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kentoxo · 12 hours ago

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friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 10

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: wow here's me with a fast part out! im already working on part 11 so don't you worry! i believe i tagged everyone who requested to, but pls feel free to yell at me in my askbox if i missed you! next chapter is gonna be... fun ;) just wanna say, your replies/reactions/reblogs make my heart sing and it makes me smile lots

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Sunday

You woke up to the sounds of coughing and beeping.

The subtle creaks of wheels being rolled, with voices left and right, both tones of urgency and concern. Through your blurred image, you knew for a fact you were no longer home. Lights brighter than the moon blinded you from above. You decide to use your hands to give you context, feeling this holed yet weighted blanket covering your body. As you moved, you felt wires tickle your arms, with some tugging from restriction.

“What…” you murmur to yourself, groaning in pain. The moment you shifted for comfort was when you realized you were in the hospital. Gurneys are as unforgeable to your back as spikes, and even then you’d probably respect the spikes more. They don’t pretend to not be uncomfortable. Finally rubbing your eyes, you look around, finding Nanami right beside you, eyeing your drip that was overhead you. “Nana…?”

It was almost consequential whenever you said his name. Once he hears your voice, those enticing hazel eyes find their way to burn into your own. Although you felt much better, the sudden pressure of his gaze forced a few coughs out of you. Seeing this, Nanami quickly held your forearm, his expression dressed with concern.

“Are you still feeling unwell?” Nanami asks quickly. “Should I call for a nurse?”

You shake your head, waving your free hand weakly, “I feel fine, please.” You begin to adjust yourself to sit up, noticing as Nanami stood up in order to hold you by your elbows. Rough, calloused hands delicately assist you as you sit yourself up. The faint, nauseating feeling you had prior to going unconscious vanished. “Thank you,” you murmur, quietly clearing your throat which was in long desire for some hydration.

“Ah, here.” Nanami reached over for a water bottle by the provided table, snapping the cap open while slowly passing it to you. You grab the bottle from him and begin to down it, the cooling relief surfing down your throat. Few streams of water escape from your lips, feeling the cold sensation go down your jaw and neck. But, it is kindly wiped away from a napkin, as Nanami dabs it dry. “Don’t drink so hastily, Y/N. You’re not in a rush anywhere, are you?”

“Yes I am,” you hiss after finishing half the water. “I need to go home. Now.”

“Y/N, you’re running a 39.4°C (103°F) fever, and you were incredibly dehydrated,” Nanami says in a ‘matter-of-fact’ tone. He tugs carefully at your IV drip, “this is your third bag.”

You cross your arms over your chest and look away with a stubborn hmph. As you distantly looked towards the window and into the Tokyo night, you realized immediately that Nanami brought you to the hospital. Meaning, he was there when you passed out. Also meaning that… his confession may have been part of your fever. Perhaps the delusion of his confession may have just been a dream. Or a sweet nightmare.

“What happened?” You pondered quietly, anticipating that he’d answer your indirect question.

“You fainted,” Nanami answered curtly. Go figure. “So I brought you to the hospital immediately.”

You look over at him, seeing the earnesty in his face. You sucked your teeth mentally, knowing you couldn’t get mad at him over this. “Well… thank you, Nanami kacho. I’m really sorry for the trouble as well.”

Nanami shakes his head, “it’s absolutely no trouble. ‘M just glad you’re awake and well. The doctors were able to calm down that fever pretty quickly, and they simply said you needed more water and rest.”

You nod slowly, “work has been doing a number on me. I might schedule a vacation after the holiday, if that’s alright with you, kacho.”

Nanami, through an annoyed sigh from how you’re addressing him, gives a reluctant nod, “you’ve been working hard this last year. Consider it approved.”

“Thank you,” you let out.

After a moment of silence, Nanami leans forward in his chair, anxious thumbs twiddling around one another. “Y/N, if I may ask… do you remember anything prior to you going unconscious?”

You stare at him pensively, trying to recall memories in his brown eyes. “I remember you coming over with vegetables,” you begin, “and then you were making me soup– oh my god, the soup! Did you–!”

“It’s completely off, don’t worry,” Nanami reassures you. You quickly hold your chest, the sudden panic making your heart go off. “Anything else?”

He was trying to itch it out of you. “I believe that was it,” you say quickly, “everything else… I think it was just in my head.”

“Like a dream?” Nanami continues.

You nod, “it must have been. The last thing I remember is us on the couch, and you telling me something…” Your cheeks go warm again.

Nanami’s eyes narrow on your expression, curious as to what caused it. “Do you remember what I said?”

Your eyes dart at him, your nerves collecting. You had much more energy than before, sure, but that doesn’t neglect how lightheaded you were from everything. “Um,” you hesitate. You didn’t want to bring it up and embarrass yourself more than you already have. First 2 rejections, and now having to recount something that you were very confident did not happen. “Well, in my mind… I think you were trying to confess to me.”

Nanami nods, “I wasn’t trying to; I did.”

You blink a few times, your mind going blank. Mindlessly, you pinched your forearm, letting out a pained hiss. Nanami quickly holds your damage-dealing hand and looks at you puzzled. “Sorry,” you begin quietly, “I sort of lost my mind there. Sorry to ask you to repeat yourself, but can you say that one more time for me?”

“You were not dreaming, Y/N,” Nanami says forwardly, “I like you.”

The words were golden, but they didn’t reflect with that metallic shine. Your heart jumped for joy, but it was tied down with light weights. This confession, his words… it didn’t quite feel right. Not that you have experience being confessed to, but this didn’t feel like in the dramas you binged at 1 A.M.

You squint at him, skepticism drowning the air. You adjust yourself, facing him as best as you could with the most serious look on your face. Even Nanami looked surprised at your sudden change. “Nanami, you like me?”

Nanami looks at you, feeling as though this was a test, “yes…?”

“Why?” You asked combatively.

But this is a dream come true, no? To be confessed to, to have feelings reciprocated by the man you like and admire so much. To hear him say, ‘I like you,’ and happily begin to date. It was what you wanted, right before your very eyes. But… it didn’t feel as dreamy as it did in your head. He had rejected you twice– what change of heart could a man possibly have so quickly?

“Why do I like you?” Nanami reiterates. You nod. “Well, as you pointed out before, it is not shocking for coworkers to get along so well that they become romantically affiliated.”

“Nanami, that’s in general,” your tongue sharply starts, “with that logic, you could have liked any person you have worked with in the past. My question is why do you specifically like me?”

Nanami’s cheeks hold a peach hue, with a lump in his throat. In this space, with your aura, it felt like an interrogation. Your eyes burned into his soul, and he knew no doctor here could relieve him of such intensity. “W-well, firstly, your eye for detail and how meticulous you are in your work is definitely one reason.”

“Sure,” you hum, unconvinced, “anything else?”

Nanami starts to feel cold, “and, I appreciate that you listen to instructions exactly the way it’s told. You even exceed my expectations and do more than what I tell you.”

“Nanami, I’m sorry,” you tilt your head like a confused dog, “are you trying to tell me that you like me because I do good work?”

“W-well,” Nanami tries to keep his cool, looking down shamefully at his hands. “I’ve never liked someone before. So, forgive me if my standards are… unique.”

“They are unique, I can give you that,” you begin, disappointment laced in your words, “but with what you’re saying… It means that I’m not really unique.”

“That’s simply not true,” Nanami immediately tries to disagree, but you bring him to a complete halt. You raise your hand to him, shutting him up silently. Putting your hand down, you look at him with a sheepish smile.

“Nanami,” you say before letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Don’t feel obligated to like me as an attempt to restore how we once were with one another. It’s adding insult to injury, and you don’t have to do that to yourself, either.”

His face goes pale, “but I do like you.”

