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bettsfic · 2 months

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Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

#writing advice #feelings #jealousy

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seenoversundown · 6 months

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It's The Most Wonderful Time Of Year

Warnings: Mentions of minor injury, Fluff otherwise!

Word Count: 2.2k

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Andy Williams It's the most wonderful time of the year There'll be much mistltoeing And hearts will be glowing When loved ones are near

Daniel POV:

“Ah, YEP. There it is,” I practically growl as the breaker trips, shrouding my apartment in darkness.

I should have known better than to try to mash potatoes with a hand mixer when I already have three crock pots plugged in, warming side dishes.

“Fucking ancient wiring,” I mutter to myself as I rip the plug from the wall before heading into the laundry room to flip the breaker back on.

The breaker is just the latest bit of misfortune that has derailed my plans for a traditional Christmas dinner.

First, I severely overslept. Melody and I wanted to wake up at 7:00 to do presents with Iris. Imagine my shock when she strolled into our room at 9:30, questioning why Santa came and we didn't wake her up.

Then, after we opened our presents and Iris was sufficiently tuckered out and down for a nap, I started preparing for dinner.

Because I wanted to be fancy, I obviously bought fresh vegetables, which led to me nicking my finger while cutting the green beans.

After Melody played nurse and left me with one gloved hand, I managed to grab the handle of a pre-heated cast iron skillet with my other hand. Melody was not happy with me when she had to play nurse for a second time in under an hour.

It had been smooth sailing after that, up until the breaker issue.

I’m pulled out of my reverie by a tiny hand tugging at the hem of my shirt.

I look down to see a freshly awoken Iris rubbing her eyes. She lets out a big yawn before meeting my eyes.

“Can I have juice?” she signs.

My heart melts as I nod and rush to pull down a Big Girl Cup from the cabinet. I opened the fridge and pulled out the super-special organic apple juice that Uncle Sammy bought for Iris. The glass bottle slips in my hand, but I catch it before it drops.

HAHA! Not this time!

I pour her juice and hand it over.

“Be careful,” I ruffle her hair, “Now go play.”

I look up and see Melody standing in the doorway, watching on with a fond smile on her face as Iris skitters past her.

She walks into the kitchen and wraps her arms around my middle, “You’re a good dad, Daniel,” she presses a soft kiss to my chest as she nuzzles into my sweater.

I breathe out a sigh and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I chuckle, “If stuff keeps going the way it is, I might not even be able to feed our kid tonight.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, babe,” she pinches my side, wiggling out of my arms, “It’ll all work out.”

I pop the turkey in the oven and check my watch. 2:00pm

Perfect! Everything is back on schedule, and I finally feel like I can take a breath.

I lean against the counter and feel a smile creep over my face. My dinner is coming along. I can hear the tinkling giggles of my girls coming from the living room. I haven't made too much of a mess in the kitchen.

I start to put away the dishes I’d left on the drying rack and spot the crystal wine decanter on the top shelf.

Bingo!

I pull the decanter and two glasses down and glance over the bottles of wine sitting out on the counter, trying to determine which varietal Melody would appreciate most right now.

Settling on a Merlot, I pour the bottle into the decanter and leave it to open up before venturing into the living room.

Melody has her back to me, helping Iris change the dress on one of her new dolls, and I tiptoe up behind her. I catch Iris’ eye and bring a finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet.

She flashes me a toothy grin and tries, poorly, to hold back her giggles.

Melody stiffens almost imperceptibly, and I already know she will be faking her reaction for Iris’ benefit.

Regardless, I continue creeping up and grabbing Melody’s shoulders, gently shaking her in the process.

“AHHHHH,” Melody drops the doll and lets out an exaggerated shout, “YOU SCARED ME, DANIEL!”

She whips her head around and gives me a little wink.

Iris giggles again, “That was funny.”

I grin and waggle my eyebrows at her, “More juice?”

She nods, holding her cup out for me to take.

I squeeze Melody’s shoulder again before heading back into the kitchen.

I fill Iris’ cup with more apple juice, diluting it with water. I can’t have her getting an upset tummy on Christmas. Then, I pour some wine into one of the glasses and carry both back into the living room.

“Thought both of my girls might be thirsty,” I say as I pass the wine to Melody.

