#that anecdote might be a little too specific uh

[unwri-ten]

My plans...????

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM its nothing :]

#also yes they match earrings!! #its a thing #its like #tfw when you and your usurper's souls are linked #typa moment #that anecdote might be a little too specific uh #ten shenanigans #cotl

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter five

[ 3.5k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four ] [ masterlist ] "when are you gonna fucking learn?" richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

you smash your alarm and kick off the sheets muttering fuck you fuck you fuck you in one long vicious chant, heart racing. this is your new wake up routine, it seems. you fight the urge to get up and do something, anything, to save him. anything, no matter how stupid. you get so sick of your own anxiety that you finally turn on a lamp and write him a note, just three sentences, the least number of words you could possibly use to say what you need to say. 

you won’t give it to him, of course. you just had to get it out of your system.

if only richie would die in your dreams, then you could wake and have them contradicted by reality. but in your dreams he is always alive and holding a gun in readiness for tomorrow. no reality can disprove tomorrow. 

though of course, he’s fine. that much is evident as soon as you see him. 

he saunters in complaining about the new host of a local sports station, ted, nasally little bitch, and when you say you never listen to the radio, he calls you a real mcdonald’s number two, you know that?

no, richie, i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

and you’re off. no slumping on the concrete, no vacant eyes, no philosophy. 

today’s a bit of show and tell, little lectures exchanged. you start with napoleon and josephine, because any history that’s not about chicago or world war two is news to him. you’ve stocked up on anecdotes with some library books, so you’re going full blast, and richie ends up thoroughly enjoying the batshit french lovers.

still not as good as the boston molasses flood, though, he says.

that’s his favorite of all the stories you’ve told him. twenty-one casualties and he’s charmed, the macabre little bastard.

when it’s his turn, richie shows you a whole album of eva on his phone, the full range of her five years on earth. from the photos and stories, you find out that eva is blonde like her mother, stubborn like her father, and where she got her brown eyes, nobody knows. the great obsession of her life is a cartoon about a family of australian dogs, although if the ipad is denied to her, then dancing, drawing, and doll death rituals are acceptable. 

on a delusional note, you’d like to think that he put the album together specifically to show you. on a slightly less delusional note, he might be showing her to you because you expressed a willingness to kill for her. 

as he flips back in time, eva gets smaller and smaller. there she is sitting in a huge pot. there she is in a tiny lacy hood. there she is lying on his chest with her head tucked just under his chin. 

god, i love babies, you say.

really? his eyes rest on you, half-amused, half-doubtful. 

you raise your chin, tilt challenge. why, do i not exude a nurturing, motherly aura?

nah, you exude—he lingers over the word exude so you know he thinks it’s unnecessarily frilly—the smell of newports and disapproval.

you gesture as if to say, duh. that’s motherhood.

richie half-laughs, half-scoffs. guess it depends on whose mother, he says.

you look at him, venture a question with one quick glance that he chooses not to answer. 

so you really like babies, huh, he says instead, and there’s something so comfortable in it that you reply, yeah, i almost became obstetrician about it. 

there’s a split second of silence before he says, but then? 

goddammit, you’re getting sloppy. that’s as much as admitting to med school.

decided it was too much work, you say. why suffer my way through the mcat and med school and residency when i could just not?

he sucks air through his teeth in agreement. my thought process exactly. otherwise i would’ve become a doctor too.

uh huh. and what kind of doctor were you gonna be?

oh, same as you, he says airily. pussy doctor, doctor of the pussy. turns out no training needed, i’m a natural.

so yeah, richie’s fine. 

it doesn’t stop you from dreaming, but at least now you know.

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another night, you wake up before the dream gets bad, so the dread doesn’t have too strong a hold on you. that’s a much-needed relief. if you’d woken up at your worst, richie’s miserable little face would be setting you off like crazy. 

as it is, you come to stand next to him and say, what’s up? a touch friendlier than usual. this time of winter, the cold bites you anyplace it can: forehead, nose, the place where your glove isn’t properly tucked into your coat. you ignore it. 

tonight fucking sucked, richie says, putting his chest in the last word. we got killed today, absolutely fucking shattered. syd’s digital system broke carmy’s tiny little brain, he went off like a block of fuckin c4, and now we’re down a baker and a sous. 

oof. they both quit?

yup, he says bitterly. 

you expect a string of blame to follow, some insults for syd and marcus, or maybe even a rant against carmy for driving them away. but instead, there’s just silence. not all silences are bad, but this one is. for all his rivers of whinging about millennials and change and syd in particular, you can’t help but get the feeling that he’ll miss them both.

marcus was a good guy, he says eventually. and syd, syd’s not really replaceable.

that one stings, but it shouldn’t. you determinedly ignore it. 

you want to offer comfort, but you’ve got nothing to hand. maybe pride would work? it’s hardly encouraging his better self, but you’ve got no other ideas.

you would never quit, you say.

he exhales smoke slowly. as he does, his eyes don’t move, but they change, and you wish you hadn’t said anything.

nope, he finally says, real quiet, bitter and sad. i never fucking do.

when he’s on his last cigarette, he just chucks the empty package at the trash. it misses, bouncing off the rim and landing on the sidewalk. fuckin a. 

after a second, he stoops, picks it up, and throws the trash away. 

you reach into your jacket and produce a full box of sapphires. glance at him like, two can play at that game, right? he takes one and offers you back the rest. 

don’t insult me, you say, but you say it real nice. 

he nods, lights up, and lapses into silence.

you can feel yourself leveling out with every passing minute he stands by your side. it’s peaceful. it’s deadly cold. he and carmy might be a little fucked tomorrow, but tonight you’re with him. things aren’t good, but they’re good. 

i just don’t know what we’re gonna do, he says.

you shrug. it’s not dismissive, it’s practical. if he doesn’t know what to do, and more importantly, if carmy doesn’t know, then there’s no way you’ll be able to think of any useful suggestions. 

for now? you say. go to bed. 

his sideways look is a question that you know how to interpret.

don’t wallow in it, you say. clarification. you’re not telling him to fuck off, you’re telling him to take it easy. 

he nods. i’m gonna be late tomorrow.

how come, anything fun?

fun, yeah, fun. he scoffs. we’ve got a bachelor party, favor for cicero. bunch of fucking animals, those guys. 

well, don’t be scared, just stick with carmy. he’ll protect you.

and there it is. such a small smile, but you still got one out of him. night.

night. 

once you’re inside, you glance back at him through the glass of the apartment doors, and only then do you notice that he’s limping a little as he walks away. it’s probably nothing, it’s probably a funny story, he wouldn’t— 

shut the fuck up, you mutter, thoroughly sick of yourself, and go upstairs.

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the next night, the dreams get bad and he doesn’t show up. 

the thing that kills you isn’t the cold or the fear or the feverish overanalyzing. no, as the hours pass, you realize: if anything’s happened to him, you’ll have to live with this for the rest of your life. you had so many chances, but in the end you still did nothing. you had so many chances.

when are you gonna fucking learn?

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you wake up on a memory, the way richie rubbed his forehead wearily and said, it was a nice poem. heartsick and sluggish, you turn off your alarm. 

your apartment looks different with sunlight streaming in through your thin curtains, like you accidentally wound up in somebody else’s place. with gold light staining the fake wood table and the weak hanging watercolor, all the default decor, this place looks like a home.

it’s fucking weird. 

then you remember you set an daytime alarm for a reason. 

half an hour later, you’re picked up by a car and dropped at your destination, a tree-wrapped house that looks like it belongs in the suburbs. as you knock on the door, you replace your scowl with a look of neutral attentiveness, completing your transformation into a professional woman: white button down, navy slacks, caffeinated straight to hell. if you’re going to get fired, you can at least do it in dignity.

to your surprise, the door is opened not by a maid, but by alessandra herself. she glances out at the idle street over your shoulder before she says, come in. under any other circumstances, you’d be sweating a little. she’s got the natural grace of a gazelle and the faultless skin of a cover girl. you wouldn’t expect anything less of jack’s wife.

she leads you through the foyer into a sitting room, where linda is waiting, ensconced in a gigantic armchair. it would be a funny sight—with her short height, bouffant blonde hair, and blue eyes, linda makes you want to say, you see this tweety bird looking motherfucker—but richie’s not around to hear you and this is your boss’s wife. you keep it proper with a simple hello.

julie, thank you for coming, linda says, as though the invitation was one you could’ve turned down. can we get you something to drink?

you perch across from her on the sofa. no thank you. 

are you hungry? she says, but she doesn’t wait for a reply, adding to alessandra: the pastries. and a half dozen of the mini quiches. thank you. with that, alessandra is gone.

do you know why you’re here? linda says. 

so—okay. maybe you have been obsessively texting every single contact that you have within the caruso organization, every single night, trying to get any news you can about your carbon monoxide patients. maybe it’s not completely professional behavior. but they’ve all been ignoring you, and that’s hardly professional either, is it?

i assume the number of survivors has gone down from nineteen, you say. or maybe they all have crippling brain damage? you can punish me however you want, but i don’t know how i could’ve done a better job and none of this would’ve happened if jack just let me do a hospital dump. you try and fail to not look resentful. i guess he considers it a virtue to be tightfisted with merchandise. 

linda eyes you like you’re somebody else’s misbehaving child. they’re not our merchandise, julie, they’re our customers. we provide services to people as well as goods. do you really want to know the details?

and there it is. you’ve never wanted to know the details. you’ve only ever wanted that one midnight hour of crisis in which the rest of the world falls away and your mind turns into a perfect beam of concentrated light. 

to be fair, you’ve also wanted a place to live, and for them to not kill you and drop you in the fucking river. you’re not in a position to request much more. 

no, you say. i just want to know if my patients are doing okay.

linda evades you with ease. you did very well, julie. that’s not what this is about. 

she knocks twice on a little doily-covered side table. alessandra glides in through the doorway and sets the tray of food down on the coffee table in front of you. the sitting room smells richly of eggs and butter, but you’re not at all hungry. you should be fast asleep right now.

to your surprise, alessandra sits in the other armchair. no more babies, she says, serenely, in italian. you weren’t expecting her to say anything at all, so you barely catch it. 

we would like you to administer an iud, says linda. and whatever fertility treatments you think might look convincing.

for fuck’s sake.

just so we’re on the same page, an iud would prevent any pregnancy, you say. a fertility treatment wouldn’t be able to overcome it. they’d be working at cross purposes, but essentially, the iud would win.

yes, says linda calmly. 

you’d really rather be fired than get caught up in some intra-family intrigue that you have no business touching. you ought to be getting extra hazard pay for the psychological warfare of it all.

and this fertility treatment should be convincing to who? you say, after a second.

an eastern method would be best, says linda. maybe herbal. 

okay, so that’s either old caruso or little caruso you’re trying to fool, or both. jack would never believe in an herbal treatment, he’d definitely demand pills. 

uh-huh, you say, looking over at alessandra. she looks perfectly serene. it’s unnerving. permission to speak frankly? it’s annoying, how the old jargon still pops up in you at odd stressful moments.

of course, linda says.

there really is no polite way to ask the question, but if there was, it might sound like this. 

activity has been lower than ever, even before little caruso went to the hospital. i don’t know why beth wasn’t available to help with the carbon monoxide thing, but that’s a bad sign, and i haven’t seen or heard from her since. the only sedatives they could scrounge up for me was some stuff meant for horses. the only good news we’ve had all year is that jack is out, and i haven’t heard shit from him, so he could be back in for all i know.

and now you’re pulling me into lies inside the family? you’re deceiving either your husband or your son, i don’t know which is worse. so when i ask you how bad it is, i would very much appreciate a truthful fucking response! 

just how bad are things right now? you say. it takes a huge effort to refrain from cursing, but you layer in all your meaning in that one simple question. 

linda’s blue eyes glint as she weighs her response, and then she says, things are going well, thank you for asking. there’s nothing else we need your help with. we’ll procure the iud and schedule an appropriate time for the procedure. are you able to procure the fertility treatment?

you hesitate, and her eyes bore into you like remorseless twin drills.

 yes, you say, defeated. it’s gonna be looseleaf tea, the cheapest you can find. 

do you have any more questions or concerns?

the fucking temerity of this woman. yes, actually. yes, at this point, you have become one gigantic, stress-filled ball of questions and concerns.

no, you say. 

thank you for coming. the car is waiting outside. 

in the car, you watch chicago passing by you, more brightly colorful and bustling than you’re used to, a different city. 

the dread is slowing to a numb simmer, as dread tends to do over time. of course linda would claim that everything is fine, what did you expect her to say? oh, you’re right, julie. the business has been going downhill for months. and now you, my people, my family, and my would-be grandchild—we’re all well and truly fucked.

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michael’s heartbeat is finally wearing itself out, depleting the last of its weapons grade chemical thunder. he’s pretending to be asleep, but there’s no lying to you like this. the body always tells. you’ve got one ear plastered to his sweat-damp chest, an unconventional but effective way to measure pulse. 

you’re pretending to be asleep too, curled up and using him as a pillow, eternally seeking his warmth. he’s got his hands behind his head and his head half a mile down the street. 

at last, his heartbeat has leveled out. that’s your job done. at times like these, you don’t feel like a woman. maybe you’re a weighted blanket, maybe you’re a pill. 

he lifts your head gently in one hand, then crawls out from under you. 

the bathroom door hinges creak. you hear a thin stream, a flush, and running water. his apartment is bigger than yours and only a couple floors up, but you’re not surprised that he chooses to use your bathroom over his. you get the sense that he avoids his own apartment as much as humanly possible, except to sleep. 

it’s stupid hot in your apartment, because your landlord considerately roasts all her tenants alive rather than let them freeze to death. still, you move over so you can soak up the warmth he left behind in the mattress, and you place your head where his left an indent on the pillow. 

you can hear his footsteps as he pads back towards the bed. probably left his phone behind, you think, and then the mattress dips under his weight, gravity trying to bring you together.

he’s warm against you, but no longer sweat-sticky. he must’ve toweled off in there. you’d like to turn over and worm your way into his arms, but that seems greedy, tacky, wrong. you can’t track if you’re still supposed to be asleep.

c’mere, he says. 

you’re barely touching him, but it still seems like you can feel his voice, throaty and a little rough, like it’s coming from inside your own chest. 

you turn over on your side, facing him, and lay your head down again just below his collarbone. this time, his hand descends on your hair and strokes in a slow rhythm, like how you would pet a beloved dog while thinking about the events of the day. this time, you don’t bother to close your eyes. 

the watery light coming in through your curtains turns everything blue. his stomach, the sheets, the far wall. there’s a small, uneven tattoo of a black rose above his hip. he’s never explained it to you before, but to be fair, you can’t remember if you’ve ever asked about it either.

you’d like to ask him what’s wrong. people aren’t kind without reason. but you’re greedy still, and you take what you’re given without question. 

it’s not so much the hand on your hair as it is the tenderness, it’s not so much the tenderness as it is the fact that he stayed. 

you’ve always believed he loves the woman he’s with when he’s inside her. that’s easy. endearments fall from his mouth like rain and you soak them up as silently desperate as the desert and just as willing to blossom, presumably just like all the rest. he says them like he means it. baby like he’ll care for you, honey like he’ll lick every drop off his lips and consider himself lucky. 

but he’s saying nothing now, he’s not fucking you now, he’s reached the end of his high, and still his hand moves tenderly over your hair. nobody caresses a pill or a blanket. you have proof. 

proof of what, you won’t think too hard about. his fingers brush the skin at your temple with every stroke.

you falls asleep before he does.

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.

.

it’s evening. you’re sitting in bed, still thrumming with caffeine and stress from linda, picking away at your last good memory with michael like it’s a scab, when you happen to look out the window and there he is. out of place in the light of dusk, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. the last thing you expected and the first thing you wanted to see. 

you’re out the door in a second. then, when you’re jabbing repeatedly at the elevator button, you realize you don’t have any shoes on. the deterrent isn’t the cold, it’s the knowledge that richie will roast you mercilessly, so you turn around and dart back inside your apartment and shove on your shoes. 

the deja vu is so overwhelming, it prevents you from feeling any relief. this sudden righting of the world, this crash of of course everything’s fine, it was all in your head, you’ve played this tune before, and the thing is: it never lasts. you can't keep going up and down forever, it’s making you sick of yourself. 

you grab your coat, your keys, and the note.

