#i swear i was aiming for a paragraph

[castiwls]

two people .ᐟ part two

Paring; patrick x reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis; being stuck in the friend zone sucked, it sucked even more when your best friend was Patrick zweig. (part one)

Warnings; jealous patrick? (if that counts)

Notes; This was gonna be two parts but I didn't wanna rush it so I'm aiming for 3 - 4 parts

reqs and inbox are open !

Tags; @vyctorya

Masterlist | part one

“Here.” A cup was placed down besides your note book, the smell of coffee immediately filling your sense. Looking up a small smile pulled at your lips as you placed your pen down. “How did you know i was here?” Your hand wrapped around the cup, the heat warming up your hands as you took a sip.

“You said you preferred to study in the library, i went to your room and when you weren’t there i figured you’d be here.” Luke shrugged and you could swear his cheeks were dusted red as he pulled out the seat opposite you. 

Patrick had been MIA for the last two weeks and while normally you’d be pulling at your hair staring at your phone just waiting on a text or a call, you’d found yourself happily distracted. For the first time in possibly your whole life Patrick Zweig no longer held a unyielding grip on your life and part of you relished in your new found freedom.

Luke was a relatively new person in your world. He’d always been in your class but you’d never actually spoken until a few months ago when you’d been desperate for the notes that you’d missed and he’d been kind enough to lend you his. 

Slowly he’d integrated himself into your life, almost as if he was filling a hole you’d never noticed existed. In a way he was everything Patrick wasn’t - the thought left you feeling almost nauseous - he paid attention to small things (your order from the cafe and even your preferred route to class) and you never had to compete for his attention. 

If you called he’d been there, something which Patrick seemed to be unable to do. 

For once in your life you weren’t playing second best to whatever girl of the week it was. And it felt good. So good that the last two weeks you’d barely thought of your best friend.

You were happy in your own little bubble.

“Thanks.” You smiled placing the cup back down before glancing down to your note book. “You ready for the exam?” Luke piped in leaning forward on his elbows as he flipped a page in your book. “I think if I look at another paragraph my brain might melt.” He mused as his eyes flicked back to yours.” 

Humming you pursed your lips. “I’m surprised you have enough brain left for it to melt.” You teased, a small smirk pulling at your lips as his face dropped for a moment. “Hey,” His foot nudged yours. “Have you know, I am a very smart person.” He puffed out his chest in a mock show of arrogance.

Stifling a laugh at his display you rolled your eyes. “Oh im sure you are. Like im sure it was a mistake the other day when you managed to burn a ready made pizza.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly closer. “Hey! Those ovens have a mind of their own miss I can’t use a toaster.” Your own eyes widened in response. “That was one time.” You defended, pouting slightly as he chuckled quietly. “Sure it was.”

You lapsed into a comfortable silence as you glanced back at your notes while he looked around, watching the few people dotted around the space. His eyes landed back on you after a moment, his tongue darting out to run across his lip as he watched you. 

Your own eyes flicked up. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing just…people watching.” He shrugged leaning back into the chair. “You know you tend to do that with people you don’t know right?” Tapping your pen on the paper you looked back down. His gaze stayed on you, a quiet noise leaving him. 

Your quiet was broken by the noise of someone clearing their throat. You frowned slightly turning to look behind you, your pen pausing its movements as you noticed the figure behind you. 

Luke’s own brow furrowed slightly as he caught the way the newcomer's expression seemed to pinch slightly when he noticed him.

“I didn’t know you were back?” You said as you placed your pen down. Patrick’s eyes moved from Luke to you, his expression softening as a small smile replaced the frown that he’d been supporting.

“I called, you didn’t answer.” He pulled out the chair beside you, settling down with a small hum. He stretched his legs out, his knee brushing yours as he invaded your personal space. His gaze hardened again as he looked at the man opposite him up and down. Who was this guy?

An uneasy feeling settled in his chest as he noticed the way he seemed to be leaning towards you. His eyes darted between the two of you for a moment as his mind spun slightly. You couldn’t be together? Could you?

Sure enough, you’d tell him! You told him everything. 

When was the last time you’d even spent time with a guy that wasn’t him? Hell when was the last time you’d expressed an interest in a guy? He racked his mind for a moment but came up empty.

You didn’t hang around with other guys.

“Who’s your friend?” Patrick asked, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. A tight smile pulled at his lips as you closed your notebook. “Oh, this is Luke. He’s in my class.” You nodded watching Patrick for a moment.

The hand around the back of your chair shifted to rub over your shoulder for a moment and for a brief moment, you thought you must be dreaming. Sure Patrick could be touchy but never in public, never like this. 

His leg continued to press into yours as he hummed thoughtfully.

Part of you hated the effect he had on you. Hated the fact that he’d been sat down for all of two minutes and you could already feel the butterflies returning as his hand continued to rub your shoulder. 

He stook out his hand after a moment. “Patrick.” He kept the same tight smile on his face as Luke reached over, shaking his hand before they both pulled back. “You know…she’s never mentioned you before.” Patrick tilted his head, his tone dripping in innocence.

Your own eyes widened as you jabbed him in the side. “What’s your issue?” You snapped lowly, hoping the other man wouldn’t hear. 

You could practically cut the tension between the two with a knife as Patrick fell quiet for a moment. “What? I’m just saying, you've never mentioned a Luke to me before.” He looked back to you, his hand squeezing your shoulder. 

Sucking in a breath you shook your head. “I would have but you didn’t answer your phone. I thought you wanted time with Karleigh anyways?” Wrong name, you knew it when you said it. His eyes narrowed but he didn’t correct you.

If he wanted to be petty you could be petty right back.

Luke frowned slightly clearing his throat. “I need to go help my roommate moving something but i’ll see you tommorw?” He raised an eyebrow as he stood. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

Luke shrugged, smiling slightly as he grabbed his own cup. “No problem.” He shot Patrick one last look before giving you a small wave.

The moment he was gone Patrick was on you. The hand on your shoulder squeezed you closer as he turned his body to face you. “He bought you coffee? Seriously?” He scoffed. “That’s like high school flirting.” He shot the cup a look as if it offended him. “You can’t seriously like that guy?!”

“So what if i do?” You shrugged, ignofing the way his closeness seemed to make your legs feel weak. “He’s a nice guy.” 

Patrick scoffed again, leaning slightly closer as he pointed towards the door. “He’s a boy scout.” He pointed back to you, his finger brushing your chest. “You shooting way below your level.”

You swallowed. “Oh, am I? Who do you think I should go for then? Someone more…douchy?”

Patrick pulled a face looking over your shoulder for a moment. “I don’t like him.” He said after a moment. “Of course, you don’t”

Patrick's eyes glanced over to your hand, still resting on the table. What have you been doing with him the last two weeks? Had he touched you? How many places have you gone together? His blood almost boiled at the thought of you having someone else take up your time and attention.

Someone to take you away from him.

His hand behind your back clenched for a moment as he looked you over. “C’mon. We’re getting food.” He grabbed your stuff, unceremoniously shoving it into your bag before standing.

“Careful.” You huffed as he kept the bag in his grasp. He was acting strange. You’d only ever seen him this riled up about tennis matches, and even then you’d never seen him this agitated.

You could tell from the way his mouth seemed set in a firm line as he waited for you to stand that he was annoyed. Part of you relished in it. Let him feel the way you always did whenever he’d come to you for advice or randomly bring his dates to your meetups.

Standing, a small gasp left you as you felt his arm wrap around you, almost possessively. You barely managed to grab the half-drunk coffee before he pulled you towards the door.

Patrick glanced down, his eyes narrowing as he noticed you’d grabbed the cup. Picking it from your grasp he threw it into the bin as you passed. 

Your mouth opened in protest but he cut you off. “I’ll buy you another.”

[hijackalx]

PRICE OF WIT +18

(tumblr vers.)

SUMMARY: Astarion can be so mean sometimes, but he swears he can make it up to you.

WORD COUNT: 1788

UNDER THE CUT: F!Reader, dom!astarion, VERY sub reader, make-up sex (kinda?), YALL ARE TOXIC AF TOGETHER, mean!astarion, possessive!astarion, praise, choking, biting, sadism and masochism, small mention of gale being a pervert lol

A/N: reworked this to be in second person, and also edited it since the AO3 version did not get that kind of love 💀 some lines/paragraphs have been changed. also this was originally written with act I/act II astarion in mind but i guess it works for ascended astarion too.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

Intelligent with a silver tongue to boot, Astarion can work his way through and into almost any circumstances he desires.

"I HATE YOU!"

A quick way out of a sticky situation? Got it. A smooth approach into a pleasurable one? No doubt. The world is his for the taking.

"I HATE YOU!"

Except for when it's not.

Sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain. He occasionally says something a little too harsh, a little too cold— ice cold, and it doesn't matter how much or how little he means it, it still hurts.

Wit has a price, it seems.

You claw and shriek in his grasp. You didn't get far before he managed to wrap his arms around you and stop you from disappearing to who knows where. He winces as your fingernails dig into the skin of his forearms. He succeeds in grabbing your wrists and folding them against your body, trapping you against his chest.

"You're acting like a child!" He shouts through an exhausted growl as you continue to resist his hold.

He knows what he said was wrong— it was a snarky slip of the tongue. But you stormed off before he could apologize, so who's really the problem here?

The fire glows and crackles in the crisp night air, accompanied by Gale and Karlach, whose meals have been so rudely interrupted by your shrill screams. Although, they watch the tussle unfazed. This wouldn't be the first time you and him have had a peace-disrupting argument.

"They're the most immature people I've ever met," Karlach takes a bite of her turkey leg, her tone more irritated than anything. "No good for each other, those two."

Gale watches how you kick up dust and dirt just outside of Astarion's tent. He'd only heard pieces of what led to this as you spoke behind the fabric; some kind of complaint by Astarion that has clearly been taken to heart. Sighing, he meets Karlach's eyes, their shared gaze molding into apprehensive weariness.

"Well," he mutters into a lamb chop, "looks like we're in for another sleepless night."

"I love you, I love you, I love you—" your softly whimpered phrase is the only sound to be heard after the camp has settled in their bedrolls for the night.

All Astarion had to do was guide you back into his tent and successfully lay you down. After that, you were more willing to hear him out.

Your bodies are bathed in the gentle lantern light, your back pressed firmly to his bedding and your legs wrapped around his waist. He intertwines your fingers as he steadies your hands above your head. Soft, white locks tickle your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, his teeth teasing at the skin every so often.

His pace is rhythmical but rough, his hips flush between your legs as he aims for your cervix— his favorite spot. He loves the way you writhe and try to push him away while pleading for more. The way your heels press into his back, how your voice breaks while you call out for him.

"I've got you, sweetheart," his exhales are hot against your skin.

His hand slips down to pinch your side after hearing you stifle a moan, a quick but effective reprimand. You squeak at how he cruelly twists the flesh, your abdomen tensing.

"Don't hold back," he scolds, and you catch how his brows lower in the corner of your eye. Your modesty has offended him.

You screw your eyes shut, mustering up the ability to speak clearly. "T-they'll hear," you blurt out. It's only fair to be considerate to your fellow party members— or at least try to.

Your response makes him laugh, and this time you're the one scrunching your brows. You don't understand what's so amusing until he says, "You wouldn't want to deprive Gale of his own pleasures, would you?"

You go entirely rigid, your face dropping slightly at how sure he sounds.

Questionably, he sits up to examine you, immediately noticing your change in expression. "What?" He asks. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep red, you stare up at him speechlessly. What he's implying is that... gale has been... touching himself while you and him are together?

How perverse.

He coos, squeezing your cheek and giving it a shake. "You're so cute." His condescending tone doesn't make you want to smack him in the face, strangely enough. In fact, you think you might like it judging by the way your stomach turns.

You take a moment to recover from the thought of your private acts not being so private. Noticing this, he balances his hands on the ground beside you, then pulls out before fully sheathing himself again with a fast, hard thrust. Your body jolts like it's been injured, and you can't hold back your yelp. His features are nothing short of devilish upon hearing the sound.

Sometimes he likes to be mean— but sometimes you like to let him.

"I quite like... the idea... actually," he says through breaths while he fucks you, his half-lidded gaze watching how your tits bounce. Leaning down, he begins to leave a trail of bite marks over your chest, each one he soothes with a gentle kiss as if to say 'sorry'. "Imagining Gale all alone—" another bite, another kiss. "—Wishing he were half as lucky as me."

He groans as your hands twitch and grip at his hair. Your back arches off the ground, and he runs a slightly calloused palm over the newly exposed area, tracing the curve of your body.

"Astarion," you say so weakly, so needy. He can't help letting a moan slip at how his name sounds coming from your mouth.

You're close, he can feel it. It's the way you tremble, the way you can't get close enough to him— wanting him deeper, harder, more, more— You're a greedy little thing, but he adores it. He adores you. How couldn't he give you anything and everything you want?

He sits up, his lustful stare heavy and thick as he peers down his nose at you.

You lift your chin as his hand wraps around your neck, allowing him all the access he wants. He begins to squeeze, your smaller fingers prying at his grip.

"You're mine," he watches intently as you squirm under his unwavering stare, his face still and emotionless. "Say it to me."

"I'm yours," you say readily, feeling your heart skip a beat when the corners of his mouth almost split into a proud grin.

"Tell me you won't try to run away again." His hold tightens.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you," you choke out. That's what you told him last time and the time before that. Just as your head begins to feel light and your eyelids heavy, your body buzzes and jerks with an orgasm.

He releases you so he can watch your full reaction; how you writhe and reach for him, how the hands scraping at his chest plead to close the distance between your bodies.

Tears slip down the corners of your eyes— maybe from pleasure, maybe not. He could hold you, but something inside tells him no. It's almost as if to serve as punishment for trying to run off.

Believe him, he doesn't want to punish his baby. But sometimes it's necessary.

Once your high dies down and you're left a heaving, exhausted mess, he grabs one of your limp hands and leaves a kiss on each fingertip. "Ooh," his thumb rubs your palm. "That was a good one."

You know very well that you're not finished. Luckily, he's kind enough to get you off first, even when he's upset with you. He's considerate where it counts, of course.

