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danwhobrowses · 3 months

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So I Finally Finished a Playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3

It's been months of playing over my holidays and the weekends, but I've finally completed my first playthrough of what was deemed Game of the Year for 2023.

As someone whose only D&D experiences come from the two movies (the bad one that traumatized me as a kid by killing Snails and the good one that deserves more love) and Critical Role, I didn't know much of what I was getting into, only my coworkers saying 'buy it, it's a masterpiece' unanimously when I inquired about it. Having no idea how to play or the lore, I was very much entering blind.

Continued down the Keep Reading

So, I'm sure we gotta get through the first set of questions so let's get to them.

What was your Tav? It took a long time to realise that 'Tav' meant your player character among fanpages, I can't tell you why it's Tav still, but I only pieced it together from Durge naming too. My Tav is Dec, short for December because that's when I started playing and I couldn't waste too much time on stream thinking up a clever name. He was a High Elf Guild Artisan, for Class I started as a Beast Master Ranger, ironic that Ranger is deemed one of the lesser classes among the community, I was adamant to not use archery at the start but by the end of it I was a Crossbow Expert. I went 9/3 with Rogue to get Assassin, but then respec'd my Ranger into a Gloomstalker, since I never really summoned the bear (probably should've learned from Sam's constant dissing of Trinket eh?) plus when I remembered Dread Ambusher it gave me 3 attacks on the first turn. He has combustible blood thanks to Araj and some tadpole powers after consuming them after the creche incident made him more open to trusting the Dream Visitor; Charm - which failed 90% of the time - Psionic Backlash, Favourable Beginnings and Luck of the Far Realms used mainly, I had Stage Fright and Force Tunnel but didn't use it, same for Cull the Weak. Likes to talk things through, especially with Persuasion/Charisma buffing invisible hats. Has the Duellist's Perogative Sword and the Swire's Sledboard Shield for Melee, and the AC bonus, plus the Armor of Agility giving him an evasive 24 AC with Advantage thanks to 20 DEX and the Cloak of Displacement.

You can't see his scar and tattoo too well from here but I had to show off his Black Furnace and Red dye on his armour it looks too good. Here's a better look of his face:

For his tattoo and scarring I like to think he got the tattoo after the burn, in some ways distracting it from the scarring.

Did you Save Scum? Don't Lie to Me! Yes and I'm not sorry about it. If you wanna invite me to a D&D table I'll follow the rules and how the dice lands but there's a lot more wiggle room there than in a game where there's finite dialogue options. I was also not going to sit there and let my companions turn against me just because the game fancied throwing continual Nat 1s or low rolls at me, nor would I let Omeluum die in the Iron Throne, or end up leaving the Mirror of Loss empty handed. I bought the game so if I wanna carve this experience this way I shall carve it this way, I get some people see the Morally Good path as boring for this kind of gaming but I like to be good, it feels good, and I want good things to happen for my allies, even if it means having to undo most of their religious indoctrination. But, it did take a while for me to start save scumming, really it was freeing Halsin that started it but it didn't become regular until Auntie Ethel. I only really did it for dialogue/lore expansion (or when there were two dialogue options I was between which I hoped would be interpreted how I expect it to) and for necessary buff rolls like the Mirror of Loss, but sometimes I did it to keep some key NPCs alive like Jaheira, who died at Moonrise the first time.

Who did you usually team up with? Kinda a harem squad since I had Lae'zel, Shadowheart and Karlach. I was very combat-oriented; Lae'zel adding support to Karlach's melee or Dec's ranged combat while Shadowheart made up for most of the magic with heals, summons and like 100 scrolls in her bag (Dec horded about 100 different arrows and poisons too, sometimes pays off). I respec'd her to Light Domain after the Nightsong stuff to fit her character and hair change - though I must admit I preferred the black hair - and gave her my Adamantine Splint Armour for defences plus the ring and Balduran's Helm for +5 healing each turn. Lae'zel was a Battle Master, clad in the Helldusk set, though I didn't use much of her Superiority dice moves; the enemies often made saves against it even with 18 strength (20 after the mirror of loss, and higher at endgame thanks to an Elixir of Cloud Giant Strength), I relied more on her brute force, plus reaction skills like Executioner and Sentinel, plus the Silver Sword of the Astral Plane. Karlach was a 9/3 Bear Heart Barbarian and Champion Fighter, I did respec her for the Feats but the Bone armour, Balduran's Greatsword and Brutal Jump also helped at times, plus the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Amulet of Greater Health made her a high damage, near-200 Health-on-Rage machine (over 200 thanks to the +30 extra health at the final battle). I tended not to swap around a lot, I couldn't abandon my healer, loved Karlach's personality and I had sentiment for Lae'zel being the first person I encountered, she has the sad eyes too, but I did do some rare switching for personal quests. Initially I started with Astarion, but that's because of a misunderstanding of who Karlach was - more on that later - and it turned out that I wasn't doing much for stealth, I brought him for Cazador though, much like I brought Wyll for Ansur and Gale for the Book of Karsus. Later in Act 3 I played around with dyes and equipped everyone, out of fear that I may be sprung unprepared like with Orin - Halsin only had a torch - by all campmates joining the fight, it didn't happen but everyone at least looks stylish.

I go between whether I like Wyll's colours though, on one hand he looks like a Templar and the white would stand out in Avernus, other times he looks like a cosplayer XD Minsc and Jaheira needed no dyes the colours already suited well, but I do love the colours I chose for Astarion, Halsin and Karlach.

Who did you fuck? (romance) Probably would've been asked sooner but sadly Dec became an unintended bachelor, at least outside of the headcanon. He did share a night of passion with Lae'zel after freeing the Emerald Grove but it wasn't something he wanted to pursue further, our dynamic was more befitting of two soldiers, or at least a dynamic where we think we're the General and the other the Advisor. Had Shadowheart took 'later' for her drink offer as 'I want to see all the dialogues other characters have first' rather than a refusal there might have been a romance there, instead I feel we fell into a more sibling bond, she can be a bit too sassy at times in passing dialogue - I had hoped to see more development with her and Lae'zel eventually being friends. Wyll did his best to throw sad puppy eyes at me when I refused to dance with him but it just made things more awkward, Gale meanwhile probably was gonna make moves when teaching me the Weave but he was very hung up on Mystra for me to entertain it, I sat with him when he felt the mortal coil though. Astarion I think made a passing suggestion but nothing of substance, Halsin left it late after he got kidnapped by Orin - I didn't realise he had to physically join the party to be a part of the group until Act 3 - coming onto me right before I confronted the Brain which was quickly turned down. I believe Minsc and Jaheira are unable to be romanced atm, and I did not fuck the Emperor; it weirded me out that he just was there shirtless chilling next to my unconscious dream state. We killed Minthara, didn't know you could recruit or romance her in a Morally Good path. Which left Karlach, fuck did I want to romance Karlach, not for lack of trying either; but because when I met Wyll he was talking about killing her I immediately assumed 'oh Karlach must be that woman on the cover with him' (aka 'the bitch who could've been cool if she wasn't such a bitch' Mizora, who I also wouldn't have romanced given the option) and stuck a pin in it, I was also unaware that most Act 1 romance stuff would come to a head at the end of the Emerald Grove quest which I prioritized so I only encountered Karlach after I saved Halsin and the Grove, meaning I couldn't reach Dammon until Act 2. By then Karlach seemed to be locked out of romance, perhaps for another misunderstanding on my part too since I did upgrade her engine twice at Lost Light very swiftly, but it still was a knife to the heart after all that and the date at the circus that she called us 'just mates' to Fytz. All this and then they give us a better kissing patch ¬_¬

Yes so sad, anyway what about ~Astarion~? Astarion is popular, and I know why he's popular, and the scene of him killing Cazador was very well done...but Astarion for me though was just fine; I mean you guys see Karlach right? Part of the reason she stays my group was that I can't bear to part from her. A lot of the times my Morally Good options didn't align with Astarion's brand of pessimistic chaos, so he spent a lot of time in camp as I mispronounced his name until I heard it be properly said, which probably hampered his story a bit more, but we had a close enough friendship that he heeded my advice with the Ascension and the spawn, wish he reacted to me getting a painting of him since he can't see his reflection though, felt like something could've been done there. Jaheira was a fun personality too, angry old lady who says it like it is, kinda wish we had more to her quest, seeing her home and her interacting with her wards/children was interesting, Minsc was charming too in his simple way, would've been cool if he had more of a presence as well, like we could hear about Minsc and the Stone Lord in separate lights earlier in the game to build up to him. On that topic, I was surprised to find that there wasn't a companion for each role, I suppose there were constraints but Aylin and Zevlor both worked as Paladins, Alfira a Bard (though I don't think anyone would dare put her in the line of fire), I suppose there's little need for a Sorcerer when you had a Wizard or a Monk when you had a Fighter and Barbarian but it was strange, you get 2 Druids and your Ranger is built more like a Fighter or Barbarian (the latter I added to Minsc). I'd later learn that there was cut content for a halfling companion who was a werewolf, but I can see why that one was cut, with Chetney and all, but yeah not any halflings, Barcus could've been a companion even without the Artificer class, or a Dragonborn.

So how did your story go? Being the Morally Good Guy I was I went through most of the best options I could, but I also tried to avoid combat earlier on when I was struggling to work with it. I was friendly with the Goblin Camp for starters, since they thought I was with the Absolute and Dec is willing to put shit on his face to avoid conflict, it all went tits up after freeing Halsin and having to kill everyone but it may've had some benefit to how I could walk freely through Moonrise. Ironically it was the same with the Githyanki, friendly up until they wanted me to hand over the prism, though the Creche was a lost cause anyway, they're lucky I didn't ransack the place, could've gotten a lot of xp and loot there. I let Viconia live, so she can dwell on that burn Shadowheart gave her but oftentimes I was not so merciful, do wish I didn't kill that one Sharran with the letter of hating being there though, why'd you fight me girl? Same with the Bhaalist with the parents at Elfsong, and the goblin children, I was using nonlethal but arrows don't count as I'd soon learn. Allies were mostly good-to-neutral creatures like the Tieflings (though I wish I saved more, nobody told me about the harpies and I thought convincing Rolan to stay would mean the Grove not the Shadow Cursed Lands - also why send refugees who struggle with goblins through the SHADOW CURSED LANDS?) and 90% of the Ironhand Gnomes because fuck Wulbren - I didn't like Barcus too much at first, thought him rude, but when Wulbren didn't even show gratitude for his attempts I softened to him. Kindness made me quite the enemy to others however; the infernal naturally did not appreciate my deeds of pact breaking but saving the Duke anyway and pilfering the House of Hope, but to be fair Raphael (and his clear portrait of himself I clocked onto immediately when he was in his human guise to know he was untrustworthy) never repaid me in-game for 'killing' Yurgir, and Mizora would've squirmed a lot more in her Ilithid pod had it been a table interaction - though, the latter two were more than willing to help me with the Absolute, 'cept Raphael because he's dead - but in my defence I loved outwitting and being a sassy little shit to demons. Slaying the Chosen was a given, as a very Pro-Karlach guy I was never letting Gortash live, got the Father/Grandfather-Daughter set with Bhaal too. Killing the former Balduran was disappointing; as much as he was on my side he always felt like he had his own ulterior motives, he also had a superiority complex to him with his constant urging of being half-Ilithid; thinks it's not important that he's Balduran either, dismissing Ansur's legend until confronted by Ansur's spirit. Stealing the Orphic Hammer was an insurance policy at first, I could understand Voss' disdain for us using Githyanki Jesus in a box like a forcefield, but it's a shame that the guy who was all about trust decided not to trust me in releasing Orpheus; we could've stopped the brain together! Omeluum would've heard me out. I mean Orpheus was a bit salty but he at least was willing to negotiate and not immediately side back with the brain like a petty bitch. I'd say the gods have mixed feelings with me; friendly with Selune and Lathander at least, and whatever Withers is - though the guy roasted me about my love life. The rest either neutral or anti; Shar and Vlaakith (if you can call her a god) definitely hate me, because they're sore losers, think Myrkul and Bhaal likely hate me, Bane however seemed to respect game not sure how I feel about that. I don't quite like Mystra, think she's a bit extreme with her treatment of Gale, but I understand her role, valid god but shitty person. On the other hand I probably have Cyric's favour for helping the Strange Ox, which might be bad...but Milil was happy to be recognized.

In the end, most of the allies got to live somewhat happily; Gale got the orb out of him and became a professor, Lae'zel - having dealt the final blow to the brain - leads the charge against Vlaakith after Orpheus became a Mind Flayer and was mercy killed, Shadowheart has her family (Shar would've always been with her regardless of her choice), a bunch of pets and can maybe reminisce with Nocturne again one day, Jaheira and Minsc - once he survives Zhentharim execution, didn't realise I needed to have him talk to Nine Fingers - also can rest with her wards and probably share drinks with Nine Fingers until the next fight, Astarion sadly has no cure for vampirism but he is owning it and killing the right people (I like to think he'll get to see the sun again, maybe Omeluum and the Mycolids help), plus Halsin has a bunch of kids in Moonrise to look after, plus Thaniel, Oliver and a new Owlbear who I'd rather had left with Dammon given the option. Isobel and Aylin can settle down, Rolan runs the Sundries, Hope is free, Alfira and Lakrissa got their bard's school, Florrick and Ravengard resume leadership to rebuild, Dammon has his forge, Scratch found a new home in this Mindy (but I remain best master), Mol I'm sure will be running the Guildhall in a few years, Thrumbo has a shelter for his brothers, Mayrina will raise her son without the threat of a hag, Vanra won't become a hag (but does need therapy), and Arabella will probably be the next Withers after reading some more rocks. Yenna didn't seem to have an ending so I'll assume that she found a loving home too, maybe with Halsin or as one of Jaheira's wards, or maybe Gale wants a Sous Chef since she did bring her own carving knife if you didn't know. I wish Alfira got invited to the epilogue, god of song is fine but not the familiar face and it would've been cool for them to meet, nice to get a letter at least, and we'll have to visit Art's grave sometime. Surprised we got no word about Mizora, I didn't get a letter from Geraldus even though he survived, Naaber apparently had more in him after wanting to be a dog, sad not to get anything from Rolan, Devella (I know Valeria mentioned her but c'mon), the Gondians, Mol, Omeluum, or Aylin and Isobel from the epilogue, did we really need the ramblings of Ettvard? Plus the papers must've glitched they said Stelmane's killer was still at large? Post-credits scene felt a bit weak mind you, but guessing Withers is that old God of Death Jerghal? Least he's not a surprise villain to fight. As for me, well, I was never one to give up on people and neither is Dec, and thus Dec and Karlach brave Avernus to seek a fix for her infernal engine, punch a few demons and whatnot, Wyll is there too as the Blade of Avernus, a role he embraced twice after barely contributing to killing Ansur but that's more proximity. We'll chill in the House of Hope especially after her letter, but soon enough we'll all return to Faerun on a more permanent basis.

So you enjoyed it? Yes, very much. I did of course make a lot of mistakes though; kept forgetting about Dread Ambusher for one, my earlier failures at romance still stung, I think the game wasn't as welcoming to those unfamiliar to it. The dice did not like me many times, I once got a Nat 1 in a 2 DC with +2 bonus, I also have had several instances of back-to-back Nat 1s, even had 6 in two different streams. Combat was an adjustment period, I missed a lot of the time which was frustrating, or the enemy would make saving throws on my gambits, Karlach even got pushed into the abyss at the Temple of Bhaal, I was livid. I think I probably would've experienced more if the game established better that you can long rest as much as you like without turning into a Mind Flayer, because much of Act 1 was me reluctant to Long Rest because they say you can change 'within 2-3 days', as a result that affected some romance options too, nobody to spend the night with if there's no night, as well as other in-camp interactions - Astarion never tried to bite me for instance, and I'm sure Raphael would've arrived to reward me for killing Yurgir had we not dealt with a backlog of interactions. I remained quite the hesitant player too, I ignored Gale stuck in a portal for a while fearing some magical backlash was gonna vaporize me, oftentimes I expected worse than what actually happened. Graphically there were a few characters whose cheeks were being pulled to the far left side of the map which was weird, and some battles would have enemies who would just do nothing for their turns, and some areas didn't render quick enough to not be noticed, but it was small stuff in comparison, I didn't do much for camp clothes or dyes until late on but probably for the better since style should be for the final act. I also keep seeing stuff that I somehow missed in my playthrough; like there's an angry squirrel near the grove? A frog in Ethel's house? A bird who wanted help with the giant eagles? What? Where?

What was the most difficult part? Act 3 had a lot of tough shit going down, though one of my most memorable struggles was against Auntie Ethel in Act 1. Already deep in her domain at lv4 it was a rough run to start with, continually hit by Hold Person by her projections, only when I learned they were one-hits did it become a little easier, but without Extra Attack it was still difficult. After that combat was here and there, sometimes it was just the environment like being jammed in a pipe when fighting Minsc; Lorroakan was annoying, Grym I had to be tactical with the hammer, the Assassin at the Facemaker was quite difficult too because he'd Haste himself and hide. The Death Shepherds in the Mountain Pass were surprisingly difficult without the Blood of Lathander, much easier with its Sunbeam. The companion quest final battles of Cazador, Ansur and Viconia were each difficult in their own way; the former was most annoying because my party would be downed but the thrown healing potions weren't working (plus those downed members were the ones with Radiant damage and holy water), wasn't even Bone Chilled like with Viconia, Ansur was difficult because of his burst attack. Raphael hits fucking hard, but once I realised that Hope kept dying because she was getting backlash from dealing Radiant Damage it was just attrition and lots of potion throwing. Combat-wise I think the toughest battle was Cazador due to the glitch of thrown potions not healing, otherwise the toughest boss was Ansur. Overall the most difficult experience I found was the timed operations of the Iron Throne.

