#had gazillion references out in the open

[komikudikentalendo]

Made some concept art for my friend's game.

The theme it's going for is Greek mythology on the 1920's or something like that haha

I was asked to do Prometheus (the protagonist) and Zeus (main antagonist (?))

[ranahan]

Mando’a tense/aspect/mood

This is where I’m currently at with my reinterpretation of Mando’a TAM. I’m not 100% satisfied yet (there are still a number of open questions like if and how the tenses combine, how exactly should fronting the particles be interpreted, etc.) so I might continue changing things later, but I figured I’d throw this out here on the off chance of getting some opinions or thoughts. I’d especially like to hear if you think something doesn’t work.

This post is something of a continuation of this previous post about TAM systems in creole languages and how they compare to Mando’a. And obliquely this one where I lament the fact that Mando’a doesn’t have a perfective/completive aspect. But then I had the thought that many languages conflate certain tenses and aspects. Like languages typically don’t have a gazillion different tenses and moods and different particles or conjugations for each. Instead they usually have a handful of different tenses/aspects/moods that make certain salient distinctions, but conflate others. Perfect tense/aspect is maybe the most familiar example, conflating past tense and perfective/completive aspect. So instead of coming up with new tenses, I started thinking about how the canon ones work and all the different ways natural languages combine and distinguish tenses/aspects/moods.

And just to be clear, this is me thinking about possible ways to do TAM in my version of Mando’a grammar, not an analysis of canon Mando’a. My goals are to make it

at least superficially compatible with canon (i.e. to not overtly contradict the canon corpus or how Mando’a speakers have already learned to do things)

not a code for English (because that’s boring)

more fully functional grammar (that allows expressing more complicated ideas)

My current (re)interpretation is that Mando’a has five tenses (one unmarked and four marked) and four moods (one unmarked and three marked). Like many natural languages (including English), Mando’a somewhat conflates tense and aspect. TAM are expressed by preverbal particles, many of which can attach to not just verbs, but adjectives and nouns as well. They can also be fronted, and so they’re not very tightly bound to the verbs.

Tense

English tenses situate an event relative to the time of the speech act (frame of reference). When I say “I ran”, I mean I ran before the time of speaking about it just now. This is called absolute tense, i.e. it’s absolute in time. However, Mando’a tenses are relative: they situate an event relative to the frame of reference, i.e. time is relative to the topic I’m talking about, not the time when I’m talking. If I’m talking about what happened yesterday and I say “I ran”, I mean I ran before whatever happened yesterday. And if I’m talking about something that happens tomorrow and say “I ran”, I mean I will have run before whatever happens tomorrow.

Why? Because what Traviss says about Mando’a tenses (that colloquially mandos don’t use tenses and tenses were invented to deal with aruetiise) doesn’t make sense—mandos wouldn’t be making business deals with outsiders in Mando’a. However, this interpretation would produce exactly the kind of confusion with and seemingly optional usage of tenses that Traviss describes.

Present (unmarked)

The present tense is unmarked. In English, it can be translated as present or simple past, or even simple future. “I am leaving”, “I left”, and “I will leave” can all be expressed by the present tense. This is why outsiders might think Mando’a colloquially doesn’t use tenses or that tenses in Mando’a are optional.

Ni ba’slana. I am leaving.

Ni ba’slana kar’tuur. I left yesterday.

Ni ba’slana nakar’tuur. I will leave tomorrow.

The present tense can also refer to an ongoing event that is still relevant to the present moment:

Ni ratiin kar’tayli kaysh sa ruusaanyc. I have always known them to be reliable (and this is still true).

Past (ru, r)

Or technically, anterior tense or relative past. The anterior tense places the event before the frame of reference. In Mando’a, it is used for things that happened before the frame of reference or things in the past that are relevant now. The closest English translation would be “had done” or “had been doing”.

It is somewhat conflated with perfective/completive aspect. The completive aspect marks an event that is complete(d) or a past event that’s relevant to the current topic. They share at least some semantic overlap, which is how the conflation of past and perfective = perfect happens in many languages.

The relevance to the topical time could be resultative:

Ni epa tiingilar. I am eating tiingilar. Or, I ate (some) tiingilar.

vs.

Ni r’epa tiingilar vaal val olaro. I had already eaten the tiingilar when they arrived. (implication: and there was none left)

Ru’pitati. It has been raining. (implication: and it’s now wet)

Tion gar r’epa? Have you eaten yet? (Implication: are you hungry now?)

Perhaps even: Kaysh ru’nari’bat beskar’gam. He’s wearing beskar’gam, lit. “he has put on beskar’gam (and is still wearing it).”

The past tense can also express completion (especially when combined with adjectives):

Kai r’epayc. The food has been eaten up. (Implication: and there’s no food left)

Jetiise droten ru’trattoko. The Republic has fallen.

Tion gar vaabi bic? Did you do it? — Ni vaabi bic, a… I was doing it, but… vs. Ni ru’vaabi bic. I have done it. (Implication: and it is finished.)

Or an experiential sense:

Ni ru’seni. I have flown (I have done it before).

Ni r’akaani, ru’tal’onidi, ru’pir’ekulo par ibic—nu draar ba’slana ni. I have fought, worked my ass off and shed tears for this—I’m not leaving for anything.

Future (ven)

Or technically, posterior or relative future marks events that happen after the frame of reference. In Mando’a, it describes events that will happen in near future or are about to happen; future that’s relevant to the present, immediate, or known to be certain or inevitable.

It is somewhat conflated with inceptive/prospective aspect. The inceptive is the mirror of the perfect aspect: it marks a future event that is relevant to the present moment. In English, the future tense could be translated as “going to”, the inceptive as “start to”, the prospective as “about to”.

Val ven’olaro. They are coming. (Implication: they are already on their way.) / They will come. (Implication: I know they will.)

Ni ven’ba’slan’at bora. I’m about to leave for work. (Implication: so be quick about it because I’m in a hurry.)

Ni ven’kyramu gar. I’m going to kill you. (Implication: and that is a promise.)

Ven’pitati. It is starting to rain. / It will rain (soon). / It’s going to rain (later).

Vaal ni sirbu jii, gar ven’viini. When I say now, you will start running.

The future tense can also be used to express inevitable, natural or logical consequences:

Ca ven’shekemi tuur. Night will follow day.

Distant past (wer)

Something that happened long ago and is no longer relevant; something that used to be true but no longer is; also stories and myths that aren’t necessarily historical facts. Best translated as “long ago”. Rarely used, mostly in some stock expressions and storytelling.

Using wer as a distant past particle (like in wer’cuy) would nicely mirror ret as a distant future. There’s no immediately useful and logical aspect to conflate it with though, so perhaps it’s rare in everyday use.

Wer’cuy. It was ages ago. (Cuyi on it’s own beginning a sentence is translated as “there is…” or “it is…”). Also used in the sense of “once upon a time…” literally “a long time ago there was…”

Ay, ni wer borari ogir. Oh, I worked there ages ago. (Implication: and I no longer do & it’s no longer relevant to the present moment.)

Wer’cuy kih gi’ka. Gi’ka ane kihne be gise o’r ani sho’cye… Once upon a time, there was a tiny little fish. The little fish was the smallest one of all the fish in the entire sea…

Wer’cuy ni bal ner vod hiibi ibic bora—bal iba’bora… Ages ago me and my mate took this job—and what a job it was…

Wer’laar, myth, song of the eons past (lit. “eon-song” or “song of eons”)

Wer’uliik, mythosaur (lit. “long-ago beast”), the long-extinct megafauna of the planet Mandalore

Distant future (ret, re)

Far off, uncertain future; conflated with irrealis mood. Events that might or might not happen or have happened, including the far off future. Conflating these two senses (uncertainty/irrealis and far future) comes from my interpretation of Traviss’s statements about the nomadic mindset of uncertain future and canon expressions like ret’urcye mhi.

Basically mandos consider anything that isn’t imminent to be not written in stone yet. Another way to look at it would be to say they have two future tenses that are differentiated by the certainty of the event happening or the speaker’s degree of belief in it: ven for certain future, ret for uncertain future.

Ret’urcye mhi. Maybe we’ll meet again.

Ni ret slana. Maybe I will go / I could go / I would go / I might go one day.

Mood

Insert some mnemonic about 4 i’s.

Indicative (unmarked)

The unmarked tense that expresses realis mood i.e. things that are real or factual in some way.

Indicative/present tense is also used for expressing general truths:

Par ibic jorbe gar nu kyranu mando’ade, aruetii. For this reason you cannot wipe out Mandalorians, outsider.

Irrealis (ret, re)

Expresses things that aren’t known to be true. Literally “maybe, perhaps”, but can also be translated as might, could, etc. See above.

Ret ni slana. I might go.

Tion’ad ven slana? Who’s going to go? — Ret ni slana. I could go. (Or just ret ni, I could.)

Re’tracyuuri, ret’nu’tracyuuri—nu’baati ni. Shoot or don’t shoot, it’s no concern of mine. (The re’ form would be used before oral stops, I think.)

Imperative (ke, k)

Expresses commands and exhortations. Mando’a uses the direct imperative much more liberally than English—it isn’t considered rude at all.

Ke davaabi ke’gyce rol’eta resol! Execute order sixty-six!

Ke’dinui’ni paak, gedet’ye. Pass me the salt, please.

Direct commands can be very clipped:

Ke’mot! Halt! (lit. “stand!”)

Ke’serim! Take aim! (lit. “be accurate!”)

Ke buy’cese! Helmets on! (lit. “helmets!”)

The imperative can express direct commands, but it can also be used (especially in first/third persons) to express exhortation or jussive mood, similarly to English “let”, “should” or “ought”.

Ke mhi slana. Let’s go. (lit. “let us go”)

Ret mhi ke’slana. Perhaps we should go.

Ke slana, ad’ika! Go on, lad!

It can also be used to express commands to a third person. Formal imperative in third person would be common in written orders & legislation.

Ke kaysh vaabi bic. Have him do it.

Kaysh k’olaro. He should come. / He ought to come.

It’s also used in some subjunctive expressions:

Cuyi jaonyc kaysh ke’vaabi bic. It is important that he do it.

Not entirely sure if it shouldn’t be ke kaysh vaabir bic & cuyi jaonyc kaysh ke’vaabir bic… When exactly should the infinitive/conjugated verb be used is one of those unanswered questions of mine at this point.

Desiderative expressions:

(K’)Oya Mand’alor! Long live the king!

Ke’cin’ciri! Let (it) snow!

And it can be used in conditional if-then statements:

Meh ni mand’alor, ke ni toryc. If I were Mandalore, I would be just. (lit. “I should be just”)

Par cuyir rang, ke’cuyir tracyn. In order for there to be smoke, there has to be a fire.

In questions it could be translated as should:

Tion ni ke’ba’slana? Should I leave?

Fronting the imperative particle usually makes an exhortation:

Ke mhi slana. Let’s go.

Ke mhi gal’gala. Let us drink to that.

Ke kaysh olaro. Let him come.

Interrogative (tion)

Forms questions. Note that the interrogative particle doesn’t affect word order—no need to invert word order like in English.

Tion gar slana? Are you going?

Tion’ad slana? Who’s going?

Tion’vaii gar slana? Where are you going?

Tion’vaabi gar? What are you doing?

Tion’ad gar kyramu? Who did you kill?

Tion’ad nyni gar? Who hit you?

All the examples we have from canon front the interrogative particle, but I wonder if you couldn’t optionally insert it in place of the word it’s replacing in the sentence, like Mandarin does:

Gar slana tion’vaii? You’re going where?

Gar tion’vaabi? or Gar vaabi tion? What are you doing?

Gar kyramu tion’ad? You killed who?

Nominal TAM

And since Mando’a can attach verbal prefixes also to nouns, here are some nominal examples:

Riduur is your spouse, ven’riduur is the person you are going to marry and is understood to refer to a specific person and impending marriage vows. Ret’riduur however would be more like a hypothetical spouse, the person who would be your spouse if you were ever going to marry someone, or perhaps someone you haven’t discussed marriage with yet (and don’t know their answer).

Buir is your parent, dar’buir is the person who is no longer your parent, and wer’buir is your ancestor (one who you’ve never met—if you had personally known them, you’d use ba’buir or even ori’ba’buir instead).

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: The Odd Squad UK Gadget Competition Results Video (Part 2)

Damn Tumblr and their 30-image limit. And damn them putting a higher limit behind a paywall. Truly, we have fallen from grace.

(And if you think I am paying for that, hell to the no I am the not.)

Anyway, let's move on to the back end of this results video. Peep below the break!

(But make sure to read Part 1 first -- find it here!)

unamused_andalsogotohell.png

Sure, this video might have much better editing, but it doesn't stop this error of Orwell standing stock-still from popping up.

It's like the Odd Squad equivalent of enjoying the beach from the comfort of inside your car when you can just walk onto the beach and be more comfortable.

And this one goes out to everyone who's afraid of having seaweed touch them.

Like me, Doug Heffernan, and a good chunk of the UK population.

Somewhere in Canada, Olive was able to fit her entire small body under a couch.

She's staying there for the foreseeable future.

Security deposit, rent, and utility costs have all been waived.

"I'm going to snap your neck."

"Clean the pie off of your face first and maybe I'll take you seriously on that."

"...Go to hell."

"I've been in hell for a decade. Try me."

DO Y' GEDDIT??? BECAUSE OLIVE??? D' Y' GEDDIT????? FUNNY LAUGH??????????? KNEE SLAP???????

...WHAT DO YOU MEAN "NOT FUNNY, DIDN'T LA"-

Bent-ass lesson coming from the kid who was laughing at his coworker just before.

A little jarring, but I respect this spin on the "Odd Squad, Odd Squad, stop right there" catchphrase. It's like a four-way thumb war challenge!

Yeah, well, "gazillion" isn't a real number...Onom.

(You know it had to be done. I knew it had to be done. They laid the reference on a platter and I am using it for its most practical purpose.)

Hey, remember Oswald's number-carrying bit in "Portalandia"?

That was funny. It took me aback because it's a commonly-applied mathematical cliche pertaining to incorrect math in a show that is about correct math.

This...feels like they're trying to replicate that, and failing. Like now that they're focusing on STEM, they don't need to be overly correct anymore.

It's not funny, is my point.

OH WHO-HO-HOOOOOOOOOA HEY HI HELLO SHOT FROM THE INTRO HOW YA DOIN'.

So I guess 1) Orli is narrating the opening, which, really, does not surprise me, and 2) we're going back to the "huddle and badass armfold" roots of Season 1 and Season 2. And in this tinny lil' fandom, you can bet that people are analyzing the hell out of both.

(Yeah, we have fun playing with what little food we're given. How about you?)

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

So overall, this was a much better video than the initial briefing video. It definitely seems like they were holding everything back and saving it for this one, and frankly, I don't blame them. If this is what the actual show looks and feels like, I'm even more game than I already was before.

Odd Squad as a franchise is no stranger to contests -- they've held many in the past ten years, most with little fanfare outside of one social media post. However, this is the first one I've seen that is just straight-up advertising. And somehow, it hooked me solid.

Big congrats to Safiyah for her grand win with the Memory-inator. Whether she won both the UK and the US contests or just the UK one remains to be seen, but I'm not going to do a separate Seren's Study for both versions of the video because, put simply, there is no second version of the video. Corporate needed me to find the difference between the CBBC video and the PBS Kids video, and I told them straight out, "They're the same goddamn video."

You know what I will do a Seren's Study on next, though? The second trailer. So I'll see you folks around for that.

Seren out!

(And if you haven't seen the results, you can view them here!)

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jim Bickerman x Reader || Oneshot

Plot: You pick up a stray, much to your roommate Reba’s frustrations.

Warnings: Mentions of a dead crocodile, post-crocodile dinner Jim (alive, though, obviously), mention of hospitals, drinking, some sexual references and- once again, unknown character from a movie no one cares about 😅

You’re exhausted. The day’s events, at what you can only describe as crystal lake on meth, had totally taken it out of you and all you can do as Reba drives you both away from the mess finally, is rest your forehead on the car window and stare outside. It’s a few good, peaceful minutes, before either of you attempt to make conversation.

“… I hate that place.” Reba speaks up, shaking her head when you lift yours off the glass for a moment to see her. “But- at least I got somethin’ out of it this time, eh?” She grins, gesturing with a thumb to the back of the truck- which is not taking the weight of the giant fucking dead croc she took as a souvenir and lulls heavily on the back wheels and dangerously close to the road. Its also why the truck is moving far slower, then usual.

You smirk, too tired to create an actual smile, before shaking your head back at her and returning your temple to the cool glass of the window. “Classy,”

“You know it.”

For a few more miles you drive silently, just putting yourselves back together after the hell-day almost getting eaten by giant motherfucker crocodiles. But then you catch sight of something on the side of the road ahead of you both. Lifting your head off the glass, you narrow your eyes and squint at it. What is that?? A pile of trash??

But… no… its moving.

When you get close enough to realise it’s a person, a terrible injured person, you jump fully off the truck door and hit the handle. “Reba! Stop!”

“What?!”

“Stop the truck! Right here!”

“Alright, alright, but what the hell are yo- … “When Reba catches sight of the lump on the side of the road that you’re freaking out about after stopping the vehicle, she freezes immediately. She focuses on it. Then narrows her eyes for a moment.

… then groans, dropping her head back on the back of her seat. “Bickerman.”

“What?” You whip your head around and squint at the, now much closer, lump. Bickerman? Jim Bickerman? That crazy guy from earlier?? You wondered what had happened to him…

“Jimmy. Yah. He musta gotten a little close to one a’ those monsters… “She presses her lips firmly together and shakes her head, almost sympathetic. But then- “Well, sucks to be him. Can we go?- “

“Wha- No, Reba! Come on, help me.” You exclaim, throwing the truck open on your side and hopping out- while she hangs back a moment longer in order to lament about having a bath.

Its not long before you have his more obvious wounds tied up tight and have got him semi-standing, leading - or more like carrying, seeing as he’s barely conscious, -  the old man to the truck. When Reba notices you’re heading to the seats, she gives a groan.

“I just got this truck… he’s gonna stain the seats!”

“Would you prefer to unload the croc in the back?” You ask, knowing the answer as you quickly assess the gaping hole in Jim’s face where one of his eyes used to be, wince and look away.

… Reba gives another groan. “No… “

“Great- now- help me!! I’m hauling deadweight, here, and he’s gonna fall.”

“Oh- shit!”

~

The ride to the nearest hospital is still about 45 minutes- in a truck that isn’t carrying a gazillion tons of dead crocodile. So its about an hour before you arrive, all the while you try to get Jim to stay semi-conscious.

“Hey- don’t fall asleep on me now, we just met!”

“Jim, what’s your middle name?”

“Think fast! What’s 3 times 12?”

“If you die now you won’t, uh… uh… do- do you like sports? You wont get to see the, um, the team win! The team, uh- that you like. That one. Wouldn’t that suck??”

Most of the time he just mumbled back, a little crazily, and you didn’t quite catch exactly what it was he said- but then he would have moments of clarity every 20 minutes or so. At some point his still-intact hand ended up on your thigh and he chuckled.