Or maybe he loves how much he can undo you with a second orgasm.

He caresses your face while you catch your breath. You lean into his touch, almost petting yourself. His undead palm is cold yet gentle, and you somehow find comfort in it. Your eyelids flutter closed.

"You're doing so good for me," he praises softly, his tone no louder than a murmur. "You can go a bit longer, can't you?"

He speaks tenderly and sweet, making your pulse beat even faster. "For me, darling?" He asks as if it's even a question— as if he doesn't know the answer.

Your body aches, worn and tired, yet you nod with eagerness. Anything, you think in your euphoric, fucked-out daze, anything for you.

There are times when you can't stand him, when he's the worst person in the world— but those only emphasize the times when he's the only person in the world; times when he makes you feel warm and loved, and so, so good.

Like when he nears his own orgasm and wraps his arms around you so tight, so close. He holds you like you're the dearest thing he's ever had, your skin pressed together like you're afraid to part.

And he fucks you so good you'll forget the nasty things he says and does, if only until the next time. For now, the way his breaths shake and his muscles contract in yearning— in need, is distracting enough.

"Fuck—" a word you'll rarely, if ever, hear him say. Too vulgar for his tastes, except for when he loses his ability to keep his composure. "Fuck," he hisses again as he thrusts into you, almost hard enough to lift your hips from the ground.

Before you know it, his teeth are sinking deep into the flesh of your neck. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his curls. He stifles his moans by lapping up the crimson leaking from your puncture wounds, finishing inside you simultaneously.

Between the sounds of him reaching his climax and the bite, it's enough to push you over the edge a second time. Extra sensitive, your body reacts more violently than before. Your nails claw and tear at his back, leaving scratches through the maze of scars. The newly raised lines disfigure the old, tiny pools of blood rising to the top— a gentle reminder of your presence compared to his preferred methods.

"That's it, there you go," he pulls away breathlessly, making sure to use slow, flat sweeps of his tongue to clean up the mess he's made. The smeared red on your neck is licked away into a mere stain.

Your bodies finally ease into stillness. Exhausted, he rests his weight on top of you. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, eyes shut as you hold him.

Your lips press softly to his shoulder, your head lying against his. The heavy exhales between you alternate, your chests rising and falling deeply until they progress into something more controlled.

Though out of each other's lines of sight, you share the same troubled expression, your brows furrowed and lips pulled into frowns.

There's a long, silent moment of recuperation before he mutters into your ear,

“I love you."

[bits-and-babs]

I just read Playboy and... Oh boy. Damn. Bashful Joel is *the best.* Also, I'm so curious if they woke up Ellie lmao that would be horribly, deliciously awkward

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡

pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

word count: 819

warnings: awkward. Very subtle references to smut. Not proof read.

note: I loved this ask so much that I had to write it just for funsies. I think I try really hard (too hard) sometimes to be a serious writer when sometimes I’m in need of a little bit of fun! See the fic that inspired this ask here. PLEASE NOTE: at the end of this there are two dashes ( - - ) there is a glitch removing the last paragraph of my fic so this is the only way I can curb it!

Fuchsia blurs across Ellie’s cheekbones, encroaching on the skin of her throat and exposing her obvious discomfort in the silvery reflection of the wing mirror. You chew on the inside of your cheek raw as you watch her for hours, her eyes staring into the obscure image of the passing evergreen outside the window as though she was experiencing shell shock.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Kid,” Joel speaks up through the silence, his eyes drifting up to the wing mirror glass and assessing the image of Ellie’s reflected mortification. Outwardly cringing, she glances forward at Joel and shrugs awkwardly.

“Yeah, well, you were ‘uncharacteristically’ loud last night,” she mumbles under her breath, and you swear you feel your insides curdle. Joel’s eyebrow arches slightly in question, but you know exactly what she’s touching on, swallowing back your urge to explain and apologise.

“Gotta speak up, Kiddo. Can’t hear you on that side,” Joel reminds Ellie of his deaf ear, and you find yourself closing your eyes in mortification at his insistence to find out what was bugging the poor, tortured girl.

Ellie clears her throat with a shake of her head, sprawling out across the back seat in a dramatic flop.

“It’s not important.”

Joel, frustrated now, aims his scrutiny at you. His bronze eyes study your discomfort; his eyebrows pinched together when you form your lips around the words ‘she knows.’

The result is almost instantaneous—Joel’s grip on the leather steering wheel creaks, his knuckles white. You can practically see his stomach drop, and he lets out an awkward chuckle that lacks humour. Resting your elbow against the curve of the door, you hide your eyes behind your fingers.

“… Ellie,” Joel speaks tentatively, and you swear you can feel the almost nauseous discomfort radiating off the teenage girl in waves, “… Uh… When-“

“‘A man and a woman love each other very much’? Are you fuckin’ serious, Joel? Are you about to give me the birds and bees talk?!” Ellie scoffs, shaking her head, “You really are shoddy at this.”

“I didn’t-… I ain’t had to talk about this before,” Joel grumbles, teeth gritting as he rubs at the back of his neck to wipe the nervous sweat away.

“You don’t have to. You were both so noisy I got a pretty clear picture!” She pointed out viciously, and you swear you wished a Bloater would just run at the truck and flip it over, knocking you out and putting you out of your misery. You’re cringing so hard you swear you’ve tied your intestines in a knot.

“Shit-… ‘M sorry, Ellie. You shouldn’ta heard that…” Joel mumbles, and it’s like he’s getting his knuckles rapped with a ruler by his maths teacher. You’d never heard the gruff, unapologetic man sound so meek.

There’s a long stretch of silence, and it almost tempts you to peek through your digits and see what is happening. So quiet and tense is the atmosphere that the running engine of the ageing vehicle sounds like a mountain avalanche, rumbling within the contents of the van’s metal shell. You suppose a huge rock hitting you head on would be more optimal than this utterly humiliating conversation.

Joel damn near stalls the truck when Ellie speaks up, catching you both off guard with what she chooses to say next.

“… So… *Is* he smaller than the average American dick length?”

“Ellie!” You and Joel yell out in shock, and Ellie almost falls off the seat in her intense laughter, clutching at her stomach at the evident shame that decorates Joel’s expression.

“I’m just fuckin’ with ya! I don’t wanna know that shit!” She giggles, wiping tears from her waterline with her knuckles.

“Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, shaking your head and leaning it back against the headrest.

“No thanks, that’s what Joel is for.”

“Ellie, I swear I am gonna kick you out of this truck and make you walk to Wyoming,” you insist, pointing towards the door handle beside you with zeal.

“Got it, got it,” she chuckles, sitting up again, “But don’t think I’m lettin’ you off that easy. I hear anything nasty? I’m screaming so a runner comes and kills us all. It’s less painful than listening to what I heard last ni-…”

When you dare to look, poor Joel is staring vacantly ahead of him as he drives, looking as though he’s really wondering just why the *fuck* he decided to take this job from Marlene and whether or not Ellie would be able to find her own way to Wyoming if he dropped her off on the roadside and abandoned her. Surely scrappy little Ellie could deliver herself with a map and a single cereal bar for protection?

-

[cellarspider]

Spider's Big Prometheus Thing: Index Post

Being a list of all the posts produced in the course of this inexplicable project of mine. This project is now complete, at an unexpectedly extensive thirty entries long.

I swear, I didn't intend for it to go like that, but it was fun to write.

All entries have at least a minimum level of citations for where to start looking for more facts on any subject external to the movie itself, which includes everything from how DNA is sequenced to how Nickolodeon slime is made, and from the comedy in mislabeled portraits of early church fathers to the correct attribution of a cat's contributions to historical linguistics.

Be aware that there's also hidden rambling and bonus facts in the image alt text. A lot of them.

0. Introduction

Setting the scene, including my background, my intent, and where this movie is going.

1. Opening

Expectations, landscapes, and aliens.

Rambles: DNA, whether aliens would have it, and why it doesn't look like a pale bacon ladder.

Alt-text rambles: nano-bubbles.

2. Discovery

The Isle of Skye is gorgeous, the movie attempts to establish its themes, and why it had already got my hackles up. Rambles: how cool ancient and pre-modern peoples were, the implications of humanoid figures in European cave paintings, and misplaced lions. Alt-text rambles: seriously, Skye is just so cool. Erich von Däniken and modern publishing royalties are not.

3. David

We meet the loneliest android, and his fandom of choice. Rambles: I go nuts for a paragraph over Proto-Indo-European. Alt-text rambles: Help me remember a dude's name, that time Ron Perlman saw Sigourney Weaver do something so cool he forgot to act, and a Coronation Street conspiracy theory.

4. Humans (Derogatory)

We meet the human crew, and analyze why they're a mismatch to the movie's established expectations, and what subgenre they fit in most. It isn't the one the movie seems to be aiming for. Rambles: 50s B-movies and their Men Of Science, modern movies and their quietly suffering scientists. Alt-text rambles: inconsistently moist characters, Idris Elba's christmas tree decorations.

5. Pseudoarchaeology (Extremely Derogatory)

We meet Old Man Capitalism, poor logistics, and how the movie began to really lose me through dropping in some racist pseudoscience tropes. Rambles: more logistics (of alien bioengineering), historical art styles, what the world was getting up to in the 600s CE Alt-text rambles: Linguistics, more ranting, the life and extraordinarily ornate death of Kʼinich Janaabʼ Pakal. Rants: the existence of writing, people who don't look like you can still think, stargazing and how conspiracy theorists don't understand it.

6. Roads

Poor firearm safety with Chekhov's Gun, when movies move too fast, atmospheric chemistry, and the moment I began to yearn for blood. Rambles: First contact protocols, why 3% CO₂ won't kill you but it will make you weird, my personal experience digging up a Roman road. Alt-text rambles: the logistics of securing items in moving craft, linguistics, atmospheric science, colorblind-friendly diagram design, swearing about orology, and cursing the crew for their fictional crimes against archaeology. Rants: Why they should've stayed in orbit, and my impassioned defense of historically significant transportation infrastructure.

7. Masking

The bit that made most people realize these characters were idiots. Featuring an attempt at themes. Rambles: NASA's policies on biological contaminants Alt-text rambles: Benedict Wong having nothing to do, helmet design, driving on dusty track, the tiny overlap between archaeological horrors and Minecraft, the CDC's excellent captions on men sneezing. Rants: Nominating a man for the Heinrich Schliemann Archaeology Award, all these people are catching space covid

8. Ghosts

Comparing the Engineers to their series antecedents, and I develop a slight soft spot for the geologist. Rambles: Set design in Alien, how carbon dating works. Alt-text rambles: Adventure games, GET DOWN MISTER PRESIDENT, I get very excited for Dune: Part Two, the archival devotion of people with rare blorbos.

9. Dignity

Personal, professional, social, and media context for the treatment of people's remains. Rambles: Personal experiences around the archaeological discovery of human skeletons, professional codes of ethics, movies that handle dead bodies better by being more crass about it. Alt-text rambles: None, the main text gets full focus this time.

10. Atmosphere

How intertextual imagery is overused, how the one major character arc is developing, and a whole grab bag of miscellaneous shambolic events. Rambles: How tourist-breath can destroy artifacts, and a deleted scene Alt-text rambles: Whether explaining mysteries is always the wrong decision in fantasy, the usefulness of helmets, Mass Effect's loading screens, please someone give me more recommendations for things where Giger creatures aren't all bad, and how cultural variation in gestures can make you look like an asshole. Rants: they aren't done desecrating the dead oh boy it's just gonna get worse

11. Decontamination

How to present an audience with events that make no sense, how to do it eerily, and how Prometheus does this by accident. Rambles: NASA's Apollo 11 quarantine policies Alt-text rambles: How 2001: A Space Odyssey put on a cosmic lightshow, how traditions are faked for political and social power in Midsommar, confusing lab equipment, robot arm safety, the use of camper vans in space exploration, umarell behavior, and robot horror movies. Bonus text rambles: pressurized gas cylinder safety, and how the cargo of one truck apparently tried to join Roscosmos. Rants: Laboratory safety

12. Shocking

Mary Shelly would not be proud of them. Rambles: Which home electrical appliances their tomfoolery is equivalent to. Alt-text rambles: Semiotics and Alien, reuse of props and art department equipment, the cast's inability to look at things, how the first chestburster scene intelligently incorporated spontaneity, and I completely lose my mind over a single computer readout, finding out in the process that the Engineers are close cousins to the common house mouse. Rants: I didn't think that "don't stick electrical plugs in people's ears" would be something that needed to be said, but here we are.

13. Family Tree

A soothing ramble about some of the cool bits of my job. Rambles: How evolution has made some vertebrate blood white or green, how genomes are sequenced, and how to determine the relatedness of species. And more. A lot more. I love my job. It's so cool. Alt-text rambles: How Nickelodeon slime was made, how hecking tiny molecules are, why blue-tongued skinks have blue tongues, my review of Dune: Part Two, how hard I worked to not turn Gene Wilder into a jumpscare, lots of enthusiastic explanations of DNA sequencing techniques, the aesthetics of the machines wot do that for you, how "snip" no longer sounds like a verb to me, and how I started out as a computational scientist.

14. Cheers

David poisons a man, and how his character arc ties into christian-influenced existential dread. Rambles: series continuity, gnostic theology, Ridley Scott's beliefs. Alt-text rambles: How to ruin petri dishes, Vickers' questionably carbon-based existence, the game of Operation, hand doubles in filming, how the funniest possible misidentification of an early church figure is wandering around the internet, the cool genders of suit actors, gnostic Archons, and the Engineers as Sophia. Rants: Holloway seems unaware that archaeologists study dead people, Ridley Scott is his own biggest problem.

15. Unworthy

The movie does something I'm not going to joke about. Don't read this if you're having a bad day. Big content warning for Holocaust imagery.