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[ chapter six ] [ masterlist ]

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note: this was meant to be combined with chapter six, but i had to split them because the final richie and reader scene got so long it turned into its own chapter. so i released both chapters on the same day <3

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109 — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you? #the bear imagine #diky

[mongreldyke]

I haven't watched Willow but if they're both knights (?) Maybe. Armour maintaining

BENREY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS

rest of the fic under the cut

i might do a part 2 if anyone else wants it i’m very obsessed with this. so much brainrot

“... Have you maintained your armor at all, Your Highness?”

“I told you to call me Kit.” It was the knee-jerk reaction Kit had whenever she heard the title from the guard’s mouth. No one else would listen to that request, it was always Your Highness, or worse, ma’am. (She didn’t know why that specifically made her skin feel wrong on her skin, like someone had plastered an ill-fitting mask across her mouth and acted like it was anything like what she truly was.) Jade, though, listened to her. Kit thinks that she’s not exactly a girl the same way Kit is. 

Jade muttered a soft apology, running the cloth she was holding down her sword in a clean swipe. “It is important, though. Infections and all that.” Before Kit could respond with something sharp (but soft, in her own way), Jade wrinkles her nose playfully. “Also, Kit, you’re rank.”

Kit spluttered. “Well, maybe-” I like being rank. That wasn’t proper to say though, even alone in the armory with this not-quite-girl, hair like a fire and eyes like the earth (Not the dark earth that would grow things, though. Her eyes were like clay, almost red in their intensity, and sharp enough to cut sometimes, but stunning in its own way). Jade would also like to be rank, she thought, to stink of hard work, to slip on the padding and think This is where I should be, and it smells of my teeth-gritted anger to boot.

But she knew if anyone caught wind of the princess saying that she would rather march out of the castle in sweaty knight’s armor instead of spending her days balancing a stupid tiara on her pretty little princess head, her mother would have her head. She bit her tongue.

Jade was perceptive, though. Probably useful skill to have in a knight-to-be (Jade found that title too presumptive. Kit thought she should have more faith in herself.)

Jade let the silence sit for a few moments, exactly the length of two swipes of the cloth on the blade; one up to the hilt, and one back down.

“I do... understand. When I was a kid I barely showered on my own.” Jade didn’t look up, and Kit couldn’t look away. One orange curl fell in front of her eyes, and she brushed it away, leaving a smear of grease on her forehead. It curved like a crescent moon, like a blade slash, and if there was little more oil it would’ve bled like one, too. “Ballantine said I smelled like one of the stable boys, and I honestly found that to be high praise.”

This was... too close. Jade was her friend, probably, but sharing anecdotes with her wasn’t a good idea. She couldn’t understand her, not really. Jade was an orphan in a different way than Kit was half-orphaned. She wouldn’t understand how the armor was styled just a bit too much like her dad’s. Her mother said she talked, snapped, quipped in the same way he did, and she knew it wasn’t a compliment. But the armor felt like home, and so did the sweat, and the blood (there was a little bit in the suit, and a cut on ribs she would never show her mother, but she might show Jade, just to gloat about the scar).

Jade might be not quite a girl like she was but she wasn’t just a little bit her father’s son like she was. She didn’t need to know about that bit yet. 

“Uh.” Kit cleared her throat, and ran  a hand up her neck (her hair came in the way, she was thinking of taking the sword to it soon if her mother kept wheedling about how the braid was more proper). “I’ll clean it. Don’t worry about it.”

Jade wicked the last of the water off of her blade, then looked up at Kit. “Do you know how to?”

Jade laughed when Kit was quiet a little bit too long. It was a nice laugh, sharp and loud. It took up space and Kit liked that about Jade. Envied her for it, maybe. “No worries, Kit.” Yes, she prefers that out of Jade’s mouth much more. “I’ll show you how to tomorrow. We’ll need the whole day, I think.” 

Kit huffed, but Jade just laughed again, and she didn’t find herself minding being laughed at, for once.

#willow 2022 #kit x jade #tanthamore #jade claymore #kit tanthalos #kit and jade #dhole makes his blorbos very gender and very butch part infinity #they gave her such a complex about her father. and i think she's trans about it okay #dholes writing #willow fanfiction

[that-sims-four-blog]

And another slice of the playthrough...

(cw: plenty of violence and some blood further down below)

And on tonight's episode of Leeb, Leefuh, Love:

Back at the Metallica household, Kirk and Lars share a top-bunk bed—partially because they're not gay, that one parody music video be damned.

Honestly, there is not much to tell, although Lars did say something about a case...

Heh, heh.

No, it's not about Napster, although it was equally as scandalous as his case against it.

Furthermore, the royalty report for Lars' track finally came in:

That's not quite a bad profit for someone who just started out their journey to become the new Skrillex, and there will be more, I am certain. Since the household has not seen anything interesting in quite some time, I don't think it'll get much attention in the following posts.

Moving over to Strangetown Strangerville, Sussus Amogus settles into sus residence at Slip 42. Yes, sus pronouns are sus/sus (singular: crewmate), although it's fine if you use they/them pronouns for sus for serious discussions.

The first thing that Sussus did was to go over to the pub across the street and then... uh... break someone's nuts into a million pieces. I am sorry that I couldn't get any images of the event (I need to stop confusing the C key with S), so this anecdote is the only evidence I can offer, along with the fact that the victim was named Daiki.

By the way, I'm thinking of making Sussus' parts more chaotic compared to the rest—which means more violence, yay! So, yeah, I would suggest that you might want to tread carefully when coming to their parts.

Excuse the mod's misgendering, but I think I have accomplished my goal of making Sussus an egotistical bastard. I have worse things in mind that would prove that sus is, like, really evil. Or rather, really suspicious.

That is also Sussus. I don't like how sus turns bald every time sus enters the shower, so I decided to give sus a little Jack Frost disguise. So, there it is: Sussus Amogus, masquerading as Jack Frost—of Shin Megami Tensei and Persona fame—every time sus enters the shower or goes to work—as pictured, as a scientist.

As insane as it sounds, I'm thinking of giving sus a romantic interest. Because I can, and also that I found one of the Sims at Sussus' lab pretty cute.

Pictured here is Sussus Frost at work, complete with the UI glory. I don't recall what her name was, but that's the Sim I'm thinking of pairing Sussus with.

Okay, lab aside, I'd like to mention one of Sussus' days—a really specific one that I thought was worth writing about.

After doing a really, really horrific thing at that Strangerville bar—let's just say that it was murder; I cannot go into further detail lest I get this blog deleted—Sussus decided to head to the Old Quarters' Inn. It would have been fine had Daiki not been the bartender there.

And, uh.

Yeah, Sussus seems pretty hell-bent on making this poor guy miserable.

I think it's clear in Daiki's eyes how really miserable he is, all because of some random crewmate who just moved in several hours earlier. Then came a fight!

Sussus lost. It was too much for this one Imposter to handle. The next thing that sus did was to throw blood on him and then call the cops. Nope, they were too late. So, I decided to let Sussus take the matter into sus' own hands.

You get the idea. Most of the aftermath of it is probably too... grisly to be put in here. I'm just going to give you a couple of images that I took in the aftermath of the incident.

And then—

Wait, what?

What the fuck.

#the sims 4 #the sims 4 screenshots #archive convinience tag goes here #ts4 #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 #the sims 4 gameplay #ts4 screenshots

[socialmediasocrates]

11 under romance and general, and 10 under story specific for the tav asks <3

ty @cheshadragons <3

Answering companion!Tav asks.

(cut for length)

BALALAFAY

Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

She has several! She will have a lot of thoughts and opinions about Minthara in Act 1 as well as Kagha in the Grove; if the player character is also drow, you can have a little shit-talking session with Lala about Kagha comparing herself to Lolth. She can also have a couple conversations with the Dark Urge specifically about [REDACTED]. She has unique ambient dialogues about various herbs and the potions she can make with them, as well as the mushrooms in the Underdark. After meeting the myconids, she has a special dialogue where she expresses how excited she is to see them in person and talks about how pretty they are. After your first encounter with Alfira, Balalafay has a special dialogue where she offers to teach you one of her favorite drinking songs, and then she has an additional special dialogue after encountering Alfira in Act 2 where she asks if you would be interested in playing a song together sometime. During the encounter with Nere, there's a dialogue option where Balalafay will attempt to talk to him which acts as a trigger for recruiting [REDACTED]; she also has a dialogue with [REDACTED] if she was in the party to fight Ketheric Thorm that acts as a replacement for her leaving camp prior to arriving at Wyrm's Rock. Either of these will also trigger a separate dialogue about the pronunciation of her name (you keep saying it wrong but she's too cripplingly polite to mention it). If you're playing a fellow drow and have chosen the option to intentionally mispronounce her name before, she'll get snippy with you about it eventually.

Balalafay is fascinated with the surface! She's fascinated with the world outside her family estate! I think she'd have a lot of things to say it and several unique dialogues related to that. Her other unique dialogues would be directly related to either her questline or drow culture, on which she has many, many opinions. Shout out to the dialogue you can have with her and Gale in the same party where she tells him that most drow only have access to the faerzress and the Shadow Weave for magic; I think his head probably explodes.

What are Tav’s plans for the future?  Do they propose to the PC, or is marriage not something they’re interested in?

Oh boy...Balalafay's plans for the future. Man, she sure has a lot of them. Initially, she really really just wanted to inspire her people to do better for themselves and their future. She wanted to sing pretty songs that made things feel less hopeful, and she wanted to encourage the udadrow to embrace their better natures. Balalafay has a deep, abiding belief in the ability of all sentient, sapient creatures to choose to be better. She's quick to defend the good that exists among her people, and quick to offer a helping hand to others. It's not that she doesn't know that there's a lot about the drow that's fucked up; she's very, very aware of it. But as far as she sees it, there's a lot about pretty much everyone in the world that's fucked up. (Don't get her started about the Descent of the drow.)

Depending on what the player said to her throughout Acts 1 and 2 but particularly during the conversations about her favorite fairy tale, the special trees, her hero worship of her eldest sister, and the conversation with [REDACTED] after Moonrise Towers, she might even do that! The whole "picking up her mandolin again and going out to be a beacon of hope in the Underdark" thing I mean. Otherwise, uh...hm. How do you feel about deicide quests?

She'd love to get married, though! Depending on how everything went.

How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

She's so...she wants to document the findings and also take some samples to look at. Maybe she can use this in her apothecarism! Could be convinced to also lick the spider, and would be simultaneously fascinated and grossed out. Balalafay is a disaster

MAYEARI

Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner) 

Several. Most of which are in Act 3, but a couple also scattered through Acts 1 and 2. If you've recruited her before fighting the goblins, Mayeari will have some opinions about Minthara's involvement in the whole thing, none of which will be particularly complimentary. (Antagonizing Minthara will be a favorite pastime of hers if they're both recruited.) Shout out to the unique conversation you can have with Mayeari about [REDACTED] before she actually explains it about herself in early Act 2. She has a lot of opinions about Baldur's Gate in ambient dialogues, and will make a few off handed remarks comparing it to the city that she comes from in the Underdark. She has special dialogues where she will talk about Orin if prompted, but she'll be really weird and bitter about it. Tbf Mayeari is really weird and bitter about a lot of things. If you fight and destroy one of the Steel Watch prior to the foundry, Mayeari will have a special dialogue where she asks you to help her disassemble it so that she can examine the parts. She has a fascination with machinery. To that end, she also has a special dialogue about Karlach's engine where she will remark on how much she'd like to take it apart and figure out how it works if it weren't both unstable and inherently necessary for Karlach to live.

The Dark Urge can have a few unique conversations with Mayeari throughout the game where she'll make comments implying she knows a lot more about your condition than she's willing to really discuss in depth.

What are Tav’s plans for the future?  Do they propose to the PC, or is marriage not something they’re interested in?

Homie Mayeari is fucking exhausted. She didn't even really wanna be in the future. She doesn't have extensive plans for it. She just wants to sleep for another century, but she knows that she has miles to go before she'll be allowed to rest so she'll carry on or some shit. If you rescued her younger sister in Moonrise Towers and learned Mayeari's backstory, you'll have the opportunity to encourage her to return to help rebuild Ust-Bräxaorthe alongside Ummi. This is probably the best ending possible with Mayeari; she'll invite the PC to come with her, if romanced, and promise to write regularly if not (Mayeari cannot be romanced by the Dark Urge for backstory reasons but will still extend the offer to come to Ust-Bräxaorthe to help the rebuilding efforts to one with high enough approval). She's not the type to settle in and rest on her laurels, and she's got too much shit left to do for it, anyway, but she's happy at least which is a drastic improvement.

If you didn't rescue her sister Mayeari [REDACTED]

How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

Gets annoyed with you for doing it, and gets even more annoyed if you do it twice. Might actually set the spider on fire about it. Curiosity is great, if you're not risking life and limb for it like a moron.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #drow tav #mothspeak #balalafay alean'arabani #mayeari ken'eilssath #with pace and a fury defiant #ask meme answers

[ptergwen]

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

-

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker au #peter parker smut #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

[soulmate-game]

Harley's Plea for Help ch. 6

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6-- you are here

Yet another night of barely any sleep, but this time Marinette didn’t have the coffee-angel Red Robin at her rescue. No, instead she had to go completely uncaffeinated until she and her class got to Wayne Enterprises. Madame Mendelieve could only sigh as she watched Marinette scamper off to the café as soon as they made it past the initial security of the building. A couple of her classmates chuckled or snorted at her familiar behavior.

It was the same barista at the register as before, but this time Marinette felt too tired to properly order or be adventurous in looking for new flavors.

“I feel like death. I don’t care if it tastes like pure bean oil today. Flavors will take away from the amount of coffee you can shove in one cup, right?”

The poor barista blinked, eyeing the deep bags forming under the poor girl’s eyes. She sighed. “I had hope yesterday that you were just a normal caffeine addict. Now I see we actually have a second Mister Drake,” she said it as if she was mourning at Marinette’s grave before poking a few buttons on her touchscreen order station and turning her head. “One Insomniac CEO, but not for the boss!” She called out. The barista making the drinks paused for a second with wide eyes.

“We have another one?!” He asked, shocked. “Piece of advice?” He turned to Marinette. “Get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead,” Marinette deadpanned back. “I got stuff I need to do today.”

The guy just shook his head and sighed, making the drink as Marinette paid and left a good tip. The drink came out fairly quickly, and everyone behind the counter stopped for a moment to stare as she gulped down the hot drink with no concern for her tongue or throat. A satisfied sound left her as she finally pulled away from the cup.

“This is really good!” She complimented, turning to the Baristas with a still-tired smile. It would take a minute or two for the coffee to have full effect, but she already felt better. “A little too bitter for my usual tastes, but perfect for days like today. Thanks!” She waved at them before turning around and seeing that her class was already gone again. Before she could fully process that though, a hand slapped down onto her head and ruffled her hair.

Surprised (really, not a lot of people could sneak up on her anymore. Just how tired was she?) she let out a high pitched squeal.

“You’re a good kid,” the soft, slightly scratchy voice that said that made Marinette’s shoulders drop and eyes widen. Tilting her head back she was greeted with the widely-grinning face of Jason Todd. He was once again in the uniform of a security guard.

“Wha— Uh,” Marinette couldn’t quite find the right words right away. She was too stunned. Jason just chuckled, jerking his head to indicate the same door her class had gone through the day before and leading the way over there. Marinette scrambled to catch up.

Once they were far away enough from prying eyes and ears, Marinette cleared her throat.

“Um,” she started. “Did… I mean, do you..?”

“Yeah, our mutual friends had a chat with me last night,” he confirmed casually. He sent her a meaningful look even though his grin never left his face. “Like I said; you’re a good kid. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re not responsible for the things your parents have done, you know.”

