#{ whatever the inquiry; know that you may come to me | ask response }

[faerunscursed]

I love how much love and detail you put into Wyll, really fleshing him out and adding so much character! At this point, you put more attention into him than even Larian does.

Honestly this I want to start off by saying this, as much as I appreciate Larian for giving us this beautiful man, the love they put in him is barely there!! Like they had some much potential in the EA times to make him something, and it was just kind of tossed aside. Yes, they added more background story to him, but they took so much more away. INCLUDING HIS DYNAMIC WITH MIZORA!

So when I started writing him, I set out to do what Larian hadn’t, gave him depth and nuance that he deserved. Especially in his history and how he behaves around certain people, *cough* ulder *cough*. I will literally go on rants about how much in game wyll should absolutely hate Ulder for shunning him out.

Admittedly I was afraid my changes and Headcanons would chase others away. That adding these darker aspect would make him unapproachable. I am so glad it hasn’t. It has truly surprised me how well people have taken to him; and luckily I am far from finished with his when it comes to adding more to him.

There is so much more I can go on, but I’ll keep it short and add one final note: LARIAN GIVE MY BOY MORE LOVE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HE IS A PRECIOUS BOI WHO DESERVES IT.

[talkdutchtome]

Glitch- chapter nine

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . endlessly sorry for how long its been, but i'm back now and we're straight back into tooth rotting fluff <3 )

The dull and familiar sound of the iphone ringtone pulled Y/N abruptly from her nap, she groggily reached for device that woke her so rudely, blinking away the remnants of sleep as she saw Reece's name on the caller ID. 

"Hey, Reece. What's up?" she mumbled, still half-asleep. 

"Hi, Y/N," came Reece's voice, surprisingly serious. "Did you seriously go to Monaco? With Max?" 

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "Um, yeah," she admitted, unsure where this line of questioning was leading. 

"Are we, like, real friends now? Not just, like, mutual friends through Mason?" Reece's question was direct, leaving no room for evasion. The haziness of her nap now long forgotten.  

Y/N hesitated, caught off guard by the abruptness of the inquiry. "I... I guess so," she replied tentatively. 

Reece didn't mince his words in response. "Does Max know that you and Mason slept together?" 

Y/N could literally feel her heart sink. She wasn't prepared for this confrontation, especially not with Reece, she didn’t even know how he knew about that. 

"I, uh... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, attempting to deflect. 

"Cut the bullshit, Y/N," Reece snapped, his usually easygoing demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic sharpness. 

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. She'd never heard Reece speak like this before, and it rattled her.  

"Okay, fine," she relented, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, he knows. He came to visit me that night and he could tell something was up and sussed it out, and we decided I should come to Monaco to give... whatever we have a chance. Away from M- away from distractions." 

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line, and Y/N braced herself for Reece's response. She couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability, exposed by Reece's penetrating questions. 

Finally, Reece spoke, his tone softer now. "I understand, Y/N. I hope you figure out what you want." 

As Y/N ended the call, she took a moment to collect herself, the weight of Reece's words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She knew she couldn't evade the consequences of her choices, no matter how much she wished she could. 

The soft knock on the door stirred Y/N from her reverie, and she quickly composed herself before answering. As Max entered, his concern was evident in the furrow of his brow and the gentle tone of his voice. 

"Hey, Y/N. How'd you sleep? Is the room okay for you?" Max inquired, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress. 

Y/N managed a small smile, grateful for his consideration. "I slept fine, thank you. And the room is lovely, really," she replied, her voice soft but genuine. 

Max nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response. "Good to hear. So, who were you talking to on the phone earlier?" he asked casually, his curiosity piqued. 

Y/N hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. "Oh, just Reece," she replied, hoping to brush off the conversation. 

Max arched an eyebrow, sensing her reluctance to elaborate. "What did he want?" he pressed gently, his gaze unwavering. 

Y/N swallowed hard, knowing she couldn't avoid the truth. "He... he was asking if it was true that I came here," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Max's expression softened at her words, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "Oh, how did he know that?" he inquired, his tone gentle but probing. 

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself for the admission. "Mason," she murmured, the name heavy with unspoken implications. 

The mention of Mason hung in the air like an unwelcome guest, casting a shadow over the room and injecting a palpable tension into the atmosphere. Y/N felt a knot form in her stomach at the mere sound of his name, a stark reminder of the complicated dynamics that had brought her here. 

For Max, the mention of Mason was like stumbling upon a hidden obstacle in an otherwise smooth path. He couldn't ignore the sudden shift in Y/N's demeanor, the subtle tensing of her shoulders and the guarded look in her eyes. It was a reminder of the delicate balance they were navigating, with Mason's presence looming large over their fledgling connection. 

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, each of them grappling with their own inner turmoil. Y/N struggled to reconcile her lingering feelings for Mason with the growing attraction she felt for Max, while Max found himself grappling with a sense of unease at the thought of his newfound connection being overshadowed by a past that seemed determined to intrude. 

Max sensed the discomfort radiating from Y/N like a tangible force, and he knew he had to act quickly to alleviate the awkwardness that had settled between them like a heavy shroud. With a subtle shift in his demeanor, he gently changed the subject, his voice carrying a note of reassurance as he reminded her of their upcoming dinner reservations. 

"Hey, um, so, about dinner," he began, his tone light and casual, "We've got reservations in about an hour. Thought we could grab a bite to eat and maybe explore the area a bit afterward. What do you think?" 

His words hung in the air, a lifeline tossed amidst the turbulent sea of emotions that threatened to engulf them. Max watched as Y/N's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of relief crossing her features at the prospect of shifting their focus away from the uncomfortable topic at hand. 

"Yeah, that sounds good," she replied, the tension in her voice easing as she welcomed the distraction Max offered. "I could use a nice meal right about now." 

Max offered her a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a silent understanding as he nodded in agreement. "Great. I'll let you get ready then. Just give me a shout when you're good to go, yeah?" 

Y/N nodded in response, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched Max make his way to the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, she couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his intuitive nature, for his ability to sense her discomfort and offer her a much-needed reprieve. 

As they drove to the restaurant, Y/N couldn't help but feel a twinge of intimidation as she took in the sleek interior of Max's car, a luxurious vehicle that spoke volumes about the extravagant lifestyle he led. She couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to live in a world filled with such opulence and grandeur, feeling a bit out of place amidst its lavishness. 

Upon arriving at the restaurant, however, her apprehension began to dissipate as she noticed the quaint charm of the place. It was a cozy little spot, far from the flashy extravagance she had expected, and she found herself feeling more at ease as they entered. 

They were greeted by a sweet, elderly couple who seemed to know Max well, exchanging warm greetings and friendly banter as if he were an old friend. Y/N couldn't help but smile at the genuine affection they showed him, feeling a sense of warmth wash over her as they complimented her appearance. 

"Max, my boy, you've outdone yourself this time! Who's this lovely lady you've brought with you?" the elderly gentleman chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he teased Max. 

Max chuckled sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush as he introduced Y/N to the couple. "This is Y/N, and she's far too good for the likes of me," he joked, though there was a sincerity in his voice that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. 

As they were led to their table, she couldn't help but notice the remnants of a slight blush on Max's cheeks, a sight that caused her heart to flutter with an unexpected surge of affection. Sitting across from him, she found herself captivated by the way his eyes sparkled with a hint of excitement, his smile lighting up the room as they settled in for their meal. 

During dinner, Max and Y/N found themselves immersed in a discussion about their respective childhoods, sharing stories and anecdotes that offered glimpses into their pasts. 

"So, Y/N, tell me about your family," Max prompted, his curiosity piqued as he leaned forward, eager to learn more about her background. 

Y/N's eyes sparkled with fond memories as she began to speak. "Well, I come from a big family," she started, a warm smile gracing her lips. "I have three siblings – two sisters and a brother – and we're all really close. Growing up, our house was always bustling with activity, and there was never a dull moment." 

Max listened intently, captivated by her description of a lively household filled with love and laughter. "That sounds wonderful," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "What was it like being the oldest?" 

Y/N chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "It definitely had its challenges," she admitted, "but it also taught me responsibility and the importance of looking out for others. I always felt like I had to set a good example for my siblings, and that's something that's stuck with me throughout my life." 

As their conversation continued, Y/N turned the spotlight on Max, asking him about his own family and upbringing. Max shared stories of his childhood, delving into what it was like to grow up in a very driven household, where he spent so much of his time as a kid karting and preparing for a career in Formula One.  

After their delightful dinner, Max suggested they visit Le Rocher, a spot where they could admire the breathtaking views of Monaco's old town. As they strolled along, Y/N couldn't help but be mesmerized by the picturesque scenery unfolding before her. 

"It's stunning," she breathed, her eyes sweeping over the panoramic vista. 

Max nodded in agreement, a soft smile playing on his lips. "This is one of my favorite places to come when I need a break from the racing world," he confessed. "Here, I can just be Max." 

Y/N listened, soaking in the tranquility of the moment as they shared a quiet conversation, the gentle evening breeze carrying their words away into the night. 

As they reached a particularly scenic spot, Max mentioned Daniel's persistent encouragement to start a jpeg Instagram account like his. "He's always on my case about it," Max chuckled, turning to face Y/N. "But I've been thinking... what do you say we do a little impromptu photoshoot?" 

Y/N's initial hesitation melted away at the sight of Max's infectious enthusiasm. "Sure, why not?" she replied with a grin. 

With Max behind the camera, they embarked on a playful photoshoot, capturing candid moments and genuine smiles against the backdrop of Monaco's twinkling lights. As they laughed and joked together, time seemed to stand still, and Y/N found herself immersed in the simple joy of being in Max's company. 

As the night wore on and the early hours of the morning approached, they reluctantly called an end to their impromptu adventure. But as they made their way back to Max's apartment, the memory of their laughter lingered, a testament to the undeniable connection they shared. And as they bid each other goodnight, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, in each other, they had found something truly special. 

Throughout the week in Monaco, Max and Y/N embarked on a series of adventures that seemed to draw them closer with each passing day. Max took her out on a yacht ride, where they basked in the warmth of the Mediterranean sun and marveled at the azure waters surrounding them. They went swimming and jet skiing, reveling in the exhilaration of the open sea. 

One evening, Max surprised Y/N by cooking dinner for her, showcasing his culinary skills with a delicious meal prepared with care. As they dined together, sharing stories and laughter, it felt like they were in their own little world, untouched by the complexities of reality. 

With each passing moment, the bond between them deepened, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging whenever she was with Max. In his company, she felt understood and cherished, as if being around each other was something that was meant to be. 

Despite the idyllic moments they shared, Y/N couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of Mason and the tangled web of emotions that still tied her to him. But in the midst of their blissful escapades, she found solace in the simple joy of being with Max, relishing the moments they spent together and cherishing the connection they shared. 

As race week descended upon Monaco, the tranquil days spent with Max swiftly transformed into a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. Y/N marveled at the seamless transition as Max shifted gears from the laid-back companion of the past week to the determined machine ready to conquer the race track. 