“You thought right, my love,” she grins.

Iris’ eyes flit between us for a moment, “play with me?”

And how can I say no to that?

An hour and a half later, I’m back in the kitchen checking on our slowly progressing dinner.

Turkey is coming along perfectly. The sides are looking good. I’m incredibly proud of the way I’ve turned this day around.

Since we’re in the home stretch, I finally decided to pour myself a glass of wine.

As I reach for the decanter, it slips from my grasp and shatters into a million little pieces. Merlot paints nearly every kitchen surface: the walls, the floor, the fridge, everywhere.

“FUUUUUCK,” I scream at the top of my lungs. I’ll be shocked if we don’t get a noise complaint from one of the neighbors.

I hear footsteps walking up the hallway.

“Please stay out of here. There’s glass everywhere,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“I’m slipping on shoes, then I'm coming to help you,” Melody replies.

We clean up silently; I’m on sweeping duty while Melody comes behind me with the mop.

I finally set the broom down, confident I had swept up all the tiny crystal shards.

“This day keeps getting worse,” I sigh, and Melody pats my arm, “I’m going to text Josh to see if he wants to come get Iris until dinner’s finished. At this point, I’m worried that my bad luck will rub off on her, and she’ll be the next victim of some inexplicable accident.”

“Okay, big guy,” Melody lets out a small laugh, “I’m sure Josh would be happy to hang out with her solo.”

Thirty minutes later, I let Josh in. Iris has practically been vibrating with excitement since we told her Uncle Josh wanted to see her.

“Where’s my favorite little girl?” is the first thing out of his mouth as he steps over the threshold.

“Well, hello to you too,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, forgive me. HELLOOOOOOOO DANNY!” he claps back immediately, “Now, where is she? Quinn and I have a whole afternoon planned for Iris, and that's more important than your ego.”

“Jesus, dude,” I say, rubbing my chest in mock hurt.

“I’m just being honest,” he flashes a massive grin at me.

“Well, thank you so much for your honesty,” I roll my eyes again, “Melody’s helping her get ready. Now, I know I don't need to tell you how to take care of her. Buuuuut, bad luck has been plaguing me all day. So, be extra careful with her.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. I’ll be on the lookout for any falling pianos or trap doors,” it’s Josh’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I know you're making fun of me, but with the luck I’ve had today, nothing would shock me at this point,” we share a laugh that’s interrupted by a bundled-up Iris rocketing herself into Josh’s legs.

I watch as he quickly scoops her up and spins her around before setting her back down.

“Ready to go, Petal?” he asks Iris with a cheesy grin.

The second she nods her affirmative, they're out the door.

Unfortunately for me, not even a minute after they’ve left, the smoke detector starts going off. I sigh for the trillionth time today and head back to the kitchen.

Walking through the doorway, I see Melody standing in front of the open oven. She’s using an oven mitt to fan smoke away from the turkey.

“Babe, stop. It's fine,” I start, “we both know that Christmas dinner is pretty much fucked at this point. Just turn the oven off.”

I lean against the counter and hang my head in my hands, ultimately defeated.

“It’s okay, babe. I have a plan!” Melody says as she takes my burnt Turkey out of the oven, trying to keep my spirits high.

I fight the urge to scoff as I watch her open the freezer and pull a Pyrex dish out.

“What's that?” I eye the dish in her hand.

“It's a lasagna, Daniel. I always keep one on backup,” she grins at me, dimples on full display, “I know it's not traditional, but who’s gonna be mad about pasta?”

“You’re a genius, dear,” I gently kiss her temple.

She shrugs off my praise, “HA! No, not a genius. Just a mother. Moms always have to have at least three backup plans ready.”

Melody greets our first guests at the door as I put the finishing touches on everyone’s place settings at the table.

I vaguely hear them laughing together as I walk into the kitchen to add one final layer of cheese to the top of the lasagna.

“Please make yourselves at home,” I can hear the genuine smile in Melody’s voice, “Daniel is likely in the kitchen if you want to go harass him.”

The goofiest laugh follows her statement, and I know it’s Sam and Willa.

“Oh, Daaaaaaaniel,” Sam calls out as he pops his head in the doorway, “it smells phenomenal in here, but nothing like turkey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Last minute change of plans,” I reply flatly.

