so I buy this overpriced ugly thing,” you gestured to your now-stained sweatshirt. “Only for you to spill your…” you sniffed the mess, “hot cocoa?” you questioned, Spencer nodded frantically, “all over it. I guess that's one way of warming up,” you huffed. 

“Wow, I- um, I don’t really know what to say. I’m really sorry about your day being bad. And for spilling my drink on you, of course, um,” he reached into his suitcase and pulled out his backup cardigan. “Here, take this,” he said, almost shoving the knitwear into your hands. “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, unintentionally flashing what Prentiss called his “puppy dog eyes.” He exhaled in relief as you grabbed the sweater from him, sliding off your stained hoodie and replacing it with his soft and coffee-scented cardigan. 

“Thanks. And I’m sorry for dumping my days' trauma on you, but I really do have a flight to catch, so,” you gestured towards the boarding area (which just so happened to be his designated boarding area). You rushed off to board the plane after giving him a tight-lipped smile and a soft wave, leaving him in a dazed state. Breaking out of his trance, he grabbed his suitcase and continued his beeline towards the plane. 

There was something about you that stuck with Spencer- although it may not have been your proudest moment, he was incredibly intrigued by you and the way you reacted to disaster. Spencer had seen his fair share of terrible coping mechanisms, but the way you laughed in the face of tragedy was something he admired- envied, almost. Envy wasn’t the right word for it, there were no negative connotations he associated with the way he felt about you. Perhaps it was too soon to tell.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the plane, the anxiety of missing his flight finally lifted. Said anxiety was soon replaced by a new feeling that was ruled by a flutter in his chest, one that he had only experienced a few times in his life. This fluttery feeling was the result of seeing you planted in the seat directly next to the one written on his plane ticket. His breath caught in his throat as you looked up from the book in your hand, giving him a small wave. His eyes widened as he looked around, wondering if you were actually waving at him. You laughed and looked back down at your book, a soft smile rested on your lips. As Spencer got closer to his seat he could feel his heart rate picking up. You looked up from your book as he struggled slightly to lift his carryon into the overhead compartment. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment over the struggle, but he eventually managed to secure his carryon, taking a seat in 32 B. 

“So we meet again,” you smiled at the disheveled man next to you.

“So we do,” Spencer smiled and grabbed his copy of Les Miserables from his backpack- he lost track of how many times he had read it, but it was an easy plane read for him.

“I’m Y/N, by the way. Sorry, I probably should’ve introduced myself earlier after telling you my life story. I just didn’t expect to be sitting next to you,” you said with amusement.

“I’m Spencer, and no problem. Hows, um, the sweater?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation. Normally he’d be a quarter through his book by now, but you were a rare something that was more interesting to him than Victor Hugo. 

“It’s great! Cozier than my ‘I heart DC’ hoodie for sure,” you laughed and Spencer swore he heard angels singing.

“I’m glad, I felt really bad. Hot chocolate is actually a really difficult stain to remove because it has fat, sugar, tannins, and protein. It would take a lot of work to remove that stain, especially with the chocolate to milk ratio Penelope uses,” Spencer rambled, the embarrassment setting in the second he closed his mouth.

“Penelope?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, she's my coworker. She’s known for her hot chocolate and her cookies. Oh!” Spencer remembered the plastic bag of cookies Garcia had sent him home with. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip,” he said, grabbing the bag of cookies and holding it out to you.

“Sure,” you laughed, taking a bite of the surprisingly delicious cookie. “Oh. My. God. That is incredible! This Penelope person has a gift,” you laughed, finishing the cookie surprisingly fast.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Spencer smiled, taking a cookie for himself. A comfortable silence ensued as the two of you munched on your cookies, the plane almost done boarding.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” you asked. Spencer was a little confused as to why you wanted to talk to him, but he decided not to question the anomaly.

“Oh, I’m visiting my mother for the holidays. I work at Quantico in Virginia so I don’t get to see her too often,” he shared, surprised at his willingness to be open.

“That’s nice! I’m kinda doing the same, except I am not returning to DC,” you sighed. Spencer felt his heart drop as he internally begged for you to elaborate, and as if reading his mind, you continued. “That boyfriend I mentioned earlier was kinda my only reason for moving here, and now that he's a cheating jackass- sorry, oversharing again, um, now that we broke up, I’ll probably just stay in Vegas,” you explained, opening the book in front of you and mindlessly flipping through the pages. He focused on the chipped nail polish painted on your bitten nails as you turned the pages, eyes moving to the title of the book.

“Le Petit Prince?” he asked, pointing at your book.

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying to teach myself some french so I’m reading this to get a little better,” you smiled before your eyes drifted down to the thick book in his lap. “You’re reading Les Mis?” you asked, slightly shocked at the french writing on the cover.

“Yeah, well it's my.... fourth, I think, time reading it. Well, in the original french,” he said, oblivious to his accidental brag.

“Damn, are you a genius or something?” you laughed, noticing the blank stare on Spencer’s face. “Wait. You are,” you pointed at him, your shock turning into joy.

“Well, technically, I am I guess,” he smiled awkwardly, trying not to flaunt his intelligence.

“That’s so cool! God, maybe if I was a genius I could get past the first chapter of this book,” you huffed, looking defeatedly at your book once again.

“May I ask, why are you learning French? It’s the fourth most important language behind Mandarin Chinese, Spanish and German. That’s just my opinion, of course,” he said, slightly flustered by the look on your face.

“Yeah, I guess it's not the most practical. But there's something so romantic about France, you know?” you asked and he nodded, blushing lightly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, hell, maybe even live there. It’s stupid,” you laughed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“No, it’s not. It’s called the city of love for a reason,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. You were both silent for a moment before the flight attendants began their safety announcements and prepared for takeoff. Spencer noticed you stiffen as the engine started to rumble and the plane got faster. “Are you okay?” he asked as you shut your eyes tightly together.

“Yeah, yes, um. I just have really bad flight anxiety,” you confessed, eyes remaining closed. The plane lifted off the ground and you sucked in a deep breath, instinctively reaching over to grab Spencer's hand. All thoughts of germs and disease had completely left his mind at your touch- facts and logic meant nothing at this point if it meant you wouldn’t let go. “Could you just um, distract me?” you asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye, hand still clutching his.

“Oh, yeah of course,” he said, thinking quickly for a distraction before grabbing the book from your lap and opening it to the first page. In perfect french, he began to read. “Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image…” he read for almost an hour before he felt your head relax on his shoulder, eyes closed. He continued to read for a bit longer before the lull of sleep pulled him under as well, your touch comforting him and providing safety.

Spencer woke a few hours later with a start to the seatbelt light beeping on. Gathering his bearings he looked to his left to see you already awake, looking at him with a smile.

“You’re cute when you sleep. Snore a bit, though,” you laughed and yawned, looking out the window. Spencer's heart rate picked up at your mussed hair and dazed expression. “Thank you for reading to me. I’m completely chill now,” you reassured him.

“Oh, no problem. Also, I’m not the only one who snores,” he quipped, a soft smirk on his lips.

“Hey, gimme a break! That was the most I’ve slept in days,” you defended.

“Believe it or not, me too,” Spencer realized, surprised that he slept more on an airplane than in his own bed. Maybe that difference was you.

“Looks like we’re almost landing,” you noticed, causing a pang in Spencer’s chest.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he acknowledged with a slight tone of disappointment.

“Hey. So this might sound crazy, but what if I gave you my number? And while you’re still in Vegas, maybe we can hang out? Sorry if this is too forward,” you cringed in embarrassment.

“No!” he started, eyes wide.

“Oh, okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” you immediately took back your statement.

“No! I mean, it's not too forward. I, uh would love to… hang out with you,” Spencer said, the words seeming unfamiliar on his tongue. The smile you gave him seemed to stop the earth for a few seconds (although Spencer knew this was scientifically impossible, something about you defied laws of science). 

The plane soon landed and numbers were exchanged, and one unexpected (but lovely) goodbye hug was given, and Spencer was floating. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom.

-

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taglist: @rigatonireid​, @goldenxreid, @aworldoffandoms, @moonshinerbynight, @averyhotchner

#spencer reid #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid/OC #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds Reid

[uh-velkommen]

The White Lotus, HBOMax

Alright four episodes in and things are finally starting to ramp up. My face throughout the whole episode was stuck on discomfort. This show packs so much tension in every 45 minutes that I'm constantly waiting for somebody to pop off or something crazy to happen but instead we get teased with the smallest little plot pusher. Which is working. I'm officially intrigued. I do wish I knew the overall point of the show because that's what would've helped me decide if I wanted to keep up with but now my determination to find out how this all ends is doing just that...

Character breakdown + Spoilers/Predictions

Armond: The manager of the White Lotus resort. I love him in all his poor choices. He's just constant chaos simply because he has the power to create it. He's also the biggest driver of drama. He lies a lot, almost pathologically, and he will carry those lies to the grave for no real reason.

Nicole Mossbacher: Resort guest, Mark's wife, and Olivia and Quinn's mom. She's a pretty basic character who is teased about possibly having OCD and working during vacation. She was pretty chill in the first 2 episodes but every once in a while she says things that gives off I'm a centrist but my views lean a little more conservative.

Mark Mossbacher: In the beginning he's stressing about possibly having testicular cancer because his father died of cancer... Turns out his father had AIDs. He has a depressive episode over his dad being gay and then, while drunk, he inadvertently comes onto the Armond. The next day Armond tests the waters with Sober Mark and we get uncomfortably funny scenes of Armond coming onto Mark in front of the whole family. Mark's a very passive dude who doesn't do anything exciting in the show but we just find out that he has, in the past, repeatedly cheated on his wife and didn't tell her (he told his son that he did tell Nicole but I don't believe it) I think his theme is just being genuinely unhappy with his life at the moment.

Olivia Mossbacher: She's a college sophmore and has many moments where she calls out her parents questionable statements. She carries herself with a weird nonchalance where you'd think she's a mean girl but she's only ever expectedly mean to her brother. However, she brought along her friend Paula and we start to see that their friendship is built on some unspoken competition. The girls do tons of drugs on vacay until Armond gets his hands on them and breaks his 5 year sobriety. This is when and why shit starts to hit the fan. They know he stole the drugs but because everyone avoids admitting to having illegal drugs, no one is ever outright accused.

Paula: Olivia's poc friend, possible hypochondriac, and supplier of drugs, has secret rendezvous with one of the Hawaiian native resort workers. She refuses to say anything when asked about her nightly disappearances but Olivia knows why or for whom Paula keeps sneaking off. We learn that Paula doesn't want Olivia to know about her and her beau because Olivia always wants what she has. My theory is that this wouldn't be the first time Olivia has stolen a partner of hers and I think now because Paula isn't admitting to hooking up with this guy, Olivia is gonna steal him and use Paula's secrecy as a way of blame.

Quinn Mossbacher: Involuntary loner in my opinion. He comes off as a classic video game nerd, obsessed with the internet, cant live without his Switch and Fortnite. He doesn't have any friends and he takes all the teasing from Olivia and Paula without a fuss. But he starts sleeping on the beach alone and keeps running into these amazing sights to see. This is where we start to see him blossom and speak up. Its ever so slow but in episode 4 he actually walks up to a group of guys and introduces himself, interested in their boat related sport[?] (Or maybe even the guys themselves🤞) He's also the only one who knows about the Dad's affair and stupidly hints at it at the family dinner (he's just genuinely stupid).

Shane Patton: Also a resort guest and the funniest character to me. He's your run of the mill self-centered male Karen (Kevin if you will) and he arrives at the resort with his wife Rachel. They're on their honeymoon but so many moments make you question why in the hell did these two get married? He is in an unnecessarily one sided battle with Armond. First the resort accidentally downgrades his room. Armond gaslights Shane into thinking that he never purchased the bigger room. Shane gets a receipt. Armond tells him there's a German couple staying in the receipted room longer than Shane and his wife are there so the room will not be ready for them in time. Shane finds out the Germans are actually leaving wayy earlier. Armond apologizes and books them a romantic sunset dinner on a boat. The boat is actually a funeral where a strange grieving woman, named Tanya, fails to spread her mothers ashes in the sea. Shane confronts Armond and asks for Corperate's number. Armond creates a fake business card and when Shane realizes the number is fake, he bursts into Armond's office to find him rimming a coworker while high on Ketamine. Prediction: Armond's gonna get blackmailed for abuse of power in a classic Monicagate manner.

Rachel: Shane's wife. Rachel's a journalist who actually looked up to Nicole (her job as CEO of god knows what puts her in the public eye) but when she finally got to sit with Nicole over lunch, Nicole calls her out for writing an incredibly slut shamey article, claiming that Nicole used her femininity to get her where she is now. This is the first smack in the face that maybe journalism isn't for Rachel. Well that on top of the constant teasing from Shane about her career choices. Shane's family is much more wealthy than Rachel's and he always finds subtle ways to make it known. Shane also pays her no mind, flirting with Olivia and Paula and battling Armond. Even during their arguments (which happens too many times for newlyweds) Shane doesn't look at Rachel and just gives periodic "mhmm"s and "okay"s. Also Rachel hates the Mossbacher family simply because they all seem to be doing better than her.

Now for the boring ones

Tanya McQuoid: An eccentric resort guest (which is a polite way of saying, a weird ass person who is over polite and basically pushes herself into every other character's drama in the most unintentional way, she's also bad at reading the room) She comes off as calm and quiet but we find out that her mother recently passed and she's in Hawaii to spread her mothers ashes. She becomes creepily obsessed with the resort's massage parlor manager, Belinda, after a complimentary massage and suggests becoming a beneficiary so Belinda can open up her own massage parlor. Her "obsession" could possibly just stem from Belinda showing her an act of kindness during a hard time but I know I questioned Tanya's intentions for at least the first two episodes... In episode 4, some random dude, Greg, shows up and invites Tanya to dinner after "accidentally" mistaking her room door for his own. Tanya postpones a business meeting with Belinda so she and Greg can hook up that night. The presence of these characters feel a little out of place. Unlike the Newly Weds and the Mossbacher family, there is not a lot of plot overlap. Tanya will often pop up to converse with the others and brag about Balinda's skills but she doesn't cause any trouble. Tanya's also very wealthy so I definitely thing this "Greg" has some secret plot to take down Tanya or plant something or steal her cash and unfortunately I do not think Belinda will see anything bright in her future. Her plans will be left on the backburner which I say is unfortunate because she's a kind woc who is just trying to do her job and is clearly very skeptical about going into business with this strange, rich white, resort guest.

Honorable Mention

Lani: A Hawaiian native, trainee at the White Lotus. She shows up in episode one as her first day on the job. Later we find out she's also pregnant and goes into a premature labor on the job. She has her baby and disappears for the next three episode. Come back Lani, Armond has just started getting your name right!

Show Themes

The show does touch on conversations of race and class but I would not consider this a political show or one with an agenda (it's satire). I point out the characters of color here because their race becomes a device used to create tension but not in a Token POC kind of way. All the characters are rich and they are shamed for it by the show writers. By this I mean nobody is spitting in their faces and calling them Climate Killers but the choices the characters make, the things they say, and the way they act gives the viewer something to laugh at. Their ignorant entitlement juxtaposing with the beautiful Hawaiian beaches and tragic Hawaiian history creates an underlying experience of, look at these rich people not having a good time and they can't even realize why! As for the characters, there is plenty of time to sit back and question, is this character a good person, who's the real antagonist, how do these stories intertwine, who do we root for What story is attempting to be told here? What is the message!?

#the white lotus hbo #the white lotus #the white lotus hbomax #hbo max

[morifinwes]

Lauraa I finished all the fics, apart from decay (currently reading that now) and I love it sm! Especially the lip gloss one lmao the whole thing was so hilarious to me XD but also like the concept of lwj wearing lipgloss is >>> -yibobibo

@yibobibo then i'm going to rec you some more!! the lip gloss one was !!!!! ajsksks yes!! lwj wearing lipgloss is just so!! good!!

modern

this one is the painful one i talked about:

visitations by var_abelasan (12K, wip, divorced wangxian, post divorce, most of this is angst, uhm lowkey don't but also do want wangxian to end up together, it's messy, the jiangs & lans are shitty, wwx was in prison (brief mentions of that but it's kind of a major plot point), mxy & xy are the little brothers he never wanted but wwx picked them up anyways)

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry." 

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine. 

