#‘okay why was that actually kinda cool though’

[thingscanalwaysgetworse]

“Sir, you will find that the word ‘fear’ is not in my vocabulary!”

“Perhaps. But it’s in your eyes.”

This is way too badass of a line to be from princess diaries 2 lol

[autumnrory]

woooo my niece took 5 of my 13 lego sets, one of which was one of the three larger ones, so that's one huge box out of the way and i'm just glad she wanted them because like they ARE twenty years old and they look fine ofc but sometimes kids aren't gonna want stuff that isn't new and shiny ya know, but she did seem to want everything which would've been fine with me but i knew there was no way they would take all that with them, and at least i still have stuff of my own to sell, plus should get at least a cut of my brother's stuff for doing the inventory and putting together that stuff that wasn't already done

[skeletalheartattack]

ignoring realistic necessities like food, care, space, and medical attention, what video game enemy would you want to have as a pet ?

if i had to choose. it'd be one of these three.

[vamptastic]

i think my constant seething rage is honestly very reasonable. i literally live in florida.

[keeps-ache]

my sibling just tripped and i said 'god bless you ?????' like they sneezed or something ??

[afniel]

AH I REMEMBERED WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY EARLIER but it's kind of stupid, lmao.

So my partner is getting into brewing beer and I got them a Tilt, which is a Bluetooth hydrometer. It measures specific gravity and temperature, which are things you want to know so that you don't kill your yeast or whatever. Except the sensor's Bluetooth range is super short, and it basically runs via a phone app, and the temperature we're logging currently is the crawlspace, accessible via the staircase closet. So they were like, wait, what do we do about this, because I can't leave my phone in the closet, that's my alarm clock.

In a kind of ridiculous turn of life imitating art, I was like, hold up, I got just the thing right at my desk. Bam. Old phone. We just needed to scrounge up a charger because the battery is so dead that after charging just enough to power on it claimed it was at 53% (to be fair to it, there is a very real chance that it's correct, and it just holds no charge at this point so the capacity is just THAT low) and now it lives in the closet logging sensor data.

And I was like, you know...didn't I just solve a major story detail with a much larger version of this...yeah, no, this is all vaguely familiar somehow, power supply issues and all. Kind of cool that the concept works though. Kind of weird that it came up at all?

We are not gonna talk about the fact that I still have at least two more ancient-ass phones in a drawer where that came from because look, man, sometimes you just need a camera/mic/mini computer with Bluetooth and wifi that fits in a pocket, and people just get rid of these things, but not me. I actually could build a shitty security system out of them if I was reaaaally inclined. I mean. I'm not. But it's technically possible.

For real though, If I pick up any stupid maker projects I still high-key am thinking about slapping Bluetooth into a necomimi headset and running that through an Arduino and learning to code just enough to let me skip songs/change the volume on Spotify with my brain, because it's entirely doable, and I mean yeah I could do that on my phone remotely too, but that's not funny, now, is it. I'm just not sure it's $350+ of parts funny. Kind of a big investment just to prove the point that haha look I am the extremely ADHD type of lazy where I would rather solve a problem via the most convoluted and complicated Rube-Goldberg type ass machine way possible rather than just perform a single simple action.

YEAH I'VE BEEN THIS SCATTERED ALL DAY AND I REALLY SHOULD GO TO BED SHOULDN'T I. I started playing Satisfactory. Mistakes were made. I'm going to dream about conveyor belts again and I did it to myself...

[ahalliance]

i don’t get how people can complain about the writing “doing Martha dirty” when that same writing gives her an ending that addresses her treatement over the course of the season, allows her to finally put her to foot down, to establish her self-worth as an individual and to air out her grievances, and gives her the most respectful and satisfying exit from the TARDIS we’d yet seen in the show . like it’s one thing to dislike the direction the writing team took with her arc and to criticise it (perfectly fine) and another to somehow miss it entirely lmao . the ‘martha feels out of place, second best, and like a rebound’ is an intentional piece of writing that gets resolved by the end of the season . like that wasn’t smth they threw in for shits and giggles, it had in-story repercussions

[ghostkidet]

Something positive for this blog: I finished writing my prologue yay me !!

[exopelagic]

I’m almost done complaining abt supervisors I swear

[tizeline]

This is it, FINALLY we're gonna see the actual beginning of the story! Episode one! Yay!! So Donnie and April are just hanging out when they find this weird fox-dog-cat-creature or whatever, but before they have time to figure out exactly what it is, they're interrupted by three Normal Human Teenage Boys! Uh Oh!

... okay so the Normal Human Teenage Boys were actually Giant Turtle Teenage Boys. Cool.

So from Donnie's and April's perspective, as far as they know Donnie and Splinter are one of a kind, they've never encountered any other mutants or yōkai before. Both of them have of course always been curious about Don's origins but have never found any lead on where he came from nor how he was created. All of this is to say, suddenly encountering three other mutant turtles like Donnie himself out of nowhere is literally the craziest thing ever for them!

From the Drax Bros' perspective though... they have no idea why this random yōkai dude is acting like he's never interacted with any other yōkai in his life?? Like sure, some yōkai who live on the surface can be a bit out of the loop when it comes to the rest of yōkai-society. Not knowing what a cloaking brooch is is certainly weird, but whatever, maybe he just kinda lives under a rock or something. But then he reacts Like That to seeing their true forms?? What's this guy's deal?? (Give them a second, they're gonna connect the dots real soon lol)

Next part ->

Reference for the Human Drax Brothers! And yes I have made it A Thing that Leo is a huge Shadow fanboy and I will STICK TO IT!

Also in that TMNT x Power Rangers crossover comic, when the turtles were disguised as humans they all had backpacks to represent their shells, I thought that fun a fun concept so they all have backpacks here too lol.

Oh and another thing, when I was showing sneak peeks of the comic to some peeps on discord, it was pointed out to me that that one panel looked like an Omori encounter so I made this low-res edit in like 2 minutes, enjoy

[dcxdpdabbles]

Oh my god, you laid out freelance inventor perfectly for the justice league to mistake Danny for Batman, especially with John Jones already making his thoughts known that Bruce wayne would be the perfect himbo for Batman lol. Does the entire league pull together to make a beach day seem intentional and end up making so many mistaken assumptions along the way? Either way, I adore what you have going. I'm kinda curious if you had any thoughts on Damians' first reaction to meeting Danny? If not, that's okay. I just love the thought of Danny bonding with Damian in a feral way or through sparing like ghosts tend to in this fandom

The first time Danny meets Damian Wayne is when he comes to the Manor for a surprise visit. He usually would have called ahead or messaged Alfred, but it was a last-minute decision to stop by Gotham on his way to Metropolis.

Initially, Danny was going to a technology expo hosted by Lexcorp, but it was delayed due to a giant fight. A robot had flung Superman through the convention hall, causing severe damage.

Since he now had a weekend free while Lexcorp searched for a new venue, he figured he would spend it with his favorite one percent. Imagine his surprise when he noticed the first thing he noticed was that Bruce had a biological son, one he had told to stay hidden.

He had told his displaced son not to venture out of the manner because he didn't want the public to know about him. Danny hadn't felt this angry in a long, long time.

The glare he sent Bruce had the man flinching, causing Damian, fresh to the Manor and not used to seeing his Father as anything but commanding, to raise an impressed eyebrow. "Kids. Bed. Now. I want to talk to your Father."

"No." Bruce cowered. "Please stay, kids."

"Sorry Bruce, I actually have to touch up some photos for this month's photo op," Tim was quick to say, jumping from his seat.

"I also really need to get started on some paperwork for the gymnastic gym." Dick laughed nervously, dropping out of the handstand he was in. Danny never understood how the young man could randomly spring into flips and handstands.

Damian did not inch from his chair, though. He meets Danny's gaze with a cool upturn of his nose and crossed arms.

"You have no control over me or my actions, Harlot," Damian hissed, but a pale Dick and Tim pushed him out. Jason had been out on some far-off island trip with his friends- Roy, Kori, Artemis, and that delightful Bizzarro who spoke like it was an opposite day every day.

He was the only person to whom he would not talk to Damian. Everyone else would look Danny in the eye and justify why they would assume that a child should be treated as a secret was the correct thing to do.

"Well?" Danny asks when all Bruce does is sit there, hands on his lap and sweating. He narrows his eyes, crosses his arms, and watches the sweat drip down Bruce's head. "Explain yourself."

"Danny, I swear I wasn't aware of Damian. His mother told me she had a miscarriage. If I had known, I would have told you-" Bruce started but was cut off by Danny marching across the room and practically snaring into his face.

"That's not why you're in trouble, Bruce. Why are you treating a nine-year-old boy like a dirty secret?!"

"um..well, that's...you need to understand he's a bit unstable-"

"Choose your next words very carefully, Bruce." Danny cuts him off, recrossing his arms. Bruce swallows before he seems to gather unknown courage and straightens out his back.