“Josh texted me earlier and told me you were being a ‘Drama Queen,’” he adds air quotes before quirking a brow, “but I didn't assume you’d throw in the towel, buddy.”

“Oh, get bent, Sammy,” I threw the towel draped across my shoulder at him.

He whips his head around, facing Willa, “Did you see that, Birdie? The fucker proved my point.”

“I think it's lovely that you were able to solve your own problems, Danny,” Willa adds before smacking Sam across the chest with a smirk, effectively shutting him up.

They make their way to the living room as our other guests show up.

Jake and Charlotte show up next, popping in for a quick hello, not wanting to distract me.

Obviously, Josh, Quinn, and Iris are the last ones to show up.

“Oh, Iris just got so distracted playing. Sorry, we’re late.”

“That line doesn't work on me, Josh,” I let out a laugh, “I know you. You can't blame my kid for your chronic lateness.”

“I resent that, Danny. I always arrive precisely when I mean to,” Josh scoffs indignantly.

“Well, why don't you arrive in the living room and tell everyone dinner’s almost ready?”

I lock eyes on Charlotte as I set the final dish on the table.

Her eyes flit across the table, and the confusion on her face grows as she mouths the name of each dish she sees.

Mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, LASAGNA?

Jake is patting her thigh comfortingly as he holds back laughter.

I see her confusion mirrored on everyone else as I look around the table.

Jake pulls himself together long enough to break the silence, “Wow! What a delightful array of food you have for us, Danny Boy! You even have rolls!”

“Hey! I put garlic butter on them, asshole.”

“Oh, then, by all means, they belong. Not a single thing out of place here.”

That gets a round of laughs from the entire table.

“Yeah, Danny,” Quinn starts, “I’m not trying to be mean, but wasn't this supposed to be a traditional dinner?”

“Now, Bug, who can really say what ‘traditional’ means,” Josh ponders.

“Ya know what, thank you, Josh,” I nod in his direction.

“Oh, I’m not trying to help you, Danny. I’m just getting philosophical.”

“Okay, everyone,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, “After the day I had, I’d like to see you come up with something better.”

Melody nods with me as she opens a bottle of wine and passes it to Sam, “He really did have the most unfortunate string of luck. You all are lucky we even have dinner at all.”

I grab her hand and gently kiss her knuckles in thanks as everyone finally tucks into their meals.

“I do have a question,” Charlotte whispers, setting her fork down.

I nod for her to go on.

“What happened to the decanter we got you for your engagement party? This seems like a perfect time to use it.”

I let out the loudest groan, “I love you, Charlotte, but please never ask me that question again.”

“It’s a sore spot for him,” Melody pats my hand, “I’ll tell you later.”

“So, on that note,” I say, gesturing for everybody to start eating, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

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hamsterbellbelle · 6 months

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Additional CC list (post #2) for Waterfront Nightclub🎦:

Makeup clutter/clothes rack/mannequin || Medicine cabinet/plunger || Mirror || Mirror || Neon sign/drink bottle/dink || Neon stairs || Newspaper stack || Old TV (deco) || Paper bags || Plastic chair || Posters || Reception bell/desk || Road sign || Rug || Rug || Security monitor || Signs || Sink (bathroom) || Sofa || Stickers || Stickers || Sticky notes || Street lights ||

Studio panel || Suitcase || Takeout box || Toilet door || Toilet paper || Toilet || Trash (deco) || Trashcan || Tray || Tray || Urinal || Vent || VHS player || VIP rope || Wall coat || Wall hanger || Wall rack ||

Wall statue || Wall tube lights || Wallpaper - A - B - C - D - E - F - G || Water cooler || Whiteboard || Whiteboard || Window (round)/light lines || Windows - A - B - C - D || Wine glass || Wine opener/cork decor/wine box || Wire with animated spark ||

More CCs listed on post #1🔗

#sims4 #ts4 #cclist #cc #myfinds #waterfrontnc

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hcelom · 7 months

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Sniper/Spy/Scout in zombie-apocalyptic settings because yay Halloween:

mention of suggestive themes, blood and gore, psychopathic behaviors, cannibalism, not shipping no one here, mention of father and son conflict

