#do i even have a writing tag? i dont remember

[baalzebufo]

'I don't know what you're-a trying to say…' Peppino sighed, exasperated. He went to turn away, when-

'Pe-Pino.'

The voice… it was his voice, but the cadence was just slightly off. An imperfect mimicry, but close enough that it immediately fired every panic neuron in his brain at once.

---

A little piece of writing to nail down the vibes im going for with my interpretation of Fake Peppino! Having a normal fun day in the kitchen where nothing uncomfortable or weird happens.

---

'Pe- pi- no.'

Peppino tried not to flinch when he felt the heavy wet hand on his shoulder and the voice gurgling in his ear. Deep breaths- okay. He inhaled sharply and grit his teeth, bracing himself before he turned around.

It hadn't been easy, getting used to… that thing. Fake Peppino, as he had been calling it in his head. But he did feel admittedly a little guilty for destroying the tower- its home, really- and it didn't ask to be made like that. Still, he wished it hadn't decided to stick around sometimes. He'd spent an entire week just trying to make sure it didn't attack him on sight! And even then, it STILL chased him from time to time...

But he had reached an uneasy accord with his doppelganger, or at least thought so. He seemed more sedate at any rate, and Peppino had even managed to talk it into helping in the kitchen- which is where he was now, spreading a ball of dough thin with his knuckles, before he was so rudely interrupted.

He turned and forced a smile, trying to cover up his nerves with fake confidence. Ghh- he never got used to seeing him. His fake looked like him, but… uncanny. Stretched. Something wearing the wrong size of his skin. It made a weird bubbling noise- Peppino had come to learn that was its 'excited sound'- and grasped his wrist to tug him to the other side of the kitchen.

'Okay, o-kay! Slow down- whats-a the rush, paisano? What do you want to-a show me?'

Peppino tugged his wrist free and returned his hands to their comfortable position, tugging nervously on his tank top. Fake Peppino had dragged him over to the pizza oven. It was a great brick thing- a traditional piece and easily the most expensive thing in the whole restaurant, but also something he would never sell. After all, what kind of a pizza chef would he be without his pizza oven?

His clone straightened up then, drawing an involuntary shiver out of Peppino. It looked at him. Peppino looked back. He briefly made eye contact, watching as the fake's right eye slowly dribbled down his face- he glanced away before it started to make his heart pound any louder.

'Ah… what? What is it?' He mumbled again, shrivelling a little under the unyielding gaze. He may have been his clone, but they apparently didn't copy the part of him that hated prolonged eye contact, ugh. He chanced another look. His double was looking at him almost expectantly.

Suddenly, he raised an arm- quick enough to make Peppino flinch. But he didn't strike. He simply pointed- one finger poking Peppino in the chest. Then he moved his hand to point at the oven, the heat of which was beginning to make even more sweat bead on his forehead.

'I don't know what you're-a trying to say…' Peppino sighed, exasperated. He went to turn away, when-

'Pe-Pino.'

The voice… it was his voice, but the cadence was just slightly off. An imperfect mimicry, but close enough that it immediately fired every panic neuron in his brain at once.

'Peppinos. Pi- Za.' The fake nodded, looking pleased- then slapped one hand down on Peppino’s head, crushing his chefs hat down and drawing a yelp of surprise out of him.

'Peppino. Pi-zza.' The words sounded smoother as he rolled them around his mouth, smiling wide enough that his teeth looked as if they were about to drip out of his lips. He pushed Peppino a little closer to the oven- his heels dug into the ground instinctively. The heat was oppressive... 'Peppi-no. Pizza.'

Peppino froze. He had learnt not to run- bolting only excited his fake. He stood stock still, even as its face slowly lowered to his. His eyes widened- there wasn't anywhere else to look but into his own distorted visage, the oven's heat only causing it to drip more. Oh, god, it was dripping everywhere…

His hands balled into fists, ready to react, but his body seemed stuck. Damn his freeze instinct-! He held his breath as his fake tilted his head curiously, and then laughed. A bubbling gurgle, face practically split in two.