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

 

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae (3K, partly deaf!wwx, lwj notices, nobody else does though, idk wwx is like made out of fucking steel or some shit)

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

light by redkosmos (10K, blind!lwj, which causes angst, but they manage it, best friends to lovers, fluff, lwj being insecure and feeling like a burden, college au kind of? but it doesn't matter too much)

The realization slowly dawns on him.

He can never again see the brightness of Wei Ying's eyes, the way they crescent when he smiles, never again see the rich black of his hair, the mess of it in the early mornings, never again see the beautiful tan of his skin, the beauty of the scars and marks adorned on it, how he wears his clothes, how it hugs his frame beautifully, how he looks like he's adorably swimming in cloth when he wears Lan Zhan's, and-

(Lan Zhan loses his vision in a car accident and learns to cope with it.)

don't leave me by trippinonskies (19K, brief very brief mention of lwj cheating, he doesn't but wwx is afraid lwj is cheating on him or just wants to break up with him, (he doesn't), marriage proposal, lwj acting distant = wwx's insecurities show up, fluff, angst and comfort)

Lan Zhan! Where are you lost today?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, at the end of his patience.

Lan Zhan looks a little guilty as he looks at Wei Wuxian, “Sorry, just a lot of work to deal with.”

Lie.

If there is one thing Lan Zhan can’t do, it’s lying. Especially to Wei Wuxian. But he doesn’t question Lan Zhan. He just accepts the reply, too scared to know that he is right. Too scared to know the truth.

// or where Lan Zhan is too hung up in planning the perfect proposal and ends up accidently ignoring Wei Wuxian making the other think that he wants to break up //

want you closer by xiaobucephalus ((3K, HORSES, only in the background tho, but wwx is an equestrian vet, which is so fucking valid bro, the lans own horses, a sick bunny, lwj the bunny parent!, super cute, dark bay throughoutbred chenqing is honestly so valid)

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed again, his voice warming the chill of fear that had settled in his chest. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get into your hutch for a while anyway.”

safe in your thoughts by anonymous (20K, it's a cherry magic au???? (i haven't watched it, but you have i think?), horny lwj but only for wwx (always for wwx))

Wei Wuxian learns three very important things on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday.

One, that Lan Wangji is ridiculously funny, which Wei Wuxian had known before but what Wei Wuxain hadn’t expected was Lan Wangji to be funny at his brother’s expense.

Two, that Wei Wuxian had finally gone mad, absolutely mental at the ripe age of twenty seven because nothing else would explain the third thing he had learnt.

Third, and the most unbelievable of the lot, that Lan Wangji wants to fuck him.

iura by yoo_im_finally_writing (1K, only added bcs op is right and wwx would've the cutest german accent, it's more fun if you understand german so hit me up if you want translations for the german sentences)

Wei Ying calls in the middle of the night to talk about German law, and Lan Zhan tries very hard not to fall asleep. Or at least, not to let Wei Ying notice he's falling asleep. (As best friends do.)

breathe in the air, the last of its kind by wereworm / @neverdoingmuch (27K, getting together, jealous!lwj, but also kind of supportive, brief mention of cheating bcs of miscommunication, no actual cheating tho, college au, lwj pov)

Following Wei Ying’s line of sight, Lan Wangji can barely prevent a smile from crossing his lips when he sees the short row of rabbit statuettes placed at the front of the display. Silver, with bright gems for eyes, they look elegant yet lively and animated.

“A-Yuan would love one of those,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost as if to himself.

Lan Wangji frowns; the rabbits, while cute, don’t seem like a suitable gift for Wei Ying’s A-Yuan.

...

It’s only when he glances back at the rabbits and notices what has been placed on display behind them, that the pieces fall into place. They’re engagement rings, there’s no doubt about it. Lan Wangji feels his heart sink – Wei Ying isn’t just dating A-Yuan, he wants to propose to him.

Or: the five times Lan Wangji thinks that A-Yuan is Wei Ying’s boyfriend and the one time he learns the truth.

paint smears on sunny days by snowshadowao3 / @angstsexual (53K, getting together, art teacher!wwx, single parent!lwj, they're rich if i remember right, wwx & lwj are both good with kids!!!, this is so good actually, fluff)

To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

He comes close, though.

By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

“Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.

(Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

no bunny compares by gusucloudbunny (4K, god this is cute, fluff)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cornered his friend one week before his birthday. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow at Wei Wuxian, not exactly sure how to answer that question in a truthful manner that didn’t involve confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Wei Wuxian is on a mission to get Lan Wangji the perfect gift for his birthday. What Wei Wuxian doesn't know is that the only thing Lan Wangji truly wants is him.

wei wuxian's week of realizing things by photojenny (12K, i have read this multiple times, i always forget what happens, idk why but my notes say it's good, the tags say drunkji makes an appearance and i'm always up for that)

"Lan Zhan, do you like Mianmian?" asked Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji blinked, and stared. It was not the first time Lan Wangji had questioned the perceptiveness of the boy he had a crush on. Wei Wuxian had been smart in the class they had taken together. Yet time and time again, Wei Wuxian had tested the old wisdom that there are no stupid questions.

---

Lan Wangji must figure out how to confess when Wei Wuxian is the most oblivious person he's ever met.

are you my wisdom tooth? because i'd like to take you out by yellowcarnations (1K, crack, fluff, lwj stop flirting with a stranger, even if he is your husband, drunkji but make it to max level)

Lan Zhan wakes up and he has no idea where he is.

There are bright lights and his jaw hurts, he doesn't who this man next to his bed is but oh he might be in love, maybe, probably, definitely.

–

based off that guy-forgets-who-his-wife-is-and-hits-on-her vid but its wangxian.

beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (3K, fluff, lwj is like "he, he likes me right? he likes me" and everyone is like "yes, yes he does")

“Wei Ying’s heart monitor,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wen Qing blinks at him. “Yes?”

“It beeps.”

“That’s… what they generally do, yes.”

“The beeps change,” Lan Wangji continues, “when others are around.”

*

Wei Ying’s heart only sings for Lan Wangji.

canon

obedient and bellicose by thunderwear (19K, lwj is cursed by the lan elders, they notice too late, fix-it fic kind of?, lqr being a good uncle and lxc is a good brother, wwx accidentally uses the curse but he doesn't know about it)

It took Lan Wangji a long time to realize he was cursed. Too long really, anyone else would have noticed so much sooner. The problem was, he liked following the rules.

Ella Enchanted AU that no one needed but I wanted.

hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (10K, amnesia, fluff, wwx taking care of lwj, so much fluff and softness, angst too but not that much)

The issue is, Lan Wangji brings his thoughts back before they stray too far, that it is impossible for someone to be in his bed, unless Lan Wangji himself invited them. He has not. He would remember doing so, and besides, all his night clothes are still on and there is no headache to imply that he was inebriated last night. No, the situation is simple.

There is someone in Lan Wangji’s bed. It is impossible for anyone to be in Lan Wangji’s bed, and yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped the stranger.

or lan wangji wakes up, and wei ying is there. he doesn't understand how or why, and he can understand even less why his hallucination of wei ying is so insistent on bathing him, and braiding his hair, on holding him and fixing his clothes. why the hallucination of wei ying seems so happy to see him.

teach me the way by likeafox (58K, rogue cultivator!wwx, horny wangxian, lwj wants wwx to teach him how to be a good lover, ....wwx is a virgin, the porn is the plot, but there's less of it than i thought)

"I do not wish to leave my future spouse… dissatisfied with my intimate knowledge,” Lan Zhan says, very seriously. “I am hoping to find an instructor, to better prepare myself for such matters."

Wei Ying feels his mouth drop open. He's pretty sure the Second Jade of Lan just told him he's a virgin who wants to learn how to do sex good.

Rogue Cultivator Wei Wuxian is the stuff of local legends. Some of those legends are even true! The ones about his tremendous experience in bed, on the other hand, are not so true. Which becomes a problem when Lan Wangji, on the verge of an arranged marriage and worried he won’t know how to please his future spouse, enlists Wei Ying's help to teach him the art of love-making. Wei Ying's great at improvisation, though, and is pretty sure he's got this sex mentor thing under control. What could possibly go wrong

other aus

of god: my love unholy by tunnelodfawn (3K, tw blood / war, dark!lwj, god!wwx, kind of poetry)

Lan Zhan takes everything as a sign from his god. The blood staining his fingertips—a holy anointment. He sanctifies himself through blood. The strings of his guqin gleam red in the sun—a divine blessing. This is an instrument of destruction. A single note—a cry of power—and in this note the voice of his god unravels the earthly threads tethering man to earth.

The Yiling Patriarch blesses Lan Zhan with war. Wei Wuxian blesses Lan Zhan with agility. Wei Ying blesses Lan Zhan with love.

The base of the Yiling Patriarch’s shrine is the home of Lan Zhan’s knees. He worships. There is something of the blasphemous and the unholy in his prayers. He prays not for victory but for the sight of Wei Ying. Bless me with your presence, he begs.

Or, wherein, Lan Zhan bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine—the worshipper and the god—with blood.

the river and the sea by sasamelons / @sasamelons (7K, soulmate au, arranged marriage (wangxian with each other), they're both kind of dumb but i love it)

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, wishing to just be left alone. "I am looking for my soulmate," he ground out.

"Oh."

It took Lan Wangji a few moments to realize that Wei Wuxian had stopped following him. When he looked back, the other boy seemed to be frozen to the spot, eyes wide and lips still parted. He quickly looked away when he saw Lan Wangji looking back. "I see. Well, have a good trip!"

--

At six years old, Lan Zhan met his soulmate on the streets of Yiling and promptly lost him again.

At sixteen years old, Lan Wangji met his betrothed and was determined not to like him.

#so...i realized i forgot to check the things i already listed but? i tried to avoid listing fics twice? #yes i've mostly been reading oneshots these past few weeks idk why but i can't seem to find any long fics #or at least not ones that i like #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #wangxian fics #mdzs #mdzs fic #cql fic #the untamed #aamna tag #we're almost through the rec list now? i have so much open but idk why i add so few #i'm just really picky when it comes to which ones to write down and which ones not #and then this became a kind of comfort list? #idk? #but also ANGST #not Angst but ANGST #fun fact: Angst means fear in german

[aggressive-positivity-network]

General Demo in a relationship Headcanons?

Demo in a Relationship

Headcanons

Meeting for the first time:

Probably either at a pub or some sort of restaurant that serves drinks.

He sees a person put something in your drink, and he absolutely loses it. He’s not even drunk (bonus headcanon: he only gets himself drunk if he’s tired or upset) but he just chews the guy out. Tears him a new one.

“YA CAN’T FIND A LASS WITH THAT WORMTOOTH SMILE ‘A YOURS, SO YA DECIDE TA GET ONE ALL DRUGGED UP AND DRAG HER HOME LIKE THE FAE?! YOU’RE GONNA BE THE ONE STUMBLIN’ AROUND ONCE I GET AHOLD OF YA!”

He starts beating the guy up, and invites you to join him. You accept, fists swinging. The manager and bartender say nothing, since they are all very good friends and they watched the whole thing unfold. However, they had to “kick” Demo and you out, since to technically caused trouble on the property. However, they were very nice about it and even got you a free drink to replace the tainted one.

Demo introduces himself and asks if you’d like some company on the way home, since it was getting late. You say yes, and he ends up sleeping on your couch. You don’t mind, and he even calls you that next afternoon to thank you and ask if you’d like to go to dinner as payment.

At first you refuse, because it was no trouble at all, but then realize that this is Demo asking for a date. You set the time, ask off work, and get yourself ready.

First date:

He’s the kind of person to just talk about anything and everything when he’s nervous. And he is certainly nervous on this date.

He’s wearing his normal clothes plus a bow tie and sans his beanie. He still has it in his pocket though - for luck.

He picks a seafood restaurant next to a pier, after making sure that you were a fan of seafood, of course.

The people at this restaurant know him too, and the waitstaff tease him about having a date. He smacks them on the shoulder and says something between his teeth, and they walk away, still laughing.

After the meal, which was comped because of the “entertainment,” they say Demo provided them with, you both walk to the edge of the pier and look at the stars. However, rather than ecstatic, you feel nauseous. The shrimp must have been bad...

You finally puke off the edge of the pier, and Demo pats your back and guides you back to the car, even offering to carry you. He apologizes profusely, and says that he will make sure it never happens again.

You wait in the car while he goes in the restaurant. He comes back with a two-liter bottle of ginger ale, a straw, and a huge gash on his knuckle that was bound up with a washcloth.

When you ask about it, he says not to worry about it and that he took care of it. You decide not to press him.

Romance beginning:

He asks you out on a park bench, on your fourth or fifth date.

“Er...I know we’ve not know each other long...but I think you’re a real bonny lass, y’know? Perhaps we can...well, I can be your lad?”

At first you don’t get it, and ask if he is asking to marry you. He stumbles and sputters.

“N-no, lass, we’re just kids...I meant...y’know...boyfriend and girlfriend.”

You smile and kiss him on the tip of his nose, which causes him to stammer even more. He didn’t think he would get this far. Embarrassed, he pulls his beanie over his eyes, his usually dark cheeks turning even darker.

You eventually say yes, but you had to wait for Demo to lift his head up from his hands.

Jealousy:

Demo doesn’t get very jealous - he has friends that are girls AND boys, so shooing other boys away doesn’t make much sense to him.

Sometimes he jokes about your guy friends, saying, “What, are ye gonna up and leave me for tall, blonde, ‘n handsome over there?”

But you know full well that he trusts you, and that he knows you can hold your own.

Even if someone flirts with you while you’re out somewhere, he’s relatively civil, even friendly.

“Aye, sorry lad, this one’s taken. Better luck next time.”

There was one time when a guy pushed it way to far.

You two were at the mall - you were looking for a certain figurine of your favorite character, and he was looking for a few...undisclosed items.

A guy asked if you were single, you say no and pointed to Demo, who said the same cheery spiel he always did.

“Huh...though he was your father or somethin’. You sure you should be with a guy that old? He’ll die before you’re in your prime.”

Demo had mellowed out, especially since he was with you, so he just shrugged.

“It’s ma beard. Adds ten years on me.”

“Shows every bit of it, huh?”

Demo begins to look physically frustrated, so you jerk your head, to signal that it was about time to leave the situation.

You guys try to leave, but the guys follow you, continuing to comment about how old Demo is for you.

Finally, the guy says, “I mean, if you guys wanted a threesome, maybe...”

Demo swirls around and punches him in the face, not realizing he still had a brass knuckle he had bought still on his fist. The guy’s nose is broken, and his left eye is bleeding.

The guy tried to sue, but because of Demo’s near immunity (the mercs have great resources), he wasn’t charged. The guy, however, was charged with harassment.

Introduction to the Mercs:

Instead of meeting Demo’s family, you meet his coworkers, which you find a little strange. Demo brushes it off by saying that these people were pretty much his family.

You enter the base’s lobby, and the first thing that you see is a tall, thin man pointing a revolver at you.

“Who are you, and whom do you work for? I’ll gladly get rid of a weak link.”

You, being a detective, cooly draw out your own gun before Demo walks in. He’s absolutely horrified.

“I told ya she was comin’, didn’t I? Ya don’t have ta give her the third degree, Spy!”

Spy raises his eyebrows, checks his watch, and puts his revolver away. “You are a bit early, oui?”

“By five bloody minutes!”

“You can never be too careful, mon ami. My deepest apologies, mademoiselle...”

Spy takes your hand and starts to kiss it, but then just touches it lightly with his forehead for a few seconds.

The other mercs trickle in, starting with Scout.

“Hey, so this is the broad you’ve been talkin’ about, huh?”

He takes a closer look at you, then grins.

“She doesn’t have a little sister, does she?”

Demo smacks Scout in the back of the head playfully. “She’d be out of your league even if she was just half as beautiful.”

“Aw, c’mon, who can resist this?” he says, gesturing to his face and winking at you.

Engineer and Heavy are next.

Engineer shakes your hand and takes off his building hat.

Heavy tries to get down to your level. “She is...small...” He glances at the gun, which is still in your hand, and laughs a booming laugh. “But she is fierce!” He glances at Demo. “Be careful with this one.”

By the time Sniper walks in, you’re wondering how many there are.

Sniper tips his hat so far down that is covers his eyes. “G’day.”

Soldier and Pyro come in together, and Soldier salutes and says, “Welcome to the ranks, maggot!”