Spy: Even in the face of the apocalypse, he insists on wearing a suit, tie, and carrying a briefcase. He won't trade his fancy dress shoes for anything that might be more comfortable for running. He clings to the last remnants of civilized society, meticulously shaving, getting himself haircuts, and patching up his suit. While others are looting supermarkets for supplies, he's busy eyeing the makeup section or wine racks and grabbing a bunch of useless items. He even remembers to have some cond*ms just in case, and he leaves an IOU note at the checkout counter. But on the flip side, Spy's survival instinct is stronger than anything else. He becomes the cold, manipulative, ruthless leader who lacks the most humanity. He won't hesitate to kill a comrade that got bitten, or one he suspects of hiding their infection (only to later discover they weren't infected at all). He'll also refuse to accept anyone as a liability other than the Scout, even if it's a family with a child or a pregnant couple. He's always prepared to betray everyone to save himself, and he'll take the Scout with him to find the next team he can backstab.

Scout: He may seem unreliable and is, in fact, unreliable. Nobody assigns him night watch duty or trusts him to guard supplies because they know he's likely to neglect his responsibilities. However, he does show signs of growth while still being a troublemaker. Eventually, he becomes the least reliable-looking but most reliable member of the group. He's strong in combat, sleeping with a ragged baseball bat wrapped in wire and pieces of clothing and scraps of flesh and tissues. Every swing of the baseball bat enchants opponents with 32 different kinds of infections, but he's still pretty dumb. No matter how many times, he'll always create a rift with Spy over pitying for a sketchy family of three or a pregnant couple, resulting in either Spy relents or them parting ways. Predictably, if he's thrown off the bus, Spy appears out of nowhere and picks him up so he could do all that again (Spy: Nobody betrays bushman and stupid except for me). He might die from self-sacrifice or PTSD. He might die in front of everyone, or he might die after burying Sniper and killing Spy (because he got infected with zombie or bastard).

Sniper: For some obvious reasons, he thrives in the post-apocalyptic world and becomes the most useful asset, whoever gets him in their team hits the jackpot. It's almost as if he's just waiting for the ultimate annihilation of human civilization. When he encounters Spy and Scout, he's already become the babysitter for some survivor camp. He observes the duo through the scope of his rifle, seeing how Spy would use some makeshift tools from his briefcase to destroy the booby traps he spent all night to meticulously set up, or just using it for his own to kill zombies around them. Meanwhile Scout is nearby, blasting car speakers at maximum volume to attract more zombies to step on the traps, all while dancing along to music and occasionally swing some bats. Sniper originally planned to kill Scout first, then Spy, because god dayun they were having too much fun, but he didn't. Eventually, in the middle of the night, Sniper secretly drove his camper van to join Spy and Scout.

Some Ifs - after Spy and Scout both got infected and turned, into zombies, Sniper tied the two undeads together with duct tape and hid them in his vehicle from other survivors. He then began a journey of a post-apocalyptic horror story, crazed gunman slasher's life, hunting down other survivors and feeding off human flesh with the undead father and son he kept at home, while looking with no hope for a possible cure.

#tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 sniper

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hatterstan-shameblog · 1 year

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Hey hey hat Stan! Soo I am requesting for the prompt! Can you please write fluff for number 18 with Hatter, Aguni, Arisu,Chi, Kuina, Usagi, and Kuzu? Thanks :D!

@a-simp-20 you sent me this a LONG long time ago, and I JUST got around to finishing it! I'm so sorry for the long wait 😱 I hope you like it!

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

The Prompt: “Oh my god you never told me you could cook”

Midnight Snack

Rating: PG13

Genre: Fluff/Comedy

The kitchen is bustling.

All the lights are on, making the chromes and silvers of the industrial appliances gleam against the white tile walls. Music plays—the kind of thing one would hear in the bathroom of a chain Italian restaurant, jazzy and upbeat instrumentals that echo throughout the cavernous room. It makes it seem like there are more than a mere three individuals inhabiting the space.

Kuzuryuu stands at the stove with a glass of red wine in one hand and a large metal ladle in the other. He leans over a large metal pot and frowns when his glasses get fogged up by the steam.

