#barkin up some trees

[beansnpeets]

Thinking about human behaviour compared to animal behaviour again.

It's funny to hear people (the older gens) complaining that "kids these days are lazy, they don't wanna work, etc." What do we get for busting our asses? There is no reward. Many will never own homes. Many are unemployed, trying to find work, and nobody will hire them because they don't have a million years experience and a masters degree OR they want people to work for minimum wage??? People are giving up because there is no reward. Why would we do all this for nothing?

Same as a dog that won't recall when you haven't reinforced it with a reward. Your dog isn't going to do what you tell it to if there is no incentive. No, your dog SHOULDN'T listen just because you're boss and it should respect you. That isn't how it works. They don't think that way. And honestly neither do people.

When we went hiking Sprocket wasn't always taking treats gently from me when I recalled her or she checked in and I rewarded and my one friend told me to stop giving her treats. I told him I won't work for free so why should she. And he said "I do things for free all the time because I want to do them," and I didn't say it then, but I wish I had, but if you like doing it, that's the incentive. It's a self-rewarding behaviour. Just like anything else a dog does, like chasing a squirrel or sniffing things or getting into the trash. Heeling instead of going off to sniff stuff or recalling off of something they want to chase is something you have to reinforce. You have to give them something better so they make the choice you want them to make. They won't make it just because they *respect* you. They won't willingly recall off of exciting prey out of RESPECT. You need to give them a tangible reward for that. You cannot possibly expect your dog to listen just because and then punish them for disobeying you.

Yeah, Sprocket bit my fingers a couple times. The one time pretty hard. But she was excited. She knows how to take gently and I reminded her and she tried very hard to be gentle most of the time. I wasn't going to stop rewarding her for checking in with me and recalling while we were off leash hiking in the woods. I want her to know that coming back to me is good and in the event of an emergency I would like her to not blow me off.

[beansnpeets]

Dallas Seavey won the Iditarod this evening ✌️

FUCKING HELLO?

- jessie holmes (current race leader as of now, 3:37 pm EST, first out of Rainy Pass) punched a moose in the face

- dallas seavey, previous 6x champion (currently in 3rd and in Rainy Pass checkpoint) killed the moose and, per rules, had to field dress it

- paige drobney (currently 4th, somewhere between Finger Lake and Rainy Pass) then later RAN OVER THE MOOSE WITH HER TEAM

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Lydia: Hey, Daryl? Can I get some dating advice?

Daryl: Barkin’ up the wrong tree, kid.

Lydia: But you’re with Y/N?

Daryl: Don’t mean I got a single clue how I did it.

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 1)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her. Right?

Chapt. Setting: Atlanta camp

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, season 1 Daryl, he’s not nice in this, probably won’t be for a while. 

Word count: 1600 

A/N : (aka authors warning) this is written in Daryl’s POV soOo idk. Probably not everyone’s bag. Maybe it’s no one’s bag. These first three chapters are kinda rough and I’m sorry but I can only proofread my own stuff so many times before I either post it or delete it forever.

masterlist

17+ mdni for the whole story

After stringin’ a few squirrels for dinner I figure I should get back to camp. ‘m breakin’ through the tree line, and that’s when I see her.  Beatle. Beatle, for the first time in… shit, who knows? Definitely years, I’m not exactly sure how many. Beatle, just fuckin’ sittin’ at my fire. Like somehow she knew it was mine and showed up just to take it from me. Just sittin’. Smile on her face like she belongs there. She doesn’t. She doesn’t belong at this camp, with these people. Shit, Beatle doesn’t even belong alive if I’m bein’ honest. 

No one in this fuckin’ camp can hunt worth a damn.  They’re gonna expect me to feed ‘em, ain’t they? Eventually. Eventually the food’ll run out and it’ll just be me feedin’ fuckin’ everyone. M’not doin’ it. I’m not doin’ shit for ‘em anymore. Why should I? Left my brother on that roof to rot. Naw, I’ll hunt for my damn self. Don’t even know why I’m still fuckin’ here. Should be out findin’ Merle. Honestly, don’t even know why I’m not.

Even before the dead started walkin’. I figured her days were numbered since the first fuckin’ time I met ‘er. Drunk as hell, eyes glassy, loud annoying voice barkin’ like a damn dog. Just yap yap yappin at Merle and me, tits half hangin’ outta her bikini top. Ones cinched in the string like she’d just forgotten to take ‘em out from her last time around the bar. A dumb drunk bitch, Beatle. Stupid fuckin’ stripper name. Who’s dick gets hard over a stripper named Beatle? 

I watch her, just for a second, checkin’ to see if maybe it’s not really her. But it is. ‘Course it fuckin’ is. 

Shane’s the first person I see that’s not doin’ anything, going through some clothes in a duffel bag in the back of a van, figure he might know, “Where the fuck did she come from?” Pointing toward Beatle, her back to us, fifty yards away. Stupid purple hair blowing all over the damn place. 

Shane looks to see who I’m pointing at, but who the fuck else is new at camp? His eyes finally land on Beatle before looking back at me like he’s trying to fight the smile on his damn face, “Why? You interested?”

I’m tryin’ not to lose my shit that she’s even fuckin’ here. “Nah…” I shake my head, “I know ‘er.”

Shane looks up, surprised maybe, and then not. Looking from Beatle back to me again, eyeing us up. “Yeah, makes sense.” 

I squint back at ‘im, “S’that supposed ta mean?” 

He shrugs, making a face, before smiling again, folding another shirt into his pack, “Just that you look like you might know eachother.” He doesn’t say more but I know what he’s not sayin. “Is all.” He adds on the end just to reiterate. 

He means we’re both fuckin redneck trash to anyone who looks at us. I look back over at her, startin’ to get real mad at this jarhead dickhead. Not for her or nothin’. Even if he’s right, he don’t gotta say it. Or maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he didn’t say it. Like a fuckin’ pussy. 

A part of me feels like standin’ up for myself. Hell, a part of me feels like stickin’ up for Beatle. But, shit, it’s not even worth it.

I cough up a lougie and spit it close to his foot. “So where’d she come from?” I’m fuckin’ repeating myself. I hate fuckin’ repeating myself. 

“Think she just wandered in. Must’ve been lost in the woods or something. Ask Rick. He seems to know everything.”

Can’t keep myself from crackin’ at his petty comment. Always so fuckin’ loud with his contempt, makin’ the situation obvious to anyone with eyes. Messy. 

I decide I’m gonna ask ‘er. She’s gonna see me eventually. Better I approach her first, right? Don’t need to get football tackled in the middle of doin’ somethin’ else when she sees me for the first time. So I pull out a cigarette and start walkin’ over.

She’s talkin’ to Andrea. She fuckin’ would. Both of them loud dumb bitches. Talking about all the dumb shit they miss since everything’s turned to shit. Not talkin’ about people or nothin’ important. Just bullshit like getting your damn nails done, and eating fuckin’ ice cream. 

“Where’d you fuckin’ come from?” Sayin it louder than I meant. More aggressive than I thought my voice would sound. Usually fuckin’ is, though.  The laughing between Andrea and Beatle stops and they look over at me, just standing there waitin’ for it to register. Waitin’ for Beatles reaction. Starin’ ‘er the fuck down like she doesn’t fuckin’ belong here. She doesn’t. 

Beatles eyes light up, getting up from her chair and runnin’ over to me like she’s never been more excited to see someone in her whole damn life. I try to brace myself, but she still rocks me backward as she jumps on me, “Daryl!” Should have stopped her, could have moved just right out of the way. But nah, I let her. 