The girl at his side hummed noncommittally, not fully convinced but also not wanting to argue.

“You’re not,” he repeated firmly, stopping in the middle of the side-hallway. They could see her class at the other end getting checked in, but didn’t make a move to join them yet. “I mean it. The stuff that happened to me, none of that was you. Hell, you were a little kid back then. And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it, either. I’m not gonna hold anything against you just because you’re his child. You didn’t ask to be,” he shrugged. “Besides, I get it. Biological relation doesn’t equal family. Trust me,” his grin was gone and a tired one replaced it. “I know that better than most people.”

The pigtailed girl could only gulp, taking a deep breath as she forced down the tears that wanted to bubble up. She had had this conversation with Adrien a few times, but even then she had been convinced that he just didn’t understand. He was just being nice. But this— Jason’s words were more valuable than gold to her. He had no reason to be nice, so it had to be at least partially sincere.

“Thanks,” she whispered once she was positive she wasn’t going to break. She lifted her cup up and took a long sip of her coffee. The slight burn against her tongue helped ground her. “That means more than you know.”

Jason chuckled. “Nah. The fact that you stood up for me to the Bat,” his grin returned to his face full blast, making dimples appear on his cheeks. “Now that, you have no idea how much that means to me. You must have some serious guts to lecture that guy, too. Is it too late to adopt you for myself?”

That tore a quick laugh out of her, making her classmate’s head whip over to the opposite end of the hallway where she and Jason were. She quickly quieted herself, but her eyes danced with amusement as she looked up at Jason. “You’re too young to be my parent anyway, but I wouldn’t say no to a brother,” she joked. Jason’s eyes sparkled.

“Good, exactly what I was aiming for!” He slipped a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my number. Call me if you ever need anything, got it?” He turned to resume leading her back to her class and she quickly slipped the paper into her pocket before anyone saw and got the wrong idea. “And I mean anything.”

Marinette just smiled and nodded. By then, they were close enough for Alya to smirk and ask; “What took ya so long, girl?”

“Oh,” Marinette shuffled a little on her feet before an observation gave her a last minute idea and she straightened up with a wide smile. “We just got distracted talking about motorcycles!”

Jason’s eyebrows raised for a quick second before he settled his expression again and played along. He had figured that not many people knew about her biological family. That part made sense. But she had been a total mess just the day before when she had tried to lie about Paris’ little villain problem in front of Bruce. How was she able to actually come up with a good lie this time around, when she had been just as much put on the spot? He wondered to himself about what was different about this situation to allow her to lie more easily. Maybe Bruce not being there was part of it— she seemed easily flustered by famous people.

Think of the devil, because no sooner had that thought finished developing in Jason’s mind before Bruce Wayne walked into the hallway with a paparazzi-ready smile. Jason rolled his eyes and sunk to the back of the group silently, sinking back into his job and keeping an eye on their surroundings. He listened as Alya laughed softly and elbowed Marinette even as the group turned their attention to Bruce.

“You and your bikes,” Alya teased. “If someone knew enough about motorcycles, I bet you’d marry them on the spot.”

“Nah,” Marinette whispered back. “If they gave me a really nice one though? That’s marriage potential for sure.”

The two girls laughed for a second before focusing back on the tour. Adrien wasted no time making his way to Marinette’s side, silent questions in his eyes. Jason watched with interest as the two seemed to silently communicate with one another. It was obvious that Adrien was calling her lie, and Marinette was essentially silently telling him that she would explain later. It was so seamless and subtle that if Jason hadn’t been extremely familiar with that kind of communication already, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Once again his eyebrows rose a tick on his forehead, and he made a mental note of the interaction. That kind of silent conversation wasn’t an easy thing to do with people. It was most commonly seen in married or otherwise long-term couples, childhood friends, family, or hero partners. The childhood friends and family sections were already ruled out from their background check on her and Harley herself had mentioned that even though Marinette had once crushed on Adrien, she had unofficially adopted the boy as her brother since then. Though, their time as close friends was only documented as having lasted about a year. That wasn’t quite enough time for that sort of effortless silent communication to be possible.

Of course, Jason had his suspicions already. But there was no rush, either. The Clown was on the move and more important to focus on for now. He could focus on the puzzle that was Marinette and Adrien later.

Bruce took over the tour as he had the day before, and the class was instantly riveted once again. If the fact that they were being led through the building by the very man who owned it wasn’t awesome enough to get everyone’s full attention, the man’s personality was. He came off a little carefree and very kind, but there was an obvious undercurrent of just how much he loved his company that showed that he did take it and his job seriously. Just, not too seriously either. And he interjected everywhere he could with personal stories and anecdotes and little bits of his family history that the normal tour guides might not have known. It was not long after he announced that he was going to take them to a lower lab set aside specifically for their class’ tour, so that they could do their first interactive activity, that jason found the opportunity to sidle up next to Marinette on the opposite side from where Adrien walked alongside her.

“So,” he said casually. “How’d you know I ride a motorcycle?” he smirked to show he wasn’t upset as he looked down at her curiously. Marinette blinked, taking her attention away from Bruce to look over at Jason. Once his words registered, she smiled widely and pointed to one of his pockets. The corners of his bike gloves flopped over the edge.

“I noticed those. I figured you’d have a negative reaction that might give us away if my lie was too off the mark, and I do have a habit of saying stupid things if I don’t have a clue or something to play off of. I also had to make it believable for the class, and they all know that my Nonna has played a huge part in my love for motorcycles. I plan on getting a license to drive one when I turn sixteen later this year,” she told him softly. “I tend to gush whenever I see a cool bike, so I knew they wouldn’t question it.”

Jason huffed a little bit of laughter under his breath. It was like the trope of a character looking at random items in the room to come up with a fake name, but somehow it had actually worked for her. She was quick-witted and clever, he had to admit. And observant.

“I was running late, so I must have left them in my pocket when I was changing,” he admitted, unbothered. “Ah, here we are,” he nodded to return the two teen’s (he had noticed Adrien paying close attention as he and Marinette had their conversation) attention back to the tour. Bruce opened the door for the class with a flourish, gesturing for everyone to go in.

“Since these first few days are going to be tours and lessons about working in general, your first activity of your trip is to solve various problems we’ve given you based on real situations that WE employees have been in before. Split up into groups, and choose a table. Each table has a different problem covering a different industry. Reporting, Science— specifically research and development, business management, and entertainment…”

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s straight,” Adrien assured her, trying to keep himself from laughing as Marinette straightened his tie for the millionth time. “I promise. And you look fantastic.”

Marinette stepped back, nodding at Adrien’s appearance in approval. “I know. We both look great, but…” she fidgeted and then stepped forward to go right back to over-straightening his tie. Adrien snorted, grabbing her hands before she could touch the poor thing again and lowering her arms to her sides.

“Calm down. Like you said, we both look great. You don’t have a single hair out of place, the outfits you made us look amazing, and my tie is at a perfect ninety degree angle to my collar. Take the model’s word for it,” he teased with a lopsided grin. “We look ready for the front cover of a magazine. So just take a deep breath, because we should get down to the lobby soon to wait for the ride he’s sending for us.”

“Right,” Marinette nodded. She followed his advice and took a deep breath. Once she was suitably calmed, she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Adrien smiled and held out his arm, making Marinette snort as she took hold of it gently and let him lead her to the elevator.

Bruce had not specified whether the dinner was going to be casual or formal, but with the fact that his kids were going to be present and it was at his own house, Marinette had a feeling it was going to be more of a casual thing than if they had went out to a fancy restaurant with a black tie dress code. At the same time, this was the Wayne manor they were talking about. She didn’t want to be underdressed, either. Not to mention that it was her design skills that had played a huge part in her winning the contest in the first place, so she felt like she had to show her work again to prove that they had chosen the right person.

A playful wolf whistle greeted the two of them when they got down to the lobby. Alya was, to no one’s surprise, the perpetrator. She stood in the lobby with Alix, Nino, and Max, who all had known about the dinner and agreed to be there to see the two of them off and put Marinette’s worries to rest. The four of them jogged over, Alix smiling and adding her own soft whistle of appreciation.

“You guys look great,” the short skater assured them, taking the time to skate slow circles around them to make sure that nothing was wrong with their outfits. “I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mari! Very cool.”

Alya nodded eagerly, bouncing in place with a wide, beaming smile on her face. “Ah! The both of you look ready to kick ass and woo rich people!” she added. Max pushed his glasses up on his nose with a small grin.

“There is a ninety-five percent chance of your work impressing all of the Waynes,” he said in his own version of encouragement.

“You guys got this!” Nino shot them a thumbs up. “They beat me to all the stuff I wanted to say.”

Marinette beamed, laughing along with her friends as she allowed herself to relax a little. Adrien’s outfit was of her own making, a subtle way for him to rebel since his father had sent him with his own Gabriel brand suit should an appropriate opportunity to wear it come up. Adrien had no plans of ever putting his father’s suit on his body. In an effort to spice up formal men’s wear a bit without making the whole thing white and silver like Gabriel wanted, Marinette had made him a classic silk shirt in black, with short sleeves that fell at that perfect halfway point between his elbow and shoulder. The sleeves had thick cuffs in a dark forest green, with decorative straight stitches on the seams in a bright magenta pink thread. On top of that was a corset-style sleeveless vest with a deep V. The majority of the vest was the same black as the shirt, but with dark green hand-stitched swirls that were just barely bright enough to be contrasted against the black. It created a very subtle pattern that would be hard to see in the wrong lighting, but would make it look that much more expensive and elaborate in the right lighting. The lapel of the vest was in the same dark forest green as the cuffs of his shirt, with a few decorative swirls embroidered on the very corners. The piping of the corset-vest made three curved lines on either side of his waist, curling from mid-rib cage to his waist. It gave him a slightly more feminine twist to his outfit, making his waist look smaller even though it wasn’t actually pulled very tight on him— it was mostly the illusion made by the piping rather than the actual tightness of the garment. The two outside piping lines were done in a magenta pink, while the middle piping line was once again in dark forest green. Unlike most corset-style vests, this one had no buttons or zipper on the front at all. Instead, it was closed only by corset lacing in the back, the laces done in such a dark shade of green that it was almost black, while the eyelets that the laces were threaded through were that same magenta pink as the piping and decorative stitches elsewhere on the outfit. The tie that Marinette had spent so long making sure was straight was almost entirely soft lace, but it was layered in such a way with layers of sheer green and pink lace that it looked like it was a constant swirl of the two colors. If someone got close enough to see the pattern of the lace tie, they would notice that it was a pattern of cats chasing a butterfly.

Underneath the artistic top of the outfit were black dress pants, once again with thick forest-green cuffs on the bottoms. But instead of the decorative stitching, the pant legs flared a bit at the ankles for just a little extra drama. Magenta-pink Oxfords peeked out of the wide cuffs. The green detailing made Adrien’s eyes pop, while the pink accents gave his boyish charm a little more of a feminine touch that almost seemed to highlight his naturally sensitive and charming nature.

In contrast, Marinette wore a sleeveless pink pantsuit. It was the same shade as the pink accents in Adrien’s outfit, and had a built-in corset as well that went only around her natural waist. The corset boning on Marinette was a solid black, while the rest was just the same base pink as the majority of the suit. The black of the boning seemed to flow downwards, changing from boning into thick hand-embroidery in thread of the exact same black. The embroidery flowed down the sides of both legs, in the shape of tree branches and apple blossoms. Pale green accents in the form of swirls at her high neckline and a pale green lace capelet that was the only thing covering her shoulders helped tie her outfit in with Adrien’s. She also wore pale green low kitten heels and her black hair up in a braided bun. With how her pant legs were form-hugging until they flared out slightly at the heel, and the lack of sleeves exposed her toned arms and shoulders and emphasized her strength there without making her look unbalanced or too masculine for the rest of the outfit’s style, she looked ready to rock the business world. Her bright blue eyes clashed with the green details of the outfit just enough to bring attention to them, assuring that people who met her eyes would not be able to easily look away.

The quick snap of a phone’s flash went off, drawing everyone’s attention to Madame Bustier. She was beaming at all of them, and had just taken a picture of her two students all dressed up. She waved her phone happily. “I’m sending this picture to the both of you. I’m so proud of you guys!” she gushed.

Marinette and Adrien both blushed deep red, shifting in their spots. They were confident in their looks, and Adrien was just as proud of his pseudo-sister, but neither of them was very good at handling so much positive attention aimed only at them. Especially not from their extremely sincere friends and teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” An older gentleman with a British accent turned everyone’s attention to him. The first thing Marinette thought was that he had kind eyes. He also had soft wisps of white hair on his head, carefully trimmed and slicked back. Of course, Marinette and Adrien also couldn’t miss the high quality and perfect press of his carefully maintained suit. Once he had shown all the proper credentials to Madame Bustier, he introduced himself to the two well-dressed teens with a shallow bow. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for Wayne Manor. I am to escort the both of you there for supper tonight.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur Pennyworth,” Marinette said, walking up and shaking his hand. Adrien was right by her side the whole time, matching her smile watt for watt and shaking Alfred’s hand with just as much enthusiasm.

“Yeah, thank you for having us over. I know it was technically Bruce who invited Marinette, but you’re probably the one that has to do all the work. So, thank you. We really appreciate it,” he told the man sincerely. Alfred’s answering smile was soft, almost fond.

“Yes, I admit I am in charge of most of the work for tonight. But you shouldn’t worry, it’s no different from any other day at the manor,” he said lightheartedly, a little bit of good natured snark shining through his otherwise proper behavior— “Every last one of the Waynes would die in less than a week without me to keep everything in order,” he joked. “Allow me to lead you to the car.”

Marinette and Adrien followed behind Alfred. She didn’t know if it was the calming aura he put off, or if it was the gentle way his eyes sparkled that made her want to look after him. But whatever it was, she found herself wanting to protect this kind old man already. Which is why her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Before climbing inside the luxurious town car he had brought for them, she couldn’t help but turn to Alfred and ask;

“I hope you aren’t overworked. I don’t want to overstep, Monsieur, but isn’t the Wayne family rather large for one person to look after on their own?”

Alfred laughed gently at that, his eyes once again softening. “Do not worry about me, Miss Dupain-Cheng. They are family to me. And though, yes, you are correct in assuming they are a handful, they are also wonderful people. They help me where they can, but taking care of themselves is not their forte. Being able to do that for them is my greatest joy.”

The wrinkles in Marinette’s brow smoothed out and she smiled. “That’s so sweet. You’re making me want to meet them all even more.”

Something about that twinkle in Alfred’s eye made her feel like he was laughing at some joke she didn’t hear. “I’m sure all of you will get along swimmingly.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“I FOUND HER FIRST!”

Alfred had barely opened the manor’s doors to let Marinette and Adrien inside before the chaos started. Or rather, before they were let in on it— it seemed as if the chaos had already been going on for a while.

Jason skidded across the floor in a mad dash, having to grasp the doorframe he was running out of so that he could turn the corner sharply and veer towards them.

“Tell them, Marinette! I found you first, you’re my sister now, don’t fall for any of their Jedi mind tricks!”

Marinette just blinked, a little caught off guard. It hadn’t exactly sunk into her head until right that moment that ‘Wayne Family dinner’ would include Jason. Her mind was still catching up to the fact that she was seeing him out of his security guard uniform for the first time. He wasn’t dressed up at all, in a well-loved brown leather jacket over a white shirt and dark wash jeans. He still had his motorcycle gloves on. Marinette looked down at first herself, then Adrien.

“Are we overdressed?” She asked with a grimace. Jason huffed.

“Of course not, you guys look amazing! But seriously, tell them that I claimed you as my sister first and none of them are half as cool as me.”

Marinette and Adrien traded glances before laughing together.

“If we’re being technical here,” Adrien drawled mischievously as he straightened out his vest. “I met Marinette first, and she adopted me as her brother long before we met any of you,” he pointed out with a sharp grin.

