#and then its another several months before they actually pay me

[moriihana]

man, it's really fucked up that the disability process is like. designed to wear you down to the bone and then some

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[chirpycloudyrobin]

Masterlist || START || Next

im just thinking abt an au where wwx actually did die at the burial mounds but him surviving long enough there and even pioneering a new branch of cultivation to do so was enough to punt his ghost straight up to wrath rank. however he is unaware that hes actually dead since hes too focused on his goal to absolutely decimate wen chao to pay attention to his bodily functions/needs or lack thereof.

everyone else gets this feeling that something is off with wwx but they figure its just heebie jeebies from the demonic cultivation. it's only until wwx went back to the burial mounds with the wen remnants that it sinks in that hes dead. but then he realises that if this gets out, the cultivation world will be hunting for his head more viciously so he keeps this very tightly under wraps. all this secret keeping and exhaustion and starvation just makes wwx a teensy bit more volatile but at least he has his own little family to keep him sane.

until shit starts to go downhill. and it just keeps on going. until everyone is gone and hes the only one left standing and he needs to destroy the stupid fucking seal and keep the others from discovering where he hid a-yuan so he takes his chances and pours his everything into destroying the seal. except this time hes a little more powerful than he wouldve been if he was mortal and he levels part of the burial mounds before he went. and thus was the last of wwx.

or was it ?

the world believes wwx to be dead ("good riddance") but actually hes still kicking and in a more incorporeal form. he had to retreat somewhere deep in the burial mounds to recover and thus was unable to see that lwj had come back and taken a severely feverish a-yuan with him. wwx thinks everyone is dead and gone and everything was all for naught so he stews in his mistakes and tries to repent while stitching himself back together.

sometime after, he ends up in mount tonglu which was reopened because the aftershocks of the destruction of the stygian tiger seal were strong enough to disturb mount tonglu's magma chamber of resentment basically. so for ~12 years wwx was in there fighting his way thru which was why he didnt answer to lwj's calls

wwx survives as the last standing ghost after the slaughter and stews in the kiln for another month and a half or so. this would be around the time mxy is preparing to summon wwx's ghost for the summoning.

so imagine wwx just came out of the thing as a newly minted supreme/ghost king and hes immediately yanked to where mxy is. wwx's soul isnt stuffed into mxy's newly-emptied physical body since hes a ghost king this time around. still, he helps mxy but in the shadows bc hes still not keen on getting yoinked just when he returned to the mortal world.

everything proceeds as canon, with wwx sharing mxy's body via possession at some points for the comedy gold and the bit (because he would !! let the man be silly)

after that he absolutely yanks mxy outta there after lwj arrives (just after he spends like 5 minutes staring at lwj's beauty of course) and decides hes gonna adopt this sad little wet cat and teach him the actual proper ways of cultivation and steer him away from demonic cultivation bc tbh it's just not worth it esp since mxy has a golden core and who knows how demonic cultivation will affect a golden core-

anyways

wwx decides to do a silly little makeover so he wouldnt be recognised by any of his old acquaintances. his new appearance ends up a weird lil mix between himself and mxy, enough to claim that theyre distant cousins and normal rogue cultivators just starting out. wwx plans on taking his new charge around the country and away from the sects after he learned the godawful way the lanling jin have treated mxy

"single parenthood will be hard, but this father will make sure you get the best life on the road, my sweet little loquat." "you barely look older than me to be my father, wei-qianbei" "shush let me have this"

their traveling is off to a good start. but then dafan mountain happens and holy shit wen ning is still alive(?? technically ??) and holy shit why the fuck is everyone from wwx's previous life gathering here and holy shit did he just insult his shijie's son and-

why the fuck are they going with the gusu lan cultivators

what the fuck just happened

what

anyways

wwx introduces himself as a golden core-less distant mo cousin ("had an unfortunate run-in with the core melting hand back then") who used to be a rogue cultivator back in the day and is now dabbling with the art of talisman making and definitely isnt practicing demonic cultivation no siree

somehow he and mxy end up separated as lwj and wwx go to investigate the severed arm together and mxy ends up going w the juniors with a lil encouragement from wwx

"youll have a better time socialising with people your age, little loquat" "wei-qianbei plz ,,, u just want to go w hanguang-jun alone dont u" "lmao hahahahah who said that"

wwx is absolutely having the time of his life roleplaying a damsel in distress while being completely oblivious to the bone chilling fear he induces in their undead opponents. he invents silly little talismans to help hanguang-jun in battle. hes a little perplexed at how much shit lwj is letting him get away with.

hes also 90% sure lwj has figured out that hes a ghost and hes sweating like a sinner in church deep inside

i havent thought of much past this but heres some more tidbits of info that i thought about

at some point wwx is made aware of his infamy as the "Devil Flute Upon Graves". his self destruction at the burial mounds wiped out most of the vengeful ghosts in that area and, as mentioned before, shook mount tonglu w enough resentful energy to bust it open

wwx has an army of ghostly corvids that are essentially made of condensed resentful energy. they are also sort of empathetically connected to him ??? so theyre also chatty, yappy things who are extra fond of lwj and the junior ducklings

actually wwx's entire being post-supreme promotion is just condensed resentful/yin energy and being in his presence should be dangerous for regular ppl and cultivators alike but (a) he has mastered the art of keeping the effects contained within himself and (b) existing within the same space as lwj and doing their everyday means that their yin and yang energy are constantly balancing each other out to the point where it just naturally and passively happens. lwj literally dampens wwx's natural heebie jeebie vibes bc of good dick

because hes made up of yin energy, this does mean that it's ridiculously easy for him to switch back and forth between a male and female form. he usually ends up walking around in an androgynous form that leans towards a healthier, happier looking yiling laozu

VERY IMPORTANT ADDITION: yes ofc wwx gives lwj his ashes. it's in the form of an ornament. idk where to hang it tho. maybe wangji-guqin ? or his belt ? still debating on it for sure

the burial mounds are regarded in the ghost realm as his territory now and the ghost realm and heavenly court wait w baited breath to see what this new ghost king would do

the answer is he gallivants all over the damn continent with his new cultivator husband and their gaggle of children. wwx really dgaf about anything else really, he just wants to be Wife and Teacher

the wen remnants are given a second chance at life by wwx himself after the second siege of the burial mounds and they now live a happy afterlife at wwx's new ghost town where their old settlement used to be

he and hua cheng get along by virtue of being former street kids who just want to hang out w their godly spouses and their conversations together are just praise after praise for said godly spouses

wwx's birbs do eat hua cheng's butterflies and it's a frequent point of contention. no harm is done to the butterflies tho, the birbs just spit them out whole bc they taste absolutely nasty/poisonous

wwx 🤝 xie lian : little to no self-preservation instincts. they just want to help people okay !!

after the entire guanyin temple ordeal wwx ends up with a worshipped godly aspect whose primary place of worship is in yiling, who still remember the yiling laozu who just wanted to help his little family survive to the next day. to them, wwx became the god of innovation, ingenuity, and protection

he also becomes the patron god of street children ??? he just finds himself helping street kiddos and taking in vengeful ghost children because it was what he needed back when he was a kid okay ??? hes just using his powers for good, thats all

mxy is taken in by the gusu lan clan where he ends up become a promising candidate as a talisman master, thanks to wwx's encouragement and guidance

also !! it turns out more than a couple of other ppl ascended into the heavenly court, namely:

- jiang yanli ascended as the new water master, while jin zixuan became a martial god. shes a goddess of abundance, the home, and reconciliation. hes a god of wealth, fortune, and justice - nie mingjue also ascended to become a martial god after his spirit was laid to rest. he was supposed to ascend naturally but jin guangyao's bullshit derailed his fate. - wen qing ascended to become a medical master/goddess of medicine and sacrifice tho shes also kind of infamous for her friendship with devil flute upon graves. but nobody can say shit cz if they do say shit then they wld also be saying shit abt hualian and they dont want to deal with two calamities up their ass

thats all i can yap abt rn but i might add more we dunno

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 12

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: and its here everyone. Any thoughts about this?

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444 @mploopssek @snakelore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @lordpercevalcharles

2013, Circuit de Monaco

"Happy Birthday sister!"Mark greeted on the other line "Am I the last one to greet you?"

Despite the afternoon horizons outside the window of Y/N, she was still in her bed. Usually she doesn't like waking up with calls but Mark's greeting was something that she can tolerate today.

"You are the first, I just woke up"Y/N replied.

"Woke up? Are you back in London?"Mark's confusion was evident.

"I'm actually here in Monaco"Y/N clarified "I had a late flight so I was a bit tired so I woke up here at around.. oh its 4 in the afternoon"

In hindsight, she should have set an alarm so she didn't miss out a huge chunk of hours sleeping. However, she was exhausted from packing and taking care of things before she left Spain. She wanted a complete break for her birthday that's why she overworked herself to ensure everything can function without her.

"How long are you staying there?"Mark wondered.

"Till the Monaco GP so I have 2 weeks to enjoy Monaco's waters"

"You have a good one there sis"

"Thanks Mark"

"Happy Birthday again, I wish you all the best" Mark added "And if you want to buy anything, just tell me and I'll pay for it"

"Mark, you didn't have to do that"

There was a sigh on the other line. Mark knows how much Y/N values to work for the money that she spends that's why she doesn't like spending money that she didn't own.

"Just let me be Y/N, I missed a huge part of your life because I was immature"Mark explains "Just let me do this for you, okay?"

The whole brother-sister relationship is still mending. It was already one of the best gifts that Y/N could have asked. These moments are just some instances that they tried to make up with each other.

"Okay, I won't buy anything expensive though"Y/N compromises.

"That's tough in Monaco"

It earned a shared laughter between the two. It was obviously common knowledge that Monaco's cost of living and the items displayed on the store could cost a month's worth of fortune.

"You take care okay? I'll call you later when I still have time"Mark said

"Thanks big bro"

When Y/N ended the call, there were several messages from different people. She felt inclined to thank them for their greetings and for remembering her birthday so she spent the next few minutes texting them back.

She already had a voicemail from Mick, a painfully long message from Jenson, even some Team Principals sent a message to her. Their greetings made her feel so loved.

However, there is this void feeling upon realizing that there is someone missing.

Y/N: Hey goodmorning! Are you okay? I'm leaving tonight for Monaco maybe we could grab some lunch later? Away from the media and everything. Miss you a lot x Y/N: Heyyyy so I heard from Britta you had a night out so maybe you are suffering a hangover. Let's just resched lunch? Y/N: Btw I gave her some hangover medicines that Jenson claims to be magic when he is hung over. I hope everything is alright xx

The messages from yesterday remains unread by Sebastian. It was a bit disappointing that she wasn't able to talk to Sebastian at all during the Spanish GP. She knew how it must have been difficult weekend for him.

I'm sure he will call, Y/N assures herself.

The grumbling in her stomach caused her to remember that she hasn't eaten yet. Y/N opened her luggages and decided to get dressed to get her first meal of the day.

There was a perfect cafe spot that was just right the corner of her hotel. It also has a perfect view of the yachts parked in Monaco, Y/N couldn't think of another perfect place to eat.

She was enjoying herself when all of a sudden someone called out her name.

"Y/N?" for a moment, Y/N wanted to think that it was Sebastian calling her.

But she knew that this voice was a little bit too different to be Sebastian. Sebastian has a certain kind of accent that pronounces her name in a certain tone regardless of his emotions.

"Jules?"she recognized the driver.

It was not often that she have interacted with Jules a lot but he was a friendly face in the paddock. He has always been a gentleman to women and he is one of those drivers that isn't a PR nightmare.

Jules made a beeline to Y/N, he was followed by a younger boy with a mop of brown hair.

"I thought it was you"Jules smiles "And I was right. What are you doing in Monaco?"

"Oh, I'm celebrating my birthday today"Y/N replied

"Wow, I didn't know that. Happy Birthday then Y/N" Jules greeted.

"Thanks, how about you why are you in Monaco? It's a bit too early for the GP"Y/N joked.

"Oh I'm here with my godson"Jules gestured to the young boy "Y/N meet Charles, Charles meet Y/N. Y/N here is from McLaren and is the one in charge of Jenson"

Y/N handed out her hand and Charles shyly picked it up to shake it.

"I'm Charles Leclerc, its nice to meet you Miss Y/N" he greeted back.

The boy had a certain smile that if Y/N was not informed earlier then she would have mistaken him as his younger brother. She could tell that if Charles gets a little bit older then he might looks strikingly similar to Jules.

"That's a very polite boy, you two look very much alike"Y/N noticed.

"Yeah-"

Jules phone starts ringing and he seems troubled to see the caller ID.

"Is it alright if you could look after Charles for a while"Jules asked "I have this really important call and it might take a while"

"Yeah sure!"Y/N agrees.

"Thanks, you are an angel! Be good Charles, I'll try to make this quick"

Jules stepped out of a cafe and began speaking to the one of the phone. Charles and Y/N were left at the cafe, the boy looks a bit lost in Y/N's opinion.