Pyro, on the other hand, runs up and hugs you, almost lifting you completely off the ground. You’ve seen a few hazmat suits, but you’re still a little unnerved.

Finally, Medic walks in, Archimedes still on his finger.

“Ach, vhy are there alvays visitors during feeding time...?”

Six or seven doves soon follow, landing pretty much anywhere they can. In fact, one of them lands on you. It startles you a bit, but you are soon petting it’s head. Medic gently retrieves it from you.

Instead of greeting you, he looks you up and down.

“Five foot seven - a bit tall for a woman - Indian descent, I’m sure. But...there is something else...ah! Yes! African American! Your hair is straightened, but has that same texture that is common in that race. About thirty years of age. And...”

He looks at your feet.

“...slightly pigeon-toed.”

You blink, then start putting your hair in a ponytail.

“Six feet. Pure German descent. Mid-forties. Ambidextrous, though you lean more towards your right, ‘cause your callouses are bigger on your right hand. May or may not be sociopathic, since you studied everyone’s faces and matched their expressions before you talked to me. And...do you usually wear gloves?”

Medic nods, his eyes wide and his mouth on the verge of a smile. He looks at Demo, then back at you.

“God help you if you decide to cheat.”

Demo shakes his head. “I would never.”

That’s about all I have for you folks! If this is popular enough, I might make a part two!

But hey, my TF2 headcanons are always open!

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 ask blog #tf2 headcanon #tf2 demoman #send me questions #send anons #send me prompts #send requests #humor #funny post #just for laughs #funny content #funny

[konglindorm]

The Frog Princess

So today we're going to talk about "The Frog Princess." This is a completely different story from "The Frog Prince"; literally all they have in common is an enchanted frog. The Frog Princess is found in a lot of different cultures, but I first encountered it as a Russian fairy tale, so that's the version we're going with today. Also, like. I just finished my post about "King Thrushbeard", and I feel like I've learned my lesson about the disappointments of actually rereading fairy tales instead of just going off my memory.  Today we are going to tell fairy tales the way they were meant to be told, the way they were told in the days of oral tradition: however the teller happens to remember them. (So don't anybody be coming in here and telling me I'm wrong, don't tell me I botched the details, don't tell me I just left out the entire second half; dude, I know. That's the point.)

We open with a scene sort of like the end of Robin Hood, where he shoots an arrow from his deathbed and tells the Merry Men to bury him wherever it lands? The king has his three sons shoot arrows, and they're supposed to find their brides wherever the arrow lands.

Now, how could that possibly go wrong?

Miraculously, no one is killed in this fun little bride search, and two of the three arrows actually happen to land somewhere in the general vicinity of an unmarried young woman.

Unfortunately for our third prince, the only living thing anywhere near where his arrow lands is a frog. So he goes home and explains the situation to his dad, probably hoping for a reasonable response, like, "Oh, that sucks, try again," or maybe even, "You know what? Bridal acquisition via a literal shot in the dark was a stupid and dangerous idea. Forget it. Go meet a nice girl the normal way."

But our king is not a reasonable man, so what he tells the prince is "Well, I guess you're marrying a frog."

And then he says that whichever son has the most impressive wife gets to be the next king. Like, dude. Just come right out and say you hate prince number three.

First task to impress the king: make him a shirt.

The first two girls work hard to sew nice shirts. And prince number three, he goes home and tells the frog what's up, but he's not really expecting anything, because she's, you know, a frog. In the morning he has to go and not present his dad with a shirt, and before he leaves the frog gives him an acorn, and she's all like, "Look, I made you a shirt," and he just sort of says "Thanks, honey," and pats her slimy little head, because, I mean, what are you gonna do? She's a frog. They don't even wear shirts. Why should she know the difference between a shirt and an acorn?

"You have to open it," she says as he leaves.

"Sure, honey," he says, humoring her.

So he gets home. His dad looks over the other two shirts, makes his judgement, and then it's our dude's turn. He takes the little acorn cap off, and--there's fabric in there? Okay, weird. He pulls it out and it's a beautiful shirt made of the finest linen. Round one goes to our now very baffled third prince. Round two: bake some bread.

Now our prince isn't super quick on the uptake here. I'd think that the combination of talking frog and beautiful human-sized shirt folded into an acorn without even wrinkling would naturally lead to the conclusion that something magical is going on. But instead, he decides that the shirt must have been a fluke and, woe is him, there's no way his frog wife is ever gonna produce a loaf of bread. Frogs don't even eat bread. And how will she operate an oven?

The prince's new sisters-in-law are a little smarter, and have worked out the magic angle by now, so they go to spy on the frog. They watch her just sort of pour the dough into the oven through a hole on top, and go home to do the same thing. But, like, they don't have magic. So that backfires.

Frog presents prince with a second acorn. He pats her slimy little head and says "Thanks, honey," because he's sure she did her best. You can't fit a lot of bread in an acorn; bread isn't nearly as foldable as linen. But it's the thought that counts. And if he had to marry a frog, well, out of all the frogs in the world, he figures he's pretty lucky to have wound up with this one.

The first two princes show the king their very, very sad loaves of bread, and our prince is thinking, okay, maybe I have a shot. My loaf of bread might be incredibly tiny, but the shirt was good, and this other bread is pretty crappy. So he takes the cap off the acorn, and a beautiful, full-sized loaf of bread. They cut it up, and it tastes great. Round two goes to our prince. Third round: impress the king at a banquet.

Now our prince is thinking there's really no way his wife is going to perform well at a fancy party, because, again, she is literally a frog. She tells him to go ahead to the banquet, and she'll catch up later. He goes, thinking he's probably going to be stood up, because how is a frog going to get herself across town?

His brothers tease him about his frog wife and how she stood him up, and he just sits there and takes it because he knows his frog wife does her best, and at least she produced an edible loaf of bread. There's a commotion outside; a frog is riding up the driveway in a cardboard box pulled by mice. Which is, okay, all kinds of embarrassing. But the prince loves his frog wife, he's sure she's doing her best. And as she reaches the palace, she transforms into a beautiful woman. At which point the king declares our boy the winner of this bizarre little contest and the heir to the throne, and he and his frog wife, now de-frogged, live happily ever after.

-

Okay, fine, I can't just not read the original story. So just to let you know where I got it wrong: can't find evidence of that acorn detail, don't know where I got it. Possibly from a German variant called "Puddocky," in which the second task is to find a dog that can fit inside a walnut shell. And the entire last scene with the frog arriving is from the German version, not the Russian one, as well. Having jest reread them both, I can see the story that exists in my memory is a very jumbled combination of the two.

Also, like, the frog doesn't do anything for herself in the Russian version? She has attendants the prince can't see who sew the shirt and bake the bread and everything, which is totally lame, and also cheating; the king said he'd leave the kingdom to the prince whose wife did the best job, not the one whose wife had the best servants. And there is a second half, in the Russian version, though the German version ends with the banquet. After that scene, in the Russian version, when the prince realizes his wife doesn't have to be a frog, he burns the skin, which in his defense, seems like the thing to do, based on folkloric precedence. But it doesn't pan out this time. Ends up being a more "East of the Sun West of the Moon" style screw-up, and he has to go on a quest to get her back. Which is actually kind of fun; you don't see a lot of gender reversal on the "I screwed up my SO's transformation spell and now I gotta fix it" quest. Anyway, he does that thing where he spares the lives of a bunch of animals and in return they help him out later. (I think the only time I've talked about that before is in "The Sea Hare".) Baba Yaga tells him our frog girl is now with Kaschey the Deathless, and how to kill him; it's one of those "you have to stab him in his heart, but instead of being in his body it's in an egg in a chest in a tower underwater or whatever" situations, like in "The Troll With No Heart In His Body". The animals help out with that, and then we live happily ever after, for real this time.

#folklore #fairy tales #grimms #russian folklore #the frog princess #grimm brothers #puddocky

[leam1983]

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

#personal life #tw: cancer mention #tw: alcoholism mention #tw: death mentions #grief #coping

[julessworldd]

Cheerleader and the future rockstar

Warnings: cussing, there’s a jock being an ass talking about the Oc in a gross, sexual way. arguing a little.

A/N: I don’t know much about Izzy’s family life, like his mom and brothers name. I think the one I had is right for his younger brother. And what year he finished high school, bare with me. Oc’s home life is sorta sucky even though she’s the rich cheerleader. she’s not snobby at all like the sterotype everyone has about cheerleaders. I will make a part 2!

@slashscowboyboots​ @roger-taylors-car​ @reigns420​ @awildkaitlynhasappeared​ @ginny-rose-sixx​ @izzysguitar​ since you liked the post last night about the upcoming fic :)

High school Au of Izzy.. Izzy falls for the cheer captain after, she offers her help on an essay in English. Here's the thing the cheerleader has loved Izzy since he grabbed her from falling down the stairs, sophomore year. 

Many know Jeff Isbelle or now Izzy for lots of things. He was the cool, stoner, who was planning on being a rockstar with his buddy, Bill Bailey. To some teachers he was hell on wheels, "The badboy" even though he barely talked. Jocks: Izzy was a creep, just another shadow, stupid stoner who needs to have better life plans. To Judith Channing Izzy was: her crush of two years, wanted to spark a conversation, but her red and black cheer uniform stopped her. Izzy hated the cheer squad because their "Loyalty" to the jocks, they were too happy for his liking at 10 am. Judith remembers when Tommy Lockeler tried to push her down the 3rd floor stairway after, she told him she thought he was nothing but a whore and didn't want to go on a date.  Felt like it was yesterday.. 

I stared at Tommy as he was putting his claim about him being a manwhore. His face got redder and redder by the minute.. 

"Keith told me you had such a tight pussy, Channing. Wanna let me test his theory out? Probably won't you're just a bitch", Tommy spat back.

"Fuck you, Tommy. You just proved my point right there! God, you're so stup-", I felt the air out of my chest leave as I tumbled backwards into someone's arms.  "Whatever", I heard Tommy stomp away. "Hey, hey. You okay?", I heard a soft but gravely voice ask. I opened my eyes to see a tallish boy with medium brown hair, hazel eyes holding me, face with concern. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for not letting me bust my head open, uh?", I said, holding my hands flat on his chest, one hand clutching his Rolling Stones' shirt. "Jeff, but I go by Izzy. Aren't you that Channing girl?", Izzy said, pulling me up, pushing a hair out of my face. "Yeah, I'm Judith. Nice to know my hero's name, Izzy", I blushed.  Izzy grinned, "What made Tommy try to commit murder after lunch anyways?" I smoothed out my uniform skirt, "Just the guy I lost my-", I realized what I was about to say to the new guy. "My hat, this summer. Tommy wanted to- '', I said, but Izzy nodded and seemed to understand what my 'hat' actually was. 

"Well, Keith needed to keep his mouth shut. Tommy is just an asshole, he's a jock they're all the same'', Izzy grumpled. "Yeah, you're right", I said. "Judith! We're gonna be late to practice, come on!", Erin yelled down the hall. "Thanks again, I appreciate it a lot. See ya around, Izzy", I smiled. "No problem. Have a good practice, Jude", Izzy said, reaching into his jacket pocket for his Malobros.  I watched Izzy smirk and skip down each stair, his cute ass bouncing as he went down. "Judith!", Erin yelled again, taking me away from my hero. 

Crazy how that's been two years ago, Izzy doesn't recognize me or chose to at least. After that day, I had a big secret crush on the Johnny Thunders of Lafayette. No guy gets me like Izzy does, Izzy barely knows me but he has such a big affect on me.  I walked into Mr. Allan's senior english class, there was a seat by the window, behind this dark headed boy. I sat down behind him, judging if I liked this seat. It was close enough to board, not in the very very front, nice view outside. "Oh Mike?", the kid turned around. "Oh, you're not Mike. Hi", I looked up and it was Jeff Isbelle. "No, sorry. Is this seat taken?", I asked as my heartrate rose. "No, he came in for a minute, guess he left before I noticed", Izzy said. "Okay class, let's get started!", Mr. Allan clasped his hands together. Allan was going over what we would be doing in the class before we graduated in June. Same bullshit honestly. Read Shakeperse, write essays, read other dead guys' writings. 

Two weeks later, Izzy was still seated in front of me. Making 3rd period class time hell, if you call getting to see his beautiful self plop down everyday. "Alright guys, we finished McBeth and now I'm wanting you to write about how you took the play. I'm asking if you liked the ending, if not write how you would have ended instead. You can use the books, notes we took, even chapter tests I gave back. Due in two weeks", Mr. Allan stated before sitting back at his desk.  It was getting close to 4th period, meaning I could leave for the day, no cheer practice today too. 

"Hey Judith?", Izzy asked. "Yeah, what's up?", I asked from writing my draft. "Did you keep anything from this unit? I lost my binder", Izzy asked. "Yeah, what do you want?", I smiled. "Notes, I guess. I'm not sure how I wanna write this shitty essay", Izzy grinned. Damn what a beautiful smile. I handed him every note I took on the play, side notes, everything.  "Pretty smart for a cheerleader", Izzy said, grabbing my notes. "I liked the play really well, okay?", I fought back.  "If you say so, Judith", Izzy turned back around. 

I walked in the empty room, well thought it was empty. Izzy was sitting in a desk next to Mr.Allan's desk, "Oh sorry, sir", I started to turn around. "It's okay, Judith. Actually, I need you for something", Mr. Allan smiled. I stood next to Izzy. "With what?", I asked. "Mr. Isbelle said you gave him his notes, the first day I assigned this essay. I'm just wanting to make sure he's not lying is all", Mr. Allan said. "Jeff is telling you the truth, sir. He asked if I still had anything about the play and wanted my notes for a starting point, I guess. You said we could use anything we did for the play", I said, starting to get offended he would assume Izzy stole my notes and wanted to cheat. 

"Okay, Judith. Well, since you're here go sit down.", Mr. Allan breathed out, probably embarrassed and a 17 year old girl started him out. The ball rang making Mr.Allan go out for hall duty and talk to other teachers. 

"Hey", Izzy said, standing in front of me. "Hi, Jeff", I smiled. "Thanks for backing me up with dickhead. If I tell you this, will you promise me you won't go to practice and gossip about me?", Izzy said clenching his jaw, he looked really hot. "Of course, Jeff. What's up?", I asked, rubbing my thumb over my other hand. "Your notes helped some, but I'm still stuck. Maybe, it's writer's block I need you to help me crap out this dumb essay. Please?", Izzy said. "Yeah, no problem, Jeffrey. I have cheer until 4:45, but I can meet you somewhere after.", I smiled. Izzy stared at me for a second, "Sure, that's cool. I can give you my address, mom's working late." 

I pulled up to Izzy's place, couple cars were parked outside. I decided to stay on the side of his street and yard, leaving a place for his mother. Izzy stepped out for a smoke as I got out, pulling my brother's t-shirt down. "Boyfriend's shirt?", Izzy blew out smoke from his lips. "No, brother's actually", I said, slinging my bag on my shoulder more. "Oh. Didn't know you had siblings, you gave me the spoiled only kid vibe", Izzy deadpanned. "No, three older brothers and two younger sisters.", I said, feeling small and embarrassed by Izzy. "My brother is here, just ignore him the best you can. He brought home some hamburgers, if you're hungry.", Izzy said, holding the door open. It was an average, but comfortable home. Pictures of Izzy and his brothers, with their mother lined the walls and a few tables. Tv by the wall, couple couches, chairs. Something wet touch my shein, "Sadie! Down. I'm sorry I thought Kevin set her out.", Izzy started to pull Sadie away by her collar. "She's okay. I have two dogs myself, I'm in her house, she's just checking me out. Yeah, you're a pretty girl", I said, bending down to pet her. "What kind of dogs?", Izzy said, sitting on a chair next to Sadie. "German shepherd, named Phoenix, Golden Retriever, Jagger. Jagger is new she's my baby like Phoenix", I said giggling as Sadie licked my hand. "Cool", Izzy mumbled. "Do you wanna start your essay or let me see what you have? Might not have to even start over", I got up and stood by his chair. "Damn, you're really about that essay", Izzy got up, going where I amused his room. 