You just picked it up and squeezed it.

You didn’t put it down again until the doctors were wheeling him away.

~

“… yes he’ll be fine, but we’ve had to remove a foot entirely and he’s got a good amount of stitches. He’s going to need prosthetics and walking is going to be a struggle- he’s conscious now, though, would you like to see him?”

“Ye- “You’re about to nod and follow the doctor down the hall to Jim’s room, but Reba grabs your upper arm and yanks you away fast- which you didn’t see coming. “Hey! Why- ow- “

“Oh, no. Excuse us, doc.” Giving the doctor a wink, Reba guides you to a sidebar and lets you go in order to cross her arms and give you the most ‘what are you thinking??’ type of look you have ever seen. It honestly boggles you and you stand there with wide, confused eyes. Huh?? “We should not go see him.”

“Why not?”

“We already brought him here, we saved his life- which is nicer then we really needed to treat him. Now we can go home.”

“Just one visit won’t hurt… just to see how he’s going??”

“No- it will hurt! It’ll hurt me! You adopt every damn stray you find on the side of the road- we still have a chicken with anger issues that I cant get to leave our backyard.” Well, you think. That’s not fair- Terrence doesn’t have anger issues, he’s just passionate. And… he maybe thinks Reba is his hen. A fact you refuse to ever tell her… “And that malnourished sausage dog you brought home the other day keeps giving me ‘I’m gonna kill you in your sleep’ eyes.” Alright, Macadamia Nut does have some issues. “I can’t handle a grown ass man with crazy eyes, too.”

Giving a short laugh, you try to just brush away Reba’s insistence. “Don’t be silly, I’m not gonna adopt Jim.”

“Silly?? Oh- Look, you take one step towards that room, and I’ll leave you here Y/N! I’m not kidding, here!! I’m dead serious. look in my eyes, now.”

Instead of looking into Reba’s own crazy eyes, you hesitantly glance down the hall- towards the room the doctor went back into, and consider how expensive a cab would be from here.

… then you sigh, defeated. It would cost a fortune. “Fine… lets go home… “

Reba grins and pats your back, leading you out to the parking lot. “That’s what I thought.”

~

Its months later when Reba sees Jim next. You’re having a few drinks out with Reba after she got promoted to Sheriff when he walks by, sees you both, and wanders over. As soon as you see him your eyes widen, but you stay quiet- looking to Reba for her first moves.

… luckily, tequila makes her friendly. “Oh- Jimmy!! You’re alive, huh?? And walkin- that new foot treatin’ ya well??”

Jim’s good eye wanders to you, even as he exchanged small talk with Reba, a wonky grin on his haggard face, and you try to ignore him. “Good as it can, I guess.”

“And that hook! Man, how’re you signin’ check’s now?”

“Don’t get a whole lotta checks these days, I’m stayin’ away from the poaching business. Not like I can move as well as I useta, you know?” With this, he flicks at the hook in question like see? this is why. Then he goes right back to assessing you, setting his good hand on the back of your chair and leaning into it.

“Good call.” Reba winks, not seeming to notice his affections as she takes a shot of tequila. “You know what?? Siddown, Jim, drink with us! We’re celebratin’, afterall.”

Oh no. Jim gives a big grin at her, before taking the seat between you both. “Hm! Don’t mind if I do. Thanks for the kind offer.”

“No problem! Barkeep!!” Reba taps the table the 3 of you are sitting at quickly and turns to the bar- that’s quite close. She said it would be wise, this evening, to stick close to where the alcohol is kept. “Another round, please, for me, my quiet roommate, and our acquaintance.”

“I’m not quiet, Reba, I’m just not as drunk as you.” You lie, giggling and looking away when she points a stern finger at you. Instead of try to figure out what she means by that in her alcoholic language, you turn bravely to Jim instead. “So, how many drinks are you on? This is my second, and Reba… I think that’s her 6th coming now- I think.”

“7th! Gimmie some credit.”

“Oookay.” You agree, before showing Jim 6 fingers when Reba looks away towards her coming tequila sunrise. Its 6.

He winks, at least you think it’s a wink, and gives a rough-looking grin. “I haven’t started yet, actually, but I do think I can do better then that. And I can get you drinkin’ some more, too.”

“I have to be the responsible one around here. No, you can’t.”

“We’ll see, honey, we’ll see. After all~… we did finish my stash last night together. Oh, maybe that’s got somethin’ to do with you goin’ slow??” His grin is now utterly mischievous as your eyes widen and Reba turns slowly to the two of you again. No! Why! She wasn’t supposed to know, Jim!- Squinting, she tries to pull her thoughts together.

“You… wait, what do you mean you finished a stash together last night?? You’re not supposed to… you haven’t been… “ As you shrink down into your seat a little, Reba turns fully to you. “You went back to the hospital!??”

“Yes.” The word comes out more like a ‘y’ sound followed consecutively by an ‘s’ sound rather than a full word as you avoid her eyes and attempt to disappear.

“How many times!?” She exclaims, mind boggled.

“Just… a couple… of times… “You shrug, helplessly.

“Regularly. My sweet pumpkin here visited me regularly- didn’t ya sweetheart?” At this remark, you give Jim a wuthering glare- though, you don’t really mean it and he knows that as he shrugs and turns around quietly to order himself a beer.

“I cannot believe it- You’re dating this creep?? That’s where you’ve been all those nights?? Damn- “ As you sit there and listen to her, she picks up another tequila shot and downs it. She seems to calm, after that, wrapping her mind around this. Or, resign herself as she pours herself another shot. “I was hopin’ it was drugs, honestly, easier to swallow.”

This is the part where Jim wants to jump back in, a joke about swallowing on the tip of his tongue but you stop him quickly with a raised finger. “Nope- drink your beer.”

Chuckling, he obediently raises the cold beer to his mouth. “If you insist~ … “

“Ugh,” After taking a sip of the tequila straight out the bottle and shaking her head, Reba gets up from the table. “I’m- I’m gonna need somethin’ harder than this. Be right back. And- do me a favour? Get out all your gross, couple-y affections, while I’m gone, will ya? Thanks. I don’t needa be seein’ that.”

As Reba walks the short distance away to the bar, you quickly take the opportunity to turn and just raise your eyebrows at Jim. Expectantly. Like,… so?? What is up? What was that? Are you out of your mind???

… he just shrugs, still beyond amused at the chaos he created. “What?”

 Slowly, a devious smirk slides across your lips. “Ahhh- I get it.”

“What? What do you get?” That sobers him, as he lowers the beer bottle to the table and frowns at you.

“You’re secretly kinda sweet, huh?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Now we don’t have to hide from Reba.” You explain, picking up your own drink. “We can be together more, now. Don’t have to hide out in your cabin. I see what you did.”

Jim sputters, actually sputters, looking wide eyed and surprised at your allegation. “N- No no no, that’s not that I was doing. I was just trynta, uhh… “

“Very cute.”

“Excuse me, miss. I did not- “

“Okay.”

Jim stops, levels with you, and looks just a devious. “Hold on- what are we doing, here?”

“I'm teasing you for having it so so bad, for me??”

“Your friend said to get out all our gross, couple-y affections while she was gone. I think we still have some time… why dontcha give daddy some sugar, hm?”

[meowww-ffxiv]

It always weirded Meowdred out to hear that people either looked up to him or valued his opinions.

Not when among friends, of course. He knew these people. And none of them were stupid or vapid. If they'd decided Meowdred was going to be the one whose opinion they wanted to get, then he trusted their choice. Because frankly there were a gazillion better opinions to seek out there, though he supposed none of those would be free.

But Aymeric asked him how he thought about some things? And Nanamo. And, once, even Merlwyb asked -- though she was referring to the rogues' guild which Mordred had tangible ties with, and about adventurers' commercial ventures which he also participated in often. So that was fair.

But Theodore once told him to not flake off on people's mails because they were actually waiting on him to answer. And Meowdred said, why.

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Theodore was baffled. "Do you think Ser Aymeric has the time to sit at his desk and pen a letter to you, personally, for vanity? Or companionship?"

This would be a very cold and pragmatic way to describe that very blue man whom Meowdred did like, but that it was cold and pragmatic was comforting. Theodore knew that. Because at twenty-eight years old, Mordred heavily distrusted politicians who came at him with a warm, welcoming attitude.

"But I don't know anything about Ishgardian politics or even their markets."

"Of course you do not. Aymeric would not have asked you something he himself knows well. Why don't you open the letter and see for yourself what it is he asked?"

The letter took three weeks to write and was personally deposited at the Lord Commander's desk because Meowdred was afraid it would be outdated by the time it got to him by common means. It was, in itself, a detailed report that included predictions and a caution about its limitations. That document determined Ishgard's southerly exports for a period of six weeks, and the financiers and treasurers of the city praised its meticulousness.

Meowdred did in fact ignore the next one sent to him, though. He wasn't going to be someone's free economic spy.

"This is how connections work, you realize," Theodore told him. "That is a very powerful connection."

"I am past the age where I want to be powerful," Mordred replied from his tropical hammock. "I'm thirty years old, I've survived three ends of days in a single fucking lifetime, and I'm tired. Leave me to my damn sheep and pineapples. If any state leaders want economy spies, they can train 'em up and send 'em forth."

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, too many TV show references, obnoxious flirting, and riverdale lol

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: hello this is a chaos chapter. special shoutout to an anon who suggested a WandaVision themed episode, @obsessivelycapricious for the ideas, @spiderrpcrker loml for some of crackhead content here and @ugherik for take 2 of the spin on the “a platypus!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “perry the platypus!???” thing. i am exhausted

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

“Mr. Barnes,” you announce when he opens the door to let himself in.

He raises his hand in a small wave, strolling across the floor to where you were standing.

“You are-” You check the watch on your wrist, “-ten minutes late.”

“Tragic,” he replies dryly. 

“Imagine if I didn’t wait for you and started my plan anyway. Total world annihilation.” You’re standing on the platform, lugging a heavy table on wheels and an old timey TV with you.

“The world hasn’t ended yet, I’d say it’s fine.” He makes his way to the base of the stairs, waiting for you to reach the top before he helps.

“How was therapy?” you question, one hand on the TV to support it. 

“Like always.” He shrugs, lifting the whole set up and placing it on the ground. “She told me I need to chill out.”

“I’d say she’s right.”

“Yeah, well-” He uses his metal arm to help you pull the table along. “I think she has her hands full with the other nine hundred problems I have.”

Once you guide it to the centre of the room, he lets go of it and takes a step back.

“Boom.”

“This TV is older than | am.” He knocks the top of it, a hollow metal sound resounding through.

“That's impossible,” you drawl obnoxiously. “You're, like, a billion years old.”

“I’m a gazillion, so watch your mouth,” he warns in mock seriousness. “What are you doing with this?”

“One second.” You hold up a finger, sorting out your priorities. “Your hair's getting long again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That's what happens when it grows over time.”

“You look like a prince.” His hair fell to his ear by now and you figured the haircut did him well because the volume in his tresses was lively.

Bucky pulls at it slightly, eying a lock. “That a bad thing?”

“No.” He looked nice. “I like it.”

“Okay.” He pushes back a smile, nodding slightly.

Really nice.

“I think I will hit on you obnoxiously today.” 

He exhales, pressing his lips together in a straight line. “When do you not?”

“Anyway,” you begin again, keeping a hand on the TV. “I saw your reaction to Netflix’s best movie last time-”

His face falls. “We’re not watching the sequel.”

“Hush.” You raise a finger in warning. “There’s no point in watching The Kissing Booth 2-”

“We finally agree on something,” he deadpans. “Who woulda thought?”

“-when you can live it.” You raise the remote in triumph. “Behold, the Television Transporter... inator.”

“That’s the name?” He looks unimpressed, rightfully so. You had given him names like The Air Morphomatic Inator before. This was nothing. 

“I’m workshopping it,” you urge him to move on. “I built it in a hurry for us.”

“Is this thing even safe?” He taps at the glass.

“We’re gonna find out,” you mumble before raising your voice again. “You ever looked at a Hallmark movie and think, ‘gosh, I wish I was in that small, vaguely terrifying town!’”

“No.”

“When you’re watching a sci-fi movie and think, “jeez, I wish I was the one getting probed by that alien!”

“No.”

“When you’re watching erotica and-”

“No,” he interrupts before you complete your obscene thought.

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” You clap your hands together in excitement. “Because you can do all of that.”

“Why are you advertising this to me?” His feeling of suspiciousness rises with every second. “What is this, a pitch meeting?”

“I thought I’d make it fun.” You pouted. “Monologuing is so two weeks ago.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Also, I didn’t exactly get to test this out so...” you trail off. “And it technically only runs TV shows for now. If you want, we can do this next week after I do a few test runs with my clones.”

He had a mission next weekend, followed a fundraiser event and even though he would definitely rather spend it here, he doesn’t really have the time.

“What if something goes wrong?” he asks, just in case.

“I swear I’ll pull the plug,” you promise. “No pun intended.”

That’s enough for him.

“Guess ‘m gonna have to destroy it before it’s fully functional.” He’s still feeling the adrenaline spike from the compliment you gave him earlier. Might as well make use of it.

You grin at his spontaneity. “Anyway, here’s the evil part-”

“Oh, joy.”

“You’re mouthy today, Barnes.” You take a pause. “I like it. Keeping things spicy.”

“Just doing my part.” He shakes his head, owing it the unusual sense of confidence compared to what he had when he initially walked in “Go on, the evil part is?”

“They get thrown into any show across all networks or streaming platforms.” The smile on your face is nothing short of sinister. “If they’re especially bad, they’re going straight to Riverdale.”

“You can control it?”

“Well,” you pause, “no, not yet. But I’ll get there.”

Bucky just continues anyway. “And who are you planning to send?”

“For a start, it’d be that asshole Jeff from work.” Ah yes, he remembers Jeff. Baking soda volcano guy. “He’s gonna know the epic highs and lows of high school football.”

He brushes it off as a reference he doesn’t get yet.

“After that, anyone who’s inconvenienced me ever.” You spread your arms out. “And then the whole tri-state area.”

There’s a loud booming sound throughout the lair, similar to a dun dun dun in every superhero movie ever.

Bucky waits for it to subside before continuing, “How long did it take you to do that?”

“An embarrassing amount of time,” you admit, dropping your hands to your side again. “But it’s cool, right?”

“Sure.”

“You know it is.”

“Move on.”

“Right, so taking over the tri-state area, blah blah, end of the world as we know it-”

“What if I pull the plug?” He points to the cable connecting it to the socket.

“You wouldn’t.”

He stares at you. “You know I would.”

“Yeah, you would,” you huff. “Which is why it’s just for show. It doesn’t actually do anything.”

“What if I punch a hole through it?”

“Why is that your first resort?” you whine. “There’s only one way to stop it and it’s the remote I made.”

“That remote?” He looks at the one in your hand and you nod. 

“We get two minutes per channel, so that’s fun,” you explain, walking towards the TV. “You can pick your character but since you don’t know most of them, it’s gonna be even better. Kinda wanna see you as Luke from Gilmore Girls.”

“Great,” he drags the word sarcastically. “And what about you?”

“I’m always the main character, baby, everywhere I go.” You give him a mischievous grin, raising the remote over your head. “See you there.” 

He watched you in amusement as you press the ‘on’ button before falling straight into the TV set.

The world goes dark.

**

When you open your eyes again, you’re in front of a wooden door, an entrance to the large grey building. 

The remote’s not in your hand. There’s a slight moment of panic before you feel the strain of a sling bag on your shoulder. You rummage haphazardly through the contents, finally letting out a breath of relief when you find the remote under a bunch of pens and other knick-knacks.

You push the doors open, and take a step into the establishment, almost immediately greeted by the sight of Bucky standing at the bar. Behind the bar, actually. 

There’s a towel thrown over his shoulder, a blue flannel adorning his body and a half-empty bottle of tequila in his hand.

The doorbell tinging alerts him to your presence.

“Y/N.” 

“James,” you reciprocate, making your way over to the barstools. “You’re bartending.”

He motions at his state. “Apparently I am.” 

Where had you seen this particular bar before? With its u-shaped counter and solid wooden furniture, a TV mounted at the apex of the alcohol shelf. The old jukebox in the corner is a hint, a bit of nostalgia but it’s ultimately the curved booths that are the key.

“New Girl.” You twist your body around. “We’re in New Girl. And so that makes you...”

“A fucking bartender,” he repeats. “What am I doing here?”

Nick goddamn Miller.

A grin curves upwards on your face. “I’d like an Old Fashioned.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, placing the bottle of tequila far away from your immediate reach. 

“The most complicated drink you have, then, barkeep,” you declare, settling in and making yourself more comfortable on the stool. 

Bucky dips below the counter before rising again. He drops a water bottle in front of you. “No.”

“C’mon,” you urge. “I’m a teacher, I’m basically your Jessica Day.”

“I don’t know who that is.” Bore. That wasn’t going to keep you from having fun. “What’s happening? Why am I wearing this... thing?”

He picks at the faded flannel that had a few holes near its hem. Definitely a Nick Miller shirt.

“You’re in character, Bucko.” You watch as he pulls the towel away from his shoulder and drops it on the floor. “I can totally see why you picked this guy.”

“I didn’t pick him-”

“Constantly irritated, the personality of an old man, in love with a teacher.” You sigh dreamily. “One and the same.” 

“I didn’t sign up for Comic Con today,” he interrupts, looking for the slab to lift so he could make his way over to you. 

“How do you know what Comic Con is?” You follow his movements, one leg on the floor in case you had to make a run for it. 

He doesn’t reply, focusing on lifting the counter so he can get it done with. The countertop doesn’t budge. He tries to jump over it but something that feels like a forcefield repulses him backwards, preventing him from doing so.

“Why can’t I get out of here?”

“Plot demands that you stay there.” You take a sip innocently, pulling your seat a few feet away from the counter. “Nick Miller never crosses the bar. It’s a whole thing.”

He turns around, exposing his back to you as he tries to scout for another way.

“What else can’t I do here?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, taking a look around for any sort of clue. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“How am I supposed to fix this then?” He rolls his eyes. He had a few ways but they were semi-violent and for international criminals, not you. 

“Get me drunk and maybe I’ll let you steal the remote.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “We can even play spin the bottle.”

Bucky stares at you long and hard before reaching over and grabbing his previously discarded bottle of tequila.

“I was kidding.” You snort. “You gotta try harder than getting me drunk. Although, I’m still up for the spin the bottle.”

“You're serious about the hitting on me thing.” He looks at you in slight disdain.

“I would never joke about that,” you swear, turning the cap on your water bottle before jumping off. “Anyway, see you soon.”

“Where you going?” His eyebrows pull low.

You look down at your watch before glancing up at him again. 

“Channel’s changing.” You stick your finger up and he follows where you’re pointing. 

The bar starts fading into a field of static, bringing the familiar white noise from your past along with it before everything goes black.

You look around, finding nothing but yourself in the vast expanse of the void. Existential. 

Nice.