'Pizza. is. Peppi-no.' He said, happily. Peppino couldn't bring himself to figure out what exactly that meant, because the only idea he had right now- well, the heat wasn't helping, and his vision was blurring, and it wasn't good…

'Peppino. Pizza. Nothing. Compares!'

All of a sudden, he was pushed back. Away from the heat, a cold blast of air hitting him as the doppelganger shoved him. All at once Peppino’s body reacted, scrambling back along the floor and breathing- wheezing, really- trying to get enough air in his lungs so he didn't pass out. All the while he watched as the wax figure of himself dripped like a candle in the heat, spun on its heel happily and giggled.

'Not- yet!' It smiled, face still firmly turned to look at Peppino even as its entire body twisted 180 degrees to stick to the nearest wall- his neck creaked with the strain, more of its doughy flesh sloughing off onto the floor as he moved away from the heat.

'Cook.' It's hand found one of the open vents- it's favorite hiding spots. 'Let him. Cook. Not ready!' It smiled, eyelids squeezing shut happily over misshapen sockets, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

'Later? Pizza later. Nothing Compares...' He mumbled, voice softening as Peppino could only watch in wide-eyed terror as it folded itself in half to slide into the narrow vent- he'd seen it many times but he still wasn't used to it. The wet sounds of a body moving in ways it shouldn't, the scrape of the metal... As it pushed itself into the darkness, Peppino saw its face- his face- the last thing to disappear.

'Peppino. Pizza...? Soon...'

And then it was gone.

He didn't move.

Honestly, he stayed on the floor for an uncomfortably long time.

After what felt like hours, his body finally decided to return the feeling to his joints- and all at once he scrambled upright. What- what was that? He thought…

He thought he was reaching… some kind of agreement with that thing. But clearly it was still far, far beyond his understanding. And what it said- no. No, Peppino shook his head violently. He didn't want to think about it. Because if he thought about it, it sounded an awful lot like...

No. No, no, no. That was silly. He just needed to get back to work. He needed to push this out of his mind and forget it ever happened.

He stumbled over towards his pile of pizza dough. Looking down at it, he couldn't help but feel… uneasy, suddenly. A wave of strange nausea rose in his chest.

Maybe… maybe that was enough pizza for one day.

[tiktowafel]

do you ever think about how all you used to draw when you were 10 was ponies and that you should still know how to do that, then get an idea and proceed to draw something like these in nearly one sitting and it turns out better than any drawing you've done in the entire past month

sooo anyway does anyone have cutie mark or pony name ideas for them?? lol

[the-kipsabian]

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[girlwiththegreenhat]

hey when they wrote "knight behind bars" and they wrote kitt helping a couple get together and they gave him the line "Some day, it will be my turn" [to find love]. did they know what they were doing. did they know that in some 40 years some gay autistic robot-obsessed little freak on tumblr would not stop thinking about it for weeks and write literal dozens of paragraphs screaming about it on discord. did they know they were going to ruin Me, Specifically, with this concept that feels like the culmination of everything kitt has gone through through the show and such a fascinating thing to think about in regards to michael and kitt's relationship,

one of the themes of knight rider is kitt developing as a Person, developing a line between the Knight Industries Two-Thousand, and Kitt. discovering humanity, his own emotions, the joys of the seemingly and logically pointless, and often through the lens of his own driver, his partner, his friend, Michael - his primary guide through all these experiences, his reference for those human things he doesn't understand. and as much as he initially claims to not be capable of experiencing emotions, of understanding feelings, he learns to. he experiences a wide range of emotions through the show even while claiming he doesn't, he even learns fear and insecurity. perhaps it's only natural a robot would learn to love, or at the very least be terribly curious about it and wonder if such a thing could ever exist for Him