“Ha!” a younger man laughed pointedly, following after Jason. The newcomer was dressed more formally, in a dress shirt under a very luxurious looking burgundy designer sweater. Under that, he wore black perfectly-pressed slacks and nondescript oxfords. His collar showed signs of housing a tie earlier, but he had clearly taken it off sometime earlier. His hair hung slightly long, framing his face with two long locks while the back of his hair slightly stuck up in all directions in natural tufted curls. Like Jason, his hair was jet black and he had bright blue eyes. He was also about half Jason’s size, much shorter and leaner than his adoptive brother. “He’s got you there, idiot,” he snarked smugly at Jason before turning to the two guests. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, Mister Agreste. I’m Tim Drake-Wayne, it’s nice to finally meet both of you,” he introduced himself as he walked over to shake their hands. “And your outfits are amazing! Did you make them, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Marinette,” she corrected with a lopsided grin. “My last name is a mouthful, and I prefer to just go by Marinette anyway. And yes, I made both of these outfits before we left Paris,” she admitted, trying her best to seem professional. She had already ruined her chances of that with Bruce and Jason, but this time she was prepared!

“They are just as impressive as the rest of your work that I’ve seen. And call me Tim, it’s only fair,” and then he smiled.

Damn his boyish grin. He wasn’t someone Marinette had a crush on— he wasn’t her type— but damn he was unfairly charismatic and charming. His smile temporarily short circuited her brain. That was exactly the kind of boyish smile that had started her crush on Adrien, and that she was unfairly weak for. Now she felt a deep-seated urge to protect this boy and his smile or so help her, someone would be sent to the ER if he was hurt and it wasn’t gonna be her. And she didn’t try to dissuade herself from that strong protective urge, her mother had already assured her that all the Waynes were trustworthy and that Tim in particular shared a lot of her bad habits. She could allow this little bit of vulnerability. Hopefully.

“... I’ve only known you for two minutes, but if anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” she breathed. Adrien elbowed her hard, making her yelp.

“You said that out loud Mari,” he deadpanned. A deep flush immediately came over her face, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry— but you— just forget I said anything. Please!”

Tim was visibly shocked, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Jason snorted, overcoming his own brief moment of shock pretty easily.

“Careful there,” Jason chided good-heartedly. His gaze met Marinette’s with a slight weight in it though. “You barely know the guy. He’ll annoy you out of your mind soon enough.”

Marinette caught the hint, wincing and changing the subject. Jason could see that she had done exactly as her mother had warned— she had gotten attached to Tim almost immediately. And while he wanted to believe Marinette when she said that the same wouldn’t happen with Joker, that she was not going to repeat her mother’s mistakes…

He couldn’t help but worry. Joker was a slippery bastard, and good at getting past people’s defenses.

Tim eventually led them all to the dining room, where several people were already sat waiting for them.

“We decided it would be best if we didn’t all swarm you at the door,” Tim explained, grinning at her kindly. “Take a seat wherever you want, Alfred is probably going to be done with dinner soon.”

Marinette and Adrien both nodded, going to sit by each other’s side. Adrien put his hand on her knee when they sat down, and traded a meaningful look with her.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’re not in Paris. And if you slip, I’ll catch you. Promise.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed a little. Yeah, she could trust Adrien to make sure she didn’t slip up too much. Get too careless. He’d watch her back like she did for him. She’d be okay. They’d both be okay.

“Thanks, Adrien. I needed that.”

—*—*—*—*—*

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[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

#ultimate note #whomst #wu xie #dmbj #the lost tomb #pingxie #iron triangle

[notquitecanon]

First Impressions // John Wick x reader

Pessimistic assassin + sunshiney reader + love at first sight +______

“Can I pet your dog?” A bright, chirpy voice didn’t quite sneak up on John, but he wasn’t expecting it. Most people didn’t approach him, they either already knew who he was or something about his domineering vibe kept them at arms distance. As if they could sense the lethal skill set he possessed without ever seeing it. And if that specific atmosphere wasn’t enough, the pitbull reputation kept the stragglers away. A dangerous man and a ‘dangerous’ dog (Dog wouldn’t hurt a soul, but not everyone knew that) But somehow, this excited voice was the exception to both of these rules. John looked up from his phone, eyes hardened and mind calculating a hundred different escape routes and combat strategies, already defensive- if his job taught him anything, dangerous people hid in all sorts of disguises in this city. And then every downward spiral thought stopped in their tracks. In that moment, he was completely caught off guard- a rare phenomenon. You were standing a little bit in front of him in the golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves, but closer than most strangers dared, smiling at him patiently but brightly, eyes excitedly flickering between his and Dog’s. Rocking on your heels a bit, you were patiently waiting, eyebrows raising by the second and teeth beginning to worry your bottom lip. It was like the sun itself had beamed you down in front of him, happiness, light, and warmth radiated off you and bathed him in it. John absentmindedly wondered if anyone had ever been able to say no to you. “Can I pet your dog?” You repeated, just assuming the tall, dark, and handsome stranger hadn’t heard your initial request, cocking your head to the side. John hadn’t realized he had been staring. He blinked once, then another time- surely someone this… warm couldn’t be like him. “Do I know you?” He asked cautiously, begging any God, spirit, or entity that was listening to at least let you be this authentically good person.  He watched as a flush rose up to your cheeks and nervous hand ran through your hair, an awkward chuckle escaping before you lowered your eyes. “Oh, uh, no, I don’t think so…” You trailed off, before offering an apologetic smile as you began to walk away. John’s defensiveness melted as his trained eyes caught the wiggle of your fingers as you waved to Dog. You were turning away, only a touch disappointed, but you still smiled, “Sorry to bother yo-“ “No, no, it’s fine.” He quickly called after you, even though you hadn’t even turned away from him yet, he searched for a reasonable excuse to his apprehensiveness, “Sorry, you looked familiar.” You looked a tad confused, but didn’t move to leave again. John cleared his throat as he clarified, “You can pet him, he’s friendly.” That initial bright smile and giddiness returned as you immediately dropped to your knees in front of the grey pitbull whose tail was already thumping against the ground, “Well of course you are!” For the second time in such a short interaction, you caught him off guard again. His strategic mind was working overtime to figure out how you were so comfortable putting yourself into such a vulnerable position- on your knees in front of him, giggling as your nails scratched behind Dog’s ears. Were you that oblivious to possible danger or perhaps just so confident it didn’t bother you? Suddenly, his mind came to an immediate halt as you grinned up at him, laughing while Dog licked at your face. Then it was clear to him, danger hadn’t even occurred to you in approaching him. He didn’t even know your name, but had already decided that for as long as he knew you- five minutes or fifty years- he’d strive to be a man that wasn’t a danger to you. Oblivious to the the earth shattering vows the man above you was making to himself, you smiled up at him again, the pitbull all but in your lap, “What’s his name?” This time, it was his cheeks that tinted red (though you could barely make it out over his well kept scruff), his gruff voice mumbled out, “Dog.” Your eyebrows crinkled as your head cocked to the side again, repeating him, “Dog?” He nodded, swallowing his embarrassment, “Just… Dog.” “Well, ‘Just Dog’ and I are friends now.” You decided with a theatrical nod to the pit happily panting back at you. John wondered if that meant he’d get to see more of you, he hoped so. “So Dog and…” Trailing off you motioned to him, he was quicker than usual to give out his name, “John Wick.” “Dog and John Wick.” You tested the duo out, and nodded as if you liked if, booping Dog on the nose. “And you?” John asked almost as eagerly as he’d given his name, before clarifying, “Your name?” “Oh, I’m (Y/N).” You shrugged as if it wasn’t important, focussing back on the dog in front of you. Quite the contrary, John thought this was the most important and perfect name he’d come across. “Sorry, I might have to steal your dog.” If you kept smiling like that, John might let you- might throw in his car keys and the deed to his house if you batted your eyelashes. Instead, he tried to keep a level head- what were you doing to this paradigm of discipline?-, “He seems to like you.” And Dog wasn’t the only one. As you sat there, eventually moving to sit on the park bench beside him with Dog’s head resting in your lap, you kept the conversation going. It was as if you could sense the topics he wasn’t forthcoming about and happily filled in for his silence- he didn’t want to talk about where he was from? No matter, he now knew exactly how many stoplights were in your hometown. His job was an iffy subject? You had plenty of funny anecdotes about your coworkers and your job hunt when you first moved to the city. Almost as if you’d made it a personal mission to make him smile and laugh, and you were succeeding. The conversation only dwindled when the park street lamps turned on.  “Sorry, I wasted your whole afternoon.” You apologized with a red glow on your cheeks. Wasted? John gave a stern look, shaking his head once. “I enjoyed your company.” Effectively cut off anymore apologies as you only blushed more, giggling quietly. He had to ask, “Could we maybe see each other again?” Quickly, he feared he was being too forward, it had been a long time since he worried about asking nice, pretty girls out, too long. So he tacked on, “Dog will miss you.” You laughed, easily seeing through him but nodded, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

____

Sorry I wanted to experiment with writing more for his point of veiw

#john wick x reader #John wick imagine #Keanu Reeves x reader #Keanu Reeves imagine #John wick

[prudencepaccard]

whenever I post about the same old angers I think of this conversation from two years ago with @injygo which was of the most insightful and revelatory dialogues I’ve ever had about my personal psychology

me: my psychiatrist asked me if I loved myself and I was like "I uh...I think I have a lot to offer...and I don't think I'm worthless...and I don't hate myself like I used to" and she was like "dude that's not good enough"

me: I definitely don't love myself

[note: I think I’m starting to now though]

injygo: <:ghosthug:585698760890515503>

me: like I think I'm talented and interesting but I feel deep down like I must be extremely annoying and unlikable and my voice must be grating and I don't know why anyone actually tolerates me

me: I understand why someone might keep me in their collection of eccentrics but not why anyone would want to spend any significant amount of time with me

[note: in early 2020 I was told by someone whose opinion I valued and whom I had wanted to meet for a long time that « the way I take up space is beautiful » which is one of the most validating things anyone could say to me because I have a complex about taking up space wrong/too much/etc.]

me: this in spite of the fact that I am actually extremely loved

me: I'm not *popular* but I'm not at a lack for devoted friends and family

me: but I'm like "okay surely people will come to their senses though"

injygo: does it help to think about how there's lots of different people in the world with different standards, and so there's not really a single scale of likability?

me: a little maybe

me: anyway my self-compassion is garbage and I knew that

me: I know I'm really harsh on myself and keep letting myself down

me: but I hadn't thought about it in those specific terms till she asked

me: like oh no I don't think I love myself, no

me: my loved ones don't love themselves either

me: I don't hate myself as much as I used to but I'm just extremely rigorous and harsh and impatient

me: I really have very very little compassion for myself at all

me: I don't even feel sorry for myself, usually

[linking thought redacted for interlocutor’s privacy]

me: whereas I tend to double down

me: like "yes so fuck everything, let's stay in bed and not eat"

injygo: you do feel sorry for yourself, but you can't usually "get to" it, if you get my meaning

me: what do you mean by get to it?

injygo: like you tell people stories about shitty things that have happened to you, hoping that something they say will reveal how you can forgive yourself for having been harmed and comfort yourself

injygo: like, you're going "hmm, that feels bad, i bet anyone would feel bad for me and try to comfort me, let's test that out" trying to get a response like "that sucks and shouldn't have happened", not because you deep down want other people to comfort you, but because you deep down want to comfort yourself and don't know how except with other people's words and reactions

me: it's possible

injygo: you stay in situations you hate long after you should, because you don't feel like your preferences matter or that you deserve good things, but you *want* to leave, and can't get to the point of saying "yeah, i shouldn't have to suffer this any longer"

injygo: like you're not a masochist, you're not suicidal, there's not a drive to punish yourself for the sake of punishment, it's just that you don't feel like you have the right to avoid bad things and seek good things, or to be comforted, or to have things be easy for you

me: yeah this is probably true

injygo: so you can easily get trapped in depressive spirals where you don't feel like you deserve to eat, or you don't feel like it matters if you're sad

injygo: but when you feel like you *do* deserve things, you're motivated to pursue them and you get mad at people who get in your way

injygo: which is honestly pretty enviable

me: thanks

me: I'm not 100% sure

>forgive yourself for having been harmed

is apt

me: but the rest is pretty accurate

injygo: yeah, i'm not quite sure what's up with your like, quasi-trauma-processing thing

me: "you shouldn't have to suffer like this" is really, really hard to grok when it's an OCD spiral

me: it feels baked in, like if X then Y

me: >yeah, i'm not quite sure what's up with your like, quasi-trauma-processing thing

elaborate?

me: god I just fucking

injygo: but there's definitely a thing where, uh, it's like if you painted a picture and you thought it was really good, but you can't say to yourself "yep this picture is good" until you've shown it to your friends and they've been like "hey, that's good!"

me: I know something really messed with me but I don't have any idea what's going on

me: I don't model myself as traumatized per se

injygo: like, you don't trust your own judgment about whether something hurt you, whether it was your fault, whether it's okay to feel bad about it

me: I also feel like my suffering doesn't matter because everyone else is worse off and/or deserved it less

me: so these anecdotes keep cropping up to you, because you feel like they're unresolved, but what you actually want, rather than being told that it sucked and shouldn't have happened, is for you to be able to say to yourself that it sucked and shouldn't have happened

me: probably yeah

injygo: you don't trust your ability to tell if the painting is good

me: this is definitely true

me: I'm very insecure like that

me: I undersell and undervalue myself

me: from only charging $40/hr [for one hour/week French tutoring that involved me coming to him from pretty far away and lesson planning and making exercises and where the guy I was tutoring balked at paying me that much and tried to bargain me down to $30 even though he had a ton of money and mentioned taking tennis lessons and how much you wanna bet the tennis instructor was making a whole lot more than $40 an hour]

me: to like

me: going "ugh it's true but why'd you have to say it" if someone calls me ugly

injygo: like this is not the bpd thing where you're constantly seeking validation -- borderlines feel good when they're validated, and it like, satisfies them completely (for a short time) when people are like "i like you and you matter"

injygo: they get "hungry" again, and they have to learn to provide it for themselves, but it's this feeling of desperation like "i will Literally Die if someone doesn't pay attention to me Right Now"

injygo: but with you it's more like, being faced with a door you don't know how to open, a feeling of bafflement and a vague sense that something can be done that isn't being done

injygo: like, you know how a dog acts when they're injured, and they come up to you holding their paw up, asking you to fix it

injygo: but a cat will be like "there is a thing that's wrong! help, human" but you don't know what thing it is, and they keep meowing at you and asking you to fix it, but you can't really figure out what to fix

me: and I'm the cat right

injygo: yeah

injygo: like "i'm pretty sure it shouldn't hurt to jump, but i don't see any way to fix it, so i guess i'll just deal"

me: mood

injygo: you're like "problem?" and people are like "yep, problem" and you're like "oh" and then "problem?" because you need *you* to tell yourself the things

[oldsmobile-hotdogs]

Congrats!! Willex ♥️😭🌸

Hey anon ! Sorry for the wait on this one, but it’s finally done !

Without further ado, may I present:

95% of Visitors to the Eden Project do Not Return a Second Time

also available on ao3 here!

(anon if you have an ao3 you’d like me to gift this work to feel free to let me know !)

Alex had always wondered about the implications of him still having anxiety as a ghost, because despite the illness occurring mentally, all processes involved were chemical and physical, as much as the brain is considered a physical part of the human body, just also the part that controls the self. So it would stand to reason that if Alex was still dealing with his anxiety, and boy, was he, then he should be dealing with his more typically considered "physical" conditions day-to-day as well.

Except he hadn't experienced any other distinct forms of physical suffering like he had with his anxiety. Sure: he couldn't eat anything, so there was no way to check if he was still anaphylactically allergic to tree nuts; and it was pretty hard for him to purposefully make contact with things, so there was little way for him to be sure the familiar bruises on his hips from existing just a little too far to the left would bloom if he were to run into the Molinas' kitchen island or back into their staircase bannister or trip on air into the table, but that didn't stop him taking this anecdotal evidence as fact and deciding that, for some reason, mental illnesses must just work differently enough to everything else to carry on into the afterlife experience.

