#untitled entry

[fortunaestalta]

[cartwrong]

For the @ficwip word of the week: party (first chapter now posted on ao3)

“Keep the fucking oxygen mask on you idiot,” Lamb says, sidestepping the question as his hands secure the mask back to River’s face. 

The relief is immediate, but it doesn't stop River from painfully lifting his arm and trying to remove it again. His hand isn't cooperating, and he grunts as he finally gets it close enough to the mask, but Lamb swats at his hand. The sting sharp, but gone as quickly as it manifested, but it’s nothing compared to the agony of his side and hip. Lamb inspects his hand and then wipes it on his coat. River registers the blood, but it takes a beat before his brain comprehends it as his own. 

“Don’t expect a fucking party anytime soon, but–” Lamb says, crossing his arms, looking like he’s in as much pain as River is. “Yes, you muppet, you did good. Now leave the oxygen mask on unless you want to waste all the trouble I went through saving your arse. As is, the paperwork is going to be a bloody nightmare.”

[bokieya]

untitled #1

it was instinct to love you

you moved like a late-night song half-moon grin and chaos eyes i swear the sky leaned in to watch when you laughed like summer on the rise

your name tasted like stolen sleep like honey bruised with heat and stars and when you looked at me like that the room forgot what walls were for

we weren’t soft we were spellwork ink bleeding wild on every page you kissed like poetry breaking rules and i loved like setting the world to blaze

—

hj.

[thesewordsarelife]

Seraphim Lily | untitled diary entry from Antimimon Pneuma, 1922

[brvdges]

untitled pt. I

I did it.

I unfollowed him, and soon after, I also found my finger hovering over the “remove follower” button.

Uncertainty plagued me as I decided whether or not cutting all ties was worth it. I thought about if he’d notice at all. If it would even occur to him that I no longer appeared on his feed. Mmm… I had caught myself. Those kinds of thoughts were exactly the driving force behind such an impulsive decision. 

I quickly hit “remove follower” before setting my phone down and letting the air escape my lungs. I wanted something I was told I couldn’t have, I wanted it more than anything. I often found myself latching onto everything, anything. Hoping, wishing, wanting. This will be the one. I’ll finally feel seen, recognized, something. It never goes that way though.

It has been a month now. Two days ago was a month, to be exact, and I’m not like keeping track or anything because I’m sad. I mean, I kinda am, but not particularly over him. I’m sad over the feeling I would get when his name popped up on my screen.

The hurried nature in which I would unlock my phone to get even a glimpse in the midst of my personal chaos of what he felt I needed to know enough that he just had to text me. I’m sad over first dates that never became second ones. I’m sad about ice cream in the park. I’m sad about missed calls that turn into canceled plans and before long, a text ending it all. Oh God, or even worse, no text at all. I miss the idea of being in love, or deep like, with someone. I miss not feeling like shit because it didn’t turn out the way I planned.

…I miss the idea of being wanted.

So, as I sit at the table staring regretfully at my phone, I remind myself that it is truly for the best. Sometimes, the best decisions are truly the hardest.

[villainleoau]

HERE WE GO! OUR ENTRY FOR ROUND ONE OF @tmntfashioncompetition !!! Mikey: @galactickit Donnie/Design: @xinrouska April: @lemellion Raph: @starrcrossrose

We are honored to go up against @untitled-tmnt-blog and hopefully have lots of fun!

No effects vers plus inspo below!

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Nine)

A/N: Yall I was so wrapped up in the two updates yesterday that I forgot I had homework. Was up for hours finishing it. Anyway, here's more of my bad life decisions. I should be reading Shakespeare right now but I'd rather make this.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Gotham City Municipal Archives — Document No. 2287-A Collection: Morwen Estate Holdings Recovered: October 16, 1936 – from subfloor storage, Morwen Parish House (formerly Wayne Estate) Condition: Bound parchment folio, twine binding. Ink faded. Final pages partially destroyed by moisture.

Document Title: "Untitled Journal (Author Unknown, presumed female servant of Wayne Household, ca. 1640s–1660s)"

Archival Notes:

Entries contain frequent references to infant care, religious guilt, dreams, and sightings of the dead.

Name “Yaya” appears repeatedly, possibly a nickname or spiritual moniker.

Multiple entries imply mistreatment by an unnamed governess and inappropriate attentions from a male figure— possibly Nathaniel Wayne, referred to as “The Master”

Final pages include erratic symbols and fragmented writing.

Catalogued by: A. Kearney, Archivist

Accessed by: John Constantine

[Journal Entry--date unknown]

madam is sick. she don’t rise no more. she dont eat cept a bite or sip. the babe did wake at the 3rd hour. madam did not move. I shaked her and say “madam, the babe be hungry” but she dont hear me or dont want to. I give the babe pap. he cry till light come. master come home after a long while. I say madam be bad sick. he say I am to sit with her, watch her close. I dont want that. I dont like the room. there is little fiends there. they watch me by madam bed. I do not tell master that. nites is heavy. sumone is watchin me. not the shades. not them. it feel like eyes behind the wall. when I cant sleep I rock the babe. the babe burn hot. he dont stop crying.

lace is hard to make. takes long time. like the babe. the babe call me Yaya. he cant say my name rite. master say my name much. he say it pretty. he say it soft. he say it like a prayr.

miss did screem at me for the pot fallin. twas not me what done it. twas the babe. they be walkin now. but not walkin right. I din’t say nothin to miss. she hit my hands with the switch. five time. it hurt bad. I did not cry but I wanted. I went to market today. wheat cost dear.they say crops be dyin. they grow then curl up dead. they whisper bout miss annie. they say she be witch. I bringed her a flouer. she gave me a shilling

the babe love flouers. in the mornin when I dont see them, they be in the medow. I scold them but they smile. then I smile too. master bring me a fruit. a fig he call it. it taste like honey. smell like flouers. I say thank you. master say he bring me more.

master’s oldest is kind. he been at school. he know many things. he come home and smile at me. not like others do. he say my lace is real pretty. I say thank you. I think I was smilin too.

madam died. she was in bed. I was by her side. the babe was in my lap. they was sleepy but tryn not to. I say sleep now. then madam say “may I sleep?” I say yes. she dont wake up.

no one say nothin bout madam. the house is quiet but not soft. it feel heavy like rain comin. miss wont look at me. she give me chores and dont say please. the babe cry more now. they look at doors like they waitin. I clean madam room but I dont touch the bed. I think she still there. not in the bed. in the walls. in the air. I say sorry. I dont know why. just feel like I must. I tell the babe she sleepin long. they nod like they know. master come to me today. he say I done good with madam and the babe. he say I am strong girl. he touch my hair. I dont like it. he say I look like spring. I dont know what he mean. he say I must stay close now. he say he need me. I nod. I dont speak. when he go, I wash my hair.

the oldest come again. he say I should go. I didn’t know why. it made my heart hurt. did I wrong him? he not mad. he look sad. he say there a place. far. kansas, he say. he take me if I say yes. I don’t know.

the big one is gone. the oldest. they say he fall in the pond. but he swim good. he always swim. they pull him out and he don’t breathe. miss scream. master dont. the babe hold tight to me.  I think I saw somethin. his eyes was open when they find him. mouth too. like he tryin to say.

miss be mad at me. I heard her and master talkin low. she say I am cursed. say I bring bad things. maybe I do. I see things. but I dont tell her. I never told her. she aint s’posed to know. maybe they tell her. the ones in the walls. the ones what watch. shell go to the revrent, she says. she say I am made wrong.  that sin do live in girls what got no mama. Revrent say the Lord don’t suffer witches. I don’t be no witch.

miss is gone now. I found her. bottom of the stair. her neck was wrong. bent like branch. they say she fell. but she don’t fall like that. master come. not alone. men with him. he grab me. took me to the cellar. it cold down here. I aint done nothin.

A/N: ooh getting into Yaya's past. She's supposed to be semi-literate so that's why the spelling is bad. I promise it's not cause I suck at writing. Btw, you ever written for a puritan era semi-literate servant? Shit's hard. Anyway, hope you liked it!