the majority of people are not exactly kind to kitt. they talk about him like he's not there, they talk about him like he's a machine, a novelty, some people are even scared of or disturbed by him when all he's trying to do is make polite conversation and company. he's always Othered - there's no other cars like him (at least not anymore), but there's no other person like him either, he doesn't truly belong among humans or vehicles. some of the technicians at FLAG don't even seem to fully respect him as a person, at least they don't based on my vague recollection of how they talk about him in Junkyard Dog. when Michael asks him after KARR is destroyed if it feels good to be one of a kind again, he doesn't say yes or no - he only says it's a "familiar feeling." it may be familiar, but it's surely also isolating, and i think that's something he'd realize as he slowly picks up this curiosity about love. where could he even find it when so few people see him as an equal person to begin with?

and then there's michael. oh my god, and then there's michael. no matter what flavor you choose to read it in, the whole show is about their relationship, they're a duo, a set Not to be separated, they're Partners. they work together, they worry about and look after each other (forever insane about when kitt was a melted shell, Michael stuck around the garage for hours, waiting for any news like a worried spouse, constantly checking on him every opportunity he got... encouraging him to recover, and even helping paint back on his protective coating... kitt always looks after michael, but for once, it's michael's turn to look after Him), in a way they were Made for each other - Kitt more literally, being programmed for Michael and holding his namesake, but Michael was also made in a sense for the pilot program, hand picked and given a second life to work for the foundation and with this strange supercar. and even if they had a rocky start, michael comes to view kitt as a person - car, TV set, or computer core, Kitt is his partner, his buddy. he helps him find himself, guides him and teaches him about these things that make us human, and in a way, kitt becomes human - but his entire experience is still through the perspective of an AI in a car, it's still very unique and isolating, and I think he sort of grows into his own limitations, he's finally brushing against the walls that define him.

he learns of love, and then he learns to dream Of love. these things he sees in the movies, that michael tells him about, that he so often sees michael Partaking in that he gets so oddly jealous of, doesn't it all seem so wonderful? he's very curious. but who could ever love steel and circuitry, who could ever see him as an equal let alone a partner in a romantic sense? who would ever love a car and all the limitations That comes with? it's a problem for a hypothetical hopeful Some Day, in the meantime stuck between two worlds where he doesn't perfectly belong to either, where no car Can love him and no human seemingly Would love him...

and michael loves him anyway. before either of them really realize or talk about it, in spite of everything, in any form, regardless of the fact it wouldn't be a typical relationship by absolutely any means, michael loves him anyway. kitt is as much a person to him as bonnie or devon or RC, and that person is someone he loves and cares for deeply. the feeling is mutual, kitt's world revolves around michael, he's one of the most important people in kitt's life, and he'd do anything to protect him.

and it is michael that will finally teach him to love, and what it means to feel loved in turn, to be loved as the person he undoubtedly is.

[satorisoup]

people will think im ordinary until they say one (1) thing about tmnt and all of a sudden im explaining the entire lore starting from the 1990’s movie & why donatello is the best turtle i fear… T^T

tag limit fights me… i must yap… please listen… SOB </3

[ladyalicentshightower]

I think people overestimate how feminist team black is. If someone brings up how Baela should be the heir to Driftmark, it's always "she would've been Queen if not for the Greens!", ignoring that 1, she would be Queen consort, not a Queen in her own right, and 2 she has a legitimate claim in her own right to Driftmark. Team Black's goal is to crown Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra becoming Queen isn't a win for feminism because it does nothing to dismantle the rest of the patriarchal system that exists in Westeros. From what we've gotten so far, it reads that Rhaenyra wants to be the exception and not the rule. Rhaenyra has made a lot of bad political decisions, which means she can't acknowledge Baela's claim because it would weaken her own claim (blatantly admitting her eldest sons are illegitimate would not end well for her to say the least). So she betrothes Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena to kind of atone for that, like as a consolation prize Baela will be Queen and Rhaena will be lady of Driftmark, neither of them would hold either title in their own right. It's good matches because the kids like each other and will treat each other well, but it's not a feminist win or a feministic liberation. It's usurpation, usurpation that takes place because Rhaenyra has to do damage control after having illegitimate children and after a serious of bad political decisions (both hers and her fathers, Viserys is the arbiter of this entire mess). To me, Rhaenyra is very reminiscent of Mary Queen of Scots, I can see a lot of elements drawn from Mary's history in Rhaenyra's story and character, down to their sons eventually taking the crown they failed to claim/keep.