The brief seconds you get to yourself, you think about how you didn’t get a choice in which character you got to play but you wondered if he did. If he was choosing on purpose to play someone reluctantly in love with you- well, the feeling you had in your stomach was one that you were going to equate to butterflies. 

**

When the world suddenly snaps back into colour, you’re not upright.

You’re sitting in the driver’s seat with your hands on the steering wheel, foot on the pedal.

There’s a Creedence Clearwater Revival song playing softly on the radio of the sleek, black muscle car you’re driving.

“What the-” You look down at your clothes, running your hand over your jacket, patting yourself down. “A lumberjack? Why am I playing a lumberjack?”

There were so many layers, at least three from what you could make out. A t-shirt, an overshirt and a jacket on top of that. No wonder the AC was on full blast, it was absolutely scorching. 

“Keep your eyes on the fuckin’ road!” A voice yells from behind you, yanking the steering wheel away from the series of blaring honks and bright lights that almost blind you. A truck passes by, its driver sticking his head out the window to curse at you.

“Mr. Barnes, what are you doing back there?” You ignore the possible life and death situation that might have occurred a few seconds ago since it was irrelevant by now. “Am I your chauffeur?” 

“Fuck if I know.” You look at him through the rearview mirror.

Besides the scowl on his face, his hair was parted down the side, he wore a white button-up, a tie and a black blazer but the most damning piece of evidence:

A beige trench coat.

Your mind races to put it together before the fucking car and the woodcutter attire suddenly make sense.

“Oh, my God.” It’s a little concerning how hard you laugh. “Shit, are you supposed to be Castiel?”

“Who?” He glared at you from the rearview mirror.

“Fuck, that means I’m Dean.” You glance down at your outfit again. “Is Supernatural still going on?”

“Eyes on the road,” he barks again from his seat. Supernatural? He’d definitely heard of the show, even seen a few out of context Reels on Instagram. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes. “Because this show is known for permanently killing off characters. You die and come back, like, every five minutes.” Ah, so just like his friends in real life. 

“Give me the remote” He leans forward in the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. “I’m already sick of this.”

A screech of the tires follows your jerking of the steering wheel to the right, throwing him to the backseat as the car lurched to the other lane.

“I’m in control here, Bucko,” you chortle, giving him a once over to make sure he was fine. “Plus the remote’s not in my pocket, I can’t feel it.

You couldn’t feel it when you ran your hands down your jacket. The lack of command you had over where the remote landed was definitely a glitch you hadn’t considered, but made a mental note of. 

“Then where is it?” He checks to see if it’s maybe in his pocket. No such luck. “Your inator is a mess.” 

“You’re my angel boyfriend, you’re supposed to be nice to me.” You watch his movements to see what he was up to. “Did you pick your character on purpose?”

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes, checking the backseat and under the cushion to see if it was anywhere there. 

“Yet.” You grin at him. “And judging by the show, you won’t ever be but we can make it happen in real life.”

“No,” he denies simply, leaning forward to open the glove compartment when he realised it wasn’t at the back. “And I didn’t pick my character.”

“At all?”

He grunts in affirmation, hand jutting out to keep his balance as he checked under your seat. 

“That’s weird, I made sure it was programmed to let you do that.” Your tongue pushed against your cheek in contemplation. “Huh.” 

Guess there were more glitches than you thought. 

You swerve the car again and he’s worried that the passenger’s side headrest might just snap under the grip of his metal arm. 

“Even then, you know, I don’t think it’s fate that we’re playing two people in love for the second time,” you sing as if you didn’t pull the car onto a different lane and back within a second. “We’re meant to be.”

“Stop doing that,” he hisses, straightening himself again from where he was pressed against the door. 

“Doing what?” 

“Driving like a maniac,” he fires, grabbing hold of both the headrests this time.

“Oh, so you’re fine with the flirting?” Your lips curve upwards into a smile. 

“Couldn’t stop that even if I tried, now could I?” he mumbles sardonically, eyeing the road ahead for any possible reason for you to swerve into the other lane. There’s a car in the distance, a guarantee that you won’t repeat your behaviour. Hopefully.

“I would if you wanted me to.” You catch his gaze in the mirror. “You just have to say the word.”

He looks at your reflection, realising that you were dead serious about it too, no hint of a joke on your face. 

“Move,” he commands instead, climbing into the front seat, ungracefully shoving your head in the process. 

He supposes that was answer enough. 

There’s no denying the little smile that makes its way onto your face which you drop immediately in favour of indignation when he clumsily lands beside you.

“There’s no point in getting the remote, Bucky,” you protest, pushing him away with one hand. “We could rather be making history on this show by dating. I already know you’re in love with me so this should be easy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, the tips of his ears turning pink as he reached over to the glove compartment. You waste no opportunity, clearly.

“We have like 3 seconds left.” You scoff, looking for a second at your watch. “Where are we going next on the list of shows that never end? The Walking Dead? Grey’s Anatomy?”

Just as he opens the compartment the trees outside melt into grey, the white noise making a return as the car disappears from under you. 

You wonder if he’s in his little void too when your world goes dark. 

**

You blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight beating down on you with the mid-noon heat. 

You’re on what looks like a large farmland. Dirt caked your limbs and you had the rattiest clothes on, ones that clearly hadn’t seen the washing machine in a while. 

“Ugh.” Sweat dripped from your forehead to your chin and you wiped it off with your forearm. 

“Let’s keep it moving people.” You wouldn’t mistake his voice for anyone else, no matter how far away he was from you.

Bucky had a bomber jacket on, a rifle pressed to his side and mud streaked across his face as he hustles a group of people down a path leading to a mansion. 

And though he’s hurrying and seems like he’s in a state of worry, judging by the constant glances he gives over his shoulder, what really catches your attention is the stupid fucking sheriff’s hat he has on his head.

“Sarge!” you call out, waving your hands over your head to catch his attention. You’re a considerable distance down the road away from him, somehow isolated from the rest of the group.

You can see him mouth a ‘what the’ before stalking towards you.

The dumb thing on his head looks even more ridiculous up close. 

“Now I know you wouldn’t choose to wear that.” You stifle a laugh, hands on your hips as you gave him a once over. “But from the neck down, you look really hot.”

He looks at you blankly. “The Walkers are coming.”

“What wa- oh, is that where we are?” you squint, doing a survey of your surroundings. “The fuckin’ Walking Dead?”

“Keep your volume down and get inside,” he hisses, pointing to the house down the path.

“I was kidding about the shows that didn’t end.” You pay no attention to him, instead, a little scoff escaping you in disbelief. “I didn’t think we’d actually show up here, what the fuck?”

“They’re coming.”

“Would you relax, none of this is going to matter in a minute. Aren’t there supposed to be zombies?” You shield your eyes from the sun as you stand on your toes to try and see beyond the horizon. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be playing but let’s makeout anyway.”

He doesn’t curse or groan at your stupid attempt to hit on him.

Instead, he freezes for a second, eyes trailing over your shoulder. 

“What?” You follow his line of sight, craning your body to do so.

Your ears picked up the sound of several leaves cracking under heavy feet, low groans and strangled cries nearing in the distance.

“Oh, there they are. Hello.” You watched the herd of dead people stumble their way towards you with a vengeance. “This is so stupid. They walk, like, one mile an hour. We’ll be gone by then-”

The next thing you hear is a gun cocking before a bullet whizzes past your head and lodges itself into the head of the Walker nearest to you. 

“Bucky, holy shit, don’t do that.” You press your hand to your chest to calm down the racing heartbeat. “Give me a warning at least.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He frowns, loading more bullets into the gun.

“What do you mean who’s Bucky?” Your eyebrows knit together. “What kinda dialogue is that?”

“I don’t know who you are but you need to leave,” he demands, raising the stupid rifle again. “Get back to the house.”

“Why, so you can trap me and steal the remote? Ha no, nice try.” You narrow your eyes. “This is changing in thirty seconds.”

“What remote?” He cocks the gun again.

He fires another shot behind you and you yelp, jumping slightly. “Motherfucker, stop doing that! Is this supposed to be revenge for the dumb car thing?”

“What’s changing?” He catches your gaze, a serious question posed on his lips.

“The channel.” You mentioned around. “You know, we shift to another one in twenty seconds. You’re supposed to find the remote?”

Speaking of which, you had no idea where it was. You didn’t consider outfits without a pocket to be a possibility but apparently, the television world did, and the remote was probably sprawled somewhere on the grass.

Or maybe it was under Bucky’s ridiculous hat. 

You snickered at the thought. 

“What are you talking about?” The confusion on his face is evident as he lowers the gun.

You frown. “What do you mean, what am I talking about?” 

He doesn’t answer instead shouting a quick “Run!” before firing a shot behind you.

The static returns again, the white noise drowning out the cries of the undead for two seconds before it stops again.

The world changes to black but the frown on your face remains.

Was he fucking with you or was this genuinely a glitch in the system?

**

You’re indoors this time. The room is messy, filled to the brim with a bunch of knick knacks all around you. The ventilation is poor, none of the stained glass windows an inlet for fresh air. 

There’s a can of God knows what in your hand and a Bible in front of you on the table where you’re seated. 

“What’s with all the alcohol?” you scoff, lifting the can to inspect it. “I told you, it’s not gonna work.” 

He clears his throat and you look to your left.

Oh fuck.

He was dressed in a black clergy shirt with a clerical colour, his prince hair slightly messy, and the same can as yours in his hand. You don’t even need to think to be able to recognise who he’s supposed to be. 

Jesus.

“You’re the hot- I mean cool- priest,” you mumble, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “From Fleabag.”

“A cool priest?” He laughs and holy shit, you’ve never seen anything more attractive on a person before. “No, I’m a big reader with no friends.”

He knew the dialogue? You didn’t know he watched the show.

“Uh huh.” You think you say that. You may be staring too hard at the smile on his face to actually formulate words.

“Are you a cool person?” Bucky asks instead, raising the can to his lips to take a swig. 

Was this his plan? To fluster you enough to surrender?

“The coolest.” That was definitely not the dialogue from the show but who cares at this point. 

Hell, his plan may just be working. 

“Oh, the coolest?” The expression on his face is so easy, so content that you wonder why you don’t see it more often. He looks amused and gosh, real pretty when he smiled like that. “What makes you the coolest person?”

He should not look that good. He should not look that good.

“Um-” you shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. 

“Are you okay?” There’s a crease that appears between his eyebrows in concern.

You cannot crush on a priest. Fuck that, you cannot crush on Bucky as a priest.

“Uh huh.” You nod, looking for the can in front of you to give you a reason not to stare at his stupid face. “You’re really playing into this character, aren’t you? I almost believe you could be a priest.”

“I’m glad it’s believable.” He gives a slightly confused laugh, “considering, you know, it’s my job.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “You’re totally not trying to seduce me into giving you the remote. Well, it didn’t work in Walking Dead, and it’s not going to work now, no matter how hot you look.”

He raises an eyebrow, not knowing how to respond. “Thank you?”

There was a minute left. Exactly how long had you been staring at him?

“Actually, I’m not sure where it is.” You shuffle around in your seat to look for it, somewhat of a distraction. “Did you see it fall anywhere when we showed up here?”

“Where what is?”

“The remote.” You check under your chair, but it isn’t there. 

When you come back up, the intensity with which he’s looking at you causes your stomach to flutter. Fuckin’ hell.

“I have to be honest, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He leans forward again, leaning his weight on his elbows.

“That’s real subtle, Buck.” You snort, a sort of uneasiness spreading within you. “You're a good actor.”

He doesn’t respond but the smile on his face does falter a bit.

A second of silence passes by when neither of you say anything. 

Fifteen seconds to go, a voice in your head reminds you. 

He doesn’t make any effort to say anything, only waiting for your next move.

Stop staring at him.

“I need to ask you something and I need you to be serious.” You clear your throat, lips pressing together.

“Go ahead.” He nods, listening intently. 

“Are you fucking around or is something actually wrong?” 

There’s a beat of silence between you both.

Bucky tilts his head in confusion. “I'm afraid I don’t get your reference?”

Something was definitely up.

Five seconds.

“Where’s the fucking remote?” you discard any other objective you had, focusing on finding your exit out of that show. Maybe the glitch would work itself out if you turned the whole system on and off. 

“Why are you so interested in searching for this remote?” He tries to get off his chair to come your aid even though he has no idea what was going on, but something tugs him back down, forcing him to sit there. Fucking plot convenience. 

“This is no fun if you’re not actively getting annoyed,” you whine. “And it’s sad because you look really cute when you’re happy.”

“Thank you?” he asks again but you don’t look at him when the void returns, sighing instead as you rest your hand on your knees.

**

This time, the second you open your eyes you’re on the prowl for the dumb gadget. 

He’s in front of you with possibly the worst combination of clothes that day. His denim sherpa jacket, grey-black flannel and maroon t-shirt just didn’t sit right on him.

Your eyes trail upwards, finding all his hair, but a side swoop in the front, pushed under a beanie. You scoff. He looked like an amalgamation of every grown man Netflix tries to pass off as a teenager.

“Who on earth put you in that fugly beanie?” You look around. “Actually, I don’t care. Help me find the remote.”

You pulled up chairs and boxes off the floor, nose twitching in disdain at the state of the dingy room you were in. The utter lack of proper lighting made it more difficult for you.

“In case you haven’t noticed-” he starts from above.

You freeze, countless memes and edits flooding into your head as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“Oh, my God.” Your eyes widen, knowing immediately what you were about to listen to. 

“I’m weird. I’m a weirdo-” he says, completely seriously, a little faster than how he usually talked. 

“No. Nope. Nuh uh.” You scramble for the remote, find it a few feet away from you under a recliner. 

“I don’t fit in. And I don’t want to fit in-” He lifts his hands to his mouth, thinking about what he wanted to say.

“This is literally the worst case scenario, fuck.” You hold your finger up to him. “Bucky, shut up or you’re gonna have trauma for the rest of your life.”

“Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on?” People actually got paid to write this shit. 

“And he said it,” you mumble, pressing any fucking button that would take you away from Riverdale and hopefully give you time to figure out what was going on. 

“That’s weird-” this overgrown variant of Jughead continued, much to your despair.

“Shut up.” You click the button to jump to the next channel, sighing in relief when the static noise drowns out the last part of his monologue.

The void is welcoming this time.

**

This world is very distinctly different, a huge contrast from the earlier alternatives. 

“You have got to be shitting me.” Your jaw drops. “A fuckin’ cartoon?”

Wherever you were, it shared too many similar elements with your lab to not be someone’s evil headquarters. And it was all animated, things that you weren’t going to use that episode duller and blended into the background. 

At least the ventilation was good. It was an open balcony building, possibly on the highest floor, broad daylight. 

You flip your hand over and over again, the 2D rendering not giving you anything other than two sides. At least it confirmed that you weren’t just seeing things. 

You look down at yourself. There was a lab coat over your black turtleneck and green pants fitted on your waist. Where had you seen this outfit before?

Someone crashes through a window that logically shouldn’t have even been there, doing a tuck and roll before sticking their superhero landing.

“Who the fuck-” 

Even he was in 2D. His face was covered by the shadow of his fedora, giving you no way of looking at his expression.

“A secret agent?” you ask in confusion, words spilling out of your mouth against your will.

Shit, were you losing control too?

He rolls his eyes before ripping off the left sleeve of his shirt, his metal arm on full display. 

“Bucky Barnes the secret agent?!” Your mouth moves on instinct before you slap a hand over it. Of course it was Bucky, who else would it fucking be?

You halt for a second.

Okay, why did he look hot as a cartoon character?

His black camo pants and full sleeve t-shirt hugged him nicely, exaggerated dimensions of his body showcased under the cloth. Generally, everything about him was the same as usual except the brown fedora perched on his head.

“Fuck no, are we supposed to be in Phineas and Ferb?”

He stares at you silently, analysing your body language in anticipation of your next move.

“Are you the fucking platypus?” Your jaw drops open in disbelief. “You’re, like, Agent B?”

He opens his mouth to say something but you hold up a finger. You’re not sure you could emotionally handle him chattering his teeth like the actual creature. 

“That makes me the German scientist guy.” You look around the lab that was decorated in shades of purple. “This relationship doesn’t even make sense. How are we related to this?”

You peer at him, only to find him unmoving. 

“Well, don’t just stand there.” You straighten your spine from the hunchback assigned to you. “Help me find the remote so we can go home.”

His brows were pulled into a scowl, body rigid.

“Wow, fine. I see why you got assigned him now,” you mumble, surveying the several countertops around you. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

It finally catches your eye, a couple of meters away, in brighter and sharper colours than anything else. You loved the cartoon world for this nifty little detail.

You stalk towards it, bending over to grab it off the floor.

Something harsh knocks it out of your grip. You look up to see Bucky right in front of you, hand blocking yours.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” You roll your eyes. “So now the plot lets you fight me?”

He only lowers his head in challenge. 

“This is completely unnecessary.” You bend over to try again.

His forearm shoots out to block yours, your other hand grabbing onto his to pull it away from you. You could fight him, you had enough training to do so, but you had no idea how long this could go on for.

“You’re not going to let me win.” And there were thirty seconds to go. 

He shakes his head.

“And if I don’t, we’re both going to keep going at this forever,” you voice to yourself, thinking over all the options.

You look at him one more time in his little costume and stupid tiny hat before deciding. 

You do a sweep with your leg, kicking the remote towards him.

“Fine. Pick it up.” You gesture. 

Bucky doesn’t move, suspicion turning his eyes to slits.

“I’m not kidding, pick it up. I’m not gonna fight you,” you insist. “I promise.”

That seems to be enough for him, even in this world, as he crouches down slowly to pick it up, never once breaking eye contact with you. 

“Go back to your little agency and tell them you won.” You shoo him, German accent suddenly slipping into your sentence. “Go on then.”

He takes a single step back to judge your reaction. When you don’t make a move to stop him he turns around to leave, only occasionally glancing at you over his shoulder. 

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Zero,” you whisper as soon as the static returns, the loud white noise immediately accompanying it. 

He looks up in bewilderment and you take advantage of his momentary confusion, launching yourself onto his back, leaving him staggering. 

“Hello.” You whisper into his ear, leaving him no time to whip around and look at you. 

His hands automatically move to pull you off him but you slam the off switch on the remote still in his grip. You jump off his back, not before pulling the gadget out of his hand. 

The world swirls and twists like a damn washing machine, forcefully throwing you in and out of new characters and scenes rapidly.

“Identity theft is not a joke!” You watch from the reception.

The both of you are on an orange couch in a coffee shop, a plate of food on his lap.

“I am the devil!” you yell at Bucky who shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief. 

You’re staring at a series of alphabets on the wall painted rustically in black, Christmas lights strung across them. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” What was with the knight’s helmet on his head?

A diner table with him serving you coffee, hair tucked away in a backwards baseball cap.

“Fine, make me your villain,” he leans back, eyes dark.

You’re in a high tech control room with orange accents, staring at several screens.

“Cool, cool, cool. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt.”

Hundreds of outfits and dialogues from shows whiz past you within a second until you’re suddenly sucked out of the TV set and into the real world.