 "Boys, I'm home!", A woman's voice entered the room. "Oh hi, dear. I didn't know Jeff had a girl over.", She smiled. "Yeah, I'm helping him on an english essay. I'm Judith Channing", I got up and grinned. "Channing? Channing? Is your father's name Frank?", She asked. "Yes, that's him", I said. "I went to high school with him, how is he?" "That's nice, uh he's good. Still in Chicago", I said. "Chicago?" "Yeah, business trip", I said, hoping Izzy would dash in or holler for me to come to see his room. "Does Jeff know you're here?", She asked with a worried look. "Yeah, we met outside. He went to his room for his english stuff, guess he fell to China '', I giggled. "Tell me about it, damn boy takes forever. Jeff! Did you forget about Judith? Jeffery Dean!", His mother yelled. 

"Mom, hey. Though I told you to come with me, Judith?", Izzy said standing beside me. "How was work, Momma?", Izzy hugged her. "Hi, I'm Kevin and you are?", Kevin, Izzy's younger brother checked me out. "Kev, let her alone she's with me", Izzy said, standing beside me protectively. "You're way way out of my brother's leguage. Hey Mom", Kevin said. "Come on. Holler if you need anything", Izzy grabbed my hand, pulling me with him. He grabbed my bag on the way. "Crack your door, Jeff. I mean it!", his mother yelled.  Izzy's room was nice, typical posters, navy blue bed set, desk with papers and pens, small nightstand with a picture of his family, set of records by his recorder player. I slid my shoes off by his desk and sat on the chair. Izzy flopped on his bed, unamused. 

"So what did you think about McBeth?", I asked. Izzy shrugged. "Izzy, your perspective is gonna help write this essay. Tell me", I scoffed. "Just a crazy dude that got killed for letting his power go to his side over what a couple hags had to say. I liked when he got ambushed by the people", Izzy sighed, rubbing his hair around.  "Okay, see that helps. So,you liked the ending and we can stretch your thought out into five paragraphs", I said, looking for a pencil.  "Listen, Judith I'm not in the mood for a stupid play from a dead guy from 400 years ago. Mr.Allan can go fuck himself", Izzy scoffed out. "If you didn't want me over why did you ask for my help. I do have other shit to do, Izzy", I pinched the bridge of my nose. This fucker made me drive half way cross town for this essay. "Then why did accept to come over and help?", Izzy spat back. "I don't know? Probably because I always help people who need help. It's what nice people do anyways", I rolled my eyes.

“Why did I have to ask a smart cheer captain for help?”, Izzy groaned.

“Sorry to break your little stereotype of cheerleaders being dumb and only want to fuck. You know what, Iz? I’m leaving, who cares if you finish the damn essay. Not like you care if you fail or pass, L.A won’t care either way”, I stood by his bed at his nightstand. Izzy stared up at me with confusion. “How do you know wanna go to L.A? I’ve never had a conversation with you before english”, Izzy raised up. “Bill told me you were thinking about if after graduation, he asked my help for math. We have talked before, Izzy. Sophomore year, you caught me from falling to my death after Tommy Lockeler, pushed me down the stairs. You had a Rolling stones shirt on, your hair a little shorter, guess I landed in your arms on a good day.”, I said, with tears in my eyes. “That’s you? No wonder you look familiar besides being a cheerleader. I’m sorry for being a dick, you did come out of your way for me.”, Izzy stood up from his bed. “It’s fine, Izzy. Why don’t you just bullshit it? I’m not feeling too great”, I sighed, walking to his desk for my bag. “Wait. Please don’t leave, I really need your help. I really liked the book and I’m sorta stuck.”, Izzy grabbed my wrist. 

“Okay. If I see you slacking I’m out, Isbelle”, I said. “Sit”, Izzy said, pushing his office chair to me. “Thanks”, I smiled. Izzy pushed a hair out of my face, “Sorry, it was bothering me”  I blushed, before looking away from him. Izzy chuckled, “Something you hiding from me, Judith?” “Tell you what, if you finish the essay, I’ll tell you what I’m hiding, deal?”, I bit my lip. “Deal”, Izzy smirked. Izzy’s brain was flowing and his hand was scribbling on the paper like he didn’t need me over. “Anndd done”, Izzy said, throwing his pencil in the cup he had on his desk. “Let me read it first”, I grabbed the two pages. “You lied”, Izzy whined. I scanned his paper looking for details of the play, if he had the right grammar, punctuation. “Looks good, Izzy. I’m proud”, I laid the paper down. “Thanks, now tell me why you were blushing?”, Izzy laid his hand on my jean clad thigh. “Do I have to?”, I whined. “I did my part, so it’s your turn, Channing”, Izzy said, not breaking his poker face. “Okay, don’t get mad. I have had a crush on since you caught me that day, at times I’m happy Tommy attempted to murder me that day. You happy?”, I stood from his chair and paced besides his bed. “Judith”, Izzy said.

“Hey, Judith, calm down. I have to tell you something too”, Izzy said, grabbing my hand. “What?”, I asked, scared to death he was gonna kick me out. “I like-”, “Hey dinner is ready”, Kevin opened his door, looking down at our hands. “I better get home, mom’s probably worried.”, I lied, she didn’t give a damn about me and my whereabouts. “Okay, I’ll walk you out”, Izzy said. We reached my car, “Well,thanks for the help. Guess I needed to be forced to write”, Izzy said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “No problem, I liked hanging out with you”, I smiled. Izzy nodded, “Be safe” “Sure thing. Night Izzy”, I said, unlocking my car door. Izzy stood until I turned at the stop sign from his house. I tried to skip school, to avoid the awkwardness between me and Izzy. He got really quiet after his brother barged in yesterday, at least he was nice enough to walk me to the car and waited for me to get on the main road again. 

I was headed to lunch but was really wanting to sneak out to my car and drive around for a while. Looking through the glass doors that lead to the front parking lot, I could hear my car whine for me to leave. “Fuck it”, I thought grasping the door and pushed it open. “Where do you think you’re going, missy?”, A deep male voice startled me. I turned around to see Izzy grinning. “Oh it’s just you. Come on, let’s ditch”, I smirked. Izzy nodded and opened the door. We ran down the stairs, to my car, laughing. “Why did you wanna skip? You have a good attendance record?”, Izzy asked, plopping into the passenger seat. “Just ready to leave, school was boring. I don’t have cheer practice today. You?”, I asked, starting the car. ‘Shattered’ The Rolling Stones played quietly. “Same reason as you, just fuck it. Didn’t take you as a Stones fan?”, Izzy smirked as I pulled out of the school parking lot and headed towards town. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me Izzy. My dog is named after Mick Jagger, remember?”, I smirked. Izzy nodded his head to the beat of the song, going through my cassette tape collection. 

We got out of my car and went to a pair of swings, Izzy groaned. “What’s the matter, afraid one of the stoners will catch you with the cheerleader?”, I smirked. “No, princess. Just haven’t swung since I was 9”, Izzy grumbled. “Suit yourself, Jeff”, I pushed my legs to swing. “You like cheerleading?”, Izzy asked. “It’s alright”, I said. Izzy lit a cigarette and watched me swing my legs back and forth. Izzy caught me as I slowed down, holding the chain, pulling me close to him. I looked in his hazel eyes, cigarette creeped on his breath. “After, I killed Kevin for bargin in on us last night. I got to thinking, we’re getting closer to graduation. I’m bailing this hoosier state, you’re probably going on to join a sorority at Purdue. I wanna tell you something”, Izzy said, breath fanning my neck. “What is it?”, I whispered. “I like you and wanna know if you’ll be my girl?”, Izzy nipped my bottom earlobe.  I pulled him into a kiss, holding his shoulders, “Thought you would never ask, Jeff” Izzy smiled down at me. “And I’m not going to college, Iz. I don’t have to pay to have friends, just so you know. Thinking about going to New York actually”, I whispered. “Wanna join me out west? Don’t go to New York, just cold as Indiana, baby”, Izzy held my waist. “I can do that”, I grinned, kissing his cheek. 

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfic #highschool au #Oc!reader #Judith Channing

[exquisitley-obsessed]

rdr2 characters with an accented s/o

masterlist

please no spoilers I’m still currently playing the game but jeeeeezeee...Rockstar really didn’t have to play with my heart by making such attractive characters ://

Dutch:

Most likely out of everyone to give you a nickname based off your accent/background

e.g. Royal Highness if you’re British 

Armada if Spanish

Fucking baguette or something if tour French (actually, he’d probably call you Antoinette)

Definitely would find a way to lie, cheat and steal using your accent as an advantage

You doing a lost foreigner act on a carriage whilst he robs the boot

After a while you notice he stops doing this so much

You assume it’s because he doesn’t want to put himself out there too much

Really, it’s because he’s realising how much danger you end up putting yourself in

Brings you trinkets associated with your heritage after long trips away

He asks you about your upbringing but only in the soft moments

Like the early hours of the morning when your both half-asleep and entangled in the bed sheets

“Was it beautiful...where you grew up?”

“...It could’ve been”

Subconsciously, he bases his ideas of ‘Paradise’ on what you describe to him about your hometown

Trains you on an American accent when he realises your own accent makes you more recognisable to his many, many enemies

If you give him a nickname it’ll appear like he doesn’t react

In reality, he thinks about it every spare moment he gets

The word becomes a safe place for him

Arthur:

Out of everyone, he barely even recognises that you even have an accent

It all blurs for him

It’s only when he mistakenly guesses your heritage that you’re like...hang on a second

“It’s a buffalo y/n...don’t you get those back in Germany?”

“Arthur I’m not...German?”

It becomes an inside joke

He nicknames you ‘Germany’ and uses it when times aren’t stressful

Like when you’re out hunting together

And you’re teasing him

He doesn’t ask you too much about your backstory, he doesn’t much mind

He cares more about who you are today

One day he brings you back a photo album, brimming with images from your distant home

You don’t know where it comes from and he never tells

Just smiles and leaves it near your bed for you to discover

You don’t know for months it was him who gave it to you

He lets it slip at some point

It’s quite a revealing moment

It’s just a photo album but, feels like so much more

It’s also in that moment that Arthur realises something in himself

Things change after that, for the good

You promise yourself to always keep the photo album with you - till the day you die

Javier:

Instant bonding over having accents

Everyone else finds it funny how quickly you two get on

Already comfortable running jobs and errands together within days

Talking mindlessly as your horses relax into a steady trot next to one another

Doing watch around camp together

Whatever feelings arise in you, you bury quickly, convincing yourself that he only sees you as a friend

He doesn’t

He likes to remind you that you’re the only one he’s comfortable around

Like truly, comfortable

He’s never on guard around you

Never worried about sounding too much like a ‘greaser’

You don’t really see how much he opens himself up to you, and only you

He likes hearing you sing

Even when you feel like you sound terrible

“Mi amor...please...stop being self-conscious, and sing the damn song”

The first time things feel serious is when you’re on watch together in the early hours

He’s smoking a cigarette, watching the sun before saying

“I wish you could’ve met my mamma...you remind me of her sometimes.”

The way he looks at you then, you’ll never forget 

Charles Smith:

King of already knowing more about your culture than you do

After meeting you, maybe he starts speaking in your home language and you’re just like

...

“I only know the basics”

He’s the only person (except maybe Strauss??) who could tell you more about your own culture than you already know

He definitely is the only person you’d allow to lecture you on your own culture

Because he never means harm

Like ever

He’s just a knowledgeable person

You’d bring out the more of the wild side of him

It’s exhilarating for him to do jobs with you

Something about risking his life with you at his side

He’ll definitely braid you hair

You don’t even ask the first time

You’re just sitting between his legs around the campfire as everyone’s singing a song

He’s fingers curl into your hair and he gifts you a braid

Tying it off with a beat from his own hair

It means more to him than you’ll ever realise

But what’s even better is that you don’t take it out

And every time he sees it, he can’t but help feel butterflies

John Marston:

Dumb aura Marston

Definitely couldn’t figure out where you’re from

Consistently gets it wrong

At first your frustrated, upset that he can’t remember something so basic about you

It takes you a moment to realise he’s kidding with you and actually not that incompetent, just likes seeing you mad

You’ll get your revenge on him one way or another

His feelings definitely spark into existence when he sees you teaching Jack something about your heritage

Maybe showing him how to cook a certain dish

Reading him a certain fairy tale

He comes back to you sometime later in the evening

It’s dark and it feels like no ones about

Only a meek candle spluttering out light around you

The only secluded spot on camp

He asks you about what you were teaching Jack, asks you if you could teach him

At first you think he’s laughing at you but no

He’s completely serious

No mischievous glint in his eye, just a genuine interest

And he listens

And he remembers

It’s that moment that makes you think that maybe there’s more to John than you ever realised

requests open<3

masterlist

#Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead Redmeption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption two #rdr2 #rdr #rdr imagine #rdr oneshot #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 oneshot #dutch #Dutch Van Der Linde #dutch x reader #dutch x oc #dutch imagine #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde onshot #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan oneshot #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier excuella x oc #javier escuella onshot #javier escuella imagine

[the-homicidediaries]

Issei Sagawa

“Sometimes I wonder why I did such a horrible thing. Maybe it’s because I come from another planet, or another dimension and accidentally fell to Earth like a meteorite, disguised as a baby crying on the street. My mother walked by and took pity on me. I must have come from a place of cannibals, and I’m the only one of my kind who exists on this planet.”

Good afternoon, everyone who takes the time to read this!

Today, I have the very displeasure of telling you about one of the most.. bizarre human beings I have ever read about.

I have been interested in true crime ever since I could remember. My father is really interested in it as well, so growing up there were always books laying around about the worst of the worst kind of people. Even to this day, my dad and I share stories we heard or a new podcast we listened to or swap books; it’s real fun.  And when you are heavily interested in true crime, you hear and see so many similar stories. This person had an abusive childhood and became a serial killer, this person was not longer interested in being a family man so he killed his whole family and moved away to start a new life, this person was strung out on drugs, this person caught her husband cheating on her and stabbed him as a crime of passion, etc. And while I am not downplaying or excusing these murders AT ALL, because no one should be murdered, I do find myself skipping stories like that. They don’t check my boxes.

Cannibals check my box.  And I have, admittedly, unconsciously, been surrounding myself with cannibalistic aspects. I just finished (another) three part podcast about Jeffrey Dahmer, I’m reading My Friend Dahmer, and watching Attack on Titan like my life depends on it. (Attack on Titan is a Japanese manga series turned into a long running anime about three conjoined towns who are constantly being attacked and eaten by the HUGE human-like zombie creatures, but that is for another day.)

Have I rambled enough? Yes. Yes, I think so. Let’s get into ittttt.

Issei Sagawa, known as Pang or The Kobe Cannibal, was born on April 26th, 1949 in Kobe, Japan to a very wealthy family. Issei has said himself that his childhood was the happiest time of his life and he was a carefree child. He said his parents love him deeply. One thing to note about Issei is that he was born prematurely (and he looks.. off) and doctors did not think he would survive. Issei said because of this, he has always seen himself as an undesirable person. So, instead of friends, Issei had books! Because his family was so wealthy, Issei was afforded an incredible education and was able to travel all over the world and learn about music, art, literature, etc.  He was very interested in art. This will come back around later.

So how does a rich, seemingly normal, intelligent child become a cannibal?  Issei contributes a few things to this: *Issei said his first cannibalistic urge happened when he was in first grade and saw a fellow classmate’s thighs. *Issei said sex was a taboo subject around his household. He said when he had reached a certain age, he began having erections, like all boys do, but he thought he was sick and was too embarrassed to tell anyone. He didn’t know how to relieve himself at this time.. soooo. He, uh, got help from his dog.  Yeah. Yeeeah. (I watched an interview he did with Vice about ten years ago, which I will link below, and watching him describe this so nonchalantly made me the most uncomfortable. Actually, he is nonchalant the entire interview and it’s so disturbing and uncomfy. At one point he says, “I think my sexual desires began to distort around that time.”  Yeah, I would say so, buddy.) *Issei said he would have a reoccurring dream where he and his brother were being boiled in a large pot to be eaten. Issei said he flipped the script and began to fantasize about what it would be like to eat someone. As with most premeditated killers, his fantasies escalated from curiosity to behavior. *Issei was obsessed with western women. He said they are tall and beautiful and he has described himself as a “weak, ugly, and small man”. In an interview after what he keeps calling an “incident”, Issei claimed one of the reasons he consumed human flesh was to “absorb her energy”. 