I don’t hug her back though, just push her off and let her own feet catch her. Dumb bitch doesn’t know personal boundaries. Her voice so close to my ear, “Damn, don’t look so happy to see me.”

Happy to see her? I’m not. Didn’t think I could be so unhappy to see a familiar face in my whole fuckin’ life. But she wasn’t letting that stop her, never fuckin’ did. “I was lost, found this camp. They said I could stay.” She explains, her voice high and happy and annoying as it ever was. At least she’s not drunk. 

Everyone around the fire had gone back to what they were doing. Not watchin’ us anymore. They could probably see as well as Shane that it was obvious how we knew eachother. Well, maybe not exactly how. But they probably had a good idea. 

I dunno what to say to her explanation, so I don’t say nothin’. And she just stands next to me, too close, clearly not gettin’ the hint that I didn’t really wanna talk to her. Just wanted to know why she was here. Now I know. She wasn’t gettin’ that she could and should just go back to her conversation with Andrea about ice skating, or cocktails, or what the fuck ever. 

“What about you?” Her voice quieter for fuckin’ once. 

I shake my head, blowing smoke out, “Merle and me, met up with everyone...” I don’t feel like explaining it, so I don’t. 

Beatle’s lookin’ up at me, her big eyes all wide and excited like a dumbass deer too stupid to move out of traffic, “Merle’s here?” 

This coil of disgust, I feel it snaring it’s way through my abdomen. Yeah, that’s the feeling Beatle usually gives me. Back like it never fuckin’ left. “Nah, not anymore. Sorry to dry your cunt.” 

Beatle says “Ew” fast. Like she’s so disgusted by my vocabulary. Like she isn’t just as crude, the things I heard that little mouth of hers say. 

“He’s not…” she means dead.

“Nah, hes not dead.” Usually this is where I talk something nice about Merle, about how he’s a tough sunuvabitch or some other shit. But not to Beatle. Beatle already knows, and for some reason talking about Merle with her makes me.. fuck… whatever. 

Glancing over, it looks like Beatle’s finally got the hint that I don’t wanna talk to her. She probably really was excited to see me, and I almost feel bad for a second. Before she puts her grubby fuckin’ hand in my face and asks if she can have a cigarette. Needy fuckin’ bitch. 

I laugh right in her face. At the gall of her. That at the end of it all, of everything; she was still trying to get some fuckin’ handout. “Naw.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl, please? I haven’t had one in days!” As if I give a shit what she has or hasn’t had. Hasn’t seen me in years and wants to ask for favors? 

I keep draggin’ on my cigarette, blowin’ the smoke out, and m’not smiling anymore, “I said naw. I don’t see your tits out, why would I give you anything?” Fuck repeating myself.

“You wanna see my tits?” She says it like it’s actually a question. Like she really fuckin’ believes that I’m askin’. 

“You’re a dumb bitch, Beatle, y’know tha’?” I shake my head at her, laughin’ at her again. She’s fuckin’ ridiculous.  Taking another drag I realize the cig is trash, and I almost throw the butt into the fire but decide to hand it to her instead. 

She takes it, with needy fingers like I knew she fuckin’ would. Trying to hide my smile at how fuckin’ pathetic she always seems to be.  Watching her take my trash like it’s fuckin’ gold. She drags it once, I can smell the filter burning and she throws it in the fire. “Next time maybe you’ll share one with me?” Her voice is so sweet it makes me sick. Like I didn’t just call her a dumb bitch to her face. 

Saccharine and fake, that’s how she’s always been. All her cute little movements and motions, all just tryin’ to work me up so I’ll share my smokes or listen to her dumbass whine about anything and everything. Annoying.

“Prolly not.” And I’m already walking away from the fire. From Beatle. Going back to my tent and praying to god, Jesus Christ, don’t let her follow. 

Chewin’ on what she said. Lost, huh? See? Didn’t even belong alive. 

pt 2

[twosides--samecoin]

Hi!! Happy weekend! I’d love to hear about some of your ocs headcanons 🍬🌻💩 :]

Here's Jack and Olivia, 2/3 of Long Time Running's main cast - with a bonus heacanon unique to my Dogmeat! You can read the fic -> here <-

Jack Ward is my canon M!SoSu. He was a professional boxer and retired when he was conscripted for the Anchorage campaign and sent to FoB Juneau.

When Med-Tek failed, Jack pushed RJ on a vertibird destined for Vault 150 - a remote Canadian Vault that tested Duncan's illness on its residents. Two weeks later, Olivia Dallaire, my OC F!SoSu, stepped out of a vertibird and onto the hill overlooking Sanctuary and Boston. She'd be an Olympic judoka if there was still Olympics.

🍬On the topic of family: One of the themes in my fic is about the intersection and contrast between found family and adoption as well as miscommunication. Jack sees a younger version of himself in Olivia, but in a subversion of the failed-coach-training-his-actually-promising-protege trope, Jack had the title fight successes and Olivia really never will. All the same, he takes a shine to her. After meeting Father at the Institute, Jack let go of the idea of recovering his family. When he met Olivia, he felt like, "My god, this is the child Nora and I were supposed to have". Problem is, she's uh, a grown-ass 23 year-old woman. Who just immigrated to a different country and has her own trauma to unpack. And the sudden reemergence of his want to be a dad is moving faster than his ability to discuss being family with her. He faces serious role strain between his best friendship with RJ and the fatherhood he feels toward Olivia when he sees RJ differently as he begins to feel protective over her.

💩 Something ridiculous: My Dogmeat can break the fourth wall. The characters cannot hear him in the fic, but the reader can read his thoughts. One of my childhood fave movies is All Dogs Go To Heaven. The main dog is a German Shepherd, voiced by Burt Reynolds. This is how I hear him.

I was born in '94, so those 80's-90's "talking animal" genre movies were really formative for me. Anastasia, An American Tail - themes of lost family, adventure, immigration. Even RJ's story has strong Secrets of NIMH parallels. I'd reached a point where my fic felt self-serious, like it was so grounded in harsh reality and dumpster fire mental health that I forgot to have fun. Saluting Don Bluth by imagining Charlie B. Barkin and Anne-Marie the Orphan as Dogmeat and Olivia was me throwing my hands up and saying, "Fine! Fuck it! We can have fun!"

🌼 Happiness, how'd you get to be happiness: Lately, getting to know each other has been a source of happiness for both Jack and Olivia. Jack as the canon SoSu has all the problems we do when we play the game - wrangling several warring factions that all expect his presence; ignoring Father/the Institute; managing a small empire of settlements. Olivia as the SoSu of her own Vault is navigating immigration and being around people again. The heart-meltingest fluff I have published so far is father-daughter moments. Excerpt below the cut!

Long Time Running Chapter 13: Sabré Olvidar:

Jack glanced at Olivia’s marigold cable-knit sweater and jeans, rolled up at the cuffs. He realized most of her clothing from home that wasn’t her Vault suit was oversized and patched several times over. 

A deep flush of sadness erupted within. He coughed and returned to the topic of conversation. “Well, um.. What.. What do you think of the animals you let go?” 

“I just thank them for giving me a pretty view. I mean, just look at them.” She let go of their hug and stepped back. “If you look at it like this, the window makes them look like a painting.” 

She beamed at the radstag pair - four heads and too many legs. 

Jack obliged the request and stepped back. The window framed the radstags, trees and tall grasses well, like a living photograph. He appreciated the scene with the same intensity as a painting in a museum.  

He broke his gaze away and looked around at the cabin. “Well.. What brings us down here today, anyway?” he asked.

“I was thinking,” she turned away from the radstags. “Um, there wasn’t anyone here last time I visited, and there’s no one here now, and.. Y’know, it’s pretty close to town.. Does anyone own this place?” 