“So why didn’t you say so before?”

“I already told you; I didn’t realize before,” Nanami’s hands hold onto the corner of your bed, his fingers desperately denting into the barely-foamed mattress.

“So… you didn’t know you liked me,” you began slowly, “and conveniently, you realized you like right after breaking my heart. Am I right?”

“Y/N, you’re taking this out of proportion,” Nanami hums. He quickly adjusts the surrounding curtains, closing all the gaps to mimic some sort of privacy. Taking a seat once more, he looks over to you and raises his eyebrows. “I would never pretend to like someone in order to spare their feelings. That would be a waste of my time.”

“But you like me for lame reasons,” you huff quietly, “you like that I’m a really good assistant to you. That I do my job well, that I don’t require more than a simple instruction. I’m useful, convenient. You like me because I’m doing you a service that you’re literally paying me for.”

“That’s not true,” Nanami counters, “I refused every single assistant until you.”

“Because you’ve eavesdropped and practically did your research on me,” you pointed out. Oh, how eavesdropping got us here…

“You know exactly how I am, Y/N,” Nanami argues quietly. He sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “I do not accept anything less than what should be standard. You exceed that standard, and I’ve had no regrets accepting you as my assistant.”

“If your big reason for liking me is because of the way I work, then I’m not interested,” you reply briefly. “You know nothing else about me besides my work ethic, which is only one part of me.”

Nanami looks at you, uncertain what else to say. You had your arms crossed above your own chest, looking distantly into the cold night. He was taken aback by your cold, avoidant demeanor. It was almost like you didn’t want to accept the reality. But, Nanami had a strong feeling that pressing it would make you shell up even more.

“Let’s be forward with one another,” Nanami says in a low tone. “We seem to go in this back and forth that’s a bit confusing. Why are you upset with me? We… now share the same sentiment.”

You look over at him, seeing the woe and worry in his eyes. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt in your heart. But you have to remember that your feelings were hurt first. You did the confessing, you took the rejection(s), and you did all the crying. Just because he was saying the things you wanted to hear doesn’t mean it was well timed.

“I don’t accept your confession,” you say simply. “If you didn’t realize you had feelings for me, that means there was a chance where you would have never realized it, and all this would have never happened.”

Nanami looks into your eyes, confidence standing its ground but wavering. He didn't know what to do. Though he knew he liked you, the points you brought up were irrefutable. Though he found you to be beautiful, and appreciated your thoughtfulness, he knew nothing about you or your past. And, with how defensive you now were, Nanami wasn’t too sure that he’d be able to delve into you like a swimmer diving in water.

But, he will absolutely traverse your waters, one way or another. Afterall, he’s a businessman.

“Then what is your offer?” Nanami begins, weaving his fingers between one another. He leaned into you, his head going over the gurney fencing.

“My offer?” You ask, a reticence on your tongue.

“You’re my woman of trade,” Nanami explains, “so, how much time do I have to persuade you that I like you?”

You feel your cheeks burn, “eh?”

“Give me an amount of time to convince you,” Nanami repeats himself, conviction being repaired in his words. “However long it takes, I’ll make it happen. I’ll make us happen.”

You immediately shake your head, “no.”

“Please?” Please? You raised your eyebrows, looking at Nanami. His usual empty scowl was softened, his hazel eyes shining like dew. You could tell he was at his wits end, unsure what else he could do.

As he silently pleaded, you felt a vibration sound on the table where your water bottle is. You look over, noticing your phone case. He follows your eyes and passes the phone to you. Quickly checking it, you casually skimmed an email notification and let out a curt sigh. You lift your head, and meet his eyes once more.

“You have until the end of the Holiday Party,” you offer simply, “but nothing dramatic or theatrical.”

Nanami stares at you, seeing if you were kidding or taking back your words. But you sat solemn. He nods, licking his bottom lip quickly to keep him from smiling. He brings his hand to you.

“Deal?” He says firmly. It felt like he was working, and for a moment even you were worried. Though you were confident in Nanami’s lack of sensibility, you couldn’t deny his businessman tactics and mind.

You slowly place your hand in his, and you feel him gently squeeze your hand. “D-deal.”

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musicwhitemagic · 3 days ago

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Delirious

Lip Gallagher x reader fluff

Warning: A very soft and cuddly Lip Gallagher

(Thank you to @theitgirlnetwork for checking my work before I posted it 😅)

Enjoy!

You immediately shot up from the Gallagher’s couch when you heard the door click open and sighed with relief. They were finally home.

After a lot of annoying jabs from his siblings (some pleading from you), and the convenient dental insurance that his new job came with, Lip had finally decided to get his wisdom teeth out, and thank god too. He would never admit it, but it was starting to hurt like a bitch. It was just going to be a simple routine surgery, you knew he would be fine, but that still didn’t stop you from fidgeting and worrying all day. you had wanted to tag along but had been immediately turned down by Ian and Mickey who were picking him up from the dentist’s office, (Mickey would never miss an opportunity to see his brother-in-law hopped up on drugs and making an ass out of himself) they knew you would get upset and work yourself up. No matter how little of a dosage he would be on

Lip hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, so reluctantly, you stayed home.

“Alright, come on.” You walked over to help Ian who currently had Lip’s arm slung over his shoulder, struggling to get him inside. Mickey was following behind, phone in his hand recording with a smirk on his face.

“Hey, thanks for the help asshole” He glared at his boyfriend as he pulled his limp brother along.

“No problem.” Mickey smiled as he made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Is he okay?” you asked Ian as you gently pushed some of Lip’s curls back. He instantly melted into your touch as his eyes glazed over. He then reached over to grab your wrist and squeezed it affectionately. Well… that’s new. You thought as you squeezed back. It’s not that Lip wasn’t much for physical touch, in fact, once you started dating, he realized he preferred it, always choosing gentle kisses and soft touches (among other things) as his way of saying “I love you”, but public affection? Usually just a simple pull of your belt loop, or grazing of one anothers fingers would be the most on display.

Ian sighed as he wiped his forehead, “Yeah, he’s alright, just kinda’ out of it, the doctor said it should wear off in a bit, he should probably take his pills though.’’ You go to follow in pursuit, when a hand pulls you back down.

“Lip? You okay?” He responds by taking a piece of your hair and analyzing it with precision.

“I’ve seen you b’fore”

You giggle as you reach up to stroke his swollen cheeks, you decide, why not? Might as well take advantage of the situation before his stubborn pride comes back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… you been around” he analyzes you once more, “You’re hot”

You can’t help but grin at his comment, although dumb, has you blushing like a schoolgirl. “Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself”. Ian entered the room with a glass of water and pills in his hand.

“Ian!” Lip whispers with no attempt at being quiet, “ook at er! She’s so hot! Isn’t she so hot?”

“Mhm, come on, you need to take this”

“She is so pretty!” Lip turns to you and boops your nose, “you’re ‘ust a pretty, pretty little lady-”

You lean in to cup his cheek and whisper. “Hey.. do you want to know something crazy?”

Lip, now absentmindedly playing with your fingers, whispers back to match your volume, “Yeah?”

“I’m your girlfriend”

“No!”

“Uh huh”

“I ont believe you”

“Would you like me to prove it to you?” Before you wait for an answer, you gently grab his chin, as he had done for you thousands of times, and place a long, sweet kiss on his lips. When you look back, he looks as though he could melt right there, in your hands. Usually you were the one that got flustered and awe-struck by Lip and his flirting, it was fun to be on the receiving end”

“You guys done?” Ian asked sardonically as he still stood in front of you, pills in hand.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ Phillip, you’re such a pussy-wipped little bitch”

“Shut up Mickey”

Well, this would be a fun couple of hours.