[disease]

"UNTITLED" // 2007 YOSHITOMO NARA 奈良 美智 [coloured pencil on coloured paper | 16 ½ x 11 5/8"]

With her short cropped hair, dark green dress and rebellious energy, the girl in Untitled (2007) emits the youthful defiance that has come to typify works by Yoshitomo Nara. [...]

"He is widely celebrated for his paintings and coloured pencil drawings of juvenile, cartoonish characters with large gazing eyes and endearing personalities. They inhabit imagined and insouciant paper worlds, brandish absurd objects and props—knives, sprouts, cigarettes, and electric guitars—and express a wide range of capricious, childlike emotion. Stern and somewhat sulky, our subject hovers in indeterminate space. She stands upon a Japanese flag with her small feet positioned perfectly over its crimson sun. Emblazoned around her miniature figure are the words ‘Up Yours!’, and, ‘All the Nations!’. As an advocate of peace, questions of nationhood, conflict and world politics weave through Nara’s art in such pithy phrases and symbols. Exhibited at the Centro de Arte Contemporáneo de Málaga—the first show of the artist’s work in Spain in 2007-2008—the present work was one of twenty coloured pencil drawings hung along the final wall of the gallery.

Born in 1959 in Japan’s rural Aomori Prefecture, Nara’s youth was marked by his country’s rapid post-war economic development and an influx of Western pop-culture, from Disney animation to punk and rock and roll. The artist expresses heartfelt nostalgia for the retro media—record-sleeves and comic books—that offered escapism from an otherwise solitary childhood. ‘Of course if you think back to the ’70s,’ he says, ‘information moved very differently. There was no Internet obviously and even the release date of albums in Japan could be delayed as much as six months … I would just sit there, listen to the music, look at the art on the cover and I think I really developed my imagination through that’ (N. Hegert, ‘Interview with Yoshitomo Nara,’ Artslant, 18 September 2010). This sensitivity to the worn, tactile quality of objects is triumphant in his art today and distinguishes him from the likes of Takashi Murakami and his Superflat movement. Untitled bears the enlivening traces of artist’s hand, present in the rough ‘outside-the-line’ scribbles that imply the girl’s messy hair. Bracketed with Nara’s unfiltered, handwritten text, the image feels distinctly personal, like a secret note exchanged between friends.

As early as his time at Aichi Prefectural University of Fine Arts in the 1980s, Nara began to draw onto envelopes, cardboard, and scraps of found paper. He continued these explorations at the prestigious Kunstakademie Düsseldorf where, under the tutorship of German Neo-Expressionist painter A. R. Penck, he was encouraged to work fluidly between painting and drawing. ‘I [loved] to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up’, Nara has said. ‘Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected [with] memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose’ (Y. Nara, ‘Nobody’s Fool’, in N. Miyamura and S. Suzuki (eds.), Yoshitomo Nara: The Complete Works, Volume 1: Paintings, Sculptures, Editions, Photographs 1984-2010, San Francisco 2011, p. 43). Mischievous, cute, and quietly ferocious, the present work attests to the enduring appeal of Nara’s little rebels." — via Christie's

[rebelfell]

look at this stuff, isn’t it neat?

Hey! Who has two thumbs and took an in-depth inventory of all my WIPs? This guuuuuuuuy!

Thought I would put them up, mostly for me, but also in case anybody wants to peruse them and then pressure me into making some headway.

(lmao, good luck with that)

The further down on the list they are, the less recently I've opened them (if that makes sense?) And they’re going under a cut because there’s—jeeeeeesus—36 of them 😅

18+, MDNI for some of the content.

swap - your bff chrissy invites you to hang out with your former hook-up Steve, and her ex-boyfriend Eddie. what could go wrong?

smut blurb, hesitant - eddie wants to try out somnophilia, but he's really anxious and worries it'll be too much.

smut blurb - eddie isn’t letting you go down on him because he's worried he’ll blow his load if he sees you doing it. so you blindfold him.

for your viewing pleasure, vol 2 - you and eddie trying to navigate both your working relationship and your personal relationship; visiting Hawkins for the first time and meeting Wayne, etc.

neighbors au - you and eddie's first friend date, and your first date-date; domestic laundry fluff (pun very much intended)

pollen - exactly what you think it is.

hold your peace in pieces - long since neglected engaged!rockstar!eddie fic

american engine - steve truck smut

missed connections - modern!eddie WCIL companion series.

choose your own adventure - eddie comes home and overhears you having sex with your boyfriend (his roommate) Steve—nothing out of the ordinary, until you moan Eddie's name.

this summer is the apocalypse - eddie attends a faculty party with you, he gets jealous about your past with another professor. posted

tsita, 2 - eddie and steve in berlin finally hash out the details of your summer (literally).

tsita, 3 - valentine's snow day fluff extravaganza

special delivery part ii - waking up with Eddie the morning after, you guys keep getting interrupted.

striptease - eddie is nervous about going to a strip club for the first time. you show him what to expect.

dad!eddie & bad-at-kids!reader - you meet Eddie at a housewarming party thrown by your bff Nancy and her husband Steve.

argyle & ace!reader - argyle helps you learn how to smoke and you wind up confessing something.

so familiar - immoral reader hooking up with ex!eddie while he's 'with' someone else. sort of…

sick blurb - steve shows up while you're delirious from a cold and accidentally confess you like him.

never have i ever - a drinking game at a party reveals Steve has never been skinny dipping. you try to remedy the situation.

untitled - eddie shares you with steve for the night, so long as he gets to be in charge.

untitled 2 - when picking up weed for your boyfriend, you try to offer eddie an alternative form of payment.

blind date - robin tries to help you with getting over your ex by setting you up on a blind date. but you already know him…biblically.

the boy is mine (sarah's edition) - my entry for carolmunson's writing challenge that is so sweet it makes me wanna throw up.

first kiss - you run into eddie one night he's behind the bar at the Hideout and end up talking about your first kiss ever. Eddie offers a do-over.

ghost!eddie - joint venture with littlexdeaths and andvys that has lost steam, but has never left the back of my mind.

bath - ramble-fic about eddie learning to love baths (with and without you).

frenemies part ii - the morning after your edible confession followed by karaoke night with Robin and Steve hosting.

shelter from the storm pt ii - blowing eddie on your porch in the middle of the storm. (possible steddie if steve shows up trying to take refuge under eddie's roof?)

jealousy - pissing off steve when you smoke up with some guy in the boathouse at a reefer rick party.

coffee - exes to ??? with eddie, songfic based on "coffee" by chappell roan

with the band - harrington!reader secretly joins corroded coffin after eddie hears them singing in the shower.

camp steve - king steve is banished for the summer and finds himself working at the camp you've spent every summer at since you were a kid. him taking your virginity results in you and he having a secret relationship at school in the fall.

gator ii - follow up to cold dry stone where you're on a date that is interrupted by law enforcement. who would have thought?

friends with romance - modern!neighbor!eddie comes up with an arrangement with you where he provides some much needed romance, similar to FWB, except you don't engage physically.

beach - you meet eddie when he tags along on a beach trip with you and one of your friends.

if anything strikes your fancy, drop me a line, I’d love to chat!

love you, mean it! 🌠

[syoddeye]

some writing goals i hope to crush before i'm offline for a chunk of may:

finish and publish the next chapter of the warren

finish and possibly schedule the pool boy oneshot

finish the next chapter of the untitled gaz longfic

put out another entry for let loss reveal it

[cartwrong]

for the @ficwip word of the week: wednesday.

River wasn’t even supposed to be here. 

It was supposed to be Marcus with Shirley doing the drop, but River needed to take the OB to a doctor’s appointment last Wednesday, so Marcus had covered one of Lamb’s assignments in his place. But he had only agreed if River owed him a favour. The favour somehow ended with River tied back to back to a chair with Shirley Dander, his wrists already aching from the restraints and his cheek stinging where one of the men had hit him with his gun. 

“You’re gonna regret this,” Shirley seethed from behind him, and River could only imagine the fury on her features. 