Issei said he did practice a good amount of restraint for his cannibalistic urges until his college years. While attending Wako University in Tokyo, Issei said he saw a beautiful, blonde, German woman walking by and he was “dazzled by her white thighs”.  One day, he broke into this woman’s apartment on the ground floor. He said his plan was to hit her in the head with an umbrella so he could get a knife from her kitchen and cut into her buttocks and eat it. He was extremely hesitant and his knees accidentally brushed against her stomach, waking her up. She screamed and Issei fled. Police charged him with attempted rape.  Issei said he did explain to psychiatrists about his sexual urges but they didn’t consider it cannibalism and let him go. 

After this, Akira (his father) sent Issei to study comparative literature at Sorbonne University in France in 1981. In the interview, as Issei is recalling this, he said his mother had the an extremely sad look on her face the day he was leaving, “like she knew something horrible was going to happen”. (I could think of a reason why.)

Issei had not forgotten about how close he had gotten to fulfilling his fantasy of eating a European woman back in Tokyo. He was convinced if he was more prepared he could follow through with it flawlessly. He said when he moved to France, he would bring home a sex worker almost every night, but everytime he tried to shoot her, his fingers would freeze. While studying at Sorbonne University, Issei set his eyes on 25-year old Dutch student, Renée Hartevelt. Issei said Renée was so beautiful and he had never seen anyone like her before. (She really was stunning and looked like such a sweet person.) He also said he didn’t want to get caught staring at her, so he began making sketches of her.  From what I read, and I do not know how accurate this is, the two started as friends and eventually Issei began to pursue Renée romantically. He would take her on dates to art museums and dinner. When he confessed his feelings for her, she insisted they just remain friends because she was not sexually attracted to him.  So Issei lied to Renée and told her his professor wanted him to record some German poetry. Renée didn’t think anything about helping out a fellow classmate, so she was happy to come over and help.  Issei said he picked out the poem she read, and as she was reading the poem out loud at his desk, he pulled a rifle out of a closet and shot her in the neck. He said she kept reciting the poem after he shot her, then she just.. stopped. Issei said he fainted after he shot her and when he came to he almost called an ambulance for her, but he knew he would regret it if he lost this opportunity to act out his fantasies.

I am going to quote Issei verbatim from his interview with Vice.

TRIGGER WARNING

“I lied to her that my professor wanted some German poetry recorded. That was the pretext. She didn’t doubt a thing. I chose the poetry. I reached for the gun while she was reading. I was talking to her with a smile on my face. I was really scared. Yet I did pull the trigger. She... kept on talking... until suddenly she fell silent. First she collapsed onto the desk, then fell to the ground with the chair. I laid a towel under her head then undressed her. I had everything planned out in my head from which part i would start feasting on and such. Starting with her ass. I thought it looked the most delicious. It had to be the right cheek, not the left. The left cheek is closer to the heart and I’m scared of blood. I abruptly bit into it, but it was too hard to bite into. It hurt my jaw. I tried cutting in with a fruit knife but it didn’t go through. I gave up and went to the market. I bought a curved meat knife. Finally it went through the flesh. I thought I’d see red meat right away, but there was a yellow corn-like substance, which I later found out was fat. I had to cut deeply to reach the red meat. I don’t remember if I sliced it off, or tore it off with my fingers. I put most of my favorite parts, like the thighs, in the fridge.”

My face right now.

He’s leaving out a lot of details on this.. right after he shot Renée, he had sex with her corpse. And, like I said before, he is so nonchalant about all of this. He ate a LOT of her. I saw a picture of eleven paper plates loaded with human flesh, muscles, and fat. Both of her breasts, her nose, her tongue, her bottom lip, and most of her lower half (her hips, middle of her stomach, and thighs) was missing. He did say he tried to eat her breast, but it was mostly fat and he didn’t enjoy it. Her buttocks, however, “(It) melted in my mouth like raw tuna in a sushi restaurant.” He continued to try different parts of Renée’s body. He would fry pieces of her and eat other parts with mustard. He even decapitated her. He took pictures of Renée’s mutilated body and would have sex with it while listening to the recording of her reading the German poem.

For four days.

He mentioned how June is the hottest month in Paris and he was worried the body would start to rot. So he took Renée’s body to the bathroom and cut her up so he could get rid of it. (He also mentioned after finishing his graduate program, he wanted to go to Greece. He said he took a big luxurious boat and actually shared a table with a butcher and his wife during dinner. He said the butcher was a fat, jolly man and told him how to butcher meat. Issei wrote a letter to the butcher after “the incident” thanking him. He said the butcher never wrote back.)

One he had cut the body up into pieces, he placed the pieces into two suitcases and, made plans to dump the body in a lake in Bois de Boulogne, called in a cab.  “It wasn’t easy getting the body into [the suitcases]. The torso is extremely heavy. It’s really hard to cut to begin with. It’s nothing like a horror movie.” When the cab driver picked up Issei’s suitcases to put them in the cab, he asked Issei if he had a dead body in them. (That tidbit made me really sad.)

Once Issei reached the lake, he pushed the suitcases down the slope. He vastly underestimated how light it still was outside at 8 pm. He said several people were sunbathing still. The sun was setting across the lake, and Issei said for the first time, he saw color. He was fascinated watching a young boy and his grandfather at the top of a hill and while he was distracted, another man came up, opened one of the suitcases, and saw a bloody bedsheet with legs wrapped in it. A woman screamed and someone else yelled, “Murderer!”  Issei said he just walked away.

Issei was, of course, arrested. He was interrogated by three psychiatrists who deemed him mentally insane. Issei was sent to a criminal psych ward, but before he could even begin treatment, he was deported back to Japan because the French people were very uncomfortable with him being there at their expense.  Once Issei arrived back in Japan, he mentioned the hospital he was staying at didn’t conclude that he was mentally ill, just that he had a personality disorder. Issei was forced to leave the hospital without undergoing any treatment. He did not serve any time in prison for ungodly crimes he had committed.  Actually, in a weird turn of events, he became a local celebrity. He became an author, had several interviews, has illustrated mangas (that’s why I mentioned he loves art), made porn, and was even a food critic. He even travelled to Canada, Mexico, and Iceland with two friends of him. I don’t have time to cover all of that because that in itself could be a whole other essay, but like I said, I will link the YouTube video I watched below.

And that is the gruesome, awful, gut wrenching story of Issei Sagawa.

Below are pictures of Issei Sagawa and his victim, Renée Hartevelt. I am also linking the Vice interview on YouTube as well as the crime scene photos. Please view at your own risk.

Thank you for reading. <3

Crime scene photos: https://murderpedia.org/male.S/s/sagawa-issei-photos-2.htm Vice Interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BosZxa1bYcE&t=336s

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Welcome to the back (Part 12)

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

After all the angst of the last chapters, I owe you some fluff, don’t I? Have fun with this absolutely carefree feel-good chapter!

(I’m German and have never tried to write poetry in English before, don’t judge me)

- - -

“What do you think about the superheroes?”, Marinette asked him out of the blue. They were in her room, filming how she sewed buttons on the beret she was working on. The idea had come from his Akuma’s hat, but her version looked a lot less... extra. It was fun yet classy, his mother would love it. He’d been in the middle of taking a photo to sent it to her when Marinette had asked.

“Huh”, he shrugged. “Not much. Why do you ask?”

“Just out of curiosity. Come on, tell me what you think!”

She truly was random, from time to time. But if she wanted to know...

“I never met them before yesterday, and I don’t remember most of it.”

He tried not to think too much about what had happened, but sometimes he woke up screaming, hearing a voice that had burned itself into his mind like a brand. It felt... tainting to be controlled like that, to be turned into a puppet of his own emotions.

“But Ladybug was... nice.”

He shook his head.

“Totally different than what I expected. I saw her interviews, of course, but I didn’t expect her to really be like this off stage. She seemed... as if she really cared.”

She hadn’t just purified the akuma and been done with it, even though Felix wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. He’d seen Nino’s video, the fight had been brutal. But she’d stayed anyway, despite her obvious exhaustion. She’d made sure he was alright, and assured him he wasn’t at fault for anything. This wasn’t just a duty to her; it was her vocation. Felix admired that.

“And Chat Noir?”, Marinette pressed on. “What do you think about him?”

She was quite curious today, wasn’t she?

“He’s a threat, a loose canon.”, he said truthfully, voice cutting. “He’s a danger to himself, Ladybug and the entirety of Paris.”

He didn’t have any memories from his time as Sentiquill, but some of his feelings had remained after his defeat. Admiration for Ladybug, respect for Chloé, hate for Hawkmoth. And a burning sense of disgust towards that despicable Chat Noir. Not even as an Akuma he had liked him.

“I don’t understand how he could be this apathetic.”, he murmured. “As if it was all some kind of game to him! His partner was in danger, and he just... didn’t care. He has so much power, so much responsibility. But he wastes it like a child throwing a tantrum.”

He looked down.

“I don’t trust him to take his role seriously.”

If it had been Marinette instead of Rose...

And even worse, Marinette had been in Paris since the very beginning! She had witnessed dozens of Akuma’s, most of them coming out of her immediate vicinity. To think that her safety relied that greatly on someone like Chat Noir... was more than unsettling.

“Felix...”, Marinette started, biting her lip. “Would you... Do you think you’d be a better Chat Noir?”

“I think anyone could be a better Chat Noir.”

“That’s no answer!”

What was it with superheroes today? She seemed really fixated on the topic.

He sighed.

“I think... Ladybug needs a partner that has no problem following her lead. And I’m... stubborn. I would likely ruin her plans by improvising in the last second, or think I knew better. I’m no good as a sidekick.”

Marinette hummed, deep in her own thoughts. The way her brows twitched was just too adorable.

“Maybe...”, she pondered and he forced himself out of his reverie, “Maybe that could be a good thing. What if Ladybug doesn’t want a sidekick, but a partner? An equal who will actively help with her plans, not just follow orders. Someone who’s on the same wavelength as her.”

He doubted he was the right one for that. Ladybug was... sweet. Everyone liked her, looked up to her. Felix on the other hand was kind of a prick next to her.

“Maybe you should be Chat Noir instead.”, he suggested. “You’re definitely the type Ladybug would click with. You’re both clever, creative at problem solving, natural leaders...”

He promptly regretted his words, because now he was picturing Marinette in black leather and cat ears, which made his cheeks redder than ripe tomatoes. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea!

“I-I mean! You’d be a great hero!”

Oh fuck, he was stammering! He coughed a few times to collect himself. Luckily, Marinette didn’t think much of his reaction, instead she fumbled with the necklace she’d started to wear yesterday. A simple string of grey yarn that had its pendant hidden under her shirt. He narrowed his eyes. Was that...?

“Oh!”, Marinette said when she followed his gaze. “Um, that! It‘s Chat Noir merchandise I ordered online, but now...”

She pulled out the pendant, which turned out to be a surprisingly good replica of Chat Noir’s ring.

“I don’t really want to wear it anymore, after everything that happened, but it would be a waste to just throw it away.”

“Ah, I see.”

What a shame, it looked high quality. But if she was interested in superhero merch, maybe he could ask his mother to make her Ladybug earrings? Or try to create jewelry himself?

His eyes fell on her earlobes, on her black earrings to be precise. He’d never seen her without them, and she’d told him they were very important to her.

Hm. He felt as if that should tell him something...

Shrugging, he brought his thoughts back to possible gifts. Maybe he should opt for a Ladybug necklace instead.

-

“Aaaaah, finally done!”, Marinette sighed after clicking ‘send’. Days of planning, designing, filming and cutting had now resulted in a twenty minute video, complete with voice-over and footnotes. Sure, the camera she’d used wasn’t very great, and the picture was a bit wobbly around the five minute mark, but now it was clipped to an email and on its way to TV1.

She did it! And there even was a day left until the end of the deadline!

“I’m sure they’ll be amazed.”, Felix assured her and leaned back in his chair. “And if not, I can always bribe them!”

“Don’t you dare!”, she laughed. “This will be my grand debut! No cheating!”

“Grand debut? I didn’t know you were that interested in journalism.”

Marinette fell back on her couch, replaying the report on her phone.

“I’m not. At least not as a career.”

She pointed at the bowler hat on her desk, the one she’d made for the Agreste Competition.

“But as a future designer, I need publicity. To show the world what I can do. Gabriel Agreste’s hat competition was a start, but it was centered mostly on the hat itself, not me as its designer. This contest on the other hand gives me a real platform!”

“Like a portfolio in video format.”, Felix realized. “That’s why you wanted to film here, not in my Mum’s atelier? So you could show all your other designs and materials?”

He clicked his tongue when she nodded.

“Brilliant. That way, everyone can see you’re a professional already and are serious about this.”

“It’s my chance to advertise myself.”, she agreed. “Even if I don’t win, the report is going to be viewed by a great amount of people! I hope that I’ll get commissioned more after this, maybe even receive offers for internships and so on.”

She put her phone away and stretched.

“Anyway, it’s going to look great on my resume!”

“Already planning the long game, huh?”, Felix chuckled and fell on the couch next to her. They had worked the whole day and were equally exhausted. “Now all we have to do is wait.”

She glanced sideways at his profile. He was looking at the roof, the pictures she’d plastered it with. Instead of Adrien, there were sketches of designs she had in mind, or pictures of her friends. A lot of them had Felix in them as well.

She smiled. In the short time he had been in her life, he had already turned into such an existential part of it.

“Thank you.”

He turned to look at her, surprised.

“For what?”

Hard to explain. The urge to thank him had come over her out of the blue, not directed at anything in particular. Just a general gratefulness to have him at her side.

His cheeks turned red when she told him this, word for cheesy word.

“You’re exaggerating.”, he murmured, and she pouted.

“I’m not! For someone that confident, you really gotta learn how to take a compliment.”

“I don’t get them that often!”, he grumbled in his defense. “At least not from people that matter to me.”

Now she was blushing herself. Stupid! They were friends, so of course she mattered to him.

Still. Hearing him say it was... something different. It made her heart flutter and her head swim.

“You matter to me as well.”, she confessed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. No, really!”

She gave him a little shove when he opened his mouth, likely to say something sarcastic and ruin the moment.

“You’ve done so much for me. You’re the only one that sticks with me, no matter what, and you’re the one that makes me want to... grow. With you, I feel like I’m invincible.”

His lips parted to answer, but no sound left him. Eyes glistening with... something he just stared at her, awestruck. This time she held his gaze, as if she could transmit the magnitude of her feelings for him via eye contact. He had to know, to understand how much he meant to her.

“Why?”, he breathed eventually, his voice so soft she barely heard him. “Why are you... telling me this?”

“Just so... Just so you know.”, she croaked, overcome by a strange kind of sentimentality. “I feel like I could lose you otherwise.”

“You won’t lose me.”, he promised and propped his head up on his hand to look her in the eye. “Never. I wouldn’t leave you for the world.”

She believed him. After everything that happened - with their class, Adrien, even Alya though she never meant to hurt her - she still couldn’t doubt for even a second that he spoke the truth. Felix was there for her. He wouldn’t turn on her, not ever.

A harsh ring broke the intimacy, shaking them out of the tender moment.

“I-It’s Cordelia.”, Felix uttered when he looked on his phone. His voice was hoarse and he coughed to clear his throat. “She told me to be home around eight.”

It was almost nine already.

“I should get going.”

Marinette sat up and rubbed the back of her head.

“Oh! Yeah, I’ll, uh, bring you to the door.”

“Right. Er, thanks.”

The silence between them as they walked down the stairs was a bit awkward. Marinette’s heart was still racing for reasons she didn’t want to examine right now, and she bumped in almost every piece of furniture on their way down. And what was up with her hands?! They were clasping at her jacket, her pockets, each other, as if they didn’t know how to relax anymore.

“I... I’ll see you on Monday, then.”, Felix said at the door, clutching the strap of his bag like a lifeline. Had she said too much? Had she embarrassed herself, or made him uncomfortable?!

“I-I guess.”, she stammered like a complete idiot. To her surprise, Felix didn’t leave yet. Instead he fumbled with a piece of paper before holding it out to her.

“It’s not much.”, he mumbled, before straightening himself. “But it’s sincere, and you should have it. I wrote it for you, after all.”

Hesitantly she took the folded paper from him. It was rough around one side, as if he had ripped it out of his book last minute, but his hand writing was as elegant as always. Intrigued she began to read.

Fierce and fervent, a force to behold,

Clever and cheerful, so charmingly bold,

A force to reckon with, a bright-blazing light,

You guide and beckon me, my star in the night.