#shameless #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher x y/n #shameless x reader #shameless x you #shameless fanfiction #masterlist

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stbot · 2 days ago

Note

PLEASE ELABORATE ON THE BISHOVA MEET CUTE FROM YOUR TAGS (if you want to, no pressure)

(Prompt: do you think vampires get run over because people can’t see them in their rear view mirrors?)

The first time Kate’s official S.H.I.E.L.D. communicator goes off, she’s in the middle of a terrible recurring stress dream where she’s made it to the finals of Hell’s Kitchen, but all the ingredients keep coming alive like they escaped from the set of a new Muppets movie and Gordon Ramsey won’t stop yelling that “the carrots are so raw even Bugs Bunny won’t eat them!”

Which is to say, that in all the dream-chaos, she doesn’t actually hear it at all. (And also that she should probably stop watching cartoons before bed, but that’s a problem for Future Kate.)

So when she jerks awake in a cold sweat, begging the vegetables to “stop singing so i can murder you for Gordon,” it takes a minute for her to recover enough to notice that the insistant beeping isn’t actually the kitchen timer letting her know that’s she’s about to burn some boiling water, but rather that she’s being summoned.

By S.H.I.E.L.D.

For her first real assignment as a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative.

And she’s still wearing her yummy sushi pajamas.

“Oh, shit!”

Kate flings herself out of bed with such force that Pizza Dog startles awake, immediately on alert for intruders. But he quickly realizes it’s just his human doing what she does, and he settles back down at the foot of the bed. His eye tracks Kate, frantically yanking clothes out of her dresser while said pajamas get flung in the general vicinity of the hamper. He gives an eager whine when she pulls her socks on, but she just grimaces in reply.

“Sorry, buddy,” she apologizes, “but this is a work call. We’ll take a nice long walk when I’m back, promise.” She gives his head a quick pat, “go back to sleep,” and then rattles down the stairs, her pants still unbuttoned and her flaccid belt dangling useless from the loops.

—

Kate stumbles out of the elevator, hopping on one foot as she tries to tie the shoelaces on the other. The squeaking rubber of her sole ricochets off the concrete walls of the parking garage, the soft thump of her hops beating out the unsteady rhythm of a toddler who just discovered the joy of smacking things. But eventually the knot is knotted and Kate gets both feet back on the ground. She removes her bow from her mouth and bolts through the garage.

Soon enough, she’s running up on her super cool, super sweet, super not at all intimidating to drive official S.H.I.E.L.D. Suburban. (Apparently ride shares are, in Director Fury’s words, “unprofessional” and “a security risk”, so Kate is now officially liscensed to drive in the State of New York.)

(God help anyone she shares the road with.)

A quick press of the key fob and the alarm chirps, the driver’s door easily popping open when Kate pulls the handle. She clambers inside, tucking her bow on the passenger seat, and then awkwardly wiggles the strap of her quiver over her head. (And only accidentally hits the horn twice, much improved from the last time where there was so much thrashing she worried she might set off the airbag.)

Once the bow and her arrows are secured, Kate starts the car, buckles up, and checks all her mirrors. It’s the middle of the night, so there’s not much risk, but she’s still pretty new to this whole driving thing, and better safe than sorry.

It looks all clear, so Kate slips the SUV into reverse and backs out of the parking spot, with maybe a little more lead in her foot than she should. But it’s late, and the garage is empty, so she’s sure it’ll be just —

THUNK.

“Oh my God,” Kate says.

“Oh my God!” Someone behind the car shouts.

“Oh my God!” Kate screams, frantically clawing at the handle to escape this death trap monstrosity before it murders her, too. The door pops open and as soon as she moves to flee, the car begins rolling backward.

“Stop!” The person shouts again. “You’ve already hit me once!”

Kate slams her foot back on the brake, puts the SUV in park, and then gets out.

Only for the seatbelt to yank her back in when she tries.

(That’s it. Unprofessional or not, she’s sticking with the subway from now on. The only real danger there is being forced to listen to buskers or get bit by a rat.)

Freed from the car’s attempt to strangle her, Kate rushes around the back just in time to see a woman standing up. Which is great! Dead people don’t walk around on two feet so Kate hasn’t committed vehicular manslaughter! What a great night!

It’s hard to tell, with her back turned to Kate, but it seems like the woman is just a little disheveled. Some dust on her leather coat. Short blonde hair in slight disarray. And a backpack’s been flung several feet away from the almost-murder scene. But other than that… no blood, no bones protruding from any skin, no damage at all really.

“I am,” Kate moves for the bag, “just so so sorry. I swear I checked my mirrors and didn’t see you.”

“Yes, well how could you?” The woman brushes dust off her pants, not even bothering to glance Kate’s way. “That boat you’re driving could block the Suez Canal it’s so big.”

Weird reference, but, “Yeah, it’s - it’s for work. I hate it.” She holds the bag out. “Are you okay?”

“I am in one piece,” the stranger states, and then rolls out a shoulder. It cracks. “You did not think to look before backing up?”

“Well, I checked my mirrors,” Kate says again. She did. She definitely did. “I swear I didn’t see you.”

“That is why you look,” she insists. “You have never heard of a blind spot? Or are all spots blind to you?”

“Okay that’s a little rude.”

“You just ran me over!” She aggressively brushes off her jacket, dust motes swirling through the shafts of light. “I could have been child! I could have been cute little puppy dog!”

Which is just outrageous. It’s the middle of the night! It’s not like a kid would be skulking around a parking garage in the middle of the night! And what kind of puppy… no, okay, that one’s fair. A stray dog might’ve run out and Kate would’ve been devastated.

But one didn’t! The only person who got hit was this woman who is, honestly, being a little bit dramatic about the whole thing.

Kate huffs. “Look, the blame isn’t like totally on me here. I mean, what were you doing lurking around right behind my car like that? You didn’t see the brake lights?”

“Me?” The woman whips around, and as soon as she does, Kate regrets saying the words. “You hit me, but this is my fault?”

“No,” Kate rushes to say, “no, of course not. It’s totally on me. I’m so sorry.”

She offers the backpack, and the woman takes it, a bit of the fury snuffing out as her eyes take Kate in, head to toe.

“I’m really sorry,” Kate says again. “Are you - do you need a ride to the hospital? I’m in kind of a rush for work, but there’s one on the way.”

The woman snorts. “You think I would voluntarily get into that car with you? After you literally just ran me over with it?”

Kate shrugs, offering the smoothest smile she’s got. “Hard for me to hit you with the car if you’re inside it?”

The woman just stares at her, gaze taking in every inch of Kate’s face. Then she barks out a laugh. “I must be concussed because I actually found that charming.”

Kate’s gotten worse compliments. “Are you okay though?”

“I will live.” The woman sniffs, pulls her backpack on. “Mostly.”

Kate inches back towards the car door. S.H.I.E.L.D. is waiting, after all. “Do you - I mean, can I maybe make it up to you? Dry clean your coat? Polish your shoes? Buy you a drink?”

The woman tilts her head. She regards Kate with a heavy gaze, some calculation taking place behind her eyes. And it’s a little scary, being on the receiving end of such intense scrutiny. Scary and, if Kate’s being honest, a little thrilling. (Her would-be victim is rather easy on the eyes. Kate’s not mad about looking.)

Finally, the woman smiles. And when she does, it’s wide enough to flash the long fangs of her teeth.

“Yes,” she says, “a drink does sound nice.”

And, “oh,” Kate realizes, “oh, no.”