"You can sit there and you can tell me about yourself"Y/N offered.

He nods and he immediately took the chair next to her.

"Would you like something to drink or something to eat?"Y/N asked.

"I can't eat much, I have to be lightweight to be able to drive faster"Charles responded.

"You race too?"

"I kart around here and there, Jules has been teaching me a lot"Charles confirmed.

Y/N takes a sip of her hot chocolate as she smiles. When they started talking about racing, Charles certainly changed his attitude. Aspirers like Charles are quite exciting to watch because she knows that with their determination then she might end up seeing him in the grid in a couple of years.

"My brother drives too, his name is Mark"Y/N shares.

Charles' eyes widen in recognition. He went closer to Y/N with an excited smile.

"Mark as in Mark Webber? The teammate of current world champion Sebastian Vettel"Charles enumerates excitedly.

"You know your Grand Prix winners"Y/N notes.

"I think I know more about them than school"

This made Y/N laugh. It was not uncommon that F1 drivers drop out early of school so they could race. For this reason, they don't seem to have a life outside of the sports. Sebastian is a good example of how the man has been a walking encyclopedia of Formula 1. You could ask him the Grand Prix winner of 1978 and he could tell you it was Andretti without missing a beat. But ask him about the current president of America and he won't give you any answers.

"Sebastian is one of my idols, I wish he is still there when I drive in F1"Charles wishful thinking.

The thought of Sebastian crosses her mind again, her smile obviously falters upon checking her phone for the umpteenth time today.

"You seem to be sad today" Charles noticed "Shouldn't you be happy that its your birthday?"

She forces a smile.

"Its nothing, I'm just waiting for someone's birthday greeting"Y/N brushes it off.

"Is it your bestfriend?"Charles pressed "If my bestfriend forgot my birthday then I would be very upset as well"

Bestfriends? Soon lovers? The relationship is a bit complicated but either way Y/N understands Charles statement that its indeed upsetting when a special someone forgets. However, due to Y/N's closeness with Sebastian she is willing to make up excuses for his forgetfulness.

"He must have been busy, work hasn't been quite easy for him lately"Y/N reasons out.

As if on cue, Charles rolled his eyes. Gone was the shy boy from a while ago as he leaned closer to the table.

"You shouldn't make work as an excuse"Charles rebutted "Jules said that even if you have a bad race or a bad day, you should never take that out to the people important to you"

It was a good advice that Jules has given Charles. Y/N was sure that one day, Charles will be able to give himself a perfect work-life balance in the future.

"Believe me Charles, he is not usually like that"Y/N defends again "Maybe he is just caught up in some stuffs"

"Suit yourself but just remember that if he wanted to then he definitely would"

The words lingered in Y/N's mind even after Jules picked up Charles and the two said goodbye. It was something that kept repeating in her mind as she mindlessly walked the streets of Monaco and watched the skyline go dark.

Sebastian must have a reason for forgetting her birthday, didn't he?

2013, Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve

As a driver, they should not stay up late the night before the race. They must have a clear head so that they can focus on the task ahead. Any sort of pressure or stress may be detrimental to their performance.

Lately, Sebastian has been feeling all sorts of pressure. A lot has happened lately.

"You look like you had a lot of things going on"Jenson walks next to him.

"Aren't you supposed to avoid me at all cost?"Sebastian questioned.

"I mean we're not going to get caught if you don't tell anyone"Jenson grins "So what's on your mind?"

The heavy sigh that Sebastian has been keeping in finally gets out in the open. He doesn't even know where to begin with his story. Should he be completely honest or is this something that he has to sugarcoat to lessen the blow?

"A lot of things"Sebastian stated.

Jenson opened his arms wide and gestured that he is a person that Sebastian could confide him.

"Come on Sebastian, I'd like to think we're friends. Come on, lay it out on me"Jenson encourages.

The thing that Jenson doesn't understand is that Sebastian is wary of the information he gives out to him. He still doesn't know how to deal with Y/N and Jenson may say the wrong thing and it falls all over from Sebastian.

"I made several mistakes" that was one way of putting it lightly.

"Mistakes can be fixed"

"But I fear this mistake can't be fixed"Sebastian argued "No sorrys can fix this thing"

"Hey if this is about you missing out on Y/N's birthday then don't worry. I'm sure you could say that you have been preoccupied and she would understand that. You know she doesn't even make a big of a deal that we miss out her birthday-"Jenson was explaining.

Then it hits Sebastian. It was June.

"Oh fuck"

If Sebastian could just hit himself all over the wall then he would have done it all night long. He can't believe that he forgot about her birthday. He did not just forgot the birth date but even the birth month. He felt extremely stupid.

"You mean to tell me that forgetting her birthday is not the mistake were talking about?"Jenson pieced out the puzzle.

"Fuck, I am so fucking stupid"Sebastian lamented.

"What else did you do then?"Jenson inquired.

"Just something stupid"

Sebastian is at a lost of words before on how to explain his situation but with this new dilemma then its even more stressful. How can he tell her that he was so drunk that he slept with someone else that night in Spain. He couldn't tell the worst part that it was with someone that the both of them know. That the whole reason why he was occupied and forgot her birthday because he was trying to keep the situation quiet.

The comforting pat on the back from Jenson brought Sebastian out of his thoughts.

"You just got to be honest with her, I'm sure Y/N will understand"Jenson assures.

There was a voice in Sebastian's head that is telling him that this was something that any woman cannot understand.

"Y/N loves you a lot. You have to trust that her love is strong to understand you"Jenson stated.

Sebastian could just give a weak smile. The guilty feeling is eating him up more than ever. What did he ever do to deserve her love?

"Tell you what, I'll make some arrangements in the next Grand Prix. I'll make sure to keep McLaren occupied and you two could go spend time with each other"Jenson added.

"You would do that?"

"Of course, anything for Y/N"Jenson replied "Just don't make her cry, I hate seeing her cry"

Too overwhelmed by emotions and planning what to do next week, Sebastian failed to notice the smile that Jenson had on his face. If he paid attention then he would notice that Jenson was also as troubled with thoughts for a certain girl.

With a heavy sigh, Jenson keeps his true feelings at bay.

2013, Silverstone Circuit

It was already midnight when she arrived at her flat. Y/N was a bit tired and she was so glad that the race was happening in Silverstone so she has a few days in the comforts of her home. She was ready to hit the bed when she heard noises coming inside her apartment.

'Did I forget to lock the doors when I left?' she wondered in her head.

She quickly armed herself up by putting up her bag in a defensive manner and her phone hovering to the emergency number.

"Mein Gott! Why is this so difficult to do?"the voice from inside the apartment shouted.

She knows that voice a little too well. But Y/N couldn't believe that he would be here waiting for her.

"Sebastian? What are you-"

Seeing Sebastian Vettel in the kitchen with an apron was the least shocking thing that Y/N saw in her flat. The living room decorated by some balloons and a bouquet of flowers was placed there. Sebastian was tending over a cake that seems to be in the process of being coated with icing. The table was filled with some food that seems to be homemade.

"Hey, I know I have been a jerk recently but I'm here to apologize"Sebastian explains "Jenson stole your duplicate key and I prepared these little welcome dinner and I hope to get back to your good graces"

Something so domestic about the whole thing that Y/N's weeks of sadness immediately disappeared into thin air. She went to give him the biggest hug and she felt like the pieces are being glued back together.

"I missed you so much"she admitted.

"Its been a while"

"I really missed you"she confirms again "Please don't leave me like that again"

The way that Sebastian gazed at her and gave her a gentle forehead kiss seems to be a promise that he won't go away again.

There were a lot of questions that remained unanswered but Y/N is too distracted to ruin the whole thing by asking those. She is just happy to have him back and she wants to savor every moment with him.

2013, Nürburgring

"She seems to fit right in the family" Norbert told his son "Any progress?"

Sebastian was in a lovestruck smile as he gazed his attention to the garden where his mother and Y/N were conversing together. It wasn't the first time that his parents met Y/N but this was the first time that he brought her to his childhood home.

"I'm working on things"Sebastian replied.

"She is a wonderful girl. You treasure her and you don't make her cry alright?"Norbert reminded.

"Papa, its like you are handing me out for marriage already"Sebastian snickered.

"Isn't that the main point of dating? To get married eventually"

The word marriage seems to be foreign in the conversation between the couple. They both know and understand that they have to settle the score between their respective jobs to ensure that there is no conflict. Then the team mate thing has to be resolved as well. On top of that, they both have careers and dreams that they want to achieve.

But making Y/N a Vettel is something in the plans.

"You seem to be talking about us"Mrs Vettel called their attention out and Y/N's turned her head.

"Anything you want to share Seb?"Y/N wondered.

Sebastian just went forward to wrap an arm around Y/N. There was pure bliss in his eyes that everyone is getting along in the household. If he would make her a Vettel then she would be a happy addition to the family.

"What are you and Mama talking about?" Sebastian diverts the topic.

"Oh I'm just showing Y/N your childhood photos"Mrs Vettel gleefuly answered.

"Mama no"Sebastian groaned.

The albums from the past is filled with lots of photos of Sebastian that would be horrifying to show to the public. It includes his early track days, snotty seasons, and even some nerdy photos from school.

"You look adorable Seb"Y/N comforts "Look here Seb, this looks so cute. Is this you on your first day of school?"

The photo had a younger Sebastian holding hands with a blonde haired girl. They have their backpacks on and they seem to be giggling at the camera. Frankly, Sebastian have no memory of what they are talking about but they seem to have been caught conversing when the photo was taken

"Oh that's his first day of school with his friend Hanna"Mrs Vettel recognized.

"Hanna as in Hanna Prater?"Y/N inquired.

The mere mention of the name caused Sebastian's stomach to churn as if he swallowed a rock. The day have already been perfect but the name caused all of his worries to come back.

"You know Hanna?"the elder male Vettel asked.

"Yeah, I met her in some Grand Prix"Y/N answered "She was super sweet and she seems like a very supportive friend to Sebastian"

The way that Y/N talks about Hanna makes Sebastian feel more guilty about what transpired weeks ago. He couldn't have the heart to tell Y/N the truth about them. The first one in Brazil was an accident and could be something forgivable but what happened in Spain was something he was not sure of.

"Hey you seem pale? Are you alright?"Y/N voiced out her concern.

"I'm alright"

"You must be starving already, let's get you two some food"Mrs Vettel immediately got up from her seat.

"Mama you don't have to"Sebastian begs.

"Nonsense, you should get a plate or two before you go for the race weekend"Mrs Vettel argues.

It was useless to argue with his mother. Sebastian just raised his hands in surrender as his mother went off to the kitchen to prepare some meals for them to eat. She has also grabbed Mr Vettel and instructs him to set the table.

The couple was left alone and Y/N seems to be concerned with Sebastian.

"You can tell me anything that's bothering you" Y/N repeated

"I know"Sebastian sighs "But I'm not sure that I'm able to tell you this yet"

Her hands touched his face. It was a gentle caress meant to soothe Sebastian.

"I trust you, whenever you feel like talking then"Y/N smiles.

Those comforting words seems to be digging deeper wounds for Sebastian as the bile rises up in his throat. He wanted to tell her the truth of what happened but she is scared that in doing so that he might end up losing her.

He allows himself to be selfish for a little bit more time.

[pinazee]

I have some random hatchetfield character HC’s (forgive me if any of these are repeats or already mostly canon haha) sorted by musical for ease.

TGWDLM :

-emma kills every house plant she touches but she doesn’t know this because pauls like a savant with plants (plant daddy) and takes care of them without her knowing

-bill and alice used to go to an afternoon tea place every sunday after church. It was their special daddy/daughter activity until alice turned 10. Whenever Alice is feeling down she stops by the shop and grabs a scone. Sometimes she’ll leave one at her dads place before shes taken back to her moms.

-ted was rarely in petes life growing up. By the time pete was old enough to remember him, ted was already moved out. He knew pete looked up to him though, and loved it. He would visit home, tell tales of his conquests (lies), and give pete just the shittest advice on how to pick up chicks (pete was 7).

-charlotte was the badgirl cheerleader in high school. She looked like sandra dee but acted like Rizzo. Thats when she got involved with sam. At her lowest point when she was 26 (having to be saved by the coast guard after a night of partying had her stealing a boat and losing the paddles shortly after, leaving her adrift for several hours) she found the church and changed her ways. This initiated the divide with sam who didn’t like this new version of her.

Black friday:

-toms favorite time of year was the first week of school. The kids were still squirrelly as they adjusted to class periods again, everyone was dressed in their best ready to show off their brace-less teeth or their new haircuts, there was a hum of excitement even as the kids groaned when they got their first piece of homework, and he got to play his favorite “accidentally chopped his thumb off” prank with all the freshman.