16. Intimacy

Your asexual commentator grapples with Hollywood's terrible track record on romantic and sexual chemistry. Rambles: Why we don't say an archaic-looking species is "older" than another, how religious scientists do what they do Alt-text rambles: the human family tree, Abbott and Costello, pitcher plant cultivars, the creative possibilities of a Buddhist version of this movie, and Stephen Still's lack of accordions. Rants: I've never been a boyfriend but I'm pretty sure that's not how you do it

17. Threat

Prometheus takes a hard turn into old slasher movie tropes. Rambles: A movie trailer that gave Wee Spider the screaming heebies Alt-text rambles: The age rating of Prometheus, a spontaneous X-Files crossover AU, Pitch Black, how likely it may or may not be that the images in the post will get flagged, critter behavior, insufficient EVA suit design, and the content balancing I take into account when selecting screenshots. Rants: This movie does not seem to know what it is. Alt-text rants: Ditto, focusing on characterization.

18. Flames

"Mac wants the flamethrower!" Rambles: I wandered off in the middle to watch a 40k comedy video, does that count? Alt-text rambles: More content-balancing, what kind of very English critter David appears to be, dune buggy design, Star Wars: The Old Republic is worth your time, Dune: Part Two is worth your time, an extremely long ramble about integration of CG background elements, and Oblivion memes. Alt-text rants: Movie color grading and lighting, undercutting scares.

19. Stars

The movie shows how good it can be when no dialog is involved. Rambles: The movie Contact and how Prometheus could've learned from it. Alt-text rambles: How I estimate large numbers from a still image, a brief Baldur's Gate 3 appearance, the set design and staging of a room made for giants with squishy computers, the use of color to make a cohesive scene, facts about Uranus, visual intimation of threat, VFX wizardry, practical FX wizardry, Michael Fassbender's wordless acting.

20. Expectant

The movie shows how good it can be when character choice is removed from the horror. Rambles: the inspiration and place of chestbursting in Alien movies, the continuing religious symbolism in the movie, the clunky dialog, how to build or undermine tension, and the good blending of practical and CG effects, and how tiny creatures of the ocean manage to be more uncanny than horror critters. Alt-text rambles: reading details the prop department never meant for you to see. Alt-text Rants: the return of the head-exploder and the first sight of actual PPE, slowly mangling a plot point's name until it has been thoroughly folded, spindled, and mutilated.

21. Underdelivered

The movie shows how terrible it can be when horror doesn't build tension. Rambles: Contortionists in horror, hillbilly horror/hixploitation movies. Alt-text rambles: Resident Evil 7, Dead Space and "strategic dismemberment"

22. Hubris

The movie tries to do some themes again Rambles: my ineffable desire to genetically sequence ditch weeds, Left Behind Alt-text rambles: Brad Dourif's commitment to the bit in The Two Towers, nigh-invisible wheelchair product placement, the Fallout series in general and the upcoming show in particular, praise for an epic-length critique of Left Behind, Robert Zemeckis' bizarre quest to mocap everything Rants: This movie does a terrible job representing both religiosity and atheism

23. Informed

Exposition is delivered, and plot points try to knit together. Rambles: The Silent Hill movie, Pacific Rim Alt-text rambles: Pyramid Head's secret unclothed backside, demanding environmental enrichment for scientists, greebling, Tumblr's favorite shitty copper merchant Rants: What could've been done instead of an exposition dump and daddy issues Alt-text rants: these people and their interior design are tempting fate and testing my patience

24. Inscribed

I go rogue and ramble about constructed languages and cuneiform for an entire post. Guest appearances from Klingon pop music and a delightfully eccentric Assyriologist. Rambles: All of it. Alt-text rambles: the self-awareness of conlangers, fingernail length, Schleischer's Fable as a warm-up for the next section, my primary conlang derangement, speculation about whether cuneiform was legible for the blind, my beef with the cowards at Lucasfilm for refusing to use Star Wars' coolest letters, my love for Warframe's Grineer, going into far too much detail about redesigning Prometheus' Engineer script, and finally, the many crocodiles of ancient egyptian hieroglyphs. Rants: None/all of it

25. Judgement

We discuss some of what the movie doesn't. Rambles: Fiction and morality, Blade Runner, biblical allusions the story could've made and doesn't Alt-text rambles: Lance Henriksen's insane career, the paintings of John Martin and a surprise George Washington, Rutger Hauer's effect on Blade Runner, my tentative plans for the next essay series. Rants: Germs, old man makeup. Alt-text Rants: The characters are reading ahead in the script again, the half-assed Engineer writing system continues to hurt me

26. Awoken

I go bananas over PIE. Rambles: fix-it fic for this damned movie, PIE, how to avoid PIE, how to analyze PIE, and my personal alternative to PIE. Alt-text rambles: calculating how long the Engineer's overslept, their potential spiritual kinship to Moominpapa, behind the scenes photos of the suit actors, Prometheus rants in the days of LiveJournal, the game Hades, how hard it personally is to get PIE right, the linguistics nerdery of the Hittite empire, and watermarks. Rants: how the movie fails its premise and hurts my soul with linguistics

27. Shortcomings

The characters, and movie, fail to get their message across to someone bent on their destruction. Rambles: David's confused religious symbolism, Star Trek Alt-text rambles: My desire for fanfic, behind the scenes photos, what other critters the Engineer's suit actor has played, the naming of Australopithecines, crash-proofing a movie set, alien gender, Gandahar and how French animated SF in the 80s was awesome, Scorn and its expert consultation from a cenobite, and Doctor Strangelove. Rants: the assumptions of the human characters, I go from trying to be measured to actively spiting the writer for his take on thoughtful SF Alt-text Rants: Del Toro is the only one who gets me, the movie has forgotten its main character just had a major surgery, one last rant about how terribly unsafe the Prometheus was as a ship, before it becomes definitively not a ship.

28. Momentum

It's the bit where she doesn't turn. Rambles: How to fix the dumbest thing we've seen in a hot minute, Edge of Tomorrow and feeling Tom Cruise's fear, how the dead thing is never really dead in horror. Alt-text rambles: How hard it is to find the most catchy song in We Love Katamari, more behind the scenes pictures of my blorbos, Friday the 13th Part IV, bad braille, and trilobites. Rants: I mean how can you not when the movie forgets how space works? Like, the idea of 3D space as a concept? Also, a particular rock earns my ire, and my ranting about interior designs on ships finally pays off.

29. Dissonance

The ending of the movie, and its tonal incoherency. Rambles: Protagonist-centric morality and lack thereof Alt-text rambles: Star Trek TNG, green blood, caecilian teeth. Rants: shallow christian themes, sequels that could have been, Shaw's confusingly deployed robo-racism Alt-text rants: sequel disappointments, inadvisable post-caesarian activities, how the hell do you fit that much 'burster into one chest, biological plausibility in alien extend-o-mouths

30. Justification

A breakdown of a post-release interview with Ridley Scott, explaining some missing details. Rambles: Gnosticism again, Mesoamerican and European human sacrifice and the exoticization of shared cultural practices, and a hearty book recommendation. Alt-text rambles: Icelandic volcanoes, The Collector (2009), Stephen Speilberg's War of the Worlds and how scaring the shit out of someone isn't necessarily the job of a horror film, the Tollund Man, unique cultural practices, Hello Future Me, and my opinions on what we've seen of Alien: Romulus. Rants: Ancient peoples weren't stupid, an unexamined christian-centric worldview, an unexamined christian-centric worldview, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGh

[elleloquently]

invisible string [4] : ellie williams

part three

| college!ellie x female!reader - thank you guys so much for patiently (and excitedly) waiting for this update! school is absolutely so busy it's sickening, so it's hard to write as often as i want, but i really want to aim for at least one update per week! writing this chapter was so much fun so please let me know what you think... as always thank you for your love, requests are open, and reblogs and comments are always loved and appreciated! love ya <3 (p.s shout out to a creepy owner irl who inspired part of this fic)

| c/w - anxious reader, swearing, mention of weed, alcohol, men!

studying was very dull compared to texting a pretty girl.

ellie entered your life in a whirlwind, notes filling up your once empty walls and endless texts and pictures cluttering up your phone.

the texts came in slowly at first, maybe a few short conversations every other day, mostly complaining about how much homework the professor of your shared class was packing in before finals week hit. then entered stupid memes, random pictures... and suddenly you were staying up until 3am learning about each other, despite your 8am class.

it had only been a few days, and you knew that you were getting too attached.

it was a feeling that made your stomach sink, the realization of how much your mood improved with a simple text. you were happiest in class, sitting next to ellie, even when your hand cramped from filling out pages of study guides.

sighing, you turned your music up louder and crashed back onto your bed, cushioned by a multitude of throw pillows and blankets. you weren't getting much studying done anyway.

the song grew quiet as your phone chimed, music to your ears.

Zero progress.

attached was a photo of the study guide, the amount of completed questions matching those of your own packet.

you quickly typed out a response to ellie, short and to the point.

literally sickening

it was only a few seconds before she replied:

There goes my weekend!

you replied in agreement before forcing yourself back up to glance over your textbook. you've been lingering on the same chapter for over an hour. if you were truly honest with yourself, you probably only read about two paragraphs... you were distracted.

you hardly had time to even daydream due to how busy you were, but it's not like it mattered. you gaze lingered to the collaboration of drawings made by yourself and ellie, still sticking to the wall. your phone sounded once again, pulling you out of a sleepy daze. figuring it was ellie again, you closed your textbook in an act of resignment.

the smile that appeared once you heard the text notification slowly faded upon closer inspection.

it wasn't ellie. it was a friend, one you admittedly haven't spoken to much as of recent. you hadn't really meant to ghost her, but your schedules didn't really align much. this time of year you were so busy with assignments and work, and she was busy with... well, literally anything else.

her message consisted of only two words, call me. it was short and vague so you immediately obliged, worry taking over your senses.

she answered on the second ring, speaking before you had even opened your mouth.

"please tell me you don't have plans tonight," she urged.

you wince, already preparing an excuse. "i'm studying..." you start. it wasn't a complete lie, you really had been making an effort.

her disappointment is obvious by the way she sighs your name into the phone speaker. "i've barely seen you all semester," she argues.

you start to chip your nail polish on your free hand, holding your phone to your ear with the other one. "what's up?" you ask.

"come out with me tonight? please. you've hardly come out this semester and let's be real, once finals start there's no chance i'll be able to convince you to come out," your friend pleads. her desperation is heavy and you rub at your eyes.

you want to immediately tell her no, but you really hadn't seen her in awhile yet the other day you skipped class for a chance to hangout with someone you hardly even knew. granted, it was ellie, but still.

a pit of guilt planted itself in your stomach, forcing your next words.

"what time?"

yelping in excitment, the girl on the other end of the line gushes out all of the information to you. "i'll pick you up around eleven, okay?"

a rushed end to a quick call, with promises to text more and texting outfit options for the night.

you were nervous about the change of pace. it caused you a strange feeling of obligation, to get out of your bubble and do something different every once in awhile. during college, people were promised four years of finding their forever friends and partying, making the memories that will last their entire lifetime.

you tried to partake, but it felt forced.

with a demanding major and even more demanding coursework, it was hard to maintain friendships by finding the time to actually go out. any spare time you had was replaced with shifts at work.

you felt like you were doing college… wrong.

your music resumed, the volume increasing to drown out any anxious thoughts that would prompt you to cancel last minute.

with no new texts from ellie, you decided to give your study guide one last try.

─ ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ── ·𖥸· ─

by the time you were supposed to get picked up, you were already yawning. you had dedicated the last hour to getting ready and picking an outfit that was deemed cute enough to make you feel good but still comfortable enough that you felt secure.

though it felt like a sleepy time of year, students were nearly restless. the pressures of exams were relieved on weekends, places around the college town open all night for people to blow off steam.

it happened quickly so you didn't have a moment to reconsider or backtrack, a text of 'here!' and shoving your feet into shoes before dashing to meet your friend in the parking lot.

the car ride was a catch up session, your friend talking about her new friends but you made a quick decision not to tell her about ellie. you weren't exactly sure why, but it was almost like you wanted to keep ellie to yourself. you checked your phone mindlessly and couldn't help but feel let down when nothing new presented on your screen.

the streets were alive and busy, girls huddled together to stay warm despite the lack of coats. the outside was an indication of how busy each bar and club would be, warm with heat and bodies packed inside.

you arrived at your friend's favorite establishment, the environment a stark difference from the comfortable evening you were having in your dorm just a few short hours ago. you pressed your way through a thick crowd, hanging loosely onto the arm of your friend so you wouldn't split up.

drinks were overpriced but you ordered one anyway, something to hold onto but you knew you would probably only finish a little more than half of it if you were dedicated enough.

"i'm gonna meet up with some people, my friends and their friends," your friend explained over the music, quickly resulting in your growing concern.

you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, you always did, but other people getting involved meant you would be inevitably ditched within the hour. the look on your face gave away your feeling and the girl standing opposite of you had a short patience.

"i wish you would've told me," you tried to reason, not wanting to look or sound pathetic.

"it doesn't matter," she shook her head. "they're nice, it'll be fun."

fun.

'fun' ended up being the act of standing awkwardly in the back because they wouldn't make enough room for you in the circle. 'fun' apparently was listening to them tell the same story over and over, yet talk over you every time you tried to speak too.

forced to be a wallflower, you stood with your back against the wall as you observed other people dancing. you could almost be content like this... the music was loud and the lighting was dark. the combination seemed like it would be an anxiety nightmare, but it was actually the opposite. you could stand there, completely unnoticed, hidden by the atmosphere.

you really could've been okay with it, until your eyes were drawn to your friend pointing at you. you stood up straight, thinking she was beckoning over, until you realized exactly what she was doing. she had been dancing with a guy that night, and that guy seemingly had a friend. she was pointing you out to the friend, pushing him to join you. he started walking in your direction and your stomach filled with dread. you didn't want to be in this situation, and you certainly didn't want to make small talk with some guy.

you tried to look busy, quickly pulling out your phone and looking anywhere else. against your silent praying, the guy stood over you.

"hey," he said, leaning too close to your ear and you ducked your head away. he smelled like alcohol and cologne that was sprayed too many times. you tried a polite smile but it came out like a wince.

"can i buy you a drink?"

you answered his question by holding up your cup, hand tightly covering the opening of the top. you had only taken a few sips of it, not able to stand the taste.

"how many?" he pressed, pointing to your cup.

"what?" your face scrunched in confusion.

"how many drinks have you had?" he clarified with a laugh that you didn't return.