"Danny, I don't think Damian needs to be a secret forever, but he needs to adjust before he can go out. He had a hard life with his birth mother and tends to lash out in violent outbursts. Just last week, he pushed Tim off the stairway!"

That's alarming. In fact, it isn't very good to think Tim would not be safe in the same household as Damian. They talk more about it, especially the part where Damian makes clear he wishes to replace Tim and would do nothing to remove him.

Damian is a threat to Tim's well-being. He mentions this to Bruce, who waves it way like a damn fool.

"Tim can handle it."

"Just because he can doesn't mean he should," Danny growls, throwing his arms into the air. "I can't talk to you right now. I can't even look at you."

"Danny, please-"

"Nope. I will tell Tim to stay with me, and I will make plans to take Damian out and about. If you treat someone like a criminal, they will act like one. I'm going to help that young boy settle here, but I will not do it at the expense of another. Don't call or message me." Danny growls, strutting out of the room only to practically run into Damian.

The boy raises his chin as if daring Danny to tell him off for eavesdropping. For one second, Danny is reminded of Jazz, back when she had been so insistent that she was an adult.

His eyes soften, and he knows Damian can see based on his surprise blink. "H kid have you had the chance to go into Gotham yet?"

"Why would I waste my time with the peasants? I am an elite warrior, destined to rule over them."

Huh. He reminds Danny a lot of Jazz now, with her anti-social tendencies- not that she refused to be around people, more like she refused to make friendships with people her age because she thought herself too mature for them- and a little of the battle-hungry ghosts in the Zone.

He can handle that.

"You are to be a general, right? Why are you acting like a common foot soldier?" He asks, watching the boy's entire demeanor freeze over. "A good ruler is not just combat strength. They can take command and can easily step among their fighters. How can you do that if you do not understand the common folk's way of thinking?"

Damian opened and closed his mouth before narrowing his eyes. "You mock me."

Danny shakes his head, falling to his knees so Damian won't need to strain his neck. He keeps the baby talk out of his voice but only barely. He gets the sense that like his sister, Damian would prefer to be treated like a mini adult. "Never. I'm genuinely interested in your thoughts, but you must know that all knowledge is power. Know thy enemy..."

"...as one knows thyself," Damian finishes his quote, looking vaguely intruded. He considers the offer before nodding. "I shall accompany you on your outing and gain valued observations of the average American child."

"Only after you apologize for attacking Tim and tell him to his face how you will not be doing that again," Danny warns, raising a finger at Damian's clouded face. "A good leader does not want insubordination. Attacking Tim did not prove anything but how unreliable you are and how much you fear Tim."

"I do not fear Drake!"

"Then why does his presence so threaten you? Bruce told me how out of all his kids, you seemed so sure you could take him in a fight but not a battle of wits."

Damian's eyes grow cold before he lashes out a hand. Danny catches it quickly, much to the boy's shock. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Not bad, but not what a regular American child would behave. You would have been singled out as a spy the second you stepped in the street."

"....I shall work on my reaction and emotional regulation." Damian yanks his arm free, striding away but not before glancing back at Danny. "You are strange."

Danny smiles. "Thanks, kiddo."

The boy vanishes from sight, and Danny sighs. He must now find Tim and help him pack to stay with him. He also needs to yell at everyone in the Manor, including Alfred. Honestly, that man enables Bruce far too much.

[lovebugism]

could I request maybe shy!reader trying to play dnd with eddie but she's suuuuuuper nervous and confused and internally panicking about him not liking her anymore if she can't get into it?? Or if you wanna change it up please do!! love you!!

love you! hope you like it! — you get insecure about not liking d&d when a girl joins hellfire (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish, established relationship, 1.4k)

The Hellfire room is void of the boyish bodies that usually fill it. The abandoned classroom, turned freak sanctuary, is now littered with pieces the rogues, clerics, and bards left behind — in half-empty soda cans and crumbled-up bags of potato chips.

While Eddie packs up his binder, filled to the brim with miscellaneous papers, you wander around the long table with a trashcan in hand. The wild-haired boy squints when you chuck Dustin’s crushed Pepsi in the bin. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie huffs through his nose, feeling too exhausted now to argue. He slides his binder into his bag and watches you rake Gareth’s chip crumbs into the trashcan. The urge to stop you becomes unignorable then. 

“Okay, well, you know what? I mind—” the boy retorts, striding the very short distance to you and snatching the bin from your grip. He smiles a crooked grin and continues in a fantastical accent. “—‘Cause the Dungeon Master’s queen shouldn’t have to clean up after a bunch of lowborns, alright?”

You roll your eyes with a subdued giggle. “Someone’s gotta do it, Eds,” you insist as you reach for the plastic container he took. You exhale sharply when he hides it further behind him, pulling it further out of your way. “I wanna be of some use around here!”

Eddie’s face twists. “Don’t say that.”

You cower beneath his stare. “Well… It’s not like I actually play or anything. I just kinda… sit around… And watch you guys do everything…”

“Well, why would you play?” he laughs. “You don’t even like D&D.”

Something in the way he says it makes you ache. You’ve always felt distantly horrible about it — failing to take interest in something he holds so close to his heart. Hearing him reiterate that fact twists the knife lodged in your chest.

“That doesn’t bother you?” you wonder, impossibly shy. “That I don’t play?”

Eddie shrugs and sits the bin down again. “Why would that bother me?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know… ‘Cause you like it. And it’s your favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

“Well… Maybe not my favorite thing,” he croons with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your nose scrunches in disdain. His laughter fills the empty room as his ringed hands spread warm along your sides. “I just feel bad,” you confess, gaze averted to the scuffed tile beneath your feet. “You know, that I can’t get into or whatever.”

Eddie meets your subtle pout with an unbothered grin. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. People like different things, babe. That’s life,” he assures you, squeezing softly at your sides. “I mean, it’s no different than me hating The Smiths, right? I still let you play their cassettes in the van, and you still sit in on all my campaigns— and that, sweetheart, is the meaning of true love…”

Unswayed, you jerk softly back when he leans down to kiss you. You frown up at him with your arms crossed between your bodies. “But Rory loves D&D. And she’s super pretty…”

Aurora Edwards was the newest edition to the Hellfire gang. She goes by Rory for short, though, ‘cause she’s cool like that and everything. Her dyed blonde hair is as wild as Eddie’s, cut into a makeshift mullet that sits sort of shaggy on her head — intentionally messy in a way only she can pull off. 

She likes cool music and cool clothes and cool hobbies — because everything she does seems to have some sort of subverted flair to it. She’s smart and she’s nerdy and she’s beautiful. None of which seem fair. You’ve been stirring with feelings of inadequacy since you met her. 

And Eddie doesn’t seem to get any of it. His brows furrow at your words, like none of them have any sort of meaning to him.

“She’s way more your type than I am,” you blurt.

A laugh sputters from his plush mouth. “You think my love for you is contingent on some stupid game?” he chuckles.

The way he says it makes you shrink. You feel sort of stupid about it now. “I don’t know…”

“Well, then, I have done a very shit job of being your boyfriend.”

Your chest stings. “No, you haven’t, Eddie—”

“Mm,” he hums, half playful, as he tilts his pretty head to his shoulder. “I have, though. ‘Cause if you think some other girl liking Dungeons and Dragons is gonna make me love you any less, then I have done something horribly, horribly wrong.”

You bite back a smile at his words, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth until the beam becomes impossible to ignore.

“‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, turns out,” the boy continues. “Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yeah. ‘Cause if some other schmuck comes around who likes listening to The Smiths and sitting in the sunshine, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. “I don’t want another guy, Eds…” you confess, going shy all over again.

His nose scrunches as he plays coy. “Even if he doesn’t smoke?” he wonders in a sheepish murmur.

“Even if he doesn’t smoke.”

“Good,” he beams, pulling you into him by your belt loops. His breath fans over your jaw in a minty-nicotine concoction as he ducks his face closer to yours. “‘Cause I don’t want anyone else, either, alright? Even if they are almost as good as me at D&D… Actually, it’s kinda a turn-off, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah… ‘Cause, like, I love teaching you about it and everything.”

“Even when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Especially when you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he laughs, smiling so hard his cheeks speckle pink. “‘Cause you know how much I like it, so… You let me talk all the shit I want.”

“’S just because you’re so pretty when you talk about things you like,” you confess.

His face twists. “Am I?”

“Well, you’re pretty all the time, but…”

“You flatter me,” he huffs and pulls you closer. He smirks and goes quieter when he says, “And flattery goes a long way with me.”

“Does it?” you hum with a sunshine-coated giggle.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He just presses his lips to your mouth and hopes you get the gist. His tongue swipes against yours, soft and sudden, as he guides you towards the table. You run into a rogue chair before he can get you on top of it. It screeches against the linoleum tile. 

With his face in your hands, you giggle against his mouth. His denim-clad knee slips between your thighs.