-Lindas always had “friends” because of her extravagant birthday parties but there was only ever one that actually knew her. During her 11th birthday, after her father had mocked her pig nose in front of everyone during the cake photo, linda hid in her room, and no one noticed she was gone- except for one boy, who came to see if she was okay. They became close after that. It wasn’t until months later that Linda learned he only came to ask because his mother made him (she was trying to find a way to lindas dad). She was so hurt that she had her dad pay off his parents to transfer him to sycamore.

-the first thing Lex ever bought was a bag of those shitty glow in the dark stars when she was 9 using the money she’d saved by scrounging for cans. She’d wanted them for months after she saw them in a friends house but her mom refused. She kept them up for years, even though they didn’t really glow anymore, because it reminded her that she could get things done on her own.

NPMD:

-steph is a huge gamer. She is frequently the highest scorer in any game she plays but her specialty is shooty games. She’s been known to seek revenge, often killing players she feels has wronged her over and over, hunting them down until the mods have to get involved. (I dont play games like that is that how it works? Lol)

-no one wanted to be the mascot. In fact, the kid who used to be the mascot quit the moment he heard max joined the team. The coach told them they needed one though so max grabbed the first dweeb he saw (richie) and shoved him inside. Richie had no choice but to roll with it, so even though it meant he was a target of maxs more often, it became worth it when people actually started cheering when he showed up. For him, its like cosplaying being popular.

-Ruth writes “friend fiction.” Each chapter is a different scenario on how her and another classmate could become involved. Pete and steph both have multiple chapters. Richie has none (simply because its never crossed her mind.)

-grace was kicked out of debate club because she ended every argument by saying it was gods will

[slytherinshua]

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

genre. angst. a little fluff. warnings. infidelity. and breaking up lol kill me. idk how good this is cause this might actually be my first time writing breaking up angst so sry if its bad. not proofread. pairing. hyunjae x reader. wc. 1.6k. request. requested by @hursheys for #15: "why?" "because i love you." and #53: "why does this sound like goodbye?" "because it is." a/n. uhm fuck you vesper no one likes you i hope u stub ur toe and embarrass urself at the tbz concert like i hope you don't have enough gas to get there and miss it (jk have the best time at the concert u deserve it <33). divider by @/chilumitos. net. @deoboyznet

“I’ve been trying to find a decent roommate for months. I don’t know. Maybe I’m the problem? Maybe no one wants to room with me. I’m just tired of hunting, you know?” You sighed, drumming the pads of your fingers over the warm cup of coffee your boyfriend had treated you to.

“If they don’t want to room with you, then they’re the ones missing out.” Hyunjae said simply, sending you a smile. Your lips lifted and you relaxed your shoulders. You hadn’t felt so relaxed and easy for weeks now. 

After your disaster of roommates last year, you wanted to find good ones for the last year at university. It was proving to be a lot harder than you thought. You weren’t even sure what you were doing wrong. You were fairly tidy, and flexible with rooms and schedules. You didn’t even mind if they wanted to bring over their boyfriends, so long as they limited the visits. As for yourself, you always preferred meeting Hyunjae outside or at his place. It just felt nice to have a break from your place.

“You think so?” You breathed, flashing a grin at your boyfriend before standing up. You grabbed the coffee with one hand and Hyunjae’s hand with the other, starting to walk towards the park. “It still leaves me without a roommate and rent that’s way too high to pay for the whole year. And my classes are too intensive for me to pick up another part time…” 

Hyunjae squeezed your hand sympathetically, glancing up at the sky before he opened his mouth, “You know, Sangyeon’s moving out at the end of the month. He wasn’t sure if things would work out with his new job, but he got the position and found a place closer to his work. I’d have an extra room anyway…” He trailed off, implying the offer with a twinkle in his eyes.

It seemed almost too good to be true; switching from roommate hopping to living with your boyfriend. You were hesitant for a few seconds, running through the logistics of it all. You enjoyed every second you spent with Hyunjae. He always treated you so well, he was truly the most perfect man you had ever met; almost too perfect for your brain to fully comprehend at times. Living with him seemed like an ideal situation.

“Are you sure? Didn’t you say Juyeon was looking for a place to stay while doing his scholarship?” You asked, wanting to eliminate any other factors that would make you feel guilty for going with the offer. You really didn’t mind hunting for a bit longer or even living with a roommate that pissed you off half of the time. You only had half a year left of school, anyway.

Hyunjae just shook his head, “I wanted to offer it to you before anyone else. You need it more than he does, anyway.”

You smiled, “Why are you so good to me, Hyunjae?” 

He laughed, pulling you closer into his arms, “Because I love you. Now, are you going to move in with me or not?”

It had been several months since you moved in with your boyfriend. You graduated university and found a steady, decent-paying job. Your hours were long, and you came back home exhausted most days. Thinking about your future was constantly on your mind. Where your relationship with Hyunjae was going, whether you would be able to save enough for a downpayment on a house, if you could even afford to think about the possibility of kids, etc. It was stressful, to say the least. It felt like you were the only one who was even trying to plan. 

Hyunjae’s routine was the same as when you had first started dating him. He would go to work everyday with his steady 9 to 5, sometimes arriving home later when he went out to drink with his coworkers. Weekends were for relaxation or meeting up with friends. It seemed like everything was perfect, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was slowly going wrong. He felt distant— like now that you were living under the same roof as him, he no longer had to make any effort. You didn’t even go on dates anymore. 

“Hey, babe, can we talk?” You said as you walked into the room, taking a seat on the couch, eyes trained on your boyfriend in the kitchen. 

“I have something to get to in a few minutes, but go ahead.” He hummed, prompting you to go on.

“Is something going on at work?” You asked him, wondering why he had to go somewhere at almost 8pm on a Sunday. 

“No? Why?” 

You sighed, deciding to not question him about it for now, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I want to communicate with you, but I feel like I’ve been the only one making any effort in this relationship. I miss you. We live together, but I barely see your face anymore.”

Hyunjae shook his head, “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I’ve been trying my best too. It’s selfish of you to say that I’m the only one not putting any effort in.” 

You stood up, “I said it because it’s what it felt like. You never take me on dates, you barely even tell me about your day or ask about mine… hell, it’s been weeks since the last time we even kissed each other. Do you really not feel the difference?” You did your best to stay calm. Yelling at Hyunjae was one of the last things you wanted to do, especially if it was all just a misunderstanding. 

Hyunjae was about to say something in response when his phone rang. You watched him tense up, and your brain was quick to think of possible reasons why. Was he hiding something? Or was he just tense from the accusations and sudden noise? 

You slowly walked to pick up the phone, as he had left it on the coffee table face down, closer to you than to him. It felt like your heart lurched in your chest as your eyes scanned over the caller id. A female’s name; Seunghee. You slid the button over to answer, hesitantly raising the phone to your ear. 

“Babe, you said you would be here 30 minutes ago. What’s taking you so long?”

You made eye contact with Hyunjae, and everything clicked. Why he had been so distant, why he never took you on dates or showed you affection, why he had been staying late after work so often and so hesitant to tell you about his day. He had been lying this whole time, cheating on you with another woman. 

You pressed the contact on the phone, the call still running although you didn’t say anything. Just as you expected, the chat was full of flirtatious texts. They mirrored the kinds of messages that he used to send you when you first started dating. You started to wonder if he had already been dating someone when he asked you out over a year ago. You hung up the phone, deciding you didn’t want to get involved in whoever Hyunjae had chose to cheat on you with.

“Are you going to explain yourself? Or are you running 30 minutes late to your date?” You asked piercingly. If looks could kill, you would’ve shot right through Hyunjae’s head by now.

“No, wait— Y/n, baby—”

“Don’t call me that.” You felt suffocated, and started to walk towards the door, hoping to get some fresh air and clear you head. Hyunjae caught your wrist before you could leave.

“Don’t listen to her. I would never cheat on you.” He insisted. You tried to shake off his hand, but his grip was too strong.

“Lying now too, are we? Let go of me.” 

“Y/n, just let me explain.” He pleaded.

“There’s nothing to ‘explain’, Hyunjae. I saw everything already. Let go of me.” You said harshly. 

“So you’re just going to leave me? After everything?” His voice was grating. 

“After what? The months you’ve been actively cheating on me? You threw this relationship away before I did. Now let me leave—” 

Hyunjae finally dropped your hand, the weight of your words finally hitting him. He had rarely been scared of things in his life. People often described him as fearless and brazen. Things had always turned out alright for him no matter what he did. Mistakes rarely came with consequences, but right now he felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life, and the consequence was losing you.

“Why does this sound like goodbye?” He asked quietly, for once a hint of fear seeped into his tone. You were stunned. The entire time you had known Hyunjae, he hadn’t feared anything.

“Because it is.” You left without another word, not wanting to hear whatever convincing Hyunjae would try in order to get you to stay.

It didn't take long for Hyunjae to regret his actions, as the next week you received a series of desperate texts. You blocked his number the same day, and, after retrieving your things from the apartment on a day you knew Hyunjae wouldn’t be home, found a new place to stay. You realized over the next weeks that Hyunjae had simply been too good to be true. His façade fooled you for months, but it was impossible for his imperfect self to give a flawless performance. In the end, he was merely a faulty copy of perfection.

↳ the boyz taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @blossominghunnie,, @cosmicwintr,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,,

@lecheugo,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @recordsfilm,, @bananabubble,,

@talking-saxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hursheys

[dot-png]

bryce Hfj Nd Headcanons u Say... ? Share them Pretty Pleas? wuld Love 2 Hear ur Thoughts Bout that Guy..

i see him having anxiety, clinical depression, c-ptsd and autism

the depression part is kinda obvious as to why if you pay attention to his character but ill elaborate later

the anxiety part is actually technically canon, since he has thalassophobia, which is an anxiety disorder (plus the fact i dont think airy would just randomly add a fun fact to their extra sections - a phobia caused by an actual disorder differs from just an irrational fear so yeah (also caney has epilepsy listed in his extra sections which is a disorder)) i'd like to incorporate that along with the cptsd part since it causes anxiety obviously

as for autism its more of a headcanon for fun rather than with factual basis but ill elaborate on it also

my reasoning for him having c-ptsd is not because of the competition but his childhood, his mom's behavior was so bad that stella had to out of her way to keep bryce away from her

i say complex ptsd specifically because of how he asks if she's having "another one" so we can assume it happened consistently. he also didn't have any way to escape (aside from stella distracting him) considering it was domestic. i dont really think his mom abused him in some way ? but the consequences had to be destructive enough for stella to assume their own home was unsafe for a small child. we don't see much about bryce's relationship with his mom (or his parents in general) but that 100% carried on to his adult self - especially if it happened frequently, and it was super early too because i dont think he was any older than like 7 in that flashback

another factor for this is stella's death ofc, we know how much their relationship mattered to him and how losing her affected him so i dont think i need to overexplain it

as for the way its shown in the show: compared to everyone else, his startled response feels more severe for me, like he always goes on fight or flight mode rather than just freaking out a little. i want to point out one 10 specially

liam shows up at bryces door after 7 months and just stays there for an entire night, during all that time liam just rambles about one and his mere presence is a reminder of one for bryce. one was a traumatizing experience for everyone, but bryce processes it differently, being reminded of that just sents him into shock:

he can't think of how to react until 10 hours later. the way liam reacts at first suggest he thinks bryce is just being rude and purposefully ignoring him, he thinks bryce shouldn't avoid talking to him because he thinks he didn't go through the same amount of pain he [liam] did on the plane and he shouldn't act like he did; but he isn't aware of how anything that remotely reminds him of a bad experience can send him spiraling back to that place, he may not have stayed as long and not have suffered as much (or worse) as liam, but he's been living with this mindset for so long that it's just an automatic reaction. he can panic at anything:

(and i wanna point out how on the first one the shot focuses specifically on him)

and that may seem obvious like, yeah of course he would panic in one 10 of course he was trying to process seeing liam out of nowhere after almost a year but i only went on this tangent and brought that up bc i wanna link it to another thing ....

in one 13 bryce says how "his life was miserable before the competition" and "now that its over he has an incentive to do something with his life". kylie also says that after bryce came back she feels like "he's taking his job more seriously". what i wanna touch on is how the way they put it seems like bryce is trying to like find a purpose in his life, but not exactly find peace ? i don't know exactly how to put it. like he says he was pretty miserable and demotivated he had a stupid chungus life whatever. it feels like he was trying to get his life in order and get more done, rather than facing what was holding him back in the first place and try to make peace with that. he felt unproductive when that's not really the main cause of his misery. which brings me to..

his whole thing with the waiting room. he didn't have any panic reaction, but he was definitely clinging to the past, in this case his childhood and the moments he got to feel safe with stella

now i know the waiting room is designed to make you want to go to whatever's calling you no matter what, but metaphors exist ok . so im gonna consider it a metaphor for his cptsd in bryce's case

he spends the entire episode clinging to the manifestation of stella, but liam stops him from actually going w her because he wants them to solve the whole airy thing first. by the end of it, bryce stops seeing the suburbs as well as stella. when liam and bryce finally get to rest, he says:

he didn't realize that his tendency to ignore his suffering in the past doesn't prepare him for when it pops up again. it send him into terror, he can't help but go back to reliving it, this cycle just kept making him feel worse but he insisted in doing better instead of reconciling with himself

his childhood and one were two different traumatic experiences, but accepting he can't just live what he went through in that competition behind makes him realize he doesn't need to be scared of his past so often. he had to realize he can't just constantly try to repress what happened and move on without reflecting on the way what happened scarred him and continues to affect him; even if he supresses it, it will come back one point and make him go through all that all over again (which is another reason for me to think that people saying bryce dislikes liam is stupid but thats not the point !🙄)

as for his depression season 1 implies it a lot, specially with the flashback sequence in one 7 i can see him having executive dysfunction and it being one of the reasons as to why he tried changing so much after one he also has problems with sleep, and the irritability that comes with experiencing depression in general. also stella's death once again contributes to it

i see him being autistic mainly because he's this trope basically:

(sorry this image is the only way i could put it . you have to understand . ) kylie says how he's not very expressive, and we see how he really isn't. monotonicity is very characteristic of asd, in his case it feels specially like a symptom considering how, in most cases, people don't mean to be as monotone as they are. we know bryce isn't exactly the most chill person in the world he just has a hard time managing and expressing his emotions

bringing up executive dysfunction again, its also a common trait in asd

another thing is his hypersensitivity (which i already talked about a lot), overstimulation can lead to panic attacks you get what i mean. i think he fits as being sensory avoidant

the way he handles most social situations in the show (specially on the plane and with liam on season 2) i can see him being oblivious to social cues

not exactly factual basis just a little analysis, i interpret him being low empathy but high compassion. i think the low empathy would be more related to his irritability

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Spamton X Reader fic Ch1

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you know?