Will you play again? Most likely, which is something I don't tend to say so Larian did do their job well. Though I might wait a bit to play other games first and give Larian time to add more content and finer polishing, I think I'd have a better time with it the second time around, would definitely try to resolve previous wrongs or missed opportunities, though I doubt I'd look forward to everything there; killing the Goblin Camp was still difficult work, same with the Steel Watch and all the turn limit stuff, I'll at least wait until I have Extra Attack before dealing with Ethel in Act 1 and take more Long Rests, maybe rotate the party a bit more and try out some other classes - but you will pry Speak with Animals out of my cold dead hands! Learning later about there being a bunch of cut content would entice me to play a third time if they reach a stage where all the intended content has been added in, but there's not exactly a time frame for that or a clear show of intent so far, so we'll see in that one, for all that is cut it seems like the end product is the tip of the iceberg. Enjoyed the play, played for a long time, would play again: money well spent.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #larian studios #karlach #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #jaheira #minsc and boo #minsc #halsin #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 tav #bg3 withers #it wouldn't have killed larian to give us more dice skins too just sayin'#but I loved that they added little messages in the credits

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topbanana-art · 7 months

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Finally making an OC info post- by no means is this all of them, just ones that are most active and/or live in my head rent free.

First up- Rhys (DnD 5e - Rime of the Frostmaiden)

20 years Old, Half Orc, Half Elf (sweet baby angel) , He/Him

Fighter- Echo Knight

Absolute Ray of Sunshine; Rhys is from Icewind Dale; more specifically the Nomadic Reghed Tribe of the Elk.

He's unfamiliar with the outside world and even includes settlements in his own country

He's a Himbo basically a big dog.

This campaign lead him to leaving his tribe for the first time after an unfortunate accident which turned him into a small 'painted child' and searching for his missing sister. (both these are sorted now!)

*Rhys found an old oil painting of this child, blacked out and next thing he knew he was that small elf child. Her skin and clothing having the texture of painted canvas, and bleeds paint.

For a good chunk of the campaign he was just a totally normal elf- whose shadow didn't match with the body

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Dhalas (DnD 5e Annalor)

36 Years Old, They/Him, Triton

Drunken Master Monk

Chill surfer dude vibes

Part of a travelling circus, They're a balancing act

Extremely laid back, Dhalas talks like they fight- dancing around, seemingly without rhyme or reason and occasionally clumsy.

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Foxglove (BG3)

138 Years old (tweaked her age a lil), She/They, Drow

Arcane Trickster Rogue

Guild Artisan Background- Locksmith & Apprentice Finesmith

Chill and sassy, that Tav who talks their way out of shit.

Skews Towards Chaotic Good

Presents Androgynous most of the time

Must lockpick everything- she's not actually super interested what's inside, she just wants to see the workmanship of the locks and trashtalk how bad they are.

Yeah she's smooching the vampire. (and Halsin)

Naturally cares for others, even at the cost of her own wellbeing.

Has a Phobia of anything touching/going near her eyes- so the start of the game is A Time for Fox.

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Arslan Dhoro (FFXIV)

21 Years Old (as of ARR), He/Them

Xaela AuRa

Dragoon - White Mage Main (All healer classes tbh)

Stoic, Resting Angry Face Himbo

He struggles to show emotion but he's just pretty shy and cautious about opening up to others.

From the Azim Steppe, he left in his early teens with his father after the death of his mother, to explore the world beyond the Steppe.

His Father Died in his late teens, attacked in Coerthas thinking he and Arslan were Dravanians.

He's extremely soft and protective for the Scions/his friends

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Shiv (DnD 5e Saltmarsh- campaign completed)

Awful, terrible lesbian

68 years old, She/Her, Halfling

Celestial Warlock - Unicorn Patron w/ a Baby Phoenix familiar, Toby

A piece of shit. Is an absolute asshole and wont let you know she cares.

Lowkey magical girl

Ex-smuggler, who's patron is literally 'I can fix her', 'she can be a better person'. Part of the 'Beyond Skeletons' Pirate crew, she's the medic of the crew.

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Pymmyr Tathnel (DnD 5e)

Pym

85 Years Old, He/They, Drow

Gloomstalker Ranger

Emotional Support Blink Dog, Princess Liquorice

This boy is scared all the time

Doesn't talk much, but speaks in a soft voice

Has disordered 'Sleeping' and Eating :)

His plague mask has tinted lenses to help ease the strain with how bright the surface is

I wont tell too much about them as a lot of their info is spoilers to other players. But this sad Drow just rocks up in my head on the regular.

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Erebus (Anima Beyond Fantasy)

AKA- My first TTRPG character! circa 2011-2 I think???

Real name Sho Yoshimitsu

22 Years Old, He/Him

Duk'Zarist Nephilim

Assassin

Textbook 'strong silent and intimidating hot man'

But basically a big soft boy if you break past the mile thick ice

Tragic backstory™ , used to using his body for the job

He really enjoys cooking!

Also hopelessly in love with a small soft summoner, Caelum (the one hugging him), They're RedxBlue gays

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I think I'll leave it there for now!

I may add more later, I hope it was interesting?? and I'm still pretty shy with yelling this much about my characters haha.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! 💜

#gees ocs #oc info #oc art #my ocs #bg3 tav #ffxiv warrior of light #dnd character #sketchbook #my characters #art

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musical-shit-show · 1 year

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hi, I love the way you write dewey finn so much!! may I request #18 from prompt list 2 and/or “you are terrible at this.” from prompt list 3 for him please?

close enough to touch

Pairing: Dewey Finn x Reader

Inspiration: #18 (“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyways.”) from Prompt List 2 and #36 (“you are terrible at this.”) from Prompt List 3, requested by anon

Warnings: Awkward flirting, fluff

Word Count: 2,370

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long, anon! I was really struggling with this one but I hope you like it! I’ve been meaning to write some post-School of Rock Dewey, and if people like this I wouldn’t mind doing another teacher!Reader one shot. So please let me know if this is something y’all like in the comments and reblogs! Also, check out my Masterlist, Prompt Lists, and About Me page, and submit an ask! It might take me a little bit longer with some requests but I promise to always make those my priority. I’m also working on my Beetlejuice series (to fill the void of course) so hopefully there will be more chapters of that coming soon. Thanks to everyone who’s supported my writing so far and enjoy!

“Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you again.”

“Who?”

“The music tutor.”

You decided to not look up from your coffee mug, the creamer you had just poured swirling slowly. It was the end of your second week at Horace Green, and Mrs. White had quickly taken you under her wing.

The teacher’s lounge was buzzing with activity, since the second Friday of every month meant free pastries from the local artisanal bakery. Apparently incentivizing the molders of young minds with sugar and fat never failed.

You placed an almond croissant on your plate, trying your best to stay discreet, “What’s his name again? Danny?”

Mrs. White laughed lightly, “Dewey,” she said with the smallest hint of disdain, “He’s the one I was telling you about last week. The one who impersonated a substitute last semester.”

Your jaw fell open slightly, and you decided to get another look of this guy. Turning from the spread of baked goods, your eyes wandered over to the other side of the room, where you saw the culprit averting his gaze from your direction.

He was, in a word, unkempt. His clothes were mismatched and ill-fitting; the button-down shirt hiding under his loud sweater vest was about half a size too large, and his dark jeans looked half a size too small. Most of the male teachers at Horace Green typically wore sport jackets and khakis, or at least a tie. Clearly Dewey didn’t get the memo.

His hair was also rumpled, dark brown and wavy and spurting in all different directions. You guessed he had rolled out of bed without running a brush through that mess, let alone even looked in the mirror.

You also noticed a significant amount of stubble growing on his round face, finishing off the whole scruffy vibe he had clearly committed to. He was almost…cute. His eyes were the same color as your coffee, deep brown with a touch of lightness.

“Not to state the obvious, but isn’t that a crime?” you murmured, trying to be discreet as you gossiped with your co-worker.

She answered with an eyeroll. “Of course it is,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She took it black, two sugars. “But Rosalie—Ms. Mullins—decided to not press charges and hired him instead. Caused quite an uproar, but the students love him, so…”

You peered at him again curiously. Dewey was had just finished scribbling something in his notebook, breathing a heavy sigh as he slouched back into the plastic chair.

“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you,” Mrs. White warned, clearly noticing your interest in him, “From what I’ve heard, he’s nothing but trouble.”

You nodded. “Believe me,” you lied, “I know when to stay away.”

~oOo~

A sigh of relief left your chest the second the final bell rang at 3:15 that day. Teaching 10 and 11-year-olds how to structure essays all day really drained you, no matter how polite and well-behaved they were.

You gathered your belongings quickly and were walking briskly to your car when you heard your name being called behind you. You turned to see Dewey, and you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows. He was carrying what looked like stacks of sheet music.

One misstep and he’d be picking up papers until sundown.

“Uh, hi,” he said as he caught up to you, the cold January air making his breath visible. He attempted to extend his arm for a handshake, but retracted when the heaps of music in his one arm began to falter. “I’m uh, I’m Dewey. Or ‘Mr. Finn’ as the kids say, but you can call me Dewey.”

Looking at him more closely, you decided he was even cuter than you first thought. With Mrs. White’s warning ringing in your ear, a part of you wanted to turn the other way, tell him you were in a hurry to get home, make up some excuse to not get involved.

But it was clear he was interested in you, and you’d be lying if you weren’t at least a little intrigued. And besides, it’d be rude to not at least introduce yourself, right?

“Hi, Dewey,” you parroted, giving him another once over. “I see you already know my name.” He was already flushed from the cold, but his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, well, I got it from the staff directory. Just…wanted to introduce myself. I teach the kids music after school most days.”

“I know who you are,” the statement came out colder than you intended, “I did see you this morning, do you make a habit of hanging out in the teacher’s lounge?”

He gulped. “No,” he answered, “No, I just…I had a meeting with Rosalie this morning about the spring concert.”

Pure enough excuse. However, Mrs. White had also let it slip that he and Ms. Mullins apparently had a fling a few months prior, which only intrigued you more. What was so special about this guy that he could avoid a criminal trial for identity theft and date his boss in one fell swoop?

“I see,” you said coyly, trying to scrutinize him without being too obvious, “And are you and Rosalie…close?” If Dewey’s face was pink before, it had now turned to an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

“Oh, um, no,” he said, clearly flustered. “Nope. She’s a great…lady. And really cares about the kids. But…no. Not very close.” You nodded, completely unconvinced. You didn’t want to believe the gossip, but with a response like that, how could you not at least consider that it could be true?

Dewey shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his grip tightening on the sheet music. “We kissed,” he blurted, exhaling heavily, “Like, twice. She’s great but…I’m single. Very single.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his honesty. It was oddly refreshing. “Should I be taking that as some kind of hint?” you flirted, smiling softly. You couldn’t care less that your nose and fingertips were growing red from the cold.

“Only if you want,” he said, a shy smile dancing on his lips. Panic overtook his features only seconds later. “I mean, shit, not to be too forward or anything—”

“You know, you are terrible at this,” you said, cutting him off. Dewey flashed an embarrassed grin, letting out another breathy laugh, “How about I just give you my number and we just go from there?”

The two of you quickly exchanged digits and walked to your respective cars separately, unknowingly sharing excited smiles that lasted all the way home.

~oOo~

A few weeks later, you found yourself sticking up flyers for the School of Rock’s annual midwinter concert after the final bell had rung. Dewey had somehow roped you into posting the brightly colored papers on every corkboard, chalkboard, and section of blank wall space in the school.

“I thought you’d be headed home by now,” you heard Mrs. White call from down the hall. You jumped slightly, the haughty timbre in her voice surprising you.

Plastering on your most innocent smile, you turned to face your colleague. “I will be soon,” your voice was dripping with saccharine sweetness, “Just hanging these flyers and then I’m home free.”

She quirked an eyebrow, “Any big weekend plans?” You shook your head, turning back to the wall where you stuck up another flyer. You hoped she would just walk past and be none the wiser.

Mrs. White approached you, skeptical. You were friends, sure, but she was old enough and smart enough to know when someone was hiding something.

And unfortunately for you, as soon as she caught a glimpse of exactly which flyers you were hanging up, it all clicked.

“I thought I made it very clear that Mr. Finn was nothing but trouble,” she said, sounding eerily like a disapproving mother. Despite your heartrate increasing rapidly, you remained calm.

An incredulous scoff left your lips as you placed your free hand on your chest, “Mrs. White,” she rolled her eyes at you using her surname, “I was simply assisting another educator in promoting a fundraiser for this school that seeks to promote the arts and enrich our students’ lives.”

“Did you rehearse that?”

“A little. But I mean it, Mr. Finn has been nothing but professional. We’ve barely even spoken outside of planning the concert.”

That was a lie, of course. The truth was, ever since you and Dewey had exchanged information, you had texted and called and even met up a few times outside of school. Of course, they couldn’t exactly be called dates—at least that’s what you told yourself.

He seemed nervous around you at first, sure, but as soon as you got to know him, that faded away and you were left with a carefree, albeit scatterbrained work buddy. And despite the occasional flirt, it was clear that he wasn’t as interested in you as you first thought.

Which only crushed you the tiniest bit.

Mrs. White glanced at the colorful flyer again, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Well, of course I’ll be there to support our students’ artistic endeavors,” she said, a small smirk on her lips, “But don’t think I still don’t have my eye on you.”

You could tell she wasn’t being completely serious, but a small shiver of fear still wracked your spine as she walked towards the exit, the click clack of her pumps echoing on the linoleum tile.

You called goodbye sweetly, playing your role as nothing more than a helpful new teacher who was just excited about music education. Stapling up the last piece of paper onto a mostly bare bulletin board, you couldn’t help but overhear the noise of excited chatter coming from the music room down the hall.

The door was closed, but you managed to sneak a peek through the tiny window to see Dewey chatting with the bassist, who was about the same size as her as instrument. You felt a grin creeping onto your face.

Dewey’s passion for music came out the most when teaching the kids; even after watching him play a gig at the Roadhouse, you never saw his eyes light up more than when he was in that practice room.

You turned away and took a few steps toward the exit when you heard the door creak open, the chatter growing louder before muffling again. “Are you spying on me or something? You’re already getting into the concert for free, ya know.”

Dewey’s voice was more hoarse than usual, the gruffness making your stomach flip. “Not spying,” you teased, glancing over at the bulletin board, “Just doing your job for you.”

He clutched his heart dramatically, “You wound me,” he smirked, “But seriously, thanks for doing this. Hopefully we can drum up some more buzz.” You waved off his praise.

“No trouble. Consider us even since you had to suffer through listening to me babble on for way too long last night.” You two had made a habit of call each other late at night, which only confused your feelings even further. Your brain couldn’t decide if you were just co-workers, friends, or something more.

Apparently, Dewey couldn’t decide either.

“It’s okay,” he replied, running a hand through his messy waves, “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” He bared a toothy smile, wiping his palms on his dark jeans. His casual remark was innocent enough but still found a way to make your heart ache.

You decided the best course of action was to turn the attention away from yourself. “Well, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with attendance,” you said, referencing the brightly colored flyer again, “From what I hear your kids are incredible.”

He beamed like a proud parent. “Yeah, yeah they are,” he said, “And thank you for spreading the word. Some teachers around here still aren’t too keen on me, after, well…everything.”

You felt yourself frown, your mind flashing to Mrs. White’s warnings. From what you could see, everyone had misjudged Dewey. He was kind, passionate, albeit far less put together than the other Horace Green staff, but he loved teaching and he loved those kids.

Wasn’t that enough to take a chance on?

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Well, I did have big plans with my couch and a shitty movie, but—”

“You and me. Tonight. Roadhouse.”

“Okay?” he laughed, taken aback by your abruptness.

“And this is a real date, Finn,” you added. “No take backs.” A look of panic flashed across his face, and for a split second you wondered if you had made a terrible miscalculation. But how could you not take matters into your own hands after his weeks of mixed signals?

Before you could open your mouth to apologize profusely for stepping way over that friendship line, Dewey grabbed your arm lightly, pulling the two of you around the corner and away from the only occupied classroom on a Friday afternoon.

And he kissed you.

Softly at first, so gently that you felt yourself melting into the cold painted cinderblock wall as he grabbed your waist. Prep schools weren’t designed to be the most romantic of places, but perhaps that was for the best.

Nevertheless, you let your eyes flutter shut as your lips molded to Dewey’s, your breath hitching in your throat. After a few seconds he pulled away, a shocked look on his face that surely mirrored yours.

“Sorry,” he muttered, a smirk creeping its way onto his mouth, “Surprised myself with that little stunt, huh?” You nodded as he peeled himself away from you. You instinctively checked your surroundings, but you were alone.

“Dewey, are you insane—”

You wanted to be angry with him for risking both of your jobs, but the fluttering in your heart was overwhelming. One thing was for certain, there was no mistaking that signal.

“I just, I couldn’t wait until tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “But yes. I’ll see you tonight. No take backs.”

You smiled as he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, and watched as he happily sprinted back to his students.

*****

thanks for reading! please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed!

read part 2 here!

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

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That special something: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader (a fluffy, cute Christmas story!)

A/n: wrote this quickly on Xmas morning while everyone else in the house was still asleep! If you want some romantic, cute, Hallmark movie Santi vibes this Xmas, this is my present to you! Just a quick one (and I’ll come back and proof later as I’m sure it will be needed!)! Merry Christmas lovelies, ILYSM! 🧡

Gif: @fernandabarrera

Rating: general audiences (but my blog is 18+ minors DNI)

Warnings: alcohol mentions.

The last minute rush of Christmas Eve panic-buyers has finally died down, the shelves of your cosy little artisan store almost emptied of goods.

After an exhausting day of supporting frazzled shoppers to secure the perfect purchases, you are now mentally slipping into festive mode. You’re polishing off a glass of the mulled wine you’d been handing out to customers, humming along to the lilting Christmas tunes as you finish cashing-up, and you even imagine you’ll be able to close-up on schedule until-

-The bell above the door tinkles once more, indicating a new arrival. You have to suppress an audible groan as you turn towards the noise, but you plaster on your game face. You can do this. Just one more customer.