There was an oomph as the man punched her in the stomach that made River wince in sympathy and try to hold his legs together as much as he could. Shirley had taken a harder hit to the head than he had, and if she kept this up, then River knew their captors were going to do everything they could to silence her. The realisation settled in his stomach like a stone, then exited his mouth before he could think better of it. 

“Hey fuck face,” River said, attempting to get the man’s attention. He could see him move out of the corner of his eye, straightening up to listen. “No, the other fuck face, yes, you, you fucking prick.”

When the man was close enough, River took his chance and spit in his face, or as close to it as he could. A punch to the ribs answered his act of defiance, but at least the man had left Shirley alone. River only began to question his plan when, after a second attempt to piss him off, the man picked up a wrench.

[dangraccoon]

Untitled Spreadsheet - PRIVATE

Chapter 12 - Oblivious

Word Count: 2011

Content: No Order 66 fix it style, end of the war, Obi-Wan finds it

For @literallyjustanerd, based on this post

It had been a hectic day. Cody had barely any time to think, let alone really pay attention to anything beyond the scope of the war's end.

With General Skywalker and Kenobi’s discovery of the Sith plot, things were wrapping up quickly. 

A few senators–as well as the new Chancellor Organa–pulled together Cody and several other clone officers to form a make-shift Clone Senate to discuss the creation of a Clone Rights Bill, so of course there were those meetings to deal with. 

Battles still raged on some planets as ceasefires were negotiated. Not every Separatist planet was involved with the Sith, and some had very real grievances to be settled. 

Alderaan, Naboo, Pantora, and Chandrila had all opened their planets to the incoming waves of refugees and the overwhelming number of vode with no home planet as Kamino faced sanctions for their crimes against the clones and the Republic.

One night, Cody was done early. He’d gotten through his list of formwork and finished all his meetings, so now he simply sat in his office. It was odd, having a moment to breathe a few months into “the end” of the war. 

He picked up his datapad, his hands following the path they had so many times before until he reached a spreadsheet– the spreadsheet. He took a breath. It had been so long since he’d opened it. 

He scanned through the entries, reading through them carefully, so he wouldn’t miss any detail of the memories. Soon that all-encompassing passion that he’d worked so hard to suppress since that morning after 79s would come flooding back into him, but maybe this time he wouldn’t have to hide it. Maybe he could stop shutting down any interaction with the General that wasn’t purely professional. Maybe they could be friends again.

Is that what they’d been - friends? A knot formed in his stomach. Cody had turned away from the General. He was still as polite and professional as he could be but he had to make himself almost robotic. Surely, General Kenobi would have noticed that. Maybe he wouldn’t mind, but what if he did and now he didn’t want to be friends–or anything else–with Cody?

The General was due back on The Negotiator any minute now so they could ship out on a relief mission.

As if on cue, there was a knock at his door.

“Yes?” he called, setting his datapad to the side to stand.

“Hello Commander,” that smooth voice said as the General entered. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all, sir,” he answered. “I’ve just finished for the evening.”

“I see,” Kenobi said. “We can discuss the next mission in the morning then.”

Kenobi smiled softly, then turned to leave.

Cody crossed the room to him, catching him by the wrist. Kenobi gasped softly and Cody let go of him immediately. He could feel his cheeks warming.

“Actually, sir,” he started, somewhat apprehensively. “I was just heading to the mess. Perhaps we could discuss it there?”

The General blinked in surprise for a moment and Cody felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a high cliff, but then he smiled and he was suddenly thrust under a warm afternoon sun.

“I would enjoy that immensely, Commander.”

Cody felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest as they walked through the halls of their ship side by side. 

“So,” Kenobi said simply. 

“So, sir?” Cody echoed.

Kenobi smiled softly. “It appears the end of the war is upon us,” he said. “Whatever will you do with yourself when you no longer have me bossing you about?”

Cody bit his tongue so hard it bled just a little. He’d nearly blurted out that he’d happily live the rest of his short, natural life with his General bossing him about. Hell, they could find a way to transfer his consciousness to a droid and he’d still follow his General to the ends of the galaxy.

He shouldn’t say that. He couldn’t put that on Kenobi’s shoulders, not now, not with everything going on. The General had enough on his plate.

“I suppose that depends on what they decide to do with us,” Cody said, eventually. He did his best not to sound bitter. “They’ll likely have us as a workforce for reconstruction on the war-torn worlds, if they keep us around at all.”

Kenobi went silent, his gentle smile gone. 

Regret boiled up in Cody’s gut. He shouldn’t have said that either. 

“I-I didn’t mean to upset you, Sir,” he said. “The lives of my brothers are… grimly set in stone. I shouldn’t have said–”

“No, no- I shouldn’t have asked that,” Kenobi said quickly. “But I do want to tell you–”

The General stopped his feet along with his sentence. Cody paused and searched his face, finding it almost pained.

“Tell me what?” he breathed. Adding after a moment, “Sir.”

Kenobi looked away, resting his hand on his chin as he often did when contemplating battle plans. In that situation, however, his eyes appeared determined. Now, they seemed distant, even worried, as he glanced around.

Cody looked around at the hallway that bustled with activity as their troops prepared the ship for their next mission.

Maybe it was a rash decision. Maybe, just for a moment, he didn’t care. 

He grabbed the General by the arm, pulling him into the storage closet behind them.

“Cody! What–”

“Please, General,” he said. “What were you going to tell me?”

Kenobi’s eyes searched his face, dropped down to where Cody’s hand still rested on his arm, then back up. Cody dropped it to his side, feeling somewhat self conscious.

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t say much,” he murmured, his eyes not quite meeting Cody’s anymore. He tried not to feel the loss. “I– Well, I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up too high if it ends up being all for nothing.”

“Sir–”

“Oh, I do wish you wouldn’t call me that anymore,” the General muttered, his brow furrowing. “I’m not a General any longer.”

Before Cody could even think of a reply–aside from letting Kenobi’s first name fall from his lips the way he’d been dreaming of for the past two years–the General seemed to wave the thought away.

“My apologies, Cody, I know that is quite a lot to ask,” he continued. “And really, I shouldn’t be telling you anything, however I believe I must– that I owe that much to you given my feel–” Kenobi gasped softly to stop himself. “That is, given how well we’ve worked together these past few years,” he concluded.

Cody swallowed. He couldn’t explain why, but his throat suddenly felt very dry. “Sir, are you in trouble?”

“What?” the General asked. Then he laughed, the sound like music to Cody’s ears. “No, my dear– well, I suppose I usually am in trouble, but you’re always there to come and rescue me, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Cody breathed. “I’d always be there for you.”

He watched a deep blush bloom across Kenobi’s face, like it had when he’d complimented him all that time ago.

Kenobi huffed out a small breath as he smiled again. “You’re a good man, Cody. All I can tell you is that, whatever happens, you mustn’t lose hope for you and your brothers’ futures.”

Cody would have tried to find something–literally anything–to say, but then Kenobi’s hand was on his shoulder. 

“Shall we continue?” the General smiled. “We have much to discuss in preparation for tomorrow, and I’d hate for anyone to think we were up to something rather different in here.”

“Would you?” Cody blurted out, taking a small step towards Kenobi in the already tight space. “Would you hate for others to think we were… something more?”

The General’s expression shifted rapidly. Cody could’ve sworn the deep red hue that colored his cheeks darkened slightly. Just like before, his lips seemed to form words that wouldn’t come out.

“General?” Cody prompted.

“Right,” he said, seeming to come back to his senses. “Shall we then?”

Once again before Cody could answer, Kenobi nodded, then quickly turned to leave the closet. Cody followed close behind him.

They walked in silence to the mess hall and as Cody got a tray and Kenobi fixed himself a cup of tea. When they sat, Kenobi launched right into the mission. They picked up their normal back and forth just as they had all through the war, and Cody would be lying if he wasn’t at least a little grateful for it.

They’d moved on to discussing the timeline of the projects they’d be leading when Cody’s brow furrowed.