YES.

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

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

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

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

A couple more keystrokes and dev is back in business.

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

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

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

You’re not sure how you feel about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s nothing else it could be, really…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him in stunned silence for several moments.

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

It’s not alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

How long has it been since…anything?

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

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

Green wires.

The rollercoaster, with three carts speeding towards him.

A blue-haired, blue-skinned Lightner.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Magic…?”

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

“NO MORE [[ It Burns! ]]?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell him your name, still dazed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“IS THIS THE DARK WORLD OR LIGHT WORLD?”

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

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

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

He frowns, tapping his chin with one hand.

“Where are you from, then?”

“CYBER CITY, IN THE DARK WORLD.”

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

“[[ Survey Says: ]] YES.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Um. What?��

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

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

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

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

“DO YOU?”

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

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

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

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

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

“[[ Complimentary service ]]?”

You laugh slightly. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, thanks guys?” you say uncertainly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spamton chuckles. “THEY WERE SLEEPY.”

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

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

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

“MINITONS,” he corrects.

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

“It can be both,” you retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

To where?

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

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

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

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

Spamton stops, staring in surprise at what he sees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A conversation to have over breakfast, you suppose.

[football-and-fanfics]

The Housekeeper - Erling Haaland

Who: Erling Haaland Request: hello, could write something of the plan love / hate. Reader works as a housekeeper in Erling's house and they initially do not have a good relationship. But everyone understands why she is not fired at the same time. Requested by: anonymous Warnings: none

For a few months now, you worked as housekeeper in Erling's house. Several times a week you went over to his place to do the cleaning or run some errands for him.

He was an impressive man, not only by reputation, but surely too in appearance. A big, strong man, and he didn't act overly friendly to you. He wasn't mean or rude, but mostly ignored you or gave you the cold shoulder.

Whenever you spoke to your friends about it, they didn't understand why you didn't quit. But Erling never complained or made comments about the quality of your work, and the pay was surely good, so you stuck to it.

At first, you didn't think much of the way Erling treated you. You had your space to do your job, and if he wasn't in for getting acquainted or small talk, than that was fine by you. But lately you had the strange feeling he was stealing glances at you. It weren't suspicious glances, rather some strange form of fascination. Also, where he usually was away when you worked in his house, Erling now was at home much more often.

For a few more weeks you paid close attention when you worked in his house, and quickly learned that Erling was most definitely checking you out whenever he had the chance. It took at least a week more for you to gather up the courage to speak to him, before you finally did.

"Can I ask you something?" You asked when Erling 'coincidentally' needed to be in the kitchen as you worked there. Erling shortly looked at you, before grunting his approval. "Why are you staring at me?" You blurted out quite bluntly. "You don't speak to me unless you absolutely have to, but I catch you staring at me whenever you have the chance lately. And, frankly, I don't know what to think of it anymore."

The big man in front of you seemed to shrink a few inches. Erling hung his head, but you still caught the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm sorry." You had never known it would be possible for such a big man to produce such a small voice, and you suddenly felt slightly guilty for confronting him like this. But that blush did confirm your suspicion.

"I--I..." Erling tried his utmost best to get words out, but could only brabble some incoherent nonsense. "Stop," you said quickly, your tone compassionate. "I know. You don't have to say it." Erling's eyes held a mixture of embarrassment and surprise. "You... you know?" "I may only be a housekeeper, but I'm not dumb," you smirked.

A deep exhale deflated his chest as a smile now made its way onto Erling's face. "I handled this all wrong, but... I was so caught off guard by my own feelings that I did some stupid things." You nodded in agreement, but didn't speak. "I fully understand if you don't want anything to do with me," Erling continued, voice a little unsteady. "But, if... if you would give me another chance to do this right and have dinner with me. Or maybe just coffee."

You could easily see the nervousness in Erling in the few seconds it took you to answer. He was clearly contemplating whether or not he had permanently screwed things up with you before any kind of relationship had even begun.

"You would actually have to talk to me." You grinned jokingly. Erling chuckled nervously. "Believe it or not, I've wanted to for a long time." The fact that this man, this big, well-known man, was apparently so swept off his feet by you, suddenly hit you. It made you feel special and the decision ultimately very easy. "Yes," you smiled, "I would love to go on a date with you."

Tags: @stonesyyyy, @footballffbarbiex, @football1921, @laurasstufff1, @ella33

Request an imagine | Add me to the tags list Erling Haaland masterlist | General masterlist

[mondaymelon]

white day 2023! ♡

(xiao, ayato, itto x gn!reader)

(a/n) a little something short for white day that i had to get out before 12 - :) seeing official xiao art has rejuvenated my soul

headcanon style!✩ enjoy ♡

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

xiao ♡

he hasn't forgotten the gift you gave him a month ago.

it was just a small pouch of handmade chocolates, yet he was moved by the honesty of the present. he hadn't understood valentine's day, and he still doesn't, but from what he's heard from hu tao and zhongli, a month after february 14th comes white day, where he'll give you a gift himself.

at least, that was what the two of them suggested.

and he intended to follow that advice. remembering the warm, unusual but pleasant feeling that had arose through his body when you had handed him the sweets, smiling softly... he wanted to give you that feeling too. he wanted to make you as happy as you had made him, in that moment.

and xiao isn't a great cook, not by any means, but he tries his best to learn. with the help of several friends and the wangshu inn boss, verr goldet, he manages to make... a presentable gift. when he gives it a small taste test, it seems to be edible, at least, and still somewhat retains its intended heart shape. it's a little oddly colored, wobbly in some parts, but he's satisfied with it.

and so the day finally comes. he's prepared a speech, or more like a couple sentences, to say to you, if you're willing to hear it.

"love. i have something for you."

"oh, xiao! and you really don't have to-"

"you gave me a gift, so i have to return the favor." his face his flushed red from where he's hiding it with his gloved hand desperately, his other hand holding out the small wrapped pouch that he had spent hours on trying to tie on the perfect beaded ribbon. "h-here. take it."

you gingerly held the bag, as if it might disappear, then stared up at the red-faced man with eyes full of wonder. "this... this is for me?"

"d-don't get any wrong ideas. it was only because adepti... adepti honor the holidays of you mortals."

you laugh, a delightful sound that only causes the male to redden deeper.

"right."

ayato ♡

there's a fact that's not known to many - and it's that commissioner kamisato ayato actually is quite fond of sweets.

it's something you learn with time as you gradually note how every time you visit the kamisato estate, ayato always has some form of chocolate, mochi, even candy, the kind that inazuman kids eat, in a little round dish on his desk.

so when feburary rolls around, you decide to gift ayato something. you're not exactly sure what, but it's going to be sweet. and what better fitting than some valentine's day chocolate? it takes a bit of work, though to be fair, you do know your way about the kitchen slightly better than the average person. not much of an advantage, but an advantage nonetheless.

and when the 14th comes and you present your finished treats to the azul-haired man himself, his reaction surprises you. with sparkling eyes, he gently takes the pouch from you, before glancing at you, then back at the gift.

"for me? really?"

"yep! hopefully you'll like it." you grin sheepishly. "this was my first time making this sort of thing, so if it doesn't taste great, just tell me. i can always try and make another batch, if that's what you want."

"don't worry, i'll like it."

and since then, for the past month, he's been thinking about that moment. he wants to pay you back, but not just that. he wants to let you know that he did appreciate it. all of it.

hence, he's come up with a solution - to gift you chocolates himself.

he's lucky that white day is quite the popular holiday in inazuma, otherwise he wouldn't have the excuse to pull it off. he contacts you beforehand, and you respond your agreement to meet up, completely oblivious.

"this. this is for you, sweet." he smiles softly while he says the name, placing the small gift in your outstretched palms. he takes note of every expression that flits across your face - confusion, then surprise, finishing off with a happy yet flustered gaze. he knew you too well, well enough to read your face like a book.

"me?" even as you ask it, you take the pouch and hold it tightly in your hands, eyes wide with the suddenness of it all.

"who else? of course i meant you, the most beautiful and kind person in the whole of teyvat."

itto ♡

itto... is an interesting case.

you're fond of him, that much is true. and you're good friends with him also - the two of you are close. yet why does he always... try to impress you?

at first its almost unnoticeable. he reports to you about his wins and mutters his losses at the end of each day, where you're nodding along, already half asleep.

but after you give him some homemade chocolates for valentine's, that behavior had spiked. whenever you saw him, which was often, he would only recount to you about how he had beaten this one child and how he won this and that and how kuki had made him return whatever he had taken as his victory spoils... it wasn't annoying, per say, but you did wish to know why he was doing all of this.

itto just wants to impress you, is all.

he's been wanting to pay you back after you gifted him those chocolates on valentine's, but he just hasn't found the right thing! - until now. itto isn't a man who really follow schedules, a calendar, or reason, but he does somehow know that white day is coming up, a holiday that was sort of like reverse valentine's. and that meant he could finally pay that debt.

"hey hey! you free this afternoon?" itto inquires of you in the morning, while you just stare at him, groggy-eyed and still off floating somewhere in sleep mode.

"huh? yeah... i'm free." you yawn, an action that makes itto inexplicably happy.

"then let's meet at the back of shimura's after he closes up, okay? you got that? don't forget!" with that, he runs off, sending you a little wave on the way out, a silly grin stretching across his face.

when the sun finally reaches its peak in the sky, itto is restless. it's a feeling he doesn't experience often, partly because how his life works and partly because of his behavior. he's usually carefree in just about anything, so really, this is a first.

and you do show up. just the thought itself brings a smile onto the white-haired man's face as he coughs into his hand before bringing out the bouquet of wildflowers that he picked for you off the shores and islands of inazuma, along with more than a several brightly colored sweet treats.

"this is a thank you!" itto grinned, shoving the things into your arms, crimson eyes sparkling.

"i-i can't accept this much-!"

"no wayyyy! psh, c'mon. do it for me?" the oni makes a pouty face, staring at you with his pitiful expression.

"fine. ...thank you." in the sunlit area, you're surprised yet flushed expression is as sweet as the candy he's just given you.

"haha, happy white day!"

masterlist ✩

[abyssal-ali]

'tis the damn season

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: T | Ao3 | Masterlist

WC: 3.8k

A/N: For my wonderful Twinsie @wildbookcat 💜 Beta'd by @sneksnacc

Tiny flakes of powdery snow danced through the air, carried around by the whims of the wind. Luka envied their carelessness. Somehow, he had ended up at the Charles de Gaulle International Airport, waiting for his high school ex-girlfriend, who was also his little sister’s best friend, and thus someone he couldn’t avoid.

It wasn’t even that he was still heartbroken about the end of their ill-fated relationship (lie), or that they had ended on bad terms (was both parties being broken-hearted and depressed for the next several months ‘bad terms’?), the issue was that he didn’t know how Marinette was going to react.

They were now both adults, had a collective handful of ended relationships under their belts, and were mature enough to look past that summer, right?

Another gust of wind blew through the man-made wind tunnel–aka the main doors exiting the airport–and caused a shiver to go down Luka’s back. He was still affected by his reptilian Miraculous, though he’d returned it after Hawkmoth had been defeated seven years ago. He wondered how Marinette would deal with the snow and chill when she arrived, since she was even more attuned to her Miraculous than he had been, and she continued to wield the gems occasionally. Ladybugs didn’t like the cold either.