“Merry Christmas Eve! Let me know if I can help you to find that special something,” you recite, the words spilling out on a weary auto-pilot. Your words, however, falter as you turn towards the man who has just stepped inside.

For a moment, you imagine that you might have finally fallen asleep on your feet, or perhaps slumped over the counter. This patron is handsome enough that you could believe you have slipped into a Hallmark-inspired dream.

Your eyes travel down the length of him, and back up again. Sturdy black, lace-up combat boots adorn his feet, leading up to a pair of fitted blue jeans, denim pulling taut around his ample thighs. He’s bundled up in a grey wool coat and midnight blue scarf, looking deliciously cosy, melting flakes of snow adorning his shoulders. And then, there’s his entire head and face area to enjoy.

Damn.

He’s certainly handsome.

His every feature (lips, nose, eyes, brows, cheekbones) is stand-out, yet somehow still harmonious. His brown skin is decorated with a layer of greying scruff along that mighty Disney-Prince jaw. His head is adorned with silvered curls -as perfectly swirled and placed as the ribbons you’ve been gift-wrapping with today- which have been dusted with a sprinkling of snowflakes.

You smile, and as he returns it and the creases radiate out from around his eyes you wonder if winter has suddenly passed and it is spring already, for a flutter of warmth dances in your belly.

As he turns, clasping the door shut behind him to preserve the heat, you first of all plant your hands firmly on the surface of your counter, squeezing the edge. Second of all, you spot the sizeable backpack he has slung over his shoulders. He’s likely fresh from the airport you reckon, just in time for Christmas. A squashy neck pillow is clipped to his bag, and the size of it is more substantial than a day-pack. You wonder idly who he’s visiting for the season.

As he turns back towards the interior, his dark, chestnut eyes do a sweep of you, and then of the stock. He runs a hand over his scruff before taking a few steps inside, his large pack now looking like a hazard as he meanders through the walkways between the precarious displays.

“Would you like to set that down by the counter?”

He lifts his eyebrows and pops his AirPods from his ears. “Sorry, I…”

You try to repeat the question, but with his warm eyes directly on you it takes a moment to push the words out. “Would you like to set your bag down? While you browse?”

He flutters his eyelashes at you while he thinks, and your middle turns to honey.

“Thanks. Been a hell of a trip.” You idly wonder where he’s travelled from. His weariness makes you suspect a little further than a quick hop. You watch the man puff as he emancipates himself from his pack, setting it down at the foot of the counter. You see the glimpse of a jaunty, roll-neck Christmas jumper as he unfurls his scarf too, setting that down as well as the warmth of your store envelops him.

He smiles and nods at you as he commences his browse around your display stands and shelves, scanning every inch of your store. Pausing sometimes in front of some items and rocking foot to foot as he ponders. Picking up little trinkets and items and turning them over contemplatively in his broad hands. Replacing each carefully and stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets -pulling them tight over his rump- as his face scrunches in deep consideration, lips coming to a pout and brows knitting.

Watching him, you find yourself suddenly and entirely ambivalent to the fact you’d just been about to shut up shop; despite having promised yourself yourself only moments before his arrival that you were out of here. Still, you suppose you do have places to be tonight. Stunning as he is, you feel you should probably make some attempt to expedite his purchasing.

Doing your non-intrusive shopkeeper walk, you emerge from behind the counter and round to the door, subtly flipping your sign to “closed” for good measure. Then, you round towards the man, stepping up beside him, your hands clasped neatly in front of you. “Can I help you find that special something?”

He turns. Smiles at you. Points up with his index finger, his eyebrows jumping towards his hairline. “That’s the name of the shop.” You enjoy the gravel in his voice, rough and thawing like gritted sidewalks.

It is. Special somethings.

This close, you notice that his cheeks and the tip of his nose are ruddy from the cold. You notice the subtle dusting of freckles on his nose too. Your face feels suddenly warm. “It is. So can I help you find anything special? Is there someone specific you’re shopping for?”

He rocks from foot to foot again. Saws his hand back and forth over his stubble and you hear it bristle. The sound sends a hum of electricity which beds down under your skin. “I was supposed to pick something up before I left Colombia.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t know what to bring them.”

Parents? Friends? Spouse and/or children?

Is it unprofessional to be willing so hard that he be single?

You smile softly as his eyes flick back to pore over the shelves. He seems on edge. Whoever he is visiting for the holidays, it must be a big deal.

“I can help with that,” you soothe. “We can find something perfect.”

He runs a nervous hand through his curls, displacing them into something even more wonderful. He emits a one-noted laugh, offering you a lazy flash of teeth. “Bottle of tequila’s not going to cut it this time. My buddy…” You can’t help but note the affection he imbues those words with. “He and his wife have invited me over to their place. For Christmas.” He pumps his eyebrows, as if he can’t quite comprehend their gesture.

You make your eyes wide, showing that you are listening. It’s not hard - in truth, you are rapt.

“Okay,” you nod. “We can work with that.” You look hastily around the low-stocked shelves. “A classic gift to ease along their Christmas, and show your gratitude, right?”

He huffs air out from between those kissable lips. “More like a ‘sorry for being here’ kinda thing.” He laughs but it is a terse, self-deprecating sound. “Got anything for that?”

You start to walk in a direction and with your hand you wave him along with you. He follows. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you!” You know you’re certainly delighted to see him. There’s a lot to look at. “Now, what about this?” You pass the item into his hands, your fingers brushing his, and he turns it over in his palms like he had all the others.

“I dunno,” he sighs. “This is great but I…” He chews on his lip, and you wait patiently for him to finish his sentence. “I’ve been away a long time. And I haven’t been the best at… I haven’t really been… He’s my best friend, you know, and I…”

You don’t know, because he’s not finishing any of his sentences, but at the same time; you get it. You can fill in some of the blanks. His buddy means a lot to him. He’s been away for a while, and now he feels like he’s at a deficit. That he has something to make up for. That he doesn’t fully deserve his friend’s freely offered invitation to spend their special day with them.

“Okay,” you reassure softly, slipping the item from his hands and placing it haphazardly back on the shelf. “We can keep trying.”

You hover a hand around his elbow, and lead him over towards the next stand you have in mind, following the same routine. You pass a series of objects to him and he turns them over and around; but not a single one seems to spark anything. Not a single item seems good enough. Nothing, to him, feels adequate enough to gift to this man who clearly means a lot to him. Nothing seems adequate to make up for the gesture he sees as far too generous. That he sees as an intrusion.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, upon seeing you surreptitiously checking the clock on the wall. “Shit, look at me. It’s Christmas Eve. You probably have somewhere to be. I’m such as ass.” He’s been unconsciously stalling, you think. He’s nervous about going to his buddy’s house. And, truth be told, if your store can provide him a temporary haven, then you are more than content to be a little late in catching-up with your friends tonight.

Feeling bold, you place your hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. I’ve got the perfect thing.”

His eyes settle on you for a moment as you lean in, your voice warm and smooth and enticing like a mug of hot chocolate. His gaze flits gently over your face. “For real?” You quash the vague urge to bite his sizeable earlobe.

“Yeah!” You enthuse, an excited smile spreading over your face. “Come here. Over to the counter.”

You skip over there, your mellow shopkeeper walk forgotten, and you grab something up from the counter, waiting for him to cross to you.

The man obediently stands in front of you, clearly intrigued by the gleeful, slightly mischievous expression on your face.

Then, once he’s stood still, you produce a large, shiny Christmas bow from behind your back, the backing already peeled off to expose the adhesive. Next, with a flourish, you stick it ceremoniously on to his coat, patting it down firmly to affix it to the right side of his chest.

He compresses his chin into his chest to peer down at it, a surprised smile crinkling his nose. “What’s this?”

“It’s you.” Your eyes shine brightly as you explain. “You are the perfect special something to take to your friend’s house.”

His warm eyes search yours, his doubtful tongue darting along his lower lip.

With careful fingers, you fluff out the shiny, elaborate bow, making it perfect. “Really,” you insist. “You clearly have so much love for your friend. And, I’d guess, from the fact you’re invited to share their special day with them, that you mean just as much to them too.” On instinct, you reach up to smooth the lapels of his coat with your palms. “I don’t care how long it’s been since you saw them. You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing you can arrive with is going to be a better present than you being there with them - allll the way from Colombia- just like they wanted.”

His eyes grow misty with a depth of feeling. His lips hover between round shapes of stunned silence and curved watery smiles. His gaze flits all over your face again, until he is finally overcome by a 100-watt smile. “Alright. Then how much for the fancy bow?” He taps it proudly with his index finger.

“Free of charge,” you smile, batting your lashes at him.

“That’s a terrible business model.”

You release a bright laugh. “Silly! I’m just trying to get you out of my shop.” You nod towards the sign on the door. “Don’t you know we’re closed?”

His eyes sparkle as he receives your joke, and you cling on to the sweet, eddying feeling his smile inspires. You each linger there a moment more, until the man finally nods, sweeping up his pack from the floor and replacing it on his back, careful not to disturb the new shiny ornament adorning his chest. “I’d better get going then,” he revs softly, and -you think- as reluctant as you are to part ways. Stalling now for an entirely different reason.

It is as much as you can do to nod, smile fondly, and fold your arms around your middle.

“You, uh, got some nice plans for Christmas?” he asks as you walk him towards the door, dragging out the moment as far as is humanly possible.

“Yeah,” you tilt your head from side to side. “Spending it with my friend Frankie, his wife Ava and their kid. Think they took pity on me.”

Your patron looks at you very curiously then, a wild sparkle of delight dancing in his beautiful warm eyes. “Huh. Frankie sounds a lot like my buddy. The type to take in strays at Christmas.”

“Something like that,” you smile, then, to your surprise, your patron leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss, the tip of his nose still cold as he sinks it into the soft cushion of your face.

A giddy delight rises in your stomach. It is something like butterflies; spring already in the depths of mid-winter. Then, your customer grins. “I’ve a feeling I’ll be seeing you again,” he ventures.

“I hope so,” you bravely venture back as he steps out into the cold, snowflakes once again dusting him, like icing sugar all over a delightful snack.

“And hey,” the man says before he turns from you to plod along the street. “Thank you.” You look at him quizzically. What for? He looks you up and down once more, drinking you in like a measure of warming mulled alcohol. “For helping me find something special, just in time for Christmas.”

You heart thuds wildly as you watch him walk away, his words laced with a subtle double-meaning.

You close up the shop, pleased that you stuck around to serve that one last customer. He didn’t buy anything, but he might just be the best gift you’ve had all year.

You giggle to yourself as you pull the shutter.

Makes perfect sense that you stuck a bow on him, you think.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #Oscar Isaac #triple frontier

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commajade · 10 months

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i had a korean friend (living in korea, not korean-american) who told me once that he thought korean people felt a kinship toward black americans because of their history of being continuously exploited (on the korean side he meant by china/japan/the US). obviously i took that with a grain of salt because i'm not ignorant of korea's relationship to antiblackness but i still think about it a lot.

i think an important distinction needs to be made here in which the people of korea, the people of the korean peninsula, the people of joseon, are an ethnically homogenous civilization with a shared national identity of 500 years under the kingdom of joseon and shared cultural history of 5000 years. the koreans who are able to enact material and ideological antiblackness right now are the ones benefitting from the US neocolony that is the republic of korea and the ones that are diasporic (especially in the imperial core). the dprk has historically been aligned with the ongoing political struggle of black people in the US and the black panther party frequently published the writings of kim il sung.

here's a document from the dprk about US antiblackness and the oppression of the black panther party around 1970.

and if you see here, it's simply on a basis of morality and moral political ideology that the korean people stand with black people in the US, there doesn't have to be emotional commonalities. it is simply political and moral necessity to speak up about our support. we are being oppressed by the same regime of US empire and global white supremacy and racial capitalism, it is of the utmost importance to stand in solidarity with other people in struggle.

it's also very cool to see this kind of document. "trenchantly flaying the US imperialists for their occupation of South Korea" goes sooo hard. the US is indeed "the chieftan of world imperialism, the ringleader of world reaction and the common enemy of the world people." the dprk's political morals are a really refreshing reminder that korean people do not all have the same relationship to global hegemony and there have always been korean people who are against empire and struggling for liberation.

and what you're actually talking about here is about the empathetic resonances between the political struggles of black people and korean people, which do exist. they are there and it's important to feel them to begin any kind of political work as a korean person, though politics should not be based around anecdotal and emotional resonances only. korea was known as the shrimp between 2 whales between china and japan for 5000 years and china's word for korean people is eastern barbarians. many artistic, technological, and cultural innovations credited to china and japan are actually korean. china and japan would kidnap hundreds of artisans and scholars every time korean people invented something they wanted and usually the korean kingdom (unified silla, joseon, etc) was a vassal to china or economically beholden to japan so they couldn't stop it. even cherry blossom trees that are the japanese national symbol were first taken from the silla kingdom. and then planted all over joseon during japanese occupation hundreds of years later to show that joseon now belongs to japan. the constant cycles of theft, labor exploitation, disrespect, and humiliation are present in both peoples for sure. and korea spent decades freeing ourselves from japanese colonization and succeeded, only to be overtaken by US military occupation 3 days later. and then divided in half and made to be in perpetual war with our other half.

there are resonances with black people's constant struggle against institutional, ideological, and cutlural violence that seems to be never ending because of the strength of the US empire and global antiblackness. but both of our people can and will be freed, and the empire is decaying as we speak. we both have a lot of our people working for the colonizer's side but that can shift as well. i believe it. we have the same enemy and we outnumber them, we have been struggling for liberation and will one day succeed.

the important distinction here as well is that black people have singularly been exploited in the form of chattel slavery and the ideological work of whiteness to justify chattel slavery is the racial formation of the entire world. the entire world operates on an economic and ideological system of antiblackness.

i think every korean person coming to terms with the truth of the world needs to necessarily do massive amounts of academic and internal and physical work to come to terms with global antiblackness and our part in it, to redistribute any resources we have and support black people's vital struggle against empire. that is the first step to actual material solidarity, korean people have to make those changes within themselves and their lives first. like to even be able to relate to black people normally without the distortion of global narratives about blackness is going to require a lot of work. restructuring the way you and relate to the world and changing how you move in the material world as a result of that political realignment is deeply necessary for undoing the antiblackness embedded in everyone.

#asks #korean history #dprk #long post

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bullet-prooflove · 6 months

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The Scola Wedding: Stuart Scola x Reader

Tagging: @trublu2u @greenies-green @burningpeachpuppy @upsteadlogic @malindacath @yezzyyae @noxytopy @kmc1989

Companion piece to Tonight

Stuart pulls out all the stops.

That’s the benefit of having money, it has a tendency to expedite things.

That’s something he has to talk to you about because you actually have no idea how wealthy the two of you are. He’d been planning to discuss it when it came to setting the budget but that had gone straight out of the window when you’d decided to move the wedding up.

When you leave for work that morning, he kisses you until your breathless, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“Leave it to me, I’ll take care of everything.” He whispers against your lips. You’d be happy to get married at the courthouse, but Stuart wants to make it special for you. He wants the romance, the magic, everything he feels when he’s with you. “I’ll text you where and when.”

It’s early afternoon when you get the message, you’re in the middle of completing your after-action report when your phone chimes with a message.

“Botanical Gardens, 7pm.”

You’re late.

During a raid, someone in one of the cover teams finds a batch of TATP that some idiot’s been cooking up in his bathroom, and due to the unstable nature of the explosive, you’re called on site to advise. It ends in a small explosion, nothing too dangerous but by the time you’re on route, there’s dirt smeared across your face and plaster in your hair.

You get changed in the back of your boss’s car, shrugging into the emerald, green dress that you wore the first night Stuart took you out dancing. There’s no time for hair and makeup, you tug the hair tie out and let it fall where it falls. It isn’t until you’re getting out of the car that you realise that you’ve forgotten your shoes. You end up walking down the aisle in green silk and black combat boots.

When you step onto the garden terrace where the ceremony is being held, the breath rushes out of you because the place is absolutely stunning. The sun is just setting as your feet hit the paving stones. The plush greenery offsets the strings of Edison bulbs that emit warm light across the courtyard. The flowers that decorate the aisle are all in fall colours, beautiful pops of red, orange and gold guiding the way.

Tiffany greets you as the music starts up presses an artisanal bouquet of flowers into your hand.

“Be good to him, ok?” She says quietly as she meets your gaze, and you smile because Stuart has no idea how lucky he is with his choice of partner.

“Always.” You promise.

When Stuart looks up and sees you, he can’t help but smile because you walking up the aisle in that dress and those combat boots, it’s exactly who you are and he wouldn’t change that for a minute. He doesn’t remember much about the ceremony, just the look in your eyes and that feeling in his chest as he recites his vows. In that moment it feels like everything is right in his world, like he’s in the exact place he’s meant to be. He hasn’t felt like that in a long time.

The party goes on long into the night, friends and family who couldn’t make it to the ceremony turn up to congratulate you. It’s a merging of your law enforcement families, the FBI and ATF.

You’re still on the dancefloor as the party begins to wind down, Stuart’s cheek pressed against your own as you sway together slowly.

There’s never been a moment more perfect than this.

It’s the best night of Stuart’s life.

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#Stuart scola #stuart scola x reader #stuart scola x you #scola #scola x reader #scola x you #fbi cbs

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lir-the-witches-art-cottage · 29 days

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Stardew oc Shenanigans!

Kirby Laffon used to be a fashion designer at Joja [fantastic job, with being allowed to use 5 specific ugly shades of blue, white and black]

He got that scar on his nose from a bat when he lived with his grandpa for a little while from the ages of 5-10! he's also scared of bats for this reason!