"one. this is my first," you informed him flatly.

he made a face like he was pretending to be let down and your stomach turned. "only one? come on girl, you need more than that."

you outwardly groaned, rolling your eyes as you pushed yourself off of the wall. "i'm going to the bathroom. bye."

"want me to hold your drink?" he called after you, agitated and loud.

you ignored him and stepped carefully through the crowd, not wanting to stand too closely to any men or accidently bump any dancing girls. you were hyper focused on the restroom sign and the way the music pounded in your ears, muttering to yourself when you felt a hand wrap around your arm.

you immediately tensed, your blood running cold but your body feeling hot simultaneously. was this guy seriously grabbing you right now?

short tempered and fuming, you loudly spat "fuck off," as you angrily whipped around, only to be met with horrified green eyes, freckles, and auburn hair.

letting go as quickly as she had reached for you, ellie dropped her hand. "shit, sorry, i-"

you quickly cut her off, apologizing profusely.

"ellie, oh my god, i am so sorry," you stressed, heart sinking when she took a step away from you.

"sorry, i really shouldn't have done that," ellie mumbled, wincing. you nearly didn't hear her, the music was too loud.

she had on a loose flannel, unbuttoned down the middle and her converse. you were sure that her horrified expression matched your own, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

"i'm so sorry," you repeated. "i thought you were someone else and-"

"i'm sorry, i called your name but-"

you kept talking over each other, rushing awkward apologies. ellie shifted on her feet, her cheeks red.

"sorry," you mentioned again, defeated. "there was this guy, and..."

"a guy," ellie repeated quietly, her expression unreadable.

"yeah," you pushed on, glancing over ellie's shoulder. he was watching you now, remaining where you left him. gross. "i was trying to get away from him and i didn't hear you, i had no idea, i'm so sorry ellie."

she laughed dryly as she recovered but your face still stung with embarrassment. "it's alright," ellie reassured you, turning her head to briefly spot the guy you had glanced at. "are you here with him?" she asked curiously.

you quickly shook your head, rolling your eyes to express your disgust. "no," you emphasized. "i'm here with my friend but... i don't know," you laughed bitterly, finally taking a moment to let it sink in that you had ran into ellie here.

"i don't know why i'm here," you felt the need to say.

ellie nodded with a short laugh. "tell me about it."

you raised an eyebrow but didn't press it, still feeling like you needed to collect yourself. you could stand and talk with ellie forever, but you seriously needed to regroup.

"hey, um, i'm gonna run to the bathroom," you explained.

"come find me when you're done?" ellie offered, green eyes scanning your face. she pointed to an area by the bar, showing you where you could find her.

your nerves didn't stand a chance, overpowered by the overwhelming desire to be close to her. you nodded, your smile genuine for the first time that night.

before you could return on your path to the bathroom, ellie spoke again. "do you want me to hold onto that for you?" she offered, gesturing to the drink in your hand.

"oh, yeah, thanks ellie." you passed it over and she covered the top with her hand automatically, a simple thing that made your heart swell.

"i'll be there, alright?" she guaranteed, her eyes never leaving yours. you nodded once and parted ways, quickly heading to the bathroom.

you dashed for an empty sink, running cold water over your hands as you stared at your reflection. you couldn't figure out why, but you felt weird about running into ellie here. you suddenly wondered who she was here with, or was she here alone?

pushing out a deep breath, you turned off the water and dried them with a paper towel. you felt dizzy, like you were in a state in between sleeping and being awake.

"this," you mumbled to your reflection, "this is why you don't go out."

once you had worked up the courage, you emerged from the bathroom and scanned your surroundings. the girl you came with was dancing with the guys and her friends. feeling secure in the fact that you wouldn't be missed, you went to look for ellie but you didn't have to search for long.

ellie was exactly where she had said she would be, leaning against the bar with her hand protectively covering your drink. she seemed to be keeping an eye out for you because when your eyes locked, she waved you over.

you didn't bother to try and contain your grin as you made your way over, but your confidence was short lived when a pretty girl with dark hair leaned over, talking in ellie's ear.

oh.

whatever the girl said had made ellie laugh, and you faltered in your step. of course she was here with someone. of course she had other friends, (a girlfriend?) other people that she actively talked to and hung out with. you would've been stupid for thinking otherwise, you just hadn't thought about it much.

you didn't want to interrupt, but ellie caught your eye again. she raised her eyebrows, curiously, waiting. taking a deep breath, you pressed on, slowly coming to her side.

ellie handed your cup over and you accepted, taking a drink for courage.

"welcome back," ellie mused, a small smile gracing her lips.

you glanced at the girl standing on the other side of ellie, the liquid in her cup a vibrant color. ellie followed your eyes and made a face of realization, pulling the girl into the conversation.

almost sounding sheepish, she introduced her. "this is my friend dina, and... jesse," ellie craned her neck around but 'jesse' was elsewhere. you nodded anyway, smiling in dina's direction.

"hi, it's nice to meet you," you said, genuinely, despite your heart pounding in your chest.

"likewise! i've heard so much about you," dina replied, eyes bright and smiling.

ellie's eyes widened and your eyebrows shot up, taken aback by dina's introduction. you glanced at ellie but she was already composed.

"really?" you asked, truly surprised.

dina laughed and changed the subject. "jesse complains about coming but yet it's impossible to keep an eye on him," she expresses in response. "it was so nice meeting you," dina smiles at you once more and quickly squeezes ellie's shoulder before disappearing, presumably to find 'jesse.'

you take another drink and ellie clears her throat, music filling the silence. "where's your friend?" ellie questions.

you hum thoughtfully and scan the faces of all of the dancing people until your eyes land on her group. "there," you nod in their direction, trying not to sound bitter.

"are they all your friends? do you want me to go meet them?" ellie asks, watching them for a moment before gazing at you, eyes flickering over your face.

"no," you reply quickly, flatly.

"okay then," ellie laughs, tilting her head to peer at your expression. she brushes a strand of hair out of her face and it's hard not to watch, to not be entranced by every slight movement and expression she makes.

once again, you're thankful for the lighting, or lack thereof, and for the music. for some reason it feels like less pressure, which you appreciate.

"oh god," ellie mumbles, drawing your attention. she wraps her tattooed arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer to her side. your breath hitches and you tense up, but her arm is then back by her side, the ghost of her touch electrocuting your senses. "watch out," she says, nodding to an older man making his way to the bar.

your eyebrows draw together in confusion as ellie watches the man in disgust, but you're more focused on the fact that her arm was just around you for about three seconds.

you take a slow drink, watching as the man leans down to talk to several girls crowded around the bar. it seems nearly harmless though a little odd, he's definitely the oldest person in the room as everyone else is college aged. you turn to ellie, confused, but she nudges your arm to keep watching.

he puts his arms around the girls, his hands going way too low, signaling the bartender to give them drinks with a flick of his hand.

you face ellie, eyes wide and mouth agape. she nods in disgust, but slightly amused at your expression.

"he's the owner," she explains. "he's so gross... people flirt with him because if he likes you, you're set with free drinks. he's just... gross."

"why are you here?" you question, frowning.

"dina likes to dance," ellie says simply.

"and you?"

"no," ellie laughs quickly.

"i definitely wasn't expecting to run into you here," you admit, running your finger along the rim of your plastic cup.

"yeah? i wasn't expecting you either." ellie watches you carefully, thoughtful in expression but casual in demeanor.

"excuse me ladies," a gruff voice cuts through. you snap your head up and meet the eyes of the owner, chewing your bottom lip nervously as his eyes drag across you and ellie. he contemplates ellie for a moment before setting his gaze on you, frowning.

"aren't you warm in that, sweetheart?" he slurs out, indicating to the sweater you're wearing. ellie places a gentle hand on your shoulder, making a face at the man from over your shoulder.

"i'm just fine," you remark.

he doesn't like your answer, but you didn't say anything rude so he can't lecture you. he stares at you, unmoving, and decides to give you one last chance.

"what're you drinking there?" he questions, shuffling closer to get a better look. he makes like he's expecting you to bat your eyelashes at him, and ellie tugs you backwards into her.

"let's go dance," she murmurs into your ear. your face gets hot and her hands are on your shoulders, walking behind you and guiding you away from the bar. you leave your drink on the counter, unwanted.

once you're far enough away, she gently halts you to a stop. your skin is burning from the contact and you turn to face her, trying to be lighthearted. "i thought you don't like to dance?"

the corners of her mouth turn up and you give in, absolutely folding in her presence. you leave about a foot of space in between your bodies, but loosely and awkwardly wrap your arms around her shoulders. it makes ellie nervously laugh, and she hesitates before carefully placing her hands at your waist. it's your turn to laugh now, fully aware of how ridiculous you must look. you obnoxiously sway to the side, putting your weight onto one foot and then the other, threatening to make each other fall over with the abrupt movements. it's a stark contrast to the way everyone else is moving to the music, but you're both genuinely laughing so you leave it be.

you can see your previous group in the corner of your eye and nerves wash over you again, feeling shy at ellie's playful touch. suddenly you feel guilty for harboring a secret crush on the girl, feeling as if you've crossed some sort of boundary. you steady yourself but it's hard to breathe with ellie so close, staring at your eyes and your lips and your eyes again... or did you imagine it? obviously not, but certainly you're reading into it? making something out of nothing?

ellie coughs, flustered. you both stop 'dancing,' dropping your arms and facing each other straight on.

"hey," you say, your face scrunching in confusion, "i thought you were working on the study guide tonight."

your comment makes ellie recover and she breathes out a laugh in surprise, even though you were being serious.

"i thought you were working on the study guide tonight."

you frown and ellie rolls her eyes, shaking her head at you in pretend disappointment. "work on it with me tomorrow then," she tells you, nearly surprising herself with how quickly it came out.

her voice is like honey, making it impossible to pull away from her, even mentally.

"really?" you eye her suspiciously.

she nods and shrugs, and you promise to think it over. standing this close to ellie felt dangerous to the small amount of confidence you tried to build up. she smelled almost earthy, a warm deep scent, maybe a touch of vanilla and... weed?

a hand brushed your waist but it wasn't ellie's, the body stepping into view. the guy from earlier that your friend had sent over came around to stand next to ellie, his eyelids heavy.

"what the fuck, dude?" ellie questioned sharply.

"i was watching you dance," he mused, glancing at you and then ellie. it was hardly even dancing, you were just making each other laugh, so your skin crawled with the idea of that guy watching with ill intent.

"okay, go watch someone else," ellie shot back, her tongue sharp.

you glanced around, catching sight of your friend from earlier. she was watching the interaction, as if it were encouraged, and gave you a thumbs up. you exhaled in disbelief, turning your attention back to ellie. she was staring the guy down, brows furrowed.

"you ladies wanna dance with me or what?" he was cocky, drunk, and standing way too close.

"fuck off," ellie spat, a lot like how you did earlier when you thought that he was the one who grabbed your arm.

he stood in disbelief, unmoving, so you grabbed ellie's hand and dragged her away.

"they should be banned from public places," you grumble. ellie snorts, features immediately softening as she turns to you.

"this is ridiculous. do you wanna get out of here?"

at her proposition, your heart leaps. you definitely do, but the idea terrifies you nonetheless. despite yourself, you automatically nod.

"let me go find dina and jesse, see if they're gonna leave or stick around longer. wanna come with?"

you almost say yes but shake your head instead. "i should go tell the person i came with that i'm leaving, just in case."

ellie nods in understanding. she starts to turn away but stops short, eyes boring into your own. "meet me right by the entrance, okay? i'll be quick."

it's your turn to signal your understanding now, and you head back through the crowd to find your... friend. it's pretty easy to spot her but not to gain her attention.

"hey. hey, i'm gonna go, alright?"

she whips around at you, confused. "you're leaving?"

"yeah."

"are you gonna be safe?"

despite being ignored and ambushed with a creepy guy, you smile at her concern. it's the bare minimum, really, but it's appreciated.

"yeah," you repeat. "it's... a friend from class. she's good. safe," you express.

you say your goodbyes and head straight for the doors like you agreed with ellie. you’re only waiting alone for a moment before she joins you, car keys in hand. dina and jesse aren’t following, and instantly you feel like an idiot.

“oh my god, ellie, i totally sabotaged your night.”

“what? no you didn’t,” ellie disagrees.

you push through the doors together, greeted by harsh winds. the cold evening air was shocking as it hit your face, self doubt washing over you.

"you were just trying to have a fun night with your friends and i... i'm such an idiot," you mutter.

"whoa, hey, you're alright," ellie presses softly. she stops walking to look at you, but looks as though she has to work up the courage before she continues speaking. "i'm glad you here were, alright? dina and jesse are fine."

your face is burning and she hesitates again, but the worry expressed on your face causes ellie to continue on.

"honestly i was getting ready to leave before i saw you," she admits, looking in any direction away from you.

you beg and plead with yourself not to read into it, but why did she hesitate? why would you be nervous to tell that to someone who's just a friend? are you reading too much into it, or are you friendzoning yourself?

"ellie," you breathe, and she finally brings her attention back to you. the wind howls through the night, whipping your hair across your cheeks. your heart beats quicker but ellie grows reserved, adjusting her weight on her feet.

"i'll drive you to your dorm," she tells you as she beings walking once more. you quickly follow behind, in a trance of wondering and wanting.

it felt different from before, different from sitting next to her in class and different from studying together. what was usually light hearted jokes and easy conversation was replaced by a thick cloud of nerves, a tension that conjured itself out of nowhere and you desperately wanted to crack a joke but you felt shy.

you were texting a lot lately, you had some serious late night conversations about your families, stressors, lives, anything to get to know each other but this was different. ellie seemed almost solemn now, guarded, and you were worried that you had gotten too comfortable too quickly.

you worried as you walked to the car and you worried as she drove. ellie did exactly as she said she would and you arrived safely to your building, but your feet were glued to the ground as you reached the door and you desperately wanted to selfishly stay with her, just a little longer.

"thanks for pretty much saving me tonight," you stated earnestly. "it sucked before you found me, i'm glad you did."

ellie's smile was crooked and sincere and a wave of relief washed over you. "see you tomorrow?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing up to her forehead.