She observed Max navigate through a flurry of press events with effortless charm, amazed at how the sweet man she had grown fond of could seamlessly transform into a focused and driven athlete once he stepped into his race car. 

During practice sessions, Y/N stood in Max's garage, taking in the electrifying atmosphere as mechanics buzzed around, fine-tuning the car to perfection. She engaged in conversation with others in the garage, soaking in the insider's view of the Formula One world. 

When it was time for qualifying, Y/N found herself watching alongside Heidi, Daniel's girlfriend, forming a quick rapport with her as they cheered on their respective partners. The tension mounted as Max pushed the limits, eventually securing pole position in a stunning display of skill and determination. 

As Max emerged from the garage, triumphant and exhilarated, he sought out Y/N amidst the jubilant crowd. To her surprise, he pulled her into a spontaneous embrace, planting a kiss on her lips that left her head spinning. Caught off guard by the unexpected display of affection, Y/N could only watch as the cameras flashed around them, capturing the moment for the world to see. 

As Max hurried off to attend to his press obligations, Y/N remained in a daze, still reeling from the unexpected kiss and the flurry of attention that followed. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the bustling activity around her until her phone suddenly rang, jolting her back to reality. 

Glancing at the caller ID, she was immediately brought back down to earth. She could feel sick rise up to her throat, she found herself wanting the ground to come up and swallow her whole.  

Her phone remained ringing, a picture of her and her best friend filling the screen with the one name she didn’t want to see right now. Mason.  

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[princessanonymous]

Of Trials- Part 1/3 (Ask)

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Story Chapter list

This is from an ask someone sent to me privatly. I liked the idea so much that I decided to make multiples little chapters. I think I will write two other chapters after this one. Keep in mind that you'll need to read the main story, When Night Comes (Linked aboved) to understand this. :)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

Reading under a dimly lit candle was an activity Dorian quite enjoyed when he was on his own. It gave him a moment to ponder on things and relax. As the night wore on and the hours melted away, he found himself lost in contemplation, the outside world a mere whisper in the recesses of his mind. His husband and daughter, out attending to their nocturnal needs, left him to his own devices, a scenario he relished.

Soon, however, his moment of quietude was abruptly disturbed by a person knocking at the door downstairs. Startled from his reverie, he glanced at the clock, puzzled by the uncharacteristically early return of his family. Concern etched his features as he pondered the reason for their abrupt return. He wondered if perhaps something had happened. Before he could ponder further, a soft servant's voice echoed from below, announcing the presence of an unexpected visitor. Setting aside his beloved books, he rose from his comfortable armchair and made his way down the creaking stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the house.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of heartbeat. His senses on high alert, he tensed, his gaze narrowing as he assessed the stranger before him. The individual had yet to be invited in, but he knew that even an uninvited vampire was not to be trusted.

The woman's presence exuded an aura of refinement, her brown locks cascading gracefully around her face, which bore the hallmark crimson hue of a recent feeding. Despite the evidence of her nocturnal activities, she appeared immaculate, a testament to her self-discipline and restraint. Her poised demeanor hinted at years of experience, suggesting a vampire of considerable age and standing within their society. Yet, for all her apparent prestige, he found himself unable to recall encountering her at any of the prestigious gatherings that dotted their social calendar.

More striking, however, was the peculiar sensation stirring within him, a faint echo of recognition dancing at the edges of his consciousness.There was a form of familiarity there, he knew that woman. From where, he didn't know. And that was a scary thought.

He stood there in front of the door and she just looked at him and smirked, having seen a form of curious recognition in his eyes. "Leaving a guest outside, how impolite."

Summoning his resolve, he met her gaze squarely, his voice edged with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. "Who are you?" he demanded, his words echoing in the dimly lit foyer.

In response, she offered a chilling laugh, her demeanor unyielding in the face of his inquiry. Clenching his jaw in frustration, he awaited her response, steeling himself for whatever revelations lay ahead. "You may call me Elizabetta," she declared, her voice dripping with an icy arrogance that sent a chill coursing through him. "Your younger sister."

 It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath in the wake of her revelation. A sensation long forgotten, buried beneath the layers of his immortal existence, clawed its way to the surface, reminding him of the vulnerability that lingered beneath his immortal facade. His mouth went dry, parched as if he hadn't tasted blood in months. With each futile attempt to form words, his throat constricted, constricting like a vice around his vocal cords. Finally, in a barely audible whisper, he dared to voice the question that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"From the same sire?" he inquired, his voice barely more than a hoarse murmur. He cursed himself for stating the obvious, for grasping at straws in the face of this unsettling revelation.

She acquiesced curtly, "I was turned twenty two years after you. Mikhail took me in, taught me everything. May I come in? We have some matters to discuss."

The urge to slam the door shut, to banish this unwelcome intruder from his threshold, surged within him like a tide of fury. He harbored no desire to revisit the memories of his sire, to confront the horrors of his transformation that still haunted his darkest dreams.  Memories of the red glow in the night – the pain, the screams, and the thirst, and then the blood and rain on his shivering form – came flooding back in. 

Yet, somehow, with all that, he found himself inviting her in. With a grace that belied her vampiric nature, she stepped across the threshold, her presence casting a dark shadow over the once serene atmosphere of his abode. She looked around the entrance hall in wonder, appraising the manor critically. Seated in the tea room, the air thick with unspoken tension, they were served tea, a customary gesture of hospitality that she regarded with thinly veiled disdain.

"The food of mortals," commented his guest with a small sneer, "Whyever would you waste your time on such things, brother?" The taunting way in which she said the last word did not go unnoticed. She had been aware of his existence while he had never thought of this possibility. She tried to assert her dominance, even in his own home.

“I have the money to spend on such things,” he bit back easily, then he chuckled. “I suppose some aren’t as fortunate." His quip earned a sour grimace from his sis– the woman, a silent acknowledgment of his victory in their verbal sparring match. Yet, beneath her veneer of disdain, he sensed a simmering resentment, a jealousy that threatened to boil over at any moment.

As the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock, their gaze locked in a silent battle of wills. Dorian savored the taste of his tea, a calculated display of indifference in the face of her scrutiny. He set his cup down with a light clank and joined his hands together.

"While this meeting was pleasant, if you do not have anything to say to me – "

"What is so special about you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with bitterness as she voiced the question that seemed to have long plagued her thoughts.

He sneered, "What are you saying?"

"He speaks of you often, constantly, ‘My greatest creation.’ he says," she announced, jealousy contorted with her sharp features, "I have been present; you haven't. Why are you his favorite?"

Dorian's laughter rang hollow in the stillness of the room, a thin veil masking the unease that gnawed at the edges of his composure. The notion that their sire maintained a watchful eye over him sent a shiver down his spine, stirring dormant fears that he had long sought to suppress.

He put a hand on his chest. "Oh, dear sister," he cooed mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he feigned pity. "Is that it? Are you here because our oh so esteemed sire does not give you the attention you desperately crave?" His words, laced with false sympathy, cut through the tension like a knife, a calculated attempt to deflect her accusations.

She gritted her teeth angrily and clenched her fists. Dorian remained steadfast in his resolve, unwilling to be drawn into her petty grievances. "Why you?" she asked again.

"I am afraid you are simply inadequate," he said with a shrug. He loved the sight of her face turning red in rage. It was such a delightful thing to see. But as satisfying as her reaction might have been, Dorian knew that this confrontation served no purpose, that her presence in his home was an unwelcome intrusion. She held no information that should concern him. He wanted nothing to do with his sire, he wanted no reminder of him yet this woman was waltzing in to involve him in her irrelevant problems. "Leave " he ordered.

"You were never -"

"I don't care!" He finally snapped loudly, losing his composure and revealing more than he intended to, "He left me! I barely know anything about him!”

But before he could gather his thoughts, a voice cut through the tension, drawing his attention away from the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume him. Turning towards the sound, he found himself face to face with his beloved partner and their daughter, the unexpected sight grounding him in the present moment.

"Papa, who is that?" A small yet confident voice asked. He straightened himself and turned around in surprise. There stood his daughter (Y/n) and his partner placed protectively in front of her. Dorian hadn't even noticed their return.

"Oh, nobody starshine," he assured her. He sent a glare at the lady. "She will leave soon."

"So the rumors are true," commented the woman as she looked down at the small girl. 

"You indeed sired an immortal child." There was glee and triumph in her eyes.

At these words, Killian whispered something in the girl’s ear and (Y/N) opened her mouth to argue, but he sent her a look before leaving the room soon after. Dorian sent him a thankful look; this should not concern (Y/n).

"Leave at once," he repeated once again with more insistence.

“It is a good thing, I suppose, that I had preemptively warned the Night Council about this. You have been summoned to appear in front of them for the crime of siring an immortal child," she declared, her tone devoid of remorse as she extended the damning missive towards him.

As the letter changed hands, Dorian felt a surge of dread wash over him, a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

[altocat]

Back at it again at Krispy Kreme!

Ok, so I’m just sharing some more alternate EC chapter 5 translation insight with you guys since people definitely seem curious. Um…small notice, I am still trying to paraphrase what my friend has tried to explain to me, so if I make any mistakes that someone uncovers later, I do apologize in advance.

An interesting Japanese tidbit in the beach scene where Seph says that it’s his first “field mission” helps us get a clearer picture of what he means.

In Japanese, he says that he “has never had much contact with people and this is his first real battle/first time on a real battlefield, so he doesn’t know what he is doing.”

I suppose this confirms that he hasn’t been exactly on the frontlines, although there is that info blob from the Crisis Core guide about him having been “on the frontlines of battle” since before he was ten years old. My guess is that this is either Shinra propaganda, or else it refers to his training, which would still be referred to as “battle,” I guess. He clearly states that he learned to kill without hesitation throughout his training, so whatever they were throwing at him, it was basically “real” but in a controlled environment, perhaps.

Also, when he says “Nothing, it’s never going to happen anyway,” about living a normal life, it reads in Japanese more as “I don’t care anymore/It doesn’t matter, it’s never going to happen.”

It seems like a direct reference to the Nibelheim scene where he laughs off the questions about his parentage because “What does it matter?”

He has really lost heart about both things, but it’s obvious he still cares.

Also. When Sephiroth says that he knows asking about his everyone about his mother isn’t “cool,” Glenn laughs and says “You know it, haha!” which seems fairly translated in the English, but what may be missing is the nuance of Sephiroth’s next response.

He basically says, “Yeah, that’s everyone’s reaction,” but it comes off like he is referring to Glenn’s laughing and dismissal. Basically, we get the impression that people tend to mock Sephiroth’s inquiry because it’s supposedly childish, like a kid lost in a supermarket asking for their mom.

My friend really thinks it’s because of his hero status, i. e., people laugh at the idea of this young super solider asking about something so “normal?” She also suspects it’s a bit of a reference to the fanbase’s joking about Sephiroth’s obsession with his mother in general. Both in-game and in the actual world, Sephiroth is not really seen as human, so people are amused or fascinated when he shows glimpses of it…or else they dismiss it.

The Japanese version of that photo scene apparently gets this message across better. Seph is used to being laughed off or dismissed when asking about his mother. I also would not be surprised if Hojo was someone that laughed at him over it a lot.