He's 6'4", makes artisanal soaps and artisanal teas and co-owns his farm with his best friend Jenori

Come catch me playing as him on twitch in the co-op game me and my friend have if you want to hear the chaos we get up to! :3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Want to support me? think about looking at: ko-fi I have commissions, memberships, adopts and more! Other socials? Linktree for all my other socials like my webcomic and twitch where I stream every day except Thursdays!

#oc #art #streamer #stardew valley #stardew valley alex #Kirby Laffon #farmer x alex #stardew oc #sdv farmer #stardew farmer #sdv oc

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vngndr · 7 months

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new pair of earrings in the shop this morning - these blue howlite points hang 1.75" and are 100% hypoallergenic and nickel free.

if you're in the US it's Black Friday, but much more importantly, today is the Indigenous Day of Mourning. we're in an especially turbulent time when it comes to indigenous rights across the world, so in lieu of holding a sale -

100% of all profits from all sales in my Etsy today, Friday 11/24, will be donated to the Native American Rights Fund.

additionally, 25% of all sales from 11/25 to 12/5 will be split evenly between the Native American Rights Fund and the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund.

please also considering buying directly from Native American and other indigenous artisans today - this is a good resource for online Native-owned shops, and there are plenty of smaller artisans on Tumblr who could use the support. but if something in my shop catches your eye, know that the money is going to a good cause.

find these howlite points and the rest of my goods at my Etsy HERE.

#jewelry #minimalist jewelry #howlite #mine #my goods

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deathsplaything · 10 days

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LOCATION: The Sugar Pot TIMING: Current PARTIES: Alistair & Booker (@detectivefinlee) SUMMARY: Booker goes back to the Sugar Pot to get some tea and hang around. Lucky for him, Alistair is working the counter.

“If I may… what makes a person jump from pharmacology to tea, doctor?”

He had been to this tea shop once already with his kids, just a few days ago. They had struggled through convincing their father which teas he ought to buy as loose leaf to keep at home: the point being that they were supposed to be caffeine free and relaxing, but of course he was immediately drawn to all the black teas. The floral ones sounded so… well… not really his thing. But he had relented, allowing them to make the choices for him while he planned to come back another day and at least get a cup of that masala chai stuff. That had smelled nice.

Stepping into the Sugar Pot alone today, Booker felt a small smile creeping on him and quickly cleared his throat to dismiss it. No need to be grinning like a fool when there wasn't even anyone with him he could blame as having told a good joke. The place was cozy, and it was the local crafts on display that had triggered such a muted but present reaction from the older man. He loved crafts. He wasn't very good at many of them, but he enjoyed picking up little knick knacks from local artists to set on his mantle and among his books on their shelves. Fingers dove into the pocket of his jacket, alighting upon the small, needle felted barn owl that waited patiently for its turn to be left someplace where someone else could find it. That was the one thing he'd found he did have talent for, and at the behest of Amos and Avery, the detective had pursued the hobby. He'd been at it for about ten years now, and while he'd never made any money off of it (that wasn't his goal), he did like carrying a few with him any time he went out and leaving them in odd places. He didn't usually witness their discovery, but on the rare occasion when he did, it always brought a smile to his face.

Wandering among the crafts for a few minutes before making his way slowly to the counter, he shifted his attention from the products to the people, analyzing them without meaning to. Not just the employees, but the other patrons as well. There was a man in the corner who wore a suit and sat with his laptop open in front of him, looking overworked and undervalued. Booker wondered if he had ever looked like that man. Probably. His hazel gaze flitted from one person to the next, his mind picking up and storing little tidbits of information as it went. Finally, he let his focus settle on the person at the counter. “... ah. I've forgotten the name of it,” he admitted with a soft, breathy chuckle. “It was the black, spicy tea. Started with an M, I think?” A movement caught his eye and he glanced to the side to see someone else striding out from behind a curtain that separated the shop from its back rooms. “Sorry, don't mean to be a bother. I'll just have a cup of whatever you recommend. For here.”

—

Standing behind the counter while Melody did inventory in the back, Alistair was rather confident in his abilities to get things done despite his lack of eyesight. With Melody, the pair were able to create a space that was accommodating for Alistair, to be able to work despite his disability. He loved it there for that reason, that he could truly never hate his job despite what he did before. He perked up at the sound of footsteps coming in through the front (they had the front door open on account of the beautiful weather). He waited patiently as the customer walked about the store, and Alistair took a moment to look through Brutus’s eyes, who was peering over at the newcomer, though kept his head down on his front paws, debating on drifting back to sleep. The man was taller and had his gaze fixed on the artisan crafts Melody had adamant that they sell to support local artists.

Alistair severed the connection the moment that Brutus closed his eyes again. No need to force the pup to work when he was content on relaxing and dozing off. The footsteps neared Alistair, and the redhead snapped to attention, his unseeing gaze settling on looking at the man as soon as he spoke, indicating where his mouth roughly was. “Well that’s not a problem,” Alistair decided with a soft tilt of his head to the side, a friendly smile crossing his features from the normal stoic expression he was so keen on wearing. He heard the back door close softly, which meant Melody was no longer in the back. She gave a pleasant smile to Booker before joining Alistair behind the counter to help him make whatever it was the customer decided to order.

“So you like black teas, and you like it spicy. Might I challenge your love for spiced black teas and introduce you to a Saigon chai? It’s black tea from India, and has cinnamon, ginger, pink peppercorns, cardamom, and cloves with some vanilla and cinnamon flavoring.” He tapped his fingers as he listed off the ingredients. It was popular with a lot of people who visited the shop, Mack included. It was obvious upon speaking to Alistair that he took tea rather seriously. Through knowing what flavors might work based on people’s desired tastes and listing ingredients that would work together, Alistair had it figured out. He was proud of what he did, despite it not being pharmaceuticals. He could still use it, kind of. There were herbs they sold that helped with certain ailments that people sought him out for.

“But if I couldn’t challenge what it is you’re clearly after, which is the masala chai…” He made a little face, then nodded his head, setting to work on making the masala chai that the stranger was after. “Masala chai has cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, and cloves. But if it’s true spice you’re after, some of our customers like it when I add red pepper flakes to it.” These customers, of course, Alistair had sussed out as zombies. He wasn’t so sure that this customer was among them or not, and nor did he really care. Melody watched Alistair as he flitted about the space, picking up a mug, grabbing the spices needed and depositing them into a tea bag, then adding the hot water and steamed milk into the mug and turning around to present it to the customer. “Masala chai, no red pepper flakes,” Alistair announced with a tight smile. “Though I will have to show you that Saigon chai sometime.”

—

Booker listened intently as the other person spoke, explaining to him the difference between these teas (he hadn’t realized there was more than one kind of ‘spicy’ tea, though it seemed a foolish thing in retrospect), committing what was said to memory. Before he could answer on whether or not he’d like to challenge his palette (which was pretty nonexistent when it came to tea, anyway), they were going about making the masala instead of the saigon, speaking all the while. He had noticed the way their gaze had not fallen on him until he spoke, and he noticed now the way in which they moved, the way in which the whole place was arranged, and of course, the dark lenses indoors—the most telling piece of evidence. He made a mental note to be conscientious of that.

“Fascinating,” Booker interjected softly. “I never would have thought to put something like that in tea, of all things.” He accepted the drink when it was offered, his gaze jumping between the two strangers as an easy smile flitted across his grizzled features. “Is that how you get people to come back? Tell them about all the things they could be enjoying while making them something else?” It was clear by his tone and the grin he wore that he wasn’t upset or offended by it, but rather amused. “Smart tactic. I’d love to try that Saigon chai some time.” Fishing out his wallet, Booker paid for the drink (at which point the woman intervened), then returned his attention to them both, addressing them at the same time. “A pleasure to meet you both. I’m Detective Finlee. Booker, to be less formal about it.” It wasn’t a matter of pride that encouraged him to introduce himself as such, but rather his way of cracking open that door that so many people kept tightly shut all their lives, thanks to a general lack of trust in authority figures. Not that he was particularly authoritative, neither in personality or responsibility, but still. If someone he met had a problem or concern or knew something that they wanted to share but felt they could not, he wanted to present himself as someone they could reach out to. “Just moved to town.” He paused, squinting his eyes for a moment as he recalled an earlier online conversation. “... I don’t suppose this is the establishment that was being asked to serve shrimp broth, was it?”

—

Alistair smirked as Booker called them out on how they suggested similar items. It was something they often did with people who seemed eager to learn, more to help them expand their horizons than to get them to come back. Still, it often worked out that they came back anyway. “A detective indeed,” Alistair replied with a knowing smile creeping over their lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Booker,” Alistair spoke with a nod of his head in the direction of the man’s voice. “If we’re using fancy titles, I’m Dr. Alistair McKenzie, a former pharmacist turned tea maker.” They waved a hand towards the sets of apothecary shelves. “Hence the overall aesthetic of the shop.” They explained with a simple shrug.

“This here is Melody, my lovely partner in crime.” They nudged Melody, who simply gave a bright smile toward Booker, waving a hand. “Just moved here, hm?” Alistair thought for a moment, then remembered the conversation they’d had online with someone who had just arrived in town and gotten the attention of the shrimp cult. “Ah, yes. I remember you now.” Alistair spoke, and nodded their head slowly, fingers pressed against their chin. “A pleasure to meet you in person, I will not be serving you shrimp broth no matter how much you beg.” Alistair’s voice was easy and chipper despite the strong detestation against shrimp tea.

“So you’re a detective with the police then?” Alistair asked casually, suddenly, more than ever, aware of what they had done in the backroom of their shop. “Fancy title, that.” Alistair picked up the discarded rag to begin to wipe down the countertop to keep their hands busy while Melody slipped toward the back of the store, allowing the two to speak without getting in their way. Alistair hardly showed interest in talking to strangers, and she desperately wanted them to make a single friend, she was desperate.

Before Alistair could open their mouth to speak again, Brutus was getting up from his spot in the corner, stretching and letting out a big yawn, then trotted over to Alistair, tail wagging, nosing their hand to let them know that he was awake and ready to help. “Oh, and this is Brutus, he’s my eyes.” They patted the top of Brutus’s head, then slipped their slender hand through the lead of the harness.

—

Booker laughed, shaking his head. “Dang, and I really had my heart set on some shrimp broth… ah well, suppose I’ll live.” He watched Alistair wipe down the counter while sampling the tea he’d been handed. “Mm, yeah. Currently off duty, but that’s subject to change at a moment’s notice. The more I learn about this town, the more worried I am about my free time.” There was a pause as he took another sip of his tea, then glanced down at the mug. “Oh, that’s… good, actually,” he admitted, somewhat surprised. “Sorry, nothing against you, I’ve just always been more of a… coffee guy. But… trying new things.”

He glanced around the place again, gaze falling on the dog as it walked up to its owner, who introduced them. “Hey, Brutus. Handsome fella, aren’t you?” There was a questioning rattling around in his head, and after the dog looked at him and chuffed, he felt compelled to ask it.

“If I may… what makes a person jump from pharmacology to tea, doctor?”

—

Alistair hummed in response to the man’s apparent disappointment with no shrimp broth, rolling their eyes playfully. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m sure there are plenty of places around that would be more than happy to serve you soup.” Alistair lowered their head with a raised brow as if trying to make a point. “Tea and soup, while both hot liquids are not the same. I’ll die on this hill.” Their playful annoyance turned to a genuine smile as their work was complimented. “I’m glad you think so,” they responded. “Though between you and me? I’m also more of a coffee person.” They spoke it in a whisper as if such a statement were sacrilegious. And when working in a tea shop, it certainly was.

“Your doctor tell you to lay off the coffee? That seems to be the biggest reason for coffee people to step foot into my shop,” Alistair remarked with a smirk, crossing their arms over their chest after discarding the rag on the countertop. Brutus was busy wagging his tail a mile a minute at the compliment from the stranger, seemingly happy to be acknowledged. “Brutus, suidhe,” Alistair commanded, and the dog sat down, tail still wagging.

Then, the man asked the question that everyone seemed to want to know. It wasn’t a hurtful question, he was well within his rights to ask it. Still, every time he was asked, it stung a bit, a sinking feeling in his chest. “Turns out they don’t let you continue to be a pharmacist when you can’t see anything,” Alistair explained, waving a hand in front of their eyes for emphasis. “Melody had a mission to open a tea shop, and I decided I could use my knowledge of herbalism to put towards good use, that way not everything was lost.” They shrugged a shoulder as if the question didn’t bother them nearly as much as it did.

—

So it wasn’t something the tea sommelier was born with, but rather an injury that came later in life. Late enough for them to have already had an established career as a pharmacist that got ripped away from them. “Sorry to hear that,” he apologized, recognizing that it might’ve been an insensitive thing to ask. He couldn’t help himself, sometimes. Sensitivity was not something he often had the luxury of affording in his day to day work. “There’s always a push for more accessibility, but I guess it makes sense that some things just require certain senses we don’t all possess. A shame.” He paused to take another sip of the tea, shaking his head as he lowered the mug again. “For whatever it’s worth, which I suspect isn’t much, I don’t think everything’s been lost. If you can get an old stuck-in-his-ways curmudgeon like me to enjoy tea, I’d say you’re doing something very right.”

The man scanned the shop again, spotting an open table by a street-facing window. “Well. I’m going to have myself a sit at the window seat over there with this perfectly un-pepper-flaked tea, but if you find yourself with time and a desire for conversation… my afternoon is free.” All he intended to do that day was loiter in the shop and work on a felted fox that was kept securely inside a tin tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. After politely excusing himself, the detective made his way to the table and took out his felting tin, setting the little half-finished fox in front of him and rooting around through his materials for a few moments before resuming his project.

—

It was hard to get Alistair to give someone a genuine smile, but Booker? He’d done it. Before Alistair could process what was happening, a soft smile curled across their features, warm and inviting despite how hard the necromancer tried to appear anything but. This person, whoever he was, decided that Alistair was worth their talents and that not everything was wasted because they were good at what they did. People didn’t go out of their way to tell them that, and it was very much appreciated. “Your words are kind and very much appreciated,” Alistair spoke in response, nodding their head once.

It was a rare opportunity that Alistair had a chance to make a friend, to sit down and talk with someone close in age. Most people that came in were either elder spellcasters looking for ingredients for a spell, or young people looking to get their fix of the latest tea. And there was Booker, inviting them to join him. Melody finally looked up from her counting in the back of the store and made her way to the counter, whispering to Alistair to go make a friend for once that wasn’t her and Tommy. Alistair grumbled something unintelligible but discarded the rag onto the counter and sauntered over to sit across from Booker.

Something about Booker brought back that gentle side of Alistair that they kept locked away tightly, that this was someone that they could trust and befriend, even if they hadn’t allowed themselves to do so in quite some time. Brutus trotted over to his companion, laying down at Alistair’s feet to let the spellcaster know that he was there. That’s where they would sit, slipping in between conversation and comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. It was something that Alistair wasn’t afforded, thought they would never be allowed to have again, a companion in someone else. A friendship where they thought friendship wouldn’t be allowed after losing all that they’d lost. But Booker? Booker opened up a piece of the necromancer they’d long thought lost, a piece of them that was kind and considerate, that wanted to have a friend and someone to spend time with. That’s what they’d learned that day, that maybe, just maybe, not all hope was lost.

#Spicy Sweet #threads #detectivefinlee #t;detectivefinlee

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sepptember · 10 days

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there's a post about Pro-Palestine small businesses on instagram by @.counseling4allseasons and i wanted to share that post here.

mentioning businesses that aren't on this post are encouraged!! I'll reblog them to my account or add them to the post. If any of the links don’t work, please let me know.

note that all of the businesses in the insta post might not be included because I struggled to find the link, and some links may lead to an instagram account instead of a website.

Apparel:

Chérine Caftans - Moroccan traditional wear

Hirbawi - Kufiya factory in Palestine

HULM Kicks - Palestinian-owned shoe store

Watan Worldwide - Cultural clothing/merchandise store

Ayan Resources - Palestinian-owned clothing brand

herababyco - Baby clothes

Modestveencouture - Palestinian-owned boutique with wedding, prom, and engagement dresses

Zaytoonas Stitches - Palestinian-owned embroidery store

Dignitii - modest active wear

Nöl Collective - Palestinian-owned traditional wear

RUUQ - Hijab body suits

Dar Collective - Cultural merchandise

Shopdehma - Modest clothing brand

Nayabhijabs - Hijabs

House of amiri - Children's clothing

this business is currently not stocking their inventory because they are working on broadening their brand. support by following them is still highly encouraged.

Yemen Wear - cultural Yemen apparel

Pali Power - Palestinian athletic apparel

Le dressing de moon - Palestinian thobes

La Farrah Boutique - Palestinian thobes

Skincare/Makeup/Fragrances:

Farsalicare - Skincare brand

Yaskinnatural - Skincare brand

Dyfbeauty - Makeup brushes

Mora Cosmetics - Muslim-owned clean makeup

Kadi perfumes - high-quality perfumes and fragrances

Alwafa Shop - Natural skincare

Abumiskperfumes - oil-based fragrances

Dr. Sebaa Co. - Muslim-owned skincare brand

Savana Goat - Natural and artisanal goat soaps

Lerenu - Scalp & haircare

Inika Organics - Organic makeup

Tuesday in Love - Wudhu-friendly nail polish

Home Goods:

Inspire me home decor - Interior design/home decor

The Little Bulbul - Islamic puzzles/mugs/prints

Olive & Heart - Palestinian owned candle shop

Candlescape & Co. - Palestinian owned candle shop

Create & Crescent - event kits and crafts

Kilim Design Store - carpet and flooring.

With a Spin - Home decor

Lifestyle:

Feyre Creations - events merchandise

Khair Designs - Interior design

Soul Detox - Palestinian-owned black seed oil mix and health capsules

Sophologynic - Palestinian-owned wellness-kits and organic honey

Creations By Sal - Custom wedding products and gifts

Crescent Moon Bookstore - Palestinian-owned children’s bookstore

Little Muslim Craft Store - Crafts for Muslim children store

Modefa - Home decor

Sitti soap - Natural soaps and more.