[crabbunch]

ethubs to me is like. tfw you kill and die for someone so many times that you can't even grow tired of it. it's mundane, sure, but in the way that loving someone is mundane. blood becomes like waking up to them every morning- an expected but beautiful nonetheless way of things being. it doesnt matter if they're killing each other or their enemies or pretending to do one and actually doing the other to them it is an act of devotion. and not the dramatic kind. tfw you die and kill for someone so often that instead of loosing meaning it gains sentiment. this is not a tragedy anymore!!! they are ripping it apart with their hands and laughing!!! is there anymore power to an actor than that? than turning the story to a comedy? they're sooo sitcom core. of course they love violence- there's no reason to be afraid of dying when it's not the end. they'll have another go at it, and another and another and another and another. the grief is real, sure, as real as the bloodlust- it's just not the thing that lasts

[discjude]

Yeah this is about right (as always my thoughts are in the tags so there's actually kei content there lmao)

[sollucets]

guys i am trying Really hard not to have public opinions about of this morning... pray for me

[get-more-bald]

the biggest thing about X6 is not that he doesn't think of himself as human (though he doesn't, and according to some it's correct) BUT that he doesn't see himself as a Person

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

do you have ao3? I wanna share ur fics but none of my jjk friends have tumblr😭😭

aaa hi anon !!!! 🥺🥺 i dooo have an ao3 acc but . only one of my fics is up there. and it’s not an x reader. i do eventually wanna post all my fics there but it just ……. feels like such a hassle 😭😭😭 it takes sm work just adding tags and making sure the formatting is fine….. i don’t really like writing on ao3. it stresses me out . (<- creature w a fragile brain structure)

anyway!! this is my ao3 acc but like i said, i only have one fic up atm !!!! maybe i’ll throw a couple good ones in there someday soon :’3 i’m kinda tempted to do it now but. my brain is a fickle creature so no promises….!!! sorry to disappoint you anon, i’m really happy that you’d want to share my fics w your friends!!!!! 🥺

[hylianane]

I was going to write this in the tags of your last post but i think it's important actually so I'm gonna send an ask

On a more serious note I'm actually kind of obsessed with psychoanalyzing Zoro specifically. Because he actually has some pretty big issues I think, mentally

He takes his self appointed job as protector of the crew very very seriously, and he's really hard on himself if he thinks he's failed in any way. I mean just look at him right after Little Garden, or how mad he is after losing his shadow on Thriller Bark.

So yeah there's nothing in that brain but swords and I fucking love that about him, he sure is sharpening them to an unhealthy degree isn't he. He's never strong enough, after all, to protect everyone.

I just,, really like combining silly ideas with serious ones, it's fun

GOD listen is 12:25 am but I just couldnt go to bed without at least STARTING to jot down my thoughts on this but like YEAH. for SURE. Zoro for all that he’s shown to be a pretty simple guy with a single-minded focus, has a LOT to chew on in terms of character depth and layers. There’s lots of fun contradictions to him too. He’s prideful and self-assured but also so often self-punishing, and he’s also someone who is fiercely independent and a free spirit, while having a habit of building his own identity around others (both his dreams are shared with others, they belong other people as much as they do to him and that’s a LOT to think about).

