#you know without TV guides that old anyways

[sammyluvr]

makes you wonder — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, fluff, uses y/n, some of the lore/history is totally made up, swearing, workplace bullying/verbal harassment (i’m so sorry if your name is mark, he’s the asshole character), likely contains a few mistakes, mentions of canon typical violence and monsters, 5.2K words. requested !

summary : you’re the local expert on ancient weaponry, and fake fbi agent sam needs your help finding a certain dagger for a case. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga (hk is pronounced in the back of the throat like loch). biodag — bidag (the g is almost a k sound) [ disclaimer, i found these pronunciations off of the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so if anyone can correct anything i got wrong, i’d be super grateful for it! ]

certainly including the fact that it’s exactly what you want to be doing, working as a curator at your city’s history museum is near total perfection for you. not without much hard work and research, you were able to get a job that focuses on your specialty. historic weaponry. plus, your extra knowledge and fascination with mythologies and folklore gave you the perfect edge (pun intended) during interviews.

as a plus, you’re also able to spend minimal time interacting with people, even less so with those who don’t share the common interest of at least museum curation. of course, even that can’t magic away your awkwardness, and you still dread team meetings, but none of your coworkers save the resident asshole care at all when you stumble over your words or speak in clunky sentences. you’re smart, kind, and good at your job, so everyone except mark lessinger is more than happy to have you around. mark, the aforementioned resident asshole, is only around still because he’s the single person for miles who cares about the bland history of the town that is “strongly encouraged” by the local government to be kept in the museum. you’re sure he doesn’t do anything other than watch tv shows at his desk, lounge in the museum café. and make snide comments about anybody he can, because that exhibit hasn’t been updated in years and likely never will be unless something spectacular happens.

when you hear the click of the office door opening, you glance up from the work on your desk on instinct. it’s no surprise to see the devil himself (a mean and entirely pathetic thirty-four year old white man) walk through the door. mark was probably off slacking in the café like he does whenever he can get away with it, which is often considering he has nothing helpful to offer anyway. 

it’s the man who follows him that snags at your gaze and keeps your eyes lingering on the doorway for a second longer than usual. in the split second that you take his appearance in, you’re surprised by how much you want to keep looking at him, rather than the diagram of a seventeenth century revolver you’re hoping to include in the exhibit you’re planning for next fall. the gun is fascinating to you, moreso than just about anyone who could walk in that door. but something about this man is beautiful, so much so that you don’t want to look away. then both mark’s and his eyes fall on you, and you snap your chin back down to refocus on your work. this, of course, doesn’t work, because you can still feel them looking at you.

“that’s them right there. you know, weapons are the only thing that they’re useful for,” mark begins to ramble, and now you know without a doubt that they’re headed towards you, “which, unfortunately, isn’t very helpful at all most of the time. but maybe they can do you some good, agent.”

that word is what catches your attention; you don’t even blink at the condescending tone to his voice or the fact that he doesn’t make any sort of attempt to hide his criticisms from you or this agent. you don’t even look up until the two men are right at your desk, so you miss the judgemental look that the stranger gives to mark’s unsavory comments about you. the idiot obviously misses the look too, because he’s smiling down at you all smug and patronizing when you give him your attention.

“this is agent giles from the fbi. the federal bureau of investigation,” he begins, cocking his head in a way that makes him look like he’s got a knot in his neck, rather than intelligent and important as you figure he intends. you just nod as the agent flashes his badge, resisting the urge to examine the tall man like one of your exhibit pieces. “well, he’s looking for a certain type of knife–” mark says slowly, like you don’t understand what he’s implying. you, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about him as you look the agent up and down, trying to look casual. you’re usually far more into ancient weaponry than men, but he is straight up gorgeous, you conclude. 

“–so, you should help him look for it. it’s very important, so don’t make us look like fools by saying something weird.” you grimace internally, but don’t show much of a reaction because all you can really think about is how much of an idiot he is. and how agent giles is too pretty to be an employee of the federal government. that part is far more important than mark’s rudeness, as you’re fully aware that he has nothing of value to offer, while you absolutely do.

“i’m sure y/n will be very helpful,” says agent giles firmly, and for a moment it surprises you that he knows your name before you realize mark must have given it earlier, “thanks for the sandwich recommendation mr.” he clears his throat because he’s clearly forgotten mark’s last name, “linser.” you stifle a laugh at both the insult of this agent remembering your name, but not mark’s, and the image of mark recommending an fbi agent his favorite sandwich from the museum café.

“lessinger,” he corrects with a stupid, haughty smile that suggests he has no idea that the agent thinks he’s a dumbass and couldn’t care less about him. he doesn’t even get the memo that he’s supposed to leave until agent giles clears his throat again and gives him a pointed look. “well, if y/n can’t get you what you need, i’m sure i can figure it out, so just let me know if you need anything else,” he lands a final insult before scurrying away to his own desk.

“it’s very bad,” you say with a matter of fact tone and shake of your head, once he’s finally out of ear shot. 

the agent raises his eyebrows in question, like he’s not one hundred percent sure what you’re referring to. “him?” he scoffs, “yeah, he’s a total asshole.” agent gile’s tone is much lighter and pleasant when he’s talking just to you, though he certainly means what he’s just said.

“oh, well, no. i mean, yes, he is a complete asshole, but i meant to say that– um, well, the sandwich. it’s very bad,” you repeat the sentiment in earnest after realizing you started speaking almost completely out of context. now you feel the need to explain, “he always gets the same sandwich, and it’s not a good one. if you’re hungry you should get the superfood salad. very healthy, and really good– or, i mean, if you wanted a sandwich, the blt is quite good, especially if you add avocado,” you trail off and realize you’re completely off topic, “but, uh– that’s not what you’re here for, obviously. i’m sorry, i don’t mean to waste your time, agent. uh, how can i help you?”

“no, no, that’s okay,” he says, his pretty hazel eyes full of sincerity, “i am in fact hungry, but i’d never take his recommendation, so i’m glad to have yours. i love salad,” he smiles.

“oh, thanks,” you relax, before wondering if that’s a normal response. but, instead of trying to correct yourself like you normally might, you stay silent to avoid going off topic again and preventing him from getting to the point.

“i’m looking for a certain type of dagger,” he begins, and you realize it’s taking quite a bit of effort to keep looking up at him from your seated position. he’s so tall. “i saw your museum has a weapons collection and was wondering–,” without thinking, you stand to alleviate the pressure on your neck. he pauses in his speech, but is quick to realize you’re simply just standing and that he’s free to keep talking, “–if you’d be able to help me find out if you have any. i hear you’re the weapons expert?”

“yep, that’s me!” you say, unable to completely tamp down your excitement about the topic. only then do you realize that your timing to stand up was slightly odd, but you forge on for the sake of daggers. your favorite subset of weapons. “um, what sort of dagger are you looking for?”

“a scottish dirk?” he answers like he’s asking a question, as if he’s not sure how odd it is to ask that. it is sort of odd, only because you can’t understand exactly what the fbi’s interest is in scottish daggers, but you couldn’t care less. 

your eyes light up and you grin, “we have plenty. actually, it’s quite a collection for a small museum like ours. uhh, let me show you! we have one on display, but personally, i think the ones in storage are the ones you’ll want to see,” you brush past him and head out into the hallway towards storage. 

he follows behind as you continue talking, “i mean, of course the one on display is incredible, it’s just that the best one doesn’t quite fit into the right time frame for this particular exhibit,” you explain, though you think a moment after that he surely couldn’t care less about those details. then, your curiosity gets the best of you, “so, am i allowed to ask why the fbi is looking for scottish dirks? i just didn’t think they’d be something the u.s. government would be concerned about for any reason. oh, well– not that it can’t be! you can certainly investigate anything you want, obviously,” you stop yourself there before you can say anything else borderline embarrassing.

“well, it may be connected to some odd deaths we’re investigating here. we’re just following every possibility.” his answer is completely cryptic and absolutely no help in calming your curiosities. you can’t think of any possible way that sixteenth century scottish daggers could be connected to unexplained deaths.

“you mean the… body in the lake?” you question aloud when the news article you read last week pops into your mind. the word “body” is used lightly; they only found the woman’s liver floating on the surface. you swipe your key card to open the door to storage and lead him inside, then you register that he said “deaths,” plural. “there was more than one?”

“yeah, over the course of the past … few years. the one from last week is just the most recent, second to the one we found this morning.” you’re not sure why he hesitates over the word “few,” but you figure he’s got all sorts of reasons to act secretive. 

“o-oh,” you stammer out, as everything suddenly turns so morbid, “i didn’t know that,” you reply as you stop without thinking at the right storage container. from the desk behind you, you grab a pair of gloves and ask him to put them on as well before you carefully extract the three long knives from their shelf. “so, what? you think someone’s using a scottish dirk to cut people up and throw their livers in the lake? odd considering the dirk is a thrusting blade. wouldn’t be very effective for such a task. well, uh, not that i’d really know. well, i do because i– but not like that! obviously, i’ve never used a scottish dirk to– nevermind.” you let out a little breath that’s half laugh half sigh and force yourself to focus on unwrapping the blades in front of you, each around at least a foot long.

you completely miss the endeared look that the agent gives you. sam only came in to see if the museum had the dagger and figure out how to steal it after hours to complete this case, but you’ve completely occupied his attention. he wants to hear you talk, loves the way you got excited when he asked about the dirk, thinks it’s sweet the way words tumble out of your mouth and your eyebrows change when you realize it was an awkward way to say things. and as a plus, your knowledge of the blade and its history could very likely be helpful.

“we’re not sure exactly how the dirk fits in, but that’s helpful to know,” he says kindly, peering down at the daggers. they’re beautiful and well-crafted, one with a particularly intricately carved handle. “that douche back there,” he begins, and you laugh a little at his unprofessional language, “he said you were interested in “fairy tales” related to weapons. i assume he meant folklore and mythologies? is there anything you can tell me about the folklore behind these?”

you almost cringe, thinking agent giles must find you silly until he proves just the opposite.

“yes, definitely! mark—the douchebag—loves to make fun of me for it, but it’s an important part of the job,” you explain, “it’s just, you might have to interrupt me, i get kind of excited about this kind of thing and, uh, i might start rambling,” you warn with a sheepish smile.

“any information helps,” he reassures. with that, you can’t help yourself, silently apologizing for the pure shitload of nerdy information he’s about to have dumped on him.

“well, if you insist. don’t say i didn’t warn you, but i’ll do my best to stick to the highlights,” you glance at him fleetingly and send him a smile you hope isn’t too awkward. you can’t help but notice he sends back a similar expression. so worried about your own behavior, you hadn’t realized that he’s also sort of awkward. it’s sweet and it makes you feel a bit more relaxed as you turn your attention back to the topic at hand. 

“the dirk, biodag in scottish gaelic, is a particularly important part of traditional scottish highlander culture. it was very common for warrior cultures to swear their most important oaths on their swords, but for the highlanders, it was done with their dirk. these oaths were binding with what was called the force of a gaes, which involved severe supernatural consequences were the oath to be broken. the iron of the dirk was considered to be holy, which stems from the folk superstitions that iron can protect against mythological creatures. these two,” you point to the simpler of the three knives, “are 17th century dirks, crafted with soligen steel, as there was a sort of magic ascribed to the forging of germanic steel that became popular in later centuries. 

“but, this one is a very early version of the dirk from the early 16th century, and made frompure iron,” you smile as you move on to talk about the third dirk, the one sam had noticed to be particularly ornate, “and therefore more aligned with traditional scottish folklore, as iron is considered to be stronger than any sort of alloy, like steel, against supernatural forces. this one’s definitely my favorite, just don’t tell the others,” you finish off with satisfaction, and even an affection that sam secretly finds adorable.

“it is a beautiful blade,” he agrees, in a way that makes you think he genuinely appreciates its value. “now, is there any sort of supernatural creature that the dirk specifically is used to kill?” sam knows the answer he’s looking for, but he’s always eager to confirm any sort of lore that he’s not intimately familiar with, so he asks despite the weirdness of it all.

this question is certainly very odd to you, and you can’t understand why he’d need to know, but you answer anyway. “well, it can depend on who you ask or what records you look at. in many cases, any old thing made of iron, or silver, depending, would do, especially because most folklore dates back to before the development of the highland dirk. but, there are definitely accounts of supernatural creatures being killed or warded off using a dirk, especially one used for a blood oath that was never broken. some believe the strength of an oath fulfilled made the weapon stronger and able to kill creatures otherwise thought unkillable.”

he takes in all of this information with such a serious and straight face that you really begin to question how this could all be about unsolved murders. he seems to think the folklore is going to help him solve real life mysteries, or maybe he’s just secretly interested in this sort of thing and using the opportunity to learn about it.

“and do you know anything in particular about a creature called the each-uisge?”

“each-uisge?” you repeat, unable to stop yourself from laughing a little in surprise. now you’re perfectly sure this federal government investigator is just a secret nerd with an interest in niche folklore. even his pronunciation is decent, though he neglected the back-of-the-throat sound of the “ch.” 

“well– i mean, yes, there are accounts of each-uisge being warded away by both silver bullets and an iron dirk,” you indulge, “i know less about the each-uisge themselves than dirks, but i’ve never read any account of one being killed. though, i do suppose an oath-strengthened dirk might be just the thing to do it.”

he nods intently. “listen, i’m sure this is a long shot,” agent giles begins, gesturing haphazardly with his gloved hands, and you wonder what sort of strange thing he could ask this time, “but is there a way of knowing if this one,” he points to the pure iron dirk, “might have been used to fullfill an oath?”

at that you can’t help but snort out a laugh. “what, are you trying to hunt down a each-uisge?” you tease. “you know that they’re only located in scotland, right? … i mean, if they were real, obviously.” by the end, your tone is no longer playful as your mind returns to the news of missing, presumed dead people, with nothing left but their livers found in the nearby lake. then you think about the history of the town, once heavy with scottish imigrants when it was founded in the early eighteenth century. and finally, all in just a second or two, you fully recall the story of the each-uisge, a vicious, shape-shifting horse that drowns its victims at the bottom of the nearest lake and eats their whole body except the liver, which floats to the surface. a chill runs up your spine before you tamp down the ridiculous suspicions that fill your mind.

“right, obviously,” agent giles laughs too, but it’s sort of stiff, like he wasn’t really joking when he asked. you’re certainly not laughing anymore. “as for the dirk?”

you raise your eyebrows, “hm?” is all you can manage as your mind goes sort of blank. there’s absolutely no way that what you’re thinking about could actually be true, so you brush it off and try to listen to the agent—if that’s really who he is.