The door squeaks softly open then. Rory enters, swift and unthinking. You and Eddie pull apart — one looking much more horrified than the other — as the blonde girl stands frozen in the doorway. Drowning in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, she points a lanky finger towards the table.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, voice gritty and deep. “I just left my girlfriend’s jacket here, and she doesn’t know I stole it, so… She’d definitely kill me if I forgot it.”

“That’s okay. Come in,” Eddie shrugs with a tightlipped smile, nodding his head in a silent invitation. When Rory plucks the coat from the back of her chair, he says, “Tell Jess I said hi, yeah?”

The girl scoffs as she heads back towards the door again, leaving just as quickly as she came. “She still hates you, you know that, right?” she laughs. ‘Cause Jess was a cheerleader — pretty and sometimes kind, but dreadfully conservative. Her uptight nature often clashed with Eddie’s much more chaotic one. 

“Well, tell her to get in line,” Eddie chuckles.

Before Rory leaves the room, she glances at the two of you over her shoulder. She winks with an eye smudged with black liner. “Have fun, you two,” she croons in a pretty voice before shutting the door behind her.

You stand, still and silent in place, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. Feeling like a total idiot, you refuse to meet Eddie’s gaze. You know he’s got a smug look on his face. You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See? Not my type at all.”

[schoenpepper]

It's Okay to Play Favorites (Vice Housewardens)

Intro: You accidentally get sucked into the world of Twisted Wonderland, your favorite game, like, ever. And uh, you may or may not have teleported with a plushie of your favorite character…

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, self aware au but not god, your card collection is just you being freaky and taking pictures of them, google translated French be warned, ortho’s is platonic and if u take it any other way i ban u, lilia’s is also platonic but if u see romance crumbs i won't stop u, ik ruggie and ortho aren't vice housewardens but get this idgaf

A/N: Bro college got me fucked (second day in i know i'm a fucking whiner i hate it all). Not a request, just some random stuff I wrote during my 3 hour round-trip commute jfc. If my Jade favoritism is acting up, no it ain't.

Masterlist

Trey Clover is a man often overlooked, whether in the fandom or the world of Twisted Wonderland.

So when you get transported in during orientation, you, the player, were holding a plush form of him?

He blanks out.

Sorry Riddle, your vice housewarden kinda crashed maybe you can reboot him or something.

Trey’s never thought of himself as anything special, but he must be if he’s your favorite character, right?

You befriend him with a giddy smile, he can almost see the hearts in your eyes as you fan[redacted] so hard you actually hug him in your excitement.

The player? Hugged? Him?????

“Crazy bro that’s like super nuts so jealous of you.” - Cater Diamond

Hm, he gets a bit bashful when you take so many pictures of him.

Do you really like him that much?

He…likes you too.

“Cringe.” - Cater Diamond

I’m just a normal person, you know? At least, the closest someone can get to normal in this place. You still want me? Are you sure?

…Okay.

If you’re sure.

Unfortunately, to date a dad is to put up with dad jokes.

Do you mind though?

Makes you the most delicious pastries and confectionery known to mankind. You’ll probably get 5 lbs fatter and a sugar addiction.

But your teeth will be beautiful because he teaches you how to brush your teeth properly.

(Ten kinds of toothbrushes…)

Picnic dates.

Tea party dates.

Baking dates.

You might need to go on a diet to stay in shape because Trey doesn’t mind fat. He will probably love you more if you’re chubby.

But he loves you regardless.

Rest of the cast is like, vaguely jealous because why Trey?

But also he has a generally good rapport with other people so it’s cool.

Maybe.

Ruggie Bucchi wasn’t really paying too much attention at the ceremony but you definitely drew his focus.

Is that a plushie hyena beastman?

Does not register that it’s him until someone calls it out.

What? Why? How? When? Where?

He probably has major self esteem issues because, you know, the school’s filled to the brim with rich kids and people with status.

He has neither money nor power. So when he finds out he’s your favorite character? Boom.

He lets out his cute (im not biased) laugh but it’s because he doesn’t know how else to react.

You want to be his friend? Why not?

(Laughs again because he’s exploding on the inside)

You hug him???? Crazy. You owe him a donut for that, bro.

Thinks the picture thing is a bit weird but who is he to argue with the player?

You’re weird, y’know? There’s like princes and moguls and stuff in NRC, why me?

You like me? You find me charming?

That’s not something I’d really use for myself but hey…knock yourself out. Shishishi.

Floof.

You get to scratch his ears and kiss ‘em and watch ‘em twitch while he tries to get away from you.

Insane bro wish I was you.

Cuddly and surprisingly clingy, loves loves loves being pampered.

Are you indoctrinated by my subby Ruggie vibes yet???

His love language is sharing food.

(Have you ever tried passing candy through a kiss? No? Wanna try?)

His grandma will love you <3

The other characters will be giving him major stink eye. The scrappy hyena? Really?

Yes really.

“Whatever, good for you.” - Leona probably.

Jade Leech is amused.

Rather childish, is it not? Well, he’s flattered that you think so highly of him and even have this stuffed toy in his image.

Unfortunately, he does hold enough respect for you as the player to not immediately use your infatuation with him for nefarious purposes.

Not to say he doesn’t tease you though.

You are the flustered one here.

He’s your favorite? Oya, how interesting. He’s never seen himself the way that you do, but who is he to argue with the player?

Please, what do you like so much about him? Do tell.

(His systems crash when you hug him but you’ll never know)

You seem to enjoy taking his pictures. If you let him [redacted] you can take as many as you want.

If you don’t take him up on his offer I will!!!

My, I never expected to be your ‘favorite character’, was it? Well, I don’t mind.

What do I think of you?

Fufu, wouldn’t you like to know?

Loving a sadist means you’re probably a masochist.

You like it when he ‘unintentionally’ makes you do something stupid? Toys with you? Teases you with his annoyingly adorable super cutie pie grin?

Bro you have weird taste I could like, never~

If you didn’t like mushrooms before you do now.

You wish he’d look at you the way he looks at his terrariums.

You know that silly, happy, dopey little look he gets? The lab coat groovy one? Yeah.

Hiking dates if you’re physically able to. If not, he makes like the fanciest dinner dates ever.

He does love you, promise.

The other characters are highkey judging you.

Jamil Viper is inside his hoodie and is very unlikely to ever come out.

You’re kinda embarrassing but what is he supposed to do?

You’re the player. You have a plushie Jamil. Tiny and cute.

Jamil doesn’t see himself as cute. Wouldn’t it be better if you had a different one? Someone sunnier, someone warmer, someone like…Kalim?

Jamil’s your favorite character?

Yeah he’s not leaving his hoodie.

When you’re so happy and excited that you hug him, his soul leaves his body through his lips.

Rip Jamil Viper.

I don’t think Jamil’s very used to the camera, considering he’s technically Kalim’s servant and servants stay in the background.

But since you adore him the way that you do, well, he won’t stop you.

You’re strange. Is this a prank?

No, I don’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that…

No, nevermind. Since you want me, I’ll—love? You love me? Fine, I can work with that too.

His favorite kind of date is one where you two sleep and cuddle together.

He needs a break.

It’s not too often that he can carve time out of babysitting, so any time spent with him you’ll cherish like gold.

You can help him with chores if you manage to persist through multiple rejections.

He’d really prefer not to make the player do chores with him, but when you smile so wide like that, he can’t refuse anymore on the grounds of you not enjoying it.

Kalim can lend you guys the carpet though, you wanna fly?

While the cast doesn’t generally approve of the snake, you’re very loud about your infatuation.

They can’t stop you.

Rook Hunt is a lover of beauty, and you, the player, are the most beauté of all! (full points :D)

Qu'est-ce que c'est? A soft and fluffy copy of himself? How wonderous! Marvelous! The adorable cotton-filled blah blah blah (insert soliloquy here)

While there’s a tiny thought in his mind that perhaps the poison apple or the queen would be more befitting of a nui plush, he still takes your fascination with him in stride.

(It’s not often that he’s in this role.)

To be your favorite, it is an honor!

He shall dedicate a poem to your inner and outer beauty!

Accidentally tosses you to the ground when you try to hug him.

Desolé, instinct. Try again?

He’s not used to being the one in the spotlight, but please, take as many pictures as you need!

Love? Love is the most beautiful indeed. Comme toi, tellement adorable. Lovely.

You’re asking if I have someone I love?

Je suis un lâche de ne pas exprimer mon amour pour toi. 

Either you get what he’s saying or you remember it so you can translate later.

Anyway, have you ever wanted to hunt for sport as a date?

No?

How about getting hunted for sport?

Still no? Shame.

Rook settles for little camping trips in the woods, just you and him and the forest (and his bow and quiver of arrows and his hunting knife and his dagger and—).

He makes very good roasted meat.

You’ll enjoy it as long as you remember not to ask where it’s from.

Uh, ignore how every other cast member is judging you. Love is love, right?

Ortho Shroud is very happy! Very excited! Yay!

You’re a legendary figure, and you’re treating him so nicely! 