You blink swiftly to get rid of the stupid dots floating around your eyes but act in a hurry, throwing the remote on the ground and crushing it under your foot.

“Y/N?” 

“Hey, sarge.” You take a few steps back, breathing heavily. 

“What just happened?” Bucky squints at you.

“Well-” You’re just glad he’s back to himself. ”-I think you kicked my ass.”

“I destroyed the remote.” He rubs at his eyes, gaze flitting down to where the pieces lay on the ground in front of him. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“Good, it’ll save me the embarrassment,” you cover up, straightening out the clothes you were wearing from that morning. “If it helps, you looked damn good while doing it.”

He only hums and you finally feel yourself calm down. “We done for the day?”

“Think so.” You needed a drink. Or maybe a teen magazine quiz to determine whether you only found Bucky hot or you found Bucky hot. 

“See you next week then.”

“Unless you wanna stay here and play spin the bottle,” you propose casually, shoving the TV off the table to the ground. Never again.

Bucky snorts before turning on his heel to leave. You exhale slightly. 

“We’re not at that episode,” he calls out without turning around, “yet.” 

Your jaw drops. “Are you flirting with me?”

He only shuts the door behind him as he walks out. 

here’s a list of shows referenced!

all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards fuel for this crackhead fic so if you’d like to support my writing <333

Next part

[beauty-and-passion]

Silly fun challenge prompt: what languages do you associate with the Sides/what would be the 2nd language each Side learn?

For example I am a big fan of Hispanic (Spanish speaking) Creativitwins fanon. And c! Thomas too could've learnt Spanish in high school and the fact his love interest is hispanic too just makes perfect sense-

And in contrast to Hispanic twins I headcanon Janus as a francophone (French speaking) for two reasons: 1) it was still lingua franca around Victorian era, his aesthetic inspiration and 2) dividing American high school by Spanish class vs. French class is like causing Civil War (I was and still am a language nerd, so I learnt both languages, which was a mistake but the kind of mistake that was worth it when you think about it later)

German suites Logan since lots of famous philosophers are German. I associate Japanese or Korean with Virgil since those two are really dominant in the current subculture world (and maybe our emo could've been inspired and turn into E-boy - wow that sounds terrifying)

I don't have strong preference on Patton's but Italian sounds nice, since all those music and dessert and anything sweet are often from Italy. And maybe 'Orange' can be some language that sounds harsh like Russian, so he can murmur in that in sleep and scares everyone else

I know you're in Europe: 1) you use GMT and 2) Americans wouldn't care about Eurovision. So I wonder how you would think based on your European experience!

Oooh, I like this! As European Who Studied Languages, I definitely approve this and I'll gladly add my two cents about which languages the sides should learn.

_________

Roman: He canonically knows Spanish and that's perfect like that. Spanish is a romantic language, someone speaks Spanish and you can't help but swoon. It’s a great choice for the Side responsible for romance and passion.

_________

Remus: Remus isn't just intrusive thoughts, but there’s a very high chance he’s also responsible for Thomas' sexual urges. So, what is the language made for sex? You’re right, it’s French. French is sexy. You can say anything in French and bam, ✨sexy ✨.

"Je sors la poubelle." Sexy, isn't it? Well, I just said "I'm taking out the trash". See? Very sexy.

(French people, please confirm my words. We all know it’s true)

_________

Janus: Your points are incredibly valid and I love them. But if we should choose among all languages, I would love Janus to be one of the very few (extremely few) people in the world who can speak Latin.

I know Latin is a dead language, but it would be great - and not just because of the connection with his name.

Let’s consider that the other Romance languages, despite evolving from Latin, cannot entirely understand it, because they all changed a lot through the centuries after mixing with the Germanic ones. On the other hand, the Germanic languages (English, German, Swedish and so on) are part of a completely different group, only slightly influenced by Latin, so they cannot understand it.

In other words, Janus would speak a language that only sounds familiar - and maybe you can grasp a couple words here and there if you know a romance language, but the true meaning is hidden. What is he actually saying? Who knows. Is he actually cursing someone? Who knows. After all, do you understand Latin? Yeah, me neither.

If I have to pick a language that is still spoken today instead, I think I'll join you with French. Your points are valid and French is a very elegant language, fitting for Janus’ whole aesthetic. So yes, French could work.

_________

Logan: German is a great choice and you are absolutely right with your point about the philosophers. Also German is a language of harsh sounds and strict grammar rules - for example:

declensions that should be used accordingly for articles, adjectives and nouns

specific verbs for specific meanings

words made by putting together shorter words (like Haustürschlüssel.  Haustür means “front door”, Schlüssel means “key” -> this word means “front door’s key”)

sentences that should follow a specific construction, with parts of the compound verb after the noun and part at the end of the sentence. And secondary phrases also have a specific syntax and should always be introduced by a comma

In other words, it's a very organized language and I think it would fit Logan.

But also, considering that almost all words related to science and philosophy come from Greek, I think Logan should at least understand some Greek. As a treat.

(Also because Greek is another incredibly complicated language, so if someone has the patience to learn it, it’s definitely Logan.)

_________

Virgil: oh my gosh, I never thought about an eastern language for Virgil. In a way, it would be a very peculiar choice and I kinda like it. Japanese and Korean are extremely complicated languages, they have a very specific alphabet (I'm especially thinking about the Japanese one, that even asks for a specific direction to write words) and require a lot of work (and memory) to learn them.

But Virgil is also a poet and when I think of poets and sonnets my first connection is with the french ennui, le mal du vivre and especially Baudelaire and his works. Virgil would appreciate Baudelaire a lot. So French, again.

But hey, there’s too much French now. So I’ll pick the other european literature full of sadness: the russian one.

Russian is supposed to be a big scary language and its alphabet is weird and omg what if they're cursing us? But if you learn it a little bit, you’ll find out that Russian has a lot of soft/open sounds (due to a good use of vowels) and it's very poetic.

So the language itself is a bit like Virgil: he seems scary and evil at a first glance, but if you learn about him, he's actually kinder than he looks.

But never underestimate Russian, because just like Anxiety, fear is just behind the corner: you start learning it and wow, there is just one present tense, one past tense and one future tense? This is great, what a wonderful language!

And then, before you’ll realize it, you will find out that each verb has a “doppelganger” used for entirely different purposes AND there a gazillion verbs of motion and you will end up crying on the floor, because there are just too many verbs - and look, there are also one trillion particles you can put before these verbs and they give them EVEN MORE MEANINGS.

No, this isn't entirely based on my personal experience, what makes you think that.

_________

Patton: I have never thought about Patton learning another language, because English just fits him too well.

But when you proposed Italian... well, my heart just wiped out everything else. There is nothing here, only Patton speaking Italian.

So yes, Patton's second language should be Italian. No, it must be Italian. Because French is the language of sex, Spanish is the language of love, but if you want to declare your eternal love to someone, you use Italian. Do you want to marry someone? Italian. Do you want to tell your significant other how much you adore them? Italian. Italian has one million ways to express love and Patton should use them all with his kiddos.

And yes, Italian is also associated with warm people, warm places and good food, all things Patton deserves and should enjoy. So Italian is a big yes.

_________

Orange: since Orange is a mystery, I am a bit torn between these two languages:

1) Esperanto: This language is amazing, because it isn’t a natural language, born like all others, but it has been built by a man, who wanted to create an universal language in order to foster world peace and international understanding.

So this language has been created to be as simple as possible, with a very regular grammar (unlike all other natural languages) and its words all have references to other language groups (romance, germanic, slavic, indo-europeans, finno-ugric languages and so on).

And if you actually listen to it (especially if you know some latin languages) you will find it weirdly understandable. I found this video in particular and I was impressed by how strangely familiar esperanto sounds.

And... that’s it, I just think it would be kinda poetic that the last side knows a language that all others can use and understand.

2) A Greenlandic language. Why? Because they are insanely polysynthetic.

What does that mean? If in German you can make words by putting together other two/three words (like in the example I used before), in the Greenlandic languages you can build an entire sentence by putting together nouns, verbs, articles and everything else. All together in one single word, whose meaning can be translated with an entire sentence in another language.

Do you want an example? Here is an example from Wikipedia: tuntussuqatarniksaitengqiggtuq.

Yes, this is a word.

This word is from the Yupik language and means "He had not yet said again that he was going to hunt reindeer.". And this word is made of:

tuntu- (= reindeer)

ssur-  (= hunt)

qatar- (future tense)

ni- (= say)

ksaite- (negative)

ngqiggte- (= again)

uq  (3rd.sing.IND)

Is this insane? This is fucking insane. Do you want to be scared? This is real fear. What the heck. How. Why.

You know what? This is perfect for Orange, I’ll leave Esperanto to Thomas. Orange deserves to be this scary. I can already see the other sides quiver before him.

_________

And so, here are my guesses! If someone has other ideas, feel free to add yours and tell us why, so we can all have a nice discussion :D

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Rainbow Manor

pairing: platonic DLAMP  words: 5138 warnings: swearing, references to homophobia, toxic/homophobic parents, brief description of a small injury, blood, brief descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, crying, angst

a/n - hello friends! hope everyone is doing well! i was lucky enough to be commissioned by the lovely @youronelesbianfriend to write this story (side note, their commissions are open too so...whatcha still doin here, go and do that!). i was overjoyed when i saw the prompt she gave me, and had such a good time writing it! (also inspired me to maybe formally advertise commissions? you can peek at my tumblr every now and then to see if i do, but if you also want one you can DM me!)

so without further ado, here is some content ✨

read on ao3!

—

The Rainbow Manor is a lot of things. 

It’s a home for the biggest family that could exist. It’s a safe haven from the cold, stormy outdoors. It’s the kind of blanket made of the same velvet the night sky is made of; it’s quiet, it’s warm, and it’s filled with stars. All it takes is one step inside and you would find yourself filled with a sense of belonging, of hope. 

You could run the furthest distance away from it all, and the Rainbow Manor would always open its doors to you. 

Patton would know. He was the first one to try. 

~*~ 

“Okay, so here’s what happened,” Roman Prince said, looking down at his clipboard as he weaved him and Patton through the halls. “I was going to show the new people around myself, but then I forgot the paperwork in your office — and then I realized, ‘hey, what better person to show them around than The Man himself!’; capital T, capital M!” 

Patton half-heartedly smiled as he snuck a peek at Roman’s papers. 

“How many are there?” 

“Three, so it won’t be too bad. One of them’s Virgil — you remember Virgil, right?” 

“Right.” Patton smiled fondly, remembering Roman’s birthday party last year. Him and Virgil had shown up covered in cake. He never really saw Virgil after that day, but clearly him and Roman stayed acquainted against all odds.

They turned a corner into the break room where three people sat around a table. Roman clapped his hands. 

“Alrighty! Sorry for the wait.” 

All three of them stood up. The one in the black and purple hoodie—the one Patton recognized as Virgil—rolled his eyes. 

“Waiting is part of the contract with you, Princey.” 

Roman faux-gasped. “Hey, that was one time! And if I didn’t take too long that day, we would have taken the wrong cake!” 

“We did take the wrong cake, Roman. That’s why it exploded.” 

“...Oh yeah.” Roman grinned. “Forgot about that.” 

Virgil shook his head, but showed a hint of a smile. Patton took a step forward to extend his hand out to him. 

“Nice to see you again, Virgil!” He then addressed the two behind him. “And if we’re talking cake, I guess you both can call me Patton-cake!” 

The one wearing a black, short-sleeve button up frowned, adjusting their thin blue tie. 

“I read on the website that your name is Patton Morgan.” 

“It’s like patty-cake, but Patton-cake!” 

“...Right.” 

“Ignore my friend’s simply lively commentary.” The last person stepped forward. They wore a pale-yellow button up under a grey vest. “That’s Logan. Do not be astounded by how that pencil is both sharp and dull — he’s always like that.” 

“And that’s Janus,” Logan seethed, crossing his arms. “They’re always like that.” 

Patton chuckled. “Well it’s nice to meet you both. I’ll show you guys around?” 

They all nodded, following Patton as he led them out the door. The icy awkwardness of first encounters fortunately thawed as conversation quickly blossomed. Patton learned that Logan was the new volunteer manager and was close friends with Janus, who was joining the growing team of counsellors. Virgil, on the other hand, was the newly-appointed social media and communications coordinator; a position Roman used to double as alongside being head of recreation and programming, until he overdid it with the website graphics and crashed the site for two days. Sometimes, change was necessary, Patton learned. 

“So that’s pretty much the whole place!” Patton said brightly at the end of the tour, stopping outside his office. He handed them their job description packages. “I hope you all get situated soon! And if you ever need anything, you now know where my office is!” He motioned to the door with jazz-hands. “Here!” 

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan hummed. He looked around idly. “I must say, I am rather impressed by how well-established and organized the facility is, especially for one that is fairly new.”

“Well call me corny, ‘cause all I can say is ‘aw shucks’!” Patton beamed. “You know, if you told me almost a year ago that I’d be standing here today, I think I’d be impressed too!” He nudged at Roman. “But I obviously didn’t do any of it alone. It’s the people that really make this place home — people like Roman, who’s been with me since the very beginning!”

“Oh, Patton! You make me sound like the hero of this place.” Roman pretended to flip his hair. “So thank you!” 

“A humble hero,” Virgil retorted. Roman just stuck out his tongue at him.

“But in all seriousness, Patton’s downplaying his efforts to the floor!” Roman wrapped an arm around Patton’s waist and pulled him in close. He waved out in front of him. “He’s a true phoenix who rose from the ashes and built this place with his own two hands!” Roman then spun Patton away from him, a trail of giggles following suit. “Plus he does a bunch of other stuff too! He has, like, a gazillion side-gigs, he sometimes volunteers at an animal shelter…” 

“It sounds like you may also be interested in a day off,” Janus piped up.

“It’s really not that much!” Patton awkwardly shuffled where he stood. “I...I like staying busy.” 

Janus tilted their head at him. “Right.” 

Patton shot them a quick smile before diving back into the end of their paperwork. Then the three of them, along with Roman, said their goodbyes and scattered to their respective offices. 

Patton leaned against his office door with a wry smile. They all seemed like nice people, he thought. He was lucky to have them. 

(Roman’s words from weeks ago echoed in his head; the same words that were said to him the night of his first breakdown, when they first called.

“You need all the help you can get, Pat.”) 

And he needed all the help he could get.

~*~ 

A few days later, Patton found himself leaning against the front of his desk, outstretching his hand towards the teen in front of him. 

“Jonah, your feelings are valid, no matter what they are.”

The words slid off Patton’s tongue almost effortlessly. Jonah sniffled. 

“I know, Pat. And– and I’ve already made a lot of friends here that have told me that. It’s been so good for me here, but…” Jonah buried their face in their hands. “Every night before I go to sleep, I can’t stop thinking about what they told me before they kicked me out. It’s like I get tunnel vision. I can see the person I have grown to be on the other side, but all I’m doing is going backwards.” 

Jonah looked up at Patton with teary eyes. “And I don’t wanna go back, Patton. I...I don’t want to go back.”

Patton felt a chill run through his spine. Quiet echoes buried themselves in the back of his mind. 

“I understand that it’s difficult to feel like you’re moving forward when it feels like the most important people in your life are pushing you back. And it...it sucks. I’m so sorry.” Patton swallowed down the temptation to cave as he continued. “I...I think all we can do is remember that those important forces in your life aren’t what’s given to you, but are what’s found. And I feel like you’ve done a lot of searching — for now, try and let yourself be found.”

Jonah broke into a small smile. Before Patton knew it, the teen stumbled forward into an embrace, holding Patton tight and crying. Patton’s hands hovered in the air behind their back, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Patton came to his senses and hugged them back. 

“I’m thankful I found this place,” Jonah mumbled into Patton’s chest. “It’s– it’s built on a lot of hope. I don’t think I could have found it anywhere else.” 

Patton’s heart shattered.

‘I wish I could give you more.’ He squeezed Jonah tighter. ‘I’d give you all I had, and you’d never know.’ 

Jonah left a few minutes later, thanking Patton for giving them a space to be honest. All Patton could do was nod numbly. He knew Jonah was new and it was hard to be new here, but Patton was certain that they’d find their place. The kids who came here always did. 

Patton walked around his desk to sit down. He took one look at his phone, frowned, then set it aside with a sigh. For a brief moment, Patton relished sitting in the precious silence that finally found his office. 

Then, a knock on his door. 

“Come in!” Patton said, straightening up and folding his hands neatly on his desk. The door cracked open and Logan’s head peeked in. 

“Is this a good time, Patton?” 

“Yeah, of course!” 

Logan stepped inside and handed some papers to Patton. 

“I filed through the volunteer applications and started arranging interviews in the coming weeks. I just wanted to run the dates by you before I start contacting people. Hopefully they suffice.” 

“Wow! Thank you, Lo.” Patton took the papers, slowly sifting through them. “These look really good! I’ll have a look at them tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Logan echoed. “Are you staying late again?” 

“Oh! Yeah, I am.” Patton shrugged. “Just a bit of extra paperwork.”

“Well if you require any assistance tonight, I can stay around–”

“No, no! That won’t be necessary.” Patton waved his hand dismissively. “Go and enjoy your night, Lo.”

Logan’s stare seemed to bury itself through Patton, enough for Patton to look away. 

“...Well, please do not hesitate to let me know if you need anything else.”

As Logan was leaving, Patton felt his phone buzz. He snuck a peek and paled.

‘Missed call(s): Mother (2) - 5:34 PM’

“Um, leave the door open, Lo!” Patton suddenly blurted out. Logan turned around and tilted his head. Patton flimsily added, “I– I think I’m going to try and get some air.” 

Logan nodded, lifting his hand off the door handle before walking out. Patton took a deep breath and then stuffed his phone in his pocket before leaving as well. 

—

Later that evening, Patton wandered into his office in a daze. He turned the lights on and inwardly groaned at the stacks of paper awaiting him. 

He dragged his feet to his desk, only stopping to check his phone. The ‘missed call’ notification lingered, except now the number was ‘3’. 

Patton felt his jaw tighten. He couldn’t run forever. 

As he sat down, he noticed a small cup behind one stack of paper. He grabbed it. The smell of coffee swarmed his head. He smiled, noticing a small sticky note on its side. 

“Keep up the great work. Your friend, Logan.”

 ~*~

“Okay everyone! Grab your brushes!” 

Patton blinked. Somehow, his memory of the manor floors failed him, and he ended up in the recreation room. He felt eyes stare up at him, Roman’s included.

“Ah, Patton! Man of the hour! What brings you here?” 

Patton sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um, got lost! If you could believe it, heh.” 

“ ‘Lost’ is just a way of saying ‘found, but with a few extra steps’!” Roman motioned to an empty seat. “How about you join us for a bit?” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, though felt cornered by all the expectant stares. He even spotted Jonah, who smiled and waved at him. Patton sighed. He had been wound up for days now; perhaps Roman’s theatrics was all he needed.

He finally nodded, going over to sit in front of the vacant canvas. Roman grinned at him with a warmth Patton let himself melt into. 