At the center prep table is Aguni. The apron around his waist has done nothing to protect his shirt from smears of white flour, a fine dusting of the stuff covering him from the tips of his fingers up to his elbows. A collection of eight perfectly symmetrical dough balls rests to his left and he deftly sprinkles his work surface with even more flour.

Hatter has taken one of the other prep tables off to the side. His usual silk robe hangs on a hook by the door, an unbuttoned chef's jacket serving as a shirt. He hums along to the music as he happily runs a large block of some kind of cheese along the side of a box grater.

"Uh," Aguni says, "this isn't what it looks like."

"You mean you're not making pizza in the middle of the night?"

"Nope," Hatter replies, "we're having our post-meeting meeting. The pizza is irrelevant."

Kuzuryuu glares.

"I've been simmering this sauce for over an hour. There is not a single 'irrelevant' thing about it."

"Of course not, Keiichi—I misspoke. Your sauce is a triumph. What I meant to say is that we'd be having the meeting regardless of whether or not we were making pizza."

Kuzuryuu's displeased expression doesn't abate, but he takes another sip of wine and turns his attention back to his sauce.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry, I just," Kuina's expression is one of pleased disbelief, "I didn't think you guys could cook!"

"Au contraire, Chisiya's mysterious tall friend," Hatter says smugly, "I'll have you know that I am famous in a few social circles for making the best quiche in Tokyo."

"I've had it," Aguni adds, grabbing a ball of dough and slapping it down on the table, "For once, he's not exaggerating."

"Hey, I do not exaggerate," Hatter snips, "That is the worst lie anyone has ever told in the history of forever—"

Aguni smacks the dough again, this time in anger.

"Is it? Is it really the worst lie?" He starts aggressively kneading so the dough begins to stretch out into a small, lopsided circle. "Has nobody told a lie that is more deadly, more destructive, more dangerous—"

Kuzuryuu whacks the metal countertop with a stainless steel pan, creating a loud crash that echoes throughout the room. The squabbling stops immediately.

"Sauce is done," Kuzuryuu announces, taking the pot off the heat and transferring the pot to a wire rack to cool. He crosses his arms across his chest and addresses the quadrant of intruders. "You guys wanna stay? We've got enough to go around."

The young friends look to one another, silently discussing the offer. Finally, Arisu speaks.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

With more than double it's previous occupants, the kitchen becomes even more lively—the music can barely be heard over the various conversations being held between the blended group of unlikely pizza-makers. Wine is poured, plates are distributed, and for the first time in a very long time, everyone feels almost normal. Normal enough, anyways, to set aside their differences and pretend to be friendly.

"Hey, uh," Aguni says sheepishly as he pushes a plate of unbaked crust towards Usagi. He looks viscerally uncomfortable, his usual proud stance slightly hunched into a timid slump, "Sorry about the thing at the pool the other night. I should've...I mean, Niragi. I shouldn't have let him imply...what he was implying. It was wrong of me to let that go."

"And stupid," Hatter calls out. He stuffs a pinch of shredded cheese into his mouth like he's eating popcorn at a movie theater. "Arisu says she can do a backflip! She could kill you!"

"Not sure what backflips have to do with murder," Chisiya says, "but I'd love to find out."

"I think she should get to punch you," Kuina suggests. She has her head stuck in the refrigerator, inspecting the various random goods stocked inside. With a delighted little 'ah!' she pulls out a bag of vegan shredded cheese. "And then Arisu should get to punch you, too, because you were mean about his friends. And then I should get to punch you—"

"There will be no punching," Usagi decrees. She takes the unbaked crust and looks Aguni straight in the eye. "Aguni already knows how much of a pathetic disappointment he is. Why do I need to waste my time and energy reminding him?"

Everything falls silent. Aguni is a vicious shade of red-purple in the face, but he nods in acceptance. Usagi takes pity and pats him on the arm before leaving, mumbling something that sounds like "do better" as she walks away.

"Arisu," Kuzuryuu calls out, "I need someone to taste the sauce. Would you be up for the challenge?"

Arisu's whole expression lights up, head nodding at an almost incomprehensibly fast pace as he excitedly takes his plate over.

Kuzuryuu dips a metal teaspoon into the sauce and hands it to Arisu, who looks very pleased to have been given the important task of tasting the final product.