"the study guide will be completed," you affirm, grinning back at the auburn haired girl.

you heave open the door to your building and ellie steps back to the car, but you call after her one final time. "text me when you're home safe," you urge her, and you can't see the smile that graces her face.

"i will," ellie promises, and she did.

after cleaning up you fall into bed, exhausted, but your mind is racing. you turn to your side, facing the wall that is decorated with two sticky notes. you lightly trace ellie's drawings with your finger, willing yourself to go to sleep so you won't be absolutely miserable with a lack of sleep by the morning.

you were seeing her again, tomorrow, and nothing else at that moment mattered.

not your endless piles of homework, or the way you were ditched tonight. not the fact that the weather was getting colder by the day and you still couldn't find your earmuffs, or that one of your finals was going to take place at 7am.

nothing else mattered... just ellie.

[ part five ]

[paperultra]

le festin.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3,842 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, toxic family [A/N: yes this is partially inspired by ratatouille. inspiration comes from many places and i am not one to question it. happy new year <3]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms nemesism (noun): frustration, anger or aggression directed inward, toward oneself and one's way of living

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Get me more darts.”

Murfus wrings his hands, glancing between you and the wall a few feet away. “I … I’m afraid I can’t get you more darts,” he replies tentatively, “on account of us being out at sea, Miss.”

“Then fetch the ones I’ve already thrown,” you snap, pointing at said darts. “Idiot.”

“Of course. So sorry, Miss.”

He scampers over to the wall and hurriedly pulls each dart out of it, rushing back to you with sweat on his brow. You snatch them out of his white-gloved palms.

Pinching the blue dart between your fingers, you hold it up to your eye and aim. With a sharp snap of your wrist, the dart flies forward and into the paper tacked onto the wood panel.

Murfus winces.

Crumpled, smudged, and pitted with pin-sized holes, one would have a hard time reading the article on the wall. But you know what it says. You’ve memorized its structure, can land a dart onto each line mentioning that damned restaurant by name. And you do.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Read the menu to me again.”

“Of course, Miss.” You hear the crinkle of paper and the sound of him clearing his throat. “The appetizers are as follows …”

You only half-listen as the man continues, the other half occupied by the wall in front of you and the starting paragraph steadily being destroyed by your hand. Your tongue draws across your teeth.

“In all our years as food critics, scouring the East Blue for any semblance of palatable cuisine in a region brimming with endless possibilities, no other restaurant has come as close to unlocking the flavor of the seas as the Baratie.”

—

You had, by all accounts, a privileged upbringing.

The Nouveau Blue Guide is not royalty, nobility, or military – but it is an empire in its own right, a name that’s afforded you many opportunities and comforts since you were young: a fine education, luxurious business trips, a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat. Your family’s reputation as food critics, built by your great-grandfather and painstakingly maintained up to this very day, is unmatched in the East Blue.

Such is your birthright. A birthright that, despite your toil and travels and countless, countless hours spent writing reviews, your parents say you do not deserve.

“You call this an article?” Your mother brandishes the draft you’d submitted in hopes of some constructive criticism, her voice climbing high. “It’s a mess!”

“I haven’t polished it up yet –”

“There’s nothing worth polishing. Frankly, it’s embarrassing that a child of mine has written something like this.” She passes the article over to your father. “Darling, throw this away. I’m already stressed as it is.”

Your father takes it. Gives it a cursory once-over. Your tentative anticipation dissolves in the pit of your stomach when he sighs, shaking his head at you. “You’re not cut out for this career, dear,” he tells you, folding your article in half and then quarters and dropping it into the bin by your mother’s desk. “Claudie is already taking over the Guide. Your time is better spent improving your etiquette.”

You breathe in. Keep your hands relaxed, square your shoulders. Nod obediently with clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

You know that your family means well. They want you to live a successful life, find a successful spouse, and raise successful children. They don’t want you to waste your time because your time is valuable.

Well, today, you’re going to prove that you are not wasting anything.

“We’re ready to disembark, Miss.”

“Good.”

Standing up, you put on your gloves and hat, picking your notebook and pen up from the table before walking with Murfus down to the dock.

He accompanies you to the entrance of the Baratie, then falls back so you may walk in alone. The maître d’hôtel welcomes you and promptly gets you seated at a booth on the ground floor, not too close to the stairs to distract you from the ambience of the restaurant and not too close to the kitchen to hear the ruckus of the cooks.

In the brief space of time before your waiter arrives, you take everything in. Dim, cozy lighting. High ceiling. Few windows. Sitting in the Baratie is like sitting in the belly of a whale. Perhaps you can make a point about it being a bit too enclosed, but given that its main customers are seafarers looking for reprieve from the elements, you don’t think many would find that damning.

You make a few half-hearted but detailed notes.

“Hello, madam.” A voice from above interrupts your writing.

You look up, irritated.

The waiter before you is a handsome man, blond-haired and broad-shouldered. He flashes you a charming smile upon meeting your eyes as he sets a plate of bread rolls down, standing close enough that you can smell cigarette smoke mixed with spices and just the barest remnants of cologne.

You recognize him immediately.

“My name is Sanji, and I have the immense pleasure of being your waiter this evening. Shall we start with drinks?”

Stifling your confusion with a sneer, you place your pen down.

“Is the Baratie so short-staffed that they have their sous chef waiting tables?”

Sanji’s smile freezes for just a moment. He seems to recover quickly, though, shaking his head and chuckling at your query.

“I’m flattered you recognize me!” he replies. “No, I occasionally wait tables when the owner requests it, that’s all.”

You do not buy it.

“Then, Sanji, I will have a glass of Ithürzburger Stein to start,” you say.

He nods. “Excellent choice. I will get that for you straight away.”

His eyes dart shamelessly to your open notebook before settling back on your face. To your utter surprise and dismay, he winks at you before heading off.

Your cheeks warm without warning.

Nobody, let alone a waiter (even if he really is the sous chef), has ever winked at you before. They had the good sense not to. It’s incredibly crude, and surely, you’re more offended than anything else – handsome or not, such behavior deserves a scathing call-out –

But … what if you’re overthinking things? What if it isn’t a big deal because it doesn’t affect the quality of the food? Your parents always take context into consideration – the Baratie is beloved for its rough-and-tumble personality under the guise of upscale dining, so perhaps this is part of the experience. He may not have even winked at you at all.

“Tch.”

You release the tablecloth from your grip, grabbing a bread roll instead and sinking your teeth into it. It’s light, sweet, and perfect. You chew quickly and swallow hard.

The sous chef comes back soon after, your requested bottle of wine in one hand and a polished glass in the other.

“Your Ithürzburger Stein, madam,” he says, opening the bottle and pouring you a glass with practiced ease.

He watches intently as you pick the glass up and bring it to your lips. The aroma reaches your nose, and it takes an immense effort not to wrinkle it as you take a sip. You’ve never particularly liked alcohol. This one is sour and dry.

“It’s alright,” you say, wishing you could rinse the taste out with juice. “I’m ready to order my appetizers and entrées.”

“Of course.”

You rattle off a few items, having memorized the menu after listening to Murfus read it so many times. For the appetizers, wakame salad with sesame-ginger dressing, Sea King croquettes, and grilled plums with goat cheese. For the entrees, Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon with roasted potatoes and chickpea stew. They’re nothing particularly unique or outstanding, but you feel that they are worth evaluating.

Sanji takes your order and leaves you with another dazzling smile, and you make the excuse of drinking more of the wine to avoid it. Maybe you will be a better writer drunk than sober.

Probably not.

Alone once again, you occupy yourself by exploring different ways to describe the wine, the bread, and the atmosphere. When you tire of that, you eavesdrop on the booth next to yours. It seems to be occupied by a group of marines, each attempting to one-up the others in the world’s shortest dick-measuring contest. You tire of that much more quickly.

When your appetizers arrive, you’re examining the arrangement of the silverware and the quality of their polish.

“Is the table set to your liking?” Sanji asks while lining up the plates. He takes more time doing so than is necessary, in your opinion.

“How it’s set doesn’t matter as much as whether it’s clean and accessible,” you reply, eyeing the croquettes with interest. “Tell me, where do you get your Sea King meat?”

“The Gourmet Hunter Guild supplies us with most of the rarer meats we serve here. The Sea King meat in your croquettes was just delivered this morning, so I’d say you’re quite lucky, madam.”

“What species is it?”

“Baron of the Tides.”

“Barons of the Tides tend to have a strong taste and tough flesh. Not many people are fond of it.”

Sanji’s eye glints as he rests a hand on the table, leaning in. “You know your food,” he says. “I expected no less from the Nouveau Blue Guide, and yet I’m still impressed.”

“It must not take much to impress you, then.”

“It takes a lot, actually.” He winks at you, and this time, you’re sure of it – and it’s strange because you don’t feel leered at, not at all, and your cheeks warm yet again. “Regarding the meat, no matter what it is, a good chef can make anything into a delicious meal. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Of course, madam. You’re the expert, after all.”

You are glad when he finally leaves, if only because you have no idea what to make of him. It’s difficult to tell if he’s being patronizing, and you can usually tell.

You sweep your gaze over your appetizers and take a deep breath.

Starting with the wakame salad, you inspect its presentation – a round pile of rich green seaweed in a smooth black bowl – and take a small portion to chew on.

The seaweed strikes a perfect balance between tender and firm, and the seasoning is perfect.

Fine. Whatever.

Next, the grilled plums with goat cheese. You take one bite; the creamy earthiness of the cheese complements the tender sweetness of the plums, and the caramelization is obnoxiously fantastic. You eat an entire half to make sure.

It looks like your last hope for this round is the Sea King croquettes.

Plucking one up with your fingers, you cut your teeth through the crispy, golden breading. The meaty interior strikes your tongue and your intake of breath is sudden, your free hand curling into a tight fist underneath the table.

It tastes good.

All three of them are really good.

This is horrible.

When Sanji drops off your entrées, you hardly realize that he’s there, too engrossed in the scent and the sight and the taste of the food.

“I hope the appetizers were to your liking?”

Sanji somehow gets the hint when you stab your fork into the Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon. He clears his throat and leaves you to your own devices.

You eat, and with each bite, your frustration mounts.

The Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon is flaky and succulent, the potatoes roasted to crisp skin and creamy flesh. The chickpea stew sits hot in your mouth and fills your nose with a parade of fragrant spices. It tastes amazing soaked into the bread rolls. Nothing is undercooked, or overcooked, or sloppily presented. Everything is just right. Just perfect.

You spend what feels like hours in the mouth of the booth, tasting, writing, crossing out, agonizing. The sounds of the Baratie die out until all you can hear is the scratching of pen against paper and your own breathing and pulse.

No, no, no, no.

It’s … it’s impossible. Any complaint you have is simply an expression of your own personal preferences, and your personal preferences don’t mean shit.

Your writing utensil is nearly buckling under the pressure by the time Sanji comes around for the nth time, and you’re just about ready to skewer him with it along with whoever else has the luck to wander too close.

“Are you interested in dessert, madam?”

“Of course I am,” you grit out.

All you’re met with is that damned smile of his. “Wonderful. Here’s our dessert menu.” He holds it out and you snatch it from him. “Someone with such a sweet face deserves something just as sweet.”

You snap the menu shut.

“Surprise me.”

Sanji blinks while you glare up at him, handing the menu back.

“… Pardon, madam?”

“I want the famed sous chef of the Baratie to prepare a dessert for me,” you say evenly. “I don’t care what it is or how long it takes. Surprise me.”

“I … of course.” He straightens up, the most serious you’ve ever seen him this entire evening. “Whatever you want.”

—

You wait.

The sous chef returns, not even an hour later, with a white ceramic bowl in hand and none other than the owner of the Baratie stomping after him.

“Your dessert, madam,” Sanji says, though a bit hurriedly. “Rice pudding with mango –”

He’s interrupted by Zeff, who grabs him by the back of his collar much like one would do to an errant cat. You raise your eyebrows, watching Sanji’s expression immediately wrinkle into one of annoyance.

“Little eggplant, you stop and listen when I’m talking to you.”

“Are you serious, old man? I’m in the middle of –”

“I told you that you’re off the line. No customer can change that, no matter who they are.” Zeff casts you a wayward glance and frowns before dragging Sanji back towards the kitchen. “We’re gonna have a little chat, you and me.”

Despite his bitter protesting, Sanji leaves your table with Zeff, and you’re left with your final course and the curious eyes of several diners.

“What are you looking at?” you bark at them, and they quickly go back to their meals.

You look down at your dessert. There’s a sprinkling of cinnamon on the surface, and it’s crowned with bright, paper-thin slices of mango, but rice pudding is so … simple. You’re almost insulted. But you are also surprised, and that is what you asked for.

Scooping up a bit of the pudding, you place it into your mouth, closing your eyes.

Two seconds later, you slam your spoon onto the table and stand up.

You can feel the sturdiness of the kitchen’s doors when you fling them open, your gaze immediately falling upon a mop of blond hair in the corner.

Heading straight towards him, you seize the front of Sanji’s well-pressed shirt and drag his face close to yours.

“What did you put in it?!”

Your shriek explodes through the noise of the kitchen staff. Sanji stares at you with wide eyes and oddly reddening cheeks.

“In the pudding?” he asks, bewildered. “Not much, really. Glutinous rice, coconut milk, salt –”

“Goddammit.” You shove him away and dig your nails into the back of your neck, chest and throat tightening. You can feel your breaths beginning to quicken and your eyes starting to sting. “Shit. Shit.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa”—Sanji puts a hand on your shoulder and it burns—“sweetheart, what’s wrong –”

“Where does that back door lead to?”

“Er, a dock? We take smoke breaks –”

“Excuse me.”

Shaking him off and pushing past him, you head straight to the door, open it, and close it behind you.

And then you scream.

Gods, you’re fucking ruined. You’re a fucking failure. Your parents were right, Claudie was right, you can’t do this and you could never do this and now you’re at the back of the East Blue’s only five-fucking-star restaurant having an emotional breakdown over eating food.

You scream until your voice breaks, until you’re left kneeling and gasping for breath on the filthy, wet dock.

You cough. Cinnamon lingers in the back of your throat, and you start crying.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"[Y/n]?"