Alex really didn't like the implications of that. He'd already felt ostracised enough as a child for having a brain that worked differently that he wasn't a fan of it being one of the main highlights of his eternity. So- and he could never tell Willie this: Willie'd immediately be far more worried about his well-being than Alex would be ready for- he'd started seeking out ways to become physically ill, just to prove that he could. That was the principle of falsification, after all: it only took one example to show that he didn't just bring his anxiety along for the ride.

He'd begun taking leisurely walks in the great outdoors, a concept that would've seemed wildly out-of-character for him if not for the dire circumstances he was currently in. On these walks he'd inhale as aggressively as he could, hoping to kickstart his old tree pollen allergy and have an asthma attack right there and then just to prove it was still in him to do so; he'd chuck himself into each and every hedge, hoping upon hope that even if nothing topical started up he'd at least emerge with a scratch; and he'd even taken to walking into stinging nettles, just to feel something, figuring that the dock leaves were located right next to them anyway. Alex found no luck on any of these fronts. It's not like he even had a plan of how to break to anyone, especially Willie, that he'd found a way to get hurt, let alone how he'd found that way to get hurt, when he finally found it.

Luckily, as some might argue, when it finally happened, Willie was already there.

'Alex, man? You okay?' Willie asked, stopping the both of them in their tracks on the small brick pathway that weaved between the exotic flower exhibits they were currently meant to be astutely and romantically observing on their date. Alex could vaguely see the lightly concerned look on his face through his swiftly clouding vision. God, even at a reduced resolution he was cute.

'Yeah, I.' Alex stifled a sneeze, his ears popping at the exertion. 'I think- one of these flowers- I must not have- it's new,' he floundered, suddenly overwhelmed now that he was experiencing his first allergy attack in twenty five- though they felt like one- years, despite him having been searching this experience out for at least a few weeks at this point.

'That's- okay.' Willie had picked up inserting "okay" into nearly every conversation he had, though not as heavily as Alex, and Alex was able to pick up at this point that this particular "okay" was hiding the fact that although Willie touted himself as an expert on all things ghost, he was now the one having a minor afterlife crisis. 'Is there anything you need?'

'My antihistamines are-' Another silent sneeze, his head reeling a little from how furrowed his brows had been- 'They're in my pack. And tissues.'

'I'll get them out,' Willie offered, reaching over with the hand not intertwined with Alex's to unzip his fanny pack. 'You gotta stop holding in those sneezes, by the way,' he continued under his breath, ever so gently. 'You'll hurt yourself.'

Alex was about to respond with something snarky, telling himself it was to maintain the previous tone of conversation but also fully knowing that it was because he wanted to assure Willie he was fine, but was interrupted by a sudden, all-encompassing urge to itch at his eyes. His hands acted before his brain could, and the one not held tightly onto Willie's scrubbed at his left eye before he could stop it. He felt involuntary tears pool almost immediately after he stopped scrubbing.

'Oh my god, are you okay?' Willie reiterated, clearly having caught sight of his now shining singular eye. 'Do you need me to take us anywhere?'

'No I just-' Alex startled slightly at how congested his voice now sounded. He'd really grown used to not having to deal with this since dying. 'I rubbed at it,' he finished in a tone that he thought made him sound like a child creeping up on their parents to whine about a nightmare.

'Oh.' Willie giggled a little, seemingly relieved. 'You shouldn't do that either, you know,' he chided jovially, bumping Alex's shoe lightly with his as he finally procured the packet of tissues and box of pills from Alex's fanny pack.

'Okay, Mom,' Alex complained jokingly, warmth blossoming in his chest when Willie pitched into a fit of giggles in response.

Once the laughing had died down, Willie finally replied, 'I only do it because I love you.'

As if his brain only then caught up to what he said, Willie suddenly froze, straightening up jerkily, a maroon blush crawling across his cheeks. 'Uh.'

'You mean it?' Alex squeaked out after a minute, confused as to why that was the first thing out of his mouth in response.

'That time?' Willie replied, voice equally as strained. 'That time I- I meant it kind of in a matronly way.' He paused. 'But in general? Yeah.'

Alex could feel his own cheeks heating up. 'Cool,' he managed, instantly feeling like a buffoon. 'Shit.' He paused similarly for a moment, inhaling shakily and sneezing once more, trying to hold this one in less, specifically for Willie, before restarting. 'Me too. I- I love you too.'

Willie made a move, as if to pull him in for a hug, but Alex suddenly became incapacitated by a sneeze that he didn't anticipate in time to stifle, the noise scaring one bird out of a tree a few exhibits over. Alex chose not to think about the implications of ghost birds in that moment.

'I think we should go somewhere else before we continue this confession, though,' Alex reasoned, resigned now to the new viscosity of his voice.

Willie giggled once more. 'Of course, hot dog. Love you.'

'Love you too,' Alex said around his blocked nose.

And with little more than a thought, the two poofed out of the botanical garden.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #fic #fanfic #ao3 #oneshot #willie jatp #alex mercer #willex #fluff #own post #1k words #fanfiction #anon #ask #50 follower prompts #50 followers celebration

[1-800-roflmao]

Wash Day Delight Pt. 5

Rating:  General Audiences

WARNINGS:  None

Fandom:  Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships:  (Papyri Harem) Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Underfell)/Reader, Papyrus (Underswap)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader,  Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader

Characters:  Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), Blue (US Sans), Stretch (US Pap), Sans (Undertale), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Add. Notes: Reader Is POC - mainly mixed/black coded with thick curly hair. I try to keep descriptions vague. Anyone is welcome to read.

*Papyrus has a moment to himself. Enter Sans, Blue, and Stretch. Edge proposes a toast.

**EDITED SINCE TUMBLR MIXED UP THE PARAGRAPHS

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

Papyrus was practically beaming at the opportunity he had caught by the horns that morning.  What a spectacular way to start his day!  He’d been only a little worried that she might shoot down his idea.  Okay, he had been very worried.  Especially considering she had explained she planned to do chores today as well.  Thank goodness, his brilliant mind was in tip top shape today!  And he didn’t have the little human here to fluster him.  It had also been lucky that Blue was there.  The excitable version of his brother had been quite eager to help him convince her to come over once he realized who he was texting and what was going on.

“REMIND HER HOW MUCH SHE LOVED OUR MASTER BATH!”  “SHE’S SUPPOSED TO BE PAMPERING HERSELF AND RESTING.  CHORES ARE NEITHER OF THOSE!”  “WE CAN ASSIST HER WITH THOSE CHORES IF THEY REALLY NEED TO BE DONE…”  “TELL HER I’LL GET MY BROTHER’S HOODIE FOR HER!”

That last suggestion he remembered had resulted in a long pause before Blue had laughed awkwardly under Papyrus’s questioning and only slightly judging gaze.  His judgemental gaze was soon pulled to his phone as she had replied with a wide-eyed emoji and then stars and then finally: 

Fluffy:  Promise?

He didn’t know whether to be impressed by Blue or disappointed in his friend that it had taken the simple promise of a hoodie to get her to agree so quickly.  Was it because it was Stretch’s specifically?  There was no way to tell since they had not offered anyone else’s clothing.  It stung for some reason.  Idly, he rubbed at his sternum to ease the odd pain away as he sent a reply back. 

CoolDude:  THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND MALEFICENT BLUE! NEVER BREAK A PROMISE.

CoolDude:  WE’LL BE OVER IN JUST A FEW MINUTES TO PICK YOU UP

Fluffy:          Could you give me thirty?  

Fluffy:          I need to get dressed and pack a bag.

CoolDude:  OFCOURSE!  SEE YOU SOON!

Needless to say, it wasn’t long after the two had convinced her to come over that the whole household was made aware they would have a guest today in the family group chat.  Blue had run off to find his brother with a promise to come back in time to go.   Papyrus assumed he was going to try and convince his brother to give up his hoodie for the day.  They technically didn’t need it till later though.  Most likely she would be rushing off to the bathroom as soon as she stepped foot into their home.

Pocketing his phone, he settled into finishing the task Blue had been helping him with.  There were only a few more dishes left to clean from their late breakfast--brunch?  Was it still technically too early for brunch?  Shrugging, he lost himself in cleaning and tried not to watch the clock obsessively.  So hyper focused, he didn’t notice his brother shortcutting into the kitchen just beside him.

○●○●○●○●○

Sans just watched Papyrus currently wiping at the same spot on the counter for what seemed the umpteenth time.  “hey, bro, think you missed a spot,” he finally decided to make presence known.  He was rewarded with very on brand screech as his taller sibling nearly jumped through the ceiling in surprise.  Quite a feat considering they had purposely high ceilings.  

“SANS!!!”  Sans’ lazy perma smile just perked up as his brother stomped a foot and crossed his arms, sockets narrowing.   “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT USING SHORTCUTS IN THE HOUSE?!”  Papyrus scolded, foot tapping away.  

“not to,” he answered without a care.  His tone said it all.   He’d do it again and again.  This was a war Papyrus would not win.  He bit back a laugh as his brother just sucked in a breath, palms pressed together in a praying motion in front of his teeth.  “aw, paps, come on, it’s not that bad,” he pleaded playfully.

“YOU ARE CORRECT,” Papyrus started and Sans arched a brow bone in mild surprise, “IT’S NOT THAT IT’S BAD.  IT IS SIMPLY FRUSTRATING THAT YOU HAVE TWO PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL LEGS AND YET, YOU FIND EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO NOT USE THEM!” 

Sans just smiled in turn and that smile just stretched wider as he watched his brother literally flinch and glare even harder.  “NO.”  His sockets were practically curling with how big his smile was getting as Papyrus continued to command him to cease.  It was too late though.  It was already in motion.

“just trying to get a leg up on life, bro.”  It was like music to his nonexistent ears as Papyrus screeched that signature NYEH! of his.  He would have tossed a few more puns his brother’s way, but… “so, what has your spine in a twist?”  While he could guess what had his brother stressing--considering a certain human was visiting today--it did not hurt to ask.

His brother’s lazy pun had done its job to lighten his mood significantly.  He had expected more, but instead Sans had thrown a curveball.   The question was sobering.   He wasn’t stressed.  He wasn’t worried.  He wasn’t… right?   Picking up the rag he had used to clean the counters, he brought it to the sink and started ringing it out.  “MY SPINE IS PERFECTLY ALIGNED AS USUAL, SANS,” he replied, tossing the rag in to a small hamper just outside the connected laundry room.

Silence followed and he could feel his brother’s eyelights boring into his back.  “uh huh…” Yeah, that tone said he hadn’t believed a word of it.  Rather than pushing with words, his brother had settled for simply staring and tapping at the counter.  It was a battle of wills at this point.  

Just as the tapping of his brother’s phalanges against the countertop was starting to tick away his resolve, the tension was shattered as Blue reentered the kitchen with his own brother in tow.  Papyrus could hear the energetic version of  his brother nagging at his lazy self to wash his hoodie before lending it out.  Finally turning around, he aimed a bright smile at the swapped brothers; pointedly, he ignored his brother’s judging gaze.  “BLUE, I SEE YOU’VE SUCCEEDED IN CONVINCING YOUR BROTHER!” he declared, marching up to the two. 

A little amused huff escaped Blue, “DIDN’T TAKE MUCH CONVINCING HONESTLY,” he admitted.

“OH?” Papyrus looked to Stretch for elaboration and the other just gave an easy shrug.

“little miss has been eying my hoodie for a good bit,” he stated, an amused lilt to his voice, “was honestly surprised she never tried to sneak it or ask for it before now.”   

“SHE DIDN’T ASK FOR IT,” Papyrus found himself saying before he could think better of it.  It wasn’t a lie, but why did it feel like he said something mean.  That odd feeling was pressing at his sternum again.  

Stretch simply rolled the lollipop held in his jaws from one side to the other.  The hard candy clicking gently at the back of his teeth as he leveled a seemingly unbothered stare on his doppelganger, but Papyrus knew no matter how much the slouching brother seemed to act like his brother, he was still a Papyrus and Papyri were more observant than they often let on.  He knew those honey colored eye lights were searching for every little cue to put together the puzzle put before him.  

“THAT IS TRUE.  I DID OFFER IT,” Blue cut in, a shared moment of eye contact between the older brothers missed by the younger.  

 A little hum could be heard from Stretch as he straightened up with a roll of his shoulders in a mock stretch.  “hadn’t meant it to come off like that so let me reword,” he started with a short chuckle.  “she’d been wishing on all our sweaters and hoodies,” he amended, his lazy smile pulling up at the corners as he now had to look slightly down at his doppelganger without his usual slouch.

That ugly, heavy feeling wasn’t pressing as insistently after Stretch’s words.  “OH…” Papyrus hoped his voice came off as neutral.  Sadly, he could feel his magic betraying him as his cheekbones warmed.   

“you all can’t tell me you’ve never noticed,” he challenged the room, finally breaking his staredown with Papyrus as he looked to the other two occupants.

 Sans was the first to input his agreement with a shallow nod as he leaned on the counter.  “she tries to be subtle about it,” he remarked, an easy smile on his face as he rested his chin against his palm, “sneaking little glances here and there, dropping little hints…” His sockets closed with a happy curve as his deep laugh rumbled in his chest as he remembered the offhanded questions and shy beating around the bush their friend opted for instead of simply asking outright to borrow one of their jackets. 

Opening his sockets, he resumed watching his brother.  His light pink flush had dimmed and he had lifted a hand up to his mouth, digits curled as he seemed to be thinking.  He just smiled more as Papyrus seemed to be relaxing as he worked through his thoughts.  The more anecdotes they shared, the more his sockets seemed to widen with understanding.  

“LET’S NOT FORGET SHE HAD TRIED ACQUIRE YOUR SWEATER JUST LAST NIGHT, CREAMPUFF.”  Edge’s voice cut through the chatter.  They had all jumped and seemed to move as one to look at the sharp skeleton currently shutting the fridge door.  When had he come in?  Had they been so engrossed they had somehow missed him coming in?  Edge just smirked smugly at all of them as he carried the carafe of lemonade over to the island.

Sans just chuckled and turned his attention back to his brother.  His brow bones perking as he saw Papyrus’s smile wasn’t strained anymore and his tense posture had fled.  A glance to Blue and the other gave him the tiniest shrug before following it with a sneaky thumbs up.  Yeah, everything was good again.  Let’s not question it for now.  “hey, bro, don’t cha have a guest to pick up?” he commented.

The energetic duo both looked to the clock on the wall. A rather impressive synchronized gasp left the two. “NYEH!” “MWEH!” “WE’RE LATE!!”  The smaller skeleton just barely managed to catch the taller by the hand as he went to dash out the door.  “SORRY, PAPYRUS!  NO TIME FOR THAT!” Blue rushed out an apology before the smell of ozone filled the kitchen and barely a second later they were gone. 

○●○●○●○●○

“hey, Edge, mind pouring me a glass of that lemonade?” Stretch had settled at the island with a hopeful smile.  

   His request was met with a huff as Edge opened the cabinets above and retrieved a glass for himself, “POUR YOURSELF ONE, ASH TRAY.”  

The orange clad skeleton just hummed  around his lollipop before grabbing the sweet, honey flavored treat by it’s stick and removing it from his mouth.  “aww, why not?  you poured one for Sans there and he didn’t even ask,” he pouted playfully, gesturing to Sans who was nursing his glass of lemonade  just beside him. 

“don’t have to ask when you’re-” Both Papyri still in the room shot him a warning glare before he could even finish and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.  “fine, fine , tough room,” he joked.  Edge just rolled his eyes, while Stretch let his glare linger a bit longer to make sure Sans didn’t try to sneak it in.

“I REFUSE TO WATCH YOU RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD GLASS OF LEMONADE AGAIN,” the sharper skeleton stated as he poured his own glass and took a sip, sighing at the refreshing taste.  

Stretch feigned insult, “i’m not the only one who puts honey in their lemonade, edgelord.”

“NO, BUT I WOULDN’T SAY YOU ARE PUTTING HONEY IN LEMONADE WITH YOU,” Edge started, wrinkles forming on his nose ridge in disgust as he spoke, “NO, WITH YOU IT IS MORE ACCURATE TO SAY YOU PUT LEMONADE IN YOUR HONEY.”  He took a long sip like he could taste the sticky sweetness on his tongue and needed to wash it down.  