“I didn’t think a lot about it, it’s more of a draft, actually.”, Felix tried to play it down as she stared at his poem, at a loss for words. “I’ll give you the improved version later, it’s okay if you throw this one away. It’s barely eight lines, I mean, I just-“

He stopped his stupid, stupid blabbering when she put her hand on his shoulder. Without hesitancy, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“I love it.”, she said, meaning every word to the letter. “It’s perfect.”

-

She held the paper like a treasure, even long after Felix had gone home.

“Can you believe it?”, she asked Tikki as she all but danced through her room, searching for tape to glue it on her wall. “He wrote it just for me! He just- just sat down, thought about me and wrote this! It’s wonderful!”

“That was so sweet of him!”, Tikki agreed, flying around her chosen. “He must have put a lot of effort in this, with how flustered he was after your reaction.”

The Kwami gave her a cheeky grin.

“Or maybe that had more to do with the fact that you kissed him.”

Marinette blushed and accidentally taped her fingers to the wall instead.

“O-only on the cheek!”, she corrected her little friend. “Geez, you make it sound as if I had... as if I... you know.”

“Do I?”

Tikki giggled when Marinette gave her a glare.

“Alright, alright, I’m just teasing you. But I do have a question.”

“Hm?”, she asked and finally managed to get the poem on her wall. The deep violet ink fit into her room’s color scheme perfectly.

“Why didn’t you give Plagg’s Miraculous to Felix?”, Tikki wondered. “His bag was right there, and we know you’d make a great team!”

Marinette sighed, holding the miraculous in her open palm.

“I think so as well, and I really wanted to! But...”

She closed her hand around it.

“This can’t be a decision I make so quickly. And certainly none I make just because I like Felix. Ladybug’s partner has to be someone that has proven themselves to be a hero. I can’t let my personal feelings interfere with that choice.”

Tikki floated closer.

“But what if Hawkmoth attacks with a new Akuma before you found someone?”

“I already thought of that.”, Marinette smirked with pride. “Chloé has worked on herself a lot, lately, and she’s reliable. She has shown she can handle being a temporary hero, even if she can’t keep the Miraculous. She might not be my first choice as a partner, and I don’t think she’s ready for such a great duty. But if Hawkmoth attacks before I’m ready to make a choice, I’ll ask Chloé to step in as a temporary Chatte Noire.”

“You really thought a lot about this!”, Tikki praised her. “I’m proud of how well you handle this responsibility.”

Marinette smiled and ran her hand over the rim of Felix’ poem.

“Thanks.”

She smirked.

“But I’ll definitely keep an eye on Felix. For professional reasons, of course.”

-

When Felix came to school on Monday, he was still reeling from Marinette’s reaction last Friday. Cordelia had been awaiting him with her infamous frown when he’d finally arrived at home, but quickly put on a knowing grin when she’d seen his face. “Our boy is in love.”, she’d whispered to his mother, thinking he wasn’t listening. “Let’s give him a pass.”

He had never felt this happy. Not just content or satisfied, but exuberantly, vigorously happy.

He’d tried to calm himself, he really had. It was just a gesture of gratitude, he’d reasoned. Or alternatively: This was Paris. Didn’t French people greet each other with a kiss on the cheek?

But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, his heart wouldn’t listen.

Marinette had kissed his cheek.

Marinette had kissed his cheek.

Marinette had kissed his cheek!

Bliss lightening his steps and euphoria blazing in his eyes, he was walking so quickly he arrived at school almost half an hour early. He didn’t have it in himself to mind. That way, he’d see Marinette even sooner! Provided that she was actually on time, of course. But so what if she wasn’t? He had the entire day to spend with her! She’d liked his poem - she’d liked his poem! - so maybe he could show her one of the others he had written for her. ‘Star in the night’ had been his personal favorite, but some of his more elaborated poems should-

“Felix!”, called a voice that actually managed to darken his mood. With a groan he quickened his pace, hoping that ignoring her would make her disappear again. Of course he wasn’t that lucky.

“Felix, wait!”, Rossi said again and grabbed his elbow. She grabbed his elbow. Ew.

“Do not touch me.”, he growled, emphasizing every syllable. To his surprise, Lila listened.

“Sure, as you wish!”, she complied cheerfully. He frowned. That was not a good sign.

“What do you want? Aren’t you busy with coddling Agreste’s ego? I’m sure he’s easier for you to handle.”

Rossi grinned and played with her hair.

“My, my, no need to get jealous.”

Ugh. There goes my good mood.

“I’m not putting up with this today.”, he muttered to himself and walked towards the art room. If Aurore or Alix were already there, Rossi wouldn’t dare to try anything. The two were vicious.

“Go and-“ - manipulate one of the other idiots, he wanted to say, but remembered the class’s reaction to Rossi’s latest lie. They were smarter than he gave them credit for, it was time to put his first impression of them aside. “- play famous somewhere else.”

Convinced that this would do the trick he started walking again, only to stop dead in his tracks at her next words.

“I met your father, recently.”

He froze from head to toe. His teeth were clenched so hard he feared he might break something.

“You’re lying.”

“We had a nice, long chat.”, Rossi ignored his reproach. He could hear the smug grin in her face. “About you. And your family situation. René is such a caring father, wanting to watch out for you even after all that he went through.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rossi.”, he seethed, fists twitching. (“You’re useless!”, his father screamed at him. “If I weren’t watching out for you, you’d be dead in a gutter by now!”)

“You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“He told me so much about you.”, Rossi continued. Felix wanted to throttle her. “And he agrees that you need a bit more... guidance when it comes to your social life.”

(“Public school?! Don’t make me laugh, Evelyn, he could deal with people even less than you can with PR.”)

“And a reminder of who you are.”

(“Listen here, boy. You are my son, and nothing more. Without me, you wouldn’t last a day basically anywhere. So don’t embarrass yourself by falling for some freeloader’s niceties to you!”)

“Of who you belong with.”

(“This little shit doesn’t want your friendship but my money! You honestly think you’ve got anything to offer otherwise? Stick to the people we belong with, or you’ll be gutted like a fish by these animals!”)

Felix’ breath came flat and panting, his head flooded by moments he desperately tried to forget. He was Felix Leanne, not Bordeaux, and he wouldn’t let himself be defined by some old bigot’s perception of him. His father was gone, and he wouldn’t be able to come back at him any time soon. No looking back, only forward.

“You can deem yourself fortunate,” he pressed out, “that I am no violent person. You wouldn’t be able to spout any more bullshit for a long time, otherwise.”

“Lucky me, huh?”

He hated her. Hated his father. Hated how some stupid, empty words could turn him into a ten year old child again, trembling and so utterly exhausted from everything this bastard threw at him.

“No need to get upset.”, Rossi continued and flung her hair back. “It’s not like I’m threatening you. No, I just want you to give me a chance. Get to know me, you’ll see I’m not as bad as you think!”

She laughed.

“Seriously, Felix, we’d have so much fun together. We’re both artists with words, after all, and we come from similar upbringings. It’s almost scary how well we match, don’t you think?”

She was insane. She’d just straight up manipulated herself into believing this. If he weren’t livid with anger, he’d be impressed.

“You’re going to listen closely, Rossi.”, he ordered her and slowly turned around to face this witch. “No matter what kind of illusion you entertain yourself with, I’ll play no part in that. You’re a manipulative liar, a selfish bully, and just a generally unpleasant person to be around. And neither you nor the monster you call my father have any power over me.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“There’s nothing you can do to me that matters, in the long run. And I don’t care about him anymore. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

With that, he wanted to storm off. But she wasn’t done with him yet.

“I really wish you didn’t force me to do this.”, she sighed. “But we talked about Dupain-Cheng as well.”

His heart stopped. Not missed a beat, but just refused to work until it had finished clenching in fear. He felt as if he might throw up.

“Did I mention your dad is the producer of Journalism Junior?”, she chuckled. “You know, the contest I signed our class up for? What a coincidence!”

No, no, no, no!

Her eyes were glowing with satisfaction.

“He has access to all videos that are sent in, and he decides which to show. Complete control over his viewers opinion, is what he calls it.”

“What did you do?”, he choked, not sure if he wanted an answer.

“Me? Nothing!”, was her innocent reply. “Not yet, at least. The question is, Felix Darling,” she hummed, “what I can do. And that is a whole lot.”

She crossed her arms and put on her exaggerated thinker face.

“For example, he sent me Marinette’s report as soon as it came in, and oops! I have one with the exact same contents now. The time stamp says I finished it last Tuesday already, and I made it with the highest-quality equipment there is. It would be a shame if Marinette were to be outed as a copycat in front of everyone in Paris, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t breathe. His mother was a designer herself, he knew what this could mean.

“Her career would be over before it began.”, Lila spoke his thoughts out loud. “No one would hire a thief as designer, the contest is going to be watched by millions. And you know me, I’m a sweetheart. Once they see my report, I’ll have everyone make her life miserable forever. Her friends, her teachers, everyone.”

She laughed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I could make Adrien smear his fan base against her, the poor boy is as dense as a brick.”

Her smile was the most disturbing thing he’d ever seen.

“Honestly, your dad is so awesome. With him, I can make all my stories a reality! It’s as he says: everything is the truth if enough people believe it.”

“You think you can blackmail me?!”, he snarled at her, hiding his despair. “If you ruin Marinette’s reputation, I can always ask my mother to hire her. She’s already in love with her designs, she can guarantee Marinette the brightest future there is.”

“Oh, Felix.”, Rossi cooed. “Be honest. You know her better than me. Would Marinette accept that? A career given to her out of pity, because you happen to be Leanne’s son?”

It wouldn’t be out of pity. His Mum had kept track of Marinette’s work, fascinated by her skills and creativity. But... Marinette wouldn’t believe that. She’d see it just like Rossi, as something she was handed on a silver platter of pity. She’d never accept that. Not Marinette, who wanted to do everything from scratch, who tried to prove herself so badly she rejected any offer of material help from him. No expensive fabrics, no special sewing machines, no rare supplies. She only ever asked for his support, his opinion, and his hand to hold the camera from time to time.

“But if you finish Marinette,” Rossi continued gleefully, “If you give her the cold shoulder from now on and do as I say, René is going to let Marinette’s report disappear. It just won’t make it into the selection that’ll be published. Might not be good for her ego, but at least she won’t be branded a copycat forever.”

Turning on Marinette? Abandoning her?

“You’re the only one that sticks with me, no matter what.”

He couldn’t do that. He... he couldn’t.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She meant so much to him, and she was counting on him.

“You matter to me as well.”

He had promised to stay at her side.

“You won’t lose me.”, he had sworn her. “Never. I wouldn’t leave you for the world.”

He’d rather kiss Agreste’s feet than go back on that. But...

“This will be my grand debut!”

Her designing was everything to her. Her passion, her future, her vocation. It was as important to her as his poetry to him.

On his first day, Marinette had risked her reputation, her friendships with the others, simply everything by giving him his poems back. She had taken one look at his writing and understood how much it meant to him. It had been natural for her to put her own happiness last, for someone she hadn’t even known yet.

Felix would be damned if he didn’t do the same for her. If Marinette suffered because of him, he’d never forgive himself.

He desperately wanted to find another way, a hidden loophole in Rossi’s plan, but it was to no avail. The liar had him cornered, backed against the wall.

He was lost.

“What do you want me to do?”, he whispered in defeat.

- - -

MWAHAHAHA! I gotcha! Ya really thought I’d be that fluffy?! Well you were WRONG! SUFFER WITH ME! No one’s getting out of this with all their feels intact! BWAHAHA!

#miramu writes #welcome to the back #wttb #felinette fanfic #ml felix

[skelebonecentral]

Hothouse Rose chapter 2

more with the skele sweeties (lust boys show up next chapter i promise)

words under the cut

Sans…felt better.

Therapy worked, who knew? Well, Toriel had been telling him to go, Alphys had, too, and he finally listened because he just couldn’t lose Papyrus.

The therapist was nice, he’d done a lot of research before choosing one, and they listened. He wasn’t usually as talkative, but if you don’t talk to a therapist, they can’t help. So he talked.

About losing their dad, about raising Papyrus by himself, about running six jobs just to keep the rent on the house up and let Papyrus continue training for the guard. About feeling de ja vu for months at a time and not being able to fix the machine that would maybe bring their dad back and having the burden of knowing he had the knowledge to help others but was so incompetent he couldn’t. Then there was acting as the Judge of the underground. That was a whole other thing that he hadn’t even told Papyrus about.

But it felt good to finally spill all the secrets that had weighed him down, especially knowing that nobody else would be told. He had more energy now, since he didn’t spend as much time on worrying. Well, that and the medication. A lot of healers from the underground had started working with humans to develop medicines that would be effective for monster patients, and he was using one of them. It was a real relief, not feeling like a weight was sitting on his head all day, or that he was the only one trying to help anybody.

Of course, having more energy made him work harder on things. His various jobs, his jokes, and working on the machine. It was actually nearly done, just needed testing, and it sparked a hope in Sans for the first time in a long time. Maybe he could do this. Maybe, now that his head wasn’t clogged with negative thoughts about the world and himself, he could fix this thing and bring back his dad. Would he be proud? Angry? He didn’t know.

He also didn’t realize the machine was in the ‘on’ state when he first plugged it in, and thus was utterly shocked when it sputtered and whirred to life…before violently exploding.

---

Normally, you’d be so happy about moving into a proper house this semester, and for the first few days, you had been.

But normally was not what was happening right now. Papyrus didn’t come to class for two weeks, and you were very worried.

You knew, from his texts, that he was okay, but it really didn’t make sense what he was saying.

“PLEASE GET MY WORK FROM CLASS FOR A FEW DAYS? SOMETHING VERY LARGE HAS HAPPENED.”

“HELP ME, PLEASE, THEY ARE ALL DRIVING ME UP THE WALL. LITERALLY, I AM USING BLUE MAGIC TO CLING TO THE CEILING AT THIS POINT TO GET AWAY FROM THEM ALL.”

“I HAVE TO MOVE HOUSE. WELL, TO BE ACCURATE, I HAVE TO MOVE MY STUFF TO A NEW HOUSE.”

Those were just some examples of the things he’d sent you, and you had been gathering the information for him on what had gone on during each of his missed lectures (at least the ones you had with him). Still, it was not like Papyrus to miss school, at all.

But at least your classes were not harsh on attendance as long as work got done, and Papyrus had been sending all his assignments in.

Finally, after almost another full week, you get a phone call, “Y/N! FINALLY! I’LL BE IN SCHOOL TOMORROW.”

“Thank goodness. What happened? I couldn’t piece it together from your messages,” you ask, very concerned.

“OH. WELL, IN SHORT, MY COUSINS APPEARED OUT OF THIN AIR AND ARE NOW LIVING WITH US. THAT’S WHY SANS AND I HAD TO MOVE, OUR HOUSE WAS GOING TO EXPLODE. THERE WERE ONLY THE TWO OF US, AND TWO TURNED INTO EIGHT, SO WE MOVED! WE’RE STILL CLOSE ENOUGH THAT IT’S NO TROUBLE FOR ME TO RUN TO SCHOOL, BUT WE’RE OVER IN THE…WELL, MY COUSIN SPICE CALLED IT ‘FANCY TOWN’.”

“You mean that edition on the west side with all the weird mansions?”

“YES! WE’RE IN A WEIRD MANSION THAT LOOKS LIKE A FRAT HOUSE. BIG COLUMNS, BRICK FRONT, COLONIAL LOOKING.”

“Okay. Wow, yeah, family emergency makes a lot of sense now that you say that. I’m just glad you weren’t sick or something, Papy. I’d be so lost without you.” You feel your face heat up saying it out loud, but it was true. These three weeks had been torment without his bubbly commentary and gentle pushing to do better.  Everything had seemed very empty without Papyrus around.

“Y/N, MY DEAREST FRIEND, I DO SECOND THAT, BUT ABOUT YOU!” you could hear him clicking a pen over and over on the other side of the line, and that told you he was anxious, “IT’S BEEN SO HARD TO KEEP MY PATIENCE WITH MY COUSINS WITHOUT THE BREAK GOING TO CLASS AND BEING WITH YOU GIVES ME. YOU JUST GET ME WITHOUT EVEN THINKING ABOUT IT. MAYBE…MAYBE I CAN COME OVER AND WE CAN DO THAT ALIEN WARLORDS OF JUSTICE MARATHON THIS WEEKEND?”