“can you tell?” he asks again.

“uh– tell what? oh– oh! if it was used to swear an oath?” you prompt. he nods. “well, i mean, ha. not really, not for sure. we have tested, and there are traces of blood on the blade,” you gesture towards it vaguely, “but, um, that could be from anywhere, not just an oath, you know? lots of fighting…and stuff, uh, those days,” your voice trails off as you laugh and nod a little awkwardly, starting to feel more and more confused about this agent giles, no matter how pretty his soft-looking brown hair is. you tell yourself he’s just curious, but he just looks oh so serious, despite the fact that he’s trying to seem casual and normal about this unconventional conversation.

“hm,” is the only little sound he makes in response, like he’s almost disappointed and considering something weighty you don’t know about because of your unsure answer.

and because you hate to see that little frown on his face, you keep talking, “but, it’s more than likely that this blade was owned by a high ranking clansman, possibly even the chief, as indicated by the ornate nature of the handle and overall high quality. oaths were, in retrospect, decently common to make, even more so for high ranking clansmen.

“which means it is very likely that at least one, maybe many oaths have been sworn using this blade. of course, there’s no telling whether each oath was fulfilled, but considering the cultural importance of loyalty and honor and the roles of oaths in such, it wouldn’t be far fetched to consider this dirk as the kind strong enough to kill a each-uisge. if, you know, you wanted to know a random, cool, and totally niche fun fact about one of my favorite weapons in this museum’s storage room,” in the last sentence, you speak in a clunky, awkward sort of way as you run out of interesting tidbits to info-dump and your mind instead wanders back to the undeniably peculiar circumstances surrounding this conversation. the laugh you let out at the end is quiet, and far more nervous than humored.

the smile he gives you then is sympathetic, like he knows this is all weird and maybe a little alarming if you’re willing to question your non-belief in the supernatural. you’re no longer sure at all that he’s an fbi agent, but strangely enough, you don’t find yourself feeling distrustful of him. your gut tells you that he’s good, and you decide to trust it.

“all of this was a big help,” he says, the sincerity in his voice almost tangible, “thank you.” that makes you feel good, because it seems to you like he’s just trying to help people. with what, you’re not sure, and then you sort of wish that he’d made some sort of joke about how this last part of the conversation wasn’t actually helpful, just interesting. interesting and completely irrelevant to the livers on the lake. 

you swallow hard, “of course. glad i could be of help to you, agent.”

“sam,” he corrects. “just sam is alright.”

“oh. right. just sam,” you nod and wonder if the feeling in your chest could be your heart fluttering. your eyes flicker from his face to his broad shoulders, to his pretty, big hands and the way his right middle finger taps against the side of his thigh. then, worried you’re staring, your gaze flits down to your own hands, resting on the table, then to the daggers you know so well. yet, you look at them different this time. you’ve certainly wondered about the oaths that may have been sworn by their blades and their connections to traditional superstitions. but now you look at them and wonder if it’s real. if one of these blades had been used to ward off a real-life myth in the past, or been magically strengthened by blood and kept promises. sam—you think sam fits him so much better than agent giles—has shifted your perspective of the things you’ve been studying and learning about and loving for years and years of your life.

it’s true that you’ve always been one to daydream, to wonder; that’s where your fascination with folklore and fairy tales comes from. always, you’ve looked for rumored mythological weapons in the real world and marveled at the less historic possibilities of the things you study. and you think that if it were anyone else, or if he talked to or looked at you in a different way, you wouldn’t be questioning your reality like this, but you are. maybe you’re predisposed to believing, or just too curious for your own good, but you know at that moment that you won’t be able to let this go.

sam clears his throat to break the awkward silence, and he thinks he can see the gears in your head turning, the way they have been since he asked about the each-uisge. he hopes desperatly you won’t ask him if he thinks this is all real, all because he doesn’t think he could lie to you anymore. there’s something about your authenticity, your intelligence and innate curiosity, and the goodness that you so clearly carry with you that simultaneously makes him want to tell you everything and protect you from the truth. the latter option is always his go-to, rightfully so, but he can’t explain to himself the way that he purely just wants to share with you, bring you closer to him through a shared understanding of the world. sam thinks he must be crazy, because he just met you and thinks it would be entirely possible to fall right in love with you if he got the chance to get to know you.

then he realizes that he’s the one staring. “right, well… i should get going. you know. i’ve got another lead i need to follow up on,” he forces the words out like he doesn’t want to go, and it’s true. he doesn’t, but if he spends more time with you, he’ll have to keep lying, and he doesn’t want to do that. more importantly, he doesn’t want to expose you to anything more that could put you in danger.

“right. right, of course,” you nod, and you’re practically breaking his heart because you fail to hide the disappointment on your face for a split second. he hadn’t realized he was looking at you that carefully to catch the look, but he doesn’t regret it. he’s discovered that he likes looking at you enough to not care much about that sort of thing. “would you like me to show you out, or do you remember the way?”

“i’m alright,” sam answers on instinct before his heart breaks doubly because your eyes look sad again for a moment, “but let me walk you back to your office. or, no, let me buy you that superfood salad for taking up your time,” he amends quickly.

“i already ate lunch, but– shit,” you interrupt yourself, cursing when you realize he was flirting. then you get flustered, “no, i mean– uh, well– okay! er, no, that’s okay, i mean,” because there’s no taking back the fact that you already said you ate lunch already. you take a breath to steady yourself, “but you can definitely walk me back to my office, let me just put these away, it’ll be quick–,” your hands rush to wrap up the daggers before you remember their fragility, “oh– sorry! thank you for the offer, though! that would’ve been completely unnecessary, i’m just glad i could help. not that i wouldn’t– uh,” you gulp anxiously, “not that i wouldn’t eat lunch with you, of course– well, if that’s what you were implying which maybe it wasn’t, which, in that case–”

sam who cuts you off, “it’s alright,” he reassures before you can keep rambling, “that is what i’m implying, but…” he quiets for a split second, only because he’s a littly shy, “it’s okay. maybe, yknow, when the case is over, we can go for lunch, if that’s alright with you?”

you inhale sharply, nodding silently before remembering you should answer aloud too. when you do, your voice is a little breathless, “yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” then, you’re fighting back a grin.

“great,” he doesn’t hide his own smile as he dips his hand into a jacket pocket and hands you his card. “call me tomorrow, we can set up a time.” you accept the card with a shy smile, and one beat, two beats of silence pass before the both of you realize you’re staring at the other.

in sync, you snap out of it, gazes jerking elsewhere and hands flying anywhere to get busy. you turn to the blades on the table and he focuses on fixing up the black jacket of his suit. you try to ignore him as you put the artifacts away, expecting for him to have said goodbye and left by the time you turn back to him. when you look at him in confusion, the corner of his mouth quirks up when he realizes you’ve forgotten that you said he could walk you back to your office.

he vaguely motions towards the door, “shall we? i’ll walk you to your office, then i’m good to find my way out.”

“oh! right, of course!” you nod, “yeah.” with your lips pursed in an awkward smile, you turn to the door and walk towards the exit without looking to see if he follows. but you don’t have to, because a half-second later, he’s right by your side, which you can attribute his long strides to. you like the way he lingers close to you, closer than he did when you first walked in together, even if it makes you feel flustered so that your hands mess with the hem of your shirt.

you stop at the office door, turning to him and expecting your goodbye to happen surrounded by the empty, white walls of the hallway.

but, he points to the door with his chin. “i’ll walk you in,” he explains, “show that asshole, mark, that you’re friendly with an fbi agent.”

“oh,” you sigh out through a smile, “you don’t have to do that, yknow. i know he’s an idiot.”

he laughs at that. “yeah, he absolutely is,” he agrees readily, “but, i still wanna. i think of it as part of my job to scare off assholes.” especially from pretty people like you, he wants to say. he’s just too shy for that, thinks it would be too soon to say it.

“well then, be my guest,” you smile as you open the door and let him follow close behind you.

“thank you for all of your help,” sam says, repeating what he said before, louder than he has to so that mark, a few desks away from yours, can hear it all, “you really helped move our investigation along. i think we’ll be able to wrap it up soon, thanks to you.” you’re sure that he’s over-exaggerating, but you certainly aren’t going to stop him from proving a point to mark.

“it was the least i could do,” you play along, trying to hide your grin from your coworkers, because you can feel all their eyes on you. when you sit, sam looks down at you with nothing short of affection, just for a moment before your eyes settle back on his pretty face.

“have a nice rest of your day,” he smiles before turning away. then he reaches the door, not too far away, he turns back around and speaks for everyone to hear, “don’t forget to call me, yeah?” before disappearing and leaving you a flustered, grinning mess. you can’t help but steal a look at mark and feel satisfaction run through your veins at his utterly shocked expression. 

he looks to have gone through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, and it’s frankly hilarious. he can’t seem to possibly consider the fact that you absolutely just pulled a (not?) fbi agent, not to mention one who’s that tall and just plain attractive. you can’t wait to catch whatever comical expression he wears when he sees you greeted by sam in the museum foyer during your lunch break for a date (because surely he’ll be sitting in the café watching people walk in and out as he’s chewing on his nasty sandwich).

part two : now you know

[ashetherando]

Disney Adult| FizzOzzie Poly x reader (and separate)

my sorry ass have been looking at Disney World stuff and as a Disney Adult I’m surprised I haven’t made this before! pronouns: They/Them/Theirs

Key words:

(y/n)-Your Name

(l/n)-Last Name

(POLY FIZZOZZIE )

They don’t really care of what you’re into, as long you don’t be stupid or harassing imps/demons they don’t care. They will in fact have a whiplash of Disney merchandise you own at your home with the Minnie/Mickey ears and clothes, PJs, and cups! They will be shitty boyfriends if they shit all over your interest while you don’t. If you’re going to Disney World/Land, you’re their guide! Teach them about Genie Plus, teach them about the Disney World app, cuz they’re helpless without your Disney eyes! Also, let them pick their magic bands there so much designs and their brains cannot handle it! Also, quick thing, give fizz a kid leash. You’ll be walking around in Animal Kingdom with Ozzie planning what he wants to eat, then POOF Fizz somehow learned to park hop and is now at Magic Kingdom at Peter Pans Flight!

💙OZZIE/ASMODEUS💙

Ozzie believes that Disney can be dark, for example Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Black Caldron, and basically he’s more into the Disney Renaissance than the present day movies at the Disney franchise. He will not be surprised when he comes over to your home and you hand him over Disney PJs, he doesn’t care about how much Disney merchandise your house can handle, as long you’re not blowing off all your money for a Disney figure ‘cuz you still need to pay bills and rent! But! When you ask what he wants at Disney World, he asked “coffee” as a joke, but when you came back from your trip and before you clock in “here ya go, Asmodeus!” You said as you held up the bag with the word Joffrey’s printed on it “I wasn’t so sure what you wanted so I kinda just guessed!” He tilted his head to the side as you place the bag on his desk, he opened the bag and see two bags of coffee grounds one is a flavorful coffee ground and the other is just plan coffee grounds “I wasn’t expecting you to get me this” he grabbed a bag and analyzing it “do you not want it?” “No! I want it, I really do need some coffee grounds, I just never thought that Disney have these type of things” “well, it’s a huge company! Of course they’re gonna have coffee!” “That’s fair” he placed the bag down and bring up the flavor on, it’s was obviously bought at the Polynesian resort exclusive. “Thank you, (y/n)”

When you finally convinced him to go with you while being part of the Disney Vacation Club, you have to treat him by bringing him to Food and Wine festival. He’s quite interested by the new wine they give out every year than the food. Keep an eye on him, we don’t know his drink tolerance is, he might get drunk at Epcot!

💚FIZZAROLLI💙

Fizzarolli is a guy to be like “haha! Imagine liking a company for babies” just deal with it, he’s gonna be a prick about your hyper fixations, but he’s doing it for jokes and will let you know about that. He only watches whatever is on TV, if you and him are chilling in your home. Just stream something on Disney Plus, then he’ll watch it with you. Here’s my advice: Have a Disney Marathon and he’ll won’t even notice! I’m kidding he will once it’s 1am and you’re watching Tangled, then he’ll be like “Old Disney is better” then he’ll leave the room. If you’re watching more present Disney movie, he’ll yell it from the hallway “Old Disney is better!” He may be your boyfriend, but he’s such a bad influence on you, when Ozzie is good with money and help you with your impulsive spendings, Fizz encourages you to buy that. You will send him a picture of a new Disney pin collection through text “oh look how cute they are!” “Get it” “fizz, I have rent that is due” “idc, get the pins” “you don’t even know the characters!” “I know the blue fur ball!” “Don’t call stitch a fur ball” “why did you send me this anyways!?” “….the pins will be here on Tuesday next week” “knew it” Disney World will be an episode and a half, homie will be in a different park quicker before you say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious so please give him a kid leash before he does it again, but convincing him took so long! You have to show him some videos, nothing too intimidating since he’s a Disney Virgin, just simplify your vacation visit, but not for clothing wear, the Greed Ring is hot, and you two will be sweating allot, which means chafing! Biker shorts are your whore! Treat him with any festival and he’ll be happy! If it’s the Food and Wine, he’ll will eat any food or drink any wine, but let’s be happy that you brought him!

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Twenty}

Alastor x (Fem)Reader

I found myself tagging along for Alastor's radio broadcasts more often since that day. I never thought I'd think this, but, listening to them made me less stressed. I would tend to listen to podcasts when I was alive, either for background noise or just for a laugh.

Though Alastor's broadcasts weren't always humorous, they could be nice to listen in on. When, they weren't violent that is. But I never joined when it was time for that anyway. Alastor had told me how foolish it was for everyone to rot their brains with the thousands of TV's, all ran by VoxTech, instead of listening to the radio. 

I can't speak for everyone else, and honestly I'd be a hypocrite if I agreed with him. While I was alive, I was drawn in my TV and all sorts of tech. But, I could understand his frustrations.

He works hard, he's passionate about it, and little to no one seems to actually care. Alastor seemed stuck in the old days, and was content with it. And there wasn't anything wrong with that, especially since he didn't come off as ignorant to current events and problems or bigoted. He couldn't be. 

The world was changing, and so was Hell, there was nothing he could do about that. And he knows it. But, he kept his love for his time, for the good more than the bad, and that involved the radio show he loved doing so much.