“Alright! Let’s begin.” Roman cleared his throat. “I want you to pull on the colours of your heartstrings. Forget form, structure– even an outline. Your emotions know no bounds, after all! Just remember, your hand is not controlling the brush — it’s your heart.”

Patton felt the words wash over him. Roman, of course, was right; he didn’t even notice his hand moving as he painted. Though somehow, it didn’t feel as peaceful as Roman described it to be. Instead, it felt like something was being pulled out of Patton, as though a claw was scooping something out of his chest and spilling it onto the canvas. 

Suddenly, his ringtone cut through Roman’s monologue. Patton jumped, dropping his brush. A line of paint dragged across the canvas as it fell. All eyes were on him again. 

“Um, excuse me! I– I’m just going to take this.” Patton pressed answer without looking at who called as he stumbled out of the room. 

“Hello?” 

“I see you’ve finally answered.” 

Patton’s heart dropped.

—

Roman was halfway through the end of his monologue when, in the corner of his eye, he spotted Patton re-enter the room, head ducked.

“Ah! I’m glad you’re back!” 

Patton nodded, but in the stilted way Roman quickly recognized. His eyes looked Patton up and down, barely listening to Patton’s stammering apology for interrupting. His hair was disheveled, which meant he ran his hand through it far too many times. His eyes were red, his jaw was tight– 

He was crying. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry again for leaving so soon!” Patton’s voice brought Roman back to reality. “Keep painting you guys! I gotta Van-Gogh!” 

A shaky laugh followed Patton out. Roman frowned, but he nodded for everyone to continue. He passed by Patton’s canvas and snuck a peek. 

It was rather abstract, with overlapping strokes forming a gradient. Roman’s gaze followed the gradient downwards. The canvas was filled with dull blues that turned into darkening greys. Towards the bottom was a thin line of black trailed all the way to Patton’s paintbrush, abandoned on the floor.

 ~*~

The sun sets on a long railroad, it goes past the horizon, it outstretches a hand like it’s beckoning, it’s begging you to run, run faster, everything is going faster and they just told you to go so you have to– 

“Pat?” 

Patton shot up in his seat with a yelp. He blinked quickly, vision focusing on the silhouette of–

“Virgil!” A strangled laugh escaped his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Virgil replied simultaneously, “No, I’m sorry, you just weren’t answering and I got worried, but I didn’t realize you were sleeping–” 

“Sleeping?” Patton looked down at the time. 5 PM. 

“Oh sh– shoot, I’m gonna be late.” 

“Late for?” 

“Animal shelter,” Patton mumbled, stumbling out of his chair and grabbing his bag. “I forgot that I said I’d come in today– gosh how could I forget–” 

“Hey.” Virgil rested a hand on Patton’s shoulder before Patton could go spiralling out the door. “Deep breath. I’ll drive you, it’ll be okay.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, but remembered the time. He sighed and motioned wordlessly at the door. Virgil nodded, leading the two of them out towards the parking lot.

“Anyway, I’m sorry if it’s a bad time, I was just hoping to run some website revisions by you,” Virgil said as he started the car and backed out of the lot. Patton shakily smiled. 

“No! It’s not a bad time at all, you can tell me about your ideas as you drive!” 

“There’s not much. I was just thinking of ways to maybe make it more approachable. There’s not even really an ‘about us’ page or anything about you–” 

“Why would there need to be anything about me?” 

Virgil looked at him, almost confused. “It’s an amazing organization, Pat. Your name should be up there, especially as the founder…?” 

“Oh! R-Right.” Patton let out a sharp laugh. “I guess I never thought about it before.” 

“I could put something together tonight, I was just thinking it'd be cool to hear you talk about it.” Virgil turned at an intersection. The sign of the animal shelter soon came into view. 

“I guess that’d be a good idea!” Patton shrugged. “But there’s, um, not really anything interesting to know.” 

Virgil frowned, falling quiet as he parked the car. When they stopped moving, Virgil turned to face him. 

“Say, would it be okay if I joined you?” Virgil shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “I, um, have a bit of a free night, and I was thinking that maybe I could just ask you stuff for the website now so I don’t have to bother you later…?” 

Patton’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds perfect! Liz will probably be okay with it. I think it’s bath night for the dogs, and we can always use an extra hand with that!” 

Virgil chuckled, following Patton out the car and into the animal shelter. 

Patton gathered the energy he had left to greet Liz and everyone else, already cooing over the various animals he and Virgil passed by. They reached the back and, with only a bit of struggle (Patton would never admit to these cute dogs being a struggle), took each dog a bath. All the while, Virgil asked Patton questions about the Rainbow Manor and his life in general, which Patton did his best to answer.

“I ended up founding the Rainbow Manor a year after I graduated.” Patton wiped his brow as they finished drying the last dog. “I had been living on Roman’s couch for so long after being kicked out and I just wanted to turn it around; not only for myself, but for other people.”

Virgil’s stare softened. “I– I’m sorry. N-Not about how you founded the place but, like...why you felt like you needed to. That must’ve been hard.” 

“Yeah.” Patton forced a shrug. “It is what it is. Sometimes, you have to get lost to be found, right?” 

“Right.” Virgil looked up at Patton. “Do...do you still keep in touch with them? Your parents, I mean.” 

Patton felt his heart squeeze. 

“It’s been so long,” he finally said. “I doubt they’d want to talk to me.” 

—

Virgil offered to drive Patton back, but Patton insisted on taking a cab home. Virgil reluctantly conceded, but promised to email Patton when he drafted the additions to the website. Patton just nodded and watched Virgil drive off. 

When he was sure that Virgil was completely gone, he shakily pulled out his phone and called a cab. 

“Hi! I– I just need to go to The Rainbow Manor,” he said to the driver as he climbed into the car. He found himself laughing. “Long work day. It is what it is.” 

~*~

Days passed, and Patton’s workload somehow doubled: new admissions, new initiatives, new everything. 

(And his mother kept calling. And calling. And calling.) 

To say it was a lot was an understatement. 

Patton found himself going back and forth along the manor halls, forcing a smile at those he passed. He closed his eyes, turning a corner before he knocked into someone. 

“Crap! I– I’m so sorry.” Patton quickly scrambled to gather the papers that had fallen onto the floor. 

“Oh, don’t apologize, I always thought that important documentation would make for good confetti– ah, hello, Patton.”

Patton looked up. Janus appeared above him, outstretching their hand to help Patton up. Patton took it, scooping the papers up as he went. 

“Janus! Hi! Well, if you’re looking for me...here I am!” He laughed, though it sounded scratchier than expected. “Everything okay?” 

“More than, thank you. I just wanted to follow up about my schedule for the new admissions? You mentioned yesterday that I should come to you but I couldn’t find you…” 

Patton winced. His chest tightened.

“F– I forgot, goodness how am I always–”

“It’s quite alright, Patton, I can always–” 

“I–It’s not okay!” 

In the corner of his eye, Jonah passed by. He felt their wide eyes on him. The air grew thinner.

“It’s– gah, it’s never fucking–”

“Oookay. We’re not okay and that’s...okay.” 

Janus suddenly took Patton’s arm and led him to their office. They swiftly kicked the door shut with their foot as they let Patton settle on the couch. 

“Breathe for me,” Janus said slowly, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Patton. They took Patton’s hand and motioned for him to follow their lead. “In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8…” 

They repeated this a few more times until Patton let go of his head and his breathing evened out. 

“I– I’m so sorry, Janus. I don’t know what–”

“It’s fine, Patton. I’m glad I could help.” A pause. Janus leaned back in their chair. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

“No, everything’s fine.” 

Janus raised a brow. 

“Okay, everything’s not fine. But...but it will be fine. I have to be fine.” His mind drifted to Jonah. Patton buried his face in his hands. 

“I can’t be like this,” he said, tears threatening to fall. “I...I just can’t. Not now, this– this can’t be happening now.”

“Unfortunately, these things tend to find us — not the other way around.” Janus squeezed Patton’s hand in a sudden moment of softness. “I...I know what this is, Patton. And I don’t have to tell you what to do because I know you know. You help so many people like you, but remember: when the plane is falling, you have to put on your oxygen mask before you help someone else.” 

Patton locked eyes with Janus for a split second, opening his mouth to respond when he felt his phone ringing. Reflexively, he pulled it out in front of his lap. The air disappeared once more. 

‘Incoming call: Mother’ 

Patton quickly pressed ‘decline’. He then looked up at Janus, whose eyes darted upwards as well. 

Shit. 

“I– I have to go.” 

“Wait, Patton–” 

“Thank you for everything, Janus,” Patton mumbled, and before Janus could reply, Patton sped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

 ~*~

“I just don’t get it,” Roman muttered, leg bouncing under the table in the break room. “I’ve never seen him like this before.” 

“You haven’t?” Janus circled the table like a hawk. 

“What makes you think I have?” 

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that he has about a thousand jobs! Or perhaps it’s that he’s been staying overnight every night to work as if he owns the place — oh wait! He does! But I have no idea why that might be stressful at all!” 

Roman glowered at them, but said nothing. 

“I can imagine that his workload presumably doubled this past month,” Logan, sitting across from Roman beside Virgil, adjusted his glasses. “Between the new admissions, growth in our volunteer admissions…” 

“Okay, so he has a lot on his plate!” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I’ve seen him stressed out about these sorts of things. This is different.” 

“So what else could be on his mind?” Virgil piped up. 

Janus suddenly stopped in their tracks. 

“His mother.” 

Roman’s heart dropped. “His– his what?” 

“She called him while Patton was in my office,” Janus murmured. “He left straight after.” 

Virgil frowned. “Why would he...” 

Roman felt as if he had burst into flames. The pieces clicked together in his head.

“The– the fucking nerve of that woman, I can’t believe she’s still–”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” Logan cut in.

Before Roman could respond, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He immediately pulled out his phone. His breathing hitched. 

‘Help.’

“It’s Patton,” he blurted out, stumbling out his chair and making his way out of the room. Everyone exchanged looks, but quickly followed suit. 

Roman weaved his ways through the halls until he neared Patton’s office. Loud sobs were muffled behind the door. Roman felt his heart breaking already as he opened it. 

And there was Patton, on the floor, crying, and surrounded by shards of broken porcelain. Roman recognized it as a vase he had painted for him years ago. He winced seeing small drops of blood surrounding the pieces. His eyes quickly scanned the room as Logan immediately tended to Patton. 

“What happened, Patton?” Logan murmured as Patton curled up closer to him, sobs still wracking his body.

“I– I’m so sorry.” Each word sounded like it was forced out of his lungs and into the air. “I– I tried to clean up, I’m sorry–” 

“Shh, Patton. It’s okay.” Janus knelt down beside him, carefully lifting Patton’s wrist to examine his hand. A long cut ran across his palm. Janus looked up at Roman and Virgil.

“There’s a first-aid kit in my office, as well as a broom and dustpan. Can one of you grab it?” 

Virgil nodded wordlessly, exiting the room. Roman noticed Patton’s phone beside Patton on the ground, and reached over to pick it up. 

“What did she say, Pat,” Roman asked, fear edging the quiet of his voice. The words seemed to stab at Patton and let out more sobs. 

“She– she found out about everything,” Patton wheezed through tears. “The– the Rainbow Manor, where I am– she wants to take it all– she can’t take it all–” 

“Patton, I need you to follow my breathing, okay?” Janus interrupted, motioning at their chest with their hand as they inhaled and exhaled. “Can you see my hand? I want you to try and follow along, okay? 

Patton numbly nodded, trying to breathe through hiccups and sobs. Janus repeated the exercise with Patton for at least fifteen minutes, with Virgil returning halfway and Logan moving to sit in front of Patton to start tending to the cut. Virgil carefully swept around Roman, Janus, Logan, and Patton on the floor. 

“Whatever she told you, it isn’t true,” Roman said after Patton’s breath had evened out. “She can’t touch you here, not with us around.” 

“I– I know,” Patton sniffled. Logan finished bandaging Patton’s hand and offered him a tissue from the box on his desk. “She said so many awful things, but– but the scariest part is that she didn’t stop at just saying things.” 

“What do you mean?” Logan murmured. 

“She...she threatened to shut the Rainbow Manor down.” 

“What?!” Roman shot up from the floor. “But– but she can’t–” 

“You know my mom, Roman,” Patton whimpered. “She has connections all over the city. If she wanted to, she would find a way.” 

“So why hasn’t she?” Janus asked quietly. A beat of silence. Patton brought his knees closer to his chest and buried his face between them. 

“She– she wants a percentage of the donations,” Patton finally admitted. 

“What the fuck,” Virgil growled, stopping in his tracks. 

“I know! It’s– it’s impossible, I–” Another sob. Logan and Janus moved closer to him, with Janus putting their arm around his shoulder. 

“What did you tell her?” Janus pressed on. 

“I– I told her no! Even if I wanted to, I can’t, but– but what else can I do?” Patton looked at his bandaged hand and grimaced. “And of course she got mad, and I freaked out, and I knocked over the vase– god, Roman, I’m sorry about the vase–” 

“The vase is replaceable,” is all Roman said. “You aren’t.” 

Patton just nodded, looking up at the four of them in his office with teary eyes. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Everyone exchanged looks. Roman lowered himself back to the floor beside Patton and wrapped him in a warm hug.

“You’re not going to do anything,” Roman said firmly. 

“Roman…”

“All your life, you’ve taken care of people like they were your family, Patton. Please, let your family take care of you.” 

Patton sniffled, looking around him. Virgil, Logan, and Janus nodded with small smiles, moving closer to him and joining the embrace. 

And Patton just nodded, dissolving into tears; except this time, Roman could feel the relief from them. He felt Patton melt in his touch and smiled to himself, a similar relief washing over him as well. 

(And for a moment, just a brief moment, Patton was home.)

~*~ 

One week later…

“Keep your eyes closed…” 

“Roman, I don’t know how many more walls I can keep bumping into!” 

“Just a little longer, I promise!”

Patton giggled, letting himself be led by Roman through more halls. Then, Roman stopped him. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes in 3...2–” 

“I’m opening them now, I’m too excited!” Patton squealed, and then opened his eyes. Suddenly, a burst of colour flooded his vision. 

“Surprise!” a chorus of voices exclaimed. 

Patton broke into a wide smile, blinking to focus on the sight in front of him. He was standing in the recreation room, with a big banner hanging from the back wall reading, “Happy Birthday, Rainbow Manor!”. Beneath it was a table with a cake, which was surrounded by Janus, Virgil, and Logan, alongside a bunch of other teens Patton recognized. Even Jonah was there, wearing a small party hat with a confetti popper in his hands. 

Patton felt tears well up in his eyes. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you remembered!” 

“Of course, padré!” Roman grabbed Patton’s arm and led him around the table to stand in front of the cake. “Always normal for a family to celebrate the man who built their home!” 

“Oh, Roman!” Patton leaned against his shoulder, sniffling. “It’s perfect.” 

He then looked at Virgil, Logan, and Janus. “I can’t believe you guys set this all up, it must’ve taken forever!” 

“Actually, it just took a day,” Logan hummed. 

“And the cake doesn’t explode,” Virgil said with a small finger salute. “I checked.” 

“Additionally, we understand that presents are customary at a party,” Logan continued. “So while our present is not materialistic, we do hope it suffices.” 

“Oh?” 

“Sir Nerds-A-Lot is trying to say that we’re pitching in to give you a few days off!” Roman declared. “We handled a few responsibilities over the weekend while you were home, and split your workload for the week ahead! Consider this the fabulous gift of time!” 

“Oh you guys! You didn’t have to!” 

“But we did, and we did so gladly,” Logan said with a nod. 

“Also–” Janus leaned over to quietly whisper in Patton’s ear– “I took care of your mother.” 

Patton frowned. “You...what? Is– is she…” 

“She’s fine, but she won’t be bothering you for a long time.” Janus winked. “Let’s just say I know people too.”

Patton exhaled a breath he felt he was holding onto forever. He nodded graciously at Janus as Roman handed him a cake-cutter. 

“Alright! Before you take the first slice, you gotta make a wish!” Roman motioned at the lit candles on the cake. Patton stepped forward, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then blew them out. 

Everyone cheered as Patton was surrounded by hugs and laughter. He felt Janus, Logan, Roman, and Virgil crowd around him as they started to help hand out cake to all the teens. 

And in the back of his mind, his wish echoed in his head. 

‘I hope to always be able to share this home with my family.’

[ricebowl-san]

We

He watched her humming to a tune that he regrettably did not know of while packing her outfits. She paced back and forth around her room, holding up a yellow sun dress against the tall mirror while he stood near the door, awkwardly watching her from afar.

“Does this look good on me?” She asked as she twirled around to face him, holding the sun dress in front of her.

Yellow has always looked good on her.

Because it brings out the cheerfulness Rosa has inside of her—one that she always directs his way and makes him smile widely.

But he knew that after this, the colour yellow would be worn for another man. A man who surpasses him in areas he is lacking. A man who could give her sculptures while he can only present her candy arts.

One that he had to practise gazillion times on top of that.

His mouth stretched into a thin line, hoping it passed off as a smile. “Yellow always looks good on you. It makes you look very joyful.”

Joyful enough to spend her time with another man on a cruise far, far away from Stellis.

From him.

She laughed as she thanked him, her feet padded towards her suitcase as she folded the dress and tucked it in there. “It’s my first time on a cruise, I wonder what sort of things we can do there.”

We.

She had said that but the ‘we’ she referred to was not him and her.

‘We.’

Her and another man.

The man who could draw arts that bring out the beauty in her.

Not the man who can only invent things that stored his feelings, hoping she would get it but wishing she wouldn’t.

‘We.’

Never had a single word hurt him this much.

“…. I heard cruises usually have pools in there. Maybe you can enjoy the water and drink some fancy cocktails.” Was his voice light? Was there tremble in them? Please don’t let her notice it.

Please don’t let her hear how loud he swallowed his saliva as he tried to push his bitterness away.

Please.

“…. I’m begging you,” he softly murmured and she turned his way.

“Sorry?”

He blinked before masking his expression to a sunny bright look. “Eh no, I’m begging you to please have fun. Don’t let work get to you there, alright?”

She laughed after hearing his words. “You’re begging me for something like that? Don’t worry, I already wrapped every case I worked on. You do not need to worry about that.”

‘Was it because it was something you have been looking forward to? When did he invite you? Was it right before my birthday? I saw you glancing at your phone when we sang birthday song last night. Was that from him? I’m sorry if I’m too nosy. I’m sorry if I’m too sensitive.’

His hand reached out, an old habit from the past whenever he wanted to apologise. He thought he had gotten over it but for some reason he had instinctively done it again.

He never really got over the past, had he?

Unlike her who was now looking forward to the future.

“Luke?” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts and his hand awkwardly extended forward. “What’s wrong?”

Don’t let her notice it. Don’t let her notice it. Don’t let her notice it.

The hand waved her way as he laughed, albeit weakly. “I just want to say, I have to go now.”

“I have a case I remembered I need to work on. I did put it on hold because of my birthday yesterday so gotta get back to it now. Continue packing! Make sure you do not forget anything, alright? Cruise is great but we don’t know if it has a convenience store or not.”

‘We.’