“Consider it done, Papyrus, I have missed you far too much to ever say no to a famous Papyrus sleepover. Do you want me to invite Frisk, too?” You just wanted to be with him again, no matter what form that took.

“YES! BUT ALSO NO. I THINK I WANT SOME ADULT TO ADULT TALKING TIME AWAY FROM THIS MAD HOUSE MORE THAN I WANT SILLY FRIENDSHIP DOODLES OR SOMETHING. I WANT TO RELAX, AND NOT WORRY ABOUT MISS TORIEL BEING ANGRY IF I MESS UP.”

Aw, Papyrus, the sweetheart. “Then just us, the show, and some popcorn and soda and maybe candy? Sound good?”

“I AM ALMOST CRYING I’M SO READY! I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW?”

“Without a doubt,” you giggle, “Love you, Papy.”

“I LOVE YOU, TOO! BYE BYE!”

It felt good to say it out loud. You loved Papyrus, that was not in argument at all, and hadn’t been since the incident with Sans. It’d been more than six months now since then, and you’d actually gotten on good terms with the other brother. You’d hear his deep voice mumble something over the phone on occasion and Papyrus would begrudgingly tell you what Sans had said, and when you did occasionally run into Sans at one of his odd jobs (or on campus coming out of the science building) you’d engage in small talk and your mutual admiration of Papyrus.

You weren’t afraid of the little guy anymore (he was just as tall as you, but much smaller than Papyrus so he seemed small) and would actually tentatively say you were friends. You had his number now and occasionally would get jokes texted to you specifically about language. He seemed to have remembered you were in linguistics, and was making the effort to connect on that. You’d send him back gifs of skeletons doing weird things, and that seemed to go over well.

So now you weren’t surprised when you got a text.

Punny bones: no matter how kind you are, german kids will always be kinder.

You laugh and text back.

You: so I guess papy told you about the sleepover?

Punny bones: yeah. he yelled so loud everybody in the house heard him. did he tell u about the cousins?

You: just that they’re driving him crazy and he wants some time away. Hence accepting his idea about the sleepover.

Punny bones: heh. He needs it. hard to compress eight different personalities into one house, so this is good for him. remember to lock the door, though? plz?

You: 😊 yes sans~

It had really surprised you when he’d started ending his texts to you asking you to be safe and reminding you of small things, like smoke detectors and door screws. He had stopped being afraid OF you and started being afraid FOR you. It was kind of nice, even if you didn’t quite know what had happened in his mind to flip that switch.

He still would apologize to you on occasion for his initial behavior, and you had told him you’d forgiven him. You had, of course, because you realized you thought about doing a very similar thing when you found out some human child you didn’t know had started making friends with Frisk. To be fair, it’s because you’d seen their parents and they were rich, making them very suspicious to you, but it helped you realize Sans’ actions weren’t THAT outside the realm of normal thought.

Still, that was Sans. Your thoughts were more toward Papyrus at the moment.

You gave Papyrus a bear hug when you saw him the next day, and pretty much every morning thereafter until the weekend. This would be his first sleepover in your new house, and your plant-crazy roomie was out on a research trip.

“YES! WE WILL WATCH OUR WONDERFUL SHOW ON YOUR COOL TV AND RECONNECT PROPERLY!” he cooed as he set up his sleeping bag in the living room. “AH, I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW MUCH MORE COMFORTABLE I AM ALREADY JUST KNOWING I CAN SLEEP WITHOUT SIX OF MY COUSINS MAKING NOISE AT ALL HOURS!”

“Isn’t that all of your cousins?”

“YES!”

Ah you’d missed his jokes while he was gone. “Anyway, what do you want for dinner? We making it together or you want me to surprise you?”

“PLEASE LET ME MAKE IT WITH YOU! AND I’D LIKE SOME SIMPLE, HOME MADE SOMETHING OR OTHER. I’M SO TIRED OF THE TAKE OUT WE’VE BEEN EATING NONSTOP JUST TO KEEP US ALL FROM FIGHTING OVER WHO IS COOKING.” He did look tired, which was unusual for Papyrus, but you knew he’d perk up after a break.

“Okay, how about French bread pizza? I made the sauce for it yesterday since I knew you’d be over,” you headed to the kitchen and Papyrus followed, pulling his apron out of his inventory. It was pink and said “My kitchen, my rules” on the front in white letters.

“PERFECT! I WILL ASSIST YOU IN CUTTING UP THE TOPPINGS!” He had gotten a lot better at cooking since the two of you had first become friends, and now you more than trusted Papyrus to not turn your ingredients into confetti.

The evening was golden, just the two of you cheering for your favorite show, exchanging theories and popcorn, and diving into the lore on the internet afterward, in your room.

It was getting late, and you yawned, but didn’t move. You just…you wanted to stay up with Papyrus. You’d missed him so badly and it felt like you were being cheated out of time with him if you went to sleep.

But he noticed, as he always did, and asked, “FRIEND, YOU’RE TIRED. GO TO BED AND I WILL BE MORE THAN HAPPY ON MY OWN. I WANT TO EXPLORE YOUR NEW HOUSE.”

Running on fumes as you were, your next thought left your mouth before you could really think about it, “Only if you stay with me till I’m asleep.”

Papyrus looked at you a moment, a slow creep of orange blush creeping over his cheekbones, then said, “UM…Y/N, I’D BE HAPPY TO, BUT I’D FEEL BETTER IF I SAID SOMETHING FIRST. IS THAT ALRIGHT?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” You got up and sat on your bed, watching as Papyrus sat backwards in the computer chair you’d vacated.

“YOU KNOW, IT’S BEEN A FEW YEARS OF US KNOWING EACH OTHER, AND IT’S BEEN AMAZING.” He smiles but can’t quite look at you, “AND, WELL, IF I’M HONEST WITH MYSELF, AND I ALWAYS TRY TO BE! THEN I HAVE TO SAY I’VE GROWN TO COUNT ON YOU AS A STAPLE IN MY LIFE. YOU’VE HELPED ME FIND AN AVENUE FOR MY PASSIONS, BEEN A WONDERFUL FRIEND, AND HELPED SANS SEE HE NEEDED TO SEE SOMEONE FOR TREATMENT.”

You take his hand when he holds it out, and smile.

“YOU’VE DONE SO MUCH, ALL THESE LITTLE THINGS, AND….AND I’D REALLY LIKE TO ASK IF YOU WANTED TO TRY A GROWN-UP DATE. WITH ME.  N-NOT THE CUTE LITTLE TEENAGER DATE I PLAYED AT WITH FRISK, MIND YOU! SO…SO WOULD THAT BE OKAY? US DATING?” He had such a shy, nervous tilt to his smile, and you felt yourself tumble over the edge of affection as you squeezed his hand.

“That sounds fun, Papyrus. I’m very lucky if I get to call you my boyfriend,” you beam as you’re tackled onto the bed by a happy skeleton, hugging him tight as he nuzzles into you.

“NYOOHOOHOO YOU’RE TOO SWEET! MY DATEMATE! MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WORLD! I LOVE YOU!”

His teeth are tickling your neck and you wriggle, “Papyrus! I love you, too, but stooooooop, hahaha! You’re tickling meeeee!”

He gets up a bit and smiles, “SORRY NOT SORRY! BUT YES, NOW WE CAN CUDDLE WHILE YOU FALL ASLEEP AND THEN I WILL EXPLORE YOUR HOUSE WHEN I CAN’T FOLLOW YOU.”

You have to catch your breath, but your cheeks are burning while you scoot under your covers and hold them open for him. He slips in very gingerly and soon you’re bundled up to his chest. He’s warm, as always, and can’t seem to stop his million watt smile. You don’t blame him; it feels like there is a sun in your chest from the pure joy his question had brought to you. Papyrus was everything you’d ever wanted in a friend, and you can’t imagine ever having a life without him in it. It just seemed natural to date him, and clearly he felt the same about you.

Safe and happy, you fall asleep very easily in his arms.

--

Dating Papyrus was exactly the same as being his friend, except now you’d hold hands a lot more and occasionally he’d nuzzle his teeth to your forehead and go “MWAH!” very loudly.

Sans had texted you the morning after your sleepover.

Punny bones: congrats on being the new datemate

You just stared at it, then looked up at Papyrus (who had made you breakfast) who was blushing, “I’M SORRY! I WAS JUST SO EXCITED THAT I TEXTED HIM AFTER YOU FELL ASLEEP.”

Shaking your head, you’d just sent an emoji of sticking your tongue out to Sans.

Punny bones: aww u r shy~ Punny bones: he told me he was gonna ask you weeks ago. Punny bones: only like 2 days without you and he was ready.

“WHAT IS HE SAYING?!” Papyrus looked over your phone and groaned, and you’d had to nurse his bruised ego a little afterward because his big brother was embarrassing him.

Still, you were both happy that Papyrus was excited, and proud that Sans had bettered his thoughts enough to react positively to this news.

Understandably, you had Papyrus over to your house several more times, mostly to have private movie viewings rather like your first sleepover. It was just more your speed, and his, to have dates just be the two of you doing something fun. Of course, you had a few at Bungle Land, cause who doesn’t like cute clumsy cartoon parrots, and going to see premieres at the theaters or eat at a nice place, but the vast majority of your weekly official dates were spent in your pjs on the sofa with Papyrus curled around your body as you watched movies.

Sometime during your dating, your roommate moved out. She transferred to a college with a better botony program and more specializations for masters’ degrees, so you bid her a fond goodbye and kept in touch by text. Sure, you hadn’t been super close friends, but she’d still been a great roomie and had been all for your relationship with a sweetheart like Papyrus. It hit all those rom-com beats that made you both squeal happily.

He was a very physical person, Papyrus, so you got hugs often and he tended to just like holding you. It made you feel very good, even if sometimes you both ended up getting tangled because he was so long-limbed. Your hair was fascinating to him, and he’d stroke it gently when his hands weren’t otherwise busy.

“YOU ARE SO SOFT ALL OVER. IT’S VERY ATTRACTIVE! I’M JUST GLAD MTT PUT OUT SPECIAL CREAMS TO MAKE MY BONES MORE FLEXIBLE AND TENDER!” He said one night as you both were walking home from a musical at the campus theater.

You laughed, and he squeezed your hand gently, “You don’t need to be softer, Papyrus. I already adore your strong bones and the only part of you that is soft is your heart, and that’s the most perfect kind to have.”

“I DON’T HAVE A HEART THOUGH?” he acted clueless, and you smack his arm gently and get him to giggle as you caught him in his jest. “WELL I DON’T! I GAVE IT TO YOU!”

You gently tug on his scarf and he leans down while you get on your tiptoes, giving him a soft kiss on the teeth that makes him hum wistfully. Then you both flinch back as a siren sounds, a firetruck zooming from a corner nearby and down the street.

Looking up you feel your stomach drop as you see the smoke. “Papy, is that coming from my house?”

He picks you up and starts sprinting after the firetruck, you holding tight to his neck and praying you were wrong. But as the two of you ran up to the front of your house, you saw the fire department spraying water on your blazing home and police cordoning off the area.

“Oh no…” you felt your self start to shake, even as your vision tunneled.

Papyrus holds you tighter and you start sobbing, hiding your face in his shoulder as he murmurs, “It will be alright, Y/n. I’m right here. We’ll figure this out. Do you want to stay at a hotel tonight?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you wheeze, out of breath from crying already.

“You won’t be.” He did not let you go, not even when the police came to question you two. He handled the answering since you were too broken to speak. Realizing there was nothing you can do to help them, the men leave you two alone, telling you to find a place to stay and they’ll call you when it’s safe for you to pick through the debris.

Papyrus calls Sans as he walks, easily holding you while using his magic to hold the phone close to his skull, “Sans, I’m staying with Y/n tonight. N-no no I’m alright, it’s just that…their house has burned down. No, we were out at the theater, remember? Right. Yes, I’m taking them ther- Oh. Yes, that’s probably best. Thank you, Sans.”

Sans appears and looks frantic, but seeing you both unharmed and soot-less, he relaxes a little, “heya, pal. stars, I’m sorry this happened. let’s use one of my shortcuts to get you to a hotel. long walk otherwise and you need rest.”

Papyrus keeps hold of you as Sans takes you both through a surprisingly short distance to…

“Oh, Mettaton’s hotel,” you manage to say, and Sans smiles up at you, clearly stressed from the tightness in the edges of his grin.

“felix is workin’ tonight, and he won’t ask rude questions. Specially if I’m here. just sit in the chairs and I’ll take care of this. least I can do for ya,” he was really searching your face, looking for any sign of more he could do.

“Thank you, Sans. Really I…I just want to go to bed.”

“that I can do. stay with them, pap?”

Papyrus has walked you into the lobby and sets you delicately in one of the plush magenta chairs inside, “THAT WAS THE PLAN, YES.”

“okay,” Sans gives your hand a supportive squeeze, sighing through his nose a bit, “hang tight, pal.” Sans takes care of everything, and Papyrus stays by you, getting out his handkerchief and drying your face for you. “THERE, DEAREST. WE WILL RELAX TONIGHT AND FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO IN THE MORNING.”

You just nod, leaning into his touch gratefully.

--

The room is very nice, smelling of make-up and perfume, and the sheets on the single, queen sized bed are soft. You aren’t surprised when there’s two pairs of pajamas lying folded on the bed, after all, this is MTT’s place and he likes his guests to feel “SUPER FABULOUS, darling!”

“OH GOOD,” Papyrus smiles as he takes up one pair, “I WAS WORRIED WHAT WE WOULD SLEEP IN.”

You pick up your set, “I’ll change in the bathroom and you can use this room. I need to shower anyway.”

“TAKE YOUR TIME, LOVE,” he nuzzles you softly, “I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE, JUST TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF.”

You kiss his cheekbone and head to the bathroom, running the water and finding your mind focusing on the taps. The temperature gauge has markers for “monster level cold”, “human cold”, “human hot”, and “monster hot”. You smile, turning them to “human hot” and stepping in after shedding your clothes.

The warm water helps ease your body, releasing the tension, but it also lets you sit on the provided ledge and cry. Your home is gone, you don’t know how much of your belongings survived the fire, much less the water, and you don’t know where you’re going to go.

After an unknown amount of time, you hear a knock, “Y/N? IT’S BEEN QUITE A WHILE. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? WELL, AS ALRIGHT AS YOU CAN BE?”

“I’m fine,” you call back. “Just lost track of time. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“OKAY. REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU.”

“I know, thank you,” you really appreciate the reminder. You aren’t alone tonight, and you aren’t unsupported. Papyrus will help you, and make sure things work out for the best. You get your bath quickly, the magic in the soaps helping you feel better before drying off on the warm towels and stepping back into your underwear before putting on the pajamas. It just felt weird to wear clothes without underwear, you don’t know why.

Papyrus is sitting in the bed, smiling at you as you come over in the soft, warm light from the bedside lamp on the near side. Climbing in next to him, you sigh, turning off the light before lying down and snuggling in close.

“You know I will do anything you need me to, correct?” Papyrus asks, whispering.

“I know, Papy. I’m really glad you’re here,” you cling to him, needing the comfort. “I just need you to be with me right now. I’ll tell you if I think of anything else.”

“Of course,” his ribs began to vibrate just a bit, and you smiled softly. That was his ‘purr’, that you had discovered on one of your first outings together. “Your wish is my command, Y/n. Goodnight, and rest well.”

“Night, Papy. I love you.”

--

It was three hours since Y/n had fallen asleep, and Papyrus felt secure enough in their continued rest to get up. Heading into the bathroom, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet and dialed the number of one of his cousins, who he was absolutely certain was up.

“Hello, Papyrus, dear! It’s good to hear from you,” came the cheery, energetic voice on the other end.

“HELLO CHARM,” Papyrus sighed, “DID SANS TELL YOU ALL WHY I WASN’T HOME TONIGHT?”

“No, but we’d hoped you and your lovely were together.”

“WELL, YOU’RE HALF RIGHT. I’M WITH THEM BUT NOT FOR GOOD REASONS. THEIR HOME HAS BURNED DOWN.”

There was a gasp and something rattled off a table, “Papyrus! Are they alright? Are you at the hospital?”

“NO, NO, NOTHING LIKE THAT. WE WERE BOTH OUT AT THE THEATER AND CAME BACK TO FIND IT ENGULFED. THEY’RE ASLEEP NOW BUT I NEEDED TO TALK TO SOMEONE AND YOU’RE THE MOST RELIABLE AND LIKELY TO STILL BE AWAKE.”