“you got me there,” Stretch popped his lollipop back in his mouth and settled in, laying against the counter with a resigned sigh.  He could hear Edge grumbling about how of course he was right.  Rolling his lollipop, he moved his attention back to Sans.  The prime doppelganger had simply been sitting quietly with an easy smile on his round skull.  As if sensing Stretch’s stare, his white eyelights locked with honey colored ones. 

“need something, pal?” The words held no threat or warning, just an invitation to ask away.

“what was up with your brother earlier?” Stretch already had a guess.  He just wanted confirmation at this point. The stout skeleton apparently had no plans to play along and just shrugged noncommittally.

“no clue what you’re talking about, Stretch,” Sans replied, finishing off his lemonade with a satisfied sigh, “thanks for the drink, Edge.”  He sent a genuinely thankful smile Edge’s way before the smell ozone once again filled the room and an empty glass was abandoned on the countertop before a now empty seat.

Edge fought down a smile that tugged at his teeth.  It wasn’t too hard with Stretch still in the room though.  Currently, the laidback skeleton was watching him with a curious look. “WHAT?” he snapped, scowling as a knowing grin was aimed at him.

“you’re in on it,” the other stated matter of factly.

“I AM IN ON NOTHING. AND QUIT THAT CLUELESS ACT,” Edge snipped, crossing his arms with a cocked hip, “I WAS THERE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE YOUR POSTURING EARLIER.”  It had been a surprise to see the usually passive skeleton standing to his full height and purposely towering over their prime version.  He cut off Stretch’s denial with a sharp growl, “I WON’T LISTEN TO BULLSHIT, STRETCH.”

Stretch just gave a defeated chuckle as he sat up in his seat.  “two for two today, Edge.  you’re on a roll,” he commended. 

Edge didn’t see nor hear any regret from his alternate.  The two simply took a moment to stare each other down.  A silent measuring up before the standing skeleton reached up into the cabinets and set down a new glass.  Curious honey eyelights watched as a lemonade was poured to only fill half the glass before it was slid over to him with a gentle push.  

 “what’s this?” Stretch questioned.  He leant forward in his seat and tilted his skull as he shifted his stare from the half full glass to Edge who was refilling his own.

“LEMONADE,” he answered smartly and Stretch didn’t bother restrain his rolling eyelights.

“i can see that.”

“THEN WHY ASK?” 

“you know that’s not wh-”

“JUST FILL IT WITH YOUR INFERNAL HONEY ALREADY,” Edge snapped, cutting Stretch off with an impatient scowl.  

Knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with his darker counterpart, he fished in his pullover pocket and pulled out his signature bear shaped honey bottle.  Snapping the top, he upended the bottle over the glass and squeezed.  The viscous, thick amber liquid cut through the pale white lemonade and pooled at the bottom of the glass.  It took a minute to build the thick layer he wanted and once he was done, Edge handed him a spoon begrudgingly to stir his monstrosity.  Finished, he looked to Edge again questioningly only to see the other holding up his glass.  The sharp toothed skeleton had a cocky smirk on his skull, “IF YOU’RE SERIOUS ABOUT THAT CHALLENGE EARLIER, JUST KNOW YOU HAVE COMPETITION.”

Stretch was sure his jaw was on the floor as he realized what was going on.  He had known the tougher skeleton was soft on their human, but he hadn’t thought it went further than platonic interest.  That only left Willow and Mutt from the Papyri who seemed to show no romantic interest.  At least he hoped.  That may change considering today was the day for surprises.  Sucking in a breath, he sat up and raised up his own glass, tapping it against Edge’s with a less intense smirk of his own.  “noted,” he acknowledged, “but the true competitor is Creampuff, ya know.  you’ve seen those two together.”  

Edge nodded.  It was hard to miss the looks those two often sent to each other.  It could be absolutely suffocating at times to be in the same room as them when they start acting sweet and fluffy.  He took a moment before tapping his glass against Stretch’s for a second time, “A SECOND TOAST TO THE IDIOTS FINALLY WAKING UP,” before they each took a sip of their respective drinks.  

#that's called jealousy my boi #realize your damn feelings #edge is a soft pointy boi #he may steal best boi crown #stretch behave #boys have a little powow #sans being a good bro #undertale au #undertale #sans #papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #undertale fic #reverse harem #reader x Papyrus #papyrus x reader #papyrus x you #papyrus x y/n #poc reader #curly haired reader #fanfic #fanfiction

[galileo-the-water-dog]

Please take some time to read this post.

My fellow Tumblr users in the Luca fandom, I need your help. I have a fanfiction author friend of mine who is going through some hard times.

And that Fanfiction author is this one right here:

Might seem boring at first glance, but trust me, her stories are AMAZING! And her Luca fic, A Sea Dog's Tale, has some pretty impressive rankings, but not very good in terms of comments.

She specifically asked me to request for ANYONE to take at least fifteen minutes of their day to comment and vote on her story. It would bring her much joy.

And for those of you who don't have access to Wattpad, I will post the first chapter under the cut. And I will ask you to note this post if you liked the chapter! It's called "The Ballad Of An Italian Street Dog."

Again, I would very much appreciate it if you'd take some time out of your day to read this. On here, or on Wattpad.

This story is also on Fanfiction.net and A03.

A Water Dog originating from Spain

Is in no way, shape, or form vain.

While exploring the country he resides in

He happily and politely takes what the town provides him.

Misunderstood for eating sea monsters his entire life

For him, befriending one gives him nothing but strife.

After living three years of living in solitude

He finally befriends not one, but two

And is given a new aptitude.

Italian-to-English translations are in parentheses.

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

It's a quiet morning in Portorosso, Italy. Birds are singing, people chatting among themselves, waves crashing against the shore...

And... Dogs are singing?

Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro... Figaro...Figaro... Figaro!

Figaro! Son qua. Ehi, Figaro! Son qua.

Figaro qua, Figaro la, Figaro qua, Figaro la, Figaro su, Figaro giu, Figaro su, Figaro giu.

Pronto prontissimo son come il fumine: sono il factotum della citta. (della citta, della citta, della citta, della citta)

One building away, a large, gray, and now ornery Cane Corso rose to greet the morning sun. And it wouldn't be that way if not for whoever's uproarious singing was coming from.

Turning the corner, the large dog came across a trash can... With two black legs, hind legs by the looks of them, with white paws, sticking out. The lid was barely open. Whoever was singing in there, not only did the trash can amplify the noise, it woke him from the depths of sleep.

Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo; Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo; a te fortuna a te fortuna, a te fortuna non manchera.

la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

A te fortuna a te fortuna, a te fortuna non manchera.

"I bet I know who it is." The dog said in its guttural voice. As the animal in the trash can continued singing, the dog materialized a stone, getting ready to throw it.

Sono il factotum della citta, Sono il factotum della citta,

Della citta,

Della citta,

Della citta~!!!

Negligent whether or not the animal finished its impressive but loud singing voice, the Cane Corso threw the glass bottle. It made a loud and startling noise upon contact. The hind paws disappeared. And a speaking voice rang out.

"Ah! Cos'è stato (What was that)?" Something popped out of the trash can. The animal in the trash can, he was mostly black in fur color, but his chest, paws, chin, and belly were white.

He is incredibly handsome... And also incredibly misunderstood. Like the American Pitbull.

You're probably wondering, how do I know so much about this dog?

I'll tell you why.

THAT dog... Is me.

My name is Galileo. Like that astronomer Galileo Galilei back in the sixteen hundreds that discovered Earth's Orbit, the solar system, and how the planets don't revolve around Earth.

It's a pleasure to meet you. We don't usually get new people around these parts.

I am a Spanish Water Dog, a herding and waterfowl retriever. I take pride in being THE fastest swimmer, and fastest swimming dog, in Portorosso. Life's okay most of the time, as a homeless street dog. The food supply sucks sometimes, but the water supply is in the best condition.

You're probably wondering why I described myself as misunderstood, right? Admit it, you're asking yourself now. Why am I considered misunderstood?

Well, I am rumored to have eaten, get this, SEA MONSTERS, my whole life. Pretty weird, right? And just because, making friends with one... All the ones I tried to meet, they have REALLY BAD trust issues.

Portorosso prides itself in hunting and killing them. Honestly, I'm not sure why. They seem pretty decent to me.

Course, I'm not gonna tell you the story just yet. We've just met! First I gotta deal with the idioto that decided to wake me up.

Lifting the lid off my head, I saw an angry-looking gray Cane Corso. They're HUGE! This one looks like it eats twice its body weight every day, and looks as healthy as me.

And that's saying something, because coming from someone who either eats out of the garbage, or begs for food, I have the best diet in the world.

Anyway, enough about me for now.

"Can I help you?" I asked the large dog. "Yes, actually. Your singing woke me up!" He barked. "And I don't like being woken up!"

"Well, unlike you, I don't scare other dogs half to death by banging on something." I retorted, tilting the trash can so I could slip out. I regretted it. He's even bigger up close and on the ground...

"Heh. Typical medium dogs. Talks a big game, loses in a fight within the first minute."

"It's early in the morning. I'm not in the mood for a fight." I said, going to walk away. But the bigger dog decided to get in front of me. "Ah, but I am, cagnolino (puppy)."

"No. I'm in the mood for something to eat."

The Cane Corso smirked in the general direction of the harbor, just in front of the fountain. "How's about you do a little hunting with me? Surely I can find a nice sea monster for you."

"Uh, no thanks, Signor Corso. I'd rather—" I got cut off by the bigger dog. "Signor Corso?" Then he burst out laughing. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"I can't say that I do."

The Cane Corso turned his head and stared down at me with a smirk. "Then allow this legend to introduce himself. I am Socrates, the most well-known canine in Portorosso. Named after the Greek philosopher, I take pride in having brute strength, only the best hunting and tracking skills, and above all, the best master of them all."

The last bit is up for debate, because I've run into people who threw glass bottles, stones, and even ceramics at me. And they all owned a dog with a better status than me.

"What is your name, cagnolino?"

"I'm Galileo. Like the astronomer."

"Ah, piacere di conoscerti (Nice to meet you), Galileo. It's a delight to meet a street dog with such little social status, unlike myself."

"Oh, grazie, Socrates... Wait, what?" I asked. Did he just nonchalantly insult me?

"I think you heard me." Socrates said, his friendly grin turning into an irritated frown. I shook my head with a confused grin. "Ugh, why am I even talking to you? I am a famous icon around here. I haven't the time to blab with scrubs like you."

I looked and felt disrespected. How dare he? "You know, for someone so big and so popular, you're kind of jerkish." I snapped. He turned around with a sharp glare.

He struck me down with one paw to my head, knocking me to the ground. "You got that right, I'm a jerk. Everyone in Portorosso knows it. So let me leave you here, injured without batting an eye, with a warning. First of all, this town here, belongs to my master. Second, he wouldn't want a wuss like you in it. And neither do I."

"I'm not a wuss. I'm a pacifist." I said, standing up. Irritated, Socrates barked loud enough to alert the rest of the block. Just getting a glimpse of his sharp front teeth made me back away with a yelp. Socrates chuckled, non-verbally saying 'that's what I thought.'

Growling at my show of weakness, I stood up. "Next time I see you here, you won't leave scot-free. You've been warned. And you will only be warned ONCE." Socrates said, before turning around to leave.

I kinda want to know who this guy's owner is. Just so I can tell him how much of a jerk he was to A SMALLER DOG.

I huffed with a roll of my eyes. I don't wanna run into THAT guy again. Well, looks like it's foraging.

Or... OR...

Maybe a little hunting in the ocean wouldn't hurt anyone.

I have to sneak to get to the water. Why? Because I get sick of children seeing me and urging to pet me, telling me I'm cute, or that I'm a good boy, and all that.

I don't always enjoy the compliments. Children younger than ten, in my anecdotes, are too energetic for me. I have preferences, even though I'm a street dog.

As I check my reflection in the water, I dunked my paw into it. It turned a bright teal. And the black fur on my leg turned yellow.

Why this happens when I get wet? I'll tell you now, I'm not (entirely) a sea monster. On that note, I don't even know why they're called 'monsters.' They look more like bipedal aquatic lizards to me.

Remember when I said I was misunderstood for eating sea monsters my entire life?

That rumor is a far cry from the truth.

I only resorted to eating a sea monster on ONE occasion. Two years ago. As a desperate survival instinct. I ate one single sea monster.

His name was Giovanni, and he was already fatally injured by a harpoon. He specifically told me to put him out of his... His misery and... and... I did so and consumed him.

I would have dropped dead in a couple of days or less without that nourishment. I was starving to death. Literally. Do you judge me for that?

A week later, my fur changed color when I was wet. The news of my kill then spread like wildfire. And so, when I swim off into the ocean, I can overhear people saying 'he's off to save us from those wretched sea monsters,' and stuff like that. It's getting old.

In conclusion, the rumor was born, and it has lasted up until this very day.

I've also gotten more webbing between my toes, much sharper teeth, and I'd say about 2.3% higher swimming speed.

So help me, Neptune, I better not have more changes in my physical appearance within the next few days. I just got the sharp teeth yesterday. Now I can leave a gigantic teeth mark on a rock.

I am a predator sea monster/dog.

I'm known as predatory down here, but, they don't bother me, so I don't bother them. And they rarely bother me. Because, they're scared of me. Like I want them to. *sigh*

But NOW I'm wondering; if I was born a regular dog and gained sea monster attributes, does that make me a sea monster or the same old dog?

Or I could just call myself a sea dog.

When I'm down here, I pretty much eat what I want. I have the guilty pleasure to steal someone's livestock, such as goatfish, when they're not looking, swim far enough away, then eat it. One could call me a lone wolf.

I don't do it as much anymore, but I can't eat kelp or seagrass every time I come down here. So, at rare occasions, I go to the deep for some of the best tasting meat I've tasted...

Whale carcass!

I know what you're thinking, but believe me, it tastes better than it sounds. It is PACKED with protein and nutritional value. If there's nothing else I feel like eating, I go there.

Hopefully without bumping into this giant anglerfish that creeps me out to high heaven. He never gave me his name... He's usually rambling on about how great life is down there. And I care more about my empty stomach than having a full-blown conversation with that guy, so when he does try to talk to me, I don't always pay attention.

Until he mentions whale carcass.

There's not a ton of oxygen that deep down, anyway, so I'm quick to eat until I'm satisfied, then leave before I start suffocating.

And here I am rambling about my ocean life, when I just found a nice sea cucumber!

No, wait, two! Three! Just sitting there on the rock! Four upon closer inspection!

Oh, Galileo, this is the best part of your cruddy morning!

Licking my chops, I made a beeline for the sea cucumber infested rock and started eating. Oh my... I lied before. Sea cucumbers taste great. They supply me with enough energy to take on the day.

I haven't had these in so long...

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

You know what I sometimes do at night when everyone's finally asleep?

I check on some of the sea monsters, making sure they're okay, even though I overhear comments like 'the ferocious Galileo is stalking his prey.'

I ignore those comments. They're merely the wind beneath my wings. They only lift me higher!

When I'm patrolling in the ocean at night, not much goes on... But what was about to happen tonight is gonna be big, I can feel it in my fur!

Anyway, it started when I saw a boat, with two fishermen conversing. Something about sea monsters being stories, I wasn't paying attention.

After hearing operatic music, I started lulling me to sleep, but before my eyes involuntarily closed, I saw a hand grab a few things from the boat. All I saw was a wrench, a cup, and I think a playing card. I was only a few feet away from the boat, so I couldn't really tell.

My newly gained night vision is at its best underwater. I decided to go under and get a closer look. I heard one of the fishermen shout, then I saw what I wasn't expecting.

A sea monster.

My eyesight, now enhanced, but still blurry, I could only see slit green eyes within a black silhouette. A black silhouette, that got caught in a net. I gasped. It grunted as it tried to escape, but it only got more tangled. Whether it's scared of me or not, I'm helping him! And I know exactly how.