“I suppose this would be much easier if I’d brought my datapad,” he grumbled. “I’ll just go grab it quickly and–”

“Don’t be silly, my dear,” the General scoffed, glancing down at the tray. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. I’ll go.”

“General, I don’t–”

Kenobi held a hand up to quiet him. “Please, Cody. It’s no bother.”

And with that, he was off. 

Cody waited until the General had crossed the threshold back into the hall before tapping Rex’s code into the comm on his wrist.

“Code? Wh’s goin’ on?” his brother mumbled when he answered. He sounded as though he’d just woken up. 

Suddenly, it dawned on him. “I’m sorry, kih’vod,” he sighed. “I forgot you were off-world.”

“‘It's fine, ‘m awake now. Never call, though. What’s wrong?”

“Ah, well, I might’ve dragged the General into a storage closet.”

The line was silent.

 Cody scowled at the comm. “Rex, are you there? Did you he–”

“No, I heard you,” Rex scoffed. “Would I be wrong to say ‘finally’?”

Cody huffed, then quickly ran through the entire interaction.

Obi-Wan hadn’t meant to pry, of course. He respected Cody and his privacy, but then he glimpsed his own name in an unfamiliar document, and couldn’t help the way he was drawn in.

He read through each carefully entered observation, as well as the explanations and notes.

But then he got to the last two supposedly irrational explanations.

He was sure his face was redder than Dathomir. All this time, he thought Cody knew how he felt and just hadn’t returned the feelings. Sure, his Commander would flirt back from time to time, but now Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure if Cody even realized he had been flirting with him.

But the soft mando’a Cody had whispered to him that night after 79s still echoed in his mind. “Gar cuyir ori'jaon'yc bal ori'mesh'la par ni at digur mayen be'gar, ner cyar’ika.”

No one had ever spoken so reverently about him before. He’d never been told he was important. And until now, he thought the only person who’d ever wanted to speak such lovely things to him had forgotten all about it.

Ultimately, Obi-Wan was grateful Cody hadn’t vocalized anything about the subject since then. He’d realized after that night that while he was hopelessly in love with the man, he could never tell him. 

Being his commanding officer, Obi-Wan could bear the idea that maybe Cody was just going along with it out of either pre-programmed loyalty to him or because he felt he had no choice. Guilt had gnawed at Obi-Wan after every interaction after that.

Then… everything happened. The discovery and subsequent defeat of Sidious meant an end to the war. Their duties pulled them apart, but slowly, he’d felt some hope well up in his chest. An end to the war meant he wasn’t a General anymore. So perhaps, now…?

Before he realized what he was doing, Obi-Wan had created a new entry to Cody’s very organized spreadsheet. He read over the words he’d written a few times, then highlighted the whole entry, highlighting it in a light blue.

He closed out of the document, hoping Cody wouldn’t find his addition until he was alone, then made his way back to the mess hall.

Cody smiled when he saw Obi-Wan walking back to him and he felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

Event: My dear, oblivious Commander left his datapad unattended on his desk with this document still open

Rational explanation: Cody is once again overtired from working so incredibly hard (as he is wont to do) and simply forgot to power down the datapad, too distracted by his sense of duty and work ethic, as admirable as they are detrimental to his sleep

Irrational explanation: The Commander shares in my affections but is simply so oblivious to my (rather obvious) signals that he feels the need to rationalise our interactions instead of accepting that we are, and indeed have been, flirting

Additional notes: In regard to the above: it meant everything and more to me, my darling x

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Thanks for reading! - River

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[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Spamton X Reader fic Ch1

The stress of election night made me cave and start writing a self-indulgent Spamton x Reader fic...that I was hoping to finish that night but as you can see it took me a bit longer because writing 6k words in one night is hard. T_T

Anyway, he's my entry into the genre of "Reader finds Spamton in a dumpster and takes him home" fics. Maybe there's room for one more in that category? 🥺

Not sure if/when I'll continue working on this but uh. Here y'all go.

(Also sorry I spend the first few paragraphs writing an actual vent post about my actual job adfajdafjdal)

------

Today hasn’t exactly been noteworthy. It’s just another day, like so many you’ve had before. Wake up, trudge over to your desk, sign on to work, pretend you’ve been awake for at least an hour longer than you have been, and rub the sleep out of your eyes while you gnosh on a cereal bar because (as usual) you don’t have time to make anything else before your morning meetings start.

You pay no more or less attention than usual, picking away at your own tasks while two of your coworkers have an in depth discussion on something you probably don’t need to concern yourself with. With your camera off they are left to assume you’re listening just as raptly as they’d wish you to.

The meeting ends and you dive fully into your work. You enjoy programming. The product itself (some productivity-helper app that’s not much different than dozens of others) is not of particular interest to you. You don’t even use it in your personal life--only for checking on work-related things.

You get a ping from a coworker. The dev environment is down. Again. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He heard you do?

You suppress a sigh that he wouldn’t’ve heard through the screen anyway.

You fixed it once, about a year ago, out of desperation. It had been an easy fix but somehow it had been enough to convince people you Knew What You Were Doing, and a couple more fixes later, you found yourself in the unenviable position of “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You close several windows and open several more, your previous task for the day forgotten. Two more people ping you. Did you know the dev environment is down? Yes. Your boss pings you. Did you know? Of course you know.

You dive back into the spaghetti code you still don’t fully understand. The person who wrote it left six months ago. You follow a thread of convoluted logic, only to lose your train of thought when another colleague messages you.

Did you know?

YES.

Line by line, search query after search query, you toil to untangle the mess.

And suddenly find your own code staring you back in the face. The very first fix you’d made had been defective. Impermanent. A flimsy rubber band that had finally snapped.

You frown. You wonder what you’d been thinking when you’d fixed it before. The flaw in your approach seems obvious now. And yet somehow it had been good enough for you to be crowned “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You sure weren’t “The Guy (gender-neutral)” then…but maybe you are now. Or close to it.

A couple more keystrokes and dev is back in business.

…It’s also the middle of the night, your colleagues have signed off, and you forgot to eat dinner. Again.

You crash down from the high of your accomplishment--deflated, hungry, and tired. You message chat that everything’s fixed but you’ll be late tomorrow, and close your work computer.

How had you worked for twelve hours without even noticing? Maybe you like programming more than you thought.

You’re not sure how you feel about that.

You rise from your chair with a tired groan, padding out to the kitchen.

…Where you promptly see--and worse, smell--the bag of trash you meant to take out this morning.

“Ugggghhhh…” you groan in disgust and self-pity, your shoulders slumping.

You grumble to yourself in frustration as you pull on your coat, grab the bag roughly by the handles as if it had any more say its fate than you, and proceed to name-drop every one of your coworkers in your mumblings as you make your way down four flights of stairs.

…Only to realize it’s raining. Not exactly a downpour--light enough that you didn’t hear it from your apartment, but heavy enough that you’ll definitely be soaked if you try to get to the dumpster.

Whatever. You’re not lugging the trash bag back up the stairs only to get your umbrella. You were going to change into your PJs while dinner was cooking anyway.

You grit your teeth and cross the dimly lit parking lot to the three-wall, roofless structure that contains the dumpsters and recycling bins. 

The rain in your eyes, the dim lighting, and your own grim determination to be done with your task almost cause you to miss it, but as you’re attempting to dry your hands before stuffing them back in your coat pockets, you see it.

A small white boot sticking out from the gap between the dumpster and the enclosure. You’re not sure what draws you to it--at first you think it’s just an old discarded piece of clothing that fell out of the overflowing bin.

Your gut instinct realizes what your conscious mind hasn’t yet, forcing you to take a step towards it and get a closer look.

Your stomach twists as you realize the boot is definitely still attached to something. At first you think it’s a child, but the figure’s odd proportions dismiss the idea before you can even so much as cry out in alarm.

The head accounts for about a third of the height, and the shoulders are strangely broad, with the legs being rather short in proportion. Though all that is trivial compared to the distinctly inhuman face.

Well…it’s probably meant to be based on a human, you realize, but it certainly isn’t one. The large mouth is fixed in a permanent, uncannily huge grin, and the pointed nose is cartoonishly long. A pair of glasses cover the eyes, the lenses of which are currently dark.