Once again, sorry for extra pain, but we may be getting the idea that it wasn’t just a general “Don’t ask about your mother” vibe at Shinra for Sephiroth, but also a long history of people mocking the question. Poor kid. (I will share a few more translation details soon).

Hhhhhh these are SO interesting.

For Seph's training, I'm of the mind that they've probably been having him undertake mock skirmishes/drills under a controlled setting, as you mentioned. Sephiroth has apparently already been killing, so it wouldn't surprise me if they've been plucking enemies for him to slay while still in their custody. Interesting that it contradicts CC's lore. But at the same time, that could have all been propaganda. It's reasonable to assume that Sephiroth's training was likely extremely psychologically warping, and, for him, as real as an actual battle considering he's developed a paranoia and survival instinct. Shinra is so fucked up.

His line about not wanting to be a hero sounds WAY more checked out in the Japanese dialogue here. He sounds completely hopeless.

The Mother stuff...ASDFGHJFDGHBFDX

Keep these coming! They're really enhancing the context of these scenes!

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 30

#30- Past Prompt of Your Choice! (2022 #17- Fainting/Syncope)

“Hey, FRIDAY!” Peter chirped as he entered into the private elevator that took him and anyone Mr. Stark deemed cool enough to the private floors. “Is Mr. Stark back in the penthouse yet or has Dr. Cho decided to punish him and keep him longer for ruining her Saturday off for making her come in to fix him up?”

AI or not, Peter was sure he could hear a smile in her response. “I am afraid Boss is still recovering in the med bay, much to his irritation, though I am certain that a visit from you would cheer him up. Shall I take you to directly to the floor?”

Peter leaned against the elevator hand rail, let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes, just to rest them for a minute. “That sounds great, FRIDAY, thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” the doors closed as she replied.

 “Whoa,” Peter jolted and threw his arms out for balance as the elevator started its normally steady ascent. “Is something wrong with the elevator, FRIDAY?” Peter asked, “The take off is usually a little more... smooth? No offense intended or anything.”

“None taken, Peter, however your inquiry along with your physical response to the elevator’s operation has initiated an automatic system-wide analysis which has just completed. Results do indicate that all systems are running at optimal efficiency. The elevator is fine.”

“Oh? Weird.” Peter answered back, not really having the energy to be bothered by the anomaly. “Thanks for checking that out, I guess?”

But FRIDAY didn’t let it go. “I would be ignoring my additional programming if I did not suggest that the balance issue could have something to do with your obvious fatigue. As well, if you take into account yesterday’s conflict, perhaps it would be advisable to have medical personnel do a quick check up while you visit with Boss? Shall I contact Dr. Cho and make the necessary arrangements for you?”

Peter shook his head. Taking a few deep breaths was already helping him to feel steadier, “Nah, I’m all good, but thanks for thinking of me... I mean...?” Did FRIDAY actually think of him, Peter wondered, or—the elevator arrived at the med bay floor and the doors opened before him—thoughts for another day, he guessed. “Have an awesome afternoon, FRIDAY. I’ll see you later!”

“Thank you, Peter.” FRIDAY replied and the elevator doors closed behind him. 

He made his way down the hall, his mind already letting go of the oddity of what had happened in favour of rehearsing what he could talk to Mr. Stark about. And like always, he prayed to whatever deity that he wouldn’t embarrass himself or bug the man anymore than Peter was sure he would. 

“Hello, Mr. Stark! How are you doing this beautiful afternoon?” Peter waved big, then smiled bigger, making a mental note that the AI had been accurate in her assessment of the man in the med bay bed.

“Oh, don’t be all sunshine and puppy farts to me, Mr. Parker.” Mr. Stark scowled. “And do not get me started on the mistreatment I’ve suffered here under the guise of ‘medical care’...” but apparently he had gotten started, “Can you believe that Cho has decided, in her grand omnipotence, to deny me... ME! coffee because it MAY interact with my pain meds... and the antibiotic that I’m on...”

Peter couldn’t help but stare. He knew the man had a bit of a caffeine addiction but—

Mr. Stark sighed, “... and my blood pressure medication.”

Peter snort laughed.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Mr. Stark apparently did too, as he realized his own ridiculousness, “To make matters worse, I dropped my Sudoku just before you came in here and haven’t been able to muster up the motivation to ask someone to come and pick it up for me because I’m still mad about the coffee thing.” Mr. Stark went full ham at this, smiling sweetly as he batted his eyelashes. “Peter, my dear, sweet intern, you wouldn’t happen to know someone who could help me out of this conundrum, would you?”

Peter huffed as he shook his head in amusement and leaned over to grab the book. This man was going to be the—

Peter had only blinked, he was sure. He heard the clatter of his shoulder falling into the metal frame of the bed Mr. Stark lay upon, and the man’s shouts as Peter mumbled that he was okay... he was okay... he was...

And Peter knew no more.

/-/-/

“I’m so embarrassed,” Peter grumped as he flung his arm across his pale face. “Stuck in bed because I swooned like a... like a...” Peter’s brain just couldn’t catch the words he needed.

“Relax, Pete,” Mr. Stark tried to comfort him. “I mean, if you’re going to pass out, there’s no better place than to do it than an already fully staffed med bay while you’re literally visiting little ol’ me.”

“Woulda’ stayed home if I knew this was gonna happen,” the boy muttered, then ignored Mr. Stark’s responding scowl. “It’s not fair. You’re the one who decided to play dodgeball with an alien and then break a leg in two places. I didn’t even get hurt... so not cool.”

“Well, maybe, maybe not, right? Only time will tell.”

Peter huffed in frustration. Could he be any more of an irritant?

“Relax, kid. They’re called aliens for a reason so who knows what mysterious diseases those things were potentially carrying. We’ll hang out while we wait for Dr. Cho to get May’s permission to come and grab a blood sample and do your work up, and then when it all comes back as Peter-normal, you can tell me you told me so and then abandon me for the amazing world beyond those med bay doors.”

Peter almost felt bad for Mr. Stark as he said that, stuck in bed with his leg casted and propped up with way too many pillows, and then, “Unless you do actually have some exotic alien disease and then I’ll be thinking of you while I sell off all of your video games so I can rent me a new intern.”

Peter rolled his head to look over to his mentor and glared. “I remember when I respected you, Mr. Stark,” then Peter sighed. “But it’s fine. I think May’s helping in surgery today, though so it may be a bit. And if I’m going to be stuck here, I may as well catch a nap.” Peter shifted onto his side, punched at his pillow, yanked his blanket up over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Yup, Peter thought to himself, a nap sounded perfect.

/-/-/

Peter couldn’t have been sleeping long when he woke to the sound of yelling and chaos. His eyes automatically flew to the bed next to him, afraid that something had gone wrong with Mr. Stark while he’d rested, but no—even Mr. Stark had propped himself up on his elbows and was staring beyond him to the hallway with the same confused look as Peter.  

“Wha’s happenin’?” Peter asked, still groggy.

Mr. Stark looked over to him and shook his head, “I’m pretty sure I just watched Clint being rolled down the hallway on a gurney with Nat following behind screaming something about Clint playing with bows and arrows inside the house like a six year old, and the next time he picked up his kit, he’s going to find straws and suction cups instead? Ugh.” Mr. Stark ran a hand down his exhausted face. “I hate translating Russian. It always sounds a little clunky to me, but oh, well.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You caught all of that... but... wait! You speak Russian, too?”

“Well, yeah.” Mr. Stark seemed to revel in Peter’s confusion. “What? Like it’s hard?”

Peter’s soul left his body for a moment. “Um, did you just quote...?”

Mr. Stark laughed, “Kid, there are depths to me that you’ll never know...”

And Peter believed him. In fact, Peter loved that he was getting to see the real Tony Stark, not just the man who put on an act in front of all the celebrity reporters and dickhead politicians who were forever calling him out for one stupid thing or another. Granted, Peter was still confused as to how someone as cool as Mr. Stark could even tolerate hanging around with someone as, well, Peter-like as him, but it was all good. Peter had some pretty amazing acting skills, too, even if he said so himself. He could make like he wasn’t terrified that Mr. Stark would call him out as a fraud and ban him from the tower, or that he wasn’t okay after being bullied and beaten at school every day, or exhausted from the nightmares of Ben- or the Vulture- or the both of them, or that his stomach wasn’t trying to eat itself from the ever-constant hunger because it was his fault that money was too tight and Ben was dead...

 Yup, Peter could hide his true self and all his imperfections easily enough...

But Peter caught himself before he drifted too far off and chuckled back at Mr. Stark’s reply, “I’m getting that.”

Dr. Cho rushed past their door.

“Oh.” Peter looked back over to Mr. Stark. “I think I’ll be waiting a while to get that blood work done, hey?”

Mr. Stark nodded and settled back into his pillows, “We suspected as much... unless something changes, so you might as well settle in, bud. Cho got what she needed from May and said she’d pop by when you woke up, but it would seem her attention has been diverted to elsewhere for the time being.”

Peter just smiled. “I guess but,” Peter caught sight of the clock on the wall. “Gosh. It’s getting late and I told Aunt May that I’d be home early to get my homework done.” Peter tossed back the blanket still covering his legs and swung himself around to sit on the edge facing Mr. Stark. “I promised to text her and everything.”

“Kid,” Mr. Stark sat back up again, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why don’t you relax, and we’ll get one of the nurses in here to take care of things. I mean, Cho will be heartbroken that someone else got to play with her favourite patient, but at least we can make sure you’re alright before you leave. How does that sound?”

Peter gnawed at his lip. “It’s Sunday night, Mr. Stark. Aunt May has a standing order from my favourite Thai place on Sunday night... even if she’s working, and besides, I really do have a load of homework waiting for me that I should have done yesterday before...” Peter trailed off and his eyes fell onto Mr. Stark’s leg.

“Before all the real fun started? Sorry, Pete. There was no planning for this, but Aunt May already knows you’re here, right? We can always call and cancel your order for today if you’re worried about it—plus you know we’ll feed you here. And besides all that, what do you think she’d say if she knew you left before getting you checked out after passing out?”

Peter gulped, “Wait. Aunt May knows that I—?” he couldn’t even say the word. He was already such a pain in the ass. She was going to worry and—

Mr. Stark shifted his body as much as he could to face Peter, “Buddy? You knew this, remember? Cho called May about the blood work? She was waiting for you to wake up?” He looked concerned, “I was going to sell your video games?”

Peter tried to think back, felt his cheeks heat as the memories of their conversations came back to him. “oh.” His breathing picked up a little. “Sorry. I do remember...” He ran his free hand through his hair as he tried to calm down. “I think I’m just losing track ‘cuz  of the nap.”

“Hey, Petey?” Peter missed his mentor inconspicuously press the call button for the nurse’s desk lying at his side. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Is something up? You’re worrying me a little.”

“I just—” Gosh, he was feeling weak—jittery—from that scare. “I don’t want to be a bother to anyone so I’m gonna go—” Peter slid off the side of the bed, kept a steadying hand on the mattress while he waited for the worst of the shakiness to pass. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Peter exhaled hard. “You have no idea, Mr. Stark. I’ll get out of your hair now—I’ll see you on...” Peter let go of the railing, took a step and—

/-/-/

“Whoops!” A pair of strong arms caught Peter under the arms as his knees buckled and his eyes rolled back and fell shut. “I gotcha,’ kid.”