You may have actually caught me red handed here cause that ‘Journey to the Center of the Mind’ story concept maaaay be kind of something i’ve played around with for months now. I think I once tried to write out like a basic premise, but the only thing I really remember is is wanting Luffy to be the primary person to undergo the journey cause. if every Strawhat was present it’d feel less intimate, less personal, and I feel like Luffy would want to explore Zoro’s mind alone to preserve his privacy. Unaware that he’s the person Zoro has the most to hide from. I think the levels of Zoro’s willingness to put the Strawhat’s well being first has the potential to truly frighten him, if the visuals Zoro’s mind provides him are right.

[azaisya]

2.3k of Lyney and Lynette watching out for each other. Lyney wears himself thin, and Lynette wants him to stop being stupid. [ao3]

Thunder boomed outside the walls of the Hotel Bouffes d'ete, and rain lashed its windows. But inside it was warm and cozy, the lights dim, and the children still young enough to be scared of the storm were gathered in the sitting room, tucked onto couches and on mattresses on the floor. All of them had fluffy blankets and soft toys and bright smiles on their faces, thunder forgotten.

Lyney, standing in front of them, framed by the gentle light of the fireplace, grinned at their enraptured expressions and shut the storybook in his hand with a snap. “Well!” he said, voice bright, “That’s the last story for tonight.” He made to put the book away and smother the fire, but he knew he wouldn’t get far. They were sleepy, but not sleepy enough yet. 

Sure enough, small voices immediately began to protest, begging for another, and Lyney laughed and darted down to tousle the hair of those closest to him. The movement pulled at wounds still healing from his last mission, but he let neither his face nor his movements betray the pain. 

“I don’t know— It’s getting pretty late.” He affected sternness, vanishing the book with a flick of his wrist and propping his hands on his hips. “All of you need to be awake and alert at your lessons tomorrow!” 

Little Lola, one of the more outgoing children, immediately cried, “No! You promised us stories, Lyney!” 

“Shh,” he urged, “Your other siblings are sleeping!” More protests arose, and he sighed, seemingly reluctant. “Alright, alright! How about a deal, then? I’ll read you one more story, and then you'll all go to sleep.”

“Promise!” Lola said, delighted to have gotten her way. Lyney waited until more voices piped up, nodding briskly at the general agreement. 

“Good! And remember: the House rewards those who keep their promises.” It wouldn’t do to reward Lola for speaking out, and so he cast around and spotted one of the shyer boys, new to the House of the Hearth, curled up in an armchair near her. “Valere, it’s your turn. Why don’t you pick a book for me to read?” Immediately, Lola leaned over to Valere to whisper suggestions; Lyney hoped her friendliness might encourage the boy to come out of his shell a little. 

With the children’s attention finally drawn—temporarily—away from him, Lyney let his eyes fall on the one person who hadn’t stopped watching him all night. 

Lynette was sitting in the back of the room, half-hidden in the shadows. Freminet was lying on the bench beside her, fast asleep with Pers tucked under his arm, but Lynette’s dark violet eyes were open and watchful. Lyney could tell from the tilt of her ears that she was overwhelmed by the thunder and the children’s exuberance, but she still hadn’t left. 

Ever since she’d gotten her Vision, ever since Lyney had almost died, she’d refused to be parted from him. Lyney could understand her anxiety; wasn’t he the same, after all? How many days after her kidnapping had he insisted on holding her hand as they went about their day just to remind himself that she was there? 

But it was silly for her to worry about him. He was her older brother, after all. Worrying was his job. 

Stepping lightly, he made his way across the room, smiling and gently assuring anybody who reached out to him as he passed. By the time he stopped in front of Lynette, she looked flatly at him and said, “You just like basking in their attention.” 

He pouted, like he always did whenever she teased him. “You’re so cruel to me.” But she was too wired up to smile—her own small, barely-there smile that he could read in the softness around her eyes—and he let his mask slip sideways until the pout was pleading. “The kids want me to read another story, but I was supposed to check the mail after dinner. Could you do it for me, Lynette? Please?”