I could tell, he found relief and comfort in it. Yes, even when he was mutilating demons...

But for the radio on it's own, there was a real love  and deep passion for it. I understood him, to a certain extent. To be passionate about something, and having it ignored because it didn't vibe well with everyone else. Who was I to ignore him? So, I guess that's why I was more convinced to stay and listen with him. 

I lean back, a gentle smile on my face as I listen to him speak and even quietly laugh whenever he'd crack a lame dad joke. 

Today, he had been playing some oldies, but goodies, and I even recognized one of them. 

Blue moon You saw me standin' alone Without a dream in my heart Without a love of my own

Blue moon You knew just what I was there for You heard me sayin' a prayer for Someone I could really care for

My smile grew slightly as I sway to the melody. Alastor noticed and joined me by my side. "I didn't know you liked this kind of music." He said to me. "I like all sorts of music." I tell him. "Even this kind. This is Blue Moon? Dean Martin's version, right?" I ask. "That's right, my dear!" Alastor nods. I hum and listen along. 

Suddenly, Alastor offered his hand to me, I stare at it for second. "Care for a dance?" He asks me. "Oh, uh...I-I can't dance. Really." I say timidly. "I'd step all over your feet." Alastor chuckles. "Then, let me lead." I thought about it for a moment before giving in with a sigh.

I take his hand. "I warned you. Don't get mad if I crush your toes." Alastor brings me to a stand, and places his free hand on my side. He removes his other from my hand, to guide my other to his shoulder, before taking it again. 

And then there suddenly appeared before me The only one my arms will hold I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me" And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Blue moon Now, I'm no longer alone Without a dream in my heart Without a love of my own

"Ready?" He asks. I nod, feeling my face heat up. I felt my heart pick up as he began to move, guiding me along. I really hope my hands weren't as sweating as I thought they were...

I kept my eyes anywhere but onto his own, my mind was racing and my heart pounding. It was then I heard him speak. "You're tense." I sigh. "Well...I haven't danced like this with anyone in...a long time."

Alastor hums, before turning me and pulling me close again. I failed to stifle a gasp as he did so. "You're not doing as bad as I thought you would." He tells me. "T-Thanks?" I mutter. 

"You know, it's not very polite to not look at your dancing partner." I slowly turn my gaze up at him. 

And then there suddenly appeared before me The only one my arms will ever hold I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me" And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Huh...You know...When he wasn't wearing that shit eating grin of his, he was actually...pretty handsome. 

I mentally slapped myself for thinking that. What the hell? This guy is a monster in every since of the word. A demon. I'm not suppose to find him handsome at all. 

And yet...The way he looked now, the way he held me. He's being so gentle, for a monster...Maybe, that was too harsh. Not a monster, but no saint either. I suppose, he could have killed me at anytime, and he's kept me alive this long.

He's even allowing this much. For someone who hates touch, he's being awfully touchy now. 

Is this because we tolerate each other now? But even tolerance shouldn't have gone this far. So what is it?

"What's on your mind?" Alastor's voice snapped me out of thought. "Huh? Oh uh...just thinking..." 

"About?" He presses. "Are you always this comfortable around women?" I ask. Alastor had always had a softer side for women, more than anyone else. He was more forgiving. "Depends. I don't go dancing with just any women, if that's what you mean. Rosie is a good dance partner, Mimzy as well." 

"I mostly mean touching." I clarify. "Ah, I see. Not really, no. I'm sure you've noticed my feelings about being touched." He tells me. "Then...Why are you letting me?" I ask. "Simple, my dear..." Alastor starts. 

Blue moon Now, I'm no longer alone Without a dream in my heart Without a love of my own

He dips me, my hold on him tightens instinctively. Without breaking eye contact, he answers. 

"I allow it, because I trust you enough not to try anything." 

Trust? He trusts me? He brings me back up to a stand, I stare up at him for a moment. A small smile finds it way onto my face. "Thank you. I feel the same about you, Alastor."

It was true. All this time, he could have killed me, but he could have hurt me just as easily. And he hasn't. He won't.  And for once...I am certain of that. 

Alastor smiled softly at my words. "My, I better not break that trust then." I squeeze his hand gently. "Damn right, you better not." He chuckles. "As much as I'd like to continue with this, I have a broadcast to wrap up." I nod, though, I felt a little sad. Which was surprising.

Who knew I'd be upset about having to stop dancing with a demon? He held onto me a second longer before finally parting. 

"Until next time." He says, as he walks to the mic. My smile grows. 'Until next time.' I confirm in my head. 

I hum the same song from before as I make my way back to my room. My mind was still running wild, the dance me and Alastor shared had my hear fluttering. I knew I looked dumb, smiling like I was, but I just couldn't help it. 

"Y/n?" 

I heard Angel's voice from behind me, I stopped humming and turned to face him, still smiling. "Yeah?" I ask. "You seem awfully happy." He says, walking towards me. "What happened?" He asks. "Uh...Well me and Alastor-"

"He let ya hit it!?" 

"No!" 

"Augh! Why not!? Ya'll taking forever!" Angel groaned. "Like I was saying." I say with crossed arms. "Me and him danced. It was really nice."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Ok. So, ya'll are just doing the world's longest foreplay then?" 

"Angel." I say with a warning tone. "Shit Y/n, I'm just saying." Angel shrugs. "Angel, you just had to be there. He was so gentle and...I really felt like we got closer." I say with a smile.

Angel smirks. "You like him~" He sang. My face heated up. "I do not! I mean, yeah, I like him...But I don't like him, you know!?"

"Girl, you're smittin'." 

"Angeeeel..." I groan. "Come on, I know love when I see it. And you are falling hard." Angel tells me. I couldn't be. That was just a dance between two...friends, I guess is what we are now. It meant nothing. But, it felt so wonderful...

"Come on, let's go to my room and talk." Angel says as he walks ahead. I follow after him, silently hoping what I thought was happening, was not happening...

[myassbrokethefall]

xf rewatch: pilot

("Man")

This is a photo of my laptop screen. It feels oddly appropriate that Conventional Methods won't allow me to take a fucking screencap of this 30-year-old show to make a stupid tumblr post about it, but those are the times we live in, corporate overreach, erosion of data privacy, technological advances being cynically co-opted by those with selfish interests, etc.

Anyway. It seems insane to me that I have never done a deliberate rewatch of the entirety of XF from start to finish. Ironically one reason I was dragging my feet on this was I'm so sick of the pilot. And yet, I enjoyed the effort to watch it with fresh eyes, imagining I was some regular jabroni just coming across this while flipping channels in 1993. It is interesting to me that it's the procedural-ness that sucks you in, the ordinariness of the world, the deliberate banality of the setting into which extraordinary things are methodically introduced, and you (and Scully) are asked: well? How do you reconcile this? How do you explain it?

Scully starts on this ground level, and Mulder meets her there. She's braced for this legendary basement kook and ready to parry a barrage of propaganda and dig in about how aliens aren't real, but he's got a chemical formula up on a screen and he's like: so what is this? Well, it was found on all the bodies. He lures her in not by telling her a bunch of crazy stories (ok, he does a bit of that too) but by presenting her with facts and asking her to explain them. He shoves her along a few times (if it's not human, what is it?), but it really struck me on this viewing how she's the one trying to get him to tell her what he thinks, whereas he is determined to let her foot her way along the path to get there on her own, without being influenced (or vexed into kneejerk opposition) by his "theories." Scully doesn't get drawn in because she wants to prove Mulder wrong, OR right. It's sort of beautiful that once she's got the scent, it's not about Mulder at all, though he is certainly right there with her, as both a guide and an antagonist. Scully's drawn in by her own investigative instincts and her own determination that, you know, the answers are there. You just have to know where to look.

And then when they're making headway and their motel gets burned down with all the evidence inside it, Mulder doesn't have to rant paranoiacally that someone's working against them; Scully's right there fighting it with him and seeing what he's seeing. And by the time Blevins is scornfully hairsplitting her findings to make Mulder look bad, their alliance is cemented, because they've done it together, she's been in his shoes and in his head with him, on the trail, and the trail led somewhere pretty weird, and she doesn't know all the way what to make of that yet but, one thing is certain: they've got him all wrong, this Spooky Mulder.

I would like to watch a TV show of that. And so, I shall. (Again)

[escapism-from-the-real-world]

The society within the hunger games has been analyzed and compared to our society many times

Let’s do another one

I think something that’s at the forefront of my mind, especially with the genocide going on in Palestine/Gaza/Congo/Sudan/heaven knows so many more places is how we so easily let murder and genocide slide

And I don’t mean we’re making bets and shouting for bloodshed like the capital did in the books (though, from what I’ve seen, the IDF, Israeli government, and many more are). We protest, we sign petitions, donate to the cause, call and email are representatives, but short of causing an actual uprising and stopping the whole genocide by baring teeth and dripping blood, I doubt we’ll stop them from proceeding with it.

Because the vote has been made, the lines have been drawn and the US government has made it clear that this is something they are willing to do.

Over

And over

And over again

In their own sick form of the hunger games

But instead of letting it be watched from our tv, where we can document and criticize their actions in 4K, where we can openly point in disgust, revolt in a publicly agreed opinion that this is wrong, instead if a slaughter where we can see just how human those people are, how many humans we really are killing

They hide behind walls and lies and manipulative words that guide your attention elsewhere. They murder and bomb and kill and destroy without a single bit of it entering your life in any way. Well, most of it anyway.

(Look up the massacres and genocides the US has been a part of, has funded. It’s there, they just don’t want you to find it.)

In the Hunger Games, everything is so obviously meticulously planned out and purposefully done so we, the audience, can see it, call out the injustice, gasp in horror as children are killed, as they kill each other, and we wonder how can they bot do something about this? Don’t they know it’s wrong? Inhumane? So past what you thought a human was capable of.

Little do we know it happens in real life too, it’s just a little more hidden, a little more tricky to line out, a little more innocent looking, but the intent is the same.

We live in a subtle, almost boring very of a dystopian society. The rich are richer than ever, the poor work long and hard for not even a fraction of the same riches. We notice, we grovel about it, we complain, but ultimately, what do you do? Vote in another bastard to replace the last? Protest against a law that has already been passed in the hearts of our government? Overthrow the government for another?

No, you have kids to feed, siblings to take care of, people and things to be selfish about.

People are slaughtered senselessly everyday and we don’t even know it or don’t even blink at it or maybe so stunned with the reality of the world you don’t know what to do or so filled with rage all you want to do is rebel

Kill a tyrant

What violent thoughts for a seventeen year old to have

But will you? Revolt and kick and scream? Set ablaze to the country you may call home? To deny all the falsehoods of strength and patriotism and freedom that hold our beliefs in this country and actually make a change?

We don’t have a Katniss to start our revolution. We don’t have a game to look down on for killing our kids. We don’t have an obvious target to kill for all our troubles.

We only have each other, sharing stories and advice and truth in our little corners of the internet. We only have wars and genocides that kill more than twenty four and have so many following the deaths of miners, poor families, and victims of circumstance alike. Buried. Starved. Shot without a second thought. We have tyrants upon tyrants, greater evil upon greater evil, fighting for the chance to be game maker this year while still following the same old tune.

That’s what they’re counting on, at least. For us ti be at each other’s throats, for us to wallow in despair, for us to be selfish and heartbroken but still apathetic enough not to care, not to do something about it.

I say it’s time we start our fucking rebellion and get someone to shoot all those fuckers with an arrow.

Because whether we like it or not, our Hunger Games have begun and everyone is on the chopping block.

It can’t just be some of us either, we see how it works out in the Hunger Games. It has to be all of us, together, standing up against these insane shows of disregard for human life. If we can get everyone on board, they couldn’t stop us if they tried.

I mean, that’s why they separated the districts in the first place, right? We have too much power together.

And together they will fall.

Free Palestine. Free Congo. Free Sudan. Free every single place they’ve turned into a district.

[vaguely-yandere]

When people add Stolkholm Syndrome into the Yandere/Darling conversation, I feel like it's always the, "My free will has been beaten into submission and my mind has been broken" sort of coersion.

Like the yandere is big and scary and violent, and eventually just for the sake of survival, you begin to kowtow to their whims until eventually Survival Mode becomes normal, and you lose who you were before.

But as we know, not all Yanderes are big and scary and violent.

I like to imagine the confidant yanderes. The ones who manipulate you until you really believe of your "own will" that they made your life better by kidnapping you. "Isn't this so much better than working a 9 to 5?" "You hated your coworkers anyway." "You can have anything you want. Isn't that worth your freedom?" Until all a Darling remembers about their old life is suffering and turmoil, and they find genuine comfort in their Yandere's arms. Their savior, their knight in shining armor, their prince, etc.

Then I like to imagine the pitiful yanderes. The puppies and kitties who can't live without you. They may have kidnapped you successfully, but their lives are falling apart. They bring you tv dinners, because they don't know how to cook for themselves. Their home is a mess while your room is spotless cuz taking care of you is the only thing they have the energy for. And you grow to know them, you can't stop your heart from growing feelings from them. You want to guide them, to mother them, to protect them. Until eventually you wind up as a caretaker to the person who vowed to take care of you. But it was a choice of your own, and even if you could escape, how could you leave them like this?

And finally I like to think of the sympathetic yanderes. The ones whose lives on the outside may be perfect, but they're empty. The only thing that brings them joy is you. And in them you see a reflection of yourself as your darkest time. Who hasn't lost a friend or a loved one? Who hasn't wracked their brain thinking of ways it could've gone differently? Who hasn't had the idea of wanting someone all to themselves, so that they could never leave you or grow tired of you...? These yanderes pull on your heartstrings until you understand them, and you yearn for their certified brand of twisted, obsessive love. Because it will never leave you. A constant, unending love... Who in their right mind would cast that aside? Then again, at this point, coudl you really claim to be in your right mind?

Idk, food for thought. :3c

oh... oh this is toxic..... i love it

yanderes who arent big. they arent physically intimidating. they dont work out, they cant lift a fucking car over their head, they dont have a death glare, nothing. they look so sweet, even their fake smile looks real. and really, these are the scariest because how the fuck could you live with yourself leaving someone who you know cant live without you? truly live without you! not just mentally but they would probably die if you left. they dont threaten it but you feel it. you know they wont survive without you. they rely on you emotionally, so much so that you go to bed bone deep exhausted every day.

and its not like a highschooler or groomer trying to get you to send nudes, no, theres no life threats, no death threats, no nothing. no threats of any kind... not verbally, at least. because thats too easy. you know how to spot that. its easy to detach yourself when theres a whiny, annoying, sad and pathetic voice whining about hurting themselves over the phone because you didnt wanna go into the bathroom for a quick nude (too niche?) but when you see it? see the way you talking to other people makes them feel worthless? see the way they pull away and detach themselves? see them crying more and more often? their romantic gestures slowly stop, they stop asking for kisses, theres barely any touching and you need them. you need them and you know youre using them too but at some point, you stop caring because it just feels so so good to be loved in such an unhealthy, obsessive way. it fills you to the brim, like tar, slow and thick and its warm. you know that if you leave now, you will never get this love again.