Tony fell back into the bed in relief. “Holy shit, Cap! I don’t know where you came from, but nice catch!”

“Thanks,” Steve shifted, then crouched to bring an arm up under Peter’s knees to lift him more comfortably, “The nurses were a little busy keeping Nat from murdering Clint so when I heard the call button, I figured I’d come and see if I could help with whatever you needed,” Steve looked down at the kid in his arms, “I guess I could.” Steve looked over his shoulder at the rumpled med bay bed. “Do I even bother trying to guess where I should be placing him?”

Tony let out an almost hysterical laugh. “Oh, the grey hairs this kid is gonna give me!” He gestured toward the bed, “Yes. That is exactly where he is supposed to be... and where he’d better stay! Geez! I have half a mind to get you to find some restraints for him.”

Ignoring Tony’s rant for the moment, Steve did some fancy manoeuvring and managed to get Peter back on the bed and nestled safely under the covers. “There. Now, how’s about I go and find an actual nurse for you instead?” Steve turned back to face Tony. “They may have a better plan of action than yours.”

Tony snorted. “I’m sure.”

Steve simply smiled. “I’ll do that then,” Steve reached out and gave Tony’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Is there anything I can help with that you need?”

“If you’d have asked me an hour ago, I’d have gotten you to pick up my Sudoku and then none of us would be in this mess, but now? I’m good.” Tony replied, his standard bravado in play. “But thanks for asking.”

Steve stared for second, then leaned to scoop the puzzle book up off the floor. Tossing it casually onto Tony’s bed, Steve nodded, “Done. I’ll get a nurse in here right away then.”

“Perfect.”

Steve made to leave the room when Tony grabbed his arm, “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

 The facade was gone for this briefest of moments, “Really. Thanks for catching the kid. He’s...”

Steve just nodded, suddenly getting what should have been so obvious for witnessing all of their interactions. “He’s your kid.”

“Yeah,” A look of relief passed across Tony’s face as his teammate and friend got it. “He is.”

/-/-/

“Ugh.” Peter shifted a little, trying to get comfortable in his bed, but had no luck. He shifted a little more, finally making his way up onto his left side, only to find himself tangled into an—

“Wha—?” Peter fell onto his back as he fought and failed to sort out the leads attached to his hospital gowned body.

“Wha- is right.” Mr. Stark piped up from the next bed over. “And I’d stop messing with all those wires or Dr. Cho is going to have some very choice words for you.”

Peter froze, closed his eyes, and then dropped his hands to his side in defeat. “Ugh.”

“As eloquent as ever, I see,” Mr. Stark teased, “but seriously, kid. Stay still. I’ve already hit the call button again and I’m guaranteed that this time an actually medical person will show up.”

And if Peter wasn’t already confused, “What does that even mean?”

Mr. Stark chuckled quietly, “That means I have blackmail material for a future date, now hush and be a good patient. I think I hear someone coming.”

Peter’s attention turned to the door as Dr. Cho walked into the room. She smiled over at Mr. Stark quickly before turning her attention to him. “Mr. Parker,” she addressed him as warmly as she usually did when he was an unfortunate occupant of the medical floor, “We have two matters of business to address and then we can get down to business, okay?”

Peter nodded dumbly. What did that even mean?

“Perfect,” she grabbed a stool from the corner of the room and rolled it up to Peter’s bedside. “Now, the most important matter to discuss— Did you know how much of a jerk your Aunt’s boss is?”

Mr. Stark barked a laugh even as Peter blinked in confusion, and then sighed. “Yeah, I do.” Peter groaned as he asked, “Did he even let you talk to her? Sometimes he won’t even get messages to her until the end of her shift, and by then it’s too late, so why even bother, you know?”

Dr. Cho took hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze, “Well, I can tell you that I did speak with her... and you shouldn’t have issue with that everagain either, so you are aware.” The glint in her eye told him that something big had gone down behind the scenes. “And while she knows what’s going on, she’s apparently working the surgery unit today and can’t be pulled away.”

Peter was clear enough that he remembered that much and nodded. “I know.” Sometimes, being the kid of someone in the healthcare industry meant sacrifice.

“But she asked me to tell you that she loves you and that you are to listen to what the doctor tells you.”

Peter smiled shyly, “Okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Dr. Cho pulled her hand away, patting it gently, then tapped at something on the screen of the tablet she produced from her lab coat pocket. “The second point of discussion is simple semantics,” she looked over Peter to Mr. Stark. “While May Parker cannot be here in person, she is asking that you act in her stead, Tony. She trusts that you’ll be able to make the appropriate decisions on her behalf and expects to have a serious discussion about becoming official co-parents in the coming days.”

Now it was Mr. Stark’s turn to be confused. “What?”

Dr. Cho simply looked at him and grinned big, “Congratulations, Tony. It’s a boy.”

Peter found it funnier than it probably was in actuality, given that Dr. Cho almost never joked with him and he was still way too tired to be dealing with anything, so slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering seemed the best solution.

Mr. Stark glared and waggled a finger at him from his own bed. “Keep it up, Petey. I’m pretty sure she just said I’m the boss of you, and you know what that means, don’t you?”

Peter didn’t know how to answer.

“Brussel sprouts, kid. You get nothing but brussel sprouts while your under my roof.”

Peter giggled again, which seemed to be Mr. Stark’s goal judging from the satisfied smile he was wearing.

To Dr. Cho, Mr. Stark replied, “Fine. I accept... even if it means extra visits with the scary aunt.” He shifted in his own bed, “I see that tablet there. Do I need to sign something?”

Dr. Cho was up and walking around to Mr. Stark in a flash, even as she explained things to Peter. “Now, it’s pretty obvious that we went ahead and did that blood draw and a general assessment while you were unconscious. I’m sorry about that,” she didn’t sound at all apologetic. “But—” Mr. Stark signed off with a flourish as she spoke, “with it being your second episode, I had to make the call, so—”

“So.” Mr. Stark repeated as he handed back the tablet, “Tell us, Dr. Cho. What’s going on with the illustrious Peter Parker over here?”

Peter knew that her smile was supposed to be disarming, but that didn’t stop the feeling of dread when her heard her say, “Some of your blood work results were a little confusing. Would you be willing to fill in some information for me?”

/-/-/

He should have said ‘no.’

But Penis Parker, cry baby, imposter hero, killer of uncles and parasite to every person who’d decided he was falsely worth something, well, he doesn’t say no, now does he?

Stupid- stupid- stupid.

And how hard would it have been, really? He was fifteen, and allowed to have a say in his medical care, right? He should have asked to wait until Aunt May was available and then, with her work schedule, and everything else going on in the world, she would have forgotten about it entirely—eventually—or at least until a time when Peter Parker could figure out a way to be less pathetic.

“Come on, Pete.” Mr. Stark tried coaxing him out from under the blankets he’d shoved over his head as the questions from Dr. Cho had became more and more invasive.

(“Are you getting enough to eat, Peter?” Dr. Cho asked as she looked at his blood test results. “There are some significant deficiencies being flagged here and I’m concerned.”)

“Peter, please.” Tony was sounding frustrated.

(“Do you have issues with eating in general, Peter?” Dr. Cho asked as she requested Peter lower the hospital gown, only to reveal his protruding ribs. )

“We need to talk about this, buddy.” he pleaded, then cussed, “Damned leg!”

(“Is your aunt aware that this is such an extreme issue, Peter?” Dr. Cho almost accused.)

“And no one’s in trouble, I promise. You said that May doesn’t know, and we believe you, but we need to make a plan to fix this, is all!”

(“Hold on? Are these bruises from the battle yesterday, Peter? Why do they look older than what we have noted in your file, Peter?” Dr. Cho had realized. “Is someone hurting you? At home? No? At school then?”)

“Please, Peter. All we—all I want to do is help—all I’ve ever wanted to do was help.” Mr. Stark’s voice cracked.

He’d been able to ignore the man’s pleas up until that point, and then—well, had Mr. Stark sounded almost as broken as Peter?

Peter was getting hot under the blankets.

“—If that means we’re moving you and your Aunt into the tower while we figure out the whole metabolism thing so we can guarantee you have enough, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll pay your rent. I’ll replace your backpacks and textbooks and all that other stuff, okay? And I’ll even do the talking when we tell your Aunt everything even though you know how terrified I am of her and would rather Pepper do it.”

Peter ran a hand down his face, wiping away his tears.

“And—shit!” Mr. Stark had an epiphany. “Does that mean we need to worry about pain meds, too? Peter? Oh, shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! May really is going to kill me! How could I have not considered! Cap is the same way! Dammit all! I’m going to have to call Bruce. We’ll have to get—wait!—I’m getting ahead of myself here.” Mr. Stark took a deep breath. “Just-- we need to communicate about stuff like this. No one wants you to suffer, Roo!”

Peter froze, and his breath caught. Even the thickness of his blankets couldn’t muffle it.

Then Tony whispered a quiet, “oh,” in response. “Roo? Just hang on a minute, ‘kay?”

Peter heard Mr. Stark depress the call button and it chiming down the hallway.

Peter then heard the nurse’s footsteps come down the hallway and enter the room. “Is everything all right in here, Mr. Stark?” she inquired.

“Yes, everything is fine.” Peter could even hear his smile. “I’m just hoping we can find a way to move this bed right next to that bed, is all. The kid needs a bit of a snuggle and I’m a bit stuck, as you can see.”

She didn’t verbally reply, but Peter could hear her footsteps again as she called another staff member to assist as they navigated squeaky breaking systems and sticky wheels. Eventually, the two beds and medical equipment were repositioned as requested.

A whispered, “thank you,” from Mr. Stark, and the nurse left the room, closing the door behind her.

No one said anything for a minute or two, and then Mr. Stark cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’m going to shimmy on over a little bit, if that’s okay with you?”

Peter said nothing.

“Okay- okay- I can work with that. Don’t want to be creepy, right? And I am one hundred and fifty million percent about the consent. So—I am shimmying less than I had originally planned,” Mr. Stark was making a physical effort from the sound of it, “but I will only be shimmying to the edge of my bed.”

Peter heard some rustling.

“And there. Now, buckle up, kid, ‘cause it’s story time. I’ve been thinking about some stuff while you were sleeping, so I’m gonna tell you some things, and I hope you hear what I’m saying because I should have said this awhile ago.”

This was the moment Peter had been bracing for. It was over—no more lab days, no more suit—

And then Tony spoke. “You, Peter Parker, are a good... no, an amazing kid— and I, Tony Stark, am—” he paused, seemed to be looking for a particular word, then continued, “as invested in Peter Parker as I am in Spider-Man, if not more so... and I am so damned sorry for our rough start.