Lynette hesitated, understanding immediately that it was just a ploy to send her away from the too-loud room. Displeasure flattened the corners of her lips. “You should do your own work.” I don’t want to leave you.

He took her hands in his. “Please, Lynette? For your favorite older brother?” He squeezed her hands, letting her know that he was alive and fine and here. “I’ll even make you the new tea that Freminet brought home and bring it to you in bed.” I’ll be there soon. 

Another boom of thunder sounded overhead, and Lynette’s ears flattened against her hair. Unhappily, she said, “Fine.” She extracted her hands from Lyney’s and gently shook Freminet.

The younger boy blinked sleepily.  “Hm? Is it time to go to bed?”

“Bedtime,” she agreed, getting to her feet. As she and Freminet left, her tail flicked across the back of Lyney’s bare hand. 

Without anything to immediately occupy his attention, Lyney had to fight the urge to sway on his feet. He was so tired. His body ached. 

Shaking himself, he turned back to the children. Valere was standing behind him, shuffling his feet. “Um,” he said, voice soft, “Can— Can we read this one?” 

Lyney grinned. It was even a genuine one, now that he knew Lynette was free to put on her headphones and curl up in bed away from all the noise. “Of course!” He took the book and flipped it open. With all the panache of a real performance, he turned the book so that the children could see the pictures and began to read. 

-

By the time Lyney finally got all the children to bed, the pain and exhaustion were bad enough that he was nearly tripping over his own feet. But it was worth it; the stories and camaraderie of the makeshift sleepover had calmed any terror caused by the storm, and he thought that he’d seen Valere giggling with Lola towards the end. That was good. The boy needed friends. 

Muzzily, he found the tin of tea that Freminet had stolen from a noble’s manor on his last mission and began to brew it. Lynette normally made all the tea, and he fumbled one-handed through the process until he managed to produce a passable cup of it. 

Breathing carefully through the newly sharp pain in his side, he made his way up the stairs to their shared room. He was so sick of being injured. He wished he would heal faster. How was he supposed to carry out missions if he didn’t heal?

The door to their room was unlocked, and Lyney opened the door as quietly as he could. 

Lynette was curled up on her side on the bed, the headphones that Freminet had customized to be noise-canceling and as low tech as possible over her ears. Alarm bells immediately went off in his head; alone and in the silence, Lynette should’ve been able to enter standby mode and start recharging, but there was still tension coiled in the line of her spine. She was upset. 

Lyney quietly shut the door behind him and put the cup of tea down on the bedside cabinet, next to Lynette’s gently glowing Vision, so that he could sit on the edge of the bed. Lynette’s eyes snapped open, and her tail immediately curled around his ankle. “I brought the tea,” he said, smiling. It was better to talk around the issue until Lynette felt like bringing it up. She didn’t like it when he fussed. 

“Mm.” She pulled off the headphones and waited a beat, head tilted. Satisfied that the storm had abated, she sat up and reached for the tea. 

“Did Freminet get to bed alright?” Lyney asked. 

The line of her mouth flattened. “Yes. Father says we’re supposed to check the mail every day when she’s not here.”

Lyney winced. He could see the mail, piled into loose stacks on the cabinet across the room. “I forgot yesterday.” The downstairs bathroom had flooded, and Freminet had been out diving, and so it’d fallen to Lyney to temporarily fix the problem until someone could run out and fetch him. It’d been a mess. 

Lynette sipped the tea and made a pleased sound. “Mm. Yes. You did.” 

“Well. We’ll hand it out tomorrow at breakfast, and I’ll apologize if any of it is late.” 

She didn’t say anything. He’d normally be able to keep talking, to tease out the root of her discontent, but he could barely even think anymore. The silence lingered, broken only by the sound of Lynette drinking her tea. Darkness encroached at the edge of Lyney’s vision, and when he blinked he found himself slumped against the pillows, half-under the blanket. 

“I should change into pajamas,” he mumbled. He’d lost the thread of what he’d been doing. 