The doors slid open, another batch of travellers entering the snowy grey afternoon with a shiver.

A pink pom-pom caught his eye, and Luka stepped out of the car to wave at its owner.

“Marinette!”

Her head turned to him, surprise overtaking her features, before being replaced by a smile. “Luka!”

Her cheeks were already flushing pink, matching her coat and hat, Luka noticed when she stepped back from la bise. He picked up her suitcase, slung her bag over his arm, and motioned towards his blue VW Golf.

“Your parents were busy with the holiday rush, so they asked me to come get you when I was over there saying hi yesterday,” Luka explained, getting into the driver’s seat once he’d stored her things in the hatch.

“Couldn’t stay away from their pain au chocolat, huh?” Marinette teased him easily.

Luka exhaled soundlessly as he pulled away. Maybe this would go okay, after all.

“You know it. So, how long are you here for?”

Marinette settled back in her seat. “I’m not actually sure. I want something new, but old…no, familiar, at the same time.”

Luka hummed. “I hope you find it.”

“Thanks. So, why are you here? It’s been a while since either of us were in Paris,” she commented, blowing hot air on the window and doodling hearts and smiles with her fingertip.

“I thought it was time. Haven’t seen Ma and Juleka in a while, and I have friends here I wanted to catch up with. I’m currently on a break from producing, so I figured now was as good a time as any.”

“Right,” Marinette agreed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

And now the awkwardness was seeping through the car.

“You too; it’s been awhile,” he said softly. “I’m always happy to see you.”

Even if it hurts when I don’t.

Her gaze darted down to her mittenless hands, fidgeting with her short, buffed nails. Luka could see the calluses from being constantly pricked on the pads of her fingers; a thin red scrape on the side of her hand likely came from brushing against a pincushion the wrong way.

The snowflakes had gradually become larger and more frequent, so Luka turned on the wipers.

“So, I saw you snagged the honour of designing Clara’s outfit for the Grammys next year,” he commented to break the silence.

Usually, he was fine with silence, especially around Marinette, who often needed it, but right now he was acting very unlike himself. Coming back to Paris had stirred up all these old feelings and actions, and he cursed it in his mind.

“Yeah. I’m hoping coming back here will provide some inspiration. I want to pay homage to her roots,” Marinette explained. “We could go for a drive around all our old haunts, maybe. Oh, but you’ll probably be busy, sorry. I can drive around.”

“I’m not that busy.” He blurted the words before he thought. “You still don’t have a license, right? I don’t mind being your chauffeur.”

The snowflakes appeared to have come from Marinette’s sparkling eyes. “Thank you, Luka!” She watched him drive in silence for a while. “You haven’t really changed, even though you’re famous.”

He flicked a glance at her, slowing down for a red light. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You look older now, because you are, obviously, and your image-controlling people have changed your appearance somewhat, but at your core you’re still the same Luka I know from seven years ago.”

The light turned green, and Luka wondered if it was a sign for one delusional second before he pressed the gas again.

“Is that a compliment or not, Mari?” he asked, settling for a teasing inquisition instead.

‘It’s a good thing!” she insisted. “Okay, you’ve matured, but your essence is the same. You’re like…like a nice red wine! Aging improves a good thing!”

“Oh, so you’re calling me old now?”

Mari sputtered. “That’s not what I said at all! And men say women take things too seriously! Pfft!”

Luka couldn’t hold back his laugh as Marinette crossed her arms, her puffy jacket turning her into  a cocoon of pink.

“I know what you meant, Mari; thank you for the compliment.”

She sniffed at the traces of humour in his penitent tone, but uncurled her arms.

“There’s the bakery. We should just have missed the closing rush,” Luka glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Have a good time, Marinette.”

“Thank you, you too! Oh, you can text me when you want to go for a drive. I still use the same number.”

“0-474-152-772?”

A wave of pink coated her cheeks. “You still remember it?”

I stare at it for a good half hour every week debating calling you or not. Of course I know it; it’s seared into my memory.

“Yep. I kept my old number too.” He popped the trunk and lifted her bags out.

“0-516-352-772?”

“Yep. Say hi to your parents for me!” 

He placed her bags just inside the door, and then beat a hasty retreat. Why do you still remember my number? 

~~~

How could she forget his number, when it spelled out her name?

Marinette sighed, waved goodbye at Luka’s car, then shut the door, ready to greet her parents.

“Maman! Papa! Guess who’s home!”

“Marinette! Sweetie, you made it!” Once the overwhelming hugs and bises had been exchanged, her parents looked curiously at the empty space behind her. “Luka got you here safely?” asked Sabine.

Mari nodded. “He was waiting for me at the airport; he asked me to say hi to you for him. He said you were busy with the holiday rush.”

Tom agreed. “We were sorry to miss picking you up, but our seasonal helper was sick, so we weren’t able to close and get you after all. Luka coming by and being free was fortunate.”

“It was nice to catch up with him,” Mari agreed. “I’ll just bring my bags up to my room and then we can catch up while we make dinner?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Sabine. Tom brought the luggage up, then left Mari to settle in after one more hug.

Looking around her room, Mari smiled at the remembrance of all the memories she had made in the pink space. Pictures clothespinned to her wall of fairy lights danced in the breeze as she twirled, releasing a deep breath and closing her eyes at the peace of being home again.

She could feel the ideas coming for Clara’s outfits.

It was a brilliant idea to come back to Paris.

~~~

It was a horrible idea to come back to Paris.

Why had he said yes to picking Marinette up?

Why had he said yes to driving Marinette around?

Why had he answered her text as soon as she sent it, at 2:08 am?

Why had he showed up at her door at 7:30 am, why had he let Tom drag him to the kitchen and feed him pastries (okay, that one was self-explanatory), why had he lingered and chatted, why why why.

The answer to all his questions was sitting in the passenger seat of the car he was borrowing from a friend, looking devastatingly beautiful and chattering away about how things had changed since she had left, a year before he had, and contrasting it to Los Angeles.

If he’d wanted to hear about her failed relationships after she defeated Hawkmoth, broke up with him, and moved away, he would have asked.

Luka was well aware that he was sulking, but he didn’t care at this moment. They were driving by College Francois Dupont, and the memories of that time weren’t the most pleasant.

“Ooh, I have an idea! Can you park here? I want to walk around for a bit.”

Luka dutifully pulled over, parking in an empty space between the school and the Methodist church down the block.

Marinette strolled around the quiet street, the fluffy flakes floating down muffling her footsteps and muttered monologue. 

She returned to him eventually, scribbling away at her sketchbook.

Luka’s hand raised before he realised what he was doing. 

“Luka? What are you doing?”

He blinked down at her, his hand frozen as she glanced up at him from under her bangs.

“You, um, snow-”

Why was he making this awkward? Biting the bullet, he gently brushed the accumulated snow off the top of Marinette’s ponytail.

She flashed him a smile and climbed back into her seat.

“Where to next, Mari?”

~~~

“So, any plans for your break?” Mari clutched a mug of cocoa in her hands, careful not to drop it over the edge of her balcony on the head of some unsuspecting passersby out admiring the lights.

Luka leaned his back against the balcony, blowing on his own mug. “I haven’t made anything firm yet, but I expect my schedule will fill up rather quickly.”

Mari hummed. “I guess I should book our hangouts while you’ve still got room for me then, Mr. Hot-Demand.”

“I’ll always have room for you, Mari.”

She smiled at him before turning back to the cityscape. “I’ve missed this view.”

The real view nudged her shoulder. “Old memories coming back, huh? I’m glad you’re able to miss it, Mar.”

“Did you miss it?” She turned on her back to be companionably side-to-side with him.

“The city? Not so much. The people in it? Yeah, I missed them a lot.”

She nodded in understanding. “Did you miss the people who weren’t in it, too?”

He sipped his cocoa. “Everyday.”

~~~

Marinette opened her eyes, breathing deeply. There was nothing like a full ten hours of sleep in your childhood room, warm and cozy under blankets as the snow drifted by the window hypnotizingly, your secret love snuggled up beside you-

Oh yeah, she’d made Luka stay the night, saying it was too cold to walk back home as her excuse to have him sleep here. Her fingers brushed a teal lock back from his forehead as she took in his peaceful features. Honestly, they weren’t much different from his usual everyday expressions. She envied his calm, never being able to stay still for long. 

Luka shifted, blinking sleepily at her, a sleepy smile curving his lips. “Morning, Mari.”

His arm raised to trace a feather-light path down her cheek to cup her neck and pull her towards him.

She let him guide her closer, her breath catching in her throat.

“Mari, if you’re up, could you help out at the register for a bit?” called Sabine through the door.

Luka jerked away and Mari rolled out of bed with a thump. “Be there in a minute, Maman!”

“Are you okay?” he peeked over the edge of her mattress.

“Just fine,” she rubbed her behind. Luckily, the duvet had cushioned her fall.

“Er, sorry about that,” Luka ran his fingers through his messy locks.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged off the hurt, grabbing a pair of jeans and a flower-embroidered sweater off the back of her chaise. “Want me to save you anything for breakfast when I go down?”

“A quince pastry would be nice.”

“Got it. See you!” She fled down the stairs to the secondary powder room to change and twist her hair into a braid. Ready to suppress the feelings stoked by Luka’s earlier actions, she washed her hands and prepared to face the public.

Luka wandered downstairs a while later, looking neat and as if he hadn’t slept in her bed and almost greeted her with a kiss before they were interrupted and then ignored it. 

She could feel Sabine and Tom pause in their work as they took in the situation and incorrectly interpreted it.

“Oh, I thought we missed you leaving last night, Luka,” smiled Sabine. “Are you-”

“Here’s your pastry,” interrupted Marinette, thrusting the napkin-wrapped goods into Luka’s hand. “You’re lucky I saved you the last one.”

“Er, lucky, yeah. About that. Can I talk to you? Later, I guess, when you’re not busy,” he cast a glance at the blatantly listening bakers. 

“Sure. We can go for another drive in about an hour? Around one?”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye, Tom, Sabine.” With a wave, he ducked out the door, leaving a bill in Marinette’s now-empty hands for the pastry.

She turned to her parents. “It’s not what it looks like. It was late and cold and I didn’t want him walking home in the snow-”

“Mhm,” Sabine raised a knowing brow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Marinette shook her head. “Not yet.”

~~~

Luka shook his head, sending accumulated flurries flying off his hair. He’d had the most lovely dream, waking up to Marinette cosying up to him in his bed, smiling at him lovingly. Except it hadn’t been a dream, and he’d almost kissed her.

He was not going to go down the path they’d travelled in school, with the secrets and barriers between them. She still didn’t know he knew she was Ladybug and the Guardian, and she hadn’t told him. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; it hurt a little.

Realistically, he knew there were several reasons why she wouldn’t bring it up (not the least of which because she didn’t want to dredge up those traumas again) but emotionally, he was simply hurt by her still not trusting him with her identity even though she’d entrusted Sass and literal timelines to him.

Still, his therapist in the States had done him good. 

He was going to tell Marinette he knew on their drive this afternoon, get everything off his chest, and then leave it in her hands while he returned to LA and broke his heart over her for the last time. Yep, sounded like a good plan.

~~~

Marinette climbed into the car. Luka closed her door, crossed the front, and slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Where to?”

“I thought maybe we could just drive around this time, unless there’s somewhere you wanted to go?”

“No, that sounds fine.” He took a sip from the mocha she had supplied them with, humming appreciatively. “This is perfect; thanks, Mari.”

“You’re welcome.”

He started the car and pulled away. 

They drove in silence for a while, occasionally pointing out some place they and their friends had adventures at. 

Luka pointed at the tip of the Eiffel Tower. “That thing was destroyed more times than I can count.”

She made an agreeing noise, thinking back to some of the battles the Tower had seen. 

“Marinette, I need to talk about something with you.”

She nodded, looking at the un-Luka-like tension in his body language. “Okay.”

“I was Viperion, on the Miraculous team. I reset so many timelines. It was impossible not to know who my allies were, with all the mishaps occurring. I’ve known you were Ladybug for years.”

She stilled, breathing stuttering as old trauma resurfaced. Someone knew she was Ladybug, something bad happened.

Reminding herself that Hawkmoth was gone, she wasn’t Ladybug anymore, and she was safe, she regulated her breathing and thoughts. 

“I knew you were Ladybug when we were dating, and that your identity was why you were so hesitant to open up. I thought now would be a good time to tell you that you don’t have to keep that secret alone anymore.”

“Luka, I-”

“It’s okay, Mari. I didn’t hold it against you. After all, we were all kids. Just thought I could even the score before I leave, since we both know each other’s secret,” he muttered. 

“I- you-” she stuttered, falling silent as her thoughts whirled.