Is that a toy made to look like him? You like Ortho? He’s your favorite character?

Yay!

Robo baby is very happy.

Since you like Ortho, do you like Idia too?

Can you be Idia’s friend?

Can you be a new older sibling? Please?

(Say yes or I will [redacted])

Hugs? Hugs!

Forehead kisses?

Yes!

You seem to enjoy taking many pictures of Ortho. Why is this? You like him that much?

If so, maybe you two should take pictures together instead of always taking pictures of him alone. He’d love to take lots of pictures with you!

Can Idia come?

I am your favorite character? Like in a video game? This world is also a video game?

That’s great!

What kind of character am I?

Lilia Vanrouge thinks you’re funny. But also totally correct.

He must be sinful because even you, dear player, find him absolutely adorable!

Hehehe…

Is that a tiny Lilia? Good taste! It’s almost as adorable as the real one.

When you hug him in your excitement, he just laughs and pats your back.

Grandpa vibes.

A picture? Why not?

A selfie, as you kids say. (bro you’re not even detached from modern technology???)

Really likes taking pictures with you.

Since you like him a lot and he’s your favorite character, be a dear and forgo your sleep schedule to game with him.

I’m your favorite, right? Surely that means you’d love to taste my cooking?

No? Why, I’m saddened by your rejection…

There we go. It’s not so bad, is it? I made it with effort, onions, garlic…are you alright? Oh dear.

[patricia-taxxon]

Attempting to extend sympathy to my younger self via self insert fiction.

"Hello there!"

I looked up from the lunchbox on my lap towards the source of the sudden loud voice, standing four or so feet away from me was a… dog? He stood on two legs, an eager look on his face. I looked around, none of the other kids were nearby.

"Hello?" I said back, a little confused.

"My name is Paul! What is your name?" The dog replied, both in an oddly formal tone of voice and… loudly, even though he was close enough to grab.

"My name's Bradley." I said, and went back to my PB&J.

"How old are you, Bradley?" asked Paul, in that same babyish but too-formal tone, almost like a robot.

"I'm eleven." I replied, without looking up.

"I'm ten!" He said back. "Nice to meet you!"

Several seconds passed, and he didn't move or look away. I realized he was waiting for me to say something.

"Nice to meet you too, Paul." His tail twitched as I said that, but he quickly moved his paw behind him to hold it in place until it settled. "Sorry," He said, before asking another question. "What do you like to do?"

His awkward storybook-speaking was offputting to me, but no one ever talked to me at recess, especially not completely out of nowhere like this. I answered his question, "I like playing Smash Bros," but I don't know why I thought of that first. I didn't really feel like finishing my lunch, I started to pack it away for later.

"What's that?" He said back. Was that a joke? He looked curious.

"Uh… it's a game, you can play as different Nintendo characters and fight each other." I waited for him to respond, but he was still listening. "You can uh… you can be Sonic."

"That's really cool!" He said. "Can I sit next to you?"

"Hm? Oh, okay, I guess." I replied. The dog's tail instantly sprung to life, and he once again moved his paw to stop it. "Sorry," he said, and moved swiftly to sit on the bench next to me, a bit closer than I thought he would. He looked up towards me like he wanted me to keep talking, or… it looked like he was looking at the top of my head, I wasn't sure.

Instead of explaining Smash Bros anymore, I asked a question myself to take the pressure off. "What do you like to play?" Paul blinked and his ears perked up. "I like Marble Blast Gold!" He almost yelped out, before drawing back. "But… shhh, don't tell anyone. I'm not supposed to talk about it."

That didn't make any sense. "Huh? What does that mean?" I asked.

"It's the best game ever, you like… you roll, and you have to… like, you have to get to the end. Uh." He stammered. "But I'm not… I'm not allowed to play it anymore, my teachers said I'm too obsessed."

"That's bullshit." I spat.

"Yeah!!" He yelled, leaping up onto his haunches, tail wagging up a storm, until he noticed again, and pressed his paw to stop it. "Sorry." he said.

"Why are you doing that?" I asked.

"Doing what?"

"Stopping your tail." I pointed to his butt. "Aren't you like… a dog, or something?"

Paul cocked his head like I asked him a really stupid question. "Yeah? Why." He said, carefully.

We stared at each other for another couple of seconds. I didn't know how to word my questions without sounding awkward. "I've met a lot of… dogs, and wagging tails is pretty normal." I felt insane saying it out loud.

"Well I'm special!" Paul beamed. "I can talk, I can stand on two legs!" He got up and stood upon the bench, barely reaching eye level with me. "I'm in a class for special dogs only." He bumped a fist on his chest.

"Oh… okay." I said, not really understanding. I guess the rules were different for dogs that talk. It felt weird watching him do that though, and saying sorry for it too. "Are special dogs… not supposed to wag?" I asked.

"Yeah. No wagging." He replied. "'Cus humans don't wag."

"But humans don't have tails in the first place." I looked behind myself to check. "So you don't actually know if humans would wag or not, right?" I was getting seriously weirded out by this conversation, but I just kinda kept going. "How'd you learn to talk, anyways?" I asked, Paul looked like he was processing what I said very slowly.

"Like I said, I'm special." Paul repeated. "I'm learning how to make it disappear, like everyone else. First I gotta learn how to keep it still, though, so the magic works."

"Magic?" I said back to him. I mean, it wasn't all that weird compared to meeting a talking dog, but the word still threw me off.

"Yeah, lookit!" The dog hopped off the bench, hunched over with his back facing me, and started screaming like he was about to go super saiyan. I didn't know what I was supposed to be looking at, I was too startled. I might have been imagining things, but I think I saw his tail slowly retracting into his body like a lazy snake.

"Paul! What the fuck are you doing??" I shouted, but instead of responding, Paul just… went silent and flopped onto his side. I quickly rushed over, yelling "Are you okay? What just happened?" I looked over his body, flat on the asphalt. His tail had grown all the way back and… his body shrunk. His head was halfway tucked into his shirt like a turtle. His paws barely poked out of his sleeves, pointing directly forward from his body. He didn't look like a kid anymore, he looked like a dog that someone stuffed into some kid's clothes.

After a second, I thought it wouldn't hurt to poke him. "Paul? Recess is almost over." I poked at his chest, and he rolled onto his back limply. I suddenly felt silly trying to talk to him, like I was trying to reason with a pet. I tried a different approach, I clapped my hands and rapped on my knees. "Hey! Up! Food!"

Paul's eyes shot open, and he sneezed, before wiggling his legs to right himself. He took an instant and a half to realize where he was, and he suddenly cowered, looking straight at me, shivering. "Hey, what's wrong?" I whispered. He looked side to side, back at his own doggish body, and back to me. He blinked, looking like he was about to run away.

"No, no, it's okay." I tried to be reassuring, I'd never had a dog before so I didn't really know what I was doing. I almost forgot that I'd just been talking about Smash Bros with him. "Uh… do you like granola bars?" His ears perked up, and his tail swayed, his new… anatomy making it hard to reach back and stop it this time. I grabbed my backpack from behind me and rummaged through it for leftovers, I got the other of the two bars inside the wrapper, the one I didn't eat, and held it out in front of me. Paul approached me slowly, his nose twitching. "Can you… eat this, even?" I asked, as he sniffed the crumbly rectangle. He licked it soon after, and started nibbling and snarfing after that. I watched carefully, scared to make any sudden moves.

Paul looked up at me again, and I noticed his eyes were a little different. More definition, like I could tell a little more what he was feeling. His new eyes looked concerned, like he was waiting for me to do something bad. He reached up with a paw, it was looking a bit more like a hand now. I let go, and he held the bar himself as he munched away, sitting plainly on his knees.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Maghic." The dog said through a full mouth.

"That was magic?" I replied. "I saw your tail shrink, I'm pretty sure."

Paul swallowed. "How much?"

I thought back, the image was still clear in my head. "Like… barely at all. A couple inches?"

"Aw…" He looked disappointed in himself.

We sat in silence for a bit, but there was a question I wanted to ask. "Why do you want to get rid of your tail? Like… that looked painful."

"Mrs. Millie said I can go to the regular class if I can turn human," the talking dog said, proudly.

"You're pretty bad at that." I chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his ears without thinking. Paul looked like he was about to take it personally, but suddenly lost his train of thought as my hand touched his head. "Bwuhhf…" He woofed under his breath, his tail twitched and his paws lost their thumbs again. I quickly pulled my hand back, "Sorry! I didn't…" Paul's eyes took a second to form together again, and he looked right at me, "That wasn't fair." he whined, but his tail was still wagging.

"You really are a dog!" I said, glancing sneakily behind him. Paul followed my gaze to his own tail, yelped, and quickly pressed it down with both paws.

"Oh, come on, stop it." I joked. "It's psyching me out, it looks like it hurts when you hold your tail in place like that."

Paul turned his head back at me. "It doesn't… hurt," he said, slowly and surely.