It referred to him and her because as frustrating as it sounded like, he had never been on a cruise. He did not know what to expect, what to do.

A ‘we’ taken in a negative light.

A ‘we’ that concealed the sadness in his heart, not the hopeful one like she said earlier.

She laughed again and though her laughter is one that usually brings him calm, it was the exact opposite this time around and he wanted nothing more than to just run out of there.

So he did.

A goodbye was bid.

The door was opened.

And he walked away.

Further from the one that used to give him happiness because the woman he stood with just now gave him the exact opposite of what he used to feel.

Pain.

Anguish.

Once he was out of her apartment, he stood there and looked up at the sky.

The clouds had started to gather and darkened the once bright blue sky. Raindrops started to fall and he extended his hands forward. “Is this your way to console me?” He said to no one in particular.

A drop fell down his cheek.

He sighed, “Ahh… I was just about to take you on a cruise ride. What to do now?”

He walked away, tossing two strips of paper into a nearby trash can.

“Let’s go back to the house.”

Not home.

Because his home has been taken away by another man.

—fin

[anjuschiffer]

[Mutuals]

Some more self-indulgent writing! Mainly because of a post @zestyzealot reblogged a while back and inspired this piece. 

(This is the post I’m referring to!)

Enjoy!

-----

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @polyvirnl

-----

Context: There’s no miraculouses. None. Nada. But the Bats still exist. Marinette uses her time to expand her brand MDC

-----

AO3

-----

Marinette huffed as she placed the last crystal bead onto the hem of the black skirt in her hands. 

Bringing it to eye level, a wide smile graced her lips, a smile breaking as Marinette giggled to herself as she watched her vision become reality.

Finally! After four long and exhausting days, it was done. When she started on Monday night, Marinette wondered if this project would get in the way of her weekly sleepover with Alya. Thank God it didn’t.

Placing the skirt on her bed, Marinette smiled as she took a picture of her latest piece for her new collection: 12 o’ clock.

That’s when the hatch on her floor opened up with a creak, Marinette watching as her father poked his head into her room. Why was he here?

“Marinette, there’s someone here looking for you.” He said, giving a side glance down below. “Please tell me he’s just a school friend and not another boy you asked to model for you.”

“Dad, I already told you, Luka is Juleka’s older brother, he- wait, he? It’s not Alya?” Marinette asked, wondering where her best friend was at. 

Yes, Alya gave her a heads up that she was running late for their sleepover, but she wasn’t downstairs yet? And her father had said ‘he’ instead of a guy friend’s name, so… who exactly was waiting for her downstairs? 

Because despite only saying the name once, her father tended to commit to memory the names of all of her male friends. “What does he look like?” 

“Well, he’s a bit on the short side,” Tom started, “has green eyes, tanned, wearing a turtleneck with some of those suit pants-”

“Slacks.” Marinette helped.

“Those,” Tom corrected himself, “and he has a dog with him.” Tom ended, watching as Marinette mumbled to herself.

Marinette didn’t know anyone with a dog, nonetheless with that type of fashion, causing Marinette to start pacing around her room, racking up some idea as to who it was that was in the living room. “He called the dog Titus, if memory serves me correctly. Or if I heard correctly for that matter.”

That caused Mari to stop in her tracks.

A turtleneck with slacks, a Great Dane named Titus, tanned skin...emerald eyes.

“No. Way.” Marinette quickly motioned her father to go down the ladder, quickly following him into the living room, her eyes widening upon seeing her theory be true.

There, standing inside the Dupain-Cheng living room was Damian Wayne with his dog, Titus.

“Took you long enough.” Damian said, adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder. Titus wagged his tail as he saw his boy open the bag and give him his toy. 

Just then, the door swung open, Alya panting as she dropped to the floor as soon as she walked in.

“Girl, you wouldn’t believe who I just saw! There, as soon as I turned the corner of where I lived, I saw the Damian Wayne with his dog, and- why is he in your living room?” 

“Seeing as you finally caught up,” Damian said, walking over to Alya, handing her a heavy plastic bag. “Take care of Titus while we’re out.”

“We?” “We?” “We?!”  Alya, Tom and Marinette spoke at the same time, although Marinette’s came out as a squeak.

“Did you forget what you told me?” Damian waved his phone that was in his hand. Marinette watched as he showed her a tweet...her tweet in particular, Marinette now going into a state of panic. “You invited me to egg-” Marinette screamed, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she lowered his phone and dragged him out the apartment, leaving behind a confused Tom and a giddy Alya. 

———

“You actually read that?” Marinette asked once more, covering her cheeks as they walked towards the park square. 

“I did.” Damian hummed as he adjusted the egg cartoons under his arm, a dangerous twinkle in his emerald eyes. 

Marinette let out a silent screech, confusing Damian. “Did you think I wouldn’t read it?” When he saw her nod, he sighed. “I read every comment left under any post I write. Sure, I don’t respond to any of them, but your comment… seemed… interesting.”

Marinette wanted to disappear into a black hole. Damian actually read that stupid comment she had left under his post. 

It was a post from earlier that week - a picture Damian had uploaded from the recent animal shelter he was volunteering at (as well as funding). 

Another post about an animal up for adoption, this time, a hamster named Louis. 

Marinette was scrolling through the comments under the post after retweeting it, when a particular one caught her attention.

-

<3 ACNH is Life <3 @eliza_beth 

Replying to @Real_BloodSon I have a pet chicken and just wanted to ask if the candle method is a good method to check for egg development.  If so, then are they safe to eat? If not, what’s a better method?

-

Everyone knew Damian loved to offer help when it came to animals -as it was no secret- but something stupid inside of Marinette thought she should do the only logical thing in her mind.

She commented on it.

-

Deadlines Are Approaching @a_mari_not_bug

Replying to @eliza_beth and @Real_BloodSon If it turns out that it is a good method, can I have some eggs? I’ve been wanting to egg someone's house as of late. @Real_BloodSon care to join?

-

Marinette didn’t think he would actually read it, let alone actually come. Wait…

Damian lives in the US, not France, unlike her. 

So how did he know where she lived, let alone reside?

“How did you know where I live?” Marinette asked, realizing they were finally at the park, right across from the targeted house, not even realizing that she had brought him over to the house in question.

Damian blinked, setting the cartons down onto the bench.

“Tsurugi told me.”

“You know Tsurugi. As in Kagami Tsurugi?” Marinette asked, wondering where he had met her friend. 

Damian nodded.

“We met during the semifinals for the international fencing competition.” 

Oh. So that’s how they knew each other. 

Damian let a smirk grace his lips. “Obviously, I won.” 

Marinette simply looked at him in awe, causing Damian’s ego to soar more. Of course, that didn’t overcome the other feeling he had inside his chest.

After all, there was no way he was going to tell her that he has been following her account for quite a while. 

So using the amounts of aesthetic pictures, selfies, bakery promos and mini photo shoots, it didn’t take long for Damian to pinpoint where she lived. 

That’s not following Damian. It’s called stalking. 

Okay Drake, but in his defense:

1- it was his side account that he uses for his own personal interests.

Damian didn’t exactly like having thousands of people following him because he was a Wayne. He wanted to be followed for being Damian. 

2- he had been following her for quite a while.

Two solid years to be exact. 

After exchanging social media accounts with Kagami, Marinette was one of the few people Twitter recommended to follow.

Marinette peaked his curiosity when Kagami mentioned Marinette being the person behind her “lucky” fencing bag. (Although, she didn’t want to admit that she used it as a luck charm.) It was an all black duffel bag, enchanting golden embroidery that collected to a single dragon. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Kagami had provided. A girl in her grade from her school in France, who designed the most intricate designs Damian had seen. (Yes, he has seen all of her sketches and final products of the things she had designed…yes it did involve scrolling through her photos and accidentally liking all of them as he went…)

3- it was too late to press that “follow” button when he already kinda didn’t do it as soon as she followed his own account. 

When he finally noticed that she did already follow him, he didn’t know what to do. Should he follow her back? 

“Not yet.” Dick had told him. But just how long did he have to wait? He was stupid for listening to Dick’s advice and he definitely wasn’t going to follow her back now. Or should he?

“So,” Marinette started again, looking around the area, scanning to see that no one saw them. “Have you ever done this before?”

“As in egging a house?” Damian watched as Marinette nodded, wondering if this was her first time doing this. “No, but it shouldn’t be any different than throwing snowballs.” Damian compared, remembering last year’s winter. 

Jon had managed to convince the Wayne’s and the Kent’s to do a snowball fight. 

The Wayne’s obviously won. 

“Guess you have a point.” Marinette replied, attempting to vision Damian’s analogy. She picked up an egg and looked at it and then at the window of the person who had been causing her turmoil these past few days. “Are you… are you sure you want to go with this?”

“Aren’t you?” Damian asked, awaiting Marinette’s signal. He had perfectly balanced a dozen eggs into the nook of his arm, one being juggled in his other hand. 

He was ready and from the twinkle in his eyes, eager to throw. 

Marinette found herself smiling, letting out a laugh as she grabbed a few eggs herself and balanced them in her hand. 

“Between you and I, I've been dreaming of doing this for the longest.” Marinette said with the biggest grin Damian had seen her with that night. “Ready?”

“Always.” Damian replied, mirroring her grin as the two looked at the target, Marinette throwing the first attack.

-

Bonus: 

Marinette hummed as she doodled in her sketchbook, her mind wandering to last night’s events. 

She hadn’t known how much stress she had built up thanks to Lila and her constant need to be the attention of everything. 

The messes Marinette had to clean up due to Lila causing disorder during class and after class, all because of Lila and her gazillion and one ‘medical’ problems.

Marinette didn’t realize how emerged she was towards throwing eggs -with great accuracy- towards Lila’s bedroom window until she threw her last egg.

She remembered how satisfying it was to have thrown all of those eggs at the window, that glee when Damian smiled at her. 

How happy she was when Damian complimented her for her graceful and precise throws despite the low lightning of the park lights. 

Marinette placed her pencil down as she finished adding some last minute touches to the coat she had finished designing when Alya slammed her hands in front of her. Marinette quickly looked up at her friend, tilting her head when she was met with twinkling eyes.

“Did you hear what happened to Lila last night?” Alya whispered, causing Marinette to quickly tense. 

“N-no? What happened?” Marinette asked, closing her sketchbook. 

“Her house got egged. Well, her bedroom window did.” Alya corrected herself, watching as Marinette let out a gasp.

“No way! Poor Lila.” Marinette looked over to Lila, watching as she was surrounded by their classmates to gather to listen to her woeful story. “Who would ever do such a thing?”

“Beats me.” Alya said, looking at Marinette, a faint smile on her lips. “You and Damian wouldn’t happen to have been involved-”

“Us?” Marinette instigated, causing Alya to lean forward. “You think Damian and I would do something that stupid and not think of the consequences that awaited us? No way.” Marinette denied, causing Alya to sigh.

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t be up to it. Only you would step down after overthinking about the consequences.” Alya said as she patted her head before taking a few steps from Marinette. “Not like anyone would know who it was since the security cameras of the area seemed to have gone off at that time, strangely enough. Maybe if I hear what Lila has to say about the event, I’ll get some hints as to who it was.”

With that, Alya left to go and listen to Lila, leaving Marinette by herself.

Finally alone, Marinette let out a sigh, feeling her back relax. She felt as a smile rose to her face. 

Giddily, she took out her phone to send Damian a text when a Twitter notification caught her attention. 

She quickly checked it, her smile growing even more. She went back to sending Damian a text.

You bugged the cameras last night?

Damian: A necessary precaution. 

Marinette giggled at his response.

Also, I saw you started following me. Now we’re mutuals! 

Damian liked your message.

Damian: It was only a matter of time, seeing as we egged your enemy’s home.

More like someone I dislike.

Damian: Same thing. 

Damian: Query. Would you like to join Titus and I for a walk at the park? 

Sure! Class ends at 3. Meet you then?

Damian: Titus and I would await you then.

Marinette grinned as she placed her phone away as the school bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. 

She couldn’t wait to spend time with her newfound friend! Who knows what mischief awaited the two!

[anntoldst0ries]

Alan x Naveen's friendship - headcanon

I absolutely adore both Alan & Naveen. Since they are two men closest to Dr Ramsey's stubborn heart, I always imagined them being quite close friends. And this is a story of how (in my head) it all happened!

Once upon a time, in a typical American household in Providence, RI, lived a young boy who decided to embark on his own path and carve a future for himself, far from what others would expect from him.

Hesitating between a career as a detective and a doctor, he decided to go for the latter, because he saw himself doing more good as a physician.

During his time in JH School of Medicine, he came across some volumes published by none other than Dr Naveen Banerji.

He read them all and was hooked.

Dr Banerji’s research inspired young Ethan to pursue diagnostics as his specialization; he also saw himself joining Dr Banerji’s world famous Diagnostics Team.

In his residency application, Dr Ethan Ramsey ranked Edenbrook Hospital in Boston first on the list.

Naveen personally chose him for the residency, but Ethan only found out after joining the DT as a permanent member.

One of the things Ethan has always admired about Naveen most was how he balanced kindness and compassion with being a very demanding teacher; it was something he struggled to find in himself.

Naveen encouraged Ethan to find his own style as a doctor, which he eventually did.

The interns & co-workers called his style ‘Nightmare from Blossom Street’ * - some people dreamed about Dr Terminator and were terrified Ethan would literally find them in their sleep.

Ethan & Naveen bonded over their exceptional standards of patient care, Ethan also found a father figure in Naveen, who pushed him beyond his limits.

Alan & Naveen ‘officially’ met after Ethan’s passed board exam celebrations.

After 10 minutes spent together, they were acting like besties who have known each other for ages.

Despite coming from two different worlds and having vastly distinct life experiences, the two clicked really fast.

Both men share a number of interests: card games, books, bowling… but their favourite one is constantly teasing Ethan.

When they joined forces against him, Ethan knew he made a mistake introducing them and worse, he knew there is nothing he can do to reverse it.

Whenever Alan, Naveen and “their boy” are in the same room, Ethan’s nose is always very sore for he pinches it every other minute in frustration.

Before he met Naveen, Alan used to be a little jealous of the way Ethan always spoke of his mentor.

After learning Naveen never wed and had no children of his own, Alan was actually very proud of his son for becoming ‘the closest thing to family he’s ever had’, as said by Dr Banerji.

Alan could sleep more peacefully knowing Naveen has an eye on Ethan.

He also knew Naveen can talk some sense into Ethan whenever necessary and out of respect for his mentor, Ethan will lower his head, mutter something under his nose but in the end he will listen.

Sometimes, when he looked at the two, Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that although his mother left him, fate gave him another father instead. But he’d never say it out loud.

Unbeknownst to Ethan, Alan & Naveen have been fervently discussing the appearance of go-getting Dr Valentine in his life.

When Naveen fell sick, Alan was one of the first people who found out and it hit him really hard, but he supported him as best as he could.

One day, after Ethan and Noelle left his secret patient room, Naveen texted Alan: “I have to get better so I can dance at our boy’s wedding. I need a bit more time to confirm, but I think he’s found his future wife.”

At first, Alan thought his poor friend is suffering from fever or that his condition suddenly worsened; but Naveen assured him he’s not felt better in weeks. The sudden prospect of starting the hottest hospital rumour mill in a decade reinvigorated him.

When it was her who found the cure, they both considered it a sign.

It wasn’t 5 minutes after Alan met Noelle that he texted Naveen: “She’s a keeper. We better visit the tailor to have our tuxedos made on time.”

During Elle’s time in the contaminated room, Alan and Naveen were heartbroken for Ethan & Noelle. They promised each other that if she survives this, they will lock them both in a room (without any toxic substances) and hold them captive until they both confess their feelings.

Fortunately, there was no need as the life or death experience shook Ethan to his core.

Ever since, they’ve started noticing changes in him; Ethan was becoming softer, got frustrated a lot less than before and even smiled from time to time.

After Noelle passed her board exams, she invited Alan and Naveen for a celebration dinner, which obviously opened a floodgate of memories.

Both quite tipsy, Alan and Naveen started reminiscing about Ethan’s obsession with Naveen years ago.

Ethan didn’t even have to look at Elle; he knew exactly what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. Safe to say, he wasn’t very happy about this.

“That’s interesting” - she said charmingly - “I was under the impression you find the idolatry among physicians absurd, Ethan.”

Alan, Naveen and Elle looked at each other before bursting out in laughter. Ethan ended this evening with a sore nose, again.

When Ethan asked for their help with choosing an engagement ring some time later, he found it weird that both took the information very calmly.

Little did he know that after he told Naveen and left his office, his mentor called Alan and they had their fair share of screams and victory dances then.

During Ethan & Noelle’s wedding (half of which they spent crying, the other half - drinking quite a lot) Alan and Naveen came clean about everything.

To their surprise, Ethan wrapped them in a tight hug and said "Thank you."

Their fledgling daughter-in-law winked and mouthed "I knew it."

On the day their first granddaughter was born, Alan and Naveen were in the hospital, awaiting the happy news in anticipation.

Instead of sitting on uncomfortable hospital chairs, they spent this time in the comfort of Naveen’s office.

By the time Ethan popped by to announce the birth of his daughter and invite them to meet the little girl, the two grandfathers have had her whole life planned, down to the minute.