“Please don’t let my family hear about this,” you burst out without even turning to look at Sanji. “I’ll pay whatever amount you want.”

“Nobody’s going to be saying anything.” You feel him approaching, and then he drops down to sit next to you. “However, I’m very concerned about you. What’s got you so upset?”

“Why do you care?”

“A lovely lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“Oh, please.” You hug your knees to your chest. But Sanji doesn’t leave, and after a few minutes, the words fall unbidden from your mouth, having nowhere else to go. “… I wasn’t assigned to come here.”

“Hm?”

“My family”—you swallow the lump in your throat—“they don’t know I’m here. I came here to write a review on the Baratie and get a … get a star taken away.”

Gods. That sounds so fucking stupid now. What is wrong with you?

“You did?” Sanji sounds baffled. “How come?”

A wet laugh crawls out between your teeth. “You’re the only restaurant my parents have ever given five stars to, you know that, right? So I figured – I-I figured if I could find out something wrong with the Baratie, they’d realize how good I can be at this job. I’m good at finding flaws. I’m good at details. This should’ve been … I should’ve found something.” You glare down at your lap. “But I couldn’t. Not even in the stupid dessert you made.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence occurs in which you can practically hear him gather his thoughts. “… I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” he says slowly, crossing his legs. “But is that really how you see food? Something to find fault in?”

“It’s something to evaluate. I’m a critic. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

You frown, sniffling. Your brow furrows.

You want to tell him that it’s a stupid question. Why would you need to enjoy food? It’s work. You feel accomplished after finding the right words for a dish’s unique flavor, feel determined when you comb through the items on a menu. You feel delighted when you find something wrong with it.

But you …

“No,” you realize. “I … don’t.”

“I see. Well, I’m not one to tell you how to think,” Sanji says, “but as a cook, I believe that food’s one of the pleasures and privileges of being alive. As a critic, why deny yourself of its full potential?”

“I … I don’t know,” you whisper.

And the thought occurs to you, like a bottle that had been floating out at sea for years finally washing ashore, that you hate what your life has become.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t help it. You let out a loud sob, your head hanging down and bumping against Sanji’s arm. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug.

It’s the first hug you’ve had in a very, very long time.

“I’m so sick of this,” you croak, face hot with shame and humiliation. “I’ll never be good enough for them. Ever.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“But they’re my family.”

He rests his chin on your head. “A family who hurts you this much isn’t much of a family at all,” he murmurs.

His words are like a hot knife to the throat. What follows is cold, awful, bitter relief.

You force your eyes shut. Your arms tighten desperately around him, and you curl up, a pathetic excuse of a person in a crumpled heap on a dirty dock.

So this is you, you think. A purposeless silver spoon, miserable and starved for affection, clinging to a complete stranger outside the best restaurant in the East Blue.

It feels better to lay everything bare, actually.

“I can’t go back,” you tell him hoarsely.

“We won’t let anything get out.”

“The staff won’t, but you can’t do anything about the customers.” Reluctantly, you pull away, taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes. Clarity comes with it, hard and heavy. “But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching up, you close your hand around the small family crest resting just below your collarbone. You hesitate for just a moment, then tug sharply, and the thin chain around your neck snaps. Beads of gold glint in the sunlight as you look at it.

Yeah. Fuck it.

Winding your arm up, you fling the necklace as far as you can into the dark sea. It barely makes a splash as it hits the surface and disappears from sight.

“Good throw,” Sanji compliments.

“Thank you.”

He grins at you crookedly, and you finally return it, the last of your tears squeezing out from the motion and dripping down your cheeks.

Gentle fingers touch your chin. You let Sanji turn your face towards him, and the corner of his mouth tilts up as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rest of the wetness from your cheeks and nose.

“There,” he says once he’s finished. “Now I can see your pretty face better.”

(You wonder how the world ever produced someone so kind.)

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you say, “for being such an ass to you earlier.”

“Please don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure to serve you.”

“No, really. I grabbed you. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I feel awful about it.”

“I really didn’t –”

“Please,” you plead.

Sanji bites his lip, holding your gaze for a moment, then sighs. “All right. If it’ll make you feel better, I accept your apology,” he acquiesces. His expression softens. “And if you really have nowhere to go,” he offers more quietly, “the Baratie will gladly welcome you.”

Your lungs feel a bit emptier than usual.

“Thank you,” you somehow manage to say. “I’ll consider your offer.”

Your sudden formality seems to amuse him. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, consider it? Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?”

His voice dips at the end, a sort of low and raspy thing, and you learn that it is much, much worse than being winked at.

You swallow and turn your head away. “T-Tell me the rest of the ingredients for your rice pudding,” you mutter.

“Join the Baratie and I’ll show you how to make it.”

“What? You’re turning it around on me.”

Sanji merely laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite your embarrassment, you eventually find yourself chuckling along, and the sounds bloom together, so different yet so complementary. It’s nice, laughing with someone. You enjoy it.

Perhaps this is what food is supposed to bring, you think, this same, small, strange moment of peace and satisfaction.

You hope so.

[bookwormbynight]

I don't know much about dracula--tell me more about the au perhaps??

Oooh I gotchu babe. So. To be fair. In Dracula, Lucy's entire story is only a piece of the whole thing, and there's a lot of ambiguity surrounding the actual events (everything was documented by her horrified friend who only saw the aftermath) which is part of the horror (also Dracula didn't seem to have any attachment to Lucy in particular). However, the Lucy bit is what grabbed my brain and there are multiple things from it we can grab and stick onto Light.

No one thinks it's vampires when Light/ucy starts having nightmares, reporting a feeling of someone sitting on them at night, occasionally sleepwalking out of the house before someone finds them, and, most obviously, exhibiting symptoms of anemia out of nowhere with bite marks on their neck, but this is because no one THINKS to think it's vampires. Maybe you have a parasite in your room, Light, let's change the mattress? Is it an illness?? Wtf is happening??

I think, unlike Dracula who literally only Mina's (missing) husband knows, L should be a part of their lives, at least briefly. And have some reason to notice Light. I'm not sure how or why yet?

But this would add to the fun when Light starts accusing L of doing something to him and L being like 'who, me??' and both of them know that he's right even though Light doesn't exactly know the details.

I don't think L would need to steal a wolf from the zoo in order to get at Light that final time, but it should be big and dramatic. Maybe Light wouldn't be asleep when L comes to turn him. We all know Light would fight for his life hard and nasty.

Ooh, also, it's unclear how exactly vampires are turned in the book. Lucy doesn't let us know and we KNOW it isn't just 'get killed by a vampire' because the three sexilicious vampire ladies eat a kid and that kid never shows up again (read Dracula guys I swear), but since Dracula feeds Mina his blood on 'camera' and it does Something to her still-human body, I'm gonna say it's feeding a human your vampire blood and then having their heart stop. So L's gonna force-feed Light some blood and make him swallow it once he's got the upper hand, and Light's death wound is gonna be large and gorey. (And slowly... disappear... as the funeral comes closer and the days go on, hmmm, that's odd, dead bodies don't usually heal themselves, but no one notices because the wound was sealed and covered so they could have an open casket.)

Lucy's funeral was kind of the main event. Stoker spent literal paragraphs describing the beauty of her corpse (weird thing to do bisexual king), the redness in her lips, the fact that huh, there's a slight wrinkle in her nose (Van Helsing just covered her in garlic flowers), did she die like that? It's Snow White Sleeping Beauty levels of dead gorgeous. And then, of course, the rising. Lucy rises from the grave to feed on the blood of local children, until the Squad catches her and kills her once and for all. Of course, we're not gonna use that bit, because L wouldn't let half of that happen and Light's not gonna aim for children, but the fact that she rose at all is part of what makes her story so notable, and contributed to the inspiration for this AU.

Any other questions? <3

[wumblr]

"genocide has an element of intent and this was an accident oopsie we're sorry we're investigating it you don't need to send independent investigators we'll investigate this one just fine ourselves we promise please don't stop shipping 2000lb unguided bombs across the humanitarian aid pier that came unmoored because it is definitionally a poor substitute for the roads we're keeping closed where we just shot one of the neighboring border guards and nevermind that the pier was netanyahu's idea anyway because i swear the only reason this happened is because maybe our aim is so bad or maybe a fire just happened to accidentally break out somehow during all these bombs being dropped on tents haha whoops i don't know we'll just have to investigate it for ourselves it's so tragic the way civilians keep accidentally dying we're so clumsy but you know what the palestinians are clumsy too i mean they kept dropping shireen abu akleh's coffin didn't they so clearly it's not just us."

shall i keep going? because i just wrote three paragraphs about firehose logic yesterday and it'll be an onslaught of some other bullshit tomorrow, exactly like i said

[exandrothinadresseveryday]

um um um I'm back and I decided to analyze your art cause I really admire it :')

Honestly, I've noticed you use the same line width, if not similar line widths throughout the entire piece, which makes the dresses easier to swallow compared to how some artists draw, and I also think it goes perfectly with the overall simplicity of your art! While it is rather simple, it is also rather easy to add details into it to make it much more fun to do and gorgeous to look at.

I also love how you color things, as it is also pretty simple and goes with the line art, but it's also really easy to add details that you can overlook but still add to the drawing! Not even to mention how well the background goes with the outfits, especially in cases like the black hole dress or the white and blue angel dress (which both look amazing and are easily some of my favorite pieces ever)

Anyways once more, your art looks gorgeous and has given me so much inspiration and insight into my own art and how I can better it, as well that keeping things simple can totally help my art a ton!!!

um anyways sorry for the paragraphs but tysm for making the blog, it has cheered me up multiple times before and it probably will do it again countless times <33

This is so freaking cool to read, you absolutely hit the nail on the head with some of these comments :D Hope you don't mind if I add some insight on my part since it's so lovely idk if I could post it without anything to say.

But yeah, my usual choice in brush is literally a default CSP brush with the pen pressure turned off, and it tends to be 6-12px wide? There's nothing particularly special about it other than drawing with a smaller brush size helps me keep my canvas roughly the size I like (since I alter it each drawing), and I'm not a big fan of line weight in general lol. I'm definitely not the kind of person who will swear by a special custom brush or specific settings, I've always been the kind of person who will just make art with whatever the fuck I'm given.

If I can be honest, a lot of the time I just wing it with colours and the background- so you don't see it but there's a lot of me trying to slap a bandaid on a leak I created by not planning ahead. Sometimes things go smoothly, other times it doesn't.. For the record, an artwork will turn out wayyy nicer when you have a complete idea of what it's meant to look like. Do not aim to emulate me 100% I am but a fool in the grand scheme of things.

ANYWAYS, you wanna know something fucked up that might make ppl look at my art differently? This is my process for the latest drawing I did. I took my sketch, I drew it over it digitally and inked it, THEN I overlayed the sketch because I liked how it messed with my colours-

I paint OVER the artwork, realised my sloppy colouring makes the bottom part stand out so I add a shadow trying to adjust for this, decided I needed the artwork to be 100x more vibrant so I upped the contrast a bajillion times..

Then the rest was just shit i painted over:

I didn't even have lineart for the angel dress.. Check out this freak shit:

Have fun guessing what part of my artwork is what now,,,

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Me, listening to Bleach Soundtrack 3 on repeat and shotgunning coffee like a madwoman while I aim to make the last chapter of Against the Tide 10k words and becoming more and more unhinged with every paragraph

I'm ok I swear I'm just determined to finish it today

[oh-snapperss]

i was tempted to post the whole fic here but here's a section from your work, "ripped at every edge, but you're a masterpiece":

""I have twenty-two minutes left," Skizz says, as if he were merely telling Etho what time of day it was, or that the chickens were all loose in the base again, or even that Impulse had fallen asleep on the stairs again, and don't wake him up! "And this is my final order."

Skizz fixes Etho with a look, right in the eye, one that Etho knows he'll never escape. The ticking still doesn't stop. "My time will not go to anybody else. TIES gets to final three."

Etho's grip around the axe tightens, but– he turns to face Tango and Impulse. “Tango, you don't– you don't want it?” Please take it. Please. But Tango is shaking his head, resolute. "You need it most, dude."

Skizz turns, and kneels, his face turned to the ground in acceptance. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The axe swings upward, poised in the air above Skizz's neck, and the night falls silent, the air static with energy Etho can't quite place.

(There are Eyes w̸̜̼͗͝͝a̴̦͓̻̋̂t̷̤̰̞́͠c̵̠̯̩͌h̷̫̰̏i̸̱̙̻̊̋͑ň̷̙̠g̵̫̱̊.)

For a moment, the axe hangs there, held up by invisible strands that Etho swears are pulling the axe away from Skizz's neck, tightening by the moment as if to stop him from doing the very thing he knows he'll do at any moment. The axe drops towards Skizz's neck, falters, and pulls back up again before Etho can force his body to go through with it. He grits his teeth, forces his eyes to stay open–to aim. Readjusting his grip, Etho takes one deep breath. Then two. He's wasting his time and he's not even sure why. It's not like he's never killed before, or even used an axe to do it.

“Etho....?”

He doesn't even know who said it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

(Somewhere in another game, Tango tells Bdubs: He's a survivor, man, that's what he does.)

Etho swings.

Just as the axe connects with Skizz's neck, thunder cracks overhead, so loud the crack shatters through his bones and shakes the platform. The lightning hits Skizz in the same second, blinding white and in arcs of electricity that dance down Skizz's body, down through his hair and neck, and then up the axe still moving into his neck. It's too late to stop the connection, too fast to stop the lightning from dancing its way up the blade and handle. Instead, it's as if Etho is frozen, mesmerized by the tendrils of pure energy that arc around his hands, before connecting, and–

Heat travels through his body, up through his hands and arms and then the rest of him. It's so much that he thinks he might explode, or maybe he just has. The world is silent, save for the ringing in his ears, and a thousand years have passed in the agony that tears through him. The entire world is white and gone and it's too much, enough he’s sure he’s going to die with Skizz."

i can't get that phrase out of my head, of "static energy". your writing is wild man, absolutely one of my fav life series authors :] -vm

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA no i'm so glad you asked about this passage OMGGG

link to the fic this section is from

send me a passage of a fic i've written and i'll give detailed commentary on it!