“I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon,” he broke the silence after a few minutes. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told another soul and I never will. But, if you ever want to talk about it…you have my number.”

She nodded, still processing. “Thank you, Luka. For- well, everything. I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

He gave her a smile meant to be reassuring and forgiving, but she knew it was fake. “Have a happy new year, Marinette.”

Strangely feeling like she’d been broken up with, she closed the car door and walked into the bakery, where her parents met her.

“Everything okay, sweetie?”

She shook her head. “I think I need to take you up on your offer to talk about it.”

~~~

Luka packed his suitcase methodically, thoughts with one person miles away.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d told her he knew. 

Maybe for her to ask him out again since they had no secrets between them anymore? Okay, that was his wildest dream, but he supposed she hadn’t changed that much, still taking her time to process things. Not that he blamed her–having a magical emotional terrorist attacking your city didn’t exactly inspire impulsive actions regarding your feelings.

His therapist had told him that there were seasons in one’s life, and sometimes people were only meant to be with you for a season, like a flower. Others were like trees, there no matter the weather. He wanted her to be a tree, but maybe she was only a flower. Whatever she was, he’d always remember the beauty of her blooms and the sweetness of her perfume. 

“‘Tis the damn season,” he mumbled, slinging his guitar case over his back and picking up his suitcase.

He’d left her with a reminder of his phone number. Hoping she’d call him one day, he drove to the airport. He only realised he’d chosen the route that took him by the bakery as he passed it, peering in the window to catch a glimpse of Marinette working the register. 

~~~

Marinette wasn’t having a good day. She’d taken forever to fall asleep, tossing and turning as she stewed over Luka and her parents’ advice.

They’d understandably been surprised by her explanation of the inner workings of her and Luka’s short-lived relationship, but provided some valuable outside-perspective commentary.

After a fitful sleep, she’d been working the register while her parents worked on a rush-order of pastries, her mind consumed by thoughts of Luka.

“Here’s your change, ma’am. Have a happy new year!” Handing the coins over, she wiped her hands on her apron and tidied up the counter space.

Clean up complete, she ran upstairs to change into jeans, boots with Ladybug pom-poms, a turtleneck, and her favourite Viperion hoodie she’d worn thin.

She tossed a quick goodbye over her shoulder to her parents and ran out the door, waving her hand at an approaching taxi. 

“International airport, please,” she huffed, buckling her belt.

“Hope you’re not late for your flight, mademoiselle. The snow is slowing traffic,” said the driver.

Marinette clasped her hands to stop her nervous fidgeting, calling on all of Tikki’s luck that she’d arrive before Luka’s flight left. 

~~~ Luka wasn’t having a good day. He’d slept off and on, was leaving his first love behind, and now he couldn’t even do that because of the sudden snowstorm. All flights were postponed or cancelled for the time being.

So far his flight was only cancelled, so he found a comfortable piece of carpet to claim and began strumming an imaginary guitar while he waited for updates.

Snippets of lyrics floated through his brain as he composed a piece containing his feelings in the moment. 

“I won’t ask you to wait…if you don’t ask me to stay…” He hummed softly.

The sound of running feet made him look up, curious who thought they were late for a flight that wasn’t taking off.

“Marinette?” “Luka?”

She paused in front of him, catching her breath.

“Why are you here?” he asked cautiously, getting to his feet.

“To see you,” she panted. “Didn’t want you to go.”

His heart picked up pace as if he’d been the one running through the airport. “Really?” “Really. I want you. I have for years. Is there any way you can stay?” she asked softly.

“I’ll stay any way I can if you ask, Ma-ma-marinette,” he grinned. “I love you. I never stopped.”

She tiptoed to be face-to-face with him. “I love you too,” she whispered in his ear before greeting him with a soft kiss. It felt like home and the beginning of everything and the end of everything and the past and future all wrapped up into one amazing kiss in the present.

He cupped her face in his hands, resting his forehead on hers.

~~~

Luka drove them back to the bakery, keeping her hand entwined with his. They stepped into the entry, stomping snow off their boots. Sabine and Tom greeted them as if it was an everyday occurrence, though Marinette saw the happy spark in their eyes.

“Just in time for the party!” boomed Tom. “Dinner is ready; let’s sit!”

After a festive new year’s eve dinner and delicious buche, Luka and Marinette carried their flutes of champagne up to Marinette’s balcony to watch the firecrackers and revellers beneath them.

Chanting filled the air, little sparks in the distance showing where firecrackers had been set off.

“10! 9!” The countdown to the new year had begun.

“My new year’s resolution is to have the woman I love become my girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend?” Luka asked.

“4!”

Marinette nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“3! 2! 1!” 

Horns sounded, firecrackers popped, and hollers filled the air, but Marinette and Luka heard none of it, too wrapped up in each other. 

“Joyeuse annee, Luka.”

“Bonne annee, Marinette.”

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 20

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Notes:

Part two of the three chapter split!

I was spamming @fistfuloftarenths bits of this way back in February. We get a little bit of Sal in this chapter, if you wanna read more of him check out her fic de diversis artibus.

Another lovely beta is of course the kindly @dustdeepsea who's Rugan story Gods and Monsters has our dear old man in this cut content bad ending with a very kickass Tav. (Part of the Trouble Will Find Me series.)

And last but not least @captainsigge who is a one woman hype squad. Be sure to check out her tumblr which has an inspiring collection of Rugan video edits <3

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 or below the cut~

New Tricks - Chapter Twenty

Goulcrest was a small village that sat roughly Northeast of Baldur's Gate. So named for its proximity to the fields of the dead, though it saw little in the way of actual ghouls.

They had made good time on the road from the Gate despite all the mud from spring rains. Thankfully the ground had dried out by the last leg of their journey. Rugan supposed there was something to be said for a small crew. They had made a short stop for lunch. Bellar and Olly had gone to take a piss before they set back out, while Rugan and Sal remained with the wagon by a small copse of trees.

When he was certain Bellar was out of earshot he turned to Salazon.

“Sal, would you send Izzy for me?” 

He had planned to leave a letter at the Elfsong before they left for Elturel regardless, but still he was anxious about missing Iz.

“For one hundred tarenths I will.”

“A hundred! Last time it was fifty.” Rugan replied indignantly.

“Yeah well, second to last time I sent you, you told me to sod off.”

“That was months ago, you spiteful imp.” Leave it to a wizard to hold a grudge.

“I've loans to pay off, as you well know.”

Grudgingly, Rugan rifled through his coin purse and began counting out the coins one by one. 

Sal let out an exasperated sigh at his slow progress. “Here just let me do it, you're terrible at counting.”

“So you can cheat me more than you already have? Not bloody likely.” Rugan went back to the pile and began counting again from one.

“What are you doing?!” Sal asked aghast.

“You made me lose count,” came the saucy reply.

“Oh for Helm’s sake.” Sal hissed. “Just what do you want to say to her?”

“Tell her I might be some days late to meet her in the Gate on account of the job. But I'll come as soon as I can.”

Sal gave a deep intake of breath and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes. Rugan watched as the wizard's hands contorted into strange gestures as he cast the spell. After several long moments Sal opened his eyes.

“She says she'll wait for you at the Elfsong, she doesn't have any other jobs lined up after this one.”

“She will?” The smile was broad across Rugan's face. He went back to hastily counting the coins, but Sal held out his hand.

“Forget the coin, this is too painful to watch. Just ask her to put in a nice word with Corra.”

“Ah, I can get you talking to a more local girl, but if you insist. Buy you a drink too.” 

If Sal was a better Zhent he would've pressed Rugan for more favours while the man was feeling generous, alas he was not. 

“It's a deal.”

+++++

It had been another two days' travel before they finally reached Goulcrest. While there had been no proper road leading up from the highway, the paths connecting it  to the local farms were better maintained. They followed one of these now to an abandoned farmstead farther apart from the others. Strange place to retrieve a delivery, but coin was coin.

Rugan and Olly were in the wagon today while Bellar and Salazon were on horseback. The group often rotated but Salazon was always given the blue-eyed chestnut mare when riding. The creature was particularly unflappable around casting compared to others of its ilk.

As the party approached they could hear raised voices emanating from their destination.

“Sounds like trouble up ahead,” said Bellar astride his mount, hand already on the hilt of his blade.

Straining his ears, Olly scrunched his face in concentration, leaning forward in his seat at the front of the new wagon.

“I don’t hear any blades.” By now the ring of steel had become an unmistakable sound to the young recruit.

“Nor I,” agreed Rugan from the driver's seat. “Still, best to play it safe.” He looked to a mounted Sal who nodded in affirmation, readying a spell just in case.

As the party drew closer the voices became more discernible.

“That isn't what we agreed upon.” A woman's voice, straining with anger, somehow familiar.

“You've already been paid upfront.” A man's voice this time. Rugan could easily imagine the sneer its owner must be wearing.

“I’ve been paid half upfront as outlined in the contract, and now that the job is done I expect the second half.”

“Work can't be half as hard as you say seeing as you finished early. So you get half the pay.”

“How many antiquarians have you brought down here before me? Ones that didn't even finish the job? At least two that I know of.”

“Isn't that—?” Olly began as they crested the hill, the figures of a dark-haired man and woman came into view.

“Take the reins, lad.” Handing over the leather straps to Olly, Rugan hopped off the ambling caravan and made his way towards the arguing duo.

“Just one of those urns is worth twice what you agreed to pay me. So give me my due.” Her voice was even but Rugan noted that the fingertips of one hand were glowing ever so slightly.

“Don't push your luck, girl. I could bury you back in those tombs and then it would take another three antiquarians just to find your corpse.” The man was snarling contemptuously.

“Luck indeed,” Rugan interjected. “Inauspicious to start a job with violence though.” 

Izzy stared at him dumbfounded, rage temporarily forgotten as he approached. Her verbal sparring partner smirked, mistaking her confusion for fear.

Rugan came to stand beside the two with a sidelong look to Izzy before he turned his attention to the man. She seemed to take his meaning, making no move to let show their familiarity with one another.

‘Good, lass.’ He thought. ‘My clever lass.’

“Grim, I take it?” It could have been his real name, common enough among Chondathans, but Rugan had a feeling the man had chosen it to sound tough.

“That's right.” Grim extended his hand to Rugan who took it readily. “You our Zhent escort then?”

“I am indeed.”

“You're early, I like that.”

“Funny, not what you said a minute ago,” came Izzy's sharp tongue.

‘My short-tempered lass.’ Rugan worked hard to suppress the look he wanted to shoot her.

“That the cargo?” Rugan glanced over at a group of ceramic vases and statues clustered under a tarp to the far side of the camp.

“That’s right, we weren't expecting you for another few days, but I can have the boys pack them up in a jiff.”

“No need to rush, it's already late in the day so we won't be setting back out tonight. Wouldn't want anything to break if they’re requiring special care.”

This gave Grim pause, he looked to Izzy for an answer.

“Really?” She crossed her arms.

“Throw in an extra twenty electrum for you, little worm.” Grim sneered.

“That's not even close to–”

Rugan held out his hand. “Perhaps in the spirit of cooperation we should forgive past debts. If we're all going to be on the road together, that is.”

“Fine.” She bit out through gritted teeth.

Grim was grinning broadly, confident ‘his’ Zhent sellsword had cowed the woman.

“We'll help with the loading up.” Rugan turned back to the waiting Zhents with a sharp whistle. “Bring ‘er round Olly!”

“Why don't you show him what needs to be done, Alyssa?” Grim smirked.

Wordlessly, Izzy stalked off to the tarp set-up at the side of the farmstead, Rugan followed one step behind.

When they were finally out of earshot she groaned and braced her arms against an open crate, hanging her head low.

“I'm so bloody sick of dealing with this shite on every job.”

Rugan positioned himself such that the two other tomb raiders milling about the camp wouldn't see when he placed his hand on the small of her back.

“There now, lass, it can't be helped. Thugs like these only respect a sword arm. Business at the end of a blade as it were.”

“I always seem to be getting the short end of the stick on that one.” She gave a shuddering sigh as she tried to regain her composure. Rugan's hand smoothed over her back in a tight circle, easing some of the tension she had been holding in.

“Do these actually need any special care or?”

“Hah, no they're just bloody vases mostly. Some bits of statuary.” She swiped at the sweat of her brow. “I mean, do take more care with them than these damned fools. That one urn there was in perfect condition when we found it and now it's got a big split up the side because they thought it was faster to roll it down the stairs.”

“Thought you liked this stuff.”

“I do.” She sounded mournful, almost wounded. “Just can't afford to be precious about it. These bastards aren't exactly museum curators.” She let out another long sigh.

“This frippery really worth as much as you say?”

“Yes, if you can sell them directly in Athkatla, that is. Nobles there are so obsessed with appearances.”

“Vases get them all puffed up, do they?”

“If it's from some ancient temple or Elven villa? Absolutely. I've even seen people pay decently for known fakes, so long as they thought it would fool their party guests.”

“Fucking nobles.” He chuckled at the absurdity.