“Truth be told, Miss Olivia,” he replied. “I don’t think anyone’s taken interest in this cabin since the bombs fell. Doesn’t seem to me like anyone owns it.” 

She wrung her hands and shifted her weight as she looked around. “Um.. can I..” 

Jack awaited the question with patience and a smile. “Yes?”

“Can I have it? Please?” she pleaded.

His heart melted anew. Oh, Jesus, not that face, not that face. He decided to mess with her and put on an apprehensive tone. “I dunno.. It’s a big responsibility, being a homeowner..”

She hung on his every word with wide-eyed worry. 

“The cost for materials, the labor.. In this economy, too.. Ouch.” He grimaced, both to ham up the theatrics and to force his mouth away from a smile.

“I-I’ll work, I’ll get a job, I promise-” 

He could no longer keep up the act. “Oh, fine, sure. It’s yours!” 

Olivia gasped and threw her arms around Jack’s torso. Coffee spilled out of her mug with a graceful dive and landed on the floor with an audible splash.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you- Oh, I have so much work to do-” she let go of Jack and listed the repairs. “I need a door and I have to clean the fireplace and I need to find new windows and-” 

Jack beamed as she bounced around the room. Her braid whipped through the air as she tallied up her needs. Getting to know his little bundle of contradictions was fun. 

“-nails and lumber and.. And that spot on the porch that’s sagging.. I have a lot to do if I want this ready for winter.” 

“Alright, then, that settles it,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.” 

“Where to?” she asked.

“Well, like you said, winter’s on the way. Let’s get building.” 

She smiled, somehow wider than her smile already was. “Yeah! Let’s do it!”

She ran out the door and jumped off the stairs instead of walking down. “Where can we go shopping for supplies?” she asked, turning back to him.

Jack followed and took the steps as normal. “We’ll see what we have in Sanctuary before we look elsewhere. I’ll have to get you a workbench down here.” 

Olivia hopped and skipped ahead. “My own workbench, I-” 

She wasn’t watching her step and nearly tripped. 

«Tabarnak!» she swore. Olivia threw her hands up in mock-offense. “Who put this root here, eh?” 

She laughed off the transgression, tucked the stem of the hubflower behind her ear and turned her pirate smile toward Sanctuary.

Jack Ward, ol’ 111 himself, was thoroughly charmed. Miss Olivia Dallaire contained multitudes. 

Sweet, funny, capable, sensitive. A reader, a fighter, an animal-lover and an occasional jokester who stopped to smell the roses.  

He remembered the leadup to Arturo’s last title fight, when he lived at the house with Jack and Nora. 

One night in the later stages of her pregnancy, Nora laid on the couch as Arturo and Jack sat on the floor surrounded by the pieces of a yet-to-be constructed crib.

Arturo lectured their unborn child on the syntax, phonetics and style guide of French Canadian cursing.

«Esti de câlice de tabarnak!» Arturo exclaimed. "That is what we say when the baby crib is hard to build! You better like it!"

Jack wiped a tear from his cheek as he followed Olivia to Sanctuary.

Arturo would have been so proud to be your uncle. So proud.

[beansnpeets]

Oscar chewed two buttons off my favourite cardigan. He chewed the zipper off my BCSPCA hoodie from when I volunteered with them. He also chewed a zipper off a pair of pants. These are the ONLY things he has ever destroyed aside from dog toys. Oscar is also guilty of swiping a chunk of cheese right off Jon's plate one time (last week). In his defense, Jon did put his plate directly in Oscar's face while he was getting cozy on the couch.

Sprocket has many pee crimes. So much pee. Most of her crimes involve pee. She's also guilty of eating Oscars poop. Sometimes before it even hits the ground. She has eaten pine needles, sticks, other yard debris. She then always vomits these things back up all over her bed. She steals firewood off the pile in the back of the yard to play with, even tho she has perfectly good toys that are much more appropriate.

I'm sure there are many other crimes that I can't remember right now.

Name the crimes your dog has commited. Expose them.

[hopedefined]

anon said: Smash or pass for... Wolverine. We're just dying to know. | send 'smash or pass' + a name and my muse has to answer honestly

"Y'all've been real insistent about this one. I'm startin' to get worried 'bout your fantasies."

Lord give her strength. The half-frustrated joke is on her lips--been there, done that, will be doing it again later--but Logan's been the private type, 'least when it comes to the general public. She can respect that.

Especially when she's got technicality on her side.

"Smash. I ain't blind. But it's a little embarrassing y'can't believe two friends can have a few drinks without gettin' their clothes off. And if you're hopin' to see some jealousy, you're barkin' up the wrong tree, I fear."

ft. @ficklefables

[beansnpeets]

Today 👀

[stringsnwires]

Mister Conagher, I'd like to ask for advice. English is my second language, and I tend to struggle with understanding certain sayings, especially Southernisms. Are there any phrases, expressions, or turns of the word I should be aware of? I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of any American I meet.

Howdy, Foreigner.

You might like to pay any of the others a visit too. Especially Spy, Heavy, n Medic. Spy knows a bunch'a different languages, hebhas to be privy to euphemisms n the like. Doc n his hoss were easily the least trained when they got here, so they know better than anyone what they had to learn the most.

For me? I don't know too much about the grander Americas. In Texas though, the pretend-dictionaries are alight with figurative language. Here are some I use most often:

Right as right - fixed, correct, ...right!

Clear as mud - NOT clear

You can hang your hat on that - it's true!

(he/she's) all hat, no cattle - kinda stupid. harmless.

Piece'a cake - real easy

Bite the bullet - endure

Kick the bucket - die

Barkin' up the wrong tree - mistaken

High/tall cotton - rich!

As useful as tits on a bull - useless

Slap my ass n call me Sally/Well, I'll be - surprised

I'm sure there's a lot I done said on this blog that don't make no sense. Yanno what? Stick around n I'll add a notsoTexan translation for ya each time I catch myself sayin' that stuff. Sound good?

[beansnpeets]

Aside from Oscar's Issues™️ he's a super easy dog. Nobody told me lab puppies were horrible menaces, I had to find that one out myself when I got Sprocket. Now I feel like lots of other things will be easier in the future.

told students k'seil is both my first aussie and my first puppy and one said "wow, you went into the deep end didn't ya?" and like, sure, but my first dog was hazard, and we really didn't have time to get into what that means

[mortalprinceoflies]

Closed Starter | @runyou-clever-boy

They were being watched. He’d tried to ignore it, write it off as paranoia from this being their first family trip outside of the country. This wasn’t an installment in the ‘Taken’ franchise; surely, no one was lurking in the shadows, waiting to kidnap one of his girls. No matter what he told himself, however, Luke’s anxiety wouldn’t leave him, especially when he noticed how tense Delaney was. Riley was taking photos nonstop, and Morgan and Jayden were animatedly pointed out landmarks that they wanted to visit next, with the Tower of London being the most prevalent on the list at the moment. They were blissfully unaware that their parents’ heads were on swivels, scanning the crowded London streets for whomever might be following them.

Delaney spotted him first. “Pretty blond with the pouty lips,” she muttered, squeezing Luke’s hand. “He’s definitely tailing us. I saw him when we walked out of the Jack the Ripper Museum.”