#bishova #kate bishop #yelena belova #ohhhh am i still able to write these guys??#i can’t tell if i’ve lost it after two and a half years of not writing them #oh gosh this was so fun though!!!#thank you friend :D !!!#aromarianne #please ignore any typos and whatnot i’m literally about to pass out for beddy time :)

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winwintea · 5 hours ago

Text

that's okay

PAIRING ↬ academic rival!na jaemin x ace!female reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, slight angst, academic rivals to lovers au, college au, fake dating au, jaemin = campus playboy, drunk decisions, art museum date, plushies because i want a plushie, jaemin is kinda whipped fr

SUMMARY ↬ you're determined to outshine your academic rival na jaemin, the campus heartthrob infamous for his frivolous reputation. but when a few too many drinks suddenly ropes you into a fake dating scheme with jaemin, you realize that there's much more to him than his playboy persona. can two opposites navigate a connection that’s anything but fake?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.7k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lotties-readings !! grinding this fic in a day was so fun. the 3 am brain creativity actually carried this time too. hope i did him justice 😭😭 SHOUTOUT TO THE ASEXUAL COMMUNITY I LOVE YALL <33 THIS ONE'S FOR YOU !!!!

PLAYLIST ↬ cooler than me - mike posner, anti-romantic - txt, are you satisfied? - marina, that's okay - d.o.

WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?

Na Jaemin. The Playboy. He’s probably slept with half of the school and the rumors are on and off with him. The college’s infamous frivolous playboy, a firm believer of the ‘hook up as much as you can before you find your soulmate!’ ideology. For some, it was oddly endearing. For you? Maddening. Because Na Jaemin wasn’t just a playboy. He was your rival. Jaemin just had this certain charm to him that attracted the masses. Everyone, including your friends, had had a crush on him at one point in their lives. Everyone except you. Despite his supposedly carefree attitude, he always ranked #1. And you? Stuck perpetually at #2, clawing at his heels, only for him to breeze past like it was nothing. If it were anyone else, maybe you wouldn’t care so much. But no—it had to be him.

You swore to steer clear of him. No parties, no flirtations, and certainly no personal involvement. That resolve lasted until one ill-advised college party, where Jaemin, drunk and absurdly charismatic, roped you into the lead role of his most ridiculous performance yet: his fake significant other. And you were equally as drunk to play along with it, nodding in the face of his ex-girlfriend as she looked at the both of you in disbelief. For a playboy like Jaemin, you thought he was managing to control his dating life better than this. But you guess he just got bored of being surrounded by love. “Just go with it,” he’d said. You hadn’t thought it would last beyond that night.

You were wrong.

You suppose it’s partly your own fault finding yourself in your current situation, considering the recent events. In a world where everyone is busy chasing after time, enjoying the dating scene, you’re an outcast. An outcast with false modesty to trick people’s curiosity. You should be used to them by now, their comments about you not being interested in relationships. And even though you do feel fed up with it, the thought of lying about dating someone just so they can shut up never crossed your mind.

“Remind me again why I have to spend the whole day being your pretend partner.” you say, glaring as Jaemin hands you a pastry. “The party doesn’t start until 10PM tonight!”

“Here you go, love. Be careful, it’s hot!” he says, completely ignoring your question. He resumes walking, hands in his pockets, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, resuming your slow stroll in the garden of a nearby art museum. You hurriedly take it from his hands if that would make him finally pay attention to your question.

“I know it’s hot,” you mutter, taking the pastry anyway. He’s insufferable. Even now, you can tell he’s doing this for show, making a big deal out of playing the doting boyfriend for the strangers milling about the museum garden. “Do you ever actually answer questions, or is that too much to ask?”

“Oh, I answer,” he breezily responds, unfolding a crumpled checklist from his coat pocket. “I’m just selective about when. Do you want to taste mine? I can taste yours too.”

“No thank you.”

Straightening the lapels of his gray coat, Jaemin fetches the brochure handed earlier to him out of his inner pocket and takes a quick look at it to make sure you checked out everything of interest in the area before entering the museum itself. “Now, do you want to check out the sculptures before we head to the main exhibit?”

The guy has a whole checklist of activities for the day. You’ve seen it. He purposely taped another page underneath just to scare you with its sheer length, but you’re seeing right through his tricks, the page is full of gibberish written just to take space. You’ve got your best frown on to keep the illusion of ignorance, hoping that you’d get bonus points for agreeing to go through the full contents of the list, both the real and the fake ones.

But is it really an act? The occasional tidbits of satisfaction coming from beating Jaemin’s brilliant mind (not that you’d ever give him the credit for it) are hardly enough to keep you entertained throughout the day. When the activities you take on today are meant to be just that, entertaining. And romantic too.

Now, were you a normal couple, a true couple, then maybe you’d be having fun now.

“Jaemin, I think partners are supposed to listen to each other. At the very least.”

He grins, entirely unbothered by your irritation. “Relax, Y/N. We’re supposed to look like we’re having fun. Couples don’t bicker this much in public, you know.”

“Maybe because real couples actually like each other.”

“And yet,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “Here we are. The picture of romance.” Ah. He’s right, damn it.

“I only lowered my guard because these people don’t know us, stupid… Let’s get inside already!”

Hearing his low, annoying chuckle triggers the sensory neurons in your brain until a neat little image of his smirk is produced with near-perfect accuracy. Have you simply seen it too many times? There’s no escape even when you turn your back to him, great.

You grit your teeth but let him guide you down a quieter path, away from the crowds. It’s all part of the act, you remind yourself. Just one day of playing along, and people will stop speculating about your personal life. Totally worth it.

Right?

Inside the museum, the tension eases slightly. The museum is magnificent to explore with the many pieces of art it houses. There’s so much to see that you’d frankly not mind getting lost in here just to have an excuse to spend more time surrounded by art.

You have to admit, Jaemin chose the perfect dating spot. You’re not sure if it was based on your own preferences. Surely not. But you find yourself not minding it suddenly.

“Picture!” he announces, pulling you close before you can protest.

Hearing the signal, you instantly turn in the direction of the raised-up phone, smiling for the camera as Jaemin presses his face closer to yours.

“Oh, this is a good one, I’m definitely posting it. You look so in love.”

“I’m in love with this work, that’s it.” you say flatly, staring at the painting behind him.

“Uh-uh. That works for me too.” Jaemin replies while his fingers dance across the screen, likely typing some cheesy caption for the picture. A second later your own phone vibrates in your pocket, signaling that he posted the picture and tagged you in it, and you don’t even bother looking.

“At least you’re a natural, Jaemin.”

“What, in faking an expression? How are you so sure?”

You blink, meeting his gaze as some child holding a balloon separates the two of you for a mere second. Instinctively, you shorten the distance so you don’t lose Jaemin, looking for his hand to take hold of. You’ve already been through that today, linking hands in the crowds. And while there was no real need to do that right now, you just did that…

To the question in your eyes evoked from his last words, he smirks and adds, “There are pieces of art here that I look at with fondness just like you do.”

Your heart sinks for a moment, only to create palpitations that mess with your head. You have no idea where they came from or what evoked this feeling in your chest, but while looking anywhere but at Jaemin, your gaze falls on other couples passing by. You were instructed to watch them if you’re having trouble recreating the subtle romantic gestures that indicate dating. Advice from him no doubt, one that you wish you could forget because it’s too late telling your brain to forget what it’s been taught. But the question is, why the sudden turning of stomachs at the sight of them?

While failing to watch your step, you lose your balance and stumble on your own feet, meeting the hard ground hands-first. You feel eyes on you for a short moment; just a mere second any stranger might spare to witness the unfortunate event before moving on with their tour.

That’s it, except for Jaemin, who is there to pull you up in a manner of utmost care, dusting off your clothes, taking you to a more secluded area with benches to rest on and asking you at least three times if you’re alright before you can snap out of your surprised state and let out a murmur of affirmation.