"This is good," Arisu praises. "What's in it?"

Kuzuryuu looks to the rest of group and sips his wine. No one appears to be paying attention to them, so he leans in a little closer to Arisu as if he's sharing a secret.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you, kid," Kuzruyuu says. "This sauce is from the Pizza Hut down the street. All I did was throw in some extra garlic and heat it up."

Arisu furrows his brow.

"But didn't they notice—?"

Kuzuryuu shakes his head.

"Too busy flirting or fighting to pay attention. Honestly, I don't mind it," he says, "Not like we get TV here, so a man's gotta make do."

He ladles a generous helping of sauce onto Arisu's dough. Arisu watches as he spreads it to the edges, the circular motions of the ladle hypnotic in his eyes.

"I won't tell the others," Arisu promises. "Everyone has their secrets. I'm just glad I know yours."

Kuzuryuu stops for a second. Arisu's gaze snaps up, confused as to why his new friend has stopped saucing. Kuzuryuu clears his throat awkwardly.

"...Yeah," he says, ladling an extra amount onto Arisu's pizza. "Yeah, you got me all figured out, kid."

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Over at the toppings station, crisis has apparently struck. Hatter looks horrified as he watches Chisiya spread a heaping spoonful of green onto the base of his dough.

"I'm making pizza Genovese," Chisiya replies, his Italian accent suspiciously perfect. "It was a favorite of mine when I was in Portofino."

"Pesto goes on top," Hatter argues. Like he is with everything else, he seems very passionate about pizza-making protocol. "You use it to make a little swirly pattern to make it pretty. Everybody knows that."

"You seem like you have it all figured out," Chisiya says snarkily. With practiced precision, he begins selecting slices of tomato and arranging them carefully on top of the Pesto. "Why don't you enlighten us?"

"You wouldn't get it," Hatter sniffs. He wraps an olive in a slice of pepperoni and puts it in his mouth. "I invoke the name of Papa John and let his spirit guide me."

"He closes his eyes and throws whatever we've got left onto the dough," Aguni explains dispassionately, "then cheese, then sauce. We always make him go last because it's such a mess."

"Hm. I should've known," Chisiya hums. "Only a man like you would be able to make pizza that incorrectly."

"You're just jealous," Hatter gloats. He snatches the tomato slice Chisiya had been intending to take and eats it, making sure to chew extra loudly as the younger man watches. "My method is genius. I don't know what's going to be on my pizza until I eat it. Every bite is an adventure. Your tiny, sad brain can't even begin to comprehend the symphonic flavors and textures I'm able to get—"

"Hey, uh," Arisu interjects. He stands between the feuding men awkwardly. "Sorry, I just wanna get some cheese. You guys are kinda...holding up the line."

Chisiya looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, Usagi and Kuina are waiting patiently for their turn to add toppings to their pizzas, Aguni queuing up a safe distance behind. Chisiya sighs and sprinkles his creation with a handful of finely-grated parmesan.

"My apologies," Chisiya says. He then turns his attention back to Hatter. "To everyone but you, of course."

And before Hatter can give a response, Chisiya saunters off towards the oven, not paying anyone any bit of mind.

The rest of the group assembles their pizzas. Arisu makes plain cheese, stating with confidence that the simplest things are sometimes the best. Usagi agrees, although her pie is topped with every kind of meat available. Kuina chooses olives and onions to top her heaping mound of vegan cheese, while Aguni makes himself one with pepperoni and mushrooms. Kuzuryuu's pizza is topped with arugula and prosciutto, and Hatter...well, he does exactly as Aguni described earlier, making a mess not only of the table but of himself.

During the time it takes for their pizzas to bake, the group settles into comfortable conversation. Wine helps ease the tensions between them and makes the conversation flow—and only a handful of squabbles break out, which are quickly squashed in favor of just having a good time.

And while they may all go their separate ways after the pizzas are eaten and the wine is gone, this unlikely group of amateur chefs will have at least one happy memory from their time in the Borderlands.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland netflix #writings and such #it was so hard to write for so many characters at once but also so much fun!#alice in borderland fanfic #arisu ryohei #usagi yuzuha #kuina hikari #chisiya shuntaro #kuzuryuu keiichi #aguni morizono #danma takeru

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