“So he’s been on us for at least fifteen minutes,” Luke sighed, hating the fact that he’d been right. “Great…alright, keep moving with the girls. I’ll take care of this guy and catch up with you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Luke…”

“I won’t! I’m just gonna have a polite chat with the guy, try to discourage him from pulling whatever bullshit he wants to pull. I think he knows he’s been made, though.” Luke had locked eyes with the mysterious young man by mistake, and now couldn’t stop looking at him for fear that he’d lose him in the crowd. This was just too weird. He gave Delaney a quick kiss on the cheek, pretending not to notice as she slipped one of her lucky charms into his pocket before leaving with the girls. It was her way of saying she was worried about him, and he honestly found it endearing.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to confront his stalker, brown eyes turning steely and briefly flashing red. “Look, buddy, I know you probably thought I’d be an easy target because I’m some country bumpkin tourist, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I’m just tryin’ to have a nice vacation with my family. I don’t need you to ruin it with whatever scheme you’re plannin’ on pullin’. Stop followin’ us!” Hands balled into fists at his sides briefly before loosening again. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight, but if the other decided to get physical, he would gladly defend himself.

Little did he know that he had yet another pair of eyes on him. Vigoraunt had been haunting Luke and his family for far longer than this angelic menace; he had just been more subtle. Blending into the crowd was just as easy for the incubus here in England as it had been back in the States. Hells, he’d probably turned it into an art form at this point. The trick was to simply mind one’s own business while remaining in the general vicinity of one’s target, although being able to turn invisible certainly didn’t hurt. Truthfully, he hated being a spy, but restoring Lucifer to his infernal throne was more than worth it. A nosy fallen angel, however, could throw a massive wrench into that plan. Vig readied himself to intervene if necessary. This could get messy.

[thefleetsfinest]

This was a terrible idea, why had she let herself be talked into this again? "You get out there! Go on some dates!" and "Okay, one date didn't didn't work out and you had to call the fire department, try again." She made a friend than, and sure they had been a young reptilian patient in the end, and maybe she should have argued to Stephen that he was her friend, and her two associates that now spent most of their days in the clinic were her friends as well.

Miracles really, and not small ones. Leonard's been amazing, a great help in a lot of things and he along with Luna had made the clinic more lively. Not that it wasn't with some their frequent patients (Spider-man and Hawkeye were a chatty bunch).

Yet she would try again when even Jane had encouraged Stephen's sentiments. It's a different date, and she really already hates the internet and online dating. Why couldn't she meet some sweet Southern doctor with passion in his light eyes and a sense of humor like Leonard's and they hit it off the old fashioned way?

Why's it gotta be dating profiles these days?

Technically today's date is not a doctor, and it's a brunch which she has no clue if that's odd for a date or not. It was a nice day, so being out or eating on a patio might be nice for a date setting, daytime romantic.

Linda had opened up the clinic with Leonard, and after two appointments seen to; she's ducking away to get dressed. When she returns to the lobby, it definitely feels weird not to be in her nursing uniform or scrubs.

A light-colored sundress put on in place and she's let her hair down than pulled a few strands back for a half up but mostly down. ❝ How do I look? ⸻ Not too much for a brunch, right? Should I have brought a sun hat? Sitting on a patio could be nice, but hats aren't date appropriate, yeah? ❞

She's maybe stalling a little because she really doesn't know what to do with getting out, and was maybe trying to more so that Stephen would stop worrying over her. For a guy, who really screwed up with her, he's became a good friend.

❝ I owe you, can't thank you enough for handling more things here and well, letting me dip out this afternoon. ❞

It was just a normal work day for Leonard, nothing special or out of the ordinary. ( Outside of Linda's date. Which he definitely isn't grumpy about, why would he be grumpy? It's none of his business who she dates, even if he did think apps were just about the DUMBEST way to find someone to settle down with.) There had been the SMALLEST of selfish thoughts of finding some reason he couldn't cover the clinic while she went out, but in the end.. he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her.

So there he was, finding himself FIDDLING with the files, finding every which way to PROLONG the entire task of putting them back in their respective secure spots. ( Mostly adding his little notes from the important, slowly written so it was at least MOSTLY readable. ) when she had finally come back FRESHLY CHANGED, and looking like something out of a MAGAGINE.

For the BRIEFEST of moments, Leonard stood just STOOD THERE staring at her, taking in every last detail. Everything from the way her dark hair waved and curled, to the flow of her sundress, the color of her cheeks all the way down her just how GOOD her legs looked.

What was he suppose to be answering again?

"You look down right STUNNIN'" It was the first thing he managed to blurt out of his mouth, and it was the HONEST truth. "I don't know nothin' about fashion so you are barkin' up the wrong tree about the hat... though I think you look perfect just the way yer are."

Was he still talking?

"Don't sweat it, It's not like I wasn't gonna be here anyways and besides.. at least one of us should try to have a social life." and you deserve to be happy.. "and let's face it I'm a lost cause a this point." a bit of a laugh followed as he clicked at his pen a few times. FIDGETING.

"This feller truly is Lucky to be taking you out on a nice afternoon like today, be a shame for ya to not be out on some nice patio somewhere." He has got to stop and he knows it. So he manages a deep breath, the pen put away. She had places to be.. a SOMEONE ELSE waiting for her.

god he needed a drink.

"Go on get going, yer gonna be late if you keep letting me prattle on."

[camelliacats]

long way down

Have some Stanior feels set amidst the final battle. ;3

Fic: "long way down" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: implied Scabior/Stan Shunpike

Rating: very light T

Words: ~1,580

Additional info: romance, slash, cross gen, angst, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Scabior's supposed to feel a sense of pride, leading part of this storm into the castle, across the bridge. Then why does it feel like a trap, with no hands out to catch him if he falls?

      Various things set Snatchers apart from Death Eaters. There was the obvious lack of a brand on the inner left forearm, of course. There was the brilliant wardrobe, secondly. There was, most importantly, on overreliance on magic on the part of the Death Eaters.

      That last notion in particular came to mind tonight as Scabior raised his head in the evening air and gave the dampness a sniff.

      "What've you got?" came somewhere off to his left.

      "Shh," Scabior rushed, half in annoyance, half to concentrate.

      The voice's owner went still behind him. Others with him didn't pipe up after that, some perhaps waiting for Scabior's opinion.

      But, when he settled on one, he found he wasn't keen to share it. At least, not with everyone present. No…

      Not when something felt odd tonight, and that something reeked in the air.

      Scabior didn't have Greyback's senses, of course, so he doubted the other Snatchers would put much faith in his caution now, despite Scabior's good nose on previous hunts. Not to mention several of these Snatchers, including the one who'd just spoken up (Rumford, an all right bloke), were low-level Death Eaters on loan well past their previous assignment ages ago.

      At that thought, Scabior put his concern on hold and glanced behind him, picking out Faraday's men in an instant. Rumford was close by, near one of Scabior's trusted, the exceptionally tall and reedy Barkin. Rumford had taken to learning the ropes from Barkin in Moyer's place the last several months, since Moyer had grown indignant and wanted out after barely more than a few weeks. Speaking of the git—Scabior spied the burly bastard dressed once more in all black, more comfortable with the newly recruited Death Eaters back along the tree line than up front by the covered bridge with sympathizers and Snatchers. Well, Moyer could stay there, for all Scabior cared. Moyer was a pain in the arse anyhow. Unlike—

      Unfocused eyes stopped staring out over the gorge and drifted Scabior's way, and blue eyes met blue.

      Scabior pursed his lips, tamping down his frown about the odd air the longer Shunpike held his gaze. Faraday thought Shunpike trouble, keeping the young wizard Imperiused all the time. But the witch simply didn't understand that didn't have to be the case with Shunpike.

      Scabior… Scabior knew Shunpike's story, because it wasn't far from his own. It was how the two men had come to an agreement of sorts, how they'd become confidants little by little over the past few months, without the need to take away Shunpike's freedom, only for him to feign it in front of others.