In the whirlwind of emotions rushing through your slightly clouded mind, you put the embarrassment of your fall aside. As Jaemin turns your hand around to inspect it, you realize that no amount of hand-holding numbs your reaction to the touch of his warm hands.

And no amount of his exaggerated lovey-dovey gestures of affection could prepare you for the look of genuine worry over something so insignificant on his face.

“You fell on your hands, they must be scrapped… let’s get them under cold water, it would wash away the dirt too.”

“It’s okay I can do it myself.” You back away from Jaemin, running to take care of it.

And that’s when you realize it.

Pretending to be Jaemin’s partner might be the biggest mistake of your life.

Because it’s starting to feel a little too real.

When you exit the bathroom, Jaemin is waiting for you outside, arms crossed with an unreadable expression on his face. The two of you continue your museum date as normal, nothing out of the ordinary happening other than Jaemin just being Jaemin.

When lunchtime rolls around, Jaemin takes you into the museum café, refusing to let you pay for anything even though he bought the museum tickets as well. Struggle as much as you want, Jaemin was pretty stubborn.

You and Jaemin sit across from each other, nursing cups of hot chocolate. The quiet buzz of conversation around you blends with the faint classical music playing overhead, the calmness contrasting your otherwise chaotic day.

You’re still nursing your wounded pride (and scraped hands) from earlier. Jaemin’s fussing had been embarrassing, sure, but also... oddly touching. It’s been messing with your head ever since.

“You’re being quiet,” Jaemin says, breaking the silence. He stirs his drink and watches you with another unreadable expression. “Not complaining. Unusual for you.”

“Just tired,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “This whole thing is exhausting.”

“Yeah?” He leans back, “What part? The fake dating, or me?”

“Both.”

His laugh is soft, almost self-deprecating. “Fair.”

A moment passes, and you realize he’s studying you. Not with his usual playful smirk, but something more serious. It’s unsettling and scary, like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know you had.

“You know,” he starts, voice quieter now, “you’ve always hated me.”

Your head snaps up. “What? I don’t—”

“Don’t lie. I noticed.” he cuts in, but there’s no malice in his tone. “It’s fine. I get it. I mean, I’m Na Jaemin, right? The playboy. The guy who’s ‘probably slept with half the school.’” He uses his fingers to air quote the phrase, lips forming a bitter smile. “That’s what people say, isn’t it?”

You feel a pang of guilt. It’s exactly what you’ve always thought, always assumed about him.

He continues, eyes fixed on his drink. “Funny thing is, that wasn’t true at first. I wasn’t like this in high school. Sure, I was flirty, but it was harmless, y’know? Then one day, someone started a rumor about me. Said I hooked up with some senior at a party.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t true, but people believed it. And once the rumors started, they didn’t stop. Girls came up to me and I just... didn’t say no.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why not?” His smile not breaking, “They already thought I was that guy. And honestly? It was easier to play the part than fight it. People liked the idea of me being the ‘fun, no-strings-attached’ guy. I became what they wanted.”

You’re quiet, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. All this time, you’d judged him without really knowing him. And now, sitting across from him, you realize how wrong you’d been.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“For what?”

“For... hating you, I guess. I just—” You hesitate, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, searching for the right words. “I’ve never liked the whole ‘playboy’ thing. It feels... shallow. And I don’t understand how people can be so casual about it.”

Jaemin’s gaze softens. “That’s because it’s not your thing. And that’s okay.”

Your eyes lit up with shock. You definitely weren’t expecting Jaemin to be this receptive towards your criticisms of him. “I guess I’ve always judged people like you because I don’t... get it. Sex and dating just seem so complicated and messy. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Jaemin tilts his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re ace, right?”

You nod, surprised he remembered. He must’ve heard it somewhere, you barely told anyone except for your close friends. Others just assumed, which was fine by you.

“That’s... honestly kind of cool,” he says, leaning forward. “I mean it. You don’t have to deal with all this shit. Expectations, drama, people using you for what they want. You just... are. I envy that.”

“You do?” The idea feels absurd. Jaemin, envying you?

“Yeah.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “I’ve spent so much time being what other people expect. Sometimes I don’t even know who I really am. But you? You’re just you. That’s... rare.”

His words catch you off guard, leaving a strange ache in your chest. You wonder if he’s just been hiding behind a mask this whole time. Who really was the Na Jaemin sitting right in front of you right now? “Well,” you say softly, “I think you’re more than what people say about you.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Careful, Y/N. That almost sounded like a compliment. You’re supposed to hate me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you shoot back, but there’s no hostility in your tone.

For the first time, you see him for who he really is. Not Na Jaemin, the playboy, your rival… but just... Jaemin. And maybe, just maybe, you don’t hate him as much as you thought.

When the two of you finished your museum exploration, you found yourselves in the gift shop. The aisles were packed with trinkets, books, and stuffed animals, the kind of things that were charming but utterly unnecessary and overly expensive. You didn’t plan on buying anything, but Jaemin insisted he wanted to pick up something for a friend.

Shivering slightly, you rubbed your arms, trying to warm up in the chill from the air conditioning blowing down from the vent above.

“Cold?” Jaemin asked, his sharp eyes catching your sudden movement.

“Oh, just the A/C,” you replied quickly, waving him off, but you couldn’t stop the flush creeping over your cheeks.

“Do you want my coat?” He was already starting to remove his gray jacket, but you held up a hand.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said hastily. “It’ll be warmer outside.”

Jaemin paused, then smirked. “Aren’t you glad your friends dragged you to that party?” He asked, standing right beside you now, picking up a penguin from the stuffed animal bin. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “Though I’ll admit, this has been... fun. Even if the ‘fake dating’ part threw me for a loop. And yes, he’s super cute. But penguins aren’t my favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into you, as he turned the penguin over in his hands. “Who said it was fake?”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard right. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer, just hummed and walked away, leaving you standing there with your arms crossed, frowning after him. What’s he playing at?

Trying to shake off the odd tension, you wandered to another shelf and found yourself staring at a tower of cell phone plushies. Your eyes landed on a bunny plush, adorable, with floppy ears, sparkling blue eyes, and a pink nose. You reached for it, but so did another hand.

“Oops—sorry,” you stammered, looking up to see Jaemin standing beside you again.

“Oh,” he said, his voice light, but his eyes were unreadable.

“I was just—”

“Which one did you want?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

“The bunny,” you admitted, pointing. “But it’s the last one, and if you wanted it—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed it.

“Actually, I did,” he said, pulling out his wallet and heading to the cashier.

You stood there, stunned and a little annoyed. Seriously? He’s that kind of guy?

As you stared forlornly at the remaining plushies: a raccoon, a squirrel, and a cat that weren’t nearly as cute. You sighed. It’s fine. It’s just a toy. But somehow, it still stung.

“Here.”

You turned to see Jaemin dangling the bunny plush in front of you, a playful grin on his face. “You—I thought you wanted it?” you said as you reached out to take it. The plush felt even softer than it looked.

“I did,” he said with a wink. “But I wanted to buy it for you.”

“I—thank you.” You stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling silly but also oddly happy. A big, goofy grin spread across your face as you hugged the bunny to your chest.

Jaemin chuckled softly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Shut up,” you fired back, but your cheeks still burned.

You started to turn away, but Jaemin stopped you with a gentle tug on your sleeve. His expression was different now, serious, almost nervous, as he looked at you.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach flipped. “What is it?”

“This... whole fake dating thing?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost shy. That was strange in comparison to his usual confidence. “It wasn’t just about my ex, or shutting people up. I—I’ve been watching you for a while. I mean, not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I just... I’ve always been interested in you. You’re smart, funny, and you don’t care about impressing anyone. You’re... different. In a good way.”