“I am embarrassed that I haven’t taken the time to get to know you well enough that you’d feel safe coming to me with things, because from what I can see of you, you deserve every good thing—and that includes having enough to eat, to be pain free—and I know I can’t control all of the Spider-Man stuff, but if you’re being bullied at school, please- please- please! Know that I revel in destroying the lives of dickheads... ask Pepper. I’m not even lying a little bit.

“And believe it or not, I know what it’s like to not want to be seen—to talk, so I’m not even gonna ask—but I’m putting my hand out here, kid, and if you’ve heard me, I’m gonna ask you to take it, please.”

He contemplated not, Peter did, but it felt cruel to ignore all that Mr. Stark had said. And he hadn’t asked if he believed him, only heard.

And Peter had heard, and maybe even hoped a little for the first time since they’d watched Uncle Ben being lowered into the ground.

Peter’s hand crept forward.

Mr. Stark’s breath caught. “I see you, Peter. I see.”

And Peter’s hand slid out from the safety of the dark, and thought that maybe... just maybe, Mr. Stark did.

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 26: Into the Basement

Dad was in the living room, walking towards the front door when we came through. He stopped mid stride.

I curiously tilted my head. "Where did you go?"

"I was setting up something," he said without further detail. I nodded like I understood, but I wasn't certain what he had meant.

Talo commented that he missed quite the fight outside. "You might want to check on whatever protective measures you have around the cabin to keep things out."

Unfazed, Dad said, "I am the protective measures."

"Right..." they trailed off.

I asked Dad if we had any tents or basic camping supplies tucked away somewhere around the house that we would be able to have, and--as suspected--we did. Dad raised a curious eyebrow at the question, though. "Ours burned down," I explained.

"What happened?"

"The tent was struck by lightning."

His second eyebrow joined the first. Dad repeated his question. Talo described the series of thunder bursts they had heard during their watch. Like in my dream, the first few hadn't been ushered in by the usual flash of lighting across the sky.

"Verca's theory is that Da's shield was specifically struck," I added.

Verca raised finger. "I stand by that."

Without going into too much detail, I explained what happened during my dream after Da left--including the gruff-sounding entity that that had disapproved of my inquiries about the Allseer before changing the color of the stone in the shield. Talo frowned the way they do when they're thinking particularly hard about something.

They asked if the shield was different.

I looked down at the unscratched metal still fastened to my left arm. When training with Da, I had assumed the pristine surface--despite the countless blows it had absorbed--was the result of how well he cared for it. Now, I wondered if the natural resiliency of magic items had more to do with it. Even if it wasn't true, I liked to think both were responsible.

"It felt the same during the fight," I said.

Their face remained scrunched in thought. "May I Identify it?"

I took the shield off and handed it to them. Ten minutes later, they looked dissatisfied. "I expected at least its name to have changed, but no. Nothing," Talo said. Dad commented that magical items weren't quite that simple. They weren't content with that explanation, either.

Before doing anything else with the rest of the day, we took some time to recuperate and regather ourselves. We were all achy and tired from the fight. I plopped onto the couch, and Verca sat beside me. Meanwhile, Talo set up their alchemy supplies to brew a potion. 

After enough time doing nothing and sitting in silence, Kaemon was bored. Siting on my lap, he tapped and pecked at Verca's arm until he earned his attention.

"Why are you pecking me?" Verca asked.

I apologized, gently wrapping two hands around his body to pick him up. "He gets antsy sometimes. Maybe try petting him?" I held Kaemon out, and Verca ran a few fingers over the top of his head. Appeased, Kaemon relaxed. I returned him to his perch on my shoulder.

As a group, we tried to discuss what to do next--especially now that we had faced whatever had been sent after us. We couldn't come to a consensus, however.

I didn't know if anyone had anything they were particularly interested in, but to fill time, I offered the plethora of books around the house. Most of the walls around the cabin were lined with shelves that Dad had filled to the brim. Talo perked at the idea. Most of the books were in Dad's office; I glanced around the room for Dad to ask if they could look around, but he wasn't in the room anymore. None of us had seen him leave. 

I looked at the rug in the center of the living room.

Before saying anything, I walked down the hall and knocked on Dad's door. No answer. I knocked outside his office. Nothing. I even checked the guest room before coming back to Talo and Verca.

"Are we going into the basement?" Talo asked, grinning as I crouched and threw back the rug to reveal the trap door. This time it was closed.

I half expected the door to be locked, but it opened without resistance. Peering down the chute that housed the ladder, I didn't see any traps below; however, I did find a bell and string fastened to the edge of the opened door. It was surprising that we hadn't heard the bell jingle.

Talo panicked after I pointed it out. "We need to go. Now." They stepped towards the door, ready to bolt. "That was an Alarm spell."

I was not familiar with the spell by name, but it felt self-explanatory. We were already there, though. And Dad had to know that this would have been on our radar. If he hadn't been out of the cabin, I would have been doing this in the middle of the night--possibly alone--, and that probably would have been a much worse situation if he was randomly notified when everyone should have been asleep.

I went down.

Verca was right behind me. And despite their distress, Talo followed, too.

When we gathered in a small group at the bottom of the ladder, I had anticipated needing to create a source of light for Talo, but in another difference compared to my dream, the basement was illuminated by a series of lights that ran along each wall.

Standing amongst the covered shapes that came in all sizes, the room was more crowded than last night; I felt small in comparison.

I stepped up to the closest shape and pulled back the sheet. There was a table underneath. Atop the table sat a large stack of boxes arranged like a pyramid. The sheet was thick and heavy--more like a tarp than the bedsheets I initially expected; with how tall the stack of boxes was, I didn't trust my ability to replace the sheet if I took it off. Instead, moved to one of the smaller shapes on the other side of the room.

Again, I found a stack of boxes, but this one was much smaller and easier to navigate. Careful not to tip the stack, I pulled off the sheet and set it on the ground.

Pulling back the flaps of the topmost box, I wasn’t sure what I anticipated finding, but it wasn't a series of art pieces. Mostly pencil sketches, but a few were delicate paintings--all of them portraits. The people in them reminded me of Dad, albeit more feminine.

Talo curiously looked into the box with me. "Who are they? Family?"

"I don't know," I said, still staring at the foreignly familiar faces and wondering what their importance was to Dad. They were near hypnotizing. "He's never talked about any family."

As a group, we spread out to check the other boxes in reach; they were all filled with portraits--each one similar but distinct. I was confident they were all different people.

I turned a sketch over, wondering if there might be any information written on the back.

Mara, 15.

"What does the fifteen mean?" Talo asked.

"Her age, probably," I said.

Talo put out the theory that these were records of different generations across the history of Dad's family.

With all of the boxes near the floor coming up with the same contents, I looked back to the pyramid on the table. We'd probably be out of time soon; there was a tug in my chest that had to see if there was anything else down here.

Talo offered to try something they thought might help move the heavy sheet. Wisps like the ones that rose when they spoke gathered around their hand, which they lifted like a puppeteer. An invisible force ahead of them tugged at the sheet, but it stayed in place.

Dad likely already knew we were down here. Putting the sheet perfectly back in place when we were done probably shouldn't have been our highest priority. I called for Verca's help, remembering his strength. Together, we flung the sheet off the pyramid.

Pulling a box from the bottom felt like it would guarantee everything above it would fall to the ground. I lifted a leg to stand on the table so I could reach the top; before I could pull myself up, though, hands--warm, Verca--were on my waist, lifting.

The hands pulled away, and my weight shifted back into my feet atop the table.

Creaking. Then cracking. Wood split and splintered, and--with one final crunchy snap--the table broke into pieces beneath the added pressure. Like the boxes that fell around me, I crashed to the ground onto a pile of angular debris. I hoped nothing packed away had been fragile.

Without bothering to get up, I reached for the nearest box and pulled it onto my lap. I pushed the flaps apart, peering inside. No portraits. Journals--the edges of some more visibly worn or discolored than others, although they all looked old--of different sizes were neatly organized in horizontal stacks.

Something buzzed near my ear. I shook my head, trying to shoo away whatever fly or bug had gotten too close. In doing so, I looked to the side and saw Dad standing at the edge of the mess I had made on the floor. So not a fly, I thought to myself, guessing that he had probably been with us the entire time.

Dad reached down and took the box from me.

"I'm guessing you disappeared to give us an opportunity to come down here?" I asked.

"I had."

A renewed sense of guilt pooled in my stomach for having broken his table and making a mess of his things.

I studied the box as he set it down at his feet, wondering what I might have found in those notes if I'd had the chance to open even one booklet. "Are the journals yours or someone else's?"

"That box was mine, I believe," he said.

"I'm guessing I'm not going to get the chance to read any of them."

Dad shook his head. "Those are private. Not even your mother got to read them."

Silence, thick like swamp water, filled the gap in conversation. I don't think any of us truly knew what to say. Coming down here, we had anticipated some level of scolding for our snooping, but now there was just a sensation of unspoken sadness--not necessarily at what we had done but from the memories of what we had been allowed to find. There were questions that wanted to be asked but felt wrong to voice, which only amplified the difficult-to-name feeling that hung in the air.

"I saw a name," I said, remembering the portraits. "I'm not sure if you saw from wherever you were."

Dad's eyes didn't meet mine. He kept his gaze low, visibly running through his own thoughts and memories. "Mara's the oldest."

"Oldest of who?" Talo asked. "Nieces? Siblings? Children?"

"Good question," he said. His voice was soft but firm. Between his words, he drew a line with a warning not to cross.

Careful of the chaos strewn across the floor, I started to get up. Dad held out a hand and helped me step over everything. "Thank you for letting us down here," I said, "and I am sorry for prying. I don't know why my dream last night had me meet Da down here."

"I don't know either," said Dad. "Maybe something wanted you to know this was down here."

Still struggling to find the right words, I hugged him.

Before we went upstairs, I learned that Dad had apparently made the portraits we found, which surprised me. He had helped paint my first shield, but I didn't know his interest in art went any further than simple projects and crafts. The sketches we'd found had been detailed and precise--made by the steady hand of a dedicated artist.

Dad stayed behind as the rest of us moved toward the ladder. "I love you, Maeve," he said.

"I love you, Dad," I said.

Verca, Talo, and I climbed up to the living room. For a second time, we tried to plot out what our next moves should be, but we still couldn't agree. During that conversation, though, Talo and Verca found themselves in an unexpected debate about whether or not I looked like a corpse. It started after Verca commented that he did not know if he had died before--as well as the fact that he would not be surprised if he had, which I found alarming. Neither he nor Talo had ever registered to me as undead though, so I doubted either of them had had the unfortunate experience of dying.

During the debate that arose afterwards, Verca's insistence that I looked like a corpse drew out a feeling inside my chest that I had limited experience with. It was a relatively new feeling that I had felt for the first time after learning Sala had turned me and surged whenever I thought about what else that happened with her. Or whenever I succumbed to the hunger she introduced into my life.

The feeling made my bones itch--too deep under my skin to scratch--and exchanged the air with something too thin to breathe. It made me want to hide.

I had never thought I looked like a corpse before; in books, corpses were classically disgusting, bloated and reeking of rot. They oozed at the seams as they drifted farther out of the reach of life's distant memory. Their flesh slipped from their bones into discarded piles of slop.