      A broken twig snapped to his right, alerting him that Shunpike had inched forward and then frozen.

      Scabior froze, too, and clenched his jaw. It was a dangerous game they played, keeping Shunpike's head down and the ruse up. It didn't help that, with the barrier around the castle and the odd air, things had Scabior on edge right now.

      To the point where, if he had a choice, he wouldn't lead this charge tonight.

      But he had to be alone in his opinion, because others paced around him and Shunpike, some hooted and hollered, more taunted the students waiting across the bridge behind the suits of armor come to life, and even more behind him and Shunpike didn't bother keeping their voices down much at all, acting as though this were merely a small stop before the Dark Lord took care of things, made history, and the Wizarding world changed forever.

      And that would be the case. Everyone who sided with the Dark Lord or against the Ministry's abusive powers or just because was here tonight, to change the world.

      So Scabior set aside his fear of the something odd and focused on that, because he was done being one of those victims of those with power and a name. He glanced at Shunpike then.

      With everyone else's attention diverted, Shunpike didn't try as hard this second to pretend. His lips parted in a tiny, puckered, concerned "o" and his brow was furrowed. He was waiting for Scabior to share what had made the older wizard go quiet.

      But Scabior closed his eyes and shook his head, assuring Shunpike not to worry. And, when he opened his eyes, something invisible fluttered into being in front of him, burning to a crisp, crumbling to ashes, fading just as quickly as it arrived. …the barrier.

      The barrier was down.

      The chaos of the assembled behind him converged into a concentrated attack when victorious whoops rang out, and a reinvigorated Scabior held his wand high, leading the way across the bridge.

      A lanky but worn student had come partway onto the bridge to taunt them but turned heel and ran the moment Scabior and the others gave chase, and the thunder of footsteps—dozens of them, no, hundreds—clamored after him. The pounding footfall echoed in the covered bridge, so loud Scabior almost couldn't hear himself laugh, and he couldn't hear Shunpike, either, when the younger wizard yelped something behind him—

      Ah.

      No, wait.

      It wasn't the footfall that was deafening.

      During their charge forward, there had been charges set off under the bridge.

      The chaos of the assembled behind Scabior returned but morphed into panic, into screams and hollers and cries for help and desperate attempts at magic to save themselves. Bodies and splinters and bridge and fire rained down as Scabior and Shunpike and few more poured on what little speed they had left, to try and reach the safety of the other side.

      But it was no use.

      The ground beneath Scabior's feet crumbled. He knew he should've trusted his instincts (they were what made him an excellent Snatcher, after all). Instead, here he was, his heart plummeting into his stomach as he drop, drop, dropped, flailing out of instinct like any other hapless animal.

      …but…he wasn't an animal.

      None of them—not his Snatchers—they weren't animals or the lowest of lows or beyond saving.

      That struck Scabior when a hand shot out from thin air and jerked him to a stop.

      Pain snapped him out of his dismal thoughts, and Scabior followed the arm up to the face of his savior…and he gaped at Shunpike.

      Shunpike couldn't pretend to be Imperiused right now, but they had bigger worries, certainly. For one, Shunpike had managed to cling to one of the broken but still standing structural beams, up towards the top. But the knuckles of his right hand which clung to the beam were pure white, and sweat dripped from his brow. He was holding on—quite literally—for life.

      For his and Scabior's, both.

      "C'mon, then," Shunpike said, though his voice was strained.

      Scabior blinked away his stupor and pursed his lips once more. "Come where?"

      "I don' 'ave me wand, Scabior. Lost it instead of me life." He grinned (always toothy and a bit goofy, but genuine nevertheless) and tried pulling Scabior up. But Shunpike's grin dimmed as he struggled to heave the other man up. His willowy arm had a good grip but terrible lifting power. And his other arm wouldn't hold on to what remained of the structural beam forever.

      They locked eyes as the weight of reality clicked into place. Scabior opened his mouth—

      But Shunpike beat him to the punch with a glare. "If you say sumfink stupid like 'Save youself,' then I'll just 'ex you meself when I find a new wand, you wanker."

      Getting chewed out right now, of all times, and by Shunpike no less… It was so absurd that Scabior couldn't help it: He laughed. It was a hearty sound and feeling, and he did agree with Shunpike for a beat, that perhaps he was a wanker, when they hadn't even exhausted all their options yet. So Scabior, who'd been clutching Shunpike's outstretched arm with both hands, pried one hand free to pat his own person for his wand. They ought to have time enough to try a spell or two—

      Scabior blanched, his good humor evaporating.

      Shunpike, having gotten so much better at reading him during his stay with the Snatchers, stared at Scabior, wide-eyed.

      But no. Scabior had been fearful before, about tonight. He wouldn't let panic set in, even when he switched hands and—and felt that no, he truly was wandless…

      Shunpike's arm strained as the younger wizard scrambled to haul Scabior up. But as he focused on his left and its precious cargo, the grip of his right arm on the beam began to slip. It wasn't noticeable at first, but then they slid by a centimeter and another and then by two inches.

      "Shunpike—"

      "No! Don' distract me right now—"

      "Shunpike—"

      "I won' 'ear you—"

      "Stan." Scabior's smile was small and tight when Shunpike whipped his head around, unaccustomed to the use of his given name by the Snatcher. Scabior rested his head against Shunpike's sleeve and pressed a grateful kiss to the back of the hand holding on to him.

      But the gesture only worried Shunpike even more, despite their confidants-and-something-oddly-more status. Fear renewed his strength. He tugged Scabior impossibly closer, and Shunpike's face was nearly within reach.

      Blue eyes locked with blue eyes.

      Scabior could almost feel Shunpike's breath on his face.

      Then Shunpike's left hand cramped and his arm spasmed, his fingers flying open, and Scabior finally stopped holding on and—

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #812: how to save a life) in the HPFC forum on FFN. You read right; I ended it there. B3 I rarely do cliffhangers or ambiguous endings, but I knew I wanted this one to stop here, bc I can't stop thinking about them, *lol*. As for what Scabior refers to as his and Stan's "shared story," that's a ref to smthg in "Less Than Dirt," so that's my plug for you to read that. Is there another Stanior coming after this? Yep! "The Trial of Stan Shunpike," to be written once I figure out which of two possible endings I wanna do. :3c I rly do enjoy Scabior ships, tho…I just… *has written this man a LOT* And it's hard but fun to write Stan's thick accent?? Idk. Board the Stanior ship with me, folks.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[beansnpeets]

Oscar was intact until age 5 and I wouldn't have neutered him if I didn't have plans to get Sprocket. Didn't wanna risk any oops because I didn't trust my partner at the time to manage, but I bet it would have been fine. Oscar was totally fine intact. No marking inside, no humping, nothing. Rollei was chryptorchid so I had him neutered right away, and I likely would have regardless since even neutered he does an amount of inappropriate humping. Otherwise I plan for only males in the future and will not likely be neutering if I can help it and they can remain appropriately behaved.

Me: my next dog will probably be an intact male

Literally all of my friends: don’t do it

[supercrabneo]

An Invite to Castle Thade: A Neopets Mystery

PART II

Read part 1 here

Part 2/6 below the cut -->

“How did you do that?!” Sirena turned to Becks, her heavy silver jewelry tinkling, her wide yellow eyes aghast, but clearly entertained.

“I… didn’t,” she replied, her heart catching in her throat as she spoke. She smoothed down her ruff again, hoping none of the gathered Neopians had seen her hair stand on end when the massive castle doors slammed shut on their own. Her cousin Roxanne seemed to have a few frightening tricks in store for the guests, and Becks would have to try her best not to get scared right along with them if she was to keep playing the mysterious host. “It was the house itself, of course.”