Vidamin Wellness - Organic vitamins

Mysalah Mat - Interactive prayer mat

The Happy Bakers - Egyptian-owned cookies

Little Busy Hands - Customized themed sensory bins

Shahrin Azim Henna & Jagua Artist - Henna Services, New York/NJ

Accessories:

Oroboros Watches - Egyptian-owned watch store

Kiro - Egyptian Jewelry Brand

Elegant Bijoux Jewelry - Lebanese-owned jewelry

Canava Handmade - Luxury Arab handbags States NYC

Deeya Jewellery - Luxury gold plated bridal/formal jewelry

#free palestine #palestine #free gaza #gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #business #makeup #self care #home goods #aesthetic #gaza genocide #palestine genocide #palestinian culture

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autumnalwalker · 5 months

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ROYGBIV Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sarahlizziewrites.

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

Passing the (optional) tag to @ieppiq, @theimperiumchronicles, @void-botanist, @rickie-the-storyteller, @olivescales3, @sam-glade, @winterandwords, and the usual open tag to anyone else who wants to try to find pieces of a rainbow in their writing.

Red: Witch's Testament: The Fighter

One last painting for you then.

One tower within a city of towers has been taken and those at the top, literally and figuratively, have met the fate decided for them by those they meant to keep below. Down on the ground floor lobby, a witch sits on a bench as the building's lights flicker back to life, takes off his pointed hat, and uncoils his mind from his familiar’s. He’s prepared a poem for the occasion, one that he never thought he’d get the opportunity to read aloud. He just needs a minute or three to collect himself first.

He’s about to ask one of his fellow witches - a woman in plain clothes with a red backpack that her arachnoid familiar is beginning to crawl out of now that the need for secrecy has passed - to patch him into the building’s intercom system when one of their co-conspirators upstairs alerts them to a situation breaking out between the protestors - no, revolutionaries now - and the office workers.

He stands up - more out of habit than anything - and repeats his request to be patched in. There had always been a danger that this might happen and he’s prepared a whole different poetic speech to give as timely intervention to prevent anyone else needlessly coming to blows. It’s a shame he won’t get to recite the other one today after all, and he probably won’t get another opportunity, but such is life.

And so, as his voice echoes throughout the building once more, he speaks of love.

Orange: The Melts

Mil’s trip to the restroom to straighten up in front of the mirror was a perfunctory one. They might have arrived late to work, but no way were they going to be late to feed the weavers on schedule. Elam - in early and still in nir fall look of leaf-like orange hair and skin covered in gray keratin growths mimicking tree bark - gave a marginally less brusque than usual greeting when Mil pushed aside the heavy curtain separating the dim tailoring room from the shop, even going so far as to offer nir sympathies for Mil’s melts. Mil’s more solid hand glorped over one of the nutrient slurry canisters on the shelf as they insisted that they were fine. Just a minor case of the melts that would clear up by the afternoon.

Yellow: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

“What I’m still hung up on,” Lacuna says, “is what triggered your change. Normally it’s the death of whichever parent made the deal, but…” She trails off as her eyes alight on one of the pins adorning Tam’s denim jacket. A heart of four stripes. Yellow, white, purple, and black. “How long ago did you start calling yourself Tam?” she asks.

Green: Kindly Basilisk

You’ll take two things with you. Two things worth mentioning anyway. The first will be a symbiotic gel suit designed for long-term all-environment life support. You will set its default texture to a shiny green the same hue as the broadleafed water plants you grew up around and always loved. Your exit interview will be the last time in a very long time that anyone - including you - will see your impossibly beautiful face with its perfect artisanally sculpted shape crossed with enthusiastically amateur self-modifications. From then on, everyone you meet and spend any time with will come to think of the mannequin blankness of the symbiote fully encasing your body as your face. It will be neither pride nor shame that causes you to present yourself as such, nor will you think of it as hiding your “real” face.

The second thing you’ll take with you when you leave the campus forever will be me.

Blue: The Archivist's Journal, Day 313

As we guided the boat into that cove it became apparent that there were once docks here as well, although now all that remained were scattered wooden pylons sticking up above the water and crumbling stumps of boardwalk on the shore. It had all gone unused long enough that a reef had grown among the submerged ruins. Ostensibly we slowed down at that point for safety, but just as much, we were taking our time to look around and beneath us. While the fish we saw darting in and out of our lamplight were not as colorful as their diurnal counterparts, the undulating polyps of the corals themselves (extended for nocturnal feeding I presume) had a fluorescence to them, subtle under the moonlight, but set off more dramatically under the light of our crystals. Once we reached a spot where we seemed unlikely to drift into anything, Lin told me to cover my lantern as she covered hers. After a moment of letting my eyes adjust to the dark I realized that since passing over the reef our rowing had stirred up a trail of soft blue bioluminesce behind us.

Indigo Dark Blue: Empty Names - 15 - Matters of Technique

Lacuna hands Ashan her phone, face blushing and not making eye contact. On the screen is a manga cover with the title Crystal Witch Arya. There, floating in the center of the screen with white staff pointed dramatically and a wry smile on her face is Ashan’s mentor. The face is artistically stylized and the real Aliana was never so well-endowed as this fictional “Arya” character, but otherwise the resemblance is uncanny. The midnight blue hair, the robe Ashan’s own was patterned after, the broad-brimmed white hat he had never incorporated into his own style, even the patterns carved into the staff; all of it certainly drawn by someone who met her.

Ashan thinks back to all the cases of mistaken cosplay identity this past convention season and groans.

Violet: Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

Ashan’s eyes flick back to the individual standing in front of the door, locking gazes.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Now please, you gotta let me in. Before it -”

They double over groaning in pain. With effort they crane their neck up to reveal a face flickering between two forms. One of an unremarkably average brown-eyed human with two or three days of unshaven stubble, and the other violet-eyed with smooth, waxy leaf-green skin. Violet eyes or brown, the look of desperate fear and confusion is the same. It strikes Ashan how young they are. No more than late teens.

“Help me,” they gasp.

#The only instance of “indigo” in my writing I used the last time I had this tag game. I actually wrote that segment FOR the tag game.#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #tag game #writing tag games #roygbiv tag #find the word tag #word find tag

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softsmolbirb · 2 years

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disney descendants - but add TATTOOS

the Docks house the majority of the tattoo trade on the Isle, so the Sea Three grow up treating tattoos more casually while they've got more of a rebellious vibe for VKs living inland, like the Core Four.

to the VKs on the docks, tattoos most often serve as a show of ownership or as self expression.

for the Core Four and AKs, I imagine it's more common to see tattoos as individual pieces of art.

there's a lot of blurring that line, but seeing tattoos as self expression vs art can carry a lot into both how a person perceives tattoos in general and how they tend to design and place their tattoos.

Jay shows up at the Dragon's Den one day with a large, traditional, fully shaded, badass cobra curling around his bicep.

Evie and Carlos are fascinated but also a bit uncomfortable.

Mal immediately feels challenged, artistically, and starts designing a badass dragon design that she wants to get on her back someday.

Evie and Carlos don't get tattoos until years later, when they're in Auradon and comfortable in their own skin and are able to go to a nice, clean, entirely above-the-board tattoo studio.

Evie gets a little crown on her ankle.

Carlos ends up getting a number of random, small designs over time. Jane's name, a silhouette of Dude, the date that he last saw his mother (the date from when he's been free).

Evie gets a second tattoo eventually, on a dare, and gets a small ruler design on her wrist that's perfect for helping measure hems and edges for her projects.

Mal waits until getting settled in Auradon, too - first because she doesn't trust the skill of the tattoo artists on the Isle to do it "right," and then because she doesn't think her tattoo would be viewed as appropriate for the future Queen of Auradon.

once everything has settled out post-D3, though, and she's confident in her skin she brings it up with Ben (because having the Sea Three around is making her remember how much she really wants to get a tattoo, not that she'd ever admit to that).

Ben totally supports her and she gets a fantastical dragon across her back, painstakingly done by one of the finest artisans in Auradon.

Harry started tattooing himself when he was a kid, messing around with stick-and-poke techniques he saw the older kids using.

they didn't have great ink and stick-and-pokes usually fade pretty fast anyway, even faster when you're constantly in the sun, so he had a lot of fun with the canvas of his hands, arms, and thighs and did a lot of experimentation.

once he and Gil got closer, Harry did a lot of small designs on Gil when he was bored.

Uma got the first real tattoo of all of them.

she showed up at one of the tattoo shops dragging a bag full of tips and left several sessions later with a full sleeve of ocean waves crashing against a ship that was surrounded by tentacles.

she was pleased by how the artist had gotten it to look like the tentacles could either be pulling the ship to its doom or just giving it a hug.

Harry absolutely loved it and began going to get himself a new tattoo every time he scraped together enough tips and stolen coins.

a compass on the back of his hand; a dagger down his thigh; constellations dotting his arms; a menagerie growing one by one of seahorses and sharks and gulls.

he gets a traditional pinup on his hip; a grand, proper pirate's ship on one knee and a kraken mirroring its style on the other; he has multiplication tables and other memorization tricks done on the inside of his wrists to help him on tests.

months after his first (and only) hesitant, respectful request, Uma lets him get her name tattooed as a tramp stamp.

she goes with him and directs the artist and he ends up with her name surrounded by tentacles; they're strategically positioned to curl around the letters but also draw the eye to where they disappear beneath his waistband.

Uma didn't get tattoos as often but they were always grand and befitting her rank as Captain.

she adhered religiously to her colors and aesthetic, creating a map of black, turquoise, cyan, and purple whirls and lines that made her look ever inch the magical being she should be.

Uma complemented the heavy linework with little skulls and bones, sea creatures, and rolling waves.

I've seen some people say that "Wharf Rats" is just an insult Carlos called the crew, but I like the headcanon that it's the actual name of Uma's crew and that everyone who joined up was required to get a tattoo as a promise of loyalty.

Harry totally designed it himself.

Uma and Harry have the largest versions of it, so they added some extra detail and flare to theirs. Uma's on her chest and Harry's across his upper back.

most of the crew have theirs on a bicep but Gil got his on the back of his neck.

Gil didn't get any ink until he came back to the Docks and joined the crew.

once he was back, though, he tagged along and got something done every time Uma or Harry went.

he liked to get Harry to help him come up with ideas for designs that would draw attention to his arms and muscles.

Gil got lots of flowers and plants and birds on his arms, eventually tying the designs together into full sleeves.

Uma and Harry would roll their eyes but loved how badass Gil could manage to make a bunch of flowers.

colored tattoos were far less common than black linework and shading because it was much harder to come by substantial quantities of colorful ink on the Isle.

having his flowers colored made Gil's sleeves pop out and draw attention even more.

he got roaring waves and sharks and sea monsters on his back, pulling up into his Wharf Rats tattoo, with everything perfectly designed to flatter the flex of his shoulders and back.

on his trip around Auradon with Jay, Gil had a lot of fun getting a new tattoo in each kingdom, coloring in his chest with new kinds of flowers and filling up his legs with a variety of designs that reminded him of his favorite stops.

once she escaped the barrier and was restored access to her magic and heritage, Uma learned that her she could make her tattoos glow and reflect her natural magic.

she waited a long time for the day when she, Harry, and Gil were all free from the Isle and she was able to casually take her shirt off and enjoy Harry tripping on his feet and falling on his face at how extra stunning her tattoos were now.

Harry took advantage of the better resources for tattoos in Auradon and had his tattoos relined, as a lot of them were beginning to fade.

he had red lines and shading worked into the designs to give them an extra bit of pop, cohesiveness, and general Hook aesthetic.

for AKs, the most common tattoos were small and easy to hide, like significant others' names, important dates, and little minimalist designs.

Harry won a dare once and coerced Jay and several of Jay's tourney friends into going and getting larger, more artistic designs, though.

to Harry's surprise (and Uma and Gil's delight), some of Harry's first AK friends ended up being heirs from kingdoms like Matinui and DunBroch, with whom he bonded over tattoos after they approached him with admiration for his ink and for his opinions on design.

kingdom pride and fairytale tattoos are definitely a thing. an artist would have a lookbook with glass slippers and well known castles and glass covered roses.

just. TATTOOS guys.

#disney descendants #descendants headcanons #tattoos #descendants verse with TATTOOS #core four #sea three #mal descendants #jay descendants #evie descendants #carlos de vil #uma descendants #harry hook #gil descendants #bal #huma

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clean-bubbles-aka-bubbles · 2 months

Text

Nothing is Worth the Risk?

TW: Swearing and Violence!

"Mark... Cesar... I'm so... sorry..."

Clean Bubbles stood before her bedroom mirror, her reflection staring back at her with determination and paralyzing fear. Today was the day they were heading to the arcade, which usually brought her joy and excitement.

But today was different.

Today, her nerves were on edge, her mind consumed by the ever-present, looming threat of the Alternates.

She ran a hand through her blue and black hair, the strands slipping through her fingers like silk. Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady her racing heart, to push down the rising tide of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that hung over her like a dark cloud.

With a determined sigh, Clean Bubbles tore her gaze away from her reflection and turned to her wardrobe. She meticulously chose her outfit for the day, ensuring it would blend in with the crowds at the arcade and allow her to move freely and react quickly if needed.

After deliberation, she settled on a comfortable yet stylish ensemble: a black hoodie adorned with a subtle bubble pattern paired with dark jeans and sneakers. It was a simple outfit, but it offered the mobility and flexibility she needed to navigate the crowded arcade easily.

As she slipped into her chosen attire, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at her stomach. She knew every moment she spent with Mark and Cesar was precious, a fleeting respite from the chaos and danger lurking in the shadows.

But she also knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment. The Alternates were cunning and relentless, their thirst for destruction and chaos insatiable. They would stop at nothing to eliminate her if they discovered her true identity and realized she was standing in their way.

With a heavy heart, Clean Bubbles reached for her utility belt, her fingers tracing the familiar contours of her weapons. She had spent countless hours honing her skills, training her body and mind to prepare for anything. But no amount of preparation could ease the burden of her responsibilities, the weight of the lives she carried on her shoulders. The fear of failure and the weight of her duty threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it down, determined to do what was right.

Taking a deep breath, Clean Bubbles fastened her utility belt around her waist, the weight of her weapons comforting against her skin. She knew that she couldn't face the Alternates alone and needed Mark and Cesar by her side. Their unwavering support was her lifeline, her beacon of hope in the face of darkness.

But as she glanced at her reflection one last time, her resolve hardened. She may have been afraid, but she refused to let that fear control her. She would face the dangers ahead with courage and determination for the sake of her friends and their world.

With a determined nod, Clean Bubbles turned away from the mirror and headed out the door, her heart heavy but her spirit unbroken. Today may be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but she would face it head-on, with her friends by her side and her unwavering convictions guiding her every step. She was scared, but she was also brave, and that was what mattered most.

“Bubbles! Mi amiga, I'm glad you are loosening up more than the movie last night!” Cesar was waiting outside her house. Mark was in his car, waiting to pick her up and drive to the arcade. Since the news of Alternates’ appearance lately has been decreasing, they haven’t been appearing since this ‘Celestial Artisan’ has been destroying them instantly on sight. “¿Cómo estás?” He spoke in his native language.

“¡Estoy bien!” She grinned softly, her Spanish speaking skills from high school kicking in because of Cesar’s surprised look.

His surprise quickly turned into a warm smile at Clean Bubbles' response, his brown eyes twinkling affectionately. "¡Qué bueno verte tan animada, amiga!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine delight. "I'm glad you're feeling better today."

Clean Bubbles returned his smile, her heart swelling with gratitude at Cesar's kindness and understanding. Despite her fears and doubts, he never failed to offer her support and encouragement; she was eternally grateful for that.

"Gracias, Cesar," she replied softly, her voice tinged with sincerity. "I-I'm feeling... better, thanks to you and Mark."

Cesar's smile widened at her words, and his hand gently squeezed her shoulder. "De nada, Bubbles," he said gently. “You're not alone in this. We're in this together, remember?"

Clean Bubbles nodded, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

Just then, Mark's car pulled up to the curb, and he leaned out of the window. He greeted them with a cheerful smile as they reached the car, his eyes sparkling excitedly. "Hey, guys!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Are you ready to hit the arcade?"

Clean Bubbles forced a smile, her heart pounding as she climbed into the car. "Y-Yeah, let's do this," she replied, her voice tinged with nervousness. "I-I'm ready."

Mark nodded eagerly, his grin widening. "Great!" he exclaimed, starting the car. "Let's go make some memories!"

With that, Clean Bubbles climbed into the car beside Mark, her heart pounding excitedly. Today may be filled with danger and uncertainty, but as long as she had her friends by her side, she knew they would face it together with courage and determination.

As they drove off towards the arcade, Clean Bubbles couldn't help but feel a sense of hope stirring within her. It felt great to let loose despite the dangers of the creatures from Lucifer being unleashed within the world. But even so, she can’t let her guard down and must remain vigilant in keeping out for the creatures while ensuring her identity is compromised. Her hidden weapons were on her utility belt underneath her sweater.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon arriving at the arcade, Clean Bubbles' nerves were on edge, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger. The neon lights and lively atmosphere usually filled her with excitement, but today, they only served to heighten her anxiety.

She followed Mark and Cesar inside, the familiar sights and sounds of the arcade washing over her as they made their way through the crowds. Her eyes darted around, scanning every corner for any hint of movement or disturbance.

The Alternates had a knack for infiltrating technology, and the thought of facing them within the confines of the arcade sent shivers down her spine.

Wait, you might wonder how the arcade was open if Alternates can infiltrate it, right?

Well, it’s simple! Bubbles has created a technokinesis seal to prevent any entity from entering or manipulating the game. They’re hidden, of course, so no one would be able to find and take it off.