(remember kids! dont fuckin do that)

[tuckersdeslauriers]

Hey!! There's been a lack of Chenford promo/sneak peaks for this ep?! Thoughts/expectations...

listen...tv being this accessible is so wild. it makes me feel soooo old. like, tv has never been this accessible prior to an episode airing in the history of the format. the idea that we see press photos and releases and 10000 sneak peeks and spoilers is just so...bleh. i'm not into that. it can be fun to follow but idc about anyone's speculation but my own, other people's thoughts/expectations stress me out and i honestly very rarely share my own bc they just get me hate mail ✉️

i miss when the only thing i knew about an episode of upcoming tv was what i read in like, tv guide. i realize this is such an old lady take but as a person who loves the art of tv writing, i just feel like all this shit does the story such a disservice. think about the fact that until like, 10 years ago, honestly a little less, we didn't really see hoards of press photos for every single episode. we didn't see a bunch of sneak peeks so we knew what was to come. sure, there were spoilers, but idk - i yearn for tv to be able to operate in that oblivious space again, i hate knowing what's coming for an episode and forming expectations bc i'd rather just...enjoy television. it's honestly sad to me bc all this shit has changed the way tv works, the way it's written, etc.

anyway all of this is to say: there's been a lack of promo/sneak peeks in general for this ep. that's not abnormal, it just feels weird coming off 2 weeks in a row of a season premiere/100th episode level of hype. the chenford element of it is also not weird to me. they're 2/8 main cast members. other people are going to get the sneak peeks sometimes, just gotta roll with it. if you like the show, it shouldn't matter. ngl, i hate seeing chenford in sneak peeks bc then not all of the content is new for me. i'd so much rather be surprised.

i'm sure there will be some chenford content since there are press photos of them together and we know lucy will wind up riding with celina/tim from spoilers when they were shooting this ep. i'm personally hype not to have to go into this ep assuming i know anything. having all these preconceived notions, imo, is not a healthy relationship with tv so i just try to avoid doing it at all.

tl;dr: i have no expectations of this ep, i'm sure i'll like it bc i like most episodes of this show. i don't think it's weird there's been a smaller amount of promo bc we're coming off two major episodes and i enjoy the rookie without solely caring about chenford.

[wolfiemcwolferson]

You’re taking prompts you say? Well…

Single Dad AU with…you guessed it…Galex. Pretty please 🥺?

!!!! Okay, I’ve been having a think over these and I’m going to be working on them.

Alex grew up with pretty strong ideas about what circumstances he would need to find himself in to become a parent.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, considering), life does not work like that.

“Yeah,” he breathes through the tightness in his chest, “it’s just me.”

The school secretary means well. Of course she does. They always do. They look at the parent page with half the information blank and they say something like do you want to call your wife or did you see this half? And Alex always has to hold his tongue. Always has to keep himself from biting back at them in front of Reggie.

This one has asked all startled, “it’s just you then?”

Rude. Shouldn’t you be a sensitive person if you work with children? Shouldn’t there be training on handling sensitive subjects??

Alex gives her a tight nod, collecting his half of the paperwork and he guides Reg out, one hand on his tiny shoulder.

“Dad,” Reg says as soon as they’re out of the building. “Can I say a dirty word?”

Alex feels like crying a bit.

“Ah, well. Thank you for asking, but no. I don’t think now is the appropriate time for you to say a dirty word.” And then he thinks about it. “And where have you been hearing dirty words?”

“Uncle Charles.” Reg shrugs his one shoulder and looks up at Alex and Alex has the desire to pick him up, hold him close to his chest.

He knows it’s hard on him, another new school. Another new town. New piano teacher and new footie team and new grocery store and Alex wishes this wasn’t their life. Hopes this is the last move they have to make for awhile.

Because this job doesn’t have an end date and the house they’re in has Alex’s name on the agreement - not his previous company.

It’s less money. But it’s stable. It’s stability for Reg when he’s not had much stability in his life.

“I’ll have to talk to Uncle Charles about what is appropriate.”

Reg, never one to let things go, shakes his head, “you called Uncle Lando a cunt on the phone -“

“Hey!” Alex hisses, “Mate, we talked about -“

“Maybe we should both not say naughty words.”

Alex has been bested by a six year old.

Again.

“You’re right.” Alex confirms, leading Reg towards their car. “Now, come on. We’ve got to go and get your new uniform bits.”

“You said I wouldn’t have to wear a tie.”

Alex doesn’t answer him. He also doesn’t want to wear a tie, but.

.

They’re home with two bags in tow and Alex is considering calling out for take away.

Alex is mostly unpacked but he hasn’t had a chance to make to the grocery store for a proper shop. They have tea and some eggs and some peanut butter, but nothing to do an actual meal with.

And Alex is just too exhausted to cook anyway.

It’s hard raising a child without help from family or another adult and with friends who love you a lot but half of them are race car drivers and half of them work for race car drivers.

It’s a lot to do on his own and they eat take out more than they should.

Reg never seems to mind.

“I’m going to get these put away in your room,” Alex tells Reg, “and then dinner.” Adding “and no TV” as an afterthought.

Even though it’s automatic. He hasn’t had tv all day and 30 minutes of -

He’s halfway up the stairs when the doorbell sounds and Alex curses, setting the bags on the steps because he can hear Reg sprinting for the door.

Which is…Alex’s fault for not instilling enough fear in him about the outside world or by leaving him with too many different people or something, but he’s not quick enough to catch him before the door is thrown open and he skids around the corner to find Reg standing in the doorway while the prettiest man Alex has ever seen stands in front of him looking startled.

“Hello.” Reg says, “I’d shake your hand but you have something. I’m Reg.”

“Erm.” Pretty Boy says, “I brought you and your parents dinner. As a welcome to the neighborhood gesture. I’m George.”

Alex walks up behind Reg, finally making eye contact with George, trying to smile at him.

“Oh, no.” Reg chirps, “it’s just me and my dad. You should come in and have dinner with us. My Uncles are all in the US for their job so we’re bored.”

George says erm again, and Alex takes pity on him.

“You don’t have to. Come in, I mean. If you have somewhere to be, but it is just us. And we’d like to get to know our neighbors. I’m Alex, by the way.”

George teeters back and forth, looks from Alex down to Reg - Alex knows he’s beaming at George and he knows no one can resist him.

“Well alright,” he swallows, “I live next door and it’d be nice if you all liked me so you don’t complain when my cat jumps over the garden wall.”

Reg gasps. “You’ve got a cat?”

Alex watches George’s face soften and he steps back so George can step in, but George’s attention is completely on Reg. “I do. Would you like to see some pictures after we get set up for dinner?”

Alex takes the dish from George who barely has a second before Reg has a hold of his hand? Pulling him through the kitchen.

George only looks back right before they turn the corner and he’s beaming at Alex without frustration or worry.

Alex thinks it’ll be good for them. To have a neighbor they get along with.

[amazingmsme]

3E? 🤨

Sorry this took forever, I was trying to finish my spiderverse fic while there was still hype lol. But this one was so much fun & it gave me the perfect excuse to write a self indulgent fic for the book I finished earlier this year, aka Night Film

(For those who don’t know, this was in regards to an obscure media ask game) So without further ado, here’s a quick lil fic for my new favorite trio!

Wet Blanket Attitude

Nora was already showered and in her pajamas by the time they made it back to Scot's town house. He offered Hopper a fresh change of clothes and he stripped right there in the living room, slipping on the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Scott shook his head and chuckled fondly as he made his way to the bathroom, following Hopper's lead and stripping down the hall before turning into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Even though the hot shower was exactly what he needed, he was exhausted and didn't want to stand any longer. He exited in less than 10 minutes, fully dressed in plaid pajama pants and an old graphic tee he got in high school that had really seen better days. Holes dotted the entirety of the shirt, allowing pale skin to peak through. He collapsed on the couch, sandwiched between the two goons he somehow came to adopt.

"Okay old man? You look tired," Hopper spoke up on his right. Scot turned to give him a severely unamused glare.

"Yeah Hop. I am tired. Exhausted in fact," he snapped. "Maybe next time don't leave your partner in the dust."

"Maybe next time you should keep up," he quipped back, cocky smirk and all. Scot rolled his eyes with a huff, sinking deeper into the cushions.

"Just shut up. What are we watching anyway?" he asked, pointing at the tv, the only light source in the dark room.

"I dunno, just some crap Nora turned on."

"Hey! It is not crap!" she interjected, defensive over her choice of shows. "It's Little Shop of Horrors!"

"A musical? After what I just went through? Absolutely not, you might as well just shoot me," Scot grumbled, snatching the remote straight out of her hand. She made a noise of complaint as it was ripped from her grasp. "What gives?"

"My house, my tv, I decide what we watch," Scot sassed, searching through the channel guide until he found something suitable, settling on reruns of King of the Hill. He relaxed as he listened to Dale's classic paranoid ranting and shivered slightly as a chill ran through his body.

He looked to his left when he felt a hand tap his shoulder and saw Nora holding up the edge of her blanket. "You cold?"

Scot shook his head and turned his attention back to the tv. "No thanks, I'm fine."

"But you look cold! Doesn't he look cold?" Nora asked Hopper for backup. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye, not really wanting to look away from the screen.

"Uh, sure," he agreed, because it was just easier to just go with whatever Nora was saying than trying to argue.

"I think the doctor's prescribing you a dose of my body heat," she said matter of factly. Scot furrowed his brows, but before he could question her, the blanket was thrown over him and she was pressed against his side. Scot let out a long, suffering sigh but let it happen, too tired to push her away. Besides, that would've been rude.

"Oh no, it's worse than I thought! Quick Hop, I think he needs a double dose!"

Hopper's lips quirked up in an amused smirk. He pressed the back of his hand to Scot's forehead and decided to play along. "You're right, he's freezing!"

"You two are ridiculous," he said, barely holding back a chuckle.

Nora scoffed, "Someone has to be." Scot looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you got a stick up your ass. You take things too seriously," Hopper chided in, still staring at the screen.

"Because this is a serious investigation!" he defended himself. "And I'd appreciate it if you two buckled down and treated it as such," he scolded.

"Hey, I'm the one who found the list of guest names! Which, you're welcome by the way," Hopper sassed.

"The polite thing to do would be to say thank you," Nora prompted. Scot merely scoffed in amusement.

"For what? Being a smart ass?"

"Okay, now you're being one," Hopper said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I think someone just lost their blanket privileges," he said matter of factly, yanking the blanket off of Scot, and consequently, Nora.

He tried to hide the shiver that coursed through his body when the cold air hit his skin. Nora lunged across his lap to try and wrestle the blanket back. "Hey, you can't punish me too!"

"Maybe you should sit in the middle then," Scot suggested.

"No way, everyone knows the sides are the best part of the couch!" she argued.

In their playful tussle, Nora happened to accidentally squeeze Hopper's thigh. He jerked away and barked out a laugh, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Nora's eyes lit up with mischief.

"Give me the blanket and I might go easy on you," she bargained.

Hopper glared at her and wrapped the blanket around him tighter. "Do your worst."

Nora didn't need to be told twice, immediately setting to work and going for his side. He twisted and bent over in an attempt to dislodge her hands, but her fingers already poked and prodded anywhere she could reach.

In the short time they'd known each other, neither Scot nor Nora had even heard him laugh. So it came as a shock to see him curl in a ball, hiding his face in the soft blanket. His long legs kicked out and flailed as Nora's hands slipped inside his fuzzy shield and skittered over his belly.

Hopper was leaning against Scot's shoulder, laughing loudly right by his ear. Maybe if he wasn't so tired, he'd let it slide; after all, the kid could stand to lighten up, but this was too much noise for Scot's liking. Not to mention Nora was laying across his lap in order to reach her giggly victim. So Scot was quite literally trapped in the middle of a tickle fight with no foreseeable escape... If he wasn't careful, this could end badly.

"It's pretty late and we all had a rough day, so I think I'm gonna head off to bed," he spoke up above the loud laughter as he tried to worm his way out of the prison he found himself in. "Just try to laugh a little quieter," he teased Hopper, shooting him a wink.

"What? No, you can't leave!" Nora protested. "C'mon, just stay 'til the end of this episode!" she pleaded, not letting him get up from the couch.

He looked up in disbelief. "Nora, the episode just started," he said in a deadpan tone. She giggled, but not as much as Hopper was from her nails skittering over his neck.

"So? It gives us the perfect amount of time!" she chirped. Scot narrowed his eyes, giving her a skeptical look.

"To do what?" he dared to ask.

"To do this!" she exclaimed, catching him completely off guard by tickling up his ribs. He choked out a laugh before he could stop himself, his entire body going tense.

“N-Noraha! What’re you-“

“Tickle fight! Duh!” she mocked, hands never ceasing their work. Scot thrashed and tried to crawl off the couch, only for her to grab his ankle and pull him back.

“Nohoho! It’s too lahahate for thihihis!” he protested through his laughter. He snorted rather loudly when she dug under his arms to tickle his pits, turning bright red from embarrassment.

“Aww that’s so cute! I didn’t know you snort when you laugh!” she cooed. Scot yanked the blanket from Hopper’s lap to hide his blushing face and hopefully muffle his giggle fit. Nora had no trouble skittering about his torso, looking to Hopper for help. “Aren’t you gonna help? I mean, this opportunity doesn’t come along every day.”

Hopper’s amused smirk quickly morphed into a downright sinister grin as he made a show of cracking his knuckles. Scot shook his head, but the endless stream of laughter spilling from his lips did nothing to deter him.

“Well then, I’d be an idiot to pass up on something like this,” he teased, grabbing his legs in a headlock. Scot’s eyes widened and his thrashing doubled.

“No! Cohome on guys, l-let’s just gohoho to bed! W-we ahahall had aha long dahahay!” he tried reasoning with them.