“Such colorful characters out here in the boonies,” Quincy sounded loud and cheerful as he fluttered away from the door, almost masking the slight tremor of fear in his voice. “Always giving their superstitious little warnings!”

“It’s quite the warning,” Baldur raised his brows, his bright Techo eyes flashing with intrigue.

“Sure it is,” Jasper flicked his icy wings, shrugging off his traveling cloak, then straightened his bright red scarf before continuing. Becks sighed, picking up the cloak, once again relegated to butler. “And I bet the malformed freaks out here in the Haunted Woods say that about every castle. Great way to scare off prospective buyers who might want to build something useful out here instead of just another big creaky mansion–” The Hissi stopped mid-sentence, his tongue flicking out to smell the air. “What is that smell?”

All eyes once again turned to Unga the Usul. She didn’t seem to notice the unwelcome attention.

“It’s not often I see a Tyrannian out in the wide world of Neopia,” Baldur smiled down at her, his clear disdain lost on the heavy-browed Usul.

“Unga always rise to challenge,” she replied. “Even if Unga have to walk very far.”

“Hold on,” Sirena held up a tentacle, silver bracelets clinking gently against each other. “So you were told there was a Battledome competition here. I was told I would be meeting a… personal friend. Clearly neither of those is true… unless…” The Acara turned to Jasper, that coy smile once again creeping onto her face, slowly batting her heavily lashed eyelids. “Does the name… Sirena32 mean anything to you…?”

“Nope,” he replied, tiny points of light reflecting around the room as he shook his translucent head. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, lady. Are you folks not in real estate? I was told I’d be bidding on this place.”

“And I was under the impression this was a gala,” Quincy’s faerie wings flapped in annoyance, his flippers on his hips. “And clearly that is not the case.” His shining Bruce eyes darted to the plainly-dressed Becks.

“So we’ve been brought here under false pretenses,” Baldur squinted, his voice filled with mounting suspicion.

“If you’ll follow me,” Becks spoke loudly, projecting over the gathered Neopians. They all turned to face her. “I’ll show you to the dining room.”

Becks hadn’t been given a map of the castle. In the letter, Roxanne had only said ‘take them to the dining room’. And before Becks had arrived at the massive castle with its expansive grounds, she’d assumed it would be fairly easy to figure out which room was which. Now she was worried she would immediately get everyone lost and fail at the one clear instruction she’d been given. But, as it turned out, she didn’t need a map. Just as the candles had lit themselves when Roxanne appeared at the top of the stairs, they lit up all the way down the corridor, balls of light flickering to life deeper and deeper down the black hallways. Becks was pretty sure this was her cousin’s doing somehow, maybe the work of some switch that supplied the candles with gas.

At least… she was pretty sure.

Becks’ long Cybunny ears couldn’t help but turn nervously towards the guests, swiveling to focus on the shuffling feet, slithering bodies, fluttering wings, and pop-pop-pop of tentacles that barely covered their nervous whispers.

“I can’t believe the ravings of some old coot has got you all shaking in your boots,” Jasper hissed dismissively. “At least the rumors mean I’ll probably be able to buy this place for a song. A new coat of paint, a few renovations… I bet I could break this place up into a bunch of housing units. Call ‘em luxury haunted condos. They’d sell like hotcakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not shaking in any boots,” Quincy rebutted. But the chattering of the Bruce’s beak suggested otherwise.

“Unga just want fight,” the Tyrannian Usul grunted loudly. “It okay if it ghost. Unga not afraid to punch ghost.”

“I’m not afraid either,” the Maraquan Acara scoffed. “What can a ghost do? Nothing, unless you let it. I am intent on having a lovely evening. Even if I did get stood up.”

“You all say you’re not frightened,” Baldur’s voice was steady and calm. “As if none of you have ever heard of Eliv Thade. I’m sure all of us are feeling at least a little apprehensive. It’s all right to admit it.”

The crowd fell silent. Of course they’d heard of the Kacheek known as Eliv Thade. The one who’d gone mad, the one who supposedly haunted his castle, trapping anyone foolish enough to step foot inside and forcing them through endless puzzles until they finally met their end. It was a story they’d all heard around a campfire at some point in their lives.

Becks smiled to herself. She was glad the mutant Bori had managed to rile them up. Some of the pressure was off, and now she wouldn’t have to rely on her own less-than-average acting skills to sell the experience. Becks wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Roxanne had hired the old Bori herself to bring the last guest, just to get that extra bit of ambience. Her cousin was thorough, after all.

The only Neopian who didn’t seem bothered was the strange little alien Aisha.  It had finished its granola and was now keeping step with Becks, smiling excitedly, taking selfies with the flickering candles and decaying tapestries like they were all taking a casual stroll through a museum. But she was sure this Aisha had some vital role to play later in the evening. She wouldn’t want to inadvertently cause any problems for Roxanne, so she didn’t question the little green creature in its spacesuit.

The candles led them to the end of a long corridor, where an elegant doorway stood open, the room beyond lit dazzlingly with massive crystal chandeliers. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls and antique furniture, highlighting ancient china cabinets full of exquisite dishwear, expensive-looking bottles of exotic sparkling juice, and various other fineries from around the world. In the middle of the room was a long table, already stacked high with food and beverages, the chairs pulled out as if inviting them all to their seats.

Becks turned with what she hoped was a dramatic flourish, motioning for the guests to enter ahead of her. The Aisha nodded enthusiastically, leading the way for the rest of the nervous crowd.

Baldur was the last to slip past the red-ruffed Cybunny, his pastel scales practically glowing in the dim light of the hallway, outshining even the gold trim of his deep red tunic. His stride was confident as he stared into her eyes. There was an unsettling cunning to them. But he bowed slightly as he passed, joining the others in the bright room beyond.

Becks quickly pulled Roxanne’s instructions back out of the collar of her sweater, skimming her cousin’s coded bullet points just in case there was something she’d missed. But the instructions ended here. She was supposed to let the guests get comfortable, have a nice dinner, and then… she assumed something was going to happen. She wished she knew what it was.

But there was clearly nothing to be gleaned from this worn piece of paper. She shoved it back in her collar and straightened up, trying to assume an air of confidence as she swept into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Ugh,” Quincy scoffed. “Is the whole castle going to be this… moldy?” He gestured towards the cabinets as he hovered above the floor, as if too nauseated by the disintegrating rugs to even touch them. It seemed he’d managed to pull himself from his nervousness by focusing on his mounting disgust.

“It’s not moldy, it’s antique,” Jasper crooned. “Folks pay big money for pieces like this. Strip ‘em down, re-paint them in hip modern colors, sell them for a pretty penny. It’s called upcycling. See, it’s all in how you spin it.” He tapped a splintered side table with the tip of his tail, and it wobbled dangerously, threatening to pitch a small vase of dead flowers to the stone floor below.

“If everyone would please take their seats,” Becks once again projected her voice, cutting through the guests’ murmured conversations. The Aisha plopped down in a chair the table in the center of the room. Unga followed, her pungent smell spreading out in a wave behind her. The others made their way to their seats hesitantly, glancing around the room as if expecting to be attacked.

But no attack came. There was only a spread of still-steaming dishes, waiting to be eaten.

“Let’s begin,” Becks took the lead, doing what she thought a host might do, though she’d never been nearly anywhere so fancy. She barely even recognized most of the food, though that was at least partially due to her unfamiliarity with the cuisine of the Haunted Woods. Her dish stared up at her, two eyeballs perched on top of a thick coil of oddly grey pasta. She hesitantly lifted a few greasy strands on her fork. She glanced back up at the other Neopians.