Clean Bubbles kept a wary eye for any signs of trouble as they wandered through the rows of arcade machines. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment, not when her friends' lives were at stake.

But as they immersed themselves in the games, the tension in the air dissipated, replaced by the joy and excitement of friendly competition. Clean Bubbles found herself getting lost in the thrill of the games, her worries momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

However, just as she started to relax, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw a figure lurking in the shadows, its eyes filled with malice and hunger.

It was an Alternate, its presence unmistakable even in the dim light of the arcade.

Panic surged through Clean Bubbles' veins as she realized their danger. She had to act fast to protect her friends and the surrounding people without raising suspicion. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, she subtly reached for her hidden weapons, her fingers closing around the hilt of her blade.

But before she could pull it out and strike, Mark's voice cut through the chaos, his cheerful laughter ringing out above the noise of the arcade. "Hey, Bubbles, check out this game! It's awesome!"

Clean Bubbles forced a smile, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to mask her rising panic. "Y-Yeah, I'll be right there," she replied, her voice tinged with nervousness. "J- Just give me a second. I have to do some… business.”

“Okay! Let us know when you’re done!” Cesar exclaimed before he and Mark explored the game.

When Clean Bubbles looked back to where she saw the creature, it was gone. “Huh? What the—”

*Fwip!*

*Smack!*

“OOF!” Clean Bubbles breathlessly coughed as the Alternate tackled her down from behind as they tumbled to a dark and isolated corner where no one could find her. She winced as she felt a claw digging on her side.

She gasped as the weight of the Alternate bore down on her, the force of the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She struggled against the creature, her heart pounding in her chest as she grappled with the creature's strength.

With a surge of adrenaline, she twisted and turned, using every ounce of her strength and agility to break free from the creature's grasp. She reached for her hidden blade, her fingers closing around the hilt as she prepared to strike.

Before she could unleash her attack, the Alternate snarled and lunged at her again, its claws flashing in the dim light of the arcade. The blue, black, and white-haired girl dodged and weaved, narrowly avoiding the creature's deadly strikes as she fought for her life.

With a fierce determination, the female teen fought back with everything she had, her movements fluid and precise as she countered the creature's every move. She knew she couldn't afford to lose, not when her friends' lives were at stake.

But she can’t afford to let the creature leave alive, or it will report back to its creator, Lucifer himself, and spill every secret she has been hiding. She was tired of constantly being on the defensive, continually fighting to protect her friends and her world from the threat of the Alternates.

“Damn you!” She cursed, grabbing the Alternate before throwing it off her petite frame.

*THUMP!*

It landed on the carpet with a resounding ‘thump’ sound effect before it was tackled again. The two rolled and tumbled around quickly, with the entity trying to kill her while she was trying to make sure attention wasn’t drawn toward the gamers. Bubbles winced as she felt a claw grazing her cheek, creating a cut. “Oh, you little–” She growled before imbuing her fist with magical aura sparks and delivering a right hook and an uppercut.

*SMACK!*

The creature let out an angry howl before grabbing Bubbles and throwing her to the ground, making her cough with pain. She gasped as the entity tackled her again.

While she was wrestling with the Alternate, Cesar, and Mark were having fun playing the arcade game Centipede. It was exciting and chaotic for them “Mark! Mark! Aim for the head!” He exclaimed, jabbing a finger toward the heads of the three centipedes.

“I am trying! Do you think it's easy?” he remarked, his fingers and hands moving swiftly as he aimed to eliminate the insects' heads.

“Of course it is! You need to aim for the head ONLY!” Mark’s friend facepalmed. “It splits in half if you miss it and hit the body! Oh wait–SPIDER ON SCREEN!” He pointed to the pixelated spider coming in on the screen.

“GOT IT!” He quickly eliminated the being. “Haha! Take that! Now, for the centipede–”

*BLIP!*

The enemy itself destroyed the shooter on the screen. Mark was too distracted with trying to grab the spider, but he ignored the centipede that was closer to the bottom of the screen. “Dang it!” He groaned.

“It’s alright, mi amigo,” Cesar patted him on his back. “You’ve got an impressive high score.”

*THUD!*

A loud thump was heard from behind, and the two turned around quickly. They looked bewildered, seeing Bubbles carrying a large, bony, limply body of… something.

“Clean Bubbles? W- What is that?” Mark stuttered, pointing to the tall black figure over her shoulder.

“...It’s a model I found lying in the arcade.” She lied, her eyebrow twitching in pain. Earlier, she smashed the Alternate’s head onto the ground, knocking it out. But it bit her ankle simultaneously, so there was a distinctive mark. Thankfully, the dimness of the arcade shadowed the injury. “I thought it was cool to show you… but it’s heavy.”

The boys exchanged puzzled glances, clearly skeptical of Clean Bubbles' explanation. The figure she held seemed anything but a harmless arcade prop.

"Uh, okay..." Mark replied, still eyeing the figure warily. "But are you sure you're okay? You look like you've been through a wrestling match."

She forced a strained smile, trying to downplay the severity of the situation. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, her voice slightly breathless from the exertion of the struggle. “I just stumbled and bumped into this thing. No big deal."

Cesar narrowed his eyes, his expression filled with concern. "Are you sure you don't need medical attention, Bubbles?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. "That looks like a nasty bite on your ankle."

Clean Bubbles quickly glanced down at her ankle, cursing inwardly as she saw the telltale mark left by the Alternate's bite. She needed to come up with a convincing explanation and fast. “A dog. I accidentally stepped on a service dog’s tail. It bit me.” She sighed, chuckling lightheartedly at the ‘incident’ she had. “It’s not a biggie. The dog didn’t have rabies. I’ll be fine.”

Mark and Cesar exchanged a concerned glance, unconvinced by Clean Bubbles' explanation. However, they trusted her enough not to push the issue further. After all, she had always been secretive about certain aspects of her life, and they had learned to respect her boundaries.

"Alright, if you say so," Mark replied, still eyeing the figure suspiciously. "But let us know if you need anything, okay? We're here for you."

Clean Bubbles nodded gratefully, her heart warmed by her friends' concern. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, she knew she could always count on them to have her back.

"Thanks, guys," she said softly, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "I really appreciate it. I’ll go find and put this thing back where I found it."

“See ya, then! We’ll be waiting at Galaga!” Cesar nodded. With that, the boys returned to their game, the events of the encounter slowly fading into the background as they immersed themselves in the fun and excitement of the arcade.

Clean Bubbles dragged the Alternate to a secluded area where no one was watching her. She grabbed her blade and made quick work with the entity. It quickly began melting, turning into a black, gooey puddle. A soft sigh left her lips as she used her magic and quickly cleaned up the black mess on the carpet. “There, no one would suspect!” She chuckled nervously.

She then felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning slowly, her eyes widened with surprise as she saw a staff member of the place who looked… flawed. Its pupils were large as it stared uncannily into her soul. It also had an unhinged jaw that looked like it melted and drooped down like clay.

“Dammit.” Bubbles grumbled, grabbing its head. She quickly twisted it and snapped its neck.

*SNAP!*

Clean Bubbles swiftly disposed of the corrupted staff member, her heart racing with adrenaline as she realized their danger. She couldn't afford to let anyone discover her true identity or the existence of the Alternates. With a glance around to ensure no one was watching, she carefully disposed of the body, using her magic to erase any traces of their encounter.

As she straightened up, her mind raced with possibilities.

How many more corrupted individuals had infiltrated the arcade?

Were they working alone, or had their “Lord and Savior” given them a specific command and order?

Pushing aside her fears and doubts, Clean Bubbles focused on the task. She needed to protect her friends and the surrounding people and ensure their safety. With a determined resolve, she set off to find Mark and Cesar, her senses on high alert for any signs of danger.

After a few minutes of searching, she finally spotted them engrossed in a game of Galaga. Their laughter filled the air as they battled against the alien invaders on the screen. Relief flooded through Clean Bubbles as she approached them, her heart swelling with gratitude for their unwavering support and friendship.

However, she noticed another person hidden in the shadows had that same Alternate uncanny look. Its limbs were thin, bony, and long as it quietly reached over to the two.

Bubbles walked swiftly, grabbing the Alternate’s head before snapping its neck.

*SNAP!*

It broke on instance, and she disposed of the body back into the shadows before turning to the boys. "Hey, guys," she greeted them with a smile, her voice tinged with relief. "Are you Having fun?"

Mark and Cesar turned to her with smiles, their eyes excitedly bright. "Hey, Bubbles!" Mark exclaimed, his grin widening. "You missed out on all the action! We're kicking alien butt left and right!"

Cesar chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Sí, it's been quite the adventure," he added, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But it would be even better with you here. Care to join us?"

Clean Bubbles couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, her heart warmed by their genuine camaraderie. Despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, she knew she could always count on her friends to lift her spirits and make her feel like she belonged.

"Thanks, guys," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. "I'd love to join you. Let's show these aliens who's boss!"

With that, Clean Bubbles took her place beside Mark and Cesar, her fears momentarily forgotten as they plunged into the thrilling world of Galaga. Together, they battled against the alien invaders with skill and determination, their laughter echoing through the arcade as they fought.

As they played, a sense of camaraderie stirred. She had never felt so belonged after being so lonely with no one for fifteen years. It was painful and sad to carry a burden that she felt no one else could shoulder, but with her friends, she felt lighthearted from the mission she had to focus on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The game drew to an exciting close, with their team achieving a high score that lit up the leaderboard. The feeling of victory was palpable among them. Clean Bubbles, Mark, and Cesar exchanged high fives, their earlier laughter mingling with a shared sense of accomplishment. Moments like these made the girl momentarily forget the weight of her double life and embrace the joy of simple, youthful fun.

"Man, that was intense!" Mark exclaimed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a wide grin. "But we did it! High score, guys!"

Cesar beamed, his eyes gleaming with pride. "We should come here more often," he suggested, still riding the high of their victory. "It’s a great break from the usual routine, and it's good for team building, no?"

She nodded, the warmth of their friendship enveloping her. "Definitely," she agreed, her voice light and filled with a rare carefreeness. "It's nice to just... let go and have fun like this."

Her eyes wandered around the arcade, taking in the bustling activity around them. Families and groups of friends were immersed in their games, their laughter and cheers adding to the vibrant atmosphere of the place. It was a welcome reprieve from the dangers lurking outside, a bubble of normalcy in her tumultuous life.

As they headed to exit the arcade, Bubbles noticed some movement out of the corner of her eye. She saw several tall and skinny Alternates hidden in the arcade's dim lights, quietly hunting their prey, which was the trio and the oblivious people who were gaming.

“Oh! Mark, Cesar,” she cleared her throat. “I-I have to use the bathroom real quick. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, it’s normal.” Cesar lightheartedly chuckles it off.

“We’ll wait for you outside,” Mark added as he and his childhood friend stepped out of the arcade.

The playful atmosphere of the arcade, buzzing with the sounds of games and laughter, suddenly felt heavy with impending danger to Bubbles. How could she not have noticed this!? She inwardly cursed for being so… carefree from her job. But now, she knew she had to act fast to protect her friends and the unsuspecting people around her.

Glancing around to ensure that Mark and Cesar were out of sight, she quietly approached the area where she had noticed the unsettling movement. Her heart raced, and her hands gripped her concealed weapons tightly, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

The dim lights of the arcade cast long shadows, perfect for the Alternates to hide and strike unnoticed. Clean Bubbles' eyes narrowed as she scanned the area, her senses heightened to every sound and movement. In the darker part of the arcade near an old, out-of-order pinball machine, the elongated shadows coalesced into the distinct, skeletal forms of the Alternates.

She moved silently, her footsteps muffled by the cacophony of digital noise. As she neared the group of lurking figures, she could see their forms more clearly—distorted, their limbs unnaturally long, faces devoid of any human expression. These were no ordinary arcade goers; they were threats, each one potentially deadly.

Without hesitation, Clean Bubbles prepared to spring into action. The element of surprise was on her side. But before she could do so, she felt a clawed hand grabbing the back of her neck, making her cough and gasp as the sharpness dug into her neck.

Clean Bubbles' reflexes kicked in instantly as she felt the sharp claws dig into her skin. Twisting violently, she managed to slip out of the creature's grasp, adrenaline surging through her veins. With no time to spare, she drew her concealed weapon—a sleek, silver blade that gleamed under the arcade's neon lights.

Facing her attacker, Clean Bubbles saw the twisted features of the Alternate, its eyes glowing with a sinister light. She knew these creatures were not just mindless beasts; they were cunning and dangerous, often sent by their creator, Lucifer, to hunt down those like her who stood in their way.

Determined not to let this creature harm her or anyone else, Clean Bubbles lunged forward, her blade aimed at the creature’s chest. But the Alternate was quick, dodging her attack with a grotesque agility that seemed almost unnatural. It countered with its own swipe, forcing Clean Bubbles to roll to the side to avoid a lethal strike.

The sounds of the arcade around them—the blips and beeps of games, the laughter and shouts of patrons—seemed to fade into the background as Clean Bubbles focused entirely on her foe.

Everything wasn’t fair for her.

But this was her reality, a constant battle lurking beneath the surface of her everyday life.

Regaining her footing, Clean Bubbles didn't hesitate. She attacked again, this time with more force, driving the creature back against an arcade machine. The screen flickered wildly as the machine absorbed the impact of the creature's body.

“Enough of this…!” She grabbed her blade, ready to end the creature.

“Whoa! This machine shook!” One of the gamers behind the arcade machine they were playing exclaimed.

“That’s so cool!” Another one perked up. “Since when they added real-life effects in the machine!?”

“CRAP!” Bubbles inwardly cursed again, belittling herself for not paying attention to where she was taking the fight.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Clean Bubbles adjusted her stance, bringing her blade close and readying for another strike, mindful now of her surroundings. Her heart raced as she attempted to conceal her battle from the oblivious gamers just a thin panel away.

Sensing her hesitation, the Alternate smirked—a grotesque twisting of its distorted features—and lunged. Clean Bubbles parried with her blade, sparks flying as metal clashed against the creature's talon-like fingernails. She couldn't afford to draw this out any longer; the risk of exposure was too significant.

Thinking fast, she made a split-second decision. She released her grip on her blade and instead focused on creating a diversion to mask their altercation. Channeling her abilities, she activated the arcade machine, causing its lights to flash and its buttons to malfunction erratically.

The sudden chaos drew the attention of the nearby gamers, who were now more engrossed in the spectacle of the malfunctioning machine than the scuffle happening in the shadows.

Glancing around swiftly to ensure no onlookers were watching, she maneuvered the creature into a narrower, less visible gap between two arcade machines. "Time to end this," she muttered under her breath, her voice a blend of resolve and exhaustion.

With a deft move, she thrust her blade upwards, aiming for a vital spot beneath the creature's ribcage. The Alternate hissed in pain as the blade found its mark, dark, viscous liquid oozing from the wound. It clawed desperately at her, but she sidestepped gracefully, withdrawing her blade with a slick pull.

Clean Bubbles watched as the creature staggered, its form dissolving into the same black, viscous, gooey substance she had encountered. It let out a guttural sound that was part growl, part curse before it vanished completely, leaving no trace behind except for the sticky residue on her blade and her racing heart.

“Damn it…” She cursed, shaking her head as she wiped off the black substance from her weapon. She also winced from the bite mark on her ankle. However, before she can focus on healing before fighting back, she is grabbed by the neck by another sharp claw and tossed against a wall.

*SMACK!*

*THUD!*

Clean Bubbles hit the ground hard, the force of the impact driving the air from her lungs. She barely had a moment to recover before she felt the sharp pressure of another Alternate's claw pressing against her throat. Struggling for breath, she clawed at the ground, trying to push herself up and fight back.

This new creature was larger and seemed even more menacing than the last. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and it leaned closer, its cold breath against her face. "You think you can interfere with our plans so easily?" it hissed, its voice a chilling whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

Gritting her teeth, Clean Bubbles summoned her strength and quickly slid her hand to grab the hilt of her blade, which had skidded a few feet away during the scuffle. With a swift, practiced motion, she swung the blade up, slicing through the claw that held her, freeing herself from its grasp.

The creature howled in pain and anger, retracting its injured limb. Clean Bubbles didn't waste a moment; she rolled to her feet, blade at the ready, her eyes locked on her adversary. She knew she couldn't afford to let this creature escape—its knowledge of her could jeopardize not only her safety but also that of Mark and Cesar.

The arcade's flashing lights and electronic sounds created a chaotic backdrop for their deadly dance. Clean Bubbles dodged another swipe from the creature, her movements fluid despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She needed to end this quickly and quietly—no easy task in the bustling arcade. “GR!” With a swipe of her blade, she decapitated the monster’s head with a quick ‘chop’ noise.

The head flew by and hit the spasming arcade machine, which immediately reverted back to normal. “Hey! The game works now!”

“Yay!”

The blue-and-black-haired girl grumbled and panted, fixing her disheveled look. “These Alternates are getting annoying…” she grunted, instinctively gauging a blade into an Alternate who attempted to sneak attack her.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

In the meantime, Mark and Cesar were waiting for her. It had only been ten minutes while they were waiting for their friend. “Hey, Mark,” the male wearing the gray sweater turned to the male wearing a suit. “Do you think Clean Bubbles is alright?” Cesar questioned him.

He knew they had been hanging out within the past couple of weeks, and they quickly got attached. However, suspicions stirred within him for his new friend. She had been acting funny, hiding the bite mark from her ankle. To find this creepy skeletal model of a creature from the backrooms of the arcade was… uncanny.

Mark paused, his expression reflecting a mix of concern and uncertainty. "I'm not sure," he admitted, scratching his head. "She seems like she's handling everything okay, but sometimes... I don't know. It feels like she's holding something back. Like there's more going on than she lets on."