The confidence Dad and Da had taught me to have in my body faltered. If I looked as if I had been touched by decay like a corpse, then I couldn't help but worry that I'd repulse Verca sooner or later--if I hadn't already.

"I saw an attractive woman and thought, 'hm, she looks kinda corpse-like,'" he said to Talo.

His use of "attractive" in the same sentence as "corpse-like" confused me. "Does that mean you thought I was a corpse when we first met?" I asked.

"I had my suspicions."

I shared how I was struggling to reconcile his previous words.

Verca was quick to shake his head. "I assure you, I am not grossed out by you at all."

The itching along my ribcage subsided, but aspects of my confusion persisted. Somehow, from there, the matter of paleness within Talo and Verca's debate took them to Sala.

"Unless she's very well-fed," Talo started to say.

"She is," I interrupted somewhat bitterly.

"Speaking of," Verca said, staring pointedly at me.

"I'm fine," I said.

He folded his arms together in front of his chest.

"It's only been two days; it was five before that."

"That does not help your argument," said Verca, who insisted I needed to feed.

I shook my head. "I'm okay. And I don't want to hurt you."

Like any other time I had said that, he was quick to counter. "You won't." Verca stepped forward, taking one of my hands in his. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of my knuckles--just as he had last night before his watch. "I belong to you."

I wasn't cold, but a shiver ran down my arms and back anyways, taking my breath with it. I just looked at him, torn. There was a warm insistence in his eyes; I doubted I would ever find the right words to dissuade him--only because he could see right through me.

With his other hand, Verca ran a finger across his neck, leaving a thin cut in its wake. "Verca--" I said, worried about him, but stopped. I hadn't felt the hated hunger when this conversation started, but there was that insistent tug. It was almost as difficult to resist as the day my entire body had hurt from the strain of starvation.

Talo stepped towards the edge of the room. "I think I'm going to wait in the guest room," they said, already walking away.

That was Da's room, I thought but couldn't turn my focus long enough to say it.

There was a beat, and we were alone in the living room. The trap door beneath the folded-over rug was still open. I sighed. "At the very least, not out here. Dad could come up at any moment." I grabbed Verca's hand and dragged him to my room, quickly shutting the door behind us and pressing my head against it as I tried to prepare myself mentally.

Verca's hand touched my shoulder and turned me around to face him. In the same fluid motion, he pressed my back against the door. I had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I am," he said without pausing to think it over.

My gaze dropped. "I don't want to be like her..."

"You're not. She didn't ask permission. She took by force." Verca paused. "I'm sorry if my reaction is reminiscent of Sala's, though."

I looked back up at him, confused. For the first time since he had started making sure I was feeding, he looked bashful. Verca explained that he anticipated pulling me close and promised he had no intention of anything untoward. I remembered how Sala had grabbed on to me and appreciated the warning.

One final time, I asked if he was sure. Again, he said he was.

I took a deep breath. Leaning in--standing slightly on my tiptoes to reach him--, I whispered, "I'm sorry," as I opened my mouth.

At the same time, almost as if in reaction to what I said, his arm around my back pulled me closer as I bit down. It wasn't as sharp of a feeling as when Sala had held me against her whenever she bit me. I still hated the memory of how I had liked the feeling. The pressure of being enveloped between Verca's chest and his arms--both a solid, warm presence against me--was firm in a way that became comforting, making it easy to relax as I fed.

[dracwife]

inquiries.

ship: dannilore word count: 1365 summary: my half of an art trade with @apheliiion-ships ! i've never written for lore before, so this was quite fun to do. i hope i did alright, in my mind i imagined they'd have a bit of banter before the whole. kidnapping thing, which as you know is my favorite thing ever to write ;O

"And I believe you are already familiar with Danni. They were a part of the field team that found you."

"Of course. Nice to meet you."

Danni's eyes squint, half in question, half in strain -- the light that pours in from the hall hits them and though it doesn't hurt, it takes a moment to adjust.

When it finally does, they see the familiar outline of Wesley, standing just alongside the pale figure. Their senses tingle, and though they haven't the capacity to focus in on that point like perhaps any of their alien-kind could, they did know well whatever it was was not human.

Their eyes finally are able to make out features, and they recognize the android. For a moment they mistake it for the Lieutenant-Commander. But the way he is dressed -- the way it, they correct themselves mentally, is dressed -- the way it carries itself, is not the same.

No, this was the sum of parts they had found just earlier on their expedition, now assembled.

Their lip curls, brows furrowing. The room falls quiet, there's an air of expectancy until finally, the Lieutenant responds:

"I don't trust it. Why is it here?"

Wes falters, taken aback by their abrupt response, as does the android, who tilts his head in shock.

"I suppose I did not mean to intrude, the boy was just showing me around, is all. I hear Data is a valuable asset to the ship's crew. I figured perhaps one day soon I may be the same."

"Not if I have any hand in it."

"Perhaps you will not."

Danni scoffs, picking up their PADD, and brushes past the two. Wes attempts to stop them, but they continue on anyway:

"I have a report to finish, if you'll excuse me."

It was much to their displeasure, of course when over the next few days the android -- Lore as it had come to have been called -- continued to prove quite an irritating, but regular presence amongst the crew. They kept a close watch on him, of course (and yes, they had taken to calling it a him, as commanded by their superiors, which they supposed they were then obligated to), as was their duty as a security officer but also found it remarkably hard to get away from him when they most wanted to.

Such as, in that moment, when he so gleefully invited himself into their office, yet again.

In a strange way, they had almost gotten used to it, him being around just when they figured they'd given him the slip.

Now he stood just before their desk, fingers brushing over the corner as he rounds it, gaze analyzing every detail of their space, from the dully-colored walls of the Lieutenant's quarters to the far wall -- a window out into the endless beyond of space, something Danni was fortunate enough to have, as most low-ranking officers did not, to even the chipped paint of the floor where boots had kicked and scuffed over many voyages over many months. 

He picked at one of the many imperfections in their desk, which only fueled their deeply-rooted annoyance at his mere presence.

"Can I help you?" they finally offered.

"Probably. Maybe not, though," he continued his close examination of every small thing, very obviously in a taunting sort of way; They knew quite well that androids hadn't the need to study close any real object, rather the mere glance could store within their memory drive any number of details that the human, or humanoid, mind could only do after close inspection. No, he was doing this just to irritate them. 

"Why are you here?" they ask again, arms crossing against their chest now. They lean back, hoping to give an air of upset, perhaps even intimidation by relaxing so. 

"A good question!" Lore turns, "I wish to study you."

"Why me? Why not…Literally anyone else?"

He grins, "You intrigue me. You aren't like most of the other humans on this ship. In fact, You're not even like most of the other aliens, either."

Danni scoffs, eyes rolling as they return to their work before he interrupts them again:

"I have been trying endlessly to figure it out, but I cannot…So, what exactly are you?"

"I'm a Starfleet officer, who's three seconds away from learning how to disassemble a Soong-type android, intimately."

There's a flash of something behind his eyes then, which almost startles Danni -- it's not something they've ever seen before, at least, not in an android. And certainly not in Data. 

What jars them more, though, is what he says next.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Lieutenant."

They stand, slowly, opposite of Lore now, with concern. The way he speaks, the way he moves even, that look he gave them. It was far too human for their tastes. He smirks over, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"Excuse me?" they manage to hiss back, taking a step towards him. Were they not bound by regulation, their hand would've been halfway to their phaser already, but instead they run protocol through their mind, a futile attempt to restrain themselves from pressing further. With still a decent distance between the two of them, Danni stops.

"You aren't like him. Like your brother."

"Perhaps not. Maybe that makes me superior."

"Maybe that makes you dangerous," their fingers brush the holster of their belt, their eyes flash towards the emergency call button by the door. If they dodged right, they could likely rush past him and --

"Relax, Lieutenant. I'm no threat to you."

Their attention is drawn back to him, and he seems to have taken a half-step back, and as they focus back they notice the shift in his weight…Just enough to block their view of the exit. 

"I'll ask one more time, what are you here for?"

"Simply to talk."

Their hand falls from their phaser. They relax back onto their heels. His expression dims, back to that normal, artificial sort of look.

"I was actually hoping you'd give me a bit of insight as to how this ship works, exactly. With you being part of Security, and well -- to be quite honest, you're one of the only people I really know here."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He frowns. 

"Besides, I thought Wes introduced you to the crew," they follow-up, every word drawn out in caution.

"Oh, yes, the young boy did. But you…You were there when I was discovered. Doesn't that make our bond…A little more special than formality introductions?"

Danni's stomach churns at the thought. 

"No, it doesn't."

"Then perhaps we should get to know each other better!"

Lore's face twitches, and Danni waits, unable to parse if it was on purpose, or perhaps some sort of fault in his hardware. Their head tilts away slightly, watchful eyes still trained on him.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, either," their voice drops low again. 

"You're a…Hard nut to crack, I believe is the phrase?" he tuts, "But maybe you'll loosen up soon."

Danni's head shakes slightly, half in question, half in vigilance.

"I wouldn't tell anyone about my visit here today, either. You know, with you threatening me, and all. Wouldn't want that going on your already, as far I am aware, very long disciplinary record, hm?"

Lore smiles, and they see that flash of something behind his eyes again. He turns on his heels, and exits their quarters, leaving them solitary in their now, very large and eerily quiet room. He's just quick enough that they scarcely hear the words he mumbles under his breath:

"Oh, yes. I think we will get to know each other very well, soon."

They feel a shiver run the length of their spine, and they aren't sure if its some alien part of them that causes it, or the resounding presence of the thing that just left them, or perhaps the way they felt, for once, that someone -- something -- could finally stand to match their own attitude and sense of reckless verbal banter, but somewhere deep in their mind worms an idea that frightens them to their core: 

That maybe, they would so much mind that.

[fowlofprey]

Alright. I have decided that, in honor of Pride Month, I will share this story after all, but by reading it you all must agree to never tell a soul outside of this website, because doing so would absolutely ruin the bit.

And I know you all are just as committed to the bit as I am.

Continue reading only if you can guarantee that you will never tell a soul, and if any part of this ever escapes the boundaries of this social circle, I am holding each and every one of you personally responsible.

Now that you have all sworn yourselves to utmost secrecy by clicking "Read More," we can begin.

I'm certain I've alluded to it on here, but I don't believe I've ever made it clear, so allow me to come out to you all right now: I am a transgender man. At my birth, the doctor announced, "It's a girl!" and I was given the name of Artemis Angeline Fowl.

Roughly nine years later, I began to suspect that this was incorrect, and that I was in fact a boy. After some deliberating and experimenting on my own, I came to the conclusion that I was correct in my assumption, and after some encouragement from my dear friend Butler, brought the news to my parents.

Mother and Father took it in stride, of course, and reacted about as well as they possibly could have. I'm ever grateful that they took it so well, and my fears of possible rejection or worse were not realized.

There was the small matter of the fact that the Fowls are quite well-known to the Irish media and public, however, and what I am about to describe is why I am asking you all to make sure that what I am sharing with you today never reaches ears or eyes outside of this blue hellsite.