Unga wasted no time, grabbing the nearest hunk of protein, a steak which screamed and flapped a tiny pair of devilish wings as she tore into it. The Aisha snapped a quick picture of its plate, but the helmet protected it from having to sample anything. Sirena took a polite bite of the stew in front of her, which bubbled menacingly, faces seeming to swirl up from its depths. She fought to swallow, and didn’t go in for a second spoonful. Quincy only looked down at his food in obvious disgust, Jasper sneered at the spread, and Baldur sat back with measured dignity, napkin folded in his lap as he made no moves to eat.

Becks put her fork back down, the noodles still dangling from its tines. She’d done her part. There was no need to give herself food poisoning in an attempt to be a decent host.

“So you’re from Terror Mountain, then?” Sirena turned to Jasper, breaking the uneasy silence at the table.

“Born and raised,” he replied, tossing a strangely lively olive into his mouth with the tip of his icy tail. “I’m kind of a big deal up there. I own most of the town at this point, and I’ve taken it from backwoods wasteland to the bustling tourist attraction you know today. I’m what you might call a local celebrity… in fact, I’m actually related to the Snowager. Yes, the Snowager. I’m sure you can see the resemblance.”

“I certainly can,” Sirena crooned. “I was fortunate enough to vacation up there with one of my ex-husbands. We took the whole ice caves tour, Snowager and all. You’re really the spitting image. Alas, that trip isn’t all pleasant memories, as my husband got lost in the snow and was never recovered. They figured a Snowbeast took him. But at least we got a good vacation in before that.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Quincy placed a comforting flipper on Sirena’s tentacle. “It must have been so difficult to cope with such a loss.”

“Thank you, thank you, it was,” she sniffled. “But at least I had his fortune to go home to. He made sure I was well taken care of.”

“How very thoughtful,” Jasper sneered. But he leaned a little closer to Sirena, clearly intrigued by the mention of a fortune.

“And, uh… Ugga, was it?” Quincy asked politely, his Faerieland manners overruling his disgust for the unkempt Usul. She grunted in recognition. “You said you were a Battledome competitor? I assume you do a lot of traveling, a lot of sightseeing?”

“Ugga mostly stay in Tyrannia,” she waved a fistful of wriggling pasta as she explained. “Ugga too big a deal to travel. Battledome fighters come to Ugga.”

“And yet you’re here,” Baldur leaned forward, gently taking charge of the conversation. “I suppose I’ll be the one to address the Elephante in the room. All of us came here for our own very important reasons, important enough to drag us all out into the middle of the Haunted Woods. Yet it seems we’ve all been lied to. So… why were we brought here under false pretenses? And who exactly sent us our invitations?”

“I wish I knew,” Jasper rolled his eyes. “Whoever it was has wasted a lot of my incredibly valuable time. But I’m not stickin’ around to figure it out. As soon as I’ve eaten as much of their expensive weirdo food as I can stomach, I’m out of here.”

“I have no enemies that I’m aware of,” Quincy rested his head in his flippers, sighing heavily. “I have no idea who would pull a prank like this on a member of Fyora’s court. Everyone knows we don’t have an evil bone in our bodies.”

“No one here has any ties to the Haunted Woods, then? Has anyone so much as visited before?” Baldur asked, chuckling slightly, trying to keep the mood light despite his line of interrogation.

“Oh, I came here on one of my honeymoons!” Sirena piped up. “It was terrible. The relationship didn’t survive the trip, I’m afraid. And neither did my ex-husband. So we can rule him out.” She laughed. Jasper shifted away from her slightly. 

“Not necessarily…” Baldur squinted, glancing around the room with mounting suspicion. “What about you, gracious host?” He turned his piercing gaze to her. “Surely you know something.”

Becks stared back at him dumbly. She had no idea what to say, or whether she should even say anything at all. She was the only one who came here knowing what she was supposed to do, and even then, she only knew part of it. If all went well, they’d finish dinner and she could see all the guests to the door and settle in for a delightful evening of catching up with her cousin. But it didn’t seem like such an elaborately planned event would end so easily. She was on-edge, and had no idea whether she was supposed to step in and calm everyone down, or if all this was part of whatever Roxanne had planned.

“Ugh, what a sorry excuse for wine,” Jasper scoffed as he gestured with his goblet, breaking Becks free from her obligation to answer Baldur. He pushed his chair back, glancing around at the finery behind the glass cabinets. An elegant display case full of unopened bottles caught his eye, and he smirked, uncoiling from his spot at the table and making his way across the room. “If whoever invited us here is going to waste my time, I might as well waste their expensive drinks.” He reached out his glimmering icy wing and unfastened the cabinet doors. 

Becks half-stood, getting ready to admonish the Hissi for his blatant theft, but the words caught in her throat. The bottles weren’t the only thing in the cabinet. Inside, tucked between them, was what looked like a spectral, feathery hand, blue and translucent. It inconspicuously pushed one of the bottles forward before disappearing. Becks blinked, unsure of what she’d just seen. Jasper seemed none the wiser, his eyes scanning the labels, and Becks sat back down, any words of protest fading from her mind, replaced by mounting dread.

Baldur’s eyes flicked to hers. His expression was unreadable, but Becks somehow got the distinct impression that he had seen the same thing she did.

“Now look at this,” Jasper hissed, his tail coiling around the neck of a bottle and hoisting it up for all to see. It was the bottle the ghostly hand had pushed forward. “Excellent year, made with Altadorian grapes, with the subtlest hints of plum… this is not an easy wine to get ahold of, let me tell you. Let’s crack it open and really make this mysterious host regret sending those letters.”

He yanked out the cork with a skilled twist of his tail and a loud pop. 

“Wait, I don’t think you should–” Becks held out a hand, as if she could stop him from all the way across the room. But he didn’t pay her any mind. In one swift motion, he knocked it back, swallowing at least a quarter of the bottle in one go. He lowered it, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Not as good as I remember it…” he glanced down at the dark liquid sloshing around inside the glass. “Has a weird aftertaste. Maybe this one’s gone off.”

Something dripped to the floor. He glanced down, his brow knitting in confusion as more droplets splattered to the rough cobblestones directly beneath him. He stretched out his wings, examining them with wide, shocked eyes as yet more liquid dripped down his scales. 

He seemed to be sweating profusely. Or, more precisely, his icy skin seemed to be melting.

“What in the…” he was suddenly less transparent than before, his translucent pallor clouding over, shifting from a pleasant blue to rotten green. The other guests watched on in horror, Becks included. The feathers dripped from his wings, leaving only green mottled hands behind, spotted scales erupting along the length of his body. His sleek face seemed to puff up, his expression shifting towards ferocity as armor grew out of his brows and forehead.

Finally, and most horrifically, a bulge started to form at the base of his neck. It writhed, pushing out and elongating, like a living thing was struggling underneath his skin.

“I can’t watch!” Sirena turned away. Quincy had already all but fainted, draped in his chair dramatically as the Hissi continued to shift and change.

The bulge grew eyes. Then it opened a wide, fanged mouth, its forked tongue flicking out. It continued to push out from Jasper’s body, lengthening until its face met his, and its shape finally coalesced into something that made sense, as horrific as it was. A second head had sprouted from his shoulders.

“Y-you’ve become a mutant!” Quincy sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Jasper gasped. “The juice just isn’t agreeing with me, I’ll be right as rain in no time…”

“No, he got it, we’re a mutant now,” the second head sighed. While Jasper’s eyes were sharp and fierce, this head seemed to have an eternal look of despair, its eyes heavy-lidded and morose, the corners of its mouth drooping in a permanent frown. “There’s no point in denying it.”