"Hm. Whatever you say." I got up and went back on the bench. After I turned around to sit down, Paul was already running towards me. I didn't have any time to think before he bounded into my lap and butted his head into my chest while his tail went crazy. The impact knocked the wind out of me, but he was pretty small, I got it back in just a second. Paul yipped and barked, maybe there were some normal words in there too, but I couldn't understand it. This is where I realized he wasn't a very special dog after all, I think he was just normal.

I scratched behind his head and stroked his back through those baggy clothes, and this time he didn't mind. He might have been crying, it was hard to tell, I didn't really know what dog crying looked like. Eventually, he settled down. I couldn't feel his shoulders anymore, he seemed in danger of falling out of his shorts if he wasn't careful. I had a dog in my lap, an extremely normal dog. He stretched his body up and rested his head on my shoulder. "I like you, Bradley." He said, a little too slowly, and a little too loudly. I didn't know what to say to that, he barely knew me. This was all very weird. "You're a good dog." I said back, just because it felt right.

I could feel Paul's body shaping up into a more human posture again as he regained composure. He let go, turned to the side, and sat down on the bench next to me again, staring at his paws in his lap. I leaned over, "You okay?" I asked. He didn't answer, he just put his paw on my wrist and started twirling the hair under my sleeve.

I quickly jerked my hand away and covered the hairy skin. "Don't look at that!" I snapped.

"You have fur too!" Paul yelled.

"No, no, that's hair. I'm just…" I didn't want to explain, it was too embarrassing. I looked like I had my dad's arms, I hoped that no one would see. "It's a condition."

"Oh. Okay." Paul stared into the distance again. We sat in silence for another couple awkward seconds before the bell rang.

"Bye, Bradley." the dog said, scampering off.

"Bye, Paul." I waved after him, being sure to hold my sleeve up with my other hand.

[silverwarewolf]

DUNGEON MESHI EPISODE 24 THOUGHTS

Oh, I had asked to see what the party's thoughts regarding the changeling situation were, especially when it came to their lifespans, but I didn't think it would turn out like this!

GOOD FUCKING JOB, CHILCHUCK. YOU'VE TRAUMATIZED MARCILLE EVEN FURTHER. Oh but I do so love the horrors of this situation of theirs. Marcille babygirl I would like to hug you and have a nice chat.

Anywya, on we go to think about Falin and any solutions that might help us here. Which is great! I love how much foreshadowing there is (in terms of what I've been vaguely told about the manga).

Laios Touden's problem solving skills, everyone.

That's honestly the SICKEST weapon design, I'm so on board with you Laios. This could be Kensuke's Halloween makeover. BUT DONT JUST TAKE THOSE MUSHROOMS WITH YOU OH MY GOD

... was this the opening sequence foreshadowing everyone was freaking out about? was that it? (don't actually tell me, though. if it was it, say yes. if it wasn't, don't say anything)

no comment here I just love them.

I just will never get used to elfshi's hands being Like That. But it's also kinda nice to see him and Izutsumi working along so nicely! Like, don't even get me started on how Izu is presented as the pickiest eater of the party (Marcille has been dethroned severely) and usually you'd see that presented as a Hassle, but here in DM, Senshi doesn't even bat an eye. He knows and respects Izutsumi's tastes and preferences and works his meals out around it! That's such a based thing for him to do. <3

This is a renaissance painting. (I love it when they adapt Ryoko Kui's visual gags and I LOVE when she does zoomed in faces like this. Truly one of the artists ever)

I did not have "Laios gets Pissed On" on my bingo card but every day I grow more and more convinced that the animators KNOW what they're doing and - OH MY GOD IS THAT SENSHI'S DWUSSY. ELFSHI ALTERNATIVE TO PANTY SHOT.

Ah, yes, Izutsumi sprawls all over them when sleeping, we been knew, again it's a little unexpected to see it front and center but I guess it works to demonstrate them returning to - THAT WAS LAIOS??? AND CHILCHUCK IS JUST LIFTING HIS LEG LIKE THAT?? OKAY THEN. SURE.

(and then there's a few more seconds of laiosfoot and laios bedhead)

BUT HEY THEY'RE BACK TO NORMAL

1) Yep, they're back to normal.

2) Laios I love you and I love Gothsuke but someone needs to be careful about biohazards and it's not going to be you.

3) Add this to the "Marcille Donato gets threateningly close to you in three steps" folder.

4) Truly only they can match each other's freak. When the NECROMANCER is telling you not to do something, don't do it! I know last time you smuggled a "normal" sword, it turned out to be useful, but I'm sure that's not the case here!

5) Poor Laios tho. I'll learn to blacksmith just to give you a cool sword. <3

I'm so glad they kept this. One of the silliest touden siblings moments. 10/10 no notes. Also, Falin is never beating the blunt force trauma allegations.

IS THAT CHILCHUCK'S WIFE. ARE YOU - MA'AM. HELLO?

"Why aren't you a twink like I thought you'd be?!" gets adapted! (I'm pretty sure that's the scene meant to be here, anyways)

I get it, girl.

Oh dear, they're going to eat Falin. And SENSHI was the one to suggest it! For a guy who was just fighting the doubts of accidental cannibalism a week ago, you're taking bold steps forward.

(I do love how it mirrors Laios' kindness back then, in truth. Even if it's an idea so shocking and dire at first, it comes from a place of reason and logic and love)

Marcille "I said I wanted to eat her OUT, not eat HER" Donato Izutsumi "That's going to taste gross as fuck" Izutsumi Chilchuck "If it brings her back..." Tims Laios Touden, the man with a thousand things on his head right now, two of which I reckon are "I don't want to eat my sister" and "Dragon-Chicken... what might it taste like?"

Yes, well. Valid as your concerns are, Laios, because how the fuck would five people eat THAT much meat, you can't just ramble on about what dishes you're going to make out of your sister.

(...I get it, though. I mean if you're going to eat, might as well make it good, right? I know no one wants to grill one of Faligon's ribs but I'll go ahead and say it would be worse to tell them to eat her raw)

FUCK! we DID lose those scenes about the twin bell that toshiro kept!! forever sad about that.

oh my godddd they're going back into the dungeonnn we're going to reunite with themmm

I know they're really fucking competent, I mean, Namari and Toshiro are already described as pretty formidable warriors (and we've seen it), and Kabru is... admittedly much more geared to fight humans but he's a decent fighter either way. And a good leader!

Speaking of, where the fuck is everyone else.

I know they're meant to be scary (and I suppose they are! If we have the reference that, firstly, marcille is an excellent spellcaster so these elves could be just as good in their own areas of expertise, yes?, and secondly, the canaries are Well Known)

... plus, Namari, Toshiro and Kabru are wary of them. Namari, Toshiro and Kabru are wary of them.

BUT damn it Lycion, I need to- (gets dragged off stage)

Anyway, while we wait for the next season (WHICH HAS BEEN GREENLIT! WOHOO!), have these wonderful images of chicken falin being a cathedral painting (...if cathedrals ever added dragons, i guess) and my beloveds, who have finally returned!

[dadsbongos]

my wife is cool, understanding, and goes with the flow

5.7 k words / warnings - fem reader (+referred to as mother/wife), chilchuck's emotional turmoil (he's so in love and so incapable of verbalizing it)