It’s too big to be a doll. A ventriloquist puppet, maybe? The jaw looks articulated in the way that such puppets usually are. Not that you know much about puppets or puppetry.

But you think they’re usually expensive…though price aside, even this scuffed up, damaged figure seems deserving of a fate better than being tossed into some dumpster. You’ve always been the sentimental sort who feels sorry for lost and damaged toys, despite knowing full well that they’re not “real”.

Someone had once believed they were, and then they just…stopped.

You shake off the melancholy thought with a literal shake of your head, flinging raindrops from your hair. 

You crouch down beside the puppet, tucking your hands under its arms and hoisting it up, only to nearly drop it as your grip fumbles. It’s way heavier than you’d expected! You’d assumed ventriloquist puppets were mostly hollow, but this one certainly isn’t. Maybe your assumption had just been wrong?

It’s going to be more of a pain to lug this thing back to your apartment, but well…in for a penny, in for a pound. Or fifty. Whichever.

There’s also something a bit odd about its joints…its limbs don’t flop around as much as you’d expect, but you chalk that up to the joints being partially stuck.

You carry it upright, your arms around its waist while its arms drape over your shoulders. You swear you hear a slight groan from it as you push the stairwell door open with your hip. It must have a voice box? Did puppets usually have those? Either way, the low, droning suggested the batteries were almost dead. 

You finally make it up to your unit. If it hadn’t been raining you’d’ve been drenched with sweat now. As it is, it’s probably still mostly rainwater, but you try not to think about how much of a sweat you worked up carrying the heavy thing upstairs. 

You kick the door shut behind you, flinching when it closes a bit louder than you’d meant it to. You take the puppet to the kitchen, laying it on its back on the counter. Or trying to…one of its hands gets caught on the hood of your jacket. When you reach up to pull it free, you realize the joints of the hand had curled in at some point, gripping the hoodie.

There’s something…off about that, about this whole thing, but…it’s just a puppet…right?

There’s nothing else it could be, really…

You remove your jacket, tossing it over the back of one of the dining chairs for now. There’s really no reason for you to tend to the puppet before yourself, but…

You grab a paper towel and begin wiping the grime and rainwater from its face, occasionally glancing at the darkened glasses that obscure its eyes. What an odd looking thing…but puppets often are.

You can’t quite tell what it’s made of. Wood or plastic are your best guesses but neither of them quite fit. It has the smooth rigidness of plastic but somehow, paradoxically, it also seems somewhat organic and is a bit warmer than you’d expect a rain soaked toy to be. The material’s even a bit malleable. The nose even has a bit of give, you realize as you push on it experimentally, bending it downwards. Foam, maybe?

As you push on the nose, the head abruptly turns away, and another low, rattly moan plays from the voice box.

With a gasp, you quickly pull away. Does…this thing have some kind of mechanism to move on its own? Maybe it’s only meant to look like a puppet, but is actually more of a robotic toy? That would explain the weight, you suppose…

But it certainly adds to the mystery of why anyone would throw it away.

You cup its cheek in one hand as you use the other to wipe some grime from its hair.

Your gaze drifts downward and you realize its clothes should probably be removed and hung up to dry.

…Why does that thought cause your face to heat up? You’ve fixed up old dolls and toys before, with no particular regard for their modesty.

You’re just tired. You’re tired and had a stressful day and it’s making you just a bit silly. That’s all.

You reach down and start attempting to remove the puppet’s blazer. Before you can undo the first button, though, its arm shoots up, its small hand wrapping around your wrist.

“[[ Showroom model only--not available for purchase! ]] [[ Break it you buy it!! ]]” Two audio clips in two different voices play from somewhere within the puppet.

You scream in surprise, pulling back so quickly you accidentally drag the puppet off the counter before it can let go of your wrist. You don’t fare much better as your heel catches on the leg of a dining chair, causing you to land hard on your rear.

You place a hand over your chest, trying to calm yourself. There’s a rational explanation for the puppet’s movement on the tip of your tongue, but it flies out the window almost immediately.

The puppet stirs. His glasses go from black to grey static as he lifts a hand to his forehead, struggling to get his bearings. The corners of his mouth are turned down in what you guess must be the closest thing to a frown he can muster with his large, semi-permanent grin. 

“Wh-What the hell…” you breathe in a strained whisper.

“[[ Temp--Temp--Temporarily out of service!! ]]” This audio clip is yet another voice. It sounds like the clip was originally recorded in a peppy, upbeat tone, but the playback is so low and garbled you can’t help but compare it to someone at the brink of death struggling to speak.

The puppet goes limp once again, the grey static on his glasses fading back to black. He’s collapsed on the floor, laying on his side in a growing puddle of rainwater as it slowly runs off his clothes.

You stare at him in stunned silence for several moments.

It’s mechanical. Robotic. A weird toy robot…thing…with low batteries and probably a busted circuit board or two.

It’s not alive.

But why would an expensive toy robot be in the dumpster?

Why would a living puppet be in the dumpster???

Your brain’s just fried from work. You need rest. And probably food. The puppet can wait.

You bite your lip. He’s not alive, but…that’s no reason to just leave him on the floor, right?

You quickly grab one of your fluffy bath towels from the linen closet and wrap the puppet in it, carrying him to the living room and laying him on the couch with far more respect and dignity than a totally-not-alive puppet actually needs, even putting one of your throw pillows under his head.

The rainwater’s going to soak through the towel and you’ll have a damp sofa by the time you finish dinner, but…well. It’ll dry. Whatever.

Still…you take a moment to look him over again as you kneel beside the couch. You place a hand on his cheek, turning his head slightly towards yourself. The grimace from before seems to have relaxed into a fairly neutral smile…you guess that must be his “default” expression.

You brush a few stray locks of hair from his face, then adjust his arms so that his hands are atop his chest--a more comfortable resting position than them splayed haphazardly beside him. As you do, you lightly grip one of his hands. It’s a bit smaller than your own, and the joints are fully articulated, giving it the same range of motion as a human hand.

The hand twitches and you quickly drop it. It lands with a soft thud atop his chest.

Enough silliness. You can look over the puppet once you get your head together.

You go into the bathroom, finally stripping out of your wet clothes and hanging them on the curtain rod to dry before changing into your PJs--some flannel lounge pants and an oversize T-shirt. As you walk back to the kitchen, you glance at the puppet on your couch, but force yourself not to stop and check on him again.

You hope some mac and cheese will pull you out of whatever temporary insanity working for twelve hours straight has inflicted upon you.

*

Spamton stirs as the sound of the soft thudding of a wooden spoon stirring a pot of boiling pasta reaches him.

Where…is he? The towel slides off him as he sits up, and he glances at it curiously, running his thumb over the soft, fluffy fabric. There was never anything this nice in the dumpster, that’s for sure.

But he’s also clearly not in his dumpster. He takes in the sight of your dimly lit apartment, the only light coming from the kitchen.

It doesn’t quite look like any sort of Cyber City apartment he’s ever seen. He can’t quite put his finger on why, but…after a second of thought, the word “mundane” pops into his mind. This place is more mundane than any part of Cyber City he’s ever been to. Though…he supposes he’s really only seen the highest highs and lowest lows…maybe the middle tiers of the city are a bit more mundane. It would make a certain amount of sense, though he can’t help but think the answer’s more complicated than that.

He slides off the couch, looking towards the light spilling from the kitchen.

“Mundane” aside, how’d he get into any apartment? As desperate as he’d gotten, he’d never committed B & E…at least for the purpose of sleeping on some stranger’s couch. And how long has it been since anyone had invited him into their home?

How long has it been since…anything?

Spamton wracks his brain, trying to pull up his most recent memory, whatever he was doing before he ended up here. The last thing he can remember--clearly, anyway--is just sitting in his dumpster in the back alleys of Cyber City, about to doze off.

But…somehow that memory seems like it was from long ago. Weeks, at least. And there are glimpses of something more recent that he can’t quite place.