“Fucking nobles.” She agreed and gave him a tired smile.

“Feeling better, lass?”

“A little. I'm glad it's you that's come.”

“Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble.” With one last gentle press he removed his hand from her and stepped back. “I'll talk to the lads, get sorted on supplies.”

Izzy nodded in response and went back to inspecting the ceramics as he turned to leave.

+++++

“That your girl, innit?” Bellar's voice was low and conspiratorial as Rugan returned to the wagon.

“Aye, going by Alyssa, and as far as we're concerned she's a stranger.”

“Why's that? I like Iz.” Disappointment coloured Olly's voice.

“Well it's a conflict of interest, isn't it?” supplied Sal. “And we don't need our clients knowing that.”

“Suppose that makes sense.”

“Will it be a conflict though?” Bellar looked to Rugan.

“No need for it to come to that.” Rugan did his best to sound reassuring. “We've come to do a job after all. I've volunteered us to help with the loading up.”

“‘Course you have,” muttered Bellar.

Rugan continued on as if he hadn't heard. “Goods are fragile so we're going to need a lot of straw.”

“I saw a farm with hay back the way.” Olly gestured with his thumb.

“Right.” Rugan retrieved a few coins from his purse and handed them to Olly. “Buy what hay you can off them, and if it's not enough, inquire about their neighbours. Bound to be enough around here.”

“Sure.”

“Oh and Olly,” His voice lower now so as not to be overheard. “Take ‘Alyssa’ with you, see what she can tell you about this crew and their affiliations.”

Olly nodded and Rugan put up his hand to flag Izzy down.

“Guess you want us to help with the boxes?” Bellar sighed.

“I do, but don't go working too hard, it's supposed to be their job. Just use it as an excuse to get to chatting with them.”

“Wasn't planning on working hard at all.”

Sal chuckled before agreeing. “We can handle that.”

“You couldn't handle a paperweight,” Bellar clucked as he and Sal moved to approach the raiders.

“Surprised you know what a paperweight is,” came Sal’s counter.

Rugan turned as Izzy approached, his volume increasing enough that they could be overheard. “Lass, my boy Olly here is going to help with fetching supplies if you could direct him.”

“Of course.” She maintained a neutral expression as she climbed up into the driver's box next to Olly, and they set off without a backward glance. Rugan watched them disappear back down the dirt road, relieved to have Izzy away from this lot even for just a little while. 

+++++

As the party set to work, Rugan had made note of the derelict farm's surroundings. The barn was locked up tight with fresh chains, the gleaming metal sat in stark contrast to the many rusted tools laying about. There was also a fresh pile of dirt outside the barn. No doubt the excavation site lay inside.

On closer inspection it was easy to see the farmstead had been built on top of some sort of ruins. Fragments of an old stone wall jutted out from the earth in places, and he recognized those same stones being repurposed in the property's dilapidated farmhouse.

Wandering the perimeter where the length of the field met the edge of the forest, Rugan noticed something else peculiar. A few more short mounds of dirt, these were about seven or eight feet long and five or six hand spans wide. New work, but the dirt had coalesced from the recent rains. They hadn't been dug in the last ten-day, but likely some time this past month.

It had already been late afternoon when they had first arrived, and it was dusk by the time they had finished assembling enough boxes for the cargo. Introductions had been made, and stories swapped between the two groups.

Olly and Izzy had also returned, and both addressed each other cordially. Rugan was glad that while the pair of them were generally terrible liars when questioned directly, they were at least passable at playing pretend.

“Sal,” Rugan called from his position leaning against the barn. The wizard turned to regard him, and he jerked his head to the side indicating Sal should follow. When the pair had rounded the corner away from prying eyes, Rugan slipped into the Zhentil dialect as an added precaution.

“I want you or Olly with Iz at all times.”

“Any particular reason? Besides Grim’s less than stellar first impression I mean.”

“Aye, think I've found their previous contractors buried round back.”

Sal let out a long exasperated breath. “Even when I get put on the easy jobs someone's getting merc’d.”

“Sometimes that's what makes them easy.” Rugan forced a smirk to cover the undercurrent of anxiety he felt trying to fight its way to the surface.

“We can watch her, I'll talk to Olly about it. Sure you don't wanna keep an eye on her yourself?”

“Be too obvious.” He sighed, though he wasn't sure if it would be him or Iz that would falter in the charade.

Sal nodded in understanding, and the pair rejoined the others.

It was an hour or so later when Grim came to sit where Rugan and Bellar were quietly eating by the fire.

“Mind if I join you lads?”

“We're nothing if not hospitable.” Rugan put on his most congenial smile, gesturing to the empty spot on the log beside him.

“Couldn't help but notice your boys trying to cozy up to the little book fucker.” Grim nodded towards the other end of the farmstead campsite where Olly and Sal were quietly speaking with Izzy.

“Ah well, pretty thing like that might make for good company on the road. Can't fault the lads for making the best of it.”

“I'd save my breath if I were them, she's as frigid as they come. Probably as dry as those musty books she lugs around too.”

“Didn't have any luck, I take it?” Rugan chuckled and Bellar watched him obliquely. Though his friend’s face was plastered with a smile, Bellar recognized the anger simmering under the surface.

“Don’t expect anyone to have much luck with a creature more harpy than human. Would you believe she even put traps around her tent at night?”

“You're joking.” Rugan laughed. “I'll have to take you to a proper festhall when we get to the city.”

Grim began rambling on about some misadventures he’d had in the Heartlands over the years. Rugan was only half listening, but he laughed and nodded along in the appropriate places.

Bellar, for his part, was conspicuously quiet, watching Rugan from behind an enthusiastic Grim's shoulder. He didn't speak up until the raider had finally wandered off to chat to his square-jawed compatriot.

“How do you want to handle this?” Bellar moved to take Grim's spot, voice low, watching the raiders as he spoke.

“We're professionals, and we'll behave like it.”

“Will we?”

“Sure, so long as he doesn't raise my ire any further.” Rugan's voice was low and closer to a growl than he would like to admit.

Bellar gave a short dry laugh. “Somehow that seems like a foregone conclusion.”

“Aye, doesn't it just?” A wry smile curled the corners of Rugan's mouth.

+++++

There were no more surprises when setting up camp that night. Sal and Olly dutifully planted their shared tent beside Izzy's and Rugan made a mental note to buy them plenty of drinks at the next opportunity. Grim also seemed to take note of the current arrangement, and while his sour expression gave away his feelings on the matter he was wise enough to not make a complaint. At least not yet.

Watches were organised, and Rugan volunteered himself and Olly to take the last one. Late enough that most of the camp would be deep asleep.

When he felt confident the previous shift wouldn't rouse he turned to Olly for a debriefing of his ride with Iz. He tried to use the coded dialect as he had with Sal.

“What was her read on the group?” Rugan asked, absently poking at the fire.

“She said Grim’s a—umm brag-bragga—? A trumpet?” Olly’s tongue twisting over the words before switching back to common with a frustrated sigh.

“Rugan, can we just do this in common?”

Rugan sighed and rolled his shoulders. The boy was still new to the tongue, and while he understood others well enough his own responses were often stilted and abrupt in this way. They weren't going to get far if Olly stumbled every third word.

“Fine, but keep your voice down, lad. Don't need anyone catching wind of this.”

“Right, so Grim’s a swank.”

“Gathered that much from his tales, go on.”

Olly went on to describe the other crew members. The big meaty bastard with rust coloured hair was Friss. He rarely spoke but was constantly surveilling the others. The scrawny lad was Soren, the youngest of three. Smaller than the others and habitually bullied by them. 

Most importantly, there had been no evidence of them being part of a larger guild or network. Rugan considered this a bit of good luck. Less complications if things played out the way he thought they might.

“This group doesn't exactly seem well read, did she know how they found this place?”

“Apparently robbed some noble on the road, and that's how they found out about the ruins. The rich fellow, he'd done some family research and thought his ancestors used to tend a temple here.”

“What happened to the fellow?”

Olly shrugged. Likely dead and Rugan didn't wanna be in the vicinity in case any fancy relatives came looking.

“Right then, I want you to see what inroads you can make with Soren.”

“Me? I'm no spy.”

“You're close in age, he'll want to talk to you. Don't think of it as some daring thing, just tell him some stories so he opens up a touch. Complain about us a bit.”

“Complain about you?”

“Puts folks at ease if you open up first. If he's got issues with his crew he'll be champing at the bit to say so.”

Olly nodded in understanding. “Alright, I'll try.” Then after a beat. “Suppose there is lots to complain about.”

Rugan huffed. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that last bit.”

+++++

It was a small group as caravans went, only the two wagons, eight people and seven horses. Two horses were hitched to each wagon.

Still, the way was slower going now that their numbers had doubled, especially with the wagons heavily weighted down by vases and small bits of statuary.

To make matters worse, Grim had taken a shine to Rugan. The Zhent’s days were frequently spent feigning interest in one of Grim's oft repeated adventures.

“You know I thought of becoming a Zhent,” Grim would say. “Yeah, seriously considered that, but I enjoy being my own boss too much.” Even Grim's own people looked like they had to bite their tongue when that one was repeated. It was true that the Zhentarim recruited all sorts, but Rugan doubted such a loud-mouth would go a month before finding a knife in his back.

“Used to run with the thieves out of Beregost,” Grim stated matter of factly one morning ‘round breakfast. “They were really small-time though. Yeah didn't wanna expand out of the ‘gost.” Rugan had to fight hard to choke down a laugh when he saw Bellar mouthing ‘the gost’ over Grim’s shoulder. Nobody fucking called Beregost that, and if they did Rugan would eat Olly's scarf.

That particular story seemed to set off Sal, who had over the winter become an expert on all things Amnian.

“Small time!” He had whisper-shouted at Rugan during their watch that night.

“They're a branch of the Shadow Thieves of Amn! The very same that Izzy warned us about in Crimmor. This isn't embellishment anymore, it's outright disinformation.”

Rugan thought enduring that particular story was worth it just to see how it frustrated Sal.

Grim's constant hovering also interfered with Rugan's other tasks. It was near impossible to go over a manifest with his constant nattering. His tinny voice followed Rugan as he inspected wheels and tarps. He couldn't even take a leak without Grim sidling up beside him at some random tree. 

Worst of all, it made it near impossible to sneak a glance at Iz. The most he got to see of her was when he was sitting in the driver seat of the wagon. She sat quietly beside him while they studiously ignored one another, though on more than one occasion she had rested her hand on his knee when Grim’s crew were preoccupied. He could almost pretend they were alone in those moments, sometimes he even dared to place his hand on top of hers.

It was usually at such times that Grim would come riding up to tell Rugan how the Flaming Fist had tried to recruit him, had begged him to join on bended knee. 

“Couldn’t meet my salary expectations though.” Grim would say as Rugan and Izzy surreptitiously disengaged.

At least Olly had made inroads with Soren—the pair often rode side by side at the head of the party, sometimes laughing over some shared joke.

+++++

Rugan was busy tacking up his horse one morning when Bellar spoke up.

“Don't look now, but your best mate is coming round.” He chuckled before wandering off.

Rugan sighed as he finished inspecting his saddle. It seemed Grim was intent on talking his ear off the whole journey back to the Gate.

“Good day to be on the road,” greeted Grim.

Every day on the road with Grim felt like the worst day of his life. “That it is indeed.”

“Now, Zhent, I can see that you're a professional.”

“Aye, that if nothing else.” Rugan agreed with a smile that did not touch his eyes. 

“Can't say the same for your lads.” Grim turned and Rugan followed the man's gaze to where Izzy and Sal were brushing the latter's horse. Rugan chose not to comment.

“Now see, I've a little business proposition for you,” Grim continued.

“Go on then.” He said, knowing full well Grim was about to say something he wouldn't like.

“Well…” Turning back to Rugan, Grim lowered his voice and leaned in close. The man was so obvious about what he was doing it almost seemed like a parody of secrecy. “Seems a waste of supplies to have an extra body around when her part’s already done.”

“You wanna dump the girl in Goulcrest?” Rugan hoped that was all, but he knew better.

“Why part with the coin? Overpriced as she was, even at half the contract. Better to just dump the body in a ditch.” He swiped a dark strand of hair behind his ear with a lopsided grin. Rugan imagined himself dashing Grim’s face against a stone wall, till that grin was broken and jagged.

“That would be outside the terms of our established contract.” His voice was silken, even as he felt himself gritting his teeth. “You've paid us to protect the merchandise, no more, no less.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Half her coin is yours when the job is done.”

“Respectfully—” Respect was in fact the last thing he felt for Grim. “No.”

And even if it hadn't been Iz, if it had been some passerby he had no compunctions over killing, even then he would've expected to keep the full purse plus fee. 

“Just think it over, it's a good chunk of coin.” Grim clapped him on the shoulder before wandering back to his own horse.