""I have twenty-two minutes left," Skizz says, as if he were merely telling Etho what time of day it was, or that the chickens were all loose in the base again, or even that Impulse had fallen asleep on the stairs again, and don't wake him up! "And this is my final order."

god. okay so this scene was definitely one of the harder things I've written in the year or so I've done fic--I wanna say I actually rewrote this entire part... three, four, five times? I was struggling to find the right way of describing being hit by lightning because. well. I hadn't been hit by lightning so I didn't really know how to write it!

and them a miracle occurred by my own dumbassery and i accidentally electrocuted myself three times in one night with an outlet and that gave me a starting point! ((disclaimer DO NOT DO THIS))

Anyways, my thinking for this paragraph! I really wanted to have the memories of a slightly domestic life within TIES flashing through Etho's mind. I like to think about TIES as fiercely loyal to each other, like some type of almost family. Not like... family family, but you get what I mean. Having that section, that little glimpse into what living in denial about their time running out was something I think added to the overall horror of this chapter.

Skizz fixes Etho with a look, right in the eye, one that Etho knows he'll never escape. The ticking still doesn't stop. "My time will not go to anybody else. TIES gets to final three." Etho's grip around the axe tightens, but– he turns to face Tango and Impulse. “Tango, you don't– you don't want it?” Please take it. Please. But Tango is shaking his head, resolute. "You need it most, dude."

This part was less me and more the actual dialogue of what happened. I must have rewatched that scene from Etho's pov a good thirty times just trying to peruse what I wanted to keep, edit, or add to this scene. The only thing I really, really needed to convey throughout this entire time was the time ticking away and away, because I think as the end approached in LimL, that was something every player came to notice constantly. Tick, tick, tick, tick. That little rhythm, a reminder that their time was fading. A reminder it wasn't too late.

The other thing I think is worth noting about the ticking in this fic--I don't know if you ever heard or watched Unus Annus, but I was a day one watcher of that channel and the first thing I thought of when I saw the concept of LimL was that goddamn ticking clock they had at the start of their videos, counting down. It really affected how I watched the entire series and I wanted that tick tick tick tick to carry through in this.

(i'm gonna put the rest under a read more!)

Skizz turns, and kneels, his face turned to the ground in acceptance. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The axe swings upward, poised in the air above Skizz's neck, and the night falls silent, the air static with energy Etho can't quite place. (There are Eyes w̸̜̼͗͝͝a̴̦͓̻̋̂t̷̤̰̞́͠c̵̠̯̩͌h̷̫̰̏i̸̱̙̻̊̋͑ň̷̙̠g̵̫̱̊.)

Once again, a combination of canon and the tick rhythm.

"Static with energy Etho can't quite place." THIS line right here was where I first started trying to carry in the same feelings as one might have felt when reading The Stories We Tell and the Truths Untold. Being set in the same series, if you've read both fics than you'll know that Etho and the Watchers have just a slight history. My goal here was to carry across that weird energy Etho felt back with Team Canada in this fic. And, if the reader had NOT read the Team Canada fic, which I assumed would be the case since Ethubs is such a more popular thing than Team Canada, they could interpret it as the energy of four men on a platform--two about to watch their best friend die, one about to kill his friend, and the fourth knowing his end is here.

And then the final line with the Watching!! Once again, a throwback to the Team Canada fic, where I not only had used this type of text for the watchers throughout, but had also increased how corrupted the word "watching" was as the fic progressed and Etho got more freaked out.

For a moment, the axe hangs there, held up by invisible strands that Etho swears are pulling the axe away from Skizz's neck, tightening by the moment as if to stop him from doing the very thing he knows he'll do at any moment. The axe drops towards Skizz's neck, falters, and pulls back up again before Etho can force his body to go through with it. He grits his teeth, forces his eyes to stay open–to aim. Readjusting his grip, Etho takes one deep breath. Then two. He's wasting his time and he's not even sure why. It's not like he's never killed before, or even used an axe to do it.

eeeheheehhehehehe this is literally just building up tension for the most part--racing thoughts, the ticking ongoing, Etho hesitating to do it, which is where the fic differentiates from canon.

“Etho....?” He doesn't even know who said it. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. (Somewhere in another game, Tango tells Bdubs: He's a survivor, man, that's what he does.) Etho swings.

Yeah. yeah... this line. I think the throwback to the Line was important to Etho's character and the study through the rest of the fic. He's a survivor. I'll be interested to see if that continues in Secret Life, because...he's actually been so out of character I could see him not choosing himself in the end. Just once. I dunno! I could be SO wrong. But so much of this fic revolves around Etho and his need to survive vs. the love he has for his friends...I think this sets the stage for the internal conflict coming.

Just as the axe connects with Skizz's neck, thunder cracks overhead, so loud the crack shatters through his bones and shakes the platform. The lightning hits Skizz in the same second, blinding white and in arcs of electricity that dance down Skizz's body, down through his hair and neck, and then up the axe still moving into his neck. It's too late to stop the connection, too fast to stop the lightning from dancing its way up the blade and handle. Instead, it's as if Etho is frozen, mesmerized by the tendrils of pure energy that arc around his hands, before connecting, and– Heat travels through his body, up through his hands and arms and then the rest of him. It's so much that he thinks he might explode, or maybe he just has. The world is silent, save for the ringing in his ears, and a thousand years have passed in the agony that tears through him. The entire world is white and gone and it's too much, enough he’s sure he’s going to die with Skizz."

If you've ever wondered what this sounded like in my head... it sounded like this. I don't know how to explain that most of this section was inspired by a fucking Spiderverse track, but here we are. So much of the build-up and the actual strike was this. If you listen to the song, it builds up and up for the first 34 seconds, and then it stops, and then just. GOES and that's the moment I felt like the axe dropped and the lightning struck, in those moments after. I know that probably sounds like . laurie what the fuck is wrong with you. but the vast majority of my fics are written with song inspiration and soundtrack in mind, and music helps me visualize things such as this i could NEVER write otherwise. If you don't listen to soundtrack or instrumentals, I highly recommend it for writing!

Thanks so much for the section!!! I hope this all makes sense:]

[organicbabybattles]

Round 1, Side A, Poll 8

Rebekah Jakobs-Hammerlock ( @wainwrightjakobshammerlock ) VS. Sawyer Hale ( @thewikiplayer )

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( art by wainwrightjakobshammerlock )

What is your baby's name? Pronouns?: Rebekah Jakobs-Hammerlock, she/her

Is your baby from a fandom or original?: Fandom - the Borderlands game series

How old is your baby?: 5 in my post canon alternate universe (7-8 years after Borderlands 3)

Tell us about your baby!: She's the testtube biological baby of Sir Hammerlock & Wainwright Jakobs (which basically means she could aim and shoot a pistol at the age of 4) and has 4 siblings (one of which is also an oc, but is an adoptive kid, and the rest are canon characters who got adopted). She has a big plushie collection (some knitted or sewn by Wainwright, some crocheted by Hammerlock, some being gifts from extended family or the Crimson raiders) and also fucked up eldritch powers beyond human comprehension bc her parents are abominations from beyond the veil (my Borderlands rewrite AU is a mess haha) which she primarily uses to teleport all over the house, causing an understandable amount of problems. Clay is her weird uncle and she loves him. She's kinda based off Wednesday Addams because autism. Also she is autistic, the nicest weirdgirl on Eden-6, swears an unusual amount for a 5 year old (being around Wainwright del Frisco Jakobs-Hammerlock will do that to you) and often swaps between her Edenian (space southern) and her Hermesian (space british) accents bc yknow. Just listen to her dads speak and you'll see.

Anything else you want to add?: (1) Most people call her Reb for short but Wainwright calls her Rebby because yes. (2) She eventually grows to inherit the Jakobs corporation and generally sorta girlbossify but that's extreme future timeskip stuff I don't talk abt often because I feel cringe about it. (3) Her name continues on the general theme of Jakobs related things having biblical symbolism - Rebekah is Jacob's mother in the book of Genesis (if i remember correctly). (3) Her voiceclaim is Lili Zanotto from Psychonauts :D (4) She calls Hammerlock "Papa" and Wainwright "Daddy"

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( art by thewikiplayer )

What is your baby's name? Pronouns?: sawyer hale, he/they/xe

Is your baby from a fandom or original?: completely original!! the universe name is "turnabout tech"

How old is your baby?: 16!!

Tell us about your baby!: [MOD NOTE: TW for father death]

sawyer hale is a kid who had a pretty hard knock life in a cyberpunk dystopia city. after deciding his dad kinda sucked, sawyer ran away and emancipated himself at 16 and moved into a different, nicer city and became a hermit for a while. afterwards, he proceeded to save the world twice; once he saved a cyberworld from the big bad capitalists and second he saved the universe from collapsing via terrible creature. as he goes through these adventures he learns how to be comfortable and happy with himself again.

also he destroyed his dad when he possessed a robot body. go kid!!

sawyer super loves tech but he gave it up for a while because Shitty Dad Ruining It For Him, but he eventually finds his passion again and makes phenomenal inventions. also he is the embodiment of Baby because all the adults around him want to scoop him up and carry him around for being a little issues boy with issues. they love singing and the arts in general, and they're very open-minded, which makes them a pretty good friend.

oh yeah all his adventures kinda messed up his biology so he's partially made of code now. and also has wings made of code. he can design them however he wants like retexturing game assets. YIPPIE!

Anything else you want to add?: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE PARAGRAPH. GODSPEED

[dolphin1812]

“This entire chapter is conceptually hilarious, but some of the moments in it are so bizarre. Take this, for instance:

“ To make that reply and then perish, what could be grander? For being willing to die is the same as to die; and it was not this man’s fault if he survived after he was shot.”

Hugo what

Anyway, the themes of this chapter are fascinating as well. This paragraph encapsulates most of them:

“Cambronne’s reply produces the effect of a violent break. ’Tis like the breaking of a heart under a weight of scorn. ’Tis the overflow of agony bursting forth. Who conquered? Wellington? No! Had it not been for Blücher, he was lost. Was it Blücher? No! If Wellington had not begun, Blücher could not have finished. This Cambronne, this man spending his last hour, this unknown soldier, this infinitesimal of war, realizes that here is a falsehood, a falsehood in a catastrophe, and so doubly agonizing; and at the moment when his rage is bursting forth because of it, he is offered this mockery,—life! How could he restrain himself? Yonder are all the kings of Europe, the general’s flushed with victory, the Jupiter’s darting thunderbolts; they have a hundred thousand victorious soldiers, and back of the hundred thousand a million; their cannon stand with yawning mouths, the match is lighted; they grind down under their heels the Imperial guards, and the grand army; they have just crushed Napoleon, and only Cambronne remains,—only this earthworm is left to protest. He will protest. Then he seeks for the appropriate word as one seeks for a sword. His mouth froths, and the froth is the word. In face of this mean and mighty victory, in face of this victory which counts none victorious, this desperate soldier stands erect. He grants its overwhelming immensity, but he establishes its triviality; and he does more than spit upon it. Borne down by numbers, by superior force, by brute matter, he finds in his soul an expression: “Excrément!” We repeat it,—to use that word, to do thus, to invent such an expression, is to be the conqueror!”

Hugo aims to focus on the people over the famed generals, and here, he does so by asserting that even if there was no victor at Waterloo (”this victory which counts none victorious”), Cambronne was the “conqueror” for recognizing the horrible situation he’d been put in by these men, then expressing his frustration and mocking the whole thing in one word. “Life,” for him, is a “mockery;” while his life is in danger, kings sit in safety, generals command and have honors bestowed upon them, and the man he’s been told is “great” - Napoleon - has been defeated while he remains standing. Hugo compares the curse to a “sword,” underscoring its force, but it’s also notable that it isn’t automatically accompanied by violence on Cambronne’s part. Through its humor and anger, this swear rejects the system that has put Cambronne in this place; by not fighting at that moment (and thus participating in the system of battle) and instead expressing himself, Cambronne (at least in this instance) rejects these harmful systems. The “conqueror” at Waterloo, then, is the common man who spurns the systems oppressing him.

Hugo furthers this comparison by saying that this swear was not only divinely inspired, but channeled the French Revolution (”he hurls it at the past in the name of the Revolution. It is heard, and Cambronne is recognized as possessed by the ancient spirit of the Titans. Danton seems to be speaking! Kléber seems to be bellowing!”). The curse contains within it, then, a spirit of rebellion.

I also think Hugo’s thoughts on what this swear mean speak to why this book, even with a title like Les Misérables, isn’t actually sad overall? There are definitely moments of great sadness (Fantine’s death still hurts), but the booj contains two other key emotions: rage (at the systems that caused this suffering, leading to a desire for change) and, most importantly here, humor. Cambronne’s frustration led to the swear, but it’s also funny to read a full chapter justifying the use of this word. Similarly, many of the characters hold themselves together in the face of the cruelty and despair they witness through humor. We see this with the bishop, who, after losing many friends and relatives to the Revolution and then witnessing the poverty of those he aims to help, constantly mocks himself and the expectations for someone of his status. Even when the characters themselves are less prone to joking (like Valjean and Javert), Hugo either includes jokes in his narration or makes them comical through their absurdities (Valjean’s reverse robberies as mayor, Javert basically all the time). The events the book describes are tragic, but this humor offers hope.

This is a minor addition, but it’s also hilarious that Hugo has somehow made a Frenchman the conqueror of Waterloo. I can really see how someone would come out of reading this and think, “wow, this is great for the French government, one of France’s most notorious losses is now a victory!” without seeing all of the criticism of the political system woven into it.

[gtraccoon]

This is my first time asking for something on tumblr but i like your content and what if Professor Chaos aka Butters from south park tried to make something like a shrink ray to shrink freedom pals and Mysterion finds out what Professor Chaos is doing and when Professor Chaos notices that Mysterion knows he trys to shrink Mysterion but the machine backfires and shrinks Chaos

I'm so sorry this is like a paragraph long have a good morning/afternoon/night

haven’t written in awhile so i’ll just make a silly little story. and don’t worry about it, i love reading peoples ideas!