Green wires.

The rollercoaster, with three carts speeding towards him.

A blue-haired, blue-skinned Lightner.

The latter, he had no idea who they were…and that thought caused a pang of guilt in his chest. They were…important. Why couldn’t he remember?

His gaze drifts back towards the kitchen and he slowly steps towards it.

How do you fit into any of this, he wonders?

*

You’re pouring the pasta and water into the strainer when you hear a sound behind you.

The quiet click of hard-soled shoes on kitchen tile.

You turn to glance behind you, more out of instinct than any expectation to actually see anything.

The puppet is up and walking towards you, a sight so shocking on its own that you don’t even notice the curious, borderline timid expression on his face, nor the way his hands are raised slightly as if to assure you he means no harm.

You wish you’d simply frozen at the sight of him.

Instead, your fatigued, nervous, downright jittery brain panics immediately, spinning fully to face him, despite the pot of boiling water in your hand. Lucky for you it’s nearly empty, but “nearly” is still enough for a decent sized splash to land on your bare forearm.

You cry out in pain, clutching your burned arm to your chest as you collapse onto the floor, your back pressed against the cabinets as you stare wide-eyed at the puppet.

“WOAH !! RELAX [[ valued customer ]]!!” the puppet speaks, his voice far clearer than it had been before. Though there’s still a slight static to it, as if it’s being played over a worn out speaker. “[[ Apologies for the inconvenience ]], I’M NOT--”

Spamton cuts himself off when he realizes you’re now staring down at your burned arm. Your hands are shaking as you stare at your blistering skin, tears of pain--and probably fear--welling in your eyes.

“[[ It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns! ]]”

Your gaze snaps back to him. “What?!” you yelp, incredulous despite the bizarreness of the situation. Why’s he acting like he’s the one who got burned?

No sooner than the thought enters your head than you notice his slack expression, his glasses once again going staticy. But once again, things seem to pivot on a dime and he snaps out of it so fast you wonder if you weren’t just seeing things.

“SORRY!!” he says, holding up his hands. “DIDN’T MEAN TO [[ all kinds of surprises!! ]] YOU!!”

Spamton steps towards you and you shrink back against the cabinets. He takes the hint and backs off, still holding up his hands. After a brief pause, he snaps his fingers, and to your utter astonishment, a miniature, cherub-like version of himself appears and flitters towards you.

You’re too stunned at the sight to even consider pulling away, your jaw going slack as you watch the little creature land weightlessly on your arm and gently pat the blistering, reddening skin. A wave of green sparkly lights washes over your injury and the burns, along with the cherub, disappear.

A one word question echoes in your mind and you can’t help but speak it aloud in a strained, wavering voice.

“Magic…?”

Spamton dips his head in a nod. He holds up a hand, and the cherub reappears, perching on his finger and giving you a little wave. “YEP! JUST A [[ simple, one-stop solution ]] FOR [[ all your routine medical needs ]],” he says, dismissing the cherub with a wave of his hand. He hesitates, then steps towards you again. When you don’t flinch away, he closes the distance between you two, lightly touching your arm.

“NO MORE [[ It Burns! ]]?”

“U-Uhm,” you stammer. The way his voice sounds so pained when switching to the “It Burns” line is unnerving…you guess it’s just a soundbyte, that he’s not actually feeling the pain or distress the voice line suggests. His expression certainly seems to hold genuine concern, despite the semi-permanent smile. “Y-Yeah…I…” You glance down at his hand on your arm.

He really did heal it. Just like that. The pain and blistering just…gone in an instant. You’d guess you were dreaming, but…there’s no way you’d sleep through such intense pain, imagined or not.

“You…do magic,” you say weakly. The laugh you let out borders on manic. “I mean sure, why wouldn’t you do magic?”

Either he doesn’t notice your sarcasm or chooses to ignore it, for he takes a step back, grinning and puffing out his chest. “WHY NOT INDEED? SPAM   SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [[ #1 Rated Salesman 1997 ]] IS A MAN OF [[ dozens of unique skills ]]!” he declares.

“S-Spamton? That’s…your name?” you ask.

He grins, pointing at you while a DING DING DING chime plays, his glasses lenses switching colors on every beat. “AND [[ who do I have the pleasure of speaking to? ]]”

You tell him your name, still dazed.

He stays silent, canting his head and looking up at you uncertainly, seemingly waiting for you to recover.

“Wh-What are you?” you blurt abruptly.

Spamton blinks, but far from being offended at the question, he tosses his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The cadence is a bit faster than a human would typically laugh, almost like the rapid fire of a machine gun…but as laughs go it’s far from unpleasant. “[[ Doll ]] I WAS JUST ABOUT TO [[ Ask Away! ]] YOU THE SAME THING!!”

You blink. “Um. I-I’m…a human. Surely…you’ve seen humans before?”

“OF COURSE!! [[ And don’t call me Shirly ]],” he quips. “BUT I’M NOT SEEING ANY [[ Heart-shaped Object ]].”

“H-Heart shaped object?” you repeat, absently rubbing at your chest. You assume he’s not talking about your actual heart.

“YOU’RE NO DARK >n3R…NOT A LIGHT >n3R EITHER?” he asks, canting his head curiously.

“I-I…I mean I guess not, not that…that I know of?” you say helplessly.

You’re a bit surprised he’s the one questioning you. It hadn’t occurred to you that he’d be just as confounded by his situation as you are.

“IS THIS THE DARK WORLD OR LIGHT WORLD?”

You stare blankly. “I…I don’t know? Neither, I…I think?”

“SO THEN…WH    WHERE IN THE [[ Tri-County Area ]] AM I?”

You stammer a moment, not even sure what sort of answer he’d want for that. “M-My apartment?” you say inanely. At his deadpan, unimpressed look you tell him the name of your city, and when that doesn’t ring a bell, you add your state.

He frowns, tapping his chin with one hand.

“Where are you from, then?”

“CYBER CITY, IN THE DARK WORLD.”

“Doesn’t sound like any place near here…I-Is it…really an entirely different world?”

“[[ Survey Says: ]] YES.”

It’s as likely as anything else. Living puppet with healing magic…why not add world-hopping on top of that at this point?

“[[ You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? ]]”

“I…don’t know. I mean, I found you in a dumpster and brought you up here. I have no idea where you were before that…”

“BROUGHT ME [[ all the way up ]] HERE? WHY?”

“I um. Well,” you shift uncomfortably. “I…uh, thought you were a toy or puppet or something…”

“TOY NO, PUPPET YES,” he says. As he admits it, his glasses briefly go staticy and his smile fades, but he quickly shakes it off. “SO, DUMPSTER DIVING FOR [[ marketable goods ]], EH?” he chuckles.

“N-No! It was just--” You bite back your protest. You probably should have just said yes. It’s probably less silly than your real reason. At his expectant look, you feel your cheeks heat up. “I-I just…I like…fixing up old toys and it’s just…k-kinda…sad to see them get abandoned…and you just seemed too--” You cut yourself off again. You should have stopped a sentence or two ago, but once again Spamton is looking at you curiously and you feel compelled to complete your statement. “--F-Fancy…to just…be tossed in some landfill…”

You can see his eyes blink in surprise behind his glasses. His slightly open mouth closes with an audible clack and he chuckles. “WELL I AM A BIT OF A [[ Mr. Fancy-Pants ]]...OR AT LEAST I WAS,” he adds, his grin seeming to fade slightly.

A beat of silence passes as he seems to get lost in his own head for a moment, and you think you start to see bits of static appearing in his glasses. The corners of his mouth start to droop as his smile fades.

“W-Well, nothing a bit of mending won’t fix, right?” you say, assuming he’s only referring to his torn up suit and some of the scuffs on his face and hands.

Spamton snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, looking at you in confusion for a moment before his previous smile returns. 

“...RIGHT. WELL, ANYWAY [[ doll ]], THANKS FOR THE [[ solid assist ]] BUT IT’S ABOUT TIME I [[ hit the road ]].”

You blink. “Um. What?”