Through trial and error, Alan and Naveen taught themselves how to use Pictagram so they could stalk Ethan and later to also post gazillion pictures of their grandchildren; they are now more proficient in using it than Dr Ramsey, which is the only reason why Ethan hasn’t blocked them yet

* reference to “Nightmare from Elm Street” movie series + Blossom Street is an actual street in Boston (where Massachusetts General Hospital is located)

~~~

Hope you enjoyed & as always thank you for your support! xx

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @brooks-eden @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsdvdg-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect

[mrs-dynamight]

Be Nice To Me 4

Part 3

*************************************************

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!Reader, Denki Kaminari x fem!Reader

Warnings: Eventual mature content, angst, hurt/comfort, love triangle, the reader is lowkey toxic, everything will be adressed in every episode (:

Chapter warning: Just a single curse word.

Chapter: 4/? I'm sorry, this is going to be long :c but I just loooove writing it

Synopsis: You're in love with your best friend Bakugou, and you're cofessing to him but things get a lot more complicated when Denki starts to treat you different *wink wink*

Word count: 1.6k

Author's note: This is a little bit shorter, but it's pure fluff, and the next one is going to be so long they will compensate eachother, hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 4 Bloom- The Paper Kites

I was floating in cloud nine, everything I have ever dreamt of suddenly became true, there he was, the boy of my dreams liking me back, what else could’ve I asked for? Maybe a little more time together before he’s gone.

The doubts in my heart were getting more difficult to ignore with every passing minute, we came back to the dorms like two hours ago but I was incapable of going to bed, let alone trying to sleep, there was so much to think about, were we a couple? I’ve never had a boyfriend, I don’t know how these things are supposed to work, we like each other, that’s all that it takes right? A long-distance relationship? I’ve heard that those never work, or should we wait for him to come back to make it official? Aren’t we already official? We’ve kissed, like a lot, there was even some tongue; ugh those thoughts made me feel so embarrassed.

The light of my home screen lightly illuminated the room, and with my blushed cheeks I went to check who was messaging me, it was Kaminari, I opened the text that reads “R u awake? I had a nightmare and I really could use a hug from my bestie rn” followed by five crying emojis; “See you in the place” said my reply, the place was this empty service room in the rooftop of the dorms, nobody ever used it for anything so it is completely empty, we made a copy of the key one day that we had to clean the entire dorms because a certain yellow-haired guy decide to play “potions” in chemistry class, and since then it’s been our hiding place, it had everything that we needed, a lot of junk food, fairy lights, a portable speaker, blankets and an Opossum holding a cigarette poster in one wall; whenever one of us needed a break from the outside world we came here, this is our safe space.

I opened the door to the place and saw Denki standing there, he looked so tiny and vulnerable, I hugged him instantly, the dim fairy lights in the opossum wall made his facial features even prettier, it was obvious he had been crying, I didn’t asked any question and he didn’t said anything, we just hugged for what it seemed like hours, with a heavy sight he pulled apart and give me smile

-Thanks Y/N I really needed that- Said Denki with his hand in my cheek and his eyes fixed in some point between us

-They’re back, aren’t they? - I asked with concern

He nodded and lied in one of our blankets in the floor, I did the same, we both were looking at the glow in the dark stars glued to the celling not saying a single word, he held my hand and started to cry

-Why do they keep coming back? I don’t wanna be afraid anymore- I knew exactly what he meant, he had a recurrent nightmare, a big fight against villains, every one of us dying in awful ways, he is always the last one to die, and before that there is always someone telling him that he is the weakest of us, that this was all his fault for not being enough.

-Your mind is playing tricks on you, you are not weak, I know I’ve told you that a gazillion times, but I’m willing to do it a million more, all the times you need it, I’m here, we are all safe and sound, you have nothing to worry about- Anytime the nightmares come back I make sure Denki knows he’s just as strong as any of our other classmates, that he’s smart and capable of being a great hero.

-I want to be able to protect you, I don’t want you to die- Said Denki facing me and locking his eyes with my own.

-I promise you, I’m not going to die in the hands of a villain, I’m going to die being the coolest grandma in the neighbourhood, doing a sick backflip and daring Satan himself to come for my soul- I said to make Denki laugh, and apparently it worked

-You’re my best friend Y/N, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here, please never stop being like that-

-Being how? -

-I don’t know, funny, smart, a real pain in the ass to the villains and the teachers, a stubborn whiney stuff-

-Are you sure you aren’t describing yourself? –

-Nah, I didn’t said the most handsome man who ever walked the earth, but you’re not bad looking-

We both laughed, I really enjoyed being around Denki, his presence always felt comforting, like coming back home after a long trip, or eating your favourite homemade dish after a rough day, like a cool late summer breeze, he makes my heart warm and my troubles go away, I never feel more like myself than when I’m around him. That’s what friendship feels like, right?

-Could you do me one last favour Y/N? – Denkis voice took me out of my own mind -I don’t want to go back to my room and have another nightmare, I don’t wanna make you unconformable or anything, but could I sleep with you? -

It definitely took me by surprise, we had a lot of sleepovers over the years, but never just the two of us

-I understand if you say no, but I promise I just want to sleep, and having you around makes me feel safe-

-I have an idea, let’s have a sleepover here in the place, I’ll put one of those white noise videos that last hours, so you don’t have to think about anything-

-I’ll set the alarm to get up early and go to our dorms before anyone sees us, thank you so much Y/N, I’ll make it up to you, I promise-

-You don’t have to; I know you’ll do the same for me-

-You’re an angel but with no wings-

-So, like a person? –

-Shut up Aubrey Plaza-

We were both lying in the blankets on the floor, our heads at the same level (look at the reference above) and I was slowly falling asleep, all I could hear was the white noise and Denkis soft breathing, I closed my eyes and just before I completely lost my consciousness and succumb to the tiredness of my body I heard it, Denkis soft voice, “I love you Y/N”. I turned my head to look at him with my heart racing miles, but he was deeply asleep. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing, it probably was my tired mind, I took one last look to the boy next to me, sleeping so peacefully and with a little smile in his lips feeling the same familiar warmth in my soul, is this really what friendship feels like?

The alarm went off exactly at 5 am, I woke up and it took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t in my dorm room, then I remembered Denkis nightmare, our sleepover, and that thing I thought I heard. I had to wake Denki up so we could go to our respective rooms without Aizawa founding out we were out of our rooms at night, or even worse that we had the keys of the place. I sat there and moved Denki to wake him up. He opened one eye and whined

-But moooooom, it’s Saturday, I don’t have to go to school-

-Come on Denki we have to go to our rooms-

-Five more minutes- He said and hugged my leg

-Do you want Iida to found out we didn’t sleep in our rooms and telling Aizawa? -

And just like that he got up and started heading to the door

-Shit, you’re right, come on, you know that guy wakes up hella early-

We were in the stairs heading to our rooms, and although we were on Denkis floor, he kept climbing down the stairs with me.

-You don’t have to escort me to my room Denki-

-Oh but I want to- Replied the yellow haired guy

When we were in front of my door he leaned down and planted a chaste kiss in my forehead.

-Thank you for being there for me, I will remember this night for the rest of my life- And he turned around without waiting for a response disappeared heading towards the stairs.

I stepped into my room with a heavy cloud around my mind, there was so many feelings inside me that I couldn’t even tell them apart, where do I draw the line between friendship and love? Between admiration and affection? Between what I feel for Bakugo and what I feel for Denki?

I closed my eyes and remembered everything that happened yesterday, Bakugos confession, our shared kisses, the promise we made, six months apart now sounded a lot more crucial, after all the things that could happen in the matter of a few hours. Did I just said that because the heat of the moment? The words Bakugo said to me sounded so mature and logical, not like my own thoughts right now, am I just a slave of my own feelings? How would he react if he were me? What about Denki? Was he aware of all those years after his friend? And what if he knew and that is the reason why he hasn’t told me anything yet? Maybe I was just overthinking the situation, nothing was written in stone, neither my relationship with Katsuki nor Denkis feelings for me. I was getting tired of my own thoughts running in circles and not coming to an end, so I wrapped myself in the sheets of my bed and prayed for my mind to shut down so I could get some rest.

************************************************

Part 5

Heeeey I just wanted to thank all of you who read my work, LY, the next few chapters will be like an episode of skins UK, soo be warned, also there is going to be some thirst but nothing too explicit because I'm a shy motherfucker. Enjoy the last chapter free from Mrs-Dynamight Drama™

Taglist: @mikasalt

[pixieminutes]

Exposed | LDH

genre: smut, fluff

members: lee donghyuck x reader, lee jeno, na jaemin, zhong chenle, huang renjun, park jisung

warnings: shittily written text scene, teasing, lots of sexual references, making out, finger sucking

D-2hrs

“donghyuck, get off,” you sighed, taking your boyfriend’s creeping hands off of your stomach.

“why?” he whined, “i just wanna be close to you.”

you rolled your eyes, glaring at him.

“i’m so hurt,” he said.

“just go and sit down,” you cried, “pancakes are ready.”

“ooh, pancakes,” he said, “i’ll set the table!”

“finally, something useful,” you teased, placing the last couple of pancakes onto the big stack you’d already made.

“i made dinner!” he exclaimed, “and you cannot say it wasn’t good.”

you chuckled, placing the plate of pancakes in the centre of the table, kissing donghyuck quickly, “yes, it was very good. thank you.”

donghyuck smiled cockily, kissing you again.

“just eat,” you said, shoving him onto a chair as you went to get the toppings.

“don’t pretend you don’t love me,” he whined.

“i don’t.”

D-1hr38m

“just pick one already,” donghyuck whined.

“how about studio ghibli? howl’s moving castle?” you offered, flicking through the netflix movies.

donghyuck groaned, “we’ve watched studio ghibli a gazillion times.”

you rolled your eyes, glaring at your boyfriend, “you’re so over dramatic.”

“how about we watch crazy rich asians?” donghyuck offered.

“how many times have we watched that one!” you shouted.

donghyuck laughed, stroking your hair as he took the remote out of your hands, “here, let’s watch kingsman.”

you had a pout on your face, but nodded. donghyuck played the film before throwing the remote onto the other side of the sofa and pulling you into his hold.

he was laying with his head resting on the arm of the sofa, you laying on top with your head resting on his chest as you looked intently at the screen.

as the opening scenes rolled on, and several people got blown up, donghyuck soon lost interest in yet another spy film. lucky for him, it wasn’t the boys he was watching the film with. it was you.

he trailed his hands down your arm, breaking off where your elbow was bent and trailing down your waist and finally your hip. he smoothed his hand over the material of your trousers, cupping your ass in his hand.

you smacked his hand, not taking your eyes off the screen.

“concentrate.”

D-1hr19m

donghyuck pulled his phone out from where it was buried underneath him, skimming through the messages blowing up his group chat.

NCT Dream: Jeno Lee😤 sent a message

NCT Dream: Nana Jae😟 sent a message

NCT Dream: Chen lele🤑 sent a message

“tell them to fuck off,” you groaned, stretching your arm above your head, still not taking your eyes off the screen.

donghyuck chuckled, stroking your hair as he opened the group chat.

jeno lee😤 - donghyuck??

nana jae😟 - yo lee haechan👊

chen lele🤑 - hAECHAN AHHHHH

full sun🌞 - what

full sun🌞 - call me haechan-ah again and ur getting it, chenle-ya

runjun😌 - we’re coming back later than we thought

runjun😌 - everyone else is too enept to say it so i thought i would

full sun🌞 - coolio

full sun🌞 - we’re watching a movie

runjun😌 - did we ask???????????

full sun🌞 - 🙃

jisung pwark🍼 - we’ll be back at like 10!!!!!

jeno lee😤 - have fun

nana jae😟 - not too much ;)

full sun🌞 - hate you all :)

chen lele🤑 - 😘😘😘😘😘

“what did they say?” you asked, resting your chin on donghyuck’s chest so you were looking up at him.

he smiled slightly, stroking your head as he shook his, “nothing, just that they’re gonna be later than they thought tonight.”

“oh?”

donghyuck laughed, throwing his head back as you hit his arm.

“what?!” you chuckled, “what is it?!”

“nothing,” donghyuck said fondly, “you just sounded very excited.”

“y-ya!” you exclaimed, “i just— i was just making a response.”

“hmm, an excited one,” donghyuck said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“shut up!” you shouted, a blush rising on your cheeks as you moved to the other side of the sofa.

donghyuck giggled, “i didn’t say anything.”

you fell quiet, both of you facing the screen.

“10,” donghyuck said quietly, “that’s when they’ll be back.”

you nodded, trying to look at the time subtly, “cool.”

D-0hr58m

donghyuck stretched his arm out, splaying his hand out on the sofa.

you watched the veins rise and fall, your mouth running dry as thoughts clouded your mind.

he was wearing a ring on his middle finger and thumb and a thick silver watch on his wrist, falling onto his hand slightly.

“you alright?” donghyuck asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

you looked to your boyfriend’s face, seeing his peach pink, plump lips. he had a habit of playing with them and biting them and it did nothing to your sanity whenever he did so.

you started shaking your head before nodding. what if this was a trap? he knows exactly how to get you riled up.

your boyfriend laughed, “you sure about that?”

you nodded, humming as you leaned across, pressing a kiss to his lips, “i’m gonna go and get into my pyjamas.”

D-0hr52m

“what are you doing?” donghyuck asked.

“hmm?” you said, innocently.

“you know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing,” donghyuck said.

you shrugged, walking to the kitchen to get an ice-cream out the freezer.

“what are you doing now?!” your boyfriend cried, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it! i don’t know what i did but stop!”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you laughed, “duckie, i’m hot, that’s all.”

“you have your own t-shirts here, you don’t need to wear mine!” donghyuck exclaimed.

you shrugged, “it smells like you.”

donghyuck bit his lip, unable to take his eyes off the ice-cream sliding in and out of your mouth, so warm that the ends were melting.

your eyes, however, didn’t leave the film playing on the tv. so you didn’t notice donghyuck’s eyes on you, nor the tightening of his pyjama bottoms as he imagined something other than that ice-cream.

donghyuck sucked it up, though, determined not to let you win as he turned around, laying his head on one of your thighs, his hand on the other.

don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t lo—

“come on, look at me baby,” donghyuck cooed.

something was so sweet, yet so dominant about his voice, making you stop your attack on your ice-cream and look down at your boyfriend’s head; so close to pleasure. and his hand, all splayed out, his veins popping out; the most attractive way his hands could’ve looked.

you felt yourself heat up, wetness gushing downwards as you stood up suddenly, brushing your boyfriend off.

donghyuck stood up as well, taking the stick of ice-cream out your hand as you stood there, motionless.

“want it?” he asked.

you faulted, nodding slightly.

“or do you want something else?” he asked, his voice breathy.

you opened and closed your mouth, almost like a nutcracker, trying so desperately to find something, anything to come out.

you whimpered at the pure dominance you felt from donghyuck, before sighing internally.

not that. that was not what you were after.

donghyuck smirked, “so it’s the something else, huh?”

he sucked on the ice-cream himself, finishing it off as you watched him suck and slurp every last drop.

“sweet.”

“donghyuck—”

“it’s okay,” he shrugged, “i know, the boys will be home soon, so we can’t.”

you stared, open-mouthed, as your boyfriend sat back on the sofa casually, placing a pillow over his lap and hoping the problem would go away.

or that you’d give in.

see, donghyuck knew he had already won. you had obviously spotted what he was trying to do with his hands; and you had obviously spotted his hard-on that you’d created when trying to sink him.

but you couldn’t sink him. he sunk you instead.

D-0hr41m

you were stubborn, though, he’d give you that.

he hadn’t expected you to sit back on the opposite side of the sofa, pretending to watch the movie while you snuck glances at your boyfriend, squeezing your thighs together and bouncing your feet around in anticipation and pure want.

not that donghyuck was any better. he’d taken the pillow off his lap, and now he was bouncing his leg up and down, hoping that maybe it would get the blood to flow in other places. but here he was, stuck with a raging boner and a soaking wet you on the other side of the sofa, both of you too stubborn for your own goods.

D-0hr34m

“y/n,” donghyuk called, wondering back to the living room.

he climbed onto the sofa, sitting right beside you as he held out a lollipop.

you raised an eyebrow, “hmm?”

“do you want this?” he asked, “cause i’d love to watch you eat it.”

your breathing became ragid as you squeezed your thighs shut.

donghyuck rested his hand on your inner thigh, prying them open.

“hey, hey,” he said gently, “you can see my... little problem, why shouldn’t i be able to see yours?”

he opened your legs wider, smirking as he saw the visible wet patch that had formed on your grey panties.

“donghyuck, please,” you whined, finally snapping as his hand danced over your wide-open inner thighs.

“please what?” he said, leaning further away, “you want this lollipop? or do you want something else in that mouth of yours?”

you whined and your boyfriend tutted.

“words please.”

“something else,” you said quietly.

donghyuck smirked, cupping your face with his hand, before rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip and slipping it inside, pressing down on your tongue.

“like this?” he asked, as you nodded desperately.

donghyuck smiled, removing his thumb and instead pushing two fingers into your mouth until you gagged.

“too much?” he asked, “no, never enough for my princess, right?”

you shook your head as donghyuck smiled, removing his fingers and instead, pressing his lips against yours. the kiss was heavy, his tongue swirling around your mouth, his lips showing no sign of leaving yours as he brushed some of your hair behind your shoulder, laying you down and hovering over you.

he finally pulled away, both of you breathless as he kissed down your jaw, not forgetting to nibble your ear beforehand. he left marks in his wake, one below your ear and one underneath your chin. he continued his trail, down your neck and across your collarbones.

“can i take this off, darling?” he asked.

you nodded, “please, i’m so hot.”

donghyuck chuckled, leaning back on his knees and pulled his shirt off from your body, leaning down and pressing a kiss to each of your nipples, leaving you reeling for more as you lifted your back of the sweaty sofa.

“donghyuck-ah,” you moaned, donghyuck grinding his crotch against yours to stop your squirming.

“yes, princess?”

“want to mark you,” you said, still breathless as nothing but lust overtook your body.

donghyuck nodded, pulling his shirt off before turning you over so that you were hovering over him.

you kissed down from the base of his neck, to the little happy trail leading inside his pyjama bottoms.

you started to kiss back up, leaving love marks on donghyuck’s tummy and up to his toned chest, as he stopped you.

“what?” you panted, “are you okay?”

he hummed, “i just miss your lips.”

you giggled as donghyuck sat up, pushing you back against the other end of the sofa as he smashed his lips to yours.

his chest was flat against yours, his hand moving down the curve of your back as you lifted it off the sofa, trying desperately to create friction between your soaked heat and your boyfriend’s hard-on.

“be patient, princess,” he whispered, pulling away for a second, “i don’t want to fuck you on the sofa, you know that, right?”

“why not?” you giggled, running a hand through his hair as your legs wrapped around his waist, “i want you so bad, donghyuck, i just—”

donghyuck shushed you by slamming his lips against yours again, making you moan, him using that as his opportunity to slide his tongue back inside.

“that is not what i like to see on a friday evening,” jaemin declared.

D-0hr0m

“what the fuck?!” donghyuck exclaimed, “you said you’d be home at like 10!”

“news flash, it’s like 10,” renjun said, showing donghyuck his phone.

donghyuck groaned, leaning down and picking his shirt off the floor keeping his chest pressed against yours for decency.

“turn around then,” he said, glaring at the members.

the five boys turned around, allowing you to sit up and pull your boyfriend’s shirt over your head.

“done,” you sighed.

“what are we watching?!” chenle exclaimed, jumping on the sofa.

“oh, i’ve seen kingsman before! it’s really good,” jisung said.

“hmm, we saw it in the cinema, didn’t we?” jeno said, sitting beside jaemin on the loveseat beside the sofa.

you sighed, rolling your eyes as you looked at donghyuck.

“um, we’re gonng go to my room,” donghyuck said.

“no the fuck you’re not,” jaemin said, “i’m watching this film and i do not want your noises in the background.”

“i’m sorry i have a problem,” donghyuck hissed, motioning to his pyjama bottoms, “we’re gonna go to my room whether you like it or not, enjoy your film.”

you giggled, waving to the boys as donghyuck pulled you into his bedroom, shoving you onto his bed, “where were we, hmm? i believe you were desperate for my fingers?”