I paddled towards the animal in the net. "Don't move. I'll make this quick." I told him, then I bit at the net, cutting it off with one bite. Then, getting to the holes, a small prick from my teeth cuts it, and within seconds the sea monster is freed. It jumped in the air, then back in the water. I went to follow him, but I stopped when a harpoon sailed through the water and slashed its arm. I winced as it let out a small pained cry.

I have ZERO good experiences with harpoons. Oftentimes even I am mistaken for a sea monster, the humans unaware of what I am. I've been hit with harpoons enough times. How many? I lost count. A lot. But I'm lucky.

The only place I haven't been struck by a harpoon is my chest. And my neck. Clearly my neck. I'd be dead if I got struck in the neck. Humans can have impeccable aim with those things.

Also, and I'm only gonna tell you once: I have an immense fear of harpoons. Always have. Or just sharp objects in general. Hate 'em, hate 'em, stay away from 'em. That's my motto. Don't get me started on knives.

Again, regardless on whether it's afraid of me or not...

"Are you okay?" I asked it. He didn't answer at first. He just held his arm in pain. I'll take that as a no. "Okay, let's get you on land, and I can fix that for you."

The sea monster, finally, spoke a word. "Okay."

Side by side, we swam to the shore of the island. "Okay, let me see it." I told him, reaching for his arm. "Don't touch it!" His voice was in the baritone vocal range.

"I'm not gonna touch it, I just wanna look." I gently took his arm and inspected the cut. He sucked in air through his teeth. The wound was bleeding a bit, but it wasn't deep, so fixing it up won't be a problem.

"Okay, I know what to do, but you're gonna have to trust me." I told him. "Do you trust me?"

I didn't expect him to answer straight away (he didn't), since we just met and don't even know each other's names. He answered me with a nod. "Okay, stay right there, I'll be back in a flash."

I went back down underwater and searched for the closest patch of seaweed I could find. It doesn't have to be very long... Perfect. I found a foot long piece of kelp, pulled it off from the root, then surfaced back to the island.

"Okay, I'm gonna try to clean that wound out. You can hold my paw if you need to. Kay?"

He nodded.

I sucked in water into my mouth, then held it in until I got to his arm again. He took a hold of my paw if it hurt. I squirted the water out on the wound. He only squeezed my paw a bit, moaning in pain. Once my mouth was emptied of water, I wrapped the piece of kelp around the cut and tied a knot.

I made sure it was tight, but not too tight. I don't have any real bandages on me, so this is gonna have to do.

"Alright, that should do it. Leave that on overnight and see if it's still bleeding in the morning." I told him. This was my attempt at first aid, despite never performing it before.

"Okay." He said.

"Do you need me to stay with you for tonight?"

"No, I'll be okay."

"Alright, then." I turned to the water, ready to call it a night. "Hey, wait!" I turned to the sea monster one more time. He smiled at me, "Thank you." I smiled back. "You're welcome."

That felt good. He trusted me... Which is weird, because I don't remember seeing him ONCE. Could I have non-verbally made my first sea monster friend?

Perhaps...

But, its late, I better get to sleep. The thing is, I'm a little too tired to swim back to town. Last time I tried swimming while tired, I drifted into the ocean, and it took me an hour to find the town again.

Why not... Sleep in the ocean for a change? When I come here to vent, the tranquillity usually helps. Actually, I've slept in the ocean before. It was AMAZING. The seagrass fields are the most comfortable. Best part is, they hide you from predators.

So that's what I did. I decided to sleep on the ocean floor. I walked in a circle before laying down. I was instantly feeling more tired. I laid my head down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Awaiting what tomorrow has to offer.

So... That's the end of this chapter. What do you think of Galileo? What do you think of Socrates?

I felt like putting the "Alberto getting hit in the arm by the harpoons in the beginning" concept in here, and having Galileo help the guy out. Whether he wanted his help or not...

I think we can all agree that he's a very good boy.

Next chapter, Galileo meets our other protagonist.

#luca paguro #alberto scorfano #giulia marcovaldo #ercole visconti #daniela paguro #lorenzo paguro #massimo marcovaldo #machiavelli #wattpad #spreading awareness #galileo the water dog #disney luca #pixar luca #luca 2021

[ganymedesclock]

           “What do you think you’re doing?”

           “Isn’t that obvious?”

           The lich king sits up, as much as he’s able to, in order to glare properly. Once was a time his gaze would have brought armies to their knees, seen questing knights weep and beg for their lives.

           His recent annoyance shifts the piece of grass she’s chewing on slightly, meeting his eye in an unimpressed sidelong glance that leaves him with the same impression as if he is staring down a cow in a field.

           It is fairly demoralizing. Not entirely- he can chalk it up to a lot of factors, one being that he’s been bundled inside a spare bedroll and really can’t move, and another being the bothersome jostling of the cart- but a certain part of his mind is distinctly put out that he would have hoped none of that would have stopped him from at least making her fidget.

           Then again. That may be too much to ask for. In several thousand years of his existence and conquest, he’s never been swaddled like an infant.

           Defeated in fury, he concedes to attempt words again: “What you are doing, is obvious. Your objective, is less so.”

           “Well, for starters, you don’t seem like you were that athletic,”

           “I was a peerless warrior in life, and as many died at my sword as perished from my magics.”

           He’s vindicated that she at least grimaces at that. “Okay, that’s a bigger problem, then, but I guess it explains why none of your armor fit.”

           He supposes in the indignity of being manhandled by a chubby girl in workman’s clothes seconds after the grand eclipse that was supposed to be his resurrection he hadn’t exactly taken stock, but it would give concerning illumination to how much trouble he’s been having moving, for reasons unrelated to the bedroll. “…If the implication is you’re some supplicant seeking to abet my revival, the manners of the ages have failed us all.”

           “Oh, no, I’m not a worshiper. Can’t be, actually.”

           This would suggest she is an enemy, and yet something about her candor drags the curiosity out of him. “You can’t?”

           She produces the grass from her mouth, waves broadly with it. “Yeah, see- first time my mom caught me with a grimoire, she set three rules: Not In The House, Carol; Not In The Hayloft Either; and Don’t Pledge Your Soul To Anything Before You’re Eighteen, Or So Help Me Girl.”

           The lich king hesitates, processing the unexpectedly voluminous package of information this single explanation has gifted him.

           Then, in a warning tone that would chill the blood of braver creatures, “Am I a sort of project to you, girl?”

           She seems wise enough to hesitate. Then, with a rueful smile, “would you accept an act of spite?”

           Another day he might suggest he feels positively about spite, at least, but this is the day his dark resurgence was interrupted by being trapped in a bedroll. “Explain.”

           “Breaking into investigation of dark sorcery is a highly competitive field. And, uh, short version: I need a recommendation from this horrible old pill, and he ran me off on a snipe hunt to your old tower, which- sorry to say, you’re a really interesting third century anecdote,”

           (he bristled. He was not an anecdote.)

           “-there’s basically nothing left and he knew it, but told me pretty clearly not to come back unless I had something to show for it. So, I figure, we work out some kind of deal, you get cleaned up and off on whatever a third century warlord really wants to get up to, and, in the meantime, I get my instructor to either eat his words, or, I figure, you can turn him into a salamander or something.”

           “…A salamander.”

           “I mean I don’t want him dead,”

           “…You do realize that the vast majority of my arts do, in fact, render men into corpses rather than amphibians.”

           “What, mister scourge of Olptheris can’t do a newt?”

           He hates that she has a point.

           “I was somewhat busy pursuing limitless magical power and my own undying transcendence while I was still mostly fresh.”

           She flashed him a grin. “I’m pulling your leg, I can’t do newts either. Anyway, my point is, I’m sure you’ve got a blood curse against a really specific lineage somewhere-”

           “I claim no account for anything I may have said in my death throes,”

           “-but it’s been almost exactly three thousand years since the world as you know it, and, uh… I’m gonna guess you don’t even know what town we’re in.”

           He hesitates. Considers.

           “This is a poor wager, child, considering I am in a situation most would find deeply disorienting.”

           “I’m not wrong, though,” she retorts, glibly.

           “No, you are not. So? A petty act of spite is all it takes for you to be willing to unleash me onto the world?”            

           “Well, I’d be mostly unleashing you as a tourist, since the whole dissipation array they set up on your corpse shot your power far down enough that anybody who wasn’t really interested in ancient Olptherian cuneiform figured you were a total goner. It’s going to take you… probably about my entire natural lifespan, barring something dramatic happened, to get your power back, and, with that much time passing… you might change your mind.”

           “I did not skin myself alive to be what one would consider a quitter, child.”

           “Well, yeah, but, where did that end you up?”

           He hates, he decides, the way that she speaks like she does not care, watching him with a dull face and lazy eyes, and in her meandering words places vicious, sharpened pins in ancient scars.

           “You are something of a little monster, child.”

           “Yeah, but, according to the cuneiform, you really like monsters.”

           He considers- the doors of an age open to him. And who, truly, would seek him out, merely on a petty act of spite? Merely to be contrary, argumentative- to prove that they knew better? He recalls, distantly, when he spoke in the voice of an acolyte, clutching a ritual dagger in a dignified hall, arguing furiously with crowned and venerated heads that the theory was sound, that it was proven to work-

           He smiles, flaunting a whole jaw of withered and rotting teeth.

           “I am known on occasion.”

#original microfiction #readmore #Ganymede Fic Tag

[tonyglowheart]

Some thoughts on character naming conventions & cultural significance of name-shortening

I’m noticing a growing trend of people referring to characters from The Untamed by given name only (my theory is this is because of Netflix. Is it because of Netflix?), and while I’m starting to get more used to it and am also actively interrogating my own emotional reactions to it, I do want to provide some of my thoughts on cultural notes regarding naming conventions.

Point the first: Although in English-speaking culture(?)/American culture, naming characters by given-name-only may be the most neutral form of addressing a character, in Chinese, naming a character by full name (e.g. “Wei Wuxian,” “Lan Wangji”) would actually be the most neutral form of addressing a character/someone.

While you can call characters/people by given name only, this usually indicates usually a high level of personal familiarity (like Lan Xichen calling Lan Wangji by “Wangji” for example), or maybe a high level of disrespect/disregard (like in MDZS/CQL when characters refer to Wei Wuxian by his birth name “Wei Ying” as a sign of disrespect [e.g. we see Jin Ling do this, btw]).

Point the second: Additionally, and importantly, if a character’s given name is only one character, it would NOT tend to be called alone. I know Netflix has a habit of subbing people’s names as given-name-only, so then you get names like “Cheng” and “Ning” and “Qing”; however, in CN a single character name would not tend to be shortened alone. I’m not saying no one ever does this, but that more commonly, as a nickname/familiar form of address, something would be added to amend the single character. E.g. a “Xiao” (Little) or a “Lao” (Old, tho in this case not necessarily meaning the person is literally “old”), or “A-” as we see in canon (though I think Netflix also omits this :/), or “-er”, or doubling, etc.

One form we see in canon is “A-[x],” so e.g.: A-Yuan, and A-Ning (which Wen Qing calls Wen Ning), and A-Xian (which Jiang Yanli calls Wei Wuxian). (I think we may also see JYL call WWX “Xianxian”? so an example of doubling, too, though I’d say this version is more used “for kids” or more “cutesy” version)

In terms of name-shortening, “full-name neutral” is possibly why the prevalence in acronym shortening (the other may be the prevalence of danmei fandom on twitter [character limits]? and esp predating CQL growing bigger on tumblr? but this is anecdotal on my part, it’s also easier to type acronyms on a phone lol). Because acronyms preserves the whole name, essentially, within the structure. If you’re calling a character by given-name-only just as a way of shortening the name/for convenience, then imo you run into issues of imposing English/American naming conventions on Chinese characters, and that’s where I personally run into feeling like there’s possibly a respect issue at play towards the source culture, :’)

TL;DR : I would say “when in doubt, default to canon naming conventions,” except I think since Netflix does drop surnames in subs even though the characters are saying them, and puts in given-name-only when familial/honorific forms of address are used (like “Yanli” instead of Shijie), that might have set a certain Anglocentric/ Americentric precedent in people’s minds on the naming...

 In which case, I recommend “when in doubt, default to full names.” 

Now, I’m not saying you HAVE to refer to characters by full name only or else you’re a Bad Terrible Person, or that you are doing things The Wrong Way if you find given-name-only easier for you, nor am I saying you HAVE to use acronyms to shorten character names, (since yeah, that is an EN adaptation to pinyin also anyway), (and like, I can’t control what other people do lmao)

But I did want to provide some cultural notes for people who maybe don’t know or haven’t considered that there even would be cultural issues at play with naming conventions, and would (hopefully) like to learn more about & immerse more in the source culture instead of just going with their comfort zone, which...at worst ends up coming across as Americans/Anglophones imposing their culture on others without really taking the time and effort to respect the source culture

Edit: lol uh *suddenly remembers this thing* o yeah here’s a terminology reference someone wrote up that gives a lot of information on naming and relationship terms & forms of address

Edit 2: follow-up ask regarding use of acronyms

Another Not-quite Ask Response to an anon I got which I was going to go back to and answer “formally,” regarding name use and third person “internal” narration. (tl;dr, Chinese has all these third person self-referential pronouns/pronoun structures that I think ppl are much more likely to think or refer to themselves as, if they’re not just outright referring to themselves as “I” in terms of internal narration. imo third person narration, someone is much more likely to refer to themselves as 本人(”benren,” meaning vaguely “this person”) as a more general term, or any variation of these kinds of self-referential third-person forms of address, vs by name.) Which is to say.. I think it's a moot point as far as how it would translate, so it's not like "but how would a char refer to themselves?" rly helps. Most if not all Chinese media I've seen uses full name for narration, bc as I said, that's the most neutral form of address. If you wanted to "compromise" for English then ofc I can't stop you. But naming habits very quickly is becoming a "no brown m&ms" issue, of "does it seem likely you're trying to write respectfully, or just treat it like a China: Through the Looking Glass situation."

(under the cut if you want some more expansive thoughts/discussions)

[cut]

So. This is where I go a bit more stream-of-consciousness/a lot messy maybe, and also share some more personal feelings on this. uhh strap in if you plan to read through this I guess :’D

My reason for bringing this whole thing up is, in honestly, fueled by a quite visceral initial discomfort with seeing given-name-only forms of address in tumblr posts that keep cropping up, and especially single-character-only being bandied about all over the place. Honestly, seeing “””Ning””” and “””Cheng”””  and “”””Qing””””” etc give me similar *Kill Bill Sirens* feelings that the “””””Childe””””” translation for gong’zi that Tencent does gives me lol.

I’ve been in the process of interrogating also my own reactions of discomfort, and while some of it IS down to familiarity in form - in that I just wasn’t familiar with seeing given-name-only’s, and that I do kind of feel like I can accept it a bit more now that I’ve seen it around and gotten a bit more used to it - but another thing that I think became important to me was my reflections on how this reflects a sort of culture clash, with different cultural norms coming into play, and also how much this kind of hits home personally.

So one hand, you may say that for an English-speaking/Western audience, it’s perfectly valid for them to engage with the source media in English according to their familiar conventions, which is the given-name-only convention. However, as an Asian American, my first impulse on seeing a lot of given-name-only bandied about was that this was a form of address was too casual/presumptive and perhaps unintentionally disrespectful.