“Yeah, and this is a great way to unwind! I mean, just imagine how happy and relaxed you’ll be when we get through! Think of it like therapy,” Nora rambled on, playfully pinching up and down his sides.

“Thihihis ihis nowhere near theheherapy!” Scot argued, but the wide smile on his face said otherwise. He’d never admit it, especially not to them, but it kinda felt good to laugh so much after an absolute shit day.

But then Hopper started scratching underneath his toes, and Scot immediately vetoed that fleeting thought.

Of course they didn’t plan on tickling him for the entire duration of the episode, only for about halfway through. (Which was still too long in Scot’s opinion.)

As soon as they granted mercy and let him go, he flopped against the back of the couch, face still pink and panting for breath.

“You two are downright cruel. Never do that again,” he ordered.

“Nah, I think it should be a regular thing. Doctor’s orders to cure that wet blanket attitude of yours,” Nora teased, looking rather smug. Scot groaned.

“I’m not even a wet blanket. If anyone here classified as one it’s Ponyboy over there,” he said, weakly gesturing to Hopper.

“Huh?” he asked, looking just as clueless as Nora.

“The Outsiders? Stay gold, Ponyboy?” he questioned, waiting for the reference to click. When it didn’t, he sighed and sat up.

“They don’t make you kids read any good books in school these days,” he complained, mostly to himself. He finally stood up and stretched, his back popping loudly.

“And just because I’m heading off to bed now doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook for that little stunt. I’ll cash in my revenge tomorrow, so beware,” he warned, already walking down the hall to his room.

The two watched him leave, sitting in silence until Nora spoke up.

“You think he’ll actually do it?”

“Nah. He’s all bark, no bite. We got nothin’ to worry about,” Hopper insisted.

Oh how wrong they were.

[massivementalitynut]

Hello <3 💐

1. What are your top 3 Jjk characters and why? 2. Please pick a specific scene from an anime/general media/book that you wish you could have been present in and why. 3. Is there a character you dislike but identify with anyway?

Hello :D! My, what an interesting set of questions. I was struggling with how detailed to answer them but figured I would go with the flow and see what happens XD

My top 3 JJK characters are: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru and Nanami Kento. My surface level reasons are because I find them visually attractive, love hearing their voices and seeing them beat the shit out of enemies. On a deeper level... each of these fine young men were dealt a deck that was stacked against them and I am fascinated with how each played their cards so differently (Satoru raising the next generation to replace the old generation, Suguru defecting to erase non sorcerers and Nanami leaving but coming back). Despite their differences, they all share commonalities (They care about the younger jujutsu sorcerors and became guardians/mentors to them).

Specific moments that really cement them in my top three would be when Gojo reels back from sorcerer mode and simply treats others like a doting figure (the baseball game and playing with Rika at the beach giving gifts to the kyoto students). Geto not being afraid to show his love for others in public (his interactions with the girls and still calling Gojo by his first name :') plus being willing to part from the familiar to go down a new path. Nanami bearing the brunt of a soul sucking job and still taking the time to help others (baker girl and Yuuji) his 'what it means to be an adult' speech still echoes in my head as I age :'3

Okay, this is my favourite question out of this bunch! (because it really caters to my self insert tendencies lol x3)

Anime: Shokugeki No Soma during the Moon Banquet Festival scene so I can try all that amazing food XD (Specifically, the time fuse mapo curry noodles <3)

General Media: I would have loved to have been present during the paintball contest in Community (TV Series) because I have never been in one and think it would be so much fun >w<

Book: Okay, I was not sure what type of book you were referring to so I just picked a manga (my fav non manga books aren't really places I wanna be present in hahaha ':D). I choose Blue Period during the festival (yes another festival but for art!) in the first year university arc. Seeing their creations in person would be even more breath taking I think ^-^... and maybe accidentally bump into Yakumo Mirai to which we then see if there is chemistry ;3c (Hey, you know I had to include at least 1 romantic self insert moment in this answer section XD!)

Hm.. It doesn't happen often and doesn't last long but years ago, I disliked Nagito Komaeda from the Danganronpa Franchise but I identified with his belief in the cycle of good luck/bad luck. It was only after the game and additional content that my belief in that waned and my feelings for him grew (yeah, I fell in love with him .////.;). Fun fact: He was the only character out of the cast that I was able to strengthen bond/affection lvls to the max without a guide 'xD

[maliro-t]

Happy Witcher eve! Since this is a blogging website, I’m gonna put up a long Blog Post™ I wrote a really long time ago about adaptation just to get my thoughts out there before new material comes out-- book spoilers abound but I don’t actually explain them.

I will always credit The Magicians for changing the way I think about what ‘good’ adaptation is, which is ironic, I know, but the fact that it stumbles so spectacularly in places is part of what did it for me, so ultimately thanks for the mess, I guess! I owe a lot of that to the fact I watched that show before reading the books, which obviously changes your perspective.

But that isn’t the case with The Witcher, and with all this endless talk of show deviations I’m like...there’s some Witcher stuff I honestly do not want to see adapted accurately lmao. I am tentatively curious to see what they do with the Rats & Mistle etc, mostly because I fully just....don’t want to see that story as written on screen but also have absolutely no idea what they could do to change it. I would say Time of Contempt and Baptism of Fire are my favorite books in the series with Tower of the Swallow close behind, so I don’t dislike the Rats storyline overall--in fact, I think it’s thematically very good in the grand scheme of things--but when I first read it, Time of Contempt ending Like That after being my favorite book yet by far definitely put a damper on my excitement to start the next one, and while I don’t hate the story as it is (and do really like the nuance with which the group & Ciri’s place within it is fleshed out in Tower of the Swallow), there is truly no part of me that wants to see people adapt that page by page in uhhh 2023 onwards. Which is complex, too, because let’s say they fix the Mistle/Ciri relationship, give it a consensual start, make it less dysfunctional and low-key abusive: then can they be accused romanticizing the original source material? I mean, they’ll certainly be accused of shamefully deviating, but again, I really don’t mind that. But I don’t think I would prefer a version of them that’s healthy per-se, because the dysfunctionality is part of the point. Like, the Rats are interesting because they’re a bunch of kids who have been absolutely mistreated by society, totally uncared for, and they let their anger at the world overtake them so completely that their only vocation is violence-- they’ve been so deprived of a kind world that, despite their closeness, they barely even know how to properly care for each other, let alone other people. And they're still children! Angry, murderous, un-guided children! For Ciri they represent a kind of ‘cycle of violence’ style trap, which she eventually is forcefully shunted out of. The ‘love’ that she does find with them is fueled by hatred and conflict. But also, it’s like. How do you navigate that without being a) a little too close homophobic tropes for comfort and b) just like. fully unfun to watch at some parts???

That’s honestly how I feel about 85 percent of the Ciri stuff in Tower of the Swallow, which again, is a book I LOVE, and that stuff makes up probably at least half of it. But it’s also absolutely fucking miserable lmfao!!! I simply do not want or need to see it all on TV as written!!! I would appreciate a new take!!! It's miserable and I love it and I don't need it replicated. All three are true. Ultimately, it will be what it is, and I may enjoy it, or I may not.

But anyways-- all of that aside, demands for accuracy always fall flat for me because the books are so specifically literary anyways, with their frame stories, and in universe documents, and storytelling via witness testimony and gossip, letters with old census-style misspelled names, intermittent slices of Dandelion’s memoirs, etc etc etc--lest we forget the random chapter near the end of Baptism of Fire where the whole thing suddenly becomes a story being told to children squabbling over which characters they want to hear about next! This is one of my absolute favorite things about the series, and it’s something which with no uncertainty cannot be even slightly replicated in the show lol!!! So why shouldn’t they figure out what works for them in a different medium? Especially when it means there are many significant characters that we only see in slivers here and there in the books because of the amount of much third-party information being used to convey events. In a TV environment, I think the time they’re giving to flesh characters like the sorceresses is, for the most part, phenomenally well used, and I’ve really enjoyed seeing their takes on them. Cahir is another one I love, and he has definitely been taken in some different directions (although again his presence is so scarce for the first several books that they have that freedom) but he also has Things About Him in the books that I’m glad they are not adhering to thus far!

I certainly have my own disappointments with how changes turn out sometimes, which I’ve talked about a little--I speculated after watching season 2 that part of the reason for the changes that they made (which weren’t my favorite by the end of the season, but which were still enjoyable enough television) were because they felt locked into the action focused monster-of-the-week formula of the first season. That formula was a demand of adapting the short stories, but one which also created certain audience expectations for viewers coming in blind, so a hard turn into adapting a novel with very little actual plot was a risk they weren’t willing to take. (This is something that I later had uhhhh 100 percent confirmed watching an interview with the showrunner where she said this almost exactly lmao!!). I do still think it’s odd that they fully omitted some of the plottiest stuff with Philippa near the end in favor of their invented conflicts (conflicts which ALSO changed almost beyond recognition my favorite Yen & Ciri stuff from Blood of Elves but I digress), but that is the story they told so there really isn’t any point in could-have-beens. It’s way more useful for me to look at the show they are making and decide if it’s still fun or entertaining or interesting or ‘good’ or whatever on its own.

My point is really that a 1:1 adaptation really isn’t possible across media for this series, but even if it were, there really just isn’t a need for that, right? To capture the spirit of a story even with differences is still to honor it, and when the source material relies so much on being a book is there really anything wrong with an adaptation taking a different path through the same woods? Like, their differences don’t actually affect one another. The show being its own thing doesn’t ‘ruin’ the books. Change is not disrespect; it’s just change.

(except for when CDPR just like...forgot that Regis doesn't drink alcohol in the games; that WAS disrespect bc he is literally a character about addiction. but he WOULD be a connoisseur regardless so it is FORGIVEN)

[aggimaginary]

The Bad Guys Season 1: Our Own Story (chapter 33) - Piranha's Adventure In Babysitting

First Previous Next

Intro

Mr. Wolf: Yeah! I'm bad!

Mr. Snake: You're bad!

Ms. Tarantula: He's bad!

Mr. Hornet: She's bad!

Mr. Piranha: We're bad!

Mr. Shark: Who's bad?

The Bad Guys: Yeah! We're the Bad Guys!

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The Bad Guys were having dinner in their hideout. They were exercising, like lifting dumbbells and using treadmills. Feeling alerted, the Bad Guys jumped in alert, exercise equipment behind.

Tarantula got into her computer to see who found the secret tunnel of their hideout as it was connected to their TV.

The other Bad Guys jumped to their couch, and waited for Tarantula to view the security camera that led to the elevator in their tunnel.

The TV was now cleared to see the footage from the security camera outside. There was none other than their friend Mira. The Bad Guys sighed in relief as they thought there were intruders finding their hideout.

Since it was just Mira, they were going to let her in anyway.

When the elevator opened, Mira stepped out while holding her 5-year-old daughter's hand, guiding her in.

"Mira!" Shark opened his arms, and rushed to Mira, hugging her.

"Hi, Mira!" Hornet greeted

"Watcha' doin here, girl?" Tarantula winked, who was on Shark's shoulder.

"Oh, thank you for letting me in. I don't know where else to go to ask a little favor," the journalist said.

"A favor?" Snake asked.

"Well, you see guys," Mira released Mariposa's hand as she ran to the couch to watch TV with Piranha. Mira took a deep breath, and squealed in excitement, "My boss assigned me for another field trip, and I accept it!"

"Wait, what?" Wolf, Snake, Shark, Tarantula, and Hornet exclaimed in shock.

"Yeah, and I really need more of your advice," Mira said happily.

But the five Bad guys glanced at each other in concern before facing Mira again.

"Look, we wanted to, Mira, but I'm not sure it's a good idea," Wolf declared.

Mira's smile dropped, "Why?"

"Because you almost got killed last time, and we don't want that to happen to you again," Shark answered.

"Are you kidding? I've never felt so alive on my first field! Let's go again!" Mira squealed in excitement before jumping up and down

"Mira, I know the crime world is exciting for you to write about, but the first time was just luck. You won't know what would happen on your second time on the field," Tarantula.

"Oh, so the Bad Guys are slowly becoming like real Good Guys?" Mira smirked, wanting to point out the Bad Guys didn't have a sense of badness anymore.

"First of all, don't call us that," Hornet warned with a sharp glare, "Second of all, you're just an ordinary citizen, Mira, You're still not a professional former criminal like us. And besides, you had a daughter. I don't think you're completely ready to go into the field again yet."

But the journalist didn't seem to worry at all, "Guys, come on. I may not be professional, but at least I have to take advice from the experts. Do you remember how you convinced me to be brave while I took my first field journaling assignment?".

"Yeah. you were an ordinary journalist afraid of danger, and almost got herself in the middle of illegal negotiations and missions for criminals," Snake replied deadpan.

"Called it!" Piranha called out loud, making Mariposa stare at him confusingly.

"You helped me. I can be around danger now. You know, I mean, I still hate it, but I can do it without being afraid," Mira explained as he took a framed photo of the Bad Guys with Mira together from one of the drawers nearby, "The Bad Guys were the only criminals who ever got through to me. So, that's why I trusted you to help me with my second field assignment."

The Bad Guys then turned to each other, wanting to know what they were thinking. As much as they were concerned for their journalist friend, they'd been helping her a lot with her job, and they had been fond of having her around. And now, Mira herself needed their help… again. Why could they turn this opportunity down from helping their friend?

"Ugh! Why do we have to be the Good Guys?!" Snake groaned, hating to be called "good", "Fine! We'll help you."

"Yeah! Woo-hoo!" Mira cheered excitingly with her pupils each forming a white star.

"So, this is what we're gonna do…" Wolf wanted to start discussing, but Mira put a finger on his lips to keep him front talking.

"Oh, no. Not here, I still have my child here," she pointed her daughter at the couch with Piranha.

Snake didn't seem to worry, "It's fine, She won't understand."

"Trust me. She's smart. She knows what we're saying," Mira said, not wanting her daughter to know everything.

Knowing that a 5-year-old child could be smart, Wolf sighed before turning to Mira, "Alright, maybe we can talk somewhere private?"

"What about in my house?" Mira suggested.

"Your house?" Shark asked.

"My house is more private," the journalist pointed.

Wolf nodded, "Alright. Let's go then."

"Wait, what about the kid?" Snake pointed his tail at Mariposa.

"Maybe one of you could stay and look out for my daughter?" Mira suggested.

Piranha hopped off the couch, and approached his friends, leaving Mariposa to watch TV, "Where's Callum? Why wouldn't he look out for this little fella?"