“And who exactly are you?” Jasper demanded, turning to face his other head.

“I’m that little voice in the back of your head that tells you not to lie and do bad things,” it whimpered. “You stopped paying attention to me a long time ago, though.”

“Of course I did, just listen to you,” Jasper crossed his arms, the end of his tail twitching in frustration. “You’re all mopey and pathetic.”

Becks watched in confused horror as the two heads bickered. Both Quincy and Sirena watched along with her, expressions betraying their fear and disgust. Only Baldur and Ugga seemed unfazed, the latter happily munching a massive hunk of meat.

A chuckle from the far corner of the room caused Becks to nearly startle out of her skin. The crowd collectively turned towards the sound, and were greeted by the ghostly figure of a Lenny, lightly glowing in the darkness of the grand dining hall.

“Well, Jasper, old pal,” the Lenny snickered. “You made this too easy. I knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take something valuable that isn’t yours.”

“Is that a… g-g-...” Sirena stammered.

“A g-g-ghost?” The Lenny completed for her. “Unfortunately, yes. Though not for much longer. I’ve just wrapped up my unfinished business, so I’ll be moving on to greener pastures momentarily. Now that Jasper can never menace anybody else. Not while at least one of his heads is honest.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Jasper crooned from across the room, stumbling slightly as he tried to slither forward, his new body uneager to listen to him. “I don’t even know you! You’ve got no right to do this to me–”

“But we do know him,” the morose head interrupted. “Don’t you remember? We tried to scare him out of his property by throwing bricks through his windows and leaving nasty anonymous messages scrawled on his door. When he was at his wits’ end, thinking everyone in the neighborhood had turned against him, we approached him and offered to buy his place so he could move away… and of course he accepted the first offer we gave, for much less than what we knew the place was worth. We basically stole his house right out from under him.”

“And then with the ridiculous pittance you offered me, I was unable to buy anything else,” the Lenny continued. “Not up in Terror Mountain. Not Happy Valley, not even Neopia Central. The only place I could afford was way out here, and eventually, I found my way to this place… and never made it back out.”

“That’s your own fault!” Jasper chided defensively. “Your place was prime real estate. You should have known you could sell the place for more, whether you were being terrorized has nothing to do with whether or not you did research before high-tailing it out of there! That’s not on me.”

“You know that’s not true,” the other head said in a baleful voice. “Oh, well. We got what was coming to us.”

“That’s right,” the Lenny smiled, his form already starting to dissipate. “You’ll never be able to lie to anyone again. Not even yourself. Have a good life, Jasper.”

And with that, he was gone.

The room fell silent, as if the gathered Neopians were waiting for the spirit to reappear for one last jab.

“Oh, and while I’m at it,” the second head broke the anxious quiet. “We’re not even related to the Snowager.”

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 7 of Roneo and Kimliet

Chapter 7

Bonnie headed down the stairs to meet the girls.

The Ashleys came in first. Ashley B and Ashley T were wearing blue and green tube tops, respectively, with baggy Club Banana carpenter jeans. Ashley A, like Bonnie, was wearing her Club Banana baggy denim overalls. She wore hers with the bib down but with straps still hooked and a belt to hold them up. Ashley Q was in a purple Britina shirt and a Club Banana denim jumpsuit that was unbuttoned. She tied up the sleeves to hold it up. While Ashley A and Ashley T went with pink sneakers, Ashley Q and Ashley B went with high-heeled boots. They all had giant gold hoop earrings and various expensive gold and silver necklaces and bracelets.

Hope and Amanda came in last. Hope was in a short pink dress and black high heels. and Amanda, like Ashley Q, was in the Club Banana denim jumpsuit. Pairing it with a pink Britina shirt, she had the jumpsuit unbuttoned and only wore the left sleeve up and had the right sleeve tucked in behind her back. She had giant gold hoop earrings as well and brown high-heeled boots.

Within the garage, there were seven metal folding chairs. and a card table. Bonnie and the rest of her clique's girls sat down in the chairs.

"So now that this week's meeting of The Seven is officially in progress, is everyone, including myself, here?" Bonnie asked, for she was the leader of the group.

The other six girls raised their hands in unison.

"Good, now that everybody is present, should we get to our main topic of the day?" Bonnie snickered with a grin.

"You mean humiliating the nerds by telling the football players to give them swirlies?" Ashley T asked.

"No, AT." Bonnie said with a vile smirk.

Ashley Q then raised her hand.

"Or maybe spreading a gossip/rumor that Josh has been cheating on Tara but that she doesn't know about it?"

Bonnie shook her head.

"No, AQ. Not that either."

Ashley B then raised her hand.

"Go, AB!" Bonnie exclaimed, pointing to Ashley B.

"Get this, girls. We humiliate both Possible and Stoppable in front of a crowd of people!"

"Ding! Ding! We have a winner!" Bonnie laughed.

She also added, "So, AB, do you have anything juicy to share with us? I mean, I did command you to spy on both Possible and Stoppable."

Ashley B smiled confidently and pulled out a tape recorder from her purse.

"Don't worry, B. I got that part covered!"

"Good!" Bonnie cackled, "Now, play the tape."

Ashley B snicked, "Got it! Oh and as a forewarning, it contains juicy and...scandalous...details!"

Bonnie rubbed her hands in glee!

"Ooooo! Let's hear it!"

And so, Ashley B played the tape. It contained the juicy details of Ron getting humiliated in his one and only non-tree-related role as the Cowardly Lion when he was being pursued by the makeshift flying monkeys.

Bonnie sighed "Oh, Stoppable. Can you even keep your clothes on for one day?" She also added, "It was a good thing I paid the Robotics Team $100 just to tie those stuffed monkeys onto the toy helicopters!"

Then it got to the part with Kim messing up her lines in MacBeth in her freshman year when she first laid eyes on Josh and getting an F.

"Ohhh...Possible, suffering the drama much?"

"And...oooh...here's the best part!" Ashley B grinned as she fast-forwarded to Kim and Ron's conversation with Monique.

"Getting back to the ish at hand." Kim intervened, "Basically, Barkin is going to reveal the final cast list on Monday. Once he says the name, it's going to be official. As long as me and Ron do not end up in the starting roles, we should be good to be making at the very least a B on this course."

"I'm with Kim on this as well!" Ron agreed, "If I want to be a tree holding the branches...so be it! Even though it would be hard to get out of when I have to use the bathroom."

"But what would happen if, by some chance the students playing Romeo and Juliet end up getting sick and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?" Tara asked.

"The both of us would face major humiliation!" Kim exclaimed. "Based on our previous experiences on the stage that we mentioned before!"

"On a humiliation scale of one to five, one being 'ehh, I'll get over this' and five being 'OMG, I can never show my face at school ever again', where would it rank?" Monique asked.

"A definite five, Monique. We would get showered with neverending jeers and boos! Me and Ron would hide ourselves from everyone, even you two, if that were to happen." Kim explained. "Even Drakken's plan with the blushing thing with the flower would be small pebbles compared to this!"

"Wait!" Bonnie insisted, "Go back 30 seconds!"

Ashley B rewound the tape by 30 seconds as Bonnie commanded her.

"But what would happen if, by some chance the students playing Romeo and Juliet end up getting sick and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?"

"The both of us would face major humiliation!"

Bonnie gasped with sheer delight.

"Play it again!"

Ashley B did so.

"...and you were pressed by Barkin to take those roles?"

"The both of us would face major humiliation!"

Bonnie confidently replied, "Girls...I found the perfect way to destroy Possible and Stoppable's rep at school for good!"

(AN: had to put in the italics)