summary - general strings of yours and chilchuck's marriage. good to bad to making up.

~~~

“You know,” you whisper, “If you ignore how nightmarish they were to raise, then they’re kinda perfect kids.”

Chilchuck snorts, letting you hang off his arm as you stand in the doorway to your living room.

Meijack and Flertom are strewn across the couch in opposite directions, Flertom’s feet dangling off an armrest and Meijack’s in her sister’s face. Thankfully, Flertom is not awake to notice the violation of personal space. Puckpatti is curled on the floor before the couch, long auburn hair flayed out and draped over her arms, which she uses as a makeshift pillow.

The front door is wide open, gentle pittering rain having lulled the girls to sleep. Puckpatti had been the one to suggest a ‘slumber party’ in the common space as it rained, even likening the cool air and atmospheric petrichor to camping to incite Meijack. As far as you know, however, none of the girls have been camping, so you’re mystified how that reasoning actually worked.

“Mei and Fler are so big now,” he muses, “Mei thinks she’s ready for the adult world now.”

“As if,” you lay your cheek on his shoulder, silently wishing he’d take the opportunity to kiss your temple. He does not, “We were barely ready when we had them. How’s a nine-year-old prepared for that?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Meijack, as if sensing her parents’ lighthearted jabs, rolls over with a grumble and hum, flinging a foot into Flertom’s nose. The younger twin’s face wrinkles in protest, head jerking in the opposite direction -- you and Chilchuck freeze, anticipating a shrill cry, until Flertom relaxes again. The sigh of relief is short, though.

Abruptly, Chilchuck goes rigid, jolting you off him, “Why is Patti on the floor? Like a dog?”

“How am I supposed to know what goes on in that kid’s brain?”

Chilchuck shakes his head and steps over the young girl to shut your front door. Squeaky hinges pull a whine from Patti herself, drowsily rubbing her eyes and calling, “Papa, don’t shut it!”

“What? You want a troll to get in?” he asks sarcastically.

“No,” Puckpatti answers in earnest.

“That’s why Papa wants the door shut,” you kneel by your youngest daughter, brushing back her bangs just to watch her eyebrows scrunch cutely, “So no nasty trolls can get inside…” then you remember your husband’s complaint, “Patti, baby, do you wanna sleep in a chair? Or a bed? The ground doesn’t look very nice to rest on.”

“Yeah, Mama’s right. The ground’s gonna mess up your back,” Chilchuck joins you, ready to scoop up your daughter when she shakes her head.

“Wanna stay by Mei and Fler…” she pouts.

“Okay, but let me set out some more blankets, alright?” you kiss her on the forehead once, then twice when she beams and nods.

Chilchuck is already standing to retrieve spare blankets from your closet, he’s back before you can impede the hallway. He stops you from venturing further by propping a leg in front of you, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything.”

“She’ll need a real pillow, too, honey.”

“Yeah,” he taps at your ankles with his foot until you’re relenting, turning back towards the living room, “I said I got it.”

“Thank goodness for my big, strong man, huh?”

“I am the breadwinner,” he teases, granting you a kiss on the cheek before dropping to lay the blankets out as a makeshift mattress for Puckpatti.

“Self-imposed!” you rasp, stage-swatting at his back, “I could get a job, too!”

“Do you want to?” you want to smack the smug grin off his lips, specifically with your own. In a kiss. For a long while.

“...no.”

He laughs at your sudden shyness. Tempered down only to avoid waking your daughters, “There you go.”

“Boo,” you pull Chilchuck to a stand by the back of his shirt. You pull, and pull, and pull, and you don’t stop until he’s tumbling on top of you into your shared bed, with your door haphazardly kicked shut, “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean?!” he whisper-shouts, instantly more affectionate in how he wraps his arms around you and buries his face into your neck, “You choked me, yanking on my shirt like that.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he abruptly goes limp, “I’m half dead.”

“Half dead isn’t a thing, Chil,” you giggle, trying halfheartedly to shove him off.

“It is, I’m half dead,” he insists, “There’s only one way to revive me.”

“Uh-huh… and that is?”

“A kiss,” Chilchuck lifts his head to look you in the eyes, suggestively bumping his eyebrows, “A sloppy one.”

“No!” you gasp, dramatically.

“Loud and wet,” he nods in even measures, clicking his tongue, “Only way, I guess. Really tough for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you wiggle out an arm from beneath his body to poke his cheek, “You seem fine now. Very lively and talkative!”

“Means I’m dying faster. It’s the final burst of energy before I shit my pants and die.”

“Ew!” your shout is smothered beneath Chilchuck’s hand, his laughter rumbling your body, forehead digging into your collarbones.

Between choked chuckles Chilchuck manages out a meek, “sorry, sorry!” he gasps for breath and releases your mouth, “That was gross.”

“Yeah, now get off me. You’re nasty.”

“See? You’re mean to me, one mention of shit and I’m just an expendable stud.”

As soon as Chilchuck rolls off you and onto his back, you’re crowding onto him, pawing at his chest and kissing his cheek, “You are a stud.”

“Can I get a kiss for that, at least?”

“I just kissed you, greedy.”

His deadpan stare inspires a bizarre longing in your thumping chest, you stretch to grant his wish. Chilchuck’s hands cup your cheek, holding you close to prolong the kiss as long as you’ll allow. Such restless and selfish want is reserved for behind closed doors, which you wish you could understand, but you don’t.

You’re preoccupied with the dread of death. Half-foots are blessed to live past fifty. Sure, you and Chilchuck are merely scratching at twenty, but life is too short for him to be shy about these things.

“I wish you’d be more open and lovey.”

“Hm?” he hums against your lips, pulling away to stare at you strangely, “Why?”

“‘Why?’” you mock, “I’m your wife! That’s why.”

Instinctually, Chilchuck goes to wave off the answer as a joke and roll his eyes, but then something barks. Both of you pause, heads turning slowly towards the now gaping door to find a shaggy white puppy standing in the dim space. Swiftly, its tail wags, and it barks again before charging towards your bed.

Your screech at the dash rouses Chilchuck from his shock. Clumsily shuffling so he’s in front of you, taking the brunt of the dog’s pounce.

“Since when do we have a dog?!” Chilchuck looks over his shoulder at you, as if you’d know.

“As if I know!” you parrot your thoughts, breath slowing to a calm when the small dog cuddles your husband’s arms, “Kinda cute though, right?”

“He broke in!” Chilchuck accuses, lifting a shoulder to prevent you petting it -- his plan fails miserably and you’re easily scratching behind the dog’s ears, “He could have ticks! He could’ve bit the girls on his way back here!”

“No,” you whine, resting your chin on Chilchuck’s shoulder, “He has a friendly face, he’d never do that!”

“And you know that how…?”

“Aw, Chil, honey, have a heart! He was probably scared of the rain and snuck inside to get away from it!” you reach under the dog’s head to now scritch his chin, “Which is our fault for leaving the door open, isn’t it?” you’re already a lost cause to logic, repeating back to the puppy, “Isn’t it? Yes, it is! Yes, it is! He understands me! He’s so smart, Chil, we have to keep him.”

His silent glowering makes you wilt over his back.

You retreat from the dog to hug your husband from behind, “C’mon, have a heart!”

Irritation pulses through Chilchuck at the turn of tonight’s events. Everything before this dumb dog felt natural, smooth, and familiar. Until you said that.

One thing that makes his heart rate spike. Even though, at twenty, it means very little to him.

‘I wish you’d be more open and lovey.’

He knows this means more.

“Okay, okay,” he eases, snatching a chaste smooch from you before combing a hand down the dog’s soft fur, “I’ll work on it.”

You two never had a dog, though.

Puckpatti is allergic -- you never would’ve gotten a dog since it’d cause your daughter so much distress.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog, but it isn’t a mimic.

What’s in his arms isn’t a dog because this isn’t real.

.

.

.

Chilchuck’s eyes drift open, a dusty ceiling stares down at him. Slowly, a crushing weight is relieved from his stomach.

Blonde and black hair mingle in his peripherals, then Laios is leaning over him obnoxiously, speaking to the other two while looking at the half-foot, “Does Chil sleep with his eyes open?”

“No,” Chilchuck takes initiative, shoving Laios away by the chin and sitting up with a yawn. His back cracks unpleasantly, and eye crust pokes into his fluttering lids. Rubbing the gross clots away, Chilchuck settles his elbows onto his knees before resting that way -- leaning into his hands even after his eyes have been cleared out.

For a moment, he silently mourns the fading images of his dream; already having forgotten the beginning. No matter how desperately he clings to the story, it escapes, leaking out his ears until all there is left to mourn is the fact he’s awake.

All he knows is that dream ended differently than it should have. Hopefully the ending this time was better than real life, not that it matters. He wouldn’t remember, nor would it change the fact that in reality you two are not together.

“Chilchuck? Are you okay?” Marcille sounds hesitant. Worried.

The last thing he needs is her fretting and prying into what his Nightmare could’ve been about, so instead he lamely says, “Tired.”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds entirely unconvinced. He’s surprised when she doesn’t push.

He’s further surprised when Laios does, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Chil’,” you croon, hands curling around the man’s waist as he silently uncorks a bottle of cheap wine. He makes sure not to jostle you off as he moves the dark glass to his lips, even cupping your overlapping hands with one of his own to steady you, “You should talk to me about these things!”

“It was fine, we went in -- got what we needed -- got out. I’m back and alive.”

‘Alive’ strikes you, it sticks in the back of your head as soon as he says it. Your arms tighten around his slim waist, the slots of his ribs dig into your forearms and it makes your chest tighten. Swirling thoughts colliding and dragging each other deeper and deeper into your darker concerns: Chilchuck starving himself to maintain an unhealthy weight, Chilchuck burning calories in a revival, Chilchuck having to drink himself under just to fall asleep.

“Would you tell me if you died?”

“Why would you want to know that?” he laughs, yet you’re frowning into his back.