Lynette nodded, and he reluctantly got to his feet. The left half of his body—the side that had suffered the brunt of the impact from their crash—immediately screamed in protest, and he staggered and would’ve fallen if Lynette hadn’t leaped to her feet and caught him. 

“Sorry,” he said, automatically. 

Her tail flicked with displeasure. “Let me help.”

His first instinct was to protest. He was fine, really, just temporarily shaken. But his head was spinning and he was sure he’d just embarrass himself further if he tried. 

And tomorrow evening Father was supposed to get back from her mission and he needed to be the best that he could. 

Lynette read his consent in the dropping of his shoulders, and she pushed him back to the bed and went to fetch his pajamas and the bruise cream for his injuries. He was a poor patient at the best of times, he knew, but he tried to stifle the instinctual flinches and protests as she helped him change his clothes and redress his wounds. He was pleased to see that the tension in her slowly unwound as she did her work, but when she went to go put away his day clothes a new anxiety stirred in his gut. 

She’d hardly stepped back into the room when he blurted out, “Are you mad at me?”

She stopped. He flinched, horrified at the rawness in his voice. His lips started to smile, hoping to soften the question, but then she strode forward with a single-minded intensity and the smile died. She planted her hands on his shoulders—gentle as ever with his injured one—and leaned close to his face, her dark purple eyes blazing. “You’re very stupid.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of his throat. “Ah—”

She shook her head irritably. “What did you do yesterday, Lyney?”

Off balance as he was, Lyney could do nothing but reply truthfully. “Crawled around in the basement trying to find the leak.”

“And today?”

His eyes dropped. “Help clean up the water damage.”

She saw that he could see where she was going, just as he saw that she was intending to make him say it anyway. “And what were you supposed to be doing?”

He mumbled, “Resting.” She nodded, stepping back, but he couldn’t help but add, “But how was I not supposed to help? They needed me.” She glared at him, and he couldn’t help but flinch again. He shouldn’t, not when she’d so tactfully avoided answering the first time, but the words spilled out without his control again. “Are you mad at me?” 

Lynette sighed. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

The words sent an irrational bolt of terror through him, but she sighed again and gently nudged him, arranging him until he was lying on his uninjured side and she was curled up with him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and they both pretended he wasn’t crying. 

She petted his hair, but she didn’t reassure him. It wasn’t really about her being mad at him for not resting. It was the way he’d failed to bounce back from the injury, the mistakes that lead to the fall in the first place, his own frustration with being unable to perform at his usual capacity. 

And Lynette had healed so much faster than usual, now that she had a Vision. The fear of being left behind was irrational and silly—Lynette would never—but that didn’t stop the thought from keeping him awake at night. He needed to be stronger. He needed to be perfect. 

Matter-of-fact, she said, “You always say it’s your job to take care of me. I don’t want to have to take care of you.”

He laughed, wetly. “You’re so mean to me.” But he understood the meaning behind her words. “I can’t promise to take care of myself better. I need—” He trailed off, but she knew. 

“I mean, I’ll do it.” Her fingers curled around the pulse point at his wrist. “But that’s why you’re stupid,” she added, long-suffering, “I’m not telling you not to work when you should rest. I’m telling you to be smarter about working when you should rest.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling very small and very seen. He’d been tense, afraid she was about to ask for something he couldn’t give, but he should’ve known better. There was nobody in this world who knew him better than Lynette. And she was right; pushing himself through an injury as severe as this one when he had no motive but his own anxieties, had been a stupid, reckless thing to do “Okay. I can do that.”

“I know,” Lynette said simply. 

He wriggled, pulling away far enough to see her face. She wasn’t crying, but the exhaustion in her eyes matched his own. “Are you okay?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Of course.”

He’d always been able to see well in the dark, and her face was as familiar as his own. She was calmer now, her worry lessened if not entirely dispelled. She wasn’t completely fine, not yet—but then neither of them were.