“Still want to be professional?” Bellar, who had of course been eavesdropping, appeared at Rugan’s side. “Not particularly, but we’ll see if he drops the issue.” Rugan tried to shake out the tension in his shoulders as he said it. “Doubt it.” Bellar chuckled before mounting his own horse. Rugan had a feeling Bellar was right and a vengeful part of him looked forward to it.

[kaycode1999]

Monkey King x Reader PT. 7.

@bowbeforeyourphrogness @mimimroawwww

A month later Y/N is still living in the town working in one of the shops, but Wukong had remained in a depressive state. Sandy, Pigsy, and Sangzang could see how heartbroken and angry with himself he was. He hadn't been himself ever since they'd left Y/N in the town, and as much as they all tried to cheer him up it didn't seem to do much.

Just after the sun has set, Y/N is closing the shop she/he/they now work at straightening things up when she/he/they hear the door open and close. “ I'm sorry, but we're clos-” Y/N starts as she/he/they are rounding the corner and freeze when she/he/they all but run straight into a demon. Said demon is one of the more human-looking demons she/he/they had seen, it had normal skin though there were light red streaks that went all around its body, longer claw-like nails, and red glowing eyes.

Once the surprise wears off Y/N starts backing away looking toward the area she/he/they had placed her/his/their demon-killing sword. “ Now now.” The Demon says with a devious smirk “ There's no need to feel threatened. I'm not here to hurt you.”, Y/N narrows her/his/their eyes grabbing the nearest object and getting into a position readying to throw it.

“ I've never met a demon who wasn't out to hurt people, so forgive me if I don't exactly trust you” Y/N warns, “ Your friends are actually the reason I'm here.” the demon starts “ Well, one of your friends specifically.”. Y/N grips the object tighter glaring at the demon further. “ What are you talking about?” Y/N demands.

“ Monkey King.” The demon says “ I heard through a few different sources that you were very close, but recently had a falling out. How sad.”, he gives a sarcastic/mocking sad look. “ What does that have to do with anything?” Y/N questions, “ A few, shall we say- friends, and I are planning to take him out. I thought I’d offer to let you in on it given what went down with you two. I mean, surely after how he treated you - you’d want to get revenge, right?”

“ I’m not stupid.” Y/N scoffs “ You're using that as an excuse, I know you're really after the monk. You want to take Wukong out because he's Sangzang’s strongest defense, and once he's out of the way you'll go after the monk.”, “ No matter what happened between Wukong and I. I won't let you hurt Sangzang or Pigsy and Sandy” Y/N warns. The demon chuckles waving her/him/them off, “ Well- If you're that concerned…. What if I vow not to harm the monk or your other friends?” he offers “ I'll make a sacred pact with you, that way I won't be able to betray you.”

“ That's all well and good to say, but Wukong is immortal. How exactly do you think you'll be able to kill someone who is literally unkillable?”Y/N asks. “ We have a solution for that already.” the demon says taking out a small vile “ This is the only known substance that can take away full immortality. The concoction can only be activated by being consumed by someone who's immortal, and once it's activated it will send us a signal”, he hands the vile to Y/N. “ You give this to the Monkey King, and We'll take care of the rest.” he says.

“ Why would you trust me with this?” Y/N asks “ I mean how do you know I won't betray you?”, “ Well, you're in a unique position. You're someone he trusts, you can get close to him without raising his suspicions. And this is an opportunity for you to get back at him, make him pay for what he did to you” the demon explains. Y/N hesitates for several moments before speaking up, “ The only one who will get hurt is Wukong?” Y/N questions quietly. “ I swear, I will only kill Wukong.” The demon says holding out an open hand “ Do we have a deal?”, Y/N hesitates for another few moments before slowly shaking the demon's hand. “ Ok, I'll help you.” Y/N says.

[rubydracogirl]

Siren's Treasure

Alright, so, I've got about three prompts of my Mermay list finished. I'll link the other parts as I upload them, but I'm starting with this first one.

As promised, this is a Gravity Falls fic, Sea Grunks style.

Siren!OcXFord and Stan Pines (I'm greedy, leave me alone.)

Rated M just in case

Part two is here

Chapter 1

Bottle

It’s well known that the sound of the sea can be calming. Some have even said it’s healing. One thing Ford was sure of was that he’d always found comfort in large bodies of water and so did Stanley.

Sure, the sea came with its own perils but after traversing the multiverse and surviving Weirdmageddon, handling the dangers of sailing around the world seemed small in comparison. 

Still, the strange shape he’d been catching glimpses of in the water bothered him. Whatever it was had been tailing them for several weeks. He’d mentioned it to Stan who dismissed it with a shrug.

“I dunno how to tell you this, Poindexter, but it’s the ocean. There’s fish in the ocean.”

Ford wasn’t so sure, but he put it at the back of his mind. It couldn’t be more dangerous than the kraken they’d fought off a few months back-

“Hey, Sixer, any idea on when we’ll find some actual treasure?” Stanley griped as he popped open a bottle, casting his eyes over to his fishing line, which had been sitting without a bite for over an hour.

Ford grunted in reply.

“If you hadn’t acted so recklessly in Ireland, we could have had some real leprechaun gold!”

“You and I both know they were never gonna just give us their treasure!”

Ford rolled his eyes as Stan went on, and he turned his gaze back to the waters. His brow furrowed as he noticed movement. Was it their tag-along?

It was fairly big, whatever it was. A seal maybe? That would explain why Stan hadn’t hooked any fish-

“-And besides, treasure is just one half of what we’ve been missing! We still haven’t seen any babes!” Stan drank the last of his soda and made to throw the bottle overboard.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Ford commented, almost absently as he eyed the water.

“What, and not pay tribute to Glass Shards?” Stan shot back as he hucked the bottle overboard. “I know you’re still a nerd when it comes to women, but c’mon-”

“That’s not true! Look, we could try hitting up some coastal towns on our way back south.” Ford tried placating his twin. 

Stan raised a brow.

“Do I look like I’m getting any younger-”

A loud clatter interrupted him. The bottle Stan had thrown overboard bounded and rolled along the deck, coming to rest at his feet.

“...What the hell?” Stan bent and picked up the partially empty bottle, which now held some sea water.

The twins glanced at each other before looking at the water. But there was nothing there.

Stan chucked the bottle again, more aggressively this time.

It landed with a splash and they watched tensely as it sank out of sight. Nothing happened, and they both relaxed after a few minutes. Ford flinched as Stan broke the silence loudly.

“As I was saying- OW!”

The bottle was thrown right back, hitting him square between his shoulder blades this time.

“Son of a bitch! Ford, quit playing around!” Stan swore as he whipped back around, temper flaring with his confusion.

“It’s not me!”  Ford was craning his neck, and he pointed excitedly.

“Look! There!”

Stan turned, squinting at the water.

She was so easy to miss. Her hair was dark and gray-green like the waves around her, and the strange, rippling patterns on her skin blended with the rays of the sun bouncing off the water. The face that peered at them from the water could have easily been mistaken for a human if not for the fins that poked from her hair and the gills along her neck. 

They caught this in a glimpse as she ducked back down out of sight.

“Mermaid?” Stan choked in a hopeful tone.

“Close, but I don’t believe so.” Ford replied, running to the other side, looking for another sign of her. He could see her shape, but she wouldn’t breach the surface again.

“Give me that-” He snatched the bottle from Stan and threw it overboard, waiting.

He saw the bottle bob and half-sink before it was grabbed by a webbed hand. She rose back up and tossed the bottle back at him. Ford caught it with some ease, adjusting his glasses with his other hand as he studied her. 

She rose up a little higher from the waves, meeting his gaze with equal curiosity and he noted her serrated teeth, the sharp ridges on her brow bones, and most importantly, the dorsal fin on her back-

 “Greetings!” He called out to her, pulling out his notepad and flipping to a blank page. “What’s your name-”

She ducked down out of sight and Ford sighed in frustration.

“Heh, still not too lucky with the ladies, I see.” Stanley guffawed, leaning over the railing as he searched for another sighting of her.

“For your information, I dated a siren back in Gravity Falls!”

“Oh yeah? Did she know that’s what you were doing?”

“What do you mean, of course she- Stan, that’s deplorable!”

“Hey, hey, it’s not my fault you’re prone to creepy behavior-”

“I AM NOT- That’s not important right now! You realize what this means right?” Ford groaned as he gestured to the water. “The thing I’ve been seeing has to be that siren! Which means she’s been following us for the past couple of weeks!”

“I knew I had a magnetic personality, but I didn’t realize it was so strong!” Stan chuckled. Ford gave him a sour expression.

“I sincerely doubt you’re the reason she’s been hanging around.”

“Hey, don’t be jealous!”

“The only thing you attract is trouble!”

“Like you’re any different, Mr. Let-Me-Poke-This-Anomaly-With-A-Stick-And-See-What-Happens!”

“That was one time!”

“What do you-No it wasn’t!”

The two continued to bicker, and their voices carried across the water. Neither of them noticed the Siren poke her head back above the water as she watched and listened. 

She smiled and her dagger-like teeth glinted in the sunlight before she ducked back down beneath the surface.

[whitehotharlots]

On one of the staggeringly large number of white lady academics who pretended to be not-white

In a sad attempt to keep up engagement, I've decided to post some things I wrote in personal correspondence over the last few years but never bothered to translate into full-fledge posts. Going through these emails, I was astounded at how much I've lost the ability to process the timeline of political events since COVID. Things that I would have sworn happened a couple of months ago actually happened 5 years ago; stuff that seems like ancient history was actually just from this past summer, etc. I think there's some value in recapitulating some of these events, give ourselves a chance to reflect on how much and how little things have evolved.

This piece was originally written in early 2021:

I'm not in STEM and I only pay as much attention to MeToo bullshit as I need to, so the MeTooSTEM movement and its drama passed me by. Basically, it was started or popularized by a lady neuroscientist named BethAnn McLaughlin. By early last year she began facing the type of predictable criticisms that inevitably wreck all leftist movements, regardless of legitimacy. Basically people agreed with her movement but were upset that she had too much of a leadership role, didn't center the correct voices, sometimes criticized people from more disadvantaged groups, etc. Here's a neat example, from the piece linked above:

Last month, McLaughlin tweeted angrily at Hontas Farmer, a transgender woman of color who teaches physics at the City Colleges of Chicago. In a thread about student–faculty relationships, Farmer noted that it would be “unenforceable to forbid relationships.” “Get off my time line with your pro-preying on students garbage,” McLaughlin responded. “Grown ups are talking. #STEMTrollAlert.”

While this lady seems like a vicious shithead, it's important to note that this type of behavior is common in woke discourses. It's the natural result of a morally certain culture is which all dissent is considered proof of evil. In this case, I happen to agree with the trans woman: while student-teacher relationships are gross, blanket bans are unenforceable and will most likely wind up harming the least empowered teachers. But this teacher's concerns were only allowed to stand because of her status as a trans woman--Laura Kipnis made the exact same argument several years ago, before the MeToo furor had really kicked off, and it nearly destroyed her career.

The point here is that no one is actually arguing for or against the merit or logic of certain positions; it's all jockeying over who is even allowed to have a position in the first place, and then demanding that everyone else defer to this person's position, which is automatically validated by their identity statuses.

Nothing in the Buzzfeed profile seems very damning or specific. I'm not a fan of MeToo, but we see here the same general hatred of strong leadership that seems to plague all left spaces. Arguments in regards to how funding should be spent and what actions should be prioritized--things that happen in literally any organization of more than a few people and can only be resolved by designating leadership--are presented in terms of bodies and spaces and centering voices and yada yada yada. Once again, it's not about the morality or efficacy of the actions taken by this organization. It's about whose identity imbues them with moral authority.

Buzzfeed seemed to have a particular hard on for this lady so they posted another piece in February of this year, documenting even more dysfunction in her movement. Again, she seems like a shithead and her movement's goals are usually not good, but the accusations against her were still vague, woke bullshit that amounted to people framing an organizational power struggle as a civil rights issue. And this is where things get interesting...

What does a white lady shithead do when she finds herself automatically unable to criticize people who fall above her on the hierarchy of oppression? Why, she pretends to be an indigenous lady shithead! She fabricated the existence of an ASU professor of Hopi descent who posted under the name of sciencing_bi. Sciencing_bi just so happened to agree with everything the white lady posted, and was fiercely protective of the white lady when she found herself getting attacked by non-white people.

But then, sadly, the made up Hopi professor succumbed to Lady Corona last week. Woke STEM twitter mourned her passing by angrily blaming ASU for their failure to protect employees of color. This caused ASU to release a statement saying that, uhh, no one has died and they have absolutely no idea what any of these lunatics are talking about.

Just--dear god. At what point does hubris give way and become delusion? How insulated must someone feel to believe that they can not only create but kill off a fictional persona whose primary utilitity is to brown-wash your own opinions?

These are the people who have become the morality police of the twenty twenties. These people are the ones who decide what you can or cannot say or believe. They are insane and and they are stupid, and they control our world.