Cesar nodded slowly, his gaze drifting towards the arcade's entrance, half-expecting Clean Bubbles to appear at any moment. "Yeah, I get that feeling too. She's tough, no doubt, but that thing she dragged out... it didn't look like any ordinary arcade prop to me."

Mark sighed, his eyes filled with worry. "And that 'dog bite' on her ankle looked pretty bad. She played it off like it was nothing, but I'm worried. I mean, who gets bitten by a dog inside an arcade?"

“Anyone can.” The Hispanic teen shrugged. “She did say she accidentally stepped on its tail.”

Awkward silence played between the two boys before Mark spoke. “But besides the point, she seems tense when we’re not paying attention. It's as if she’s shouldering something we’re unaware of.”

His friend nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, I've noticed that too. It's like she's constantly on edge, always watching her surroundings, always doing some sort of heavy lifting. It makes me wonder what she's hiding."

Mark frowned, his mind racing with possibilities. "Do you think... she's in some kind of trouble? Like, maybe someone's after her or something? Maybe it’s family matters?"

Cesar shrugged, uncertainty clouding his features. "I don't know, man. But whatever it is, I think we should be there for her. She's been a great friend to us, and if she's in trouble, we must help her however we can."

Mark nodded, determination shining in his eyes. "You're right. We'll keep an eye on her and make sure she's okay... even if it's personal affairs that harm her."

The two friends waited patiently for Clean Bubbles to return, their minds filled with concern and determination to uncover the truth behind their friend's mysterious behavior.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Back at the arcade, Clean Bubbles just finished snapping the last Alternate’s head off from its place. “Agh…” She panted heavily. Her clothes were soaked in the black substance from the Alternates, which was supposedly their blood. She clicked her tongue as she got a taste of the substance. “Blegh!” She spat slightly. “This tastes rotten… as if someone or some people performed a ritual on a person, and now taste like a corpse.” She wiped her tongue with the sleeve of her sweater.

She quickly surveyed the area to ensure no bystanders had witnessed her grim battle. The arcade's flashing lights and the cacophony of game noises continued unabated, starkly contrasting the silent violence she had just enacted in its shadows.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she began erasing any evidence of the fight. Using her abilities, she focused intently, her hands moving with practiced precision as she conjured a cleansing spell. The dark stains began to dissolve, vanishing without a trace from the arcade's carpet and her clothing.

“There… now I can use the bathroom,” she chuckled, walking off to do her business.

But she paused, remembering the bite mark.

Even if she tried to heal it quickly, the boys would suspect that she wasn’t human and was an Alternate unless there was a chance that someone else would believe she was something else, but that’s not likely the case.

She stepped back from the bathroom entrance. She quickly glanced around, trying to find a safer spot where she could clean off the blood from her pants and fix the wound. Spotting a janitor's closet, she hurried over and slipped inside, thankful for the momentary privacy. Inside, she found supplies that would hopefully do the trick. She grabbed some heavy-duty paper towels and began trying to clean the blood on her clothes. Bubbles also used healing magic to heal the wound and make it look more natural than inhuman.

The grime was stubborn, but she reduced its appearance enough to pass a casual glance. However, the physical evidence of her skirmish was the least of her worries. The emotional and mental toll was harder to disguise. She leaned against the cool wall of the closet, allowing herself a brief moment to collect her thoughts and steady her breathing.

Her mind replayed the close calls of the day. She was getting too close to being exposed, and the increasing frequency of Alternate attacks was a clear sign that they were becoming more coordinated and perhaps even aware of her true capabilities. It was only a matter of time before she would have to confront larger forces or make tough decisions about her double life.

Exhausted from the strain of constant vigilance and combat, Clean Bubbles knew she couldn't keep going like this indefinitely. The burden of her secret identity was becoming too heavy to bear alone. She was torn between the desire to protect her friends by keeping them ignorant of the dangers they faced and the need to have allies who understood the full extent of the threat. The thought of involving Mark and Cesar in this darker aspect of her life filled her with dread; she couldn’t bear the thought of their already abnormal lives being ripped apart like hers.

Shaking her head to clear these troubling thoughts, Clean Bubbles checked her appearance one last time in the dim light of the closet. She needed to maintain her facade, at least for now, until she could develop a better plan. Stepping out of the closet, she ensured her expression was calm and untroubled as she returned to her friends.

As she approached Mark and Cesar, who were waiting outside the arcade, their faces lit up with smiles, but their eyes held a trace of concern.

Mark spotted her first, his expression lighting up with relief as she approached. "There you are!" he exclaimed. "We were starting to worry. Everything okay?"

Standing beside him, Cesar eyed her appearance, noting the slight disarray in her attire. "You look a bit off, Bubbles. Sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, all good," she replied, forcing a smile. "Just needed a moment to myself. Thanks for waiting."

She noticed their concerned glances and knew she had to divert their attention. "So, who won the game?" she asked, injecting a playful note into her tone.

Mark chuckled, the tension in his expression easing. "Cesar did, but only because he cheated," he accused, nudging his friend playfully.

Cesar defended himself with a laugh. "I did not cheat! It's called strategy. Learn the difference, mi amigo."

Their banter was a welcome return to normalcy, allowing Clean Bubbles to relax slightly as the focus shifted away from her. She laughed along, enjoying the momentary peace.

However, her respite was short-lived. She noticed a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, a subtle reminder that the threat was never far away. She tensed, her senses sharpening, but upon closer inspection, it was just a couple of kids running past, their laughter echoing through the arcade.

"Guess I'm still on edge," she thought, scolding herself internally for being overly cautious. Yet, she couldn't afford to let her guard down completely, not when danger had a way of hiding in plain sight.

Mark suggested grabbing dinner together, an idea that was enthusiastically agreed upon. The trio found themselves at a nearby diner, a cozy place known for its hearty meals and friendly service.

As they settled into a booth, the waitress came over with a smile and took their orders. The casual chatter about movies, music, and mundane daily occurrences continued, allowing Clean Bubbles to revel in the normalcy of the conversation—something she cherished more than she could express.

However, her mind was never entirely at ease beneath her calm exterior. The encounter with the Alternates at the arcade was a stark reminder of the ever-present danger she and everyone around her face. She knew she couldn’t let her guard down, not entirely.

But for now, surrounded by her friends in the warm, inviting atmosphere of the diner, she allowed herself to relax slightly. The laughter and conversation washed over her, easing the tension built up over the past weeks.

The dinner was filled with shared stories and laughter, especially when Cesar attempted to mimic an accent he had heard in one of the games. This caused Mark to almost spit out his drink in laughter. Clean Bubbles found herself laughing along, her earlier fears temporarily forgotten under the weight of genuine joy.

As they walked back to Mark's car, the streets bathed in the soft hues of the night, Clean Bubbles felt a surge of gratitude. "Thanks, you guys," she said, looking at both of her friends with a sincere smile. "Today was needed. I had a great time."

Mark, who was unlocking the car, smiled warmly at her. "We're just glad you could come out and chill with us, Bubbles," he replied, opening the door for her. "You know, you should let your hair down more often."

Cesar agreed, getting into the car. "Yeah, and remember, whatever it is that's weighing on you, you can share it with us. We're here for you, no matter what."

Their words heavyened her heart, knowing just how much she was keeping from them. Yet, she appreciated their support more than they could possibly know. "...Thanks," she murmured as she climbed into the car. That means a lot."

She felt a complex mix of emotions swirling within her as they drove off. The day's joy was tinged with the silent acknowledgment of the battles yet to come. With friends like Mark and Cesar, she felt stronger, braver, and much less alone.

But the burden she carried couldn’t be told to them, knowing she’d be putting them in more danger than they already knew.

“We’re here, at Bubbles’s house.” Mark stopped the vehicle. They reached the street where they would part ways. Clean Bubbles hugged each of them, and the warmth of their friendship provided a small comfort against the cold fear that lingered in her heart. "Goodnight, Mark, Cesar. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Bubbles," they replied in unison, watching her as she walked away, her figure slowly disappearing into the house.

Alone now, Clean Bubbles allowed herself to feel the total weight of her solitude and the burdens she carried. She knew she couldn't keep her secrets forever, and the thought of what would happen when the truth came out haunted her every step.

But she knew she must be prepared to face whatever challenges awaited her, armed with the knowledge that, for now, she had the support of her friends—even if they didn't know the whole truth.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Outside, while Cesar and Mark were heading back to their house (with Mark dropping off Cesar first), they seemed to be lost in their thoughts on the way. “Hey, Mark, do you think we should stop, turn around, and go see Bubbles? Do you think she’s doing something in her house that makes her…you know? Feel so… tense?”

Mark glanced at Cesar, his expression thoughtful as he navigated the quiet streets. "I've been thinking about that too," he admitted. "Something's definitely up with her. She's always a bit on edge, and today in the arcade... did you notice how quickly she changed after coming back from that 'bathroom break'?"

Cesar nodded, his brows furrowed in concern. "Yeah, and she looked like she had been in a scrap or something. I mean, who gets all messed up from just going to the bathroom? And that whole thing with the 'model' she found? It all seems really off."

Mark sighed, tapping the steering wheel nervously. "Maybe we should just ask her straight up? I mean, if she’s in some kind of trouble, we should let her know we’re here to help, right?"

"I agree, but we have to be careful not to push her too hard. She's really private about her stuff, and I don't want her to think we're prying too much and end up pushing her away," Cesar responded, his tone laced with caution.

Mark gripped the steering wheel tighter, his eyes focused on the road ahead but his mind racing with Cesar's question. It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, Clean Bubbles was dealing with something much more significant than she let on. Her often distant gaze, how she sometimes flinched at sudden movements, and her unexplained absences all added to a narrative that worried him more each day.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that too," Mark finally said, his voice tinged with concern. "But, you know, Bubbles has always been upfront about needing her space. We should respect that, even if we're worried."

Cesar nodded, his gaze fixed on the passing streetlights flickering outside the window. "I get that," he agreed. “But it's not just the tension, Mark. It's everything. She's been acting really off lately—more than just needing space. I mean, what was that back at the arcade? That wasn't normal."

Mark sighed, slowing the car as they approached a red light. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, recalling the moments at the arcade. "Yeah, the arcade thing was strange. I've never seen her like that. It's like she was on high alert or something. She also kept stealing glances behind us as if she expected some monster to stalk us."

"And that 'model' she found? That wasn't a model, man," Cesar added, his voice low. "I've seen enough weird stuff to know that wasn't normal. I just... I don't want her to think we're not here for her, you know?"

The light turned green, and Mark drove on, his mind racing with the same concerns. "I know exactly what you mean. Maybe we're not doing enough. Maybe she needs more from us, more support."

Cesar looked over at Mark, his expression serious. "We should talk to her, really talk. Not just let it slide next time something weird happens. We should let her know she can rely on us, for anything."

"Yeah, I've been thinking the same," Mark admitted, his voice low. "Something's off. She's our friend, Cesar. If she's in trouble or if there's something big she's hiding, it will not just affect her. It could involve us too, whether or not we're ready for it."

Cesar nodded slowly, his worry for their friend evident on his face. "I know," he replied, the concern evident in his voice. "But if we go back now, uninvited, wouldn't that cross a line? She might not appreciate us prying into her life like that."

"That's true," Mark conceded, his brow furrowing. "But maybe it's not about prying. Maybe it's about being there, making sure she knows she's not alone, whatever she's facing." He paused, considering his following words carefully. "I think we should at least offer our help again, make it clear we're here for her, no matter what."

Cesar remained silent for a moment, mulling over Mark's words. Finally, he let out a deep sigh. "Okay, let's do it. Let's turn around and go back. Even if she doesn't open up to us, she'll know we're there for her, right?"

Mark turned the car around with a decisive nod, heading back to Clean Bubbles' house. The drive was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts about the myriad of possibilities that might be affecting their friend.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Back at her house, she leaned against the door and exhaled deeply. The weight of her double life felt crushing in the solitude of her home. She wandered through the quiet rooms, replaying the day’s events and the close calls that had come far too close for comfort.

The quiet was deafening. Every sound seemed amplified—the clock ticking, the distant bark of a dog, the whisper of the wind against the windows. She moved mechanically through her nightly routine, but her thoughts were chaotic and tangled.

Her encounters with the Alternates were escalating, and their boldness worried her. They were getting closer, becoming more daring. And her friends—Mark and Cesar—were getting more perceptive. How long before they stumbled upon the truth?

She sighed, her reflection in the mirror, a pale shadow of her usual self. Her secrets felt heavier tonight, each one a chain locked around her heart.

She knew she couldn't keep going like this. Something had to give, and she needed to make some decisions soon. But for tonight, the only thing she could do was prepare for the next day, hoping she could protect her friends and herself from whatever was coming their way.

She needed to be more robust and more cautious. Her involvement with the Alternates was becoming more dangerous, and the stakes were higher than ever. The safety of her friends was her priority, and the thought of them getting hurt because of her battles terrified her.

She sat at her desk in her room, flipping open a hidden compartment to reveal her secret stash of notes and artifacts related to her fight against the Alternates. She stared at the items, each a reminder of the battles she had fought and the ones still to come.

As she touched each item, her heart ached with regret and betrayal. But it was for their own good. She knew that she couldn’t keep her secrets forever. The time would come when she would need to trust Mark and Cesar with the truth to ultimately bring them into her world.

It was a daunting thought, but as she looked around her room, surrounded by the evidence of her battles and sacrifices, she felt a quiet strength building within her. She wasn’t just fighting for herself anymore; she was fighting for her friends, the semblance of normalcy they brought into her life, and the moments of laughter and companionship that had become her solace.

As she climbed into bed, the moonlight streaming through the window cast a silvery glow across her room. She closed her eyes, and for just a moment, she allowed herself to wish for simpler times—before she had to carry the world's weight on her shoulders.

But wishes were for fairy tales, and her life was far from a storybook.

*CRASH!*

She jolted out of her sleep when she heard a broken window downstairs. “What the…? An Alternate in my house!?” she grumbled, grabbing her weapon and hiding her arsenal and items in the secret compartment.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Outside, oblivious to the crash, Mark and Cesar arrived at the front of her house. They both stepped out and looked at each other nervously. They hoped and prayed that they weren’t met with an angry Clean Bubbles stirred from her sleep or, worse, an Alternate that had already killed her.

“...Do you want to do it, mi amigo?” Cesar glanced at the teen wearing the gray sweater.

The teen shook his head towards his Hispanic friend. “No, you can do it.”

“What!? Why me!?” the teen in a tuxedo looked at him incredulously. “You’re going to chicken out on me!”

“You’re the one talking!” the teen in the gray sweater remarked. “Remember when we went to that FAKE haunted house once, and you got scared by a ghost who was my sister? You jumped in my arms, literally.”

Cesar flushed, his cheeks coloring as he remembered the embarrassing moment all too well. "Hold on a second–" he grumbled. "You screamed like a little girl when we went camping that time when a frog jumped on your face.”

The brown-haired teen scowled. “That was one time!” he protested. “And it was a surprise frog attack! Anyone would have screamed!”

“It wasn’t even THAT big!” The darker brown-haired Hispanic teen huffed. “Besides, it was YOUR fault who poked it!”

“Yeah,” Mark rolled his eyes at Cesar. “It’s like how you disturbed a tiny nest of owls and got pecked and screeched by a Barn Owl.”

The two bantered nervously outside Clean Bubbles' house. Their voices were hushed, mindful of the late hour and the possibility of waking her or attracting unwanted attention. They stood on the dimly lit street, the night heavy with anticipation and the weight of their unspoken concerns.

Cesar chuckled sheepishly at Mark's accusation, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, that was one time, okay? That bird sounded like a demon!"

Mark rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man. But this is different. We're not dealing with bird demons; we're dealing with Bubbles, and she's a lot scarier than any apparition."

Cesar nodded reluctantly in agreement, his gaze drifting back to Clean Bubbles' house. "Alright, fine. I'll do it. But if she gets mad and blasts me with some kind of magic, you owe me big time."

Mark grinned, clapping Cesar on the shoulder. "Deal. But I'll be right behind you, ready to run if things go south."

With a deep breath to steady his nerves, they approached Clean Bubbles' front door, each step heavy with uncertainty. They exchanged glances, gathering their courage before Cesar finally rang the doorbell. Silence followed the soft chime echoing slightly in the cool night air. They waited, ears straining for any sound from inside the house.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

With Clean Bubbles, she cautiously walked downstairs, staying vigilant for anything that came up. Nothing seemed to be destroyed since she didn’t have a lot of stuff at her house. After all, she’s a minimalist.

But what caught her eye was that one of the windows near the living room was shattered. Even a mini-statue of an owl was knocked over. “Oh, come on! Not the owl statue!” She rushed over, picked it up, and placed it back on its stand. “At least the Intruder plushie is safe…” She muttered, glancing at the hooded toy on the kitchen counter’s shelf. “Now, where in the world–”

She was cut off as she heard a low growl and cold breath hitting the back of her neck. Elongated claws aimed to strike her in the marble kitchen counter's reflection.

Clean Bubbles’ instincts kicked in before she could fully register the danger reflected in the kitchen counter's gleaming surface. She ducked and rolled away swiftly, honed by countless encounters of similar peril, narrowly escaping the lethal swipe aimed at her.

As she regained her footing, she faced her assailant—a grotesque creature with elongated limbs and a distorted face that barely resembled anything human.

It was an Alternate, undoubtedly, and a particularly vicious one at that. Its eyes glowed with an evil red light, fixating on her with an intensity that chilled her to the bone.

"You're far from where you belong," the creature hissed, its voice a disturbing mix of glee and menace. "This ends tonight, Celestial Artisan."

The mention of her hidden identity made her blood run cold. The Alternates weren’t just attacking randomly; they knew who she was, or at least they suspected. Clean Bubbles clenched her jaw, tightening her grip on her weapon—a compact yet deadly blade that gleamed under the dim kitchen lights.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted, trying to keep her voice steady. "And you’ve picked the wrong house to break into."