"Oh, Callum was in San Diego, meeting up with his new girlfriend, and it's not his schedule of custody," the journalist explained, "Plus, the babysitter wasn't available, so that's why I came to you guys so one of you can babysit her."

"I'll do it! I'll babysit the little kid!" Piranha raised his hand, volunteering to accept the job.

Tarantula scoffed, "Pfft! You?! No offense, Piranha, but you're not a babysitting type."

Piranha chuckled sarcastically while staring sharply at Tarantula, "Oh yeah? What, you think you would want to babysit this?"

Seeing Piranha staring at her like that, Tarantula realized if it wouldn't be him, then she would babysit Mira's kid instead. Tarantula groaned, and rolled her eyes, "Fine. I can't watch over the kid. I have to style my hair tonight."

Hornet then added, "And I don't want to go. I just need to finish my journals that I need to fill up," he wrote something in his notebook before sensing his friends wanted to say something to him, "And no, you can't read them."

They saw that coming anyway. Hornet never shared his journals.

Victoriously, Piranha clapped his finds and rubbed them together, "Well, looks like I have to babysit three tonight. Don't worry, I'm a responsible mature piranha now. I can handle this babysitting thing."

Watching Piranha feeling confident about handling the babysitting job, Wolf and Mira weren't feeling worried about Mariposa anymore as they need to get going.

"Well, looks like they're going to stay here," Wolf said.

"Yeah, I'm going with you," Snake raised a tail, "As you know, I'm the baddest of the Bad Guys, so you need my advice too, Mira."

"Yeah, I think I know why, Mr. Grump-o," Mira snickered.

"I usually called him Mr. Grumpypants," Tarantula recalled while holding boxes of shampoo for her hair.

"I'm coming too. I just want to see my good friend in action," Shark added, feeling excited.

"Aaaww, thanks, Shark. Alright, we'll get going," Mira smiled before calling to her daughter, "And, sweetie, be good to your friend, Mr. Piranha."

"Yes, Mommy," Mariposa answered while playing with blocks on a stool with Piranha.

"Piranha, you have to put Mariposa to sleep at 7. And here's her baby bag. Her stuff is in there," Mira instructed the babysitter while leaving the baby bag on the floor.

"You got it!" Piranha held a thumb up while playing with Mariposa.

Trusting Piranha would handle taking care of her daughter, Mira smiled, wearing her purse on her shoulder, and headed for the elevator. Wolf, Snake, and Shark followed her, and the doors closed.

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Later, when it was almost 7pm, it was time for Piranha to put Mariposa to sleep. Since the hideout didn't have a small bed for 5-year-olds, Piranha decided to have Mariposa sleep on his bed instead. Glad that he had enough strength to carry Mariposa like a baby, despite having the same height.

"Come on, come on, Mariposa Rose. I need you to go to sleep. Please," Piranha put Mariposa down, "Will you go to sleep?"

"No," Mariposa shook her arms sideways, gesturing no.

Piranha sighed, then took out a teddy bear from Mariposa's baby bag, "All right. Here's your teddy," Then, he took out a pink soft towel, "Here's your bibby," Lastly, he took out Mariposa's favorite blankie, "And here's your woobie! Great!" He then took out a baby mobile, and hang it above Mariposa with just his arm, "Come on. I need you to get serious. Watch the little purple hornet. Watch it. Watch the hornet go round, and round, and round…" then, Piranha fell asleep when he pointed Mariposa the purple butterfly on her baby mobile. He still holding the mobile above Mariposa.

Seeing that her babysitter was sleeping, Mariposa watched him silently for a moment before screaming loudly, "AAH!"

This caused Piranha to yank awake, shrieking, and Mariposa laughed loudly.

Fortunately, Piranha wasn't angry, but he saw the laugh on Mariposa's face, having fun scaring her babysitter. Piranha startled and tickle the little girl, "You woke me! You little loco!" This made Mariposa laughed even more, "It's not funny. It's not funny."

As Piranha cooed at Mariposa, Tarantula entered his room while carrying bottles of hair ointment. "Piranha. I need your help. Pretend you're a cute guy."

Piranha stared at Tarantula offensively for his looks, making him think he was not cute, "Ouch."

"You know what I mean. Pretend you're a young guy," Tarantula corrected herself.

Now that was more offensive for Piranha, "Ouch!"

"Anyway, remember a few days ago that I got an implant surgery," Tarantula recalled the previous episode.

"Yeah, you're booty was really big," Piranha insulted. That was for payback.

Tarantula rolled her eyes, and explained, "So, I decided to have a new look by my hair. Should I go blonde or curly?"

"Oh. Do not go blonde. Maintaining blonde roots is a nightmare!" Piranha said, "But I can help you with a perm."

"You've done it for someone?" The arachnid asked.

"No, for myself. One of my many hairstyles over the years," Piranha took out his phone, and showed Tarantula pictures of himself with different hairstyles, "Before I joined the team, I did so many hairstyles before going back to my old signature look. Here you go. You got your classic mohawk Piranha," he swiped for the next picture, "Your perm Piranha. Farrah Fawcett Piranha. And your Rachel-from-Friends Piranha."

"Mr. Piranha? Mr. Piranha?" Mariposa called.

"Ay caramba. That kid won't go to sleep," Piranha clicked his tongue, feeling irritated, "Here's a very good lesson in parenting, hermana. Let them cry. Show them who's boss."

"Mr. Piranha!" Mariposa called loudly.

"Coming, little niña!" Piranha said as he approached Mariposa, and carried her.

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Meanwhile, Hornet was writing in his journal notebook as few other notebooks were still open right behind him, and they were all stacked in towers.

"'So Pirahha was babysitting us for the night…'" As Hornet wrote that down, he dropped his pencil, and stared up in the ceiling dreamingly with his knuckle under his chin, "He's so dreamy as a responsible parent."

Just then, Piranha burst into the room while carrying Mariposa, "Hornet!"

Hornet quickly closed his journal, and panicked, "I didn't say anything!"

But Piranha didn't hear anything that Hornet said before he came in as he had other problems to deal with. He then turned Mariposa as he put her on Hornet's bed. Glad that Hornet's bed was a little bigger, "If you don't want to sleep by yourself, sleep with your friend, Hornet."

"What?" Hornet was confused about what was happening.

"Sorry, Hornet, the kid won't go to sleep," Piranha said, "Okay, Donny and Marie? Sleep together in perfect harmony," But Mariposa just stared at Piranha, not knowing what to do.

"I have a better idea what Donny and Marie would do together in perfect harmony," Hornet put his pencil and notebook down, and jumped up and down on his giant bed.

Seeing Hornet jumping up and down beside her, Mariposa was also jumping along with him

"No, don't jump. Go to sleep," Piranha whined, "Don't you jump!"

"This is really fun!" Hornet chuckled as he and Mariposa continued to jump together.

Tarantula marched into the room, wearing a black cloak and curlers on her hair while holding the hair solution bottle, "Hello?"

"What?" Piranha asked,

"You forgot my perm solution?" Tarantula reminded.

"Oh, right. Okay, all right. The two of you, get to sleep right now," Piranha demanded MAriposa and Hornet before assisting Tarantula.

"Piranha, wait, what about dinner?" Hornet inquired.

"Gosh, you guys are so high-maintenance." Piranha exhaled irritatingly, "I'll make you dinner," then he turned to Tarantula while snatching the perm solution bottle from her, "You, come with me. We'll walk and squeeze. Come on," He squeezed the bottle on Tarantula's hair as they walked out, Walk and squeeze. Walk, squeeze. And walk…"

When Piranha and Tarantula were gone, Hornet turned to Mariposa and asked, "Are we gonna have any fun?"

"No," the little girl shook her head.

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An hour later, Piranha walked out of the elevator, holding a leash as he called, "Come on, girl. Come on, girl. Come on, girl. There we go," At the end of the leash was Mariposa as she followed him back into the hideout, "Come on, girl. Come on. Come on, little doggy. Come on, come on. Come on, over here. Come on," They made it towards the dinner table as Piranha instructed Mariposa, "Here we go. Here we go. Sit. Sit," as Piranha told her to sit, Mariposa sat down next to the dinner table, "All right. Sit. Sit. Stay," Piranha then cooed at the little girl, "Who gets a treat?"

"Me!" Mariposa squeaked.

"Okay, good. Here," Piranha took a cookie from the cookie jar, and handed it to Mariposa, "While you eat these treats, here you go, I'm just gonna tie you up very quickly, so you don't escape," he tied the other end of the leash around the other leg of the table, "There we go. Good? Now… Oh, I know," he walked towards another drawer, and took out a box of crayons and papers, "Here. You wanna draw? Let's draw something cool. Let's draw… me."

Tarantula then crawled out of her room, still having her curlers on and wearing a black cloak, "You forgot about my hair?" She asked Piranha before noticing Mariposa in a lease, "And why is that kid tied up like a dog?"

"'Cause she wouldn't sleep, so I took her outside to walk. She chased a cat, did her business, I brought her back," Piranha responded as something lit behind him

"Piranha, behind you," Tarantula pointed to the stove as the pan was on fire.

"My Asaditos!" Piranha exclaimed as he ran towards the stove, "Ay Caramba!" He waved his fins and blew from his mouth as he thought the wind could turn the fire off.

"Looks like they're done," Tarantula shrugged.

Piranha turned around, and asked sarcastically, "You think?"

He took out a small fire extinguisher and squeezed the handle with his head facing away, but no retardant came out. Thinking the fire extinguisher didn't work, Piranha put it down, and tried to find another solution. When he turned around, he accidentally knocked the fire extinguisher next to him, thus the fire retardant was sprayed all over. Piranha tried to prevent the fire extinguisher from spraying more retardant as he was wrestling with it. He even tried fighting it with a soup spoon, but the fire extinguisher fired more retardant, and Piranha was covered with it all over. The retardant affected his eyes, leading him to temporary eye irritation. Piranha tried to find his way out of it as he stumbled over a small drawer with a lamp, knocking the latter object down, and bumped into the window blinds, causing him to pull it off from one of the windows, and got tangled through it. Piranha tried to fight off the window blinds, making Mariposa watch the scene, and Tarantula moved backward to avoid Piranha's rampage with the blinds.

When Piranha got out of the blinds, he threw them down, and his eyes were a little better. Then, the smoke alarm started to beep.

"Smoke alarm is going off," Tarantula pointed.

"You think?" Piranha sighed, causing Tarantula to shrug.

Piranha tried to find the tallest furniture as he jumped from the floor, to the dinner table, swung over Shark's disguise rack, and few himself onto the tallest shelf. He reached for the smoke detector with the spatula, but he fell back down to the ground in the process. The smoke detector was detached from the ceiling, and hit his head.

"Ouch!" Piranha exclaimed sarcastically. It was painful, but he went through a lot before that.

Tarantula then felt something on her scalp, "My scalp is tingling. When do I rinse this out?"

"Rinse what out? Oh, that!" Piranha almost forgot about Tarantula's perm, "Right now. Go to your room, take the curlers out, I'll be right there."

"I better end up looking like the girl on the box," Tarantula hoped.

"She was Swedish and six-foot-two. But I'll do what I can," Piranha said as Tarantula entered her room, and closed the door.

When Piranha turned around, he saw Mariposa coloring the dinner table legs and the floor. He screamed, and rushed to the young girl, "No! Why did you draw on there? I gave you paper," he pointed to the paper next to him, "You're supposed to draw on the paper. Not the wall."

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened, and the muddy kitty ran towards Piranha, nuzzling on his shirt, "Not the– come on," he struggled to make the kitty stop nuzzling him, "Stay away from the kid," he told the cat as he groaned in disgust, "Oh, he's covered in mud. Get off me, kitty. Get off. Off, off. Off."

The kitty finally ran off, leaving Piranha all muddy. Because of having a white shirt, he was really messy.

Hornet came in from the elevator with a leash, and put it down on the dinner table, "The kitty played in a mud puddle."

"You think?" Piranha asked sarcastically.

"Hey, is dinner done?"

"No, dinner burnt, because I told you to watch them and tell me when they were done."

Hornet flew towards the stove with Piranha following him, and the bug explained, "I watched them for a little while, but it got boring, so I took the kitty out," he looked at the still-burning pan, "Anyway, looks like they're done."

"Get out!" Piranha demanded as Hornet moved out of the way. The fish then took the head of a ceramic chicken to put off the fire, "There! Now you're having chicken for dinner."

"I'm a vegetarian!" Hornet reminded

"I don't care!" Piranha yelled.

Just then, Mariposa reached for the ketchup on the table, and she opened the cover, pointing the opening of the ketchup at Hornet

Hornet knew what Mariposa would do with a squeezable ketchup "Hey, hey!" Hornet zoomed towards Maripoa, but she squeezed the ketchup, firing some amount of it on him. Hornet was now covered in ketchup. But instead of being mad at the kid, Hornet wanted to play fire with fire as he took another bottle of ketchup, and squeeze it, firing some on Mariposa, "You're dead, kid!"

Now Mariposa was covered with ketchup. That didn't make her cry or upset. Instead, Mariposa fired more on Hornet. The two continued to squirt ketchup at each other as they enjoyed it.

Piranha saw the ketchup war between Hornet and Mariposa as he rushed to stop them, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" But then, both Hornet and Mariposa squirt ketchup at Piranha, "Hey!" Now Piranha reached his "breaking point" after everything he went through tonight. He took Hornet and Mariposa's ketchup bottles, and squirted ketchup all over them. "I've had just about enough of you guys!" he then started chasing Hornet all over the place when the latter flew away from the former.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, entering Wolf, Snake, Shark, and Mira into the hideout, seeing Piranha chasing Hornet with a ketchup bottle

"Hi, guys. How are things?" Piranha asked the four while still chasing Hornet.

"What? What's happening?" Mira's jaws dropped.

"Oh, my golly," Shark watched Piranha chasing Hornet, feeling that he was missing something.

"You're gonna do my dry cleaning, Hornet!" Piranha yelled while still chasing Hornet. He then turned to Wolf, Snake, Shark, and Mira when he ran past them, "It's not as bad as it looks."

But then, Tarantula came out of her room, and her hair was all big, messy, and really ugly. Her perm turned into a disaster. Even Tarantula was shocked about the result of her hair that Piranha tried to help her with. This had Wolf, Snake, Shark, and Mira's jaws dropped in shock to see Tarantula's hair looking like that.

"Look what Piranha did to me," Tarantula whined.