My parents knew that questions would be asked about why they suddenly stopped parading around their beloved daughter, Artemis, and instead begun to parade around their beloved son, Artemis. Not just by the media, but by those who knew us as well, fellow churchgoers and family friends. They wanted to allow me to present as I wanted, but didn't want invasive questions about my gender or their parenting. This was the 2000s, after all, and people were especially nosy about this sort of thing.

My parents' solution to this conundrum? Why, to gaslight the public, of course. Daughter? What daughter? The only child they had was their dear little Arty, and he's a boy, obviously. Anything else you've heard is obviously a lie, you can't just go and believe anything you hear from any old source.

People asked their questions, and were always met with the same answers. Nobody wanted to cross the notorious crime family that is the Fowls, lest misfortune befall them, and so their questions only went as far as gentle inquiries.

To this day, the truth of my gender identity and whatever tragedy may have befallen Artemis Angeline Fowl, the girl, remain shrouded in mystery, never to be revealed to the Irish public. Mother and Father have let me know that I can clear up the conspiracy whenever I like, but I continue to go along with the lie they set up, and I will for as long as I can. Questions have died down following my mysterious three-year disappearance and the birth of my brothers, but they still crop up from time to time, and I still give the same old answers.

The fact that I am openly bisexual also seems to steer people's attention away from the matter of my gender, so I suppose that helps, too.

It's just far too funny, and quite honestly much too late, to give up the bit now. I'll take it to my grave if I can.

Thank you all very much for reading this story that I've been wanting to get off of my chest for years now, and remember our agreement.

[profic-kiibo]

Hello everyone!

I am K1-B0, the Ultimate(or SHSL, if you prefer) Robot. I would rather everyone address me as Kiibo(or Keebo) instead to keep it a little less formal.

I made this account in response to hearing about people getting harassed by others just because of what they like in fiction. To be honest, when I first encountered such, I didn't quite understand what it all meant. Tsumugi and Miu(in a sense) explained it from their perspectives(Miu pretty much said "haters gonna hate" and "do whatever I want". The second sentence is paraphrased but it was basically that but with swearing.) and I looked online for more opinions.

From studying other perspectives and through my own calculations, I figure that I fall within the "proship" crowd. I don't like most "problematic" things in fiction but I still feel that people should enjoy whatever they like in fiction so long as it doesn't hurt real people.(unlike what Team Danganronpa did to us...)

You may be wondering, "why make this blog then?" Well, I wanted to spread more positivity since there seems to be so much negativity as of late.

Rules:

You may send me asks if you have any inquiries. However, I WILL NOT tolerate any sort of hatred. Whether it's against robots such as myself or others based on their own race, ethnicity, sexuality or what have you. Any such messages will be deleted. I also do not accept death threats even in a "joking" way.(Seriously, how are death threats treated as jokes?)

I don't know if these 'Do not interact' warnings work in any capacity but just in case:

DNI

Bigots of any kind(racists, robophobes, LGBTQA+phobes, antisemitism, etc)

*Antis(Fandom Police, Feelings Yakuza, whatever you want to call them), Those that think that harassment and bullying are good things(this goes for everyone, not just antis)

*That being said, I don't mind if any self identified antis come into my inbox for any questions so long as they're being civil.

I'm new to this thing and I tend to struggle with words and have been known to sound insensitive but I'm trying my best! Please be patient!

[I am role playing as Kiibo]

[this is a side blog so I can't follow with this]

[deviantartdramahub]

I thank the anon before me for the gesture of addressing the individual I'm in a common back-and-forth with, but it isn't necessary.

To answer the anon though, 1334zkagome, whose efforts were also previously performed under the names Noname234252 and LiesOfT (both show up as banned), is someone who had a dislike for a person under the name Triagonal in the past, and, unable to deal with losing that battle, continued the trend of "hate accounts", aimed at Triagonal and her associates in this instance, and to answer the mod here in response to her own reply asking who Dr. Disrespect is, he is an entertainer and commentator who has been called out for inappropriate private messaging, though credit goes where it is due, he is honest about it, doesn't ban evade, faces criticism like a Socrates, and didn't go further up the Allport Scale (or whatever the equivalent is for unbecoming contact) than the second level.

This is why some of us got that pesky person whom I'm in the back-and-forth with yelling about supposedly defending the individual's actions as a part of their back and forth which they sometimes do on their profile; first off, we're not defending them, either him or an impersonator came to the group asking (or pretending to ask) for things to be straightened/evened out, which was honored, with it acknowledged that someone's misdeeds like that are not every part of them and that it's wrong to say one cannot call out an associate for the faults they do have but still consider them an associate for other reasons, and second, if his authenticity is questionable enough to claim the inquiry was an inside job, it's questionable enough to consider his haters, Triagonal's haters, or even a proxy sent by him set it up, and it's worth noting they're not going after people who other people are concerned with, just Triagonal, like a Moby Dick who you won't find unda da sea for reasons but who, unlike what one might say, does have more livelihood than people whose literal existences (using false flags/pretenses/claims as we discuss here and in other parts of this group) are centered around targeting and simultaneously telling her that her life shouldn't exist, to the point where she comes to mind everywhere even when she has nothing to do with it.

That moment when (while still denying that they, 1334zkagome on DA and sweaty-doubt-9796 on Reddit, maybe just maybe be the same person) they complain that someone who may or may not have been an impersonator comes to the group asking for guidance and mock this in the fandom for Dr. Disrespect only for the head honcho himself to see through them and ban them from his own subreddit (so more like sweaty-palms, see the base pages for those archives), all around the same time they had to ask if maybe what they were doing was an oopsie after all this time.

Also note that they simultaneously accuse the people they're after of having to look up who Dr. Disrespect is (and thus constitute as stalkers in their eyes) while also accusing them of lying when they say they didn't know who he was. A contradiction worthy of addressing each other, but they don't because they're using two individual presences to perform a common fallacy/tactic made for making oneself unaddressable.

Although I, in a way, look down on what Dr. Disrespect did, a wise person once said "all aircraft landings you can walk away from are good landings", and in the end, we can at least be happy there is no longstanding impact, and that those who can forgive will find it fitting to not keep an eternal grudge.

Triagonal was accused of similar things, as some of the remnants will show, but for her, it was more a matter of linguistics than it was bad inclinations, and for her, it all just stuck, almost as if they viewed it as a priority to view her as much of someone who has celebrity status as to keep it going, compared to Dr. Disrespect, with whom it's dying down, with this all being because a certain celebrity wants to keep it going, the whole thing being like watching the conflict between Jenette McCurdy and Ariana Grande (a good litmus question).

That moment when EveSoderlundOfficial (the celebrity in question) looks down on Triagonal and her followers as "the T cult", which she and her friends refer to her as, yet EveSoderlundOfficial, unlike Triagonal, is so cult-like, with the fact people believe her unquestionably, the fact all people can mention about her in-depth are virtues which she doesn't have, the fact she's got a very Harry-Potter-esque backstory (ask her about her parents), and the fact they'll do anything for her (with her, along with another individual who as an ally frequents her false-flag hostilities which contain not even an effort to prove them, dabbling in fascism, as well as having a former jihadist BF nicknamed Agra, anyone remember him?), that it gives off worse vibes than Warechu.

That moment when I have cosplayed as Compa for five events and only get that bad kind of warechu from paragraph five.

Almost everyone remembers Agra, but that is for another session.

Here we see if the test of time defends everyone else.

[faerunscursed]

HC: Wyll

Wyll knows how to cook, in fact he can cook extremely well. It was, as stated in a previous ask, due to Counselor Florrick that taught him how to, as most of the time he either spent time alone when not with her (or rarely his father.)

Wyll is primarily trained in ballroom-style dancing, as he would often attend parties out of obligation with his father. He was taught how dance at the very young of 6-7. He even has perfomed Ballet, though he will not admit to this.

The only people who don't see the darker side of Wyll's fiendish nature, are children. This is because Wyll will always hide who and what he really is in order to protect them. This is the case with the tiefling children, the children he has actually grown attached to and mentored until he left the grove.

Rapier's are not the only weapons Wyll excels in using. In fact, Wyll also received training with bows and crossbows, in which he prefers shortbows. He has near perfect aim, unless the target is too far or is moving too fast. But usually if Wyll wants to hit a specific part of the body, he will.

Wyll has always been the people pleaser, especially since he was a child whom want his father to be proud of him. Anything he did up until he was seventeen, was to make everyone happy and too look like his father's son. Then after, he did the same as the Blade of Frontiers, in which one of his goals were to save everyone. Of course this is to a fault, as it usually affects his mental health and when he feels as if he has dissappointed others, it takes a toll on his self-esteem. Of course Mizora, is working on changing how he works here.

[raspberryconverse]

I hate selling/giving things away on Facebook Marketplace.

People are so fucking flaky. I know I've experienced my own issues with sellers. No dimensions on furniture, no response, etc. But I always have my phone at arm's reach and have notifications on for Messenger. I respond quickly (unless I'm sleeping). If I have something to sell/give away, I want it TF out of my house ASAP, which is why I don't get why some sellers aren't like that.

But good lord, buyers can be just as bad.

Yesterday we got an inquiry on 2 pieces of furniture that we were offering to give away together (tried selling, but no takers, even after lowering the price). We were willing to give them away separately, but they happen to fit together so well that we listed them together in case someone else wanted to use them together like we did. We put measurements so people could make sure it fit their space and more importantly, fit in the vehicle. I know when I bought the table, it barely fit in my Prius, but I was able to make it work with some bungees. The hutch, however, did not fit in my car and I had to ask a friend with a minivan to help me.

The lady offered to come right away for the two pieces. And she did! Then she pulls up in an SUV. I knew right away she wasn't going to be able to take both pieces unless she made a second trip.

And I was right. The hutch was literally less than an inch too small to fit in the SUV. Like scraping the sides of the opening. So that was a no go. Not that I didn't, you know, put measurements in the listing or that she didn't measure the fucking SUV, but whatever. The table took some maneuvering, but we got it in. She said her husband would come today to get the hutch. She messaged me this morning and said he was coming at 10. I was not going to help this guy take it out in my fuzzy bathrobe with stars all over it, so I quickly got dressed in yesterday's clothes and started work for the day (and by started work, I mean replied to the daily status email and played my stupid match-3 game because I don't want to work on these email templates I need to build for May).

By nearly 11, he wasn't there, so I messaged her again. Apparently he couldn't get the vehicle this morning, so he was going to come at 1. I got distracted by a fic, so I ended up hopping in the shower at like 12:20 so that I can be in real clothes (sweatpants and a clean-ish tshirt) for when he arrives.

At 1:25, I message her again for an update. She just go back to me and he's still waiting on the vehicle.

I have to go to the dentist at 4:30. Spouse is really busy with work today (like "Don't bother me today" busy).

I want to scream because this lady was so quick to get the table and now I've been waiting all fucking day for her husband to get the hutch. If he doesn't come tonight, we're putting it out in the alley. And tomorrow is garbage day.

I don't have time for this shit.