He raises a brow. “[[ Hit the road ]], [[ Make like a tree and leaf ]], [[ head off into the sunset in your brand-new cungadero ]]?”

You can’t help but blurt out an incredulous, “To where?” Your cheeks warm and you glance away awkwardly, rubbing your arm. “I-I mean, n-not that it’s any of my business, but…a minute ago you didn’t even know what world you’re in…”

Spamton stares at you a moment before throwing his head back in another laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHA!!” You can’t help but notice the laugh seems a bit forced. “[[ Doll ]], DON’T YOU KNOW A TRUE [[ #1 Salesman 1997 ]] WILL [[ never give up, never surrender!! ]]?”

You finally manage to give a weak smile. “Well…that’s all well and good, but…do you even have a plan?”

“DO YOU?”

“Heh,” you chuckle nervously. “N-Not…a super long term one, but…I’d uh…I’d…feel bad sending you away like this…drenched and dirty with nowhere to go…”

His head tilts slightly to one side as he regards you. “WILLING TO MAKE A [[ Specil Deal ]], [[ doll ]]?”

You blink at his phrasing. “I…don’t know about a deal, but…I-I mean…you can…crash here for tonight? Get washed up, dry your clothes at least?”

“AND WHAT”S THE [[ payment method required ]]?”

“No payment!” you say quickly. “Just…”

“[[ Complimentary service ]]?”

You laugh slightly. “Exactly.”

He considers, rubbing his chin as he tries to figure out what possible catch there could be. Finally, he holds out a hand. “[[ Terms & Conditions Accepted !! ]]”

You let out a more earnest laugh, nodding. “Alright, Spamton,” you say, wrapping your hand around his and giving a hearty handshake.

Spamton steps back, glancing around at the mess you’d made. The pan had clattered to the floor, and there was a puddle of spilled water and a few stray noodles on the floor. Luckily dinner itself is salvageable--the majority of the noodles are still safely in the strainer in the sink.

“[[ Tired of cleaning up after dinner? Why not let -- ]] YOUR [[ good pal ]] SPAMTON TAKE CARE OF THAT?” he offers, going over to pick up the pan, handing it to you as you finally get to your feet.

“Thanks, but…” You lift your gaze past him, seeing the muddy footprints he’s tracked into the kitchen. You smile weakly. “Maybe you should get yourself tidied up first? The bathroom’s just down the hall, I can finish up in here while you shower?”

He follows your gaze to the dirt he’s tracked into the kitchen, then smiles up at you sheepishly. “GOOD POINT. BUT WHY DON”T WE [[ get the best of both worlds ]]?” He snaps his fingers, and two cherubs appear. They smile cutely at you before one of them flies down to the ground to begin gathering the spilled noodles and the other pulls the towel off the oven handle and drapes it over the puddle.

“Heh…s-sounds good…” you say, once again caught off guard by his ability to just…manifest helpful little creatures.

The cherubs finish cleaning while you shake the last of the water from the pasta strainer, rinse out the pan, and start mixing the cheese in with the noodles.

They finish the cleanup before you finish the cooking, and all you have to do is open the cupboard so they can toss the floor noodles away.

“Um, thanks guys?” you say uncertainly.

Their little grins get even wider at your praise and they perch on the edge of the stove, watching you stir the noodles.

You notice they seem to be watching a bit…intently. Their heads bop slightly as they track the motion of the spoon, the reflective pink and yellow lenses on their glasses making it hard to read their expressions.

“Hey uh…m-maybe this is a weird question…” Though you wonder if anything’s a weird question when posed to a pair of tiny puppet cherubs summoned by a magic living puppet from another world. “D’you two…get hungry?”

Their attention perks to you so raptly that you have to assume the answer is a firm yes.

You chuckle weakly at that, scooping out a spoonful of noodles and blowing on it. “D’you like mac and cheese?”

They nod eagerly, making a squeaky trilling sound as they abruptly take off towards the spoon.

“H-Hey! Careful, it’s hot!” you say, holding up a hand to try to block them before they burn themselves.

Your attempt fails, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They dart around your hand and perch on either side of the spoon, greedily shoving the cheesy noodles into their mouths. If the heat is even remotely uncomfortable to them, they’re not showing any sign of it.

“Guess you were hungry…” you say, amused. You grab a piece of paper towel and wrap it around your finger, wiping the cheese from their faces. They make a faint sound of protest, the red on their cheeks growing a bit redder at your attention.

You set the spoon aside and turn the stove to low to keep the food warm. “I’d better check on Spamton,” you say to the cherubs.

As you walk down the hall to the bathroom, you hear the shower switch off and the door opens. A faint cloud of steam emerges, followed closely by Spamton.

One of your hand towels is wrapped around his waist and the other is around his shoulders. He’s using the corner of said towel to wipe the steam from his glasses lenses. Locks of damp hair fall across his forehead and cling to his neck and shoulders, a few droplets running down his bare chest.

His shoulders are wider than you’d expected--seems his blazer isn’t as padded as you’d assumed. His whole frame on the stocky side, and he has a slightly protruding gut that hadn’t really been noticeable under his blazer.

You wish you could blame the cloud of warm steam for your burning face.

“HEY [[ doll ]], WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A [[ clean-pressed ]] [[ size L T-shirt ]] I COULD BORROW? MY BLAZER IS--” He places his glasses back on his face and cuts himself off when he notices you staring.

A beat of uncertain silence passes before you snap out of it. “Oh! U-U-Uh--Of course!” you squeak. “L-Let me just grab that for you!” you say quickly. You duck into your bedroom without waiting for a response, grabbing one of a large T-shirt and a pair of boxers. You’re not sure how well either will fit him, but you’ve got nothing better to offer right now.

When you get back to the bathroom, he’s standing on the counter in front of a portion of the mirror he’d wiped the fog from. He’s helped himself to one of your combs and is brushing his damp hair from his face.

You try not to look him in the eye--or anywhere else--as you pass him the clothing.

“THANKS, [[ doll ]]!” he says brightly.

You nod, mumbling some lame excuse about needing to check on the food before scurrying back to the kitchen.

When you get there, you see the cherubs have been busy. The table’s been set, and they’ve even taken a couple throw pillows from the couch and piled them on one of the chairs for Spamton. Glancing into the living room, you notice they even refolded the towel Spamton had been wrapped in.

“Oh, thanks guys!” you say, earning another set of happy squeaks from the little pair.

You busy yourself with dishing out the macaroni, and by the time you’re done, Spamton’s emerged from the bathroom.

The PJs you lent him are…suitable. They hang a bit awkwardly on him, but given how different your body shapes are it’s a miracle you had anything that was even remotely wearable for him.

“THANKS AGAIN FOR THE [[ brand-new threads ]] AND [[ hearty, nutritious dinner ]]!” he says, effortlessly hopping up onto the chair and taking his seat. He looks at the bowl of macaroni before him and hesitates, looking up at you uncertainly…perhaps even guiltily. “AND…YOU”RE SURE ALL THIS IS [[ complimentary service ]]?” 

“Sure,” you say easily. “The little guys certainly seemed hungry…I’m…guessing you are too?”

Spamton gives the two cherubs--who are now sitting on the table between you two--a disapproving look. “MANNERS,” he says, pointing the spoon at them accusingly.

You laugh, waving a hand. “Oh no, they were very polite!” you say. A bit overeager, and a bit messy in their own eating, but in your mind all the extra cleaning they did more than makes up for it.

“GOOD,” he says, waving a hand. And with that, the two cherubs disappear, leaving only a few green sparkles in their wake.

“Oh…you didn’t have to send them away…” you say.

Spamton chuckles. “THEY WERE SLEEPY.”

You give a bemused laugh. “I…see. You’d know best I suppose,” you concede. “I’ve never even seen magic before today…”

He glances up in surprise. “NO? NOT EVER?”

“Not real magic, no. Not like…healing burns and conjuring cherubs,” you say.

“MINITONS,” he corrects.

“Pardon?”

“MINITONS. MINI SPAMTONS,” he clarifies with a playful smirk.

“Oh!” you laugh. “That’s…actually kinda cute,” you say.