You bite your lip until raw iron spills onto your tongue, gnawing it with the anxiety of how to soften this question. How marshmallowy can you make your tone to avoid lecturing while also not patronizing him? Eventually, you settle on just spitting it out,

“Would you even remember it?” he hums, confused, “You drink a lot, Chil’.”

He squeezes your hands, setting down his wine to turn in your hold, now cupping your cheeks -- flush with upset and ready to dampen with tears, “I don’t get blackout on jobs, you know?”

“But,” you don’t want to pester him, to drive him away from home even during his off time, “Chil’, honey, you’re… with your weight, alcohol could- well- !”

“I know,” he interrupts your stammering, drawing a thumb across the apples of your face tenderly. Though his posture is rigid, and his next statement confirms your suspicion that he just wants to stop talking about this, “I appreciate you looking out for me, but really, don’t think so much about it. Work’s not worth talking about at home. And my drinking is totally recreational, I want to enjoy myself and unwind, is that so bad?”

“No,” you heave with defeat, now planting your forehead against his shoulder. Clenching his shirt in a bunch, you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze hoping it’ll squash out any thoughts of continuing to nag his drinking. It’ll end the same way it always does.

Chilchuck is fine because work is fine and his drinking is fine and his diet is fine because Chilchuck is perfectly perpetually fine.

You’re just a worrywart wife. Your kids are grown, having flown the coop, and you’re going mad in loneliness. You should think less. You should learn to be fine like your husband.

…

“Woah, no way! They want to meet me?”

“Uh-huh,” Chilchuck’s eyes trail after you as you rush from one end of the room to the other, clicking jewelry clasps and snapping buttons into place as you go, “It’s nothing to dress up over,” when you seem to ignore him, he only gets louder, “We’re gonna be late, you know?”

Let me dress up! is what you want to snap at him, but you don’t. Instead, you let those comments join the many others from him that rattle around in the back of your mind like rocks.

“I want to make a good impression,” you finally utter, “It isn’t like you tell me anything about work, I’m excited to meet your friends! Besides, if you wanted me to be more prepared then you should’ve said something earlier.”

“I get it,” and in a bid to be polite, but just coming out tumbling into the rock pile is, “If you had work friends, I’d wanna meet them, too.”

The obvious dig is that you don’t get out. Now that the girls are older and independently caring for themselves, you could more easily find work… the problem lies in how you don’t really want to. You’d be too scared of Chilchuck returning home to an empty house, whenever it is that he does come home.

The hidden dig is that he’s fibbing, he would never want to meet your friends like you want to meet his.

Nevertheless, you tuck a white hyacinth cob into your hair and head for the spot Chilchuck claims his group frequents for after-work drinks. Before tonight, it never really occurred to you that Chilchuck might be grabbing drinks with other people. Not that such an idea alone is what bothers you, rather that he’s out so often and for so long potentially enjoying himself while you’re stuck at home sick over whether he’s alive.

Upon arrival, a pair of tallmen greet you both. Smiles light up their faces, cheeks balling with glee, when their eyes spot you. It should probably be embarrassing how quickly such an insignificant act can get you excited. You wave and they wave back.

“Gonna introduce the lovely lady?” the slightly taller one, black haired with stubble stretching down his neck, prompts.

“We should get to the table first,” Chilchuck reaches for the door, holding it open for you.

(if you were presenting Chilchuck to your friends then you’d repeat yourself introducing him ad infinitum with shining pride, but you add that thought to your rock collection)

“This is my wife,” Chilchuck pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you’re sat before adding your name and sitting beside you, “Hope she’s everything you all hoped for.”

You choose to ignore that. Preferring to strike conversation with his friends until,

“You know,” the blonde woman at the head of the table leans forward, you’ve been rudely trying to avoid looking at her. But how can you blame yourself when she stares at your husband with such a sultry, lidded gaze, “I think you were exaggerating how spacey she is, Chilchuck. Adorable thing’s been keyed into our conversation the whole time.”

Chilchuck grumbles into his rapidly emptying mug of ale, then locking eyes with the blonde woman, “You don’t live with her.”

“Hey!” you sound bratty and grating with the whine, but your spirit feels worse, “Is that what you tell them about me?”

“And clumsy,” the gnome directly across from you chirps.

“But!” the black-haired one from earlier interrupts, apparently sensing your drowning mood, “You’re a good mom! Great, even!”

“Oh,” the compliment does very little to satiate you, given what’s been said against you (you don’t stop to consider that Chilchuck mentions those things because he finds them charming). You look over to your husband, “I’m a good mom?”

Chilchuck is drunkenly chortling over something you hadn’t heard the blonde woman say.

But at least you’re a good mom.

Something plops against the hand buried in your lap. A scattered white hyacinth. Embarrassed suddenly by how much effort you put into your outfit, you sweep the flower off your leg and stare at the table -- praying to avoid more glimpses of the blonde at the head of the table.

Nobody seems to notice your veil of silence, not even Chilchuck to tease you proving his point about spacing out.

On the trek home, you trail behind Chilchuck to test if he’ll notice. At some point, you’re three full paces behind him, and you theorize that the weight of all your freshly added brain-rocks is slowing you down. Again, he holds the door to your shared home open, but does not ask the cause for your sour mood.

Assuming he’s even noticed, anyway.

Given the way he leaves the next morning for another job with little more than a kiss to your forehead, you assume he didn’t. Venomously, you wonder if he would notice the blonde in a bad mood.

That same morning, not knowing how long he’ll be away this time, you pack up and head for Flertom’s house with Puckpatti.

(a flickering hope tries to toss the rocks through your ears, assuring that Chilchuck will come for you as soon as he’s seen you missing)

…

Four years later, Chilchuck does finally come for you.

“Hey, Mama?” Flertom creeps around the corner to the kitchen, hands wrinkled in the skirt of her dress nervously, “You have a visitor…”

Looking up from your book, you roll the handle of your coffee mug in your palm, making the bottom scrape against your daughter’s tablecloth, “Who’d visit me?”

“Dad.”

That makes you hesitate before slipping your book closed around your thumb, “Your father’s here?”

“He’s at the door,” she nods, voice lowering as if he’d hear her across the house, “There’s an elf lady with him!”

“Oh, you’re- !” you purse your lips, sighing through your nose, and nod. Rising to a stand, you replace your thumb with a proper bookmark before skirting around Flertom and through the hall. Curses coagulate in your throat, and you suffer them silently, holding them until they melt back into your chest, not wanting to swear out your ex in front of his daughter.

With more force than perhaps necessary, you pull the door open and annoyedly flick your eyes from Chilchuck to the blonde elf woman behind him.

“What? Came to show off?”

Chilchuck flushes red, shaking his head and tilting a preciously wrapped bouquet towards you, “No! No, we’re not together.”

Elf Lady lets out a quiet gasp before refusing sharply, “Not together at all! He’s here for you!”

“I figure he’s here for me,” you’re much more bitter than you thought you’d be, although to be fair whenever you imagined Chilchuck coming to see you he was never with another woman, “If you’re not together, why are you here?”

She frowns at your tone, Chilchuck sticking an arm out in front of her, “She’s my coworker. And friend. She pushed me to come see you,” he steps forward, waving the flowers under your nose, “Can we talk?”

“About what, Chilchuck?”

His eyes widen at the use of his formal name, plastic wrap crinkling loudly as he squeezes the flowers. Then his gaze drops to his feet, “I didn’t realize we were so unfamiliar.”

“I haven’t heard from you in four years.”

“You haven’t heard from me?” he grins sideways, an agitated twitch in his left eye, “Do you hear yourself?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to then catch the sight of Chilchuck’s ‘friend’ lingering -- staring -- not even three feet back. Glaring at her, you begin to slide the door shut, “I think we’re done here. You show up at our daughter’s house, unannounced, with some pretty, blonde filly and expect us to chat like old friends? You’re just as insensitive as always, Chilchuck!”

As you go to slam the door, Chilchuck shoves his foot in the way, hissing at the resounding ache all through his instep and ankle. Breathless from the sudden pain, he worms the bouquet through the slim gap -- a few stray powder blue hyacinth petals fluttering to the floor at the pressure. Just above the plush flowers is the sorrowful sight of Chilchuck’s wet lashes and batting eyes.

“Come on,” he huffs, not even taking a huff of relief when you let the door open wider. Tensely, Chilchuck wraps his other hand around the bouquet as well, “It’s not like that, you know me better, don’t you? I just need to talk to you,” the wrap squeals again as he squeezes tighter, “I just want you to tell me where I went wrong.”

He’s playing to your big headedness, vying that he’s alone in the wrong. You know him better, most definitely, you know that as soon as you two sit down he’ll bring up the way in which you left. You deserve that much, don’t you? If you could change anything (given that what you can pick from is what was actually your fault), it would be the manner in how you left. You would’ve waited until he was home to tell him to his face.

(except that’s a lie, if you had waited then you would’ve let him sucker you with soft apologies and unfulfilling promises to change)

This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in years.

“She’s not coming into my home.”

Chilchuck nods, lips stretching fondly, “You’re so jealous.”

“She’s tall, and blonde! And pretty. And- !”

He cuts you off, tone just as soft as it was seconds ago, “And I’m not giving her flowers, am I?”

“Apology flowers,” you mutter, though sweeping the bouquet from his arms into yours. Skimming one of the soft petals under your thumb before gliding from one bob to the other and touching there, too. Turning toward the burning feeling of eyes on your back, you find Flertom’s blown out stare meeting yours.