Oh you weren’t expecting that. You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jaemin, I—”

“I know you have concerns,” he said, cutting you off gently. “About... your sexuality, and what people might think. But I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what the world expects or what people say. I care about you. And I’m not asking you to change or be anything other than yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. You didn’t know what to say. You’d spent so long assuming Jaemin was just a shallow playboy, someone who could never understand you. But now, looking into his eyes, you realized how wrong you’d been. Jaemin understood you way too well. Enough to the point where he was hitting all the right points of reassurance in your heart.

“I don’t know if I can be what you’re looking for,” you whispered.

He smiled softly. “You already are.”

For a moment, the world around you faded. The noise of the gift shop, the bustle of other shoppers. It was just you and Jaemin, and the quiet, fragile connection that had grown between you.

Maybe this wasn’t fake after all.

You realized just how much he’d been hiding. Jaemin, the playboy everyone admired, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, was opening up to you in a way that was raw, even vulnerable.

“Honestly?” you whispered, clutching the bunny plush to your chest. “I never thought someone like you would understand... someone like me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “I get that. I probably don’t fit the part, huh? But, Y/N, you’re incredible just as you are. I think it’s amazing that you know what you want and what you don’t want. I wish I’d figured that out sooner.”

You looked down, feeling way too emotional, “So, you really don’t... mind?”

Jaemin shook his head, his smile was gentle. “Not even a little. I’m here because I like you for who you are. You don’t need to be anyone else or change anything about yourself. I’m fully willing to love you. Just like this.”

His words settled over you, as warm and comforting as his coat might have been. The insecurities you’d held about relationships, about your identity, all the ways you feared you might not be enough for someone. Maybe never even find someone at all? They began to melt, replaced by a quiet sense of peace.

“So... if this isn’t fake, does that mean this is... this date is… real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaemin smiled, reaching down to take your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours in a way that felt so natural it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s as real as you want it to be. No pressure, no expectations. Just us, figuring this out together.”

Looking up at him, you felt something you hadn’t quite felt before. This wasn’t about conforming to anyone’s idea of love or romance. It was about connection. And standing there, surrounded by stuffed animals and museum souvenirs, you felt like you’d found something rare.

You squeezed his hand, a small smile breaking across your face. “Alright, Jaemin. Let’s give this a try. Just... don’t go stealing all the last plushies every time we’re out together, okay?”

He laughed, his grin brightening at your words. “Only if you agree to keep that bunny plush with you as a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“Of this moment. And of the fact that someone finds you absolutely perfect, exactly as you are.”

The two of you walked out of the gift shop hand in hand, leaving behind any doubts and stepping into something perfectly real.

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000 @polarisjisung

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simp-ly-writes · 16 hours ago

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"Need a Lift?"

─────── · ·

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!British!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: It is your first time traveling to the USA, once there you are like a fish outta water but thankfully you run into Spencer who is more than willing to help you!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, meet-cute, fluff, cute, probably stereotypical british things.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,209

─ · · A/N: in anons we trust for cute asks like this! 🫶

─────── · ·

It was your first time traveling to the USA. You were a 'creator on the rise' youtube told you and next thing you knew you were being placed on a pre-paid flight to creator-con with a fancy badge dangling from your neck.

You were completely out of your element and went into an immediate culture shock at the vast space there was between cities and states to blocks and buildings. Just the grand scale of it all and even the events hall itself held you floored as you were quite embarrassed to admit your mouth was quite literally hanging open.

You thought back to your three-story row house, two lane roads, and easily accessible public transit, everything only being a hop, skip, and a jump away. So when you were not thinking to set your timer earlier than you usually got up, you were rushing around your hotel room to get ready and get your ass over to your meet-and-greet on time.

Choosing random clothes out of your suitcase while cursing the living heavens our of yourself and your door that failed multiple times to lock, you were stumbling into the elevator with your shoes half on and your sweater askew, non-the-obvious to the other inhabitant of the elevator.

"What floor are you headed two?" a male voice piped up as you whipped your head around, catching your appearance in the mirrored interior and giving yourself a wince. "Oh-ah, the street floor please?" your quickly answer, giving the man a quick once over and the politest smile your can muster before fixing your appearance and feeling around in your pockets for your badge.

"I think what you're looking for is in your back pocket," he comments, giving you a awkward smile back. "Cheers, thanks," you answer back, reaching around and pulling it over your head with a sigh of relief before realizing he is wearing a matching one.

"You going to this event too?" You ask, waving around your badge to his nod. "Yeah, I'm actually doing a panel in 15 minutes. I didn't think I would sleep in so much, it was not that far of a drive for me..." his sentence ends with stressed laughter that you join.

"So you're from around here?" you now take a longer look at the man before the elevator door opens and he lets you go out first before you both walk in tow to the front of the lobby and out to the car-loop.

"Yeah, I work about three hours away from here on a good day. By the accent, it sounds you're visiting outta town I assume?"

"Mhmm, first time in the United States actually and I never expected it to be this bloody hot in fall," you mutter once emerging out of the air conditioned space, throwing off all those layers you struggled to put on this morning.

The man laughs, his joyfulness reaching his eyes has your heart miss a beat as you take in the curls underneath his baseball cap, un noticing to the embroidered logo. "Yeah, the weather doesn't seem to change much around here, its either kinda hot or hella hot. Since we are heading the same way, would you 'need a lift?'" he teases your accent as you consider your answer.

"I would say that was one of the better interpretations, good on you. I don't think I would usually say this to someone I just met but sure, that would be lovely actually since I have no idea where I am going," it is now your time to anxiously laugh to receive a comforting smile.

"The passengers side should be unlocked, hop in," you get open the door and buckle yourself in. "I forgot to ask your name," you state, watching as he fixes a pair of sunglasses to his face before putting an arm around the back of your chair to back out of the parking lot.

You take notice of the tattoos stretching up his forearm and try and peer at the ones hidden near his shoulder with utmost intrigue. "Spencer Angew, yours?"

"(first/name) (last/name), pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well, so what events are you heading for?"

"Oh, I'm casted in an event also in... ten minutes now," you look down to check your phone and catching an onslaught of notifications coming from your social platforms. Not wanting to feel rude to the conversation, you cast away your work into your discarded jacket on your lap.

"Is it the old meets new panel?" Spencer asks, shifting gears as you pull out onto the highway. "Yeah," you confirm.

"I'm doing the same one, funny odds of that happening, huh?"

"Very much so but from our conversation so far, I'm happy to be doing it with you," you add, not looking to see his reaction and instead watch the vast sea of cars and signs around you.

"I'll have to say the same, I was quite nervous for this one since I would be the only member from the cast to be on it-"

Your head whips back over, your eyebrows raised in confusion. "Wait, you're on a cast? I thought this was a creators event?" You quickly open up your email to read over the documents you signed a few days ago in panic. You were not a professional actor, director, nor comedian. What the hell were they going to expect you to do on that stage?

"It is, the company I work for does skit comedy and we have a cast that preforms skits in between their outside work," Spencer explains, taking a look at the mirrors before looking at you. Now catching the logo atop his head, your eyes widen.

"Oh my god, thats so cool! Wait... do you work for Smosh? I used to love watching those dudes when I was a kid, didn't understand much of what they were referencing but they're still going at it?" you gush, arms now leaning over the console in excitement as Spencer tenses before relaxing.

"Yeah, I work for them..." Spencer trails off, listening to the GPS system to take the next right. Your brain short-circuits, forgetting that the roads where different. "That must be weird working with like the fathers of youtube?" you ask.

"It was at first but by the third year, it wears off and you just realize they are two dudes making videos, or well now running a business to make videos." And the next thing you knew you're both entering through the guest side-entrance and are being ushered on stage.