“Finally complete,” Chaos muttered, getting annoyed at the amount of attempts it took to get his shrink-ray to work. It was a foolproof plan now, atleast in his head, and in his head it was right. It would work. He lifted it up, aiming at his desk, and fired. Before him, the desk did as expected—it shrunk. He giggled to himself, crouching down and lifting the table and all the tiny trinkets atop it to inspect it.

“Cool.” He stood up, pocketing the desk and smiling, marveling at his own genius. “Now. To wait for them to come! They will see I am not a force to be messed with!” He laughed, trying his best to sound maniacal, which was hard when he had to keep his volume low.

Tugging his shoes on, he looked outside, realizing the sun was already almost fully down. He was running out of time, and pretty fast, too. The door creaked, and he opened it slower, afraid to wake his parents. The ray was in his bag, and ready to be used. As soon as he was out of the house, he laughed quietly, and ran for the park, where the group was supposed to meet. He planned out what he was going to do in his head. Who he was gonna go for first

Suddenly a black silhouette appeared in front of him, when he was a bit less than a block away from the park. It turned to look at him, its moonlit features exposing who he was. That weird masked kid.

“I- Oh, Mysterion!” He cleared his throat, awkwardly smiling. “I have places to be. Don’t mess with me. Thanks, bye.” Chaos explained, but when he tried to leave, Mysterion just grabbed his arm.

“I know what you’re doing. You know, if you’re hatching an evil plan in your bedroom, you should close the window.” He said, his voice chilling. Chaos froze.

“Uh—“

“So a shrink ray, yes? How did you get the materials to build that? What are you planning to use it on? Or rather.. who?” Mysterion stepped forward, and Chaos reached for his bag, startled by the advance. “You’re not going to use it on them. Better quit now.” Chaos shook his head.

“Never! Stand back!” He aimed the ray at Mysterion, who for the first time, seemed startled, but quickly returned to his nonchalant expression. He just crossed his arms.

“Put it down.” Looking at the ground, then back up at Chaos, he recognized he didn’t have a choice. Sure, he was kind of agile, but compared to the speed of a gun? He was nothing. He couldn’t dodge it, or have enough time to steal the weapon. He would’ve tried to think of something, but his time quickly ran out, hearing a soft ringing noise as Chaos pulled the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut.

But instead of anything happening to him, he looked down to find that Chaos had messed up, bad. He stood on the ground, his hands held out in front of him, and he was tiny. He almost laughed, but swearing to keep his composure, he kicked the gun out of the way, crouching down and tilting his head at the terrified villian.

“That didn’t work the way you planned, did it?” He stepped back, but before he could say or do anything, he was grabbed like some sort of rat. Now completely powerless against the force of a human hand compared to his 2 inch stature, he was forced to just give up.

“Can you please just help me out?” Chaos pleased, way less confident than before.

“Sure, sure, when I get bored of seeing you like this.” He grabbed the gun off of the ground, holding it carefully, so that he didn’t make the same mistake Chaos did. “Watch where you’re aiming it next time, dumbass.”

“…Ok.” After a few seconds of staring at the aluminum covered boy he used to see as a threat, he smiled.

“It’s not funny!���

uea anyway i’m kind of inactive now until i get motivation.. my brain is kind of occupied by tallyhall and musical related things. i’ve also been working… so a wee bit busier. i’ll try to respond to some asks but no promises. i will still write about south park but it’s not my main fixation now!! so just so u know!

[pompadourpink]

Hi mom!

Im a college student, so far im feeling really happy and content. However, there is this one thing that i can’t get out of my mind. I’m feeling this genuine attraction towards an assistant. I KNOW HOW THAT SOUNDS LIKE. but i swear to god im not immature i am actually the sensible one in the group. so something like that happened for the first time. I am very brave when it comes to trying new things, participating in class etc but not in my romantic life. I want to make a move but idk how. and if it was just a crush i could easily let it go but i am actually really interested in him. idk how i can make it work without seeming like a fangirl that hasnt matured since middle school . Any advice ?

Hello hello,

It is hard to answer this without knowing your ages but I have to imagine that there is quite an age difference since you mentioned your maturity four times in this small paragraph - but also could not find a single thing to mention about him. It's not that he's a dream, it's that you're interested. I don't know how close you are to him but if he works at your school, probably not that much. This feels like infatuation with a confident man who happens to have a personality in a sea of smelly college boys. And that leads me to my next point: older people are interesting. They had time to exist, experience things, learn, evolve, and slowly turn into good wine. That's why your attraction to him makes sense.

But as someone who has recently turned 31, was a traditional teacher and has worked with students of all ages, my feeling is that this shouldn't turn into a relationship. He knows things you don't and is very aware of what girls your age grew up seeing in movies, have never had, and have been craving. If he is the good man you think he is, he shouldn't want to date you. It would be scarily easy to get what he wants and more and manipulate you into doing things that you actually have no interest in doing and potentially will have to recover from later. Dating in your early twenties sucks as those relationships will rarely be very fulfilling, but dating older when you're that young and inexperienced is dangerous. The men who want younger girlfriends don't want you to be able to compare, to set boundaries, to do things your way, to act your own age, to be independent. You really don't want to be stuck with them.

That being said, it is great that you know what you want, that you are thirsty for new experiences, that you have standards, that you go for charisma and personality over green eyes and a specific height - since loving someone's mind above everything else is essential to a good relationship, so I'm proud of you for that. If he feels like a breath of fresh air, you can try befriending him, have him talk about books or shows he likes, ask for advice, and admire him from afar, like you would do with the older brother of your friend in middle school. Find out what it is that you enjoy in him, and aim to feel this way about yourself. Start a hobby that will allow you to meet more people like him. Maybe you'll meet again when you are - at least - in your mid-twenties and something will happen then. But in the meantime, I wouldn't recommend you date anyone who is over two or three years older than you.

Much love,

Mum

[wdwmarveldisney]

Hear my Voice

Malia Hale x reader

Summary: You found it weird, in all honesty. Everyone from the age of ten could talk to their soulmates telepathically. But you? You hadn't heard from yours.

Masterlist

A/N: I love Malia and I love soulmate au so here is some unprompted stuff that may count as like kinda fluff. I don’t know. I know there’s a bit of swearing though so have that. Was proofread but I was tired so it wasn’t exactly good proofreading.

GIF isn’t mine

You found it weird, in all honesty. Everyone from the age of ten could talk to their soulmates telepathically. All your friends had immediately met up with theirs or talked about possibly meeting up when they were too far away. But you? You hadn't heard from yours, like ever. People gave you looks of pity as you spent years endlessly trying to contact them, willing them to answer. After a while, by the time you were fourteen, you gave up completely and accepted the facts. You had lost your other half before you even got to meet them. It was depressing, you knew that, but it was life. Hard and cruel life. It happens all the time and you'd just have to understand that.

And you had. You'd moved on and just carried on with life, decent grades and you had a space on the lacrosse team that seemed to be stable. You had good friends and a nice family. You had gotten out of your habit of trying every now and then but there were still days where you felt the lowest of low so you would try your hardest to get some sort of response but it was all useless. So now you sat in maths, mind wondering to basically anything but vectors. Tapping your pen at a constant beat, you ignored the teacher as easy as you breathed.

You could see the girl in front resting her head in one hand as she highlighted her book, mostly using red over every paragraph, and you noticed how everything was colour coded. You could only hope that red was a good thing for her sake. Without being able to help it, you watched her in the most non creepy way you could. You noticed how her knee wouldn't stop bouncing, how she constantly moved to readjust her hair out of her face, how she glanced up to the board every now and then before scribbling something down. You knew she was relatively new to the school, hanging out Scott and Stiles and Lydia and Kira and that lot.

Slowly slipping further into a daze as you observed her, it was fair to say you jumped out of your skin when the words rang throughout your head. What the actual fuck is this? You jumped up, backing away from the table as you tried to get over the shock. That wasn't your voice. The voice sounded confused and annoyed and slowly an excited smile made its way to your face. A little huff of disbelief left your lips, hand flying up to rest on the top of your head. You could hear the teacher talking to you faintly and could feel everyone staring at you but you didn't care. Your soulmate had just spoken to you.

Finally looking up, you smiled sheepishly at the glare the teacher aimed your way and slipped back into your seat with your head falling into your hands. Do you respond? They just spent the last six or so years ignoring you. But maybe they had good reason. You should leave it a little while, don't want to seem clingy. You folded your hands in front of you, sitting up taller as you counted to ten in your head. Yeah, that should do it. Hello? You brought your thumb to your mouth, eyes trained on the board.

You just about noticed the girl in front look more alert, looking around like she was trying to find something. You wondered what the hell was up with her. Silence followed as the teacher droned on about the homework and you began packing up with a more deflated mood now. You swung your bag over your shoulder, trying your hardest to stay positive. They said something, didn't they? That counts for something. The grin that pulled at your lips stayed there all the way to the point you were on the lacrosse field, standing to the side of Scott, Stiles and Liam. You saw the McCall boy turned with a slight confused tilt and you knew it was to do with your unusually good mood. Stiles and Liam both turned too, Stiles smirking and letting you know he wasn't going to let his questioning go unanswered, "And what has you so smiley? Aren't you supposed to be Grumpy?" You faked a smile, eyes shining with annoyance that made the boy's smirk grow, "Mature Stilinski," he grinned patting your back and you shoved his hand away, hearing Coach's vague instructions to start the drill. Liam was the one to cut off the two of you, "But seriously though,"

Huffing, you rolled your eyes dramatically and leant against your lacrosse stick, "If you fools must know, my soulmate said something," all threes' eyes widened since you'd told them straight up about the situation when they asked the first time and you did it with such casualness they were worried at first. "Your soulmate? Why did they say? Did they explain anything? They better of have a good apology! And a good rea-"

"Stilinski, shut it. They didn't say much, only 'What the actual fuck is this?' And they didn't respond when I said hello but they said something so they're alive, right? That's good," you saw Stiles pull a face in the corner of your eye but both Liam and Scott sent smiles your way. Scott gave you a small side hug, "That's great, it means they're out there and you'll probably meet someday soon," you grinned back at the boy, returning the hug as Liam said something along the same lines but Stiles still had that look on his face, refusing to speak until a very detailed threat left your mouth and he did it out of general fear for his life, "Just that, they could be possibly ignoring you, spoke by accident, you know? Maybe they're one of those ones who don't want soulmates,"

Scott and Liam were quick to send glares in Stiles' direction leaving him to splutter out defences as you just frowned to yourself. Not wanting to think of it that way, you shook the thought away and took those few steps forward so you could take your turn in scoring. Coach's whistle sliced through the air and you channelled all your self doubt and hurt into the play, form almost perfect. That was until a certain voice rang through your head. They're pretty. Who's pretty? Jealously flooded your veins and you stumbled slightly, the ball being thrown with such force and bad aim that it ended by the edge of the trees, you being sent to go get it. You saw the three boys frowning, trying to figure out what had happened when Liam was called forward.

Turning round to get the ball, you pouted and your grip grew tighter and you probably resembled a small child having a tantrum but you didn't care. You were muttering to yourself, frown on your lips. Who the hell were they calling pretty? Why was it one thing after another, hope being crushed to nothing but ideal kindling to help them set your heart ablaze. You couldn't find it in yourself to respond, just picking up the ball and turning around to walk back to the field. Except when you turned, you saw the girl from Maths in front of you.

Removing your helmet, your brows furrowed in confusion and a slight frown pulled at your lips. "I'm Malia," she said and you gave a small nod, waiting for her to expand. Her voice sounded kind of familiar. When a small silence had settled, you realised there was no more she wanted to say, "Um, I'm Y/N. Can I- Can I help you?" She looked to the ball you were now throwing in a nervous habit and you saw her nose twitched slightly, her face scrunching up. She seemed just as confused as you, "I'm not sure. Just I heard a voice in my head and then I heard your voice and they're pretty similar and I just wanted to tell you to get out my head. That's it," she gave a small nod and turned to walk away as it clicked for you. That's why you recognised her voice, granted you had only heard it twice so you couldn't exactly pick it out straight away.

By the time you'd snapped back into action she was already halfway to the bleachers where Lydia and Kira were smirking in your direction. You chased after her, managing to shut a yelling Coach up with a gritted out, "I'm busy," that made him back up and carry on without you. "Malia, wait! Please!" She spun round, face scrunched slightly and she yelped as you began to drag her away from everyone else. When you found a reasonably private place, you stared at her with a slight slacked jaw, "You hear my voice, right? We're soulmates, yeah?" Her face fell, surprise weaving itself into her features along with something like joy, maybe. Before she could answer, Lydia stood at one side of her and Stiles stood on the other. "Hey, um, Y/N, could we talk?"

"I'm busy Stilinski,"

"See that, but it's important," he grabbed your upper arm and pulled you away as Lydia began to talk with Malia. When you'd stopped, you flicked Stiles' forehead, "The fuck are you and your girlfriend doing?" Stiles gave you an incredulous look as he rubbed his forehead, slight frown forming on his lips. As he watched your expression turn practically murderous, he realised he should speak quickly or get killed, "Malia doesn't exactly know a lot on the soulmate situation. It's a- it's a weird explanation but you've just gotta trust me, okay? Lydia's, um well, Lydia said I shouldn't tell you because it should come from Malia so just give them a sec,"

Your head turned to face the two, Malia looking more confused then ever before and she kept glancing your way as Lydia spoke. You couldn’t help but frown and try your best to check in. You okay? She tensed, eyes fixed on you and your worried expression before she gave a small nod. You assumed it was to you as she immediately looked back to Lydia. That gave you a moment to talk to Stiles again, “So she wasn’t ignoring me? She just… didn’t know?” Stiles had a massive grin on his lips, clearly thrilled in the development. He was nodding like crazy and you couldn’t understand why he was so excited, “Yeah. You know, you two are going to be like the perfect couple it’ll get to the point where we’ll all want to kill you. I’m really happy for you guys,”

“That we might die?” A chuckle came from next to you and your gaze shot to Malia who was stifling a laugh at, very clearly, your words. She looked so cute, no, she looked beautiful. Her hair framed her face in a mess of waves and her eyes were alight with a joy you’d never seen before but that you prayed was mirrored in your gaze. Yeah, this may just be one of the best days of your life.