Within a sort of meta-Doylist perspective, I think it reads to me as odd because with fictional characters, an audience member wouldn’t necessarily HAVE a personal familiar relationship the way the characters within the media have with one another. You’re essentially a third-person observer on “someone” else’s life if we’re getting really meta-texual lol. It’s different than if you meet someone  in person and they/their friends introduce themselves as “Xiao’Ling” for example because their friends call them that. And a sort of example of where we DO get a familiar form of address as an introduction is with A-Jing, who is just introduced as A-Jing and is just A-Jing. (and ofc there’s an interesting cultural discussion to be had on her lack of family name and how that familiar form of address indicates her relative social status, too, since the idea that she’s family-less and is of relatively lower social status as a “blind” beggar and so more people would feel free to address her by a familiar form of address vs Lan Wangji who is the second son of a major clan and so it would be kind of insulting for people to be casually calling him “Wangji,” even)

Now, the specifics of arguing “how close are you with a character” is a point I’m willing to soften on, since like... this is quibbling something that I can’t really argue on or fully pin down to explain other than “it feels weird” (tho I was venting about some of my Kill Bill Sirens feeling with another Chinese friend and they mentioned “it’s disrespectful, isn’t it?” regarding given-name only and that kind of got me thinking), and getting into arguing “well you’re not as personally close with a fictional character to be allowed to call him by given name” is. not a kind of argument I ever want to be having lmao. and also I can see there being cases where, for example, you’re getting really emotional over a specific character and it doesn’t ping my radar - although for me, I think in these cases, I tend to default to birth names lol. Like when I’m especially emotional over Wei Wuxian, I start sobbing over Wei Ying, and I think I generally tend to call Lan Wangji as “Lan Zhan” anyway lol.

(Actually, no, I just tried calling a bunch of characters by given name only and it’s just weird to me to think about addressing characters by given name only, lol, it DOES feel too presumptive/familiar :’) it hits on uncanny-valley cultural notes to just do so casually D: this is like calling your...e.g your high school teacher by given name (like when a teacher is just Ms. [xx] but after you graduate they’re like you can call me [first name] but you just can’t?), like that just? doesn’t Work Like That? D: I think the only reason “Wangji” works for me is because Lan Xichen calls LWJ that, and it’s a cute moment, and I feel like I’m invoking LXC’s love for his brother when I do that :’) this. does get more into personal preference yeah but I do think it’s also tied into cultural concepts of respectful forms of address, especially across rank/age/level of familiarity)

But also I mean. this whole though process is a work in progress for me, too, in terms of me interrogating my own emotional reactions, and in terms of me trying not to cross over into “policing” how people engage in fandom. And like... being more honest with myself about it, yeah the acronym structure - which, although I am now more used to - is still an English-specific adaptation, and one which CAN be open to discussion/alternatives. And again, I’m not saying that you HAVE to use acronyms either, as that IS an English adaptation to pinyin anyway. But that I think there is good reason for it, and it’s not just something someone made up to personally target people or whatever.

But the other part where respect is brought up for me is a matter of respect for Chinese culture. Now, I do understand not everyone may be wanting to immerse within the source culture in that way. And I, with gritted teeth :’) say... FINE. because I can’t control what other people do ofc. But again for me, this hits home quite personally, because I DID grow up experiencing a lot of microaggressions with Asianness being dismissed as “weird” or “too foreign” or “too difficult to understand.” It’s the reason why Chinese immigrants and Chinese Americans have to have “English names” that we go by, because sometimes even the pinyin of our names are “too difficult” for people to want to try to pronounce.

And listen, I’m maybe more defensive of some of these cultural notes than a Chinese person in China would be, who may be charmed or amused by what to THEM would be “funny foreign habits”; but I’ve also been threatened more for my Asianness than a Chinese person in China would have, and I have also had to work harder to reclaim my heritage from a prevailing culture which is now more centered within my identity but which simultaneously works hard to erase my heritage from me, and at the same time also alienates me from truly “belonging” without me fighting for it. So... yeah when I did see people casually say “well this is what I think works for me,” I...on one hand want to be like “okay I understand and respect that,” as I recognize to be good fandom etiquette! but on the other hand it reminds me too much of Americans going, like, “this is too difficult, do you have an English name?”

where it feels more like a matter of people aren’t putting in the effort to learn a name that is foreign to them, aren’t putting in the RESPECT to learn a different culture and thinking it’s fine to just impose their own (like this does, for me, trip into the “mmmm cultural imperialism, hm? not cute” kind of territory :’) )

And I am aware that many people may NOT realize that there ARE cultural issues at play with the naming, and that some people (lmao like me) might be sensitive to some of this.

But like. I felt strongly about it lol, and at the very least, I wanted to try to provide some food for thought that people hopefully would take :’)

And ig sort of lastly, I am ofc open to discussion on this topic! I am, after all, a single Chinese American with my single Chinese American perspective on this specific cultural topic! But I do ask of you, if you find yourself reacting to this emotionally in some way, please try to sit with the emotions yourself for a bit? I mean I know I’ve been guilty of reacting emotionally, and reacting by speaking first before pausing a moment to process the emotions. But like I’m putting it out there already that this IS also an emotionally charged topic for me, and overlaps into emotionally-charged issues relating to cultural imperialism and my own experiences as Chinese American. So I ask that if you do have a specific emotional reaction, to please pause and let it distill a little before unleashing it on me :’) This is one of those *John Mulaney voice* things I’m sensitive about :’)

And also if you do use “given name only” this is not a personal attack on you, I am not saying you’re a horrible American cultural imperialist for doing so, nor am I saying you’re being maliciously thoughtless and disrespectful. (I’m also learning more and more that there are certain cultural things I’d taken for granted/had assumed has become more common concepts in English, such as “face,” which actually are still utterly foreign to some people.)

I am just personally tired but also opinionated to a fault and want to share my thoughts on where I’m coming from, culture-wise with this.

#the untamed #chen qing ling #roz speaks #this is literally just on how to address by name this doesn't even touch on forms of respectful address across generations #like Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen wouldn't call their uncle by name and how we see LWJ only call LXC Elder Brother #and how the juniors refer to WWX as ''Senior Mo'' and then ''Senior Wei'' although I actually dk if Netflix keeps this either #I single out Netflix bc I think the other tl's I've seen do mostly preserve this? and I think it does tell important cultural stories #and affects how characters interact with each other #mine

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts: sternclay, 78, sfw pls!!!

78: I run a YouTube channel where I talk about different things and one video is on the topic of an immortal creature / piece of history and you track me down to tell me how inaccurate it all is.

Stern finishes his notes, shuts his laptop and pushes in the chair at the little desk. Rain patters on the cabin roof, making for a singularly cozy scene with the fire in the woodstove and the tea steeping on the counter. 

He can’t believe his luck in finding this place; he’d assumed his trip to the Olympic Peninsula would involve solely sleeping in tents in the rain. Which he’s prepared for, but it’s nice to have the spot of his longest stay be indoors. 

The vlog’s been getting a ton of attention on the trip, which is good news for him; turns out doing the legwork to tell something other than the same four Bigfoot anecdotes is popular with large chunks of the internet. 

He does a crossword as he finishes his tea, changes into his sleepwear and climbs into the queen bed; the owners must assume it’s couples who rent this space.

Yeah, right, like Stern is going to have a boyfriend any time soon. 

Turning off the lamp leaves him with just the light from the smoke detector and the nearby clock radio for company. Lord, he didn’t mean to stay up until 1 am working. Again. 

Snuggling down under the covers, he coaxes his mind in the direction of picturing a hot tub and someone rubbing his shoulders. It immediately veers back to two of the stories he collected last week, both about more...alarming Bigfoot encounters. One in which Bigfoot broke into a trailer, leaving the owner cowering in the bathroom while he trashed the place. The other about Bigfoot stalking hiker in the woods, staying just out of sight but growling constantly. 

Then there are the disappearances, but there’s not actually any solid evidence tying them to the cryptid. It’s as he’s reminding himself of this that he rolls over, eyes opening long enough to glimpse something moving outside the rain-streaked window.

He shuts them in a hurry, takes deep breaths to calm down. He’s seen deer all over the place today, that’s probably what that was. 

Knock knock

There is no way on gods green earth that he’s opening that door. 

Knock knock.

The odds of that being someone, or something, that wants to hurt him are much higher than those of it being someone in need of his help. 

Knock knock. 

He holds his breath, listens for footsteps. Instead, the doorknob clicks side to side, jiggles when whatever's out there finds it locked. Thank fuck for the deadbolt.

Crack

Both bolts splinter the wooden frame, and a figure that has to duck to enter the cabin steps through it. It has fur, it’s eyes reflect the light he shines from his phone onto them, and it has very, very big feet. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, pressing against the backboard. 

“You’re Joseph Stern, right.” A deep voice rumbles. 

He nods, finding the fact that Bigfoot is talking to him calming rather than perplexing.

“Thank fuck, ‘cause this was gonna be really awkward otherwise.” He shuts the door, slides the nearby bookshelf across it as if it weighed nothing. 

“Close the blinds.”

Stern reaches up and pulls the cord, sending them down. Fumbles in the dark, eyes on the shadowy figure as he tries to find the lamp switch. He hits it just as the cryptid reaches the foot of his bed. Bigfoot blinks, squinting, then crosses his arms. 

“Okay buddy, we need to talk.”

“About….?” 

Bigfoot gives him a look of barely-concealed exasperation, “about the videos you’ve been making. You got a bunch of stuff wrong.”

“I did my research.” Stern adjusts his blankets with a huff, is forced to do so again when Bigfoot sits down on the bed.

“Yeah, from sources that are full of shit.”

“That’s--” he raises his hand to object, then stops, “that’s actually fair. I, um, I have to hit a certain video length for each episode, so sometimes I include anecdotes that have little to no corroboration.”

“Like the trailer story?”

“Damn it, I should have trusted my gut on that one. It was the vocalization description, it sounded wrong.”

“Yep. Kinda surprised you missed that, you’re usually pretty sharp.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”

“It is; I watch your videos, you’ve got a pretty good B.S detector.”

“How-”

“I don’t actually live in the middle of the woods. I have a house, with wi-fi, and I like to keep tabs on people who are investigating me in earnest. I’ve been following your channel awhile. I like it. But you keep getting things wrong and it bugs me, so grab something to take notes on.”

Stern flops and rolls to the edge of the bed not occupied by Bigfoot, pulling his field notebook and a pen from his backpack. As he rolls back, he catches Bigfoot staring at him, then looking away sheepishly. 

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“You’re, uh, you’re taking this fairly well.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I get to interview fucking Bigfoot. This is a dream come true! Plus, I no longer thing you’re going to kill me. Wait, are you?”

Bigfoot shakes his head, “Nope. And that’s correction one; there have been zero cases where I or my kind have killed anyone. We, uh, tend to come down pretty hard on any of our kind who try to go after humans.”

“And by your kind, you mean other Bigfoots, or cryptids in general?”

“Both.”

“Got it. Wait” he looks up, frowning, “how am I supposed to cite you in these corrections without exposing you?”

A shrug, “just call me a ‘bigfoot expert.’ And, uh, you, specifically, can call me Barclay. Now, mistake two: look at my arm.” He holds his right arm out and Stern obediently stares at it.

“What color is that?”

“Reddish brown?”

“Right. Not black, not white, not grey. Touch it.” 

Carefully, Stern runs his fingertips up Barclay’s forearm.

“It’s so soft.”

“Damn right. None of this ‘coarse chunks of hair’ bullshit. When this comes off it stays soft. And I’m the only one of my kind who’s been on the west coast in a decade, so any hair that isn’t this color can’t be tied to a Bigfoot sighting. You can stop petting me, y’know.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Right, problem three--uh, fuck, hang on, I forgot what I wrote.” He lifts his other arm and Stern sees something he missed in his earlier terror blindness; a pouch hanging from his wrist, from which Barclay produces a tiny notebook. 

“Okay, so, the noises thing, you’ve got about half of them right…”

Stern spends an hour and a half diligently taking notes. When Barclay finally flips the book closed, the cryptid yawns, showing sharp teeth.

“There, that’s all of it. Now I gotta head out, I got places to be in the morning.”

“Wait, what about my questions? I, um, I have a whole list of them for if I ever meet a cryptid in person.”

“How could you possibly have more questions after that.”

“You underestimate just how much time I devote to my work.” He finds the page, turning his notebook around. 

“I...holy shit, did you organize these by cryptid?”

“Yes, since every cryptid is different, you each get your own question list.”

“Look, Joseph, I’m happy to answer them, but I wasn’t kidding about needing to be somewhere in the morning.”

“Oh, um, of course. Honestly I just thought you wanted to get away from me; I know I can be a bit of an overly curious nerd sometimes.”

“I like it. But-”

Thunder booms right above them and Barclay yips like a wounded fox, flinches when lightning follows on it’s heels. 

“Fuck, I was hoping it’d just rain and nothing else.” He growls when lighting flashes again. 

“I have to admit this is not a fear I expected you to have.”

“Lightning starts fires, and I got caught in more than one in my early days, and thunder, well, it sounds a little too much like gunshots for my taste. Had plenty of those directed at me too.”

“Oh, Barclay, I’m so sorry. Um” he casts around for something comforting, “if, if you’d rather not go out just yet, you can stay here. I promise I won’t ask more questions and just let you sleep. And, um, since it might take too long to get the fire going again,” he holds up the blankets, “you can sleep here. If you want.”

It’s a ridiculous suggestion, and he sees disbelief on Barclay’s face. Then it dissipates as Barclay looks him up and down, scooting to join him under the covers, mattress protesting every movement. When he lays down he’s so heavy the bed dips, sending Stern rolling without warning and landing against his side with an “oof.”

“Sorry.” They say at the same time

“It’s alright, big guy, you’re actually very comfy.”

“What did you call me?” Barclay chuckles, pulling the blankets up around them.

“Guess I’m tired too, getting a little loopy.”

“And cuddly” Barclay smiles, sending a pointed glance at Stern’s arm (now draped across the cryptid’s stomach) and cheek (now resting on his chest).

“Shit, sorry, I can-”

“S’okay” Barclays arm loops over his shoulders, “never held a human like this. It’s nice.” 

Another boom of thunder and he winces. Not knowing what else to do, Stern pets his belly soothingly. After a moment, his arm is vibrating.

“You’re purring.”

“Notrrrrr arrrrrrr wordrrrrrr” Barclay snuffles the top of his head but doesn’t stop him, and so he keeps rubbing his belly until he feels some of the tension drain from Barclay’s body.

“What do you like to do? For fun, I mean.”

“Like cooking” Barclay murmurs, “getting a human disguise was nice, ‘cause I didn’t have to worry about getting fur in the food.”

“Human?”

“Long story, but the upshot is any cryptid who’s been here awhile gets there hands on a charm that makes them human when they wear it.”

“Huh. Um, what do you like to cook best?”

“Hmmmmm. Well, pie is satisfying, but I also like making ramen, because there’s such an art to it....”

Stern snuggles closer, sighs as Barclay absentmindedly pets his back, and drops off some time later to the sound of that lovely, deep voice telling him all about dim sum. 

He wakes up to an empty bed, which isn’t a surprise. His missing notebook, however, is a surprise indeed and an unwelcome one. After turning the place upside down, he admits defeat; Barclay must have changed his mind and decided to remove what evidence he could of their conversation. 

Stern grumbles all the way into town, decides hot breakfast might soothe his disappointment. He opts for The Lodge, just as he has the last two days, and Dani, the waitress, smiles at him when he sits down. She brings him coffee and a laminated menu, returns a few minutes later.

“The cook wants me to let you now we have a new special this morning; sourdough pancakes with strawberry-rhubarb compote.”

“I’ll have that.” He smiles, handing her back the menu. Funny, he was just talking with Barclay last night about how strawberry-rhubarb is one of his favorite flavors. 

The pancakes are delicious, and it’s only his manners that keep him from literally licking his plate clean. When Dani brings back his receipt, he’s mid-sip of coffee, and so doesn’t see what else she’s brought him until he sets it down.

Beneath the little black, plastic clipboard is his notebook. 

He picks it up, spots a cupcake shaped sticky-note sticking out that he didn’t put there. Flips to the page and finds his “questions for Bigfoot” now have answers in tidy, if a bit spidery, handwriting. At the very bottom of the page is phone number and the words, “I’ll answer your questions any time.” 

Next to the words is a heart that has clearly been erased and redrawn several times.

He laughs, pulls out his phone, and quickly enters the number.

---------------------------

Back in the kitchen, Dani flashes Barclay a thumbs up when she comes back to pick up an order. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he steals a quick look at it, smiling when he sees the message. 

Joseph: You’re full of surprises, big guy. Dinner tonight?

Barclay: I’d love that. See you then.

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #meet ugly #prompt fills