“that was ages ago, catch up,” you teased.

“hmm, being a brat? i see,” donghyuck nodded, “i was gonna say let’s keep the volume down for the boys, but i guess not.”

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - Baby talk

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 13 | Part 14 Baby talk | Part 15 >

Disclaimer: reference to doing the naughty 🤭

Author’s note: Since I’m both on a wild writing spree and quite terrible at fixing my own grammatical errors / checking on word flow..do I maybe, just maybe, have some fic-readers on here who’d like to proof read my material before I post it? Anyone? There’s some 10-ish chapters left on this story, in case you wish to know how much work that’d be. Greetings from my writing nook! 🤓❤️

Word count: 1.349

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

It is a time of many new beginnings, including the start of a search for a place of my own.

“Why move?” You may due-fully ask, to which I’ll answer; “Well, I need some darn privacy, okay?!”

Now, please do know that I definitely do not wish to nag. In fact my current living arrangement isn’t half as bad as I first presumed it would be. My parents are adorable people and my room hadn’t changed a bit since I left; and it sure is comfortable. Besides, it’s rather nice to have family around and be in a house full with life and laughter, the kitchen always smelling of freshly baked cakes and cookies, the living room buzzing with my dad’s classic rock.

But, being 37 and having a decent paying job and cares and wishes of my own, it simply is time for me to spread my wings and rebuild a life elsewhere. Which, once again, appears to be more difficult than I wished it to be, because apparently nice apartments are sparse on the Channel Islands.

Do you want more than a tiny shack which barely fits your bed and a dining table for four? Then you better have a fat check book or a whole lotta luck.

So yes, in my case; luck it is. Would you cross some fingers for me again?

Much appreciated,

Ali

‘Ooodoo-doo-doo.’ I cooed, squishing Kal’s furry cheeks between my grabby hands, the dog happily wagging his tail as Henry took the moment to clip a leash onto the Akita’s sturdy collar.

‘Going for a walk!’ Henry yelled into the back of the house, his parents probably enjoying some elevenses on the back porch, the grand seaside house quiet. Henry shrugged as no response came, his smiling face beaming at me. ‘Alright then, let’s go.’

Kal barked in excitement, jumping on all fours as I pulled open the front door, the morning breeze welcoming us with hot restless licks. Like it had become near custom, I would hook my hand around Henry’s arm, our footfalls perfectly in tune as we walked down the road, our eyes aimlessly wandering over the silver blue waves. It was nice like this. Simple, but nice.

‘Did you tell your parents about your plans to move yet?’ Henry asked, his voice near lost in the seaside wind that slapped us in the face - the beach was getting nearer.

‘Not really. You know how my mom is; she can get a bit overdramatic.’ I smiled, seeing the beach was quite busy this morning. Many children running cheerfully through the surf of the sea, their feet followed by equally cheerful women waddling with large, rounded bellies, promising even more to come. More children. More happy feet trailing through the wet sand.

Thankfully I wasn’t alone in my quiet stares, Henry squeezing my hand even closer to his chest, offering me a silent but affirmative; “I know, Ali, I can see it too.”

I sighed quietly and tugged on Henry’s arm, leading us down the sandy dunes until we reached a wood logged path, offering us some steady footing instead of having to work our way through the muggy sand. 

Kal happily sniffed around, making our pace far slower as we waited up for the dog every other step or so. ‘So how are you today?’ I asked, looking at Henry as he focused on Kal sniffing through some long dune grass. He clicked his tongue when the dog got a little over-excited, his nose digging into the plant. ‘Okay for now. Though not really looking forward to picking up travelling again. I mean. There’s some fun bits, but it’s also nice to be out here with…’ His voice trailed off as he looked at me with large loving eyes, the rest of his words unspoken. He smiled simply, satisfaction clear on his shaved cheeks.

‘I’ll miss having you around.’ I smiled, far less satisfied and more worried. Would this be the end of our little fling-thing again?

‘I don’t want this to end Ali.’ He said, halting us both and looking into my eyes, trusting Kal wouldn’t be digging up dirty diapers for this one important moment. ‘As much as I appreciate you telling me you’ll miss me..I don’t want that to be necessary. I hate it. And I’ll do anything in my power to prevent this from going south again. We’ve had enough practise now. Let’s..’ He licked his lips, locking hopeful eyes with mine. ‘..let’s make it work this time.’

—

Warm, strong fingers wrapped around mine, the doctor peering at us from over the tip of her glasses, her curious eyes studying Henry perhaps just a bit too much. Sure, it was not everyday that this superstar sinks down in your chair, because he and his ..eh..partner..want to learn about planned parenthood at a later age.

I had been rather quiet through-out the visit, having heard most of the info before, but Henry seemed to be more than a little prepared, asking a gazillion questions. He had been most excited when I had hesitantly proposed he could join me and now here we were. Once again in this tiny doctor’s office, the desk before us filled with leaflets and my notebook which Henry now eagerly used to jot down points we still needed to research.

We. Us. Me and him.

The very idea seemed so very surreal, that I was growing increasingly worried that we were in fact just continuing to build this crazy fantasy. Sure, we might be a good sexual fit. Sure, we were good at talking. Sure, we had quite a few shared hobbies and enjoyed the same things, wanted the same things. But what we didn’t have just yet was time together. And that is where I got a little anxious. I was not made for long distance relationships. I needed physicality, I needed HIM. And no matter what he’d do, it was more than likely that distance would come in between us.

But that was a concern for another moment.

Now we were here to talk babies. BABIES! Kids. Pups. Off-spring. Mini-me’s. And maybe, very maybe, mini-Henry’s. But we were yet to come to a decision on that. First we wanted to know all available options and discuss it thoroughly. We were together for one and a half month now. That was..nothing. That was…

His fingers squeezed more tightly around mine and I looked up, meeting those deep, warm ceruleans of his. ‘Looks like we have plenty to work through.’ He said, his voice surprisingly dark..almost..husky. Was he ..eh..aroused? I blinked for a moment, then quickly steered my attention back towards the doctor, who didn’t seem to miss the subtle hints that he sent my way. She raised a careful, slightly amused eyebrow, trying her best to keep a professional look on her face.

‘Yea..thanks again Doctor.’ I nodded, making sure we’d get out of there before he’d decide to ravish me right there on that tiny desk.

—

By the time we got to his parents place there was no time left for formalities - and how glad I was that his parents were out to visit some of their friends on that particular moment. We barely made it to the couch, our desperate hands tugging on clothes, lips firing heated kisses, no words or actual talk managing to get past our lips. 

It was more than a little apparent, that of all things that we were good at doing together, THIS was definitely one of them. As practised as our morning walks on the beach, so practised were our fingers as they dragged over hot, shivering skin, aching to be touched. 

‘We really need to..talk.’ I panted, feeling his hot breath in my neck, his five-a-clock shadow rubbing deliciously on my skin. ‘L-l.’ Henry groaned. ‘..Later.’ He rumbled, already digging down his pocket for a condom. 

Now there was one and simple conclusion to be made here: of all things that could get Henry hot and bothered, family planning MOST DEFINITELY was one of them.

--

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[atricksterproblem]

I have news....

My imaginary boyfriend is now my imaginary fiance. 

Some notes for the story: The Abbey in my AU is in England, so their weekend in the city is happening in London. They’re in Queen Mary’s Garden, famous for its gazillion varieties of roses.

I really wanted a visual reference for the ring but I couldn’t find one that was quite right so you’re stuck with my description of it instead. Special shout-out to @raspberrylimerickey for their idea for the stone.

On this early evening in June, a warm breeze stirred the roses in Queen Mary’s Garden, carrying their mingled scent. The park was open late, and Papa had suggested that they come here for a walk. Ever the gentleman in his own old-fashioned way, he’d offered her his arm, and she leaned on him a little now for the simple pleasure of feeling him close.

“I’m so glad you were able to get away from the Abbey for a change, love. A whole weekend to ourselves! It’s been ages.”

He chuckled. “They tried to fill my schedule again, you know. I had to insist. It’s been too long since we had this kind of time together.”

“It really has.” It was a blessing to see him so relaxed for once, away from all the daily cares of the Church.

He was silent for a time, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, and she left him to it. They were as comfortable in shared silences as they were in speech. At last he spoke, unusually hesitant.

“We’ve been together for a while now, you and I. Living together, sharing our lives…I’ve never been this close to anyone before. Not like this. Not like it’s been with you.”

She gave his arm a little squeeze and smiled at him, but stayed silent. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, and she knew to let him take his time.

“I’ve never had to wonder if this was real,” he said. “Before, it was always a question. Whether they were just ambitious, or only wanted who they thought I was. Whether they’d be gone as soon as they learned the truth, or whether they’d betray me in the end.

“I’ve always been able to talk to you. We were friends before we were ever lovers, and I’m glad. Because I can share everything with you, good times and bad, silly and serious. Because I can trust you with anything. With everything I am.”

Their steps had brought them to an arbor covered in climbing roses, and he led her beneath its arch. Stopping there, he turned to face her, taking a steadying breath.

“You remember I once made you a promise, dolce. I want to make good on it now.”

He sank gracefully to one knee, holding a small box out to her.

“Jehanna, my beloved rose, will you marry me?”

She would have liked to have been able to report that she responded with calm, decorous happiness to his proposal. What actually happened was some sort of undignified squeak followed by “ohmygodYES” all in a rush.

He laughed and embraced her, and they held each other tight for a while.

“I love you so much, Terzo. It’s only ever been you. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, and he ran a gentle hand over her hair.

“I love you too.”

“I’d better move or I’m going to cry all over your jacket here….”

“I don’t mind,” he murmured, “but I want to see how this ring looks on you anyway.”

She fumbled with the promise ring he’d given her, switching it to her other hand, and he slid the engagement ring on in its place. It was white gold cast in the shape of a delicate ivy vine, with a deep purple gem cradled in its leaves.

“This is stunning. What’s the stone? I’ve never seen a purple quite like it before.”

“It’s a violet sapphire. It seemed like a good choice--your birthstone, my color, eh? Do you like it?”

“I love it. Where on earth did you find it? I’ve been looking for the perfect ivy ring forever.”

He grinned. “I know. I had it made by the same guy who makes all the formal jewelry for the upper clergy. He made my signet ring when I took office. We could design our wedding bands with him too if you like his work.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“My pleasure.”

She put her arms around his waist. His mismatched eyes were as soft as she’d ever seen them. He ran a hand down the side of her face and kissed her, warm and lingering.

She was never sure afterwards how much time had passed when they finally pulled apart.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, eh?”

“Let’s. I think we’re scandalizing some of the tourists.”

“Good.”

“Wicked man.”

“Only for you.”

[a-whump-muffin]

Ten Thousand Autumns BTHB

Ten Thousand Autumns || BTHB: Stress Position

@badthingshappenbingo​​

Notes: the real start to my bbu story! i tried to not leave a gazillion footnotes, so i’m happy to clarify any terms/concepts. note that family names come first, given names second.

CW: box boy universe, human slavery, dehumanization, references to trauma, abuse, and conditioning

Zhao Wuyi sets the ink brush aside and rests his hand against the desk to steady the tiny tremors rippling down to his fingers. There is no room for mistakes. He is fifty pages into this booklet, bound with the special silk thread and paper used for government documents, and a single misshapen line will ruin six hours of work in an instant. These reports must be delivered to the archives by the end of the week and none of his assistants or officers are able to write a concise, comprehensive account suitable for His Majesty’s eyes.

Your handwriting is refined and delicate, showing restraint and mindfulness.

Those words brought him the hollow ache of disappointment, once, because shallow handwriting indicates a shallow mind. He can only be grateful for it now, he supposes. Official documents are more pleasing when the writing is precise.

At the sound of the door creaking open, Zhao Wuyi lifts his head and blinks slowly as the edges of his vision become blurred like smeared ink. A man wearing a dark blue cross-collar garment slides inside, breaking into a playful smile once he closes the doors behind him. 

“Are you finally taking a rest?” says Yan Renqing, his assistant who organizes all chaos in the office with the brutal efficiency of a hunting bird. It’s only his smiles that are deceptively soft.

“Did you need something?” Zhao Wuyi reaches for the small chest of drawers on the desk to retrieve his name seal.

Yan Renqing crosses the room and stops in front of the desk to give a sloppy bow, then takes out a letter booklet and holds it out for Zhao Wuyi to take and flip open, brow knitted in confusion. An embroidered booklet usually means an invitation, but the dark green threads with a pine and moon design don’t belong to any of the ministries, departments, or officials who have reason to invite him anywhere.

“It’s a gift for you,” Yan Renqing says, taking a polite step back. “Imperial Censor Wang sends his regards and deepest apologies for the inconvenience his son has caused. He dearly hopes this gift will please you. The men are bringing it in now.”

Zhao Wuyi’s hands twitch, but he does not toss the booklet to the floor.

Imperial Censor Wang Yuan is a fifth-rank official, a man praised by his superiors as detailed and discreet in his work. It’s a pity that his eldest son, Wang Qiu, isn’t likely to reach a prestigious office with his ambition and literary talent, even if he has his father’s connections.

It is true that Zhao Wuyi sent people to befriend Wang Qiu to track the movements of one of his friends, a compulsive gambler who happens to be the youngest son of the Vice-Minister of Revenue. When it was discovered that this young scholar became involved in a money laundering scheme due to his debts, Zhao Wuyi handed the case over to the Imperial Guards. None could have guessed that after only three days into the investigation, the son of the Vice-Minister would hang himself in his own home.

Wang Qiu was furious at his friend’s death. He barged into Zhao Wuyi’s office a few days ago filled with vitriol and heated accusations – none of which he could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt to any official who mattered. In response, Zhao Wuyi had Yan Renqing send the man a polite message regarding his son’s rude behavior. He expected a bribe to head his way, but the large wooden box the attendants are carrying into the room far surpasses his expectations.

“Imperial Censor Wang isn’t the richest man.”

“He was deeply apologetic for his son’s actions the other day.”

Zhao Wuyi walks over to inspect the box. It’s an elegant but overstated piece with a warm, pale finish and carvings of flowering apple trees on the sides and lid. It alone must be worth at least twenty five silver taels, which is the exact amount Wang Yuan makes in a year.

“Find out if Wang Yuan has taken out any loans or visited the pawn shop.” Zhao Wuyi orders as he recalls the state of Wang Yuan’s finances. Nothing indicates he has the means to afford pricey bribes. Upon closer inspection, he finds that there is no lock and the metal fittings show signs of wear. A repurposed piece, then. His orders are still the same.

“Yes, sir. I’ll look into it by the end of the day.” Yan Renqing must have noticed these details as well, but he says nothing and bows before he takes his leave.

When the doors are shut, muffling the orderly chaos in the courtyard, Zhao Wuyi opens the box.

In the five years since he became the head of Wan’an Bureau, Zhao Wuyi has received many bribes, from silver taels to one-of-a-kind tea sets. There was even a horse, once; one of those rose-dappled mounts favored by the tribes on the grasslands.

However, this is the first time he has been given a person as a gift.

No, perhaps not a person in the legal sense – the leather collar and the entire, strange idea of delivering a human being in a box indicates this is the case.

The boy laying in the box, curled on his side and tucked into a tight ball, is breathing harshly between tiny gasps for air that isn’t stale and smells of wood and sweat. The shaking could be from fear or the restraints binding his arms behind his back and legs to his chest using an elaborate custom harness with another strap connecting the collar to his ankles. It seems impossible for the one being restrained to release themself. The boy can barely move his fingers, which spasm nervously against his forearms. He can turn his head a little, and when he does, he wills himself to stop shaking.

Zhao Wuyi won’t remove the restraints immediately. They could be for aesthetics, but this may just be a creative assassination attempt.

“You have a mouth. If it works, you had better explain yourself now,” he says coldly. He does not have a deep voice that carries across fields and can command armies, but his cold elegance, like a pine tree standing in the snow, does demand a measure of respect.

“You…you’re my new master?”

It’s both a question and a statement. Every word trembles like the first leaf of autumn that heralds the end of one season and the beginning of another. The “pet” is a young man, voice fully mature, but uncertain and small like that of a child lost in the streets. Still, Zhao Wuyi does not detect a timid desire for confirmation from him, but the subtle demand to know the identity of the person who now rightfully owns him.

“I can see why he gave you to me now.” Zhao Wuyi scoffs and breathes a short sigh. He has a certain reputation in the capital and Yan Renqing said it himself a few days ago – Zhao Wuyi can respect someone who has principles, but those who do not know their place earn his disdain. He looks at the “pet” with a hint of contempt in an otherwise apathetic stare. “Do you come with a name?”

The boy’s spark of defiance falters, his eyes hazy and uncertain.

“No…” he says, barely audible, as if the truth physically pains him. “My name is yours to decide, master.”

Zhao Wuyi has no time or need for a pet that cannot help at the office and needs no one at all to look after his home. He, admittedly, does not know much about the human pet trade. He hears that the training is intense, but talented trainers can do the impossible and overwrite a lifetime of knowledge and memories, leaving pets good for nothing useful.

“I don’t know of anyone who names their prized horses or hunting dogs, and you are far less useful than either beast,” Zhao Wuyi says, watching the boy carefully. “I’ll allow you a name if you can earn it.”

The boy’s eyes flicker wildly between despair and anger, as if he has a right to a name anymore, and Zhao Wuyi can only laugh.

“You willingly signed your life and identity away to become a favored thing1, but now you are filled with contempt? If you must hate someone, then hate yourself first for making such a decision.”

The anger smoldering in those eyes indeed turns inwards with a flicker of doubt.

The boy’s face is slightly bruised, but he has lovely phoenix eyes that shine bright in the afternoon light coming through the open window. His fine features and pale skin, now rubbed raw and tender from his restraints, could have easily belonged to a young man of the nobility – those whose arrogance and pride are as superficial as their wealth and good fortune.

“The Commander of the Imperial Guards recently purchased a pet,” Zhao Wuyi says, very casually, as if indulging in neighborhood gossip. “He was dissatisfied with it, but the Commander is both frugal and busy. Much like myself, he has no time to retrain a disobedient creature, so he assigned some of his men the task of breaking it in. Ah – so you do still know to fear our capital’s Imperial Guards?”

The pet’s face pales and his lips move silently for a moment before his words tumble out one after another. “No, please don’t! Please, I can be a good pet for you. A-All pets are trained to respond to their master’s desires.”

Zhao Wuyi wasn’t planning on keeping the pet, but he was going to let him out of the box before hearing those wooden phrases and seeing that bruised face look so unwilling and aggrieved. He sneers; he isn’t a fool. Growing up, he heard so many of those pretty lines singing false praises, there were even some days he didn’t speak a single word that hadn’t been contrived to please others.

“I can forgive you just this once. After all, you weren’t told your new master’s identity,” he says, easing into a graceful smile, cold like frost and snow on a distant mountain. “But, tell me, if I was so easy to fool, how could I call myself the head of Wan’an Bureau? How many people do you suppose have promised me the moon and stars while plotting my death behind their smiles and platitudes?”

The pet’s eyes widen and a sob catches in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, his body shaking harder as he grapples with some inner turmoil. Zhao Wuyi isn’t interested.

“You look like you’ve been tied up for awhile,” Zhao Wuyi says with false sympathy. “If you were a good pet, I could have let you out, but since we both agree you aren’t quite there yet, why don’t you stay inside your box and reflect on your actions?”

“No, please, wait! Master–!” The pleas are cut off when Zhao Wuyi closes the lid, leaving nothing but muted cries that taper off when the boy realizes Zhao Wuyi is walking away and isn’t about to go back on his word.

1) A house pet in Chinese is 宠物, meaning “a favored thing/creature”.

(vote should this box boy get to earn a name or)