It is a roaring of claps and cheers as your eyes blink and your body freezes. Spencer places a hand on your upper back, giving you a look of concern. "You alright?" he has to shout in your ear as staff rush to fit your microphones and sound packs. "With a handsome lad like you sitting beside me, I have nothing to worry about," you tease to instil false confidence within yourself.

Spencer laughs, shaking his head at you, his cheeks warming as you cast him a wink, that series of events would be clipping to every social platform in the next hour and a new shipped was formed that morning.

─────── · ·

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp @sarahskywalker-amidala @laurasdrey

#fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes #x reader #fluff #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine #spencer x reader #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh x reader #smosh #smosh games #meet cute #ask

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turtleblogatlast · 9 months ago

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Was thinking about this again haha

Anyway I adore Hueso and Leo’s dynamic and wanted to include Hueso Jr in it because I like to think Leo can be shockingly good with kids

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt hueso #rottmnt leo #rottmnt hueso jr #rise leo #I wish we actually got to meet hueso jr #he’s so cute from the literal One Picture we saw #and it would have been so fun to see the sardonic Hueso’s son be so happy go lucky #he goes up to Leo all ‘you’re the one my papá always complains about!:D’#and before Leo can go ‘omg tío talks about me 🥹’ jr hugs him tightly #says he ‘always wanted a brother!!’#Leo tries not to cry fails and promptly says ‘what if I told you I’m a package deal’#Hueso Jr now has four big bros #turtle art tag #I JUST REALIZED I SHOULD PROBABLY START KEEPING A TAG FOR ART…

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tswwwit · 2 months ago

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Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact.

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing.

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’.

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally - and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect.

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back.

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process -

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him.

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person -

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with - and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard.

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag.

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring.

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy.

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin.

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses.

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong.

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch.

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape.

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught.

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating.

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape.

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye.

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place.

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room.

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections -

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap.

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades.

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up.

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him.

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass.

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site.

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it -

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic.

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile.

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk.

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’.

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths.

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach.

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?”

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.”

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface.

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him.

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick. There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters.

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

Is this a phone?

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’.

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this?

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response.

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit.

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him.

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that.

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work.

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself.

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down.

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end.

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line.

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep.

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal.

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the -

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly.

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension.

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon.

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those.

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did.

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again.

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen.

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides. The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing. No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds.

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious.

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement.

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe.

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts.

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed.

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself.

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen.

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless.

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst -

The next line of text comes in.

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take.

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands.

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types,

Try me.

#billdip #I should probably make a tag for this 'series'#Let's say the tag will be #Portal AU #I say series but my plan is to complete it then post it in One Big Post on AO3 eventually #I just wanted you all to know I really am working on stuff and I hope you enjoy these two idiots #This is ~5k of the now 21k document I have going #Truly I am caught in a trap of my own making #Suffering is writing and writing is suffering #I also realized while putting this on Tumblr that I can totally change text colors!#I might apply that formatting trick later if I can find a shade of yellow that isn't totally obnoxious to actually read #Little nervous about this since it's not Familiar AU but they needed not to know each other for the Premise to work #I'm excited to get to later stuff because I can make SO many dumb jokes

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sillyfungirl · 16 days ago

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you’re the surprise! 🎁👁️

#cookie run #wind archer cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowarcher #doodle #my art #purelily + mt are just puppets so i won’t tag them hehe… ꒰(˶◞ ‸ ◟˶)꒱ i probably should draw them sometime for realsies #i realized…..halfway through this…. i forgot to give wind archer pants!!!! it was fixed but…. so guilty……

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daisybell-on-a-carousel · 28 days ago

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Still very wild to me when people try to gotcha Jason with the whole "if you can kill other people for being evil why can't they kill you" when jason is like. One of the most passively suicidal characters I've ever seen. What if man

#augh i dont want to cw this because im just talking about The Character and i feel bad when i do it for characters but i probably should #suicide mention #ask to tag #while im here i do absolutely believe hes been suicidal since jaybin times. maybe even before just in different ways. but like #going into that building with shelia? yeah #now. i DONT think he was aware of it and if youd ask him hed say no fully believing thats the truth #but like if a ghost jaybin had some introspection time i think he'd maybe eventually be like yeah #his outcomes to him were have a loving parent or die and hes a very big fan of ultimatums like that.#but he doesn't fully see it like that as jaybin because oh hes a hero and saving others when no one else can is what heros do :)#ramble. ivee been feeling it lately yknow how it is #ive once saw a post saying jason was planning to die after the joker was dead in utrh and yeagh i can see that #he puts A BOMB in his HELMET #suicidal characters in the context of hero stories are so fascinating to me. the self sacrifice.#the not caring about your own safety as long as you save someone else. the pushing yourself #the way itd be so easy to make it look like they just fell in battle. to be considered a hero in the end #anyway ive been glancing at suicidal jason todd fics. how bad is it that im still getting mad about characterization #because theyre not killing him right #AND ANOTHER THING. since im here and i try to avoid making posts about The Character like this so might as welk get it all out #think about suicidal jaybin as well as the fact 80s bruce very much considered suicidal people/people attempting like #weak and lazy? yells at them? i think thats about it. Very Much. je seems to straight up just hate them #again very much feel free to ask me to tag this one ^-^'#and i hope no one thinks im being callous here im very worried about that. i just its a very important part of his character to think about #and its fun to explore as someone who is passively suicidal myself #jason todd analysis #anyway no one look at me i am in my corner just rotating him #WAIT to clarify i dont think jaybin fully realized Just becauceof the heros sacrifice thing. i made it sound like that i believe #anyway. if you read him as suicidal since jaybin times and go to ditf with that lens like i did. well. the post death victim blaming..

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swagglessmoth · 5 months ago

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Fanart of a really really good obkk fic. I haven’t really drawn in a while so I might’ve went a bit overboard, there’s so much going on. But it’s whatever. I love doing messy drawings

⬇️ Some colour alternatives that are pretty much the same

#it’s really good man #go read it #obkk #kkob #obikaka #kakaobi #what tags do i put bro #rocks fall; scene end #recently realized that I should probably put watermarks on my drawings #just in case yk

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heteromerous-rhyming · 10 months ago

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i think that i've figured out why i don't like show sally.

ok like don't get me wrong, virginia kull?? she ATE with that interpretation. her acting?? amazing. like i could truly get the core of her character.

it's just that i don't like the character the writers give us.

cw: discussion of abusive relationships, of toxic family dynamics, probably a good bit of generational trauma. I don't really get into details except with stuff shown on the show and written in the books but i wanted to be safe.

as someone from an immigrant household, as someone whose mom works a part time minimum wage job, as someone whose seen and been there as my parents fought, i just really really dislike sally's portrayal in the show. and it's partly because of poseidon and partly because of gabe (mostly because of her character in general but yeah, lets get the men out of the way first)

I feel strongly about poseidon in his relationship to sally very specifically. i don't mind his relationship to percy either books or show. but it's pretty damn clear to me that this show was written by someone who's never experienced sally's situation, of being the single working parent with an absentee partner (or in gabe's case a partner who literally ahHHHHHh). because from the beginning, from sally's reaction and snark to gabe, I felt like something was wrong or off, and it was Specifically the show because i read the books and i watched (some) of the musical and i never felt that way towards either of those. i'm not saying that my family situation is sally's (don't have a god for a father for one), but. by all accounts sally knows that this is an abusive relationship, the only reason that she's with gabe is because of the protection he offers percy. i have to assume that this is true because sally jackson turning gabe to stone is something i'm assuming is staying in the show, and i remember this being mentioned by grover? or someone in the first few episodes. and the cord that struck in me was not the traditional (that is, visible, defined, i don't like this word but i don't have a better one) abusive relationship but relationships in my community, of women staying with husbands because of their children, women outright saying this, women who know the world is cruel to single women and to single mothers specifically. sally, to me has never been under any illusions that gabe is any sort of relationship material. she has never been under any illusions that poseidon would be able to help in any way.