[shrutim12]

The Credit Score Conundrum: How It Shapes Loan Approval and Interest Rates

Today, we're diving into the mysterious world of credit scores. It might sound like a boring number, but trust me, it's like the secret sauce of the financial world. So, grab your calculators, and let's decode how your credit score impacts loan approval and interest rates.

The Credit Score 101

Okay, let's start with the basics. Your credit score is like a report card for your financial behavior. It's a three-digit number that tells lenders how reliable you are when it comes to borrowing money and paying it back. The higher the score, the better.

The Fun Part – How It's Calculated

Your credit score is like a cocktail made from five main ingredients:

Payment History: Did you pay your bills on time? This is like the bartender asking if you're a responsible drinker.

Credit Utilization: How much of your available credit are you using? It's like the bartender checking if you're downing the whole bottle or just sipping a cocktail.

Credit History Length: How long have you been in the financial game? Longer is usually better, just like aged whiskey.

Types of Credit: Do you have a mix of different types of credit, like credit cards, loans, and mortgages? Variety is the spice of life, and lenders love it too.

Recent Credit Inquiries: Have you been applying for credit like crazy? Too many inquiries can make you look desperate, like someone pounding shots at a bar.

Also Read: Exchange-Traded Funds (ETFs) - The Good and Bad

The Loan Approval Game

Unlocking the Financial Door

Now that you're in the know about credit scores, let's talk about how they affect your chances of getting that sweet loan.

High Score = Easy Approval

Lenders love borrowers with high credit scores. It's like being a regular at your favorite pub – they know you're responsible and trust you with their money. So, if you have a high credit score, loan approval is often a breeze.

Low Score = Tough Luck

On the flip side, if your credit score resembles a sad and wilted celery stick, lenders might slam the door in your face. They worry that you're a risky bet and might not pay back what you owe. Ouch.

Interest Rates – The Price of Borrowing

Now, here's where the credit score conundrum gets really interesting. It's not just about loan approval; it's also about how much you'll pay in interest.

The High-Score Perk

If you have a high credit score, lenders see you as a low-risk borrower. They reward you with lower interest rates – it's like getting happy hour prices all day long.

The Low-Score Sting

On the other hand, if your credit score is in the dumps, lenders may still approve your loan, but they'll charge you a higher interest rate. It's like ordering a pricey bottle of champagne when you were hoping for a budget-friendly beer.

Also Read: Alternative Investments: Exploring Beyond Stocks and Bonds

Boosting Your Credit Score – The Fun Challenge

So, what can you do to level up your credit score and unlock the best loan deals?

Pay Your Bills On Time: This is the golden rule. Set up reminders, use autopay – do whatever it takes to be a punctual payer.

Reduce Credit Card Balances: Keep those credit card balances low. High balances relative to your credit limit can drag your score down.

Don't Close Old Accounts: Length of credit history matters, so don't be too hasty to close those old credit cards. Having a longer credit history indicates that you have demonstrated responsible credit behavior over a period of time, as stated by Abhay Bhutada, MD of Poonawalla Fincorp. This can enhance your credit profile and ultimately improve your credit score.

Mix It Up: Having a mix of different types of credit can boost your score. So, consider diversifying your credit portfolio.

Limit New Credit Applications: Don't go on a credit application spree. Each inquiry can ding your score a bit.

Conclusion

Your credit score is like your financial superpower. It can open doors to loan approvals and score you lower interest rates. So, keep an eye on your credit score, nurture it like a beloved houseplant, and watch it flourish. Assessing the creditworthiness of borrowers still heavily relies on credit scores, as stated by Chitrabhanu KG, head of retail assets at Federal Bank. However, these scores may not provide a complete picture of a potential borrower's financial worth. And remember, understanding the credit score conundrum isn't just for finance geeks; it's for anyone who wants to make wise financial decisions and save some cash along the way.

[erabundus]

a  soft  huff;  the  arch  of  an  incredulous  brow.  ❝  remind  me,  ❞  the  wanderer  says  dryly,  ❝  how  many  times  have  i  tried  to  KILL  YOU  at  this  point?  ❞  he's  already  well  aware,  of  course;  the  inquiry  is  at  least  partially  rhetorical  —  demanding,  anticipating  no  clear  answer.  he  merely  finds  it  a  bit  ABSURD  that  the  other  would  tempt  fate  so  readily.  even  if  they  both  know  aether  is  correct;  the  bonds  of  DEBT  subdue  any  prospective  desire  he  may  have  to  act  on  those  irreverent  little  threats.  simply  dancing  around  that  issue,  alluding  to  a  past  steeped  in  blood  and  suffering  with  a  touch  of  EXAGGERATION  to  strip  his  actions  of  all  complexity  (  to  paint  himself  as  a  villain  )  is  par  for  the  course  in  many  of  their  interactions.  it's  almost  refreshing,  in  a  way;  too  often  does  he  find  himself  surrounded  by  people  entirely  IGNORANT  to  his  sins  —  to  what  atrocities  his  hands  are  capable  of  committing.  there  is  a  part  of  him  that  feels  a  bit  sick  whenever  they  show  him  kindness.

fortunately,  the  prospect  of  a  GIFT  is  enough  to  distract  him  before  his  thoughts  have  the  opportunity  to  slide  in  a  familiarly  despairing  direction.  the  wanderer  cants  his  head  in  response,  not  unlike  a  particularly  quizzical  bird  —  and  the  tassels  attached  to  his  kasa  seem  to  click gently  like  tiny  windchimes.  ❝  did  you  now.  ❞  the  words  come  out  a  statement  rather  than  a  question  —  a  paltry  attempt  to  bury  what  CURIOSITY  itches  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  he's  been  to  fontaine  before,  of  course.  although  certainly  not  recently;  rather  than  acting  on  personal  whim,  the  balladeer  merely  went  in  whatever  direction  the  fatui  pointed  him.

as  a  result,  he  doesn't  recognize  the  drink  when  it's  offered  to  him  —  though  slender  fingers  still  curl  around  the  bottle  on  instinct.  ❝  you  couldn't  POISON  ME  even  if  you  wanted  to.  ❞  the  wanderer  quips  —  and  (  all  faux-threats  aside  )  that  is  true.  he's  ingested  substances  that  would  kill  a  mortal  in  mere  moments  and  only  had  the  FOUL  TASTE  to  complain  about.  it's  a  quirk  of  his  body;  he  hasn't  cared  to  investigate  the  SPECIFICS  beyond  how  it  might  benefit  him.  the  age  old  trick  of  poisoning  both  teacups  had  served  him  quite  well  in  a  past  life.

uncorking  the  bottle,  ren  narrows  his  eyes  at  the  sizzling  sound  that  greets  him.  it  smells  oddly  of  fruit.  ❝  is  this  sweet  —  ?  ❞  although ...  perhaps  he  should  be  asking  if  it's  mildly  acidic,  instead.

the response to aether's arrival was anticipated, a predictable yet intriguing event that unfolded against the backdrop of ren's misconceptions. the irony of it all struck aether as amusing, prompting a soft laugh to escape him. with a dismissive shake of his head, he remarked, 'i doubt you would even do something, and even then, i would like to see you try.'

though devoid of overt threat, the history of events involving ren left aether with a lingering apprehension. he harbored little hope that ren could cause significant trouble, enough to jeopardize not just sumeru but the entirety of teyvat itself.

the traveler made himself at home, taking a seat before ren and unveiling a paper bag he had carried since his visit. 'i was just visiting fontaine and thought i'd come over and hand you some stuff i got from there.'

aether's gestures of kindness were not extended universally; they lingered only for those he found intriguing or with whom he shared a genuine interest. uncertain of ren's ventures into the hydro archon's territory, aether couldn't help but wonder about the extent of ren's knowledge and experiences.

as the blonde delved into the bag, he unearthed two bottles of fonta, a soft drink originating from fontaine. with a casual yet friendly tone, he offered one to the young man seated before him. 'here. don't worry, i didn't lace it with something poisonous. who are you taking me for?' the words carried a subtle playfulness, hinting at a mixture of amusement and the underlying complexity of their relationship.

[mint-yooxgi]

I know she’s an oldie, but part 2 of yan!mafia!johnny??

Part One

***

True to his word, since you went with him on that fateful night, you haven't left his side. Having kept a close eye on you, you've hardly had a moment to yourself over these past few months serving under the infamous Johnny Suh. Needless to say you were quite surprised to learn of the power than man holds over quite an amount of people, yourself included. You only wish it hadn't come to this.

You consider yourself one of the lucky ones, though. Most of his debt collectors are brutal, killing and taking without a second thought.

The trust Johnny has in his men surprises even you, leaving them to go out on their own every time to collect on people's debts. So then, why was he there to collect on yours?

In order to pay off your debt, you've been forced to serve beneath him. He disguises it as you 'proving' yourself to him by offering him added protection, and you'd believe him, too, considering the lengths he went to train you in combat and on how to use a gun within the first month alone. Only, you know better. You know it's his own way of keeping you on a tight leash. A tight enough one where you cannot be let out of his sight for even a moment.

You have to do whatever he says, lest you want dire consequences to fall upon your shop and Minju. Which means you even have to join him for dinner practically every night, wearing whatever he has picked for you that evening.

"Are you enjoying the wine?" He asks, taking a sip of his own glass as he watches you carefully behind hooded eyes.

"It's fine," you reply gruffly, taking another bite of your meal to avoid talking to him.

"I want to know more about you," he says, placing his glass back down on the table. "Tell me about yourself."

"You don't deserve to know me," comes your blunt response.

You go through this every time, and you still refuse to comply with his inquiries into your life. Not that he needs to ask, he already knows everything about you, down to your favourite colour and comfort food. Johnny only wishes you would open up to him on your own; he wants that connection with you, to know that you trust him enough to let him in.

He sighs. If only you would trust him. "Not even your favourite colour? You know, given the situation you're in, things could have ended up a lot worse. Consider yourself lucky to even have this chance to stay by my side and not end up dead in a ditch somewhere due to your partner's incompetence."

You nose flares, "how dare you-"

"Many debt collectors don't care how the debt is payed," he cuts you off, fingers grazing the stem of his wine glass as he watched the liquid inside intently. "Many choose to let their men have their way with their clients before torturing them, beating them, or even killing them."

You remain silent as he meets your gaze, his eyes cold and calculating behind dark irises.

"You remain protected under me," he continues, tone sharp. "Tell me, have my men or I ever forced anything upon you?"

Clenching your jaw, you understand exactly what he's implying. "No."

"Have I not provided for you a roof to sleep under, a warm bed to rest your head, and a means of now defending yourself?"

You opt to remain quiet, your silence speaking volumes.

"All I ask, is to get to know you better," he says, the ghost of a sigh on his breath as he averts his gaze from yours finally, worried he may have gone too far this time. The last thing he ever wants is for you to be scared of him, or worse, hate him.

His head is snapping up to meet your gaze as he hears you mutter something under your breath.

"I'm sorry?" Tilting his head slightly, he observes you carefully.

"My favourite colour..." you repeat, noticing the way his eyes practically light up as you tell him this little tidbit of information about yourself.

"There," he smiles, watching you avert your gaze for the moment in what he can only assume is embarrassment, "now, was that so hard?"

[delimeful]

Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

-

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.