"Okay, that's as bad as it looks," Piranha admitted.

Tarantula crawled up on the dinner table, and stammed while explaining, "I look… like a troll… from the movie Trolls…My life is over," she kept stammering, and whimpered "And I can't… get my voice… to stop… doing… this!"

She jumped off the table, and ran back to her room.

When the arachnid was gone, Wolf, Snake, Shark, and Mira noticed something was off as they scanned around

Mira noticed Mariposa was wearing a leash, and got tied to table leg, "Why is my daughter tied to a table leg?"

"What?" Wolf then noticed the coloring marks all over the table leg and the floor, "And why is she coloring all over the table legs and the floor? And on her face?"

"And what happened to the blinds?" Snake asked.

"And why does it smell of smoke?" Shark asked, sniffing the air.

And why are you covered in fire retardant?" Wolf asked Piranha

"And why are you cooking a ceramic chicken?" Mira pointed to a ceramic chicken on the pan at the stove.

"Well…" Piranha tried to remember every question his four friends asked him as he answered them all together, "Because your daughter is a wild animal!" he yelled before pointing to the crayon marks on the floor and table legs, "This is how she expresses creativity," he then walked towards the window without blinds, "I've always hated those blinds. Where there's smoke, there's fire. Which I tried to put out with this clearly faulty extinguisher," he then walked towards the stove, pointing the ceramic chicken, "And that chicken needed to die! Any more questions?"

Suddenly, there was the beeping sound that was heard before.

"Yeah. What is that beeping?" Shark asked.

Piranha growled angrily as he took the broken smoke alarm from the floor, and smashed on down, wanting to destroy it to stop the beeping. Wolf quickly took the smoke detector from Piranha, and took the battery out.

Piranha should've known the answer was taking the battery instead of destroying it, "Yeah, anyone could take the battery out," he took the smoke alarm from Wolf, and put it down, "I'm going to my room to clean up," he marched to his room, and slammed the door close. His growl could be heard from outside when Wolf, Snake, Shark, Hornet, and Mira were startled by that sound.

"Well, that babysitter is not getting paid," Mira said, making the four Bad Guys roll their eyes.

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Later on, the four Bad Guys and Mira cleaned up the messes around the hideout. After that, they went straight to Piranha's room to check on him.

"Well, everything is cleaned up and back to normal," Wolf declared.

"Well, except for Webs' hair. She still looks like a giant Chia Pet," Shark pointed.

When Wolf opened Piranha's door, they entered his room to see no Piranha in sight.

"Piranha, are you okay?" Shark asked.

"No, I'm not," Piranha was hiding under the blanket of his bed as he came out of hiding, and jumped off his bed, marching towards the door, "I can't do this anymore

"Wait, wait," Mira called him out as Piranha stopped, and turned around. Mira then asked concerningly, "Piranha, what happened to you tonight?"

"I don't know," Piranha shrugged while shaking his head and walking back into the room, and sitting down on his bed, "I guess taking care of this family was harder than I thought."

"What made you think it's simple?" Snake asked

"I…" Piranha never realized why he thought it was too simple to take care of a family on his own, but maybe it was just personal as he confessed to his friends, "I lived with 900 543 siblings and cousins, and we always took care of each other. I'm the youngest of them all, and they were the ones taking care of me," He paused for a moment, "Well, not everyone, some of them were jerks," His friend chuckled as Piranha continued his explanation, "I just thought I wanna try taking care of kids, you know, since I'm old enough to be responsible. I didn't think it would be too hard. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a responsible one in the family."

"Are you kidding? Piranha, you might be the toughest yet most childish member of this team, but you are cut out to be responsible and caring for this family," Wolf said.

"Yeah, even though you're not the smartest, wisest, and industrious person I know, no matter how hard the problem was, you always found a solution," Snake added.

"You were always so kind and sweet with us," Shark commented.

"No matter how bad it was, you always found a way to make it better," Mira reminded.

Piranha smiled, knowing his friends were right, but he wasn't sure if those words described him, "Where did that guy go?"

"He's right here," Hornet put his small palm on Piranha's left chess where his heart is, "You just need to dig down through that craziness and crankiness, and find that guy who also has the biggest heart we've ever seen."

"You really think I am like that?" Piranha inquired, and his friends nodded smilingly. He sighed when Piranha realized he easily gave up tonight. But this time, he won't let it happen, "All right, I'm gonna go take another try at this falling asleep thing one more time with Mariposa," But when he was about to leave his room, Mariposa was already standing by his door. Seeing that cute little girl he watched over tonight, Piranha carried her up, and placed her on his bed, "Okay, nińa, we'll try this sleeping thing one more time, please?"

"Okay," Mariposa answered

"Okay, I'm gonna sing a song. Ready?"

When Mariposa nodded in excitement, Piranha started to sing at a fast and upbeat tempo.

Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down?

"No!" Mariposa shouted.

"No, no, no, no," Mira halted him, "From the heart."

"Ah!" Piranha nodded understandably as he sang the song again, but in a calm, slow, and gentle tempo.

You oughta know Tonight is the night to let it go Put on a show I wanna see how you lose control

So leave it behind 'Cause we have a night to get away So come on and fly with me As we make our great escape

So baby, don't worry You are my only You won't be lonely Even if the sky is falling down You'll be my only No need to worry Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Even if the sky is falling down

Just let it be Come on and bring your body next to me I'll take you away-ay Turn this place into our private getaway

So leave it behind 'Cause we have a night to get away So come on and fly with me As we make our great escape So why don't we run away?

Baby, don't worry You are my only You won't be lonely Even if the sky is falling down You'll be my only No need to worry Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Even if the sky is falling down

Mariposa felt her eyelids getting heavy and she yawned a little. Looked like it was working. Piranha had to keep singing.

Down like she supposed to be, she gets down low for me Down like her temperature, 'cause to me she zero degree She cold, over-freeze, I got that girl from overseas Now she my Miss America, now can I be her soldier, please? I'm fightin' for this girl on the battlefield of love Don't it look like baby cupid sending arrows from above? Don't you ever leave the side of me, indefinitely, not probably And honestly, I'm down like the economy

Baby, don't worry You are my only You won't be lonely Even if the sky is falling down You'll be my only No need to worry Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down? (down, down) Even if the sky is falling down

When the sky is falling down

At that last part of the lyrics, Mariposa was now falling asleep on his bed. He did it! Piranha actually did it.

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Credits:

Sam Rockwell - Mr. Wolf

Marc Maron - Mr. Snake

Craig Robinson - Mr. Shark

Anthony Ramos - Mr. Piranha

Awkwafina - Ms. Tarantula

Rhenzy Feliz - Mr. Hornet

Stephanie Beatriz - Mira Rose

Kaycie Chase - Mariposa

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Author aggimaginary

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So you're a tough guy Like it really rough guy Just can't get enough guy Chest always so puffed guy

I'm that bad type Make your mama sad type Make your girlfriend mad tight Might seduce your dad type I'm the bad guy

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The entire chapter referenced Fuller House: Uncle Jesse's Adventures in Babysitting. Piranha mentioned that he has 900 543 was a reference to The Bad Guys book 1. It is also mentioned in his Rap sheet.

Mira's speech about how helpful the Bad Guys were to her was referenced to Poison Ivy in the first episode of the Harley Quinn series.

The song doesn't belong to me. Piranha sang "Down" (another version) by Albin Loán and KALUMA.

First Previous Next

[itsaship-literally]

Hey! I just wanna say, you’re such a great person for making this blog for the fandom. It’s like an extensive and interactive guide for people who wanna enjoy fan-made content but don’t know where to start. I’m so glad you’re still active and I guess I just wanna say thank you. I almost wish for every piece of media to have a blog like this that welcomes and posts all kinds of content for people to browse in one blog but I love the fact that you’re a privilege we get in the fandom. Thank you again!

This may be a silly question but, do you have any beetlebabes fic recs? I’m almost finished with dream_weaver’s works and whenever I try to find fics that kind of give off the the same vibes I fail. And anyway, from the fanfic quotes you posted in your blog, something tells me you have really good taste.

Thank you! I am honored to hear you say so. I am equally honored to have been active for so long.

This blog started somewhere around 2015/16 after my first interaction with the fandom peoples. Back then it was only movie and toon fans and prior to that I was a lone fan who enjoyed the franchise without ever finding my people. Practically my whole life.

I felt alone in my obsession before my hubs encouraged me (post-baby #2)to find fanfics for this pair and I came across the slow-burn fic of Haunting Temptation by Fairdrea and quickly followed by the fun-times fic of Cinderjuice by LadyNorbert on Fanfiction.net I have a post of some iconic Beetlebabes fics on my pinned post

The Cinderjuice series actually brought me to tumblr with all their fourth wall breaking jokes and the super cute RP community of the time. I met the OG Beetlebabes here. All women who loved Beetlejuice with a passion. They are the Babes and the little group name somehow it changed to encompass the ship. Totally by accident.

Anyway, To answer your question, I suggest checking out the iconic list in my pinned post. Dream is rather unique in her MusicalBabes fics but you may find some writers in the movie and toon verse on FFnet. A lot of the old fics never made the transition to Ao3.

I highly recommend WithoutHesitation and Llelwyn for their darker fics. Fairdrea for her short smuts and that amazing slowburn. Ladynorbert for her campy-go-lucky safe for network TV fics and BD-Z because self-promotion is fun

I will end up making more fic lists in the future but for now thats what I have.

[indecentpause]

Find the Word Tag

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea to find january, sleep, ice, lantern, and blizzard! I’m going to have to go through all three of my wips because I know for certain I don’t have them all in one. thank you for the tag!

(everything I’m writing at the moment is in the summer, so I had to find some replacements for January and blizzard)

January month (from The Most Beautiful Puzzle):

You keep pushing out resumes and filling out applications. You’re not worried yet, but if you don’t find something within the month, you’re definitely going to be.

Then, late one night, while you’re in the living room watching old TV shows on Netflix, Josselin’s phone rings in his room. Weird. He usually turns the ringer off when he’s sleeping. Maybe an emergency contact? Is Frankie okay?

The ringing ends abruptly. Josselin’s door is cracked but not open, so you can’t hear anything he’s saying. Not that it’s your business.

You’ve gotten so much nosier since you moved in. Josselin’s rubbing off on you.

You go back to the TV, and the volume is so low and the apartment so quiet, when Josselin slams his door open, you jump what feels like ten feet out of your seat. Familiar zooms out of the room to hide under your bed, and Crackerjack and Grandpa both skitter under the couch.

You whirl toward him to ask what’s going on, but his face is pale and his eyes are wild, and the question shrivels on your lips.

“Get your laptop and phone. And your meds and wallet. I’ll get the cats. We have to go.”

sleep (from The Black & Blues):

Sara clears her throat. “We’re together. The three of us. But not like. In a sexual way. Or even a romantic way. We… we’re all aroace. And we just. It’s not like siblings but it’s closer than best friends. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t get it.”

You push your coffee to the side and rest your elbows on the table.

“Explain it to me, then,” you say gently. “We have all night.”

So they do.

Apparently being ace means no sexual attraction, and being aro means no romantic attraction, and being aroace means both. You don’t really get it, but they’re happy, and they clearly care about each other, and it’s not your business anyway. But you can see why they were so hesitant to talk about it, especially when Sara says,

“Like, everyone expects you to grow up and get into a monogamous marriage and sleep with your spouse and pop out babies and like. I don’t want any of those things. I want an apartment or a house with my two guys, and we can foster cats and dogs, and take each other to the doctor or the airport, or pick each other up from work, or go grocery shopping together, or help each other file taxes, or volunteer with the park district.”

And you’ve never heard anything more reasonable than that. Just because you can’t imagine yourself without romance or sex for the rest of your life doesn’t mean that’s what everyone has to want.

ice (from The Black & Blues):

By the time you arrive at Danny’s door, you’re breathless and sobbing. You knock and ring the bell and knock again, and his dad answers the door. He has a newspaper curled in one hand. He always has the newspaper nearby. Important to keep up with current events, he says.

“Meara?” he asks, surprised but concerned. “What–?”

But then his eyes narrow and his hand shoots out and you flinch oh god he’s going to hit you too–

But he doesn’t. He gently puts his thumb under your chin and guides your head to turn to the side.

“Meara, what happened? No, come in, come inside, I will get you an ice pack for your face. And I will get Danesh.”

lantern (from The Princess and The Pirate):

Rakhee flinched back when the electric lamps went on, humming softly in the still, silent air. Savitri helped em up and said, “Captain Daoyun wants to get moving before the sun rises. It’s supposed to be hotter today than the past two days, and the next town is about a two hour walk. She wants to get there as early as possible. If we’re lucky, we can find a place to take a bath and sleep on something more comfortable for a few hours. If Captain Daoyun permits, maybe we can take the train the rest of the way to Hongnan.”

“I hope so,” Rakhee mumbled. E yawned and rubbed at eir eyes and nose with eir knuckles. “I’m tired of walking. And I miss sleeping in a bed.”

“Me too,” Savitri said. She pulled Rakhee into a gentle side-hug, then let go as Mama Bear handed her one of the lanterns.

blizzard cold (from The Most Beautiful Puzzle):

“All right,” you say. “So… what happens next?”

Josselin finishes off his food and stands, gathering all his trash. “Next, I get coffee, and then I take a closer look at these files.”

You shuffle the papers he left on the table around a little. Josselin’s footsteps stop in the kitchen, and he calls out, “Is this tea yours?”

You jump to your feet and join him in the kitchen. “Oh, yeah, thanks.” You remove and trash the teabag and take a sip as Josselin rummages through the fridge.

“Oh, it’s cold.” You slide past him to get to the microwave to heat it back up, and, once he grabs a can of espresso, you follow him back to the living room.

Tagging @drippingmoon @kaiusvnoir @magic-is-something-we-create to find the words lonely, clear, flower, and oil!

[hoxooster]

Payday Q&A thing! M, T, X.

M is for MASKS: favourite mask/s?

I've got a few. I gotta give some love to two masks that I made:

Full Metal Doge and 80's Cowboy. The former is actually the first mask, material, pattern, and colors that I got when I downloaded PD2 on my da's computer. I'm known by this mask, and even though I haven't worn it in a long while (I've got a personal, 'wear as many of the masks as you can' challenge that I've been working on), I still love it dearly. As for 80's Cowboy, I just really liked how it came out when I first made it--it's probably one of my best masks, design-wise.