Flertom holds both hands out silently, brows raised. Pushing in neither way, only offering to hold -- whether she holds you or the flowers is your decision. You choose the flowers. She giggles and waves you off, whispering to the flowers about what a lovely, empty vase she has just for them!

“We shouldn’t talk here,” you step out from Flertom’s home, “I don’t want to include our daughter in our troubles.”

“What a good mom,” he teases, waving off the elf as he steps down from Flertom’s porch, holding out a hand to assist you down as well. The remark has a new defiance bubbling beneath your skin.

“I can walk myself,” you bypass his offer.

“I know you can, but let me be nice.”

“You had lots of opportunities to be nice.”

A retort is trapped on the back of his tongue. Ultimately, he swallows it, and says nothing except to suggest a bar nearby, “That could be a good spot,” at your judgmental stare, he sputters, “For talking!”

“Right.”

Chilchuck has a favored tavern in Kahka Brud, the one where you told him you were pregnant with Puckpatti. He, very selflessly and pumped full of blind joy, bought a round for the patrons. It's not a particularly popular or nice place, there’s a lingering smell of mildew and the usual customers are lonely old men (basically: Chilchuck). And the door still creaks when he holds it open for you.

And the tables are just as wobbly when you sit there. Chilchuck tries in vain to mask the tipping by forcing it to one side by pressing his elbows down.

“So, what was she doing there?”

“She kept bugging me about my personal life, so,” he sighs, unsure how to explain himself without sounding out of his mind, “In short, I promised she could meet my family.”

“Pretty against your usual tough front.”

“Not tough,” he folds his arms now, hands on either bicep, still trying to keep the uneven table steady, “I just don’t think they have to know my business.”

“You realize how stupid you sound, right?”

“Oi,” a deep voice approaches from the other side of the bar, a man unfamiliar to both you and Chilchuck stands behind the counter, “We don’t serve kids here.”

Chilchuck groans, pointing at his ears without looking back at the man, then his eyes catch the way you’re prepared to hop down from your seat. He shakes his head, “Don’t move for this dumbass. If he can’t tell a tall-man kid from adult half-foots, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I guess, but what if he just kicks you out for being a dick?” you glance at the bartender warily, trying to sense if he’s gearing up to throw you and Chilchuck out by force.

“I’m not worried about him,” Chilchuck leans forward, almost as if he can assert control over the situation by a meager height difference, “I’m here to talk to you.”

You’re unsure how to respond to that. It’s something you’ve always wanted to hear from him, but now that you have it feels unsatisfying. After four years of your sudden disappearance from his life, he’s finally given chase.

“Do you have any idea why I left?”

“Roughly,” he admits, voice quiet, eyes redirected to the table in shame, “I wasn’t there for you, right?”

“That’s a bit simplified. When you were on crawls, it felt like you being away for work felt the same as when you were home.”

“I wasn’t there for you,” he restates, nodding slowly, “So, that was it?”

His lack of tension hurts you more than you’re willing to admit. Enough that you temporarily forget that you wanted to make him feel the distance between you both.

“Chil…”

You revert to his first name.

“It’s okay, you can say it. That was it. You had enough.”

It goes unacknowledged, and that hurts all over again. It hurts so bad, you start to get angry that he even maintains such an effect on your heart.

“I didn’t want- it wasn’t- I’m…” you groan loudly, eyes clenching shut to avoid him, “That’s the problem, Chil,” his silence prods you on, “You think of me leaving as… as a ‘that’s it’ moment. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

“Leaving was hard on you? I came home to nothing that day! I thought you were just upset, maybe a little depressed, I didn’t think you were planning to leave me! I never thought you’d leave.”

“I told you. I told you why I was upset.”

“When?”

“I told you all the time!” before he can open his stupid mouth, you’re yelling again, “And if you knew I was so sad, then why didn’t you ask?! Did it never occur to you that I might need support? That I wanted my husband to talk to me about how I felt? That he should talk to me about how he feels?”

“I’m no good with emotional shit, you know that. When I’m upset I just feel uncomfortable spilling that onto others, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“We were married! Spouses are supposed to intrude!”

His shoulders droop, face falling like you said something genuinely devastating (but that can’t be, right? why would he be so upset about something he gave such little thought to?), “Were?”

“I was gone for four years before you came to see me, Chil,” you lay your head in your hands, “Four years before you looked for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he whispers, “I asked Fler about you.”

“She never told me that.”

“I told her not to.”

Redundantly, you say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I thought you hated me,” Chilchuck draws a slow breath, it fills his whole chest before he lets it all out, “And for the first couple of months after Fler told me you were safe, I hated you, too. I was so mad that you didn’t even leave a note. I couldn’t eat or sleep, I was just… confused, and angry. I couldn’t work,” he swallows hesitation, “And the worst part was… I couldn’t talk about it because nobody knew you. Re-explaining it to people would just piss me off all over again.”

“Your old coworkers met me. And we grew up with Dandan.”

“I didn’t want to talk to Dandan,” he huffs petulantly, “I wanted to talk to my wife.”

So many feelings are bottled between you both; shaken up to a fizzy, bubbling mess about to explode from one of you. You fear it may be you. You almost crave for it to be him, though. You hate him. You miss him. You love him.

And you’re lying through your teeth, still, because you don’t hate him at all.

“Being with you, I felt so lonely.”

“I never took it seriously when you said I should open up more. I thought that because we were married that was enough and you’d be content to just be there,” he purses his lips, “I was wrong. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you reach across the table and pull one of his hands off his arm, lacing his fingers with yours, “I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry. You must’ve been worried sick.”

“I thought some bastards took you. Ran up and down the coast accusing everyone I could see of kidnapping,” he chuckles, although the ragged beat in his voice clues to you that the incident was not as lighthearted as he’s making it seem, “But when I found out the truth, I just thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to be found, right?”

“Right.”

“But- !”

“You’re not me,” he squeezes your hand tight, you can feel the full warm softness of his palm without those gloves he pulls on for work, “You’re way different. You run away to prove points,” a bratty hey! follows, “You know yourself really well, and you’re good at being open. I’ve never been like that. I never knew how, it makes me uncomfortable. But you’re my,” he swallows, “You were my wife, I should’ve been comfortable being emotional with you. You shouldn’t have been in a position where me being home was the same as me being gone for days on end.”

“Thanks, Chil,” you smooth a thumb from his knuckle and along his index finger. You glance back up to his face. A sick nostalgia, or perhaps revived affections, rage up from your gut and overdriving your heartbeat. He’s more handsome than you remember.

He shrugs, studying your conjoined hands. As if it’s the last time he’ll see them like this.

It might be.

“What now?” you ask.

“Dunno,” he replies.

Is it pathetic if you ask to get back together? (YES)

“Want to meet my new coworkers?” he blurts, a vicious red overtaking his face.

This is a step. Where exactly, you’re completely in the dark, but it certainly is a step somewhere new.

“You’re seriously not with that elf, right?”

“Of course, not! What kind of person tries reuniting with their wife while bringing a new girlfriend along?”

“You really want that answer?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snides, getting down from his chair and holding out a hand to help you down. This time, you take it, and leave his palm in yours as you both exit the bar, “By the way, my old boss is a king now.”

“What?” you gasp, spare hand flying down to smooth out your outfit, “Tell me we’re not going yet! I can look nicer than this!”

“You look pretty like this,” his eyes scrawl over your frame, “Not that it matters, right?”

“Why not?” you frown, “I should at least try to look my best in front of a king.”

“He’s just some guy,” he double-backs suddenly, shaking his head sternly, “I don’t even think he’s attracted to people, I think he’s into monsters. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Oh!

You smile at your husband widely, “You’re jealous!”

“Not even a little. Why would I be?”

“Exactly,” you pull him into your side by your hand in his, “Why would you be?”

Is it pathetic for him to beg to renew your vows?

Yes.

Does he still plan to?

Yes.

…

“You have a wife?”

“Is that so surprising?” Chilchuck can’t help but preen at the shock, carding a hand through his hair like some pompous dork trying to act too cool for the attention, “Yeah, I’m a taken man.”

Clara, a blonde tallman he usually laughs at rather than with, pesters for more information, “What’s she like?”

Her curiosity makes his skin itch, so he shrugs and tries throwing out answers as fast as they come, “Kind of a space case, and clumsy. But it’s cute…” he scoffs when his party coos and ‘aww’s like he’s some kid talking about a crush rather than a grown man his wife, “She’s really caring, too, it made her a good mom,” Chilchuck clears his throat, if only to smother the sight of his broad grin with his hand, “She’s great.”

“We should meet her,” his black-haired cleric suggests suddenly, “She probably wants to know what group has her husband away from home so often. Hopefully she doesn’t hate us, huh?”

“No,” Chilchuck lowers his hand, still feeling a gentle giddy lap over him like sunlight at the thought of you, “She’s pretty understanding.”

~~~

+ and btw and fyi: i think it’d be cool if the dream was actually terrible and only appeared pleasant cuz laios saved chil, like how marcille remembered having a nice dream after being saves. like if the real dream was coming home from a long job to discover his family horribly murdered <3