With a ferocious roar, the Alternate lunged at her again, faster and more aggressive than before. Clean Bubbles parried with her blade, sparks flying as she deflected its claws with precise, controlled movements. She was on her home turf now, and she would defend it with everything she had.

The creature snapped and swiped, each movement more desperate as it sought to overpower her. But Clean Bubbles was relentless, her attacks calculated and ruthless. She managed a sharp kick that sent the creature stumbling backward, giving her a moment to breathe.

With a leap, she prepared to drive the blade into its chest, but she was slapped away.

*SMACK!*

She hit a shelf that was filled with books and tiny ceramic statues. The books tumbled and bonked on her head, but she had to catch the fragile props so they wouldn’t break when they fell. The fight tonight needed to be quiet. Any noise drawn would draw attention to bystanders or more Alternates, and it's already too much for her to handle. She needed to dispose of this Alternate in case it left alive to tell its “Lord and Savior” of her true identity.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Seconds passed, and just as Cesar began to wonder if they should leave and try another time or try again. The night was too quiet, and every tiny sound seemed amplified under the veil of their concern.

“Mark, should we try again or wait?” He looked at his friend. They waited, the seconds stretching into what seemed like hours. No response came from inside the house.

“Let me try.” The male wearing the gray sweater pressed the doorbell, more insistently this time, while Cesar peered through the side window, trying to catch a glimpse of movement inside.

"Can you see anything?" Mark whispered, his voice tense. He looked at where his friend was looking.

Cesar shook his head and furrowed his brows. "No, nothing. It's a bit dark. Dang tinted windows.”

Mark's heart raced as they waited for a response. The tension in the air was palpable, each passing moment feeling like an eternity. He glanced around the dimly lit street, his senses on high alert, searching for any sign of movement or sound from inside the house.

"Just keep an eye out," Mark whispered back, his voice barely audible over the quiet night. He leaned closer to the door, straining to hear any faint sound from within.

Suddenly, a noise broke the silence—a low growl followed by what sounded like a struggle inside the house. Mark's heart skipped a beat, and he exchanged a worried glance with Cesar.

"Did you hear anything?" Cesar's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with concern.

“I did. Listen,” Mark motioned his friend to press his ear against the door.

The Hispanic male concentrated on picking up any frequency, but it seemed so… quiet. “What? I-I don’t hear anything at all, Mark.”

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Inside, Clean Bubbles was engaged in a fierce battle with the Alternate, each move and countermove a testament to her training and resolve. The creature was relentless, but she was determined not to let it gain the upper hand. With a swift maneuver, she managed to pin it against the ground, her blade pressed against its throat.

"Who sent you?" she demanded, her voice hard as steel. "What do you want from me?"

The creature smirked, its eyes gleaming maliciously. "You know who sent me," it rasped. "And you know what we want. But you're too late, Celestial Artisan. The end is coming, and you can do nothing to stop it."

Before she could press further, a loud knock resounded through the house, startling her. The creature took advantage of her momentary distraction and kicked her back, freeing itself. Bubbles hissed as she hit her head against the ground, her blade leaving a gash across her wrist simultaneously. “You can’t keep hiding forever, and your friends won’t be spared from the likes of us and our Lord and Savior.” It snarled as it approached her menacingly.

“And you have been a thorn in my sanity.” Bubbles stood up, brushing off the wound before charging again. She did a quick baseball slide between the legs of the creature before standing up and hopping onto its back. She summoned tape before wrapping it around the creature's mouth. “Sorry ‘bout this, Alternate.” She readied her blade to stab it. It was a bit difficult since she couldn’t use magic, hence flashing lights and magical sound effects. But before she could bring down the blade, the inhuman creature grabbed her shirt before throwing her at the staircase of her house.

*THUD!*

Bubbles coughed and winced, feeling her back sore from hitting the steps. “Damn, staircase. I should’ve chosen carpet.” It was painful, considering that they were jabbing out. “AH!” She had to conjure up an axe before throwing it at the anomaly, which it simply side-stepped to avoid the prop.

“Ha! You missed–!” It was cut off as Bubbles leaped from the stairs, tackling it.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Mark's heart sank at Cesar's words. If his friend couldn't hear anything, then maybe they were overreacting. Maybe Clean Bubbles was just dealing with something mundane, and they were intruding on her privacy for no reason. But the memory of their conversation in the car, the worry etched on Cesar's face, kept nagging at him.

"Maybe we should just leave," Cesar’s friend suggested, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I mean, she might just be asleep or something. We don't want to wake her up for no reason."

The black-haired male hesitated, torn between their concern for Clean Bubbles and the possibility of invading her privacy. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he conceded reluctantly. "Let's give her some space."

Mark nodded, though a part of him felt uneasy about leaving without knowing for sure if Clean Bubbles was okay. But they had done their part by coming back and offering support. They couldn't force her to accept it if she didn't want to.

But before they could get the chance to step away from the door–

*CRUNCH!*

An axe blade pierced through Bubbles’s house's wooden door with a loud, sickening crunch of wood breaking. “AAH!!” Cesar screeched like a girl and hopped into Mark’s arms, huffing at the sudden weight he was carrying.

The axe blade, still quivering from the impact, protruded ominously through the door, a stark reminder of the genuine danger lurking just beyond it. Mark and Cesar stood frozen for a moment, their eyes wide with shock and fear. The banter and hesitation of moments ago evaporated into the cold night air, replaced by the chilling reality of their friend's peril.

“The hell!?” Cesar shook his head, trying to process what had transpired. Was Bubbles mad? Was she fighting someone or something? Was she combating one of those Alternates?

“Ahem!” Mark sarcastically cleared his throat, trying to breathe and see because his Hispanic friend held him in his arms. “Seriously, Cesar?”

His sarcasm temporarily broke the tension, and his friend in a tuxedo blushed, realizing his reaction had been a bit over the top. He quickly regained his composure Mark’s legs trembled under his friend’s weight. "Jesus, Cesar, get off!" Mark grunted, struggling under the sudden weight of his friend. He gently set Cesar down, his mind racing with panic.

The two approached the door cautiously, Mark reaching out to slowly pull the axe free from the door. The metal screeched against the wood, a harsh, grating sound in the quiet night. With a final tug, he freed it, holding it warily as if unsure what to do next.

"Should we... go in?" Cesar whispered, his voice barely audible.

Mark nodded, setting the axe aside. "Of course. I’m going in," Mark declared, his voice firm. He tried the doorknob, only to find it locked. “Damn it. I should’ve known.” Without a second thought, he took a few steps back and then charged at the door, shoulder first.

*BAM!*

The door burst open under the force, and both boys stumbled into the dimly lit hallway. They were immediately met with the chaotic aftermath of a struggle: overturned furniture, broken items, and, more disturbingly, a dark, viscous substance splattered on the floor.

"Clean Bubbles?" Cesar called out tentatively, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet house.

There was no answer, just the oppressive silence of the house. Mark and Cesar exchanged a glance, their hearts pounding as they moved deeper into the home, cautious and alert to any signs of danger.

As they reached the kitchen, they stopped dead in their tracks. The scene before them was one of evident violence. The kitchen table was overturned, and more dark substance was smeared across the floor and walls.

Inside, they found Clean Bubbles breathing heavily, a weapon in hand. The room was in disarray, furniture overturned, and more of that strange, dark substance staining the carpet. She had been in a fight that had taken a toll on her physically and mentally.

“B-Bubbles?” Mark shuddered with shock and surprise. His gaze fixated on his friend covered in some liquid while holding a strange weapon.

“M-Mark… Cesar?” She stuttered, turning to face her friends, fear and nervousness evident in her eyes. “I-I can explain… maybe…”

“Clean Bubbles…” The Hispanic teen’s eyes widened in horror as he pointed to the substance on her clothes. “I-Is that… blood?” He couldn’t tell due to the dim light of the house. He frowned, suspecting that she was more than just an ordinary girl. “Have you been…?”

“H-Hey, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Mark tried to calm his friend.

“Have you been murdering people!? Are you an Alternate!?” Cesar accused, pointing a finger at her as she flinched.

“N-No!” She remarked, squeaking as he grabbed her by the collar.

“Tell us what’s going on! Don’t lie to us anymore! You’re hiding something!” He demanded angrily, shaking her back and forth. She was getting dizzy from the vigor shaking.

Clean Bubbles winced as Cesar shook her, her eyes darting between him and Mark, pleading for understanding. "I'm not lying, Cesar!" she protested, her voice shaky with fear and frustration. "I'm not an Alternate, and I haven't been... murdering anyone!"

“Then what have you been doing in secret!?” Cesar's voice was filled with mistrust and betrayal, his grip on Clean Bubbles' collar tightening just a fraction. Mark, however, maintained his calm, understanding that escalating the situation wouldn't help them uncover the truth.

He stepped forward, placing a hand on Cesar's shoulder to stop him from shaking her further. "Calm down, Cesar," he said firmly, his voice low but steady. "Let's hear her out."

However, it seemed that his friend wasn’t going to give up. “Mi amigo, what do you mean ‘let her hear out?!’” He turned to his friend, gesturing to her while holding her with one hand. “Mark, she has been lying to us the entire time, and now, she’s been killing–whatever it is–in secret!”

Before Mark or Bubbles could speak, he continued. “Look, everyone, and we are already dealing with these ‘Alternates’ in Mandela County, creatures that can mimic and shapeshift. People can’t figure out how to kill them, but the only one who can is this ‘Celestial Artisan!’ I don’t want to believe that Bubbles is an Alternate, nor the fact that she has been putting herself in danger and is almost getting herself killed! Or even worse, working for the Alternates as a human for them!”

Clean Bubbles' heart sank at Cesar's accusation, feeling the weight of his words like a physical blow. She knew she couldn't blame him for thinking the worst; after all, she had kept so many secrets from them, and her recent struggles had only added to their suspicions.

But she couldn't let them believe she was some kind of monster. Not when they were the closest thing she had in this chaotic world.

“Look, put her down. She’s already stressed enough.” Mark tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulder.

A tense moment rang out before Cesar sighed. “Fine… but you need to explain. NOW.”

She took a deep breath, careful at how much she needed to conceal and conceal. She knew that it wasn’t the time right now. “Look… I-I was simply defending myself from an Alternate. I-I wasn’t killing anyone.” She partially lied, hiding the fact that she killed an Alternate. Because in their current situation, she feared that some Alternates might be watching secretly. If Mark and Cesar knew she was fighting, the Alternates would realize she had allies and could use them against her. “I-It broke through my window… and I used a kitchen knife to fend it off, but I didn’t kill it since it was… abnormally strong like it is.”

Another moment of tense silence passed before Mark spoke. “There’s more to that story… isn’t it?” His voice was filled with solemn confusion. “You’re origins that you told me… you’re not actually from here, are you? You never came from here, nor do you even have parents or a sister. Am I… wrong?”

She felt her heart tighten at Mark's words, realizing that the depth of her secrets was beginning to surface, and her facade was crumbling. The room seemed to close around her, each second stretching out as she searched for the right words, knowing full well that whatever she said next could forever alter their relationship.

She sighed, a long and weary exhalation filled with the weight of her burdens. “You’re not wrong, Mark,” she finally admitted, her voice low and fraught with emotion. Her gaze shifted between Mark and Cesar, seeing the confusion and concern etched on their faces. “I... I didn’t want to involve you or drag you into this chaos. But yes, I’m not from here—not in the way you think.”

Cesar's expression hardened slightly, a mix of hurt and betrayal passing fleetingly across his features. “So, what? You’ve been lying to us this whole time?” His voice cracked slightly, displaying a rare vulnerability.

“I-In a way, yes, b-but–” Her resolve wavered, and for a moment, she considered telling them everything—the truth about her identity as the Celestial Artisan, her battles against the Alternates, and her endless struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy while protecting the dimensions from the chaos that threatened to engulf them all.

BUT THIS WASN’T RIGHT.

The gravity of what she was about to reveal was pressing down on her. She realized that exposing the full depth of her secret could endanger her, Mark, and Cesar. If the Alternates ever discovered that her friends knew the truth, it could put them directly in harm's way.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her mind raced for a way to protect her friends while maintaining the necessary secrecy. "Look, I... I've been dealing with a lot," she started again, her voice steadier this time. “And yes, there's a lot I haven't told you. Not because I don't trust you, but because I was trying to protect you both."

Mark and Cesar exchanged a look, the tension between them palpable. They were struggling with the revelations and the evident breach of trust. Yet, it was also clear that they cared deeply for their friend, their concern etched in the lines of their faces.

Cesar's expression softened slightly, his earlier anger giving way to concern. "Bubbles, we're your friends," he said, his voice gentle. "Whatever you're dealing with, you don't have to do it alone. We want to help you, not just be kept in the dark."

Mark nodded in agreement, his resolve firm. "He's right. We've seen enough to know you're not just our friend but also someone fighting a bigger battle. Let us help, Bubbles. Whatever it is, we can handle it. So please… tell us."

Clean Bubbles looked into the earnest eyes of her friends, torn between the desperate need to share her burdens and the overwhelming fear of putting them in danger. The silence hung heavy in the air, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and the faint sounds of the night creeping around the damaged doorway. Her eyes began to water up as she bit her lower quivering lip. She gripped her shoulders tightly as she looked away, her guilt evident in her body gestures.

As much as she appreciated the help, the risk was too significant and dangerous. She knew it’d get her in trouble and the boys killed.

“I… I can’t.” She shook her head, wiping away the tears of frustration. “Not… now. I can’t.”

Cesar blinked, bewildered. “What do you mean?” He asked. “We’re friends–”

“We’re not,” she cut him off.

“I… We can’t be.” She looked away from them, her back facing the two. “I don’t deserve to be your friend… never in the first place.” She narrowed her blue eyes to the ground, self-loathing herself for being so carefree in a world of horrors and dangers that kept coming in 24/7.

Mark and Cesar stood stunned, the harshness of her words slicing through the tension like a knife. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of her sudden withdrawal and the pain it brought with it.

Cesar was the first to recover, his voice soft but insistent, tinged with hurt. "Bubbles, why would you say that? After all we've been through? You're more than just a friend to us. You're part of our lives now."

The girl kept her back turned, her body tense, and every fiber of her being screaming in protest against her words. But she believed it was necessary to keep them safe—this distance. The risk of them getting hurt because of her battles was too high.

Mark stepped forward, his voice firm yet gentle, trying to bridge the gap her words had created. "We don't care about the dangers, Bubbles. Whatever this is, whatever you're hiding, it's not just your burden to carry. Let us help you."

But she shook her head slowly, resolute yet heartbroken. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice cracking. "This isn't just about what I'm hiding. It's about keeping you out of harm's way. The more you know, the more danger you're in. I can't... I won't let that happen."

Cesar, his frustration growing, stepped closer. "So what? Will you just push us away? After everything, we just... stop being friends?" His voice rose, a note of anger mingling with his disbelief.

Bubbles turned around, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her resolve faltering as she faced them. "I don't want to," she admitted, her voice whispering. "But it's better this way for everyone. You have to leave. You need to go."

“So you’re just going to leave–abandoned us!?” The Hispanic teen exclaimed incredulously.

“JUST GO!”

She snapped, holding back the tears of guilt. “Please…” Her voice softened, filled with fragile emotion, and she never wanted to show them she was vulnerable.

The air hung heavy with tension as Mark and Cesar exchanged uncertain glances. They could see the pain etched on Clean Bubbles' face, the turmoil within her. But they also knew that pushing her further might only drive her away.

Cesar sighed, his frustration giving way to resignation. He reached out a hand as if to offer comfort but hesitated, unsure if she would even accept it. "Okay, Bubbles," he said softly, his voice heavy with regret. "We'll... we'll go."

Mark nodded in agreement, his heart heavy with the weight of their fractured friendship. "Yeah," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, Bubbles. And if you ever need us... you know where to find us. Let us know."

With one last lingering look filled with unspoken words and stifled worries, Mark and Cesar turned and left the house, the broken door swinging slightly on its hinges behind them. Their footsteps faded into the night, leaving Clean Bubbles alone with her secrets and the remnants of the battle that had unfolded.

As the sound of their car engine started and faded away, Clean Bubbles sank to the floor, her back against the wall. “Damn it… I’m so stupid…” She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them tightly. The fight had drained her, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. The loneliness of her double life was never more palpable than at that moment, echoing hollowly in the quiet of her home.

She closed her eyes, the events of the evening replaying in her mind like a nightmarish loop. Her friends' faces, filled with concern and confusion, haunted her. She had pushed them away for their safety and to keep them out of the dangerous world she navigated. But the cost of that decision weighed heavily on her, a burden she wasn't sure she was strong enough to bear alone anymore.

The house was silent, eerily so. The only sounds were the occasional creaks and whispers of the wind against the shattered window. It was a stark reminder of the destruction and the potential for more if she couldn't contain the threats that sought to breach her world.

As the night stretched, she grappled with the harsh reality of her existence—a reality that demanded sacrifice and solitude, even at the cost of the friendships she held most dear.

With a deep, steadying breath, Clean Bubbles stood up. She walked over to the broken window and looked into the night. The quiet streets of Mandela County offered no answers, but the stars above shimmered with a faint promise of hope.

She turned away from the window and began to clear the debris and chaos. Each movement was mechanical, a way to keep her mind focused and away from the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to break through her carefully constructed barriers.

Yet, it didn’t feel the same as the other days when she came home. Usually, it would be simpler for her to wave off these incidents, but now, she can’t make them forget about the conversation. She also doesn’t want to forget about them, too, but it was for their own sake… maybe.

She sighed as she fixed everything before heading back upstairs, ready for bed. She sobbed one last thing before sleeping.

"Mark... Cesar... I'm so... sorry."

#Anon {Mandela Catalogue x OC!Reader}#my ocs #tmc ocs #the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc cesar #tmc mark #tmc #mark heathcliff #cesar torres #mandela catalouge cesar

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