Relief, and a small laugh, “Oh, well, that makes me feel good. And good on you, staying by their side when they’re having a very bad experience. You’re a very good partner, if I may say so for them.”

That made Papyrus relax a little, smiling as he leaned his head on his hand, other knee jittering, “THANK YOU, CHARM. BUT WHAT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IS WHAT DO WE DO FOR THEM? Y/N IS WITHOUT A HOME, AND WHILE I THINK I HAVE AN IDEA, I ALSO AM A LITTLE NERVOUS ABOUT PROPOSING IT.”

“Well, they can stay with us! They’re your partner, Papyrus, we aren’t going to be upset if you have them move in with you.”

His skull exploded in warmth and an orange glow, “CHARM! I-I WOULDN’T BE HAVING THEM IN MY ROOM! Y-YES, WE OCCASIONALLY SHARE, LIKE TONIGHT, BUT THEY NEED THEIR OWN SPACE. WE HAVEN’T….GOTTEN THAT FAR. RELATIONSHIPS MOVE SLOWER HERE, REMEMBER?”

“Oh. Sorry, dear, I forgot. Well, more accurately I was hoping to sort of push you because, GOODNESS, Cousin, they’re a catch and a half! But that’s not what makes you comfortable, and that’s okay.” A deep breath, and a more cheerful tone, “But we can always move Whip’s collection out of the room across from yours and have him put it elsewhere. That way they’re close to you, but you aren’t quite so…intimate.” He giggles and Papyrus can’t help joining as his nerves ease.

“AND YOU’RE SURE YOUR BROTHER AND THE OTHERS WON’T…BE OFFENDED?”

“No! No of course not, Papy, we’d do the same thing!” Charm scoffed then cooed, “No, my brother and I are all for helping the poor dear out, and you know Boa isn’t going to turn down a chance for someone to maybe befriend his brother. No, you tell them they’re more than welcome here, and if they decide to come, we’ll be there with bells on to help them get settled.”

“THANK YOU AGAIN, CHARM, I JUST REALLY…REALLY NEEDED SOME SUPPORT, TOO.”

“Oh cousin, what else is family for? We love you, so you try and relax with your lovely and I’ll talk to Boa so we can gang up on Whip and make him come around.” A laugh, teasing and very pleased, “Goodnight and good luck, Papyrus. Keep us posted.”

“I WILL. GOODNIGHT, CHARM!”

He hung up the phone and sighed, leaning back a bit. Thank goodness some of his cousins were relatively normal most of the time. Well, It was probably another five hours or so before Y/n would wake up, so now he had to occupy himself. Thank stars MTT rooms all came with bookcases full of Mettaton’s various memoirs!

---

It was hard to wake up, mostly because you thought you were at home at first before you opened your eyes.

Papyrus was sitting in a by the window, reading a book from the shelves in the room, and everything was ridiculously sumptuous and glittery. That pulled you out of your sleep and through confusion before landing on devastation.

“Good morning,” you say halfheartedly, and Papyrus looks up.

“GOOD MORNING, DEAR. I’M GLAD YOU SLEPT WELL, AS THE POLICE LEFT A MESSAGE FOR YOU A MOMENT AGO. I’VE ALSO BEEN LOOKING FOR OPTIONS FOR YOU TO STAY AT, BUT BEING THE MIDDLE OF THE SEMESTER, EVERYTHING SEEMS FULL UP. I ALSO EMAILED ALL OUR PROFESSORS, SO YOU HAVE AT LEAST THREE DAYS OFF CLASS TO DEAL WITH THIS. I’M AFRAID YOU’LL HAVE TO ASK IN PERSON IF YOU NEED MORE.” Well, your lovely skeleton had been quite busy, and helpful, as always.

“Thank you. I hadn’t even thought about class till you mentioned it,” you get up and sigh, not quite knowing what to do, “I guess I’ll just…go home? Maybe drop the semester and save up to try again?”

“NOT IF YOU DON’T WANT TO!” Papyrus blushed a little, “YOU DO REALIZE I HAVE A VERY LARGE HOUSE THAT YOU COULD HAVE A ROOM IN, RIGHT? WELL, SANS AND I HAVE A VERY LARGE HOUSE, BUT THAT’S SEMANTICS.” He was holding his own hands, head tilted slightly down so you knew he was looking upward at you, hopeful. “I CLEARED IT WITH MY MORE ENERGETIC COUSINS LAST NIGHT AND GOT A TEXT THIS MORNING THAT THE VOTE IS SEVEN TO ONE FOR YOU BEING WELCOMED IN.”

You really don’t want to cry but you can’t help it, and Papyrus moves to pull you back to sit on the bed with him. He holds you tight, “Papyrus, you’re just so good! I don’t…Are you sure?” You clung to the very soft fabric of his provided pajamas, “I don’t want to, to upset your cousins or overload your house.”

“OH, YOU WON’T. YOU’RE A WONDERFUL PERSON, AND YOU KNOW SANS AND I ARE IN YOUR CORNER NOW. I JUST KNOW YOU’D RATHER NOT WASTE THE TIME AND MONEY YOU SPENT THIS SEMESTER, AND GOODNESS KNOWS IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT YOUR HOUSE DECIDED TO INVITE FIRE OVER.”

That gets you to laugh through the tears, “Oh, I didn’t know my house decided to do that. I should complain to Grillby, then?”

“WELL, YES,” Papyrus gives you a squeeze and nuzzles your hair, “IT WAS VERY RUDE OF HIM TO WALK INTO YOUR HOUSE WITH HIS WHOLE FAMILY AND MAKE SUCH A MESS.” He laughs softly, too close for a full volume one, “OH, DEAREST, YOU REALLY ARE A WITTY ONE. NO, DON’T BOTHER THAT POOR MAN, HE ALREADY HAD TO DEAL WITH SANS AFTER ALL.”

The tears are drying as you continue to giggle, squealing when Papyrus turns your hug into a tickle fight that he obviously wins.

“HAHA! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WINS A VICTORY OVER SADNESS ONCE AGAIN!” he declares as he finally lets you breathe and hops up, “NOW, I HAD YOUR CLOTHES FROM YESTERDAY CLEANED BY THE COMPLIMENTARY LAUNDRY SERVICE, AND THEY’RE IN THE BATHROOM FRESH FOR YOU. W-WELL MOST OF THEM ARE FRESH; I COULDN’T,” he looks away and his smile gets wobbly in nerves, “I COULDN’T TOUCH YOUR UNDERTHINGS WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION SO THEY AREN’T.”

You blink, then hold in a snort of laughter. “I forget monsters consider socks underwear. Oh, Papyrus, I love you so much. I don’t need them cleaned, don’t worry.” Getting up, you pull him down for a kiss on the cheekbone, “And you have my permission to touch any laundry of mine you like and move it if you see fit. I trust you to treat them kindly.”

He exploded in orange all over his skull, and you giggle as you head into the bathroom. You’d never ever get tired of him, your utter gentleman in shining cardboard armor.

--

Papyrus was more than eager on the bus ride back toward your home. He babbled about how you’d love his cousins, and that some of them were almost as cool as he was (you didn’t doubt that, but how?) But he also was fiddling with a notebook to have it ready to make a list of things you needed to replace.

That was going to suck. Going through the rubble was going to be awful. The message the police left said that they were working on determining a cause for the fire, but that they’d left a few things they’d found in a bin for you with the person guarding the site.

That person turned out to be Dogamy, a large, floppy eared dog monster with fur resembling a mustache on his upper lip and a very large axe,  and Papyrus ran over and got a hug. “DEAR COMMRADE! HELLO! IT’S SO NICE TO SEE YOU!”

“it’s good to see you, too, Papyrus.” He was wagging his tail and smiled, “I made sure nobody touched this place till you and your date got back. Now that’s done, though, so I do have to be off. Other places to guard, you know.”

“YES OF COURSE! THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN!”

You shyly echoed his thanks, and Dogamy nodded before running off quickly…on all fours. Oh.

Picking up the bin he’d left behind, you sighed. Scorched frames holding photos, a few plates and cups that happened to be ceramic, and what looked like your whole silverware drawer, sat in the bottom of it.

Looking around, your living room and kitchen were gutted, as was your roommate’s former room, and the wall that led to your bedroom. Papyrus helped you get the door open (it had warped) and you found a lot of water damage on the floor, but it was otherwise mostly intact.

Well, that was what you wanted to say, but you just knew you were in the realm of “nothing but the clothes on their back” (well, and the pajamas, those are included in the room fee) and it felt BAD.

Papyrus has his finger up to his teeth, one arm crossed over his chest and tapping his foot, “YOU KNOW, UNDYNE’S HOUSE BURNED DOWN ALL THE TIME UNDERGROUND. I KNOW JUST ABOUT WHAT CAN BE SAVED AND WHAT CAN’T, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS WITH JUST THE TWO OF US. WOULD YOU BE OKAY IF I CALL MY COUSINS AND GET AT LEAST TWO OF THEM DOWN HERE TO HELP?”

Staring at your bedroom, all the grime everywhere, you just nod.

Papyrus goes into a corner and holds his phone up, “CHARM? GET BOA AND HAVE SANS BRING YOU TO Y/N’S PLACE. HM? OH, YES, THEY AGREED TO MOVE IN.” He jumps a bit and you can hear cheering from the phone. You smile a bit; at least you know you’re wanted where you’re going.

#hothouse rose #reader x papyrus #undertale fic

[melodious-madrigals]

dulce et decorum est

My contribution for Day 2 of Wondertrev Loveweek. 

Fandom: Wonder Woman Pairing: character study with background Diana/Steve Prompt: Soldier Word Count: 1350 Rating: T (canon-typical violence) Summary:  Steve Trevor was not always a soldier, but circumstances make him one. 

Read it on [AO3] or below the cut. 

***

Notes: This is technically canon-compliant, but as a rule I only write Steve Lives stories, so...you can decide for yourself whether you want this to just be a little pre-battle character study or the precursor to a canon divergence where Steve lives. I know which one I'm choosing! ;)

***

Steve Trevor was not always a soldier.

("I already tried doing nothing," he tells Diana, in the glow of a magical underground hot-spring. There was a clear before, a line drawn between that Steve and this one.)

*

Nothing isn't quite the word. The United States wasn't involved in the War, at that point. He wasn't involved either, but there wasn't yet a reason for him to be. Instead, Steve was sitting for his doctorate in engineering at a little school called Boston Tech, taking advantage of the brand-new curriculum in aeronautical engineering they were offering on the side. (Steve marveled at aeroplanes even before he linked up with the Royal Air Force to become a pilot.) The War existed, of course, but on the periphery of his consciousness. He got to follow it in the newspapers like any other American, and forget about it when he so chose.

And then the RMS Lusitania goes down, and Steve's older brother goes down with it.

He's in London before the month is out. There are moments he thinks the grief might kill him, swallow him whole. Joining up might not be the answer, might not provide the solace he's looking for, but at least it's something. He already tried nothing, see?

*

Steve proves to be absolutely ace with aeroplanes. He's got the drive and the academic background, and that's really all he needs, at first. The rush he gets flying planes almost makes him forget his pain, and he outflies all the other trainees in his group.

He gets reconnaissance missions initially, serves as eyes in the sky, spying on German positioning and reporting back to British Intelligence. Steve has a knack for getting lower and closer than the others in his cohort, and still managing to avoid the hostile fire. But this is war, and things never go right for very long.

His plane gets shot down. (It's the first time he cheats death during the War, but it's far from the last.)

His plane gets shot down over enemy territory, and he survives not only the crash, but the subsequent escape from behind the German battle line. He comes back with a trove of information, the position of troops, of High Command, of anecdotes from the German soldiers he meets who think nothing of his barely-there accent because if anything it sounds a little Hungarian.

And suddenly, British Intelligence realizes what an asset they have on their hands. An ace pilot, a competent engineer, smooth-talking and fluent in three languages (courtesy of his immigrant mother who insisted on speaking the languages of her youth with her children), smart and brash and green—too naive, still—and yearning to make a difference.

They make him a spy.

*

But this is war, and there's no delineation between soldier and spy, not really. For all that he goes on intelligence missions, he also ends up in the trenches, sometimes, waiting for a contact, or traveling days on foot to a point where it's safe to cross. He braces himself next to men who have been there a year, and then two and three and four, as shells explode so close that the earth shakes violently and dirt and debris spray down on them, even as they barely gain an inch. He hears the cries of the women and children forced to take shelter in forgotten bits of trench because the War has swallowed their villages (the men are already long gone, dead or drafted into the fight elsewhere). He watches as men lose toes and blood and limbs and less tangible bits of themselves.

Indeed, he gets shot—a flesh wound; he's lucky, if luck still exists here—and sees the deepest of sufferings in a makeshift hospital where men shudder with every breath, lungs destroyed by mustard gas, where the cries of the infirm ring out at all hours, like tortured bells tolling the loss of limb and life.

He becomes a soldier not by choice but by necessity. He learns the art of the machine gun when the chap manning it beside him drops between the space of one heartbeat and the next, a stray bullet between his eyes and his blood blossoming on the soil below. He knew how to shoot before—grew up on a ranch, after all—but he learns the difference between shooting a steer and shooting a man. (If you're not careful, if you're not looking, the difference evaporates all too quickly.) He learns how to drop bombs from planes and turn his tricky manoeuvres into evading anti-aircraft fire.

He makes friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms in almost every place he ends up, and watches most of them die. He almost dies himself a couple of times, but he scrapes his way out. (He comes back with a little less hope, a little less of himself, every time.)

It's like nothing he's ever seen. It's like the world is going to end. He does what he has to in order to survive. And that's to be a—

Soldier. What a dirty word, what a venomous concept.

Steve Trevor is not a soldier.

But he becomes one.

*

Steve Trevor's eyes are a thousand years old by the time he crashes on Themyscira. He wants the War to be over, desperately hopes the information he has will help achieve those ends, but he can't picture it. Can't believe it.

By the time he meets Diana, he can barely remember what a normal life looks like, much less imagine one for himself. (I have no idea, he says, when she asks him about why people get married. He's been a soldier so long that he's forgotten how to hope for something else.)

But the funny thing—the funny thing is that shortly after he meets her, he begins to feel the faintest flutterings of something foreign rattling around in his chest. It takes him several days to realize it's a spark of hope, bright and pure, reminding him of everything he was and still could yet be.

They will be good men again and the world will be better, she insists, and even though he brushes her off, for a moment, he lets himself believe it could really be that simple. Could he be good again, too, he wonders?

This is wonderful! You should be very proud, she tells the ice cream vendor, and he feels a smile burst onto his own face, completely unbidden. Life used to be about simple pleasures, he thinks, and it's not even a thought tinged in bitterness, poisoned by a darker reality, but rather something that he realizes might one day be true again.

No, but it's what I'm going to do, she says, before stepping into No Man's Land and defeating an entire battalion of Germans despite every gun pointed at her, freeing Veld in the process. She could do this, he thinks; she might really end the war. It might not go on forever.

I have no idea, he says, again, when she asks him what it's like when there are no wars to fight, but it's not quite the truth. He's starting to imagine. He's starting to imagine and the picture comes into sharper focus as he watches the grin on her face as she marvels at the snowflakes, as he hears her peals of laughter, as he touches her face in the low, flickering light.

There might be a future, a world without war, a world where guns are unnecessary and leisurely breakfasts are commonplace and soldiers can be engineers or husbands or professors or farmers or fathers instead.

He became a soldier, but he can become someone else, something else. Maybe he can become that something with Diana, if the Fates are kind. He's never believed they are, but looking at Diana in the soft morning light of Veld, he believes that maybe this time they will be. Without his authorization, the hope within him has grown into a huge, beautiful, flickering flame, because he might be a soldier now, it's true, but no one is ever just one thing.

***

Fin

***

Fun fact! Boston Tech (called so until 1916; now MIT) was a struggling institution at the time, trying to compete with the better-funded Lawrence Scientific School (of Harvard). They did, however, have the first aeronautical engineering curriculum in the country in 1914, in which I've decided Steve completed some coursework.

***

#wondertrevweek2020 #wondertrev #steve trevor #wonder woman #diana prince #diana x steve #steve x diana #prompt: soldier #lenci writes