and that crux of sally's relationships made her first scene in the show all that more jarring. but it's not anything specifically that i can put a finger on. and maybe i'm wrong for this or maybe i'm expecting too much. but. sally doesn't have the resentment or the quietness or the bitterness or even the loudness that i expected. you have been the only true caretaker for your child, the only one in the house that really puts food on the table and on top of that is expected to do emotional labor? to cook and clean or at least pick up the food?

but she treats gabe like he's an annoyance. someone to brush off. and you see the manipulation tactics from gabe, you do, but.

its not that i want sally's spirit to be crushed. my mother's spirit wasn't crushed. the women in my community, they laugh, they cry, they watch silly tv shows, they have lives that they live, and in many cases they live well.

but the women that i know are also angry. they are either on fire or they used to burn. when they banter with their partners it often turns ugly because they are tired of the same damn argument day after day, because often the trivial things that are asked are compounded and compounded and compounded because you live in the same house, there is no escape, there is no private space, not really.

it's new york and sally works a job to support an apartment and her family. they are not well-off. sally has no support network we can see, and how could she? poseidon mentions that she has no one to talk to about these things, her parents are clearly out of the picture. all this to say. there is a certain understanding of class that exists within the books that was excised, i believe unknowingly, from the show, and it is the worse for it. there is a tiredness, a worn-down-ness from being low income that sally had in the books, but in the show i only see a struggling first time single parent. i don't see the complexity of a woman who literally gave up on finding a fulfilling relationship to be with a man for her child. i don't see the complexity of a woman working fulltime and still getting demanded from at home. and i didn't realize that I wanted to see that until I saw the show. i didn't realize that that was what i loved about the books.

i hate that they tried to bring poseidon back into sally's life as this perfect man who through cosmic forces can't help. i hate that sally calls him, i hate that he says he'll listen. but most of all i hate that sally just accepts him, falls into him. it's really hard to be a mother when your partner doesn't seem to help you parent in any way, even if he cannot help you. he's a greek god, there's no way in hell that he can begin to understand the lengths that sally has gone through to sacrifice and survive, the very human things that she's done. sally in the books thinks of poseidon as a sweet memory, almost a fairytale, and it's clear that this story is the one that brings her comfort. poseidon is a one night stand, a sweet stranger, she understands he's not coming back. but this poseidon comes when sally calls, and that i cannot believe. i cannot believe that she still thinks of him as the fairytale man, that she accepts him so easily if there isn't that distance. i cannot believe that there is no resentment, that she still puts faith in him as her god (the first episode when she talks about him just felt so wrong to me) if he's not a memory, but a recurring figure. this is not a story of star-crossed lovers, sally feels too real as a human being for that.

sally finds trust, finds contentment, in the books after percy leaves home, after she no longer has to put up with gabe for his safety. she does not find poseidon again. she marries a human man, a very ordinary human man who cares for her. poseidon visits after she is in this relationship and its an amicable one. he is percy's father but also distant memory all in one. sally has the strength to survive a terrible relationship and still find a way to heal and live fully after that.

but the anger. the fire was there. she turned gabe to stone. she reclaimed her life with her two hands.

you don't kill a man for no reason. you don't kill a man without emotion.

but it's that reason and that emotion that i don't get from the writer's room. and it just makes me deeply sad.

#probably got a bit too personal with this one boys #but i needed to get it out #because i realized i recognize sally's situation #percy jackson #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo show crit #adding tags bc i feel like i should explain #sally and poseidon are characters that have consistent (relatively despite my gripes with poseidon's) characterization #i don't like them for personal reasons partly #and partly bc they got rid of most of the gabe shittiness #and class critique #ofc #lol #but these are just my opinions #this isnt a specific critique of the show's writing #it's more of a critique of what themes they chose to keep in and the nuance that they missed by not keeping those themes #riordan literally says they toned down the abuse (if not eliminating it entirely) and i get that to an extent #but i think there are ways to address abuse in children/teen's tv shows #anywhoooooo #.

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endrimer · 1 year ago

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DAY 3 - DIRT

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greensaplinggrace · 5 months ago

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scoobies really just ousted their two best and most experienced fighters in favor of a bunch of whining incompetent newbies. these people are dumb as fucking hell. there is not a tactical bone in their entire bodies.

#this is the same shit as when they got upset about buffy utilizing spike against glory like ?!?!?!#are you stupid #im alksjdflskjdflksjdlfksjd #s7 betrayal scene makes me soooo angry you people dont know what you're talking about #btvs #buffy summers #spike #spuffy #scoobies #anti scoobies #idk if there's a tag for that #just realized i should probably be posting in it i guess #sry im not technically actually in this fandom i dont visit the tags much or anything

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fantasykiri5 · 7 months ago

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It started as a qpr Fabriz thought but y’know what it extends to the rest of the bad kids: I think it would be really funny if they had a complex web of platonic marriages just to reap the financial and governmental benefits. Like “if one got seriously stuck in a hospital the others would be able to visit because they’d be considered spouse and/or legal family” style, y’know? In a “benefits on tax returns and few(er) questions if Fabian (or the cig figs if they make more money?) decides to share a larger amount of money with the others because they’re considered extended family” way, and a “easy to put on emergency contact forms” way. Half their parents are already dating each other, it wouldn’t even need to be a very large friend-marriage-web! Idk man I just think it would be funny

#Kiri rambles #I was thinking about how many legal benefits there are to being married (in relation to how fucked over you can get from NOT being married)-#-and was reminded of the immense comedic potential of ‘make the relationship web EVEN MORE FUCKED UP with like six platonic marriages-#-because taxes and professional adventurers surely frequent hospital visits’#are there probably also laws allowing registered party members some similar benefits??#I would hope so and knowing Brennan either probably or they’ll tackle that next year but IN CASE THERE ARENT I think is would be funny :D #the reason it wa spriginally and Fabriz thought is just because I’ve seen a couple very funny posts about them being platonically married-#-for various reasons but then I realized that A.) Riz would honestly probably REALLY benefit from that financially and B.) I actually-#-forgot my second point but my first point still stands #Fabriz #<- mostly for the blocklists frankly #the bad kids #d20 #d20 fhjy #fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #should I tag all of them? it’s about them all but only partially mentions two…#fuck it why not #adaine abernant #Kristen Applebees #gorgug thistlespring #fig faeth #fabian aramais seacaster #fabian seacaster #Riz Gukgak #kristen chilis applebees #<- her fucking middle name.. you go girlie franshice names

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canarydarity · 1 year ago

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(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked.

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier.

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces.

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian.

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word.

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware.

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight.

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability.

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve.

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation.

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along.

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands.

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source.

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be.

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before.

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move.

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.”

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.”

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge.

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed.

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?”

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip.

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?”

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.”

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.”

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!”

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush.

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider.

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…”

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt.

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.”

“Ah, an impasse.”

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.”

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.”

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?”

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more.

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!”

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?”

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs.

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?”

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!”

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another.

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head.

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.”

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come.

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

#worm writes #so this is what i was doing. in that blissful period where i hadnt yet learned jimmy died btw.#this is where thinking jimmy is alive and well gets me #and now its just incrdibly funny that instead of mourning i was straihgt up like giggling to myself like haha rancher balcony scene !!!#like...oh my god #team rancher #team rancher fic #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #double life fic #romeo and juliet au #edit:#realized I should probably also tag this —>#trafficshipping #just in case

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