She saw him looking and raised her eyebrows. “I’m fine.” 

And she would be. Both of them would. 

He grinned, abashed, and said, “You know I had to check.”

She nodded; of course she knew. Without another word, he pressed himself back into her side and closed his eyes. They stayed there, curled up like two pieces of the same puzzle, until sleep took them. 

[this fic is on ao3!]

[werebutch]

WSBH chara q’s: (you don’t have to answer all the numbers, just whatever you want to 𖢘)

16/35/51 for Scotch

1/6/55 for Atlas

I LOVE YOU

16. What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

okay i truly think scotch argues with seraph in his head all the time. ALL the time. scotch largely ignores them, and vice versa, because he dislikes them and they know it. seraph is very conflict avoidant lol, and as long as hes not a "threat" they dont care to talk to him about their problems. he probably argues with atlas and jacob (his older brother) too, atlas about more stupid small stuff, and jacob about childhood and life stuff :p

im trying to think of more general groups he would argue with but i cant come up with anything BAHAH. hes not exactly conflict avoidant in the annoying libra way that seraph is, he more just ignores conflict for his friends’ (mostly atlas’) sake. idk if that makes sense LOL

35. What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

hmmm.. smallest? i mean scotch strings eloise along for most of the time pre timeskip. its not a main focus but its definitely important in order to understand scotch as a whole. she and scotch go out for a while, and mid way through that he realizes hes GAY gay. lol. and obviously lying to her about that is pretty questionable after a while. especially since he and atlas have been 👉👌 like the whole time. but she kind of knows. well

something a little bigger would be him encouraging or otherwise turning a blind eye to all the weird stuff atlas is up to. he doesn't know what it's like to be a werewolf, he can't say anything, right? lol.... murder is okay if its a talking dog doing it. scotch enabler supreme. actually when seraph is introduced, he and atlas have a 'joke' (kind of starts being real) about luring seraph somewhere to kill them. obviously doesnt happen and gets abandoned. but i think its important to know about their dynamic LOL

51. What’s a phrase they say a lot?

this guy is kind of goofy. i cant think of phrases rn but he has a specific way of speaking.. you could watch pretty much any old pop punk band interview and kind of get the idea. HAHAH

1. What’s the lie your character says most often?

atlas is a big fan of saying 'its fine' for all situations ever. family in mortal danger? its fine. completely splitting? its fine. arthritis excruciating? its fine. hes one of those people that dont like to deal with the fawning of others unless hes feeling real special. Ends up putting people in more danger a lot of the time. i think eloise is the only fan of communication in this friend group to be honest. i should have made her the main character

he tends to make promises he cant keep as well, but thats more general..

6. What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

i have NO idea. i feel like atlas would be a music snob, so maybe his favorite 'super underground' bands. otherwise he'd probably never recommend raw human meat to another human (no matter how much scotch asks -__-).. (he would chicken out anyway)

55. What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

um. so atlas hates working out. he especially hates running, you know, the thing that wolves are known for doing a lot of? unfortunately the lycanthropy came with a side effect of pretty bad arthritis, so that doesnt exactly encourage him. he DOES exercise, a lot since hes pretty much required for his ermm "side job", but he hates it 😸 besides the arthritis it’s mostly because I think it’s silly that he hates it. yay

[gorbo-longstocking]

i dont wanna start a new fic for a new fandom BUT THE PARASITES IN ME WANT TO START A NEW FIC FOR A NEW FANDOM im not in love with the scarecrow and the riddler BUT THE PARASITES IN ME— THE DEMON IN ME IT WANTS THOSE INSUFFERABLE TWINKS

[just-eyris-things]

Vent post. Because i feel like kicking a hornets' nest.

Honestly im just tired of how people will call someone ignorant/uneducated and will go for the throat for every little thing, while they themselves say shit like pierogis all the time. If you're going to point fingers at others, you yourself should be without fault.

The question is... can you?