Spamton gives you a wry look. “IT’S MEANT TO BE [[ concise and informative ]], NOT [[ adorable ]],” he says, though despite his look he sounds more amused than exasperated.

“It can be both,” you retort.

“IF YOU INSIST,” he says with a good natured eye roll.

The conversation ceases as he digs into his meal. His manners are much better than the Minitons of course, but he can’t completely hide the urgency with which he eats…though he does decline your offer of seconds, you sense it’s more out of a sense of guilt at how much you’ve given him than him actually being full.

And possibly being too tired to eat any more. Even with his glasses you can see his eyelids starting to droop by the time he drops his spoon into the empty bowl. But as soon as you get up and make as if to take the dishes to the sink, he snaps back to life.

“WAIT!!” he says, hopping up to stand on his chair, grabbing his bowl before reaching up and taking yours out of your hand. “SINCE YOU COOKED [[ delicis 5-Star meal ]] I’LL [[ cleans and polishes your dishes with a sparkling shine, guaranteed no food residue ]]!!” He grins up at you. “IT’S THE [[ bare minimum as required by law ]].” He blinks at the last part of the statement, his smile turning markedly sheepish. Apparently those little phrases don’t always come out sounding quiiiiite how he wants.

You take it in stride, laughing. “It’s alright, Spamton, really.”

“I INSIST!” he insists, hopping down from his chair and pushing it towards the sink.

“W-Well…I suppose it’s fair…I’ll get the couch set up for you, then,” you say, assuming he’ll want to turn in for the night after he finishes the dishes.

*

Spamton isn’t sure why you’re so keen on helping him, but…he also can’t afford to say no. He assumes he’ll be on his way tomorrow…even though he still doesn’t have an answer to the question you posed earlier.

To where?

He has no idea how to get back to the Dark World, and he gets the feeling he’s not exactly going to fit seamlessly into this one.

If he were more awake, anxiety would be gnawing at him, but even his anxieties are too tired for that right now.

He finishes the dishes, and despite his fatigue he does get them spotless as promised.

He hops down from the chair, forgetting to push it back to the table, and trudges tiredly into the living room.

Spamton stops, staring in surprise at what he sees.

Apparently your couch has a pullout bed, which you’ve set up with two blankets and a couple plush pillows, despite the fact that the couch itself had been more than big enough for him to sleep on. Hell, he could have scraped by with just one of those pillows to curl up on for the night.

“ALL THIS FOR [[ lil’ ol’ me ]]?” he asks, stunned as you finish fluffing the second pillow and toss it into place.

You shrug. “Sure, why not? I got a pullout couch for a reason,” you say. “Besides, the cushions were still damp, and the mattress is a bit more comfortable, I think.”

Spamton looks up at you uncertainly, his mouth opening and closing a couple times. Insisting that the couch is fine would only mean you having to re-fold the pullout bed. He runs a hand over the soft blankets, far cleaner and softer than any bedding he’s had in a long time. “[[ …thank you… ]]”

Your cheeks warm at the quiet sincerity in his tone. “No problem, Spamton…” you say softly. “I-I’ll um…see you in the morning, then?”

He hops onto the bed, scooting to the pillow and pulling the blanket back. “YES. OF COURSE, [[ doll ]].”

You nod, readily giving him his space and heading to your own room and climbing into your own bed.

You’d said he could stay for the night, but in reality, you have the same doubts Spamton does…and if anything, you have a more realistic idea of how unrealistic it is for him to just…leave and make his way in the world.

A conversation to have over breakfast, you suppose.

[thesewordsarelife]

Seraphim Lily | untitled diary entry from Antimimon Pneuma, 1922

[cuppasunu]

CUPPASUNU's WIPS ♡

in no particular order of priority!

some wips might be worked on or published first regardless of when i added them here <3 there's twelve of them rn good lord and these are just the ones with an actual plot, not including the ones that are barely a concept just because i want to write a specific trope. i already narrowed this list down to only include the ones i can actually see myself writing or have started brainstorming for...

4 out of 13 fics are not assigned to a particular member yet so if you have one in mind, feel free to share your ideas, reblog, comment, or send me an ask telling me who you think would fit that story.

if i can't reach to a final decision, i might put up a poll once i start seriously working on it! see the summaries and tropes under the cut

*aside from my event requests...

SEE ME IN A CROWN | sunwoo x reader

once in a convoluted entanglement, prince sunwoo and lady royal y/n detest each other. but as they are fond of what used to be, will they stand together in love, choosing to hold on even with the barriers they have been destined to face?

ongoing reconstruction phase, i plan to rewrite the story from the start, publish the whole fic in fewer parts (planned to maybe make it a oneshot but it would be too long)

TURNING PAGE | hyunjae x reader

lee hyunjae will not face death for the price of losing the love of his life at end of every lifetime, but he vows to find you and love you in every single one.

reincarnation au, still debating whether to make this a oneshot or multi-part series, bookstore owner!hyunjae x author!y/n, major character death (past lives), historical fiction, violence

SPRING SNOW (izzy's sunwoo fic) | sunwoo x reader

when pretending to be your sister during a blind date fails successfully

long oneshot! non-idol au, childhood friends to lovers, rich kid!sunwoo, family trauma, fake identity, mutual pining

ACTOR HAK FIC (ally’s hak fic) | haknyeon x reader

long oneshot! y/n and hak are co-actors where y/n is an actress who always falls in love (and get heartbroken) by her leading man. she vows to never fall in love with an onscreen partner ever again, but haknyeon appears. chaos ensues. cutie, adorable, fluffy, green-flag haknyeon but also hk actor hottie haknyeon :D

UNTITLED (but i like you) | sunwoo x reader

sunwoo has a crush and it’s driving him crazy

long oneshot! college au, strangers to lovers, will probably be my deobi derby entry, can’t reveal too much because of spoilers :D

STUPID LOVE AFFAIR | hyunjae x reader x sunwoo

semi-autobiographical story, separated in three parts for every year i spent in uni, unrequited love, in love with your best friend, failed talking stages

ARRANGED MARRIAGE FIC | member tbd x reader

set in an earlier time period, aristocratic families but not royal, y/n does not want this arrangement, but [insert member] is pursuing her, miscommunication trope but resolved quickly, think pride and prejudice only if lizzie and darcy were betrothed since the start

DO I DO? | younghoon x reader

two unlikely individuals enter in a serendipitous entanglement above the seas. one unexpectedly closing a chapter of her life and the other is forced to open the door chosen for him.

you meet [insert member] on a cruise and your lives are forever changed, marriage of convenience trope, will include heavy smut, fake that’s not really fake marriage, cheating (previous relationship)

DIVORCE SUPPORT GROUP FIC | younghoon x reader

crack!fic, humor, fluff,

two divorced people find love in their local divorced singles support group

WEDDING DATE FIC | member tbd x reader

what do you do if you see your old crush at your highschool reunion and the first thing he does is ask you to be his wedding date to his sister’s destination wedding? say yes, of course!

you previously went through a long phase of unrequited love, toxic dynamic kinda because [insert member] lowkey planned to use you as a pawn so his ex gets jealous but it backfires—he falls for you instead, plus his family loves you lol

EXES TO LOVERS FIC | sangyeon x reader

long oneshot! your ex gets relocated back to your city and it gets messy. oh and you’re neighbors too! angst with comfort, sexual tension, you’re both a huge pain in the ass towards each other and your poor coworkers…

DOCUMENTARY FIC | member tbd x reader

two film students are paired up to make a documentary about married couples and falls in love in the process, inspired by the documentary inserted throughout of when harry met sally (iykyk)

ISLAND FIC | member tbd x reader

celebrity!tbz member meets island girl!reader, a hotshot movie star visits your island for a long getaway after facing one of the greatest career downfalls the world has witnessed, healing fic, will include heavy mental health and dark themes, hurt/comfort

calling my taglist so you can have first dibs lol jk maybe...?

@carrotsworld @winterchimez @honeybeehorizon @sknyuz @bbangbies @from-izzy @jaehunnyy