As for untampered with masks, I love these ones:

And, for a lil' bit of fun, these are my favorite PD:TH masks:

T is for TASER: most surprising moment/thing that happened in-game?

Hm. Well, I can think of a couple things. For PD:TH, a lot of 'em are just things dealing with my buddy, Wolfee. Like, him finally agreeing to accept my friend request (after much begging on my part), that time he found out that you can get stuck inside the police transport trucks on Green Bridge (and he stayed in there so I would get stuck and would have to fight my way out, the cheeky fucker)...

... how I earned my Steam username by impressing him (Diamond, 145, me and him with bots. Went loud 'cause the code didn't work. Him and the bots went into custody. I had to survive an assault wave, then dom 3 cops to get them back. He complimented me, and thus my Steam username was created and cemented.), and a bunch of other shit that I could spend hours talking about.

For PD2, there was the time that the GO Bank vault was just open--didn't know that that was a possibility until it happened to me...

... the time Wolfee showed that he cared about me enough to threaten one of our friends with bodily harm if I was downed...

... the multiple times I messed with Emma with the artifacts on Shadow Raid (she mains Chains and had never gotten his mask in a drop, then I got one after torturing her XD)...

... and some other things here 'n there that I love to talk about as part of my 'Old Man Stories' while in-call with people. I've made a lot of fond memories in this game, and I look forward to making a lot more, ya know?

Honestly, the most surprising thing is that you made Breakin' Feds a comfort heist for me, Red. Jeezum Crow, I hate it here.

X is for XENODIAGNOSIS: would you want Bain's disease to be curable and why/not?

No, because his death needed to happen. Simon Viklund wanted to leave OVERKILL, so he left to pursue other things and hangout with his best friend, and I'm happy for him.

As a Payday fan, this is devastating. Simon defined what Payday is--and I'm not joking. His portrayal of Bain guides players from a place of camaraderie and respect that no other contractor has ever even touched, and probably never will. His Cloaker dialogue is filled with memes and jokes at the expense of the fanbase, but, ya know, sometimes we all need to be taken down a few pegs whenever we get too cocky in-game. And his music? Jesus, his music gives both Paydays a feel that cannot be replicated--we've seen the examples that have been put forward by others, and they just don't compare. Now, I'm not sayin' that those songs ain't great, but they obviously just don't feel the same. Simon was the Heart and Soul of Payday, and his loss is felt deeply by those that know and hear the difference. It actually makes me very worried about PD3, 'cause it's just not gonna feel right without him there. But, it is what it is.

As a Payday player, I'm glad that it was handled in-game, so people wouldn't be left questioning just what in the hell happened to Bain. I hate that shit when that happens in TV shows--like, when characters disappear or get replaced by different actors without an explanation. Anyway, the decisions made on how to go about it were... strange, to put it lightly, but at least something was done. And, even though I hate bodyswapping narratives, I'm not peeved by Bain's ending. It was an alright send off, for what they could do on short notice in a sinking ship. Closure's a luxury that not all games have, and I'm glad that we got it with Payday's most important character.

And, as a decent person, I'm glad that they just killed off Bain in general. I dunno everything that went on behind the scenes at OVERKILL while Bo was imploding everything, but I can make some educated guesses. It wasn't good. For anyone. There's a lot of hurt there that's difficult to come back from, and, honestly, it's probably best if the OVERKILL team and Simon (and especially Ulf) don't work with each other again. Plus, it's probably just easier, logistically.

So, as much as I will miss Simon defining Payday, and Bain in his entirety, I'm glad that his disease wasn't presented in-game as curable and that his character was given a proper send off. He's more than earned his retirement and I hope that he enjoys laying mad pipe in the Oval Office.

[prentissluvr]

makes you wonder — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!awkward!reader ➖⟢ genre : fluff ➖⟢ cw : uses y/n, some of the lore/history is totally made up, swearing, workplace bullying/verbal harassment (i’m so sorry if your name is mark, he’s the asshole character), likely contains a few mistakes, mentions of canon typical violence and monsters ➖⟢ wc : 5.2K summary : you're the local expert on ancient weaponry, and fake fbi agent sam needs your help finding a certain dagger for a case. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga (hk is pronounced in the back of the throat like loch). biodag — bidag (the g is almost a k sound) [ disclaimer, i found these pronunciations off of the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so if anyone can correct anything i got wrong, i’d be super grateful for it! ]

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

certainly including the fact that it’s exactly what you want to be doing, working as a curator at your city’s history museum is near total perfection for you. not without much hard work and research, you were able to get a job that focuses on your specialty. historic weaponry. plus, your extra knowledge and fascination with mythologies and folklore gave you the perfect edge (pun intended) during interviews.

as a plus, you’re also able to spend minimal time interacting with people, even less so with those who don’t share the common interest of at least museum curation. of course, even that can’t magic away your awkwardness, and you still dread team meetings, but none of your coworkers save the resident asshole care at all when you stumble over your words or speak in clunky sentences. you’re smart, kind, and good at your job, so everyone except mark lessinger is more than happy to have you around. mark, the aforementioned resident asshole, is only around still because he’s the single person for miles who cares about the bland history of the town that is “strongly encouraged” by the local government to be kept in the museum. you’re sure he doesn’t do anything other than watch tv shows at his desk, lounge in the museum café. and make snide comments about anybody he can, because that exhibit hasn’t been updated in years and likely never will be unless something spectacular happens.

when you hear the click of the office door opening, you glance up from the work on your desk on instinct. it’s no surprise to see the devil himself (a mean and entirely pathetic thirty-four year old white man) walk through the door. mark was probably off slacking in the café like he does whenever he can get away with it, which is often considering he has nothing helpful to offer anyway. 

it’s the man who follows him that snags at your gaze and keeps your eyes lingering on the doorway for a second longer than usual. in the split second that you take his appearance in, you’re surprised by how much you want to keep looking at him, rather than the diagram of a seventeenth century revolver you’re hoping to include in the exhibit you’re planning for next fall. the gun is fascinating to you, moreso than just about anyone who could walk in that door. but something about this man is beautiful, so much so that you don’t want to look away. then both mark’s and his eyes fall on you, and you snap your chin back down to refocus on your work. this, of course, doesn’t work, because you can still feel them looking at you.

“that’s them right there. you know, weapons are the only thing that they’re useful for,” mark begins to ramble, and now you know without a doubt that they’re headed towards you, “which, unfortunately, isn't very helpful at all most of the time. but maybe they can do you some good, agent.”

that word is what catches your attention; you don’t even blink at the condescending tone to his voice or the fact that he doesn’t make any sort of attempt to hide his criticisms from you or this agent. you don’t even look up until the two men are right at your desk, so you miss the judgemental look that the stranger gives to mark’s unsavory comments about you. the idiot obviously misses the look too, because he’s smiling down at you all smug and patronizing when you give him your attention.

“this is agent giles from the fbi. the federal bureau of investigation,” he begins, cocking his head in a way that makes him look like he’s got a knot in his neck, rather than intelligent and important as you figure he intends. you just nod as the agent flashes his badge, resisting the urge to examine the tall man like one of your exhibit pieces. “well, he’s looking for a certain type of knife–” mark says slowly, like you don’t understand what he’s implying. you, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about him as you look the agent up and down, trying to look casual. you’re usually far more into ancient weaponry than men, but he is straight up gorgeous, you conclude. 

“–so, you should help him look for it. it’s very important, so don’t make us look like fools by saying something weird.” you grimace internally, but don’t show much of a reaction because all you can really think about is how much of an idiot he is. and how agent giles is too pretty to be an employee of the federal government. that part is far more important than mark’s rudeness, as you’re fully aware that he has nothing of value to offer, while you absolutely do.

“i’m sure y/n will be very helpful,” says agent giles firmly, and for a moment it surprises you that he knows your name before you realize mark must have given it earlier, “thanks for the sandwich recommendation mr.” he clears his throat because he’s clearly forgotten mark’s last name, “linser.” you stifle a laugh at both the insult of this agent remembering your name, but not mark’s, and the image of mark recommending an fbi agent his favorite sandwich from the museum café.

“lessinger,” he corrects with a stupid, haughty smile that suggests he has no idea that the agent thinks he’s a dumbass and couldn’t care less about him. he doesn’t even get the memo that he’s supposed to leave until agent giles clears his throat again and gives him a pointed look. “well, if y/n can’t get you what you need, i’m sure i can figure it out, so just let me know if you need anything else,” he lands a final insult before scurrying away to his own desk.

“it’s very bad,” you say with a matter of fact tone and shake of your head, once he’s finally out of ear shot. 

the agent raises his eyebrows in question, like he’s not one hundred percent sure what you’re referring to. “him?” he scoffs, “yeah, he’s a total asshole.” agent gile’s tone is much lighter and pleasant when he’s talking just to you, though he certainly means what he’s just said.

“oh, well, no. i mean, yes, he is a complete asshole, but i meant to say that– um, well, the sandwich. it’s very bad,” you repeat the sentiment in earnest after realizing you started speaking almost completely out of context. now you feel the need to explain, “he always gets the same sandwich, and it’s not a good one. if you’re hungry you should get the superfood salad. very healthy, and really good– or, i mean, if you wanted a sandwich, the blt is quite good, especially if you add avocado,” you trail off and realize you’re completely off topic, “but, uh– that’s not what you’re here for, obviously. i’m sorry, i don’t mean to waste your time, agent. uh, how can i help you?”

“no, no, that’s okay,” he says, his pretty hazel eyes full of sincerity, “i am in fact hungry, but i’d never take his recommendation, so i’m glad to have yours. i love salad,” he smiles.

“oh, thanks,” you relax, before wondering if that’s a normal response. but, instead of trying to correct yourself like you normally might, you stay silent to avoid going off topic again and preventing him from getting to the point.

“i’m looking for a certain type of dagger,” he begins, and you realize it’s taking quite a bit of effort to keep looking up at him from your seated position. he’s so tall. “i saw your museum has a weapons collection and was wondering–,” without thinking, you stand to alleviate the pressure on your neck. he pauses in his speech, but is quick to realize you’re simply just standing and that he’s free to keep talking, “–if you’d be able to help me find out if you have any. i hear you’re the weapons expert?”

“yep, that’s me!” you say, unable to completely tamp down your excitement about the topic. only then do you realize that your timing to stand up was slightly odd, but you forge on for the sake of daggers. your favorite subset of weapons. “um, what sort of dagger are you looking for?”

“a scottish dirk?” he answers like he’s asking a question, as if he’s not sure how odd it is to ask that. it is sort of odd, only because you can’t understand exactly what the fbi’s interest is in scottish daggers, but you couldn’t care less. 

your eyes light up and you grin, “we have plenty. actually, it’s quite a collection for a small museum like ours. uhh, let me show you! we have one on display, but personally, i think the ones in storage are the ones you’ll want to see,” you brush past him and head out into the hallway towards storage. 

he follows behind as you continue talking, “i mean, of course the one on display is incredible, it’s just that the best one doesn’t quite fit into the right time frame for this particular exhibit,” you explain, though you think a moment after that he surely couldn’t care less about those details. then, your curiosity gets the best of you, “so, am i allowed to ask why the fbi is looking for scottish dirks? i just didn’t think they’d be something the u.s. government would be concerned about for any reason. oh, well– not that it can’t be! you can certainly investigate anything you want, obviously,” you stop yourself there before you can say anything else borderline embarrassing.

“well, it may be connected to some odd deaths we’re investigating here. we’re just following every possibility.” his answer is completely cryptic and absolutely no help in calming your curiosities. you can’t think of any possible way that sixteenth century scottish daggers could be connected to unexplained deaths.

“you mean the… body in the lake?” you question aloud when the news article you read last week pops into your mind. the word “body” is used lightly; they only found the woman’s liver floating on the surface. you swipe your key card to open the door to storage and lead him inside, then you register that he said “deaths,” plural. “there was more than one?”

“yeah, over the course of the past … few years. the one from last week is just the most recent, second to the one we found this morning.” you’re not sure why he hesitates over the word “few,” but you figure he’s got all sorts of reasons to act secretive. 

“o-oh,” you stammer out, as everything suddenly turns so morbid, “i didn’t know that,” you reply as you stop without thinking at the right storage container. from the desk behind you, you grab a pair of gloves and ask him to put them on as well before you carefully extract the three long knives from their shelf. “so, what? you think someone’s using a scottish dirk to cut people up and throw their livers in the lake? odd considering the dirk is a thrusting blade. wouldn’t be very effective for such a task. well, uh, not that i’d really know. well, i do because i– but not like that! obviously, i’ve never used a scottish dirk to– nevermind.” you let out a little breath that’s half laugh half sigh and force yourself to focus on unwrapping the blades in front of you, each around at least a foot long.

you completely miss the endeared look that the agent gives you. sam only came in to see if the museum had the dagger and figure out how to steal it after hours to complete this case, but you’ve completely occupied his attention. he wants to hear you talk, loves the way you got excited when he asked about the dirk, thinks it’s sweet the way words tumble out of your mouth and your eyebrows change when you realize it was an awkward way to say things. and as a plus, your knowledge of the blade and its history could very likely be helpful.

“we’re not sure exactly how the dirk fits in, but that’s helpful to know,” he says kindly, peering down at the daggers. they’re beautiful and well-crafted, one with a particularly intricately carved handle. “that douche back there,” he begins, and you laugh a little at his unprofessional language, “he said you were interested in “fairy tales” related to weapons. i assume he meant folklore and mythologies? is there anything you can tell me about the folklore behind these?”

you almost cringe, thinking agent giles must find you silly until he proves just the opposite.

“yes, definitely! mark—the douchebag—loves to make fun of me for it, but it’s an important part of the job,” you explain, “it’s just, you might have to interrupt me, i get kind of excited about this kind of thing and, uh, i might start rambling,” you warn with a sheepish smile.

“any information helps,” he reassures. with that, you can’t help yourself, silently apologizing for the pure shitload of nerdy information he’s about to have dumped on him.

“well, if you insist. don’t say i didn’t warn you, but i’ll do my best to stick to the highlights,” you glance at him fleetingly and send him a smile you hope isn’t too awkward. you can’t help but notice he sends back a similar expression. so worried about your own behavior, you hadn’t realized that he’s also sort of awkward. it’s sweet and it makes you feel a bit more relaxed as you turn your attention back to the topic at hand. 

“the dirk, biodag in scottish gaelic, is a particularly important part of traditional scottish highlander culture. it was very common for warrior cultures to swear their most important oaths on their swords, but for the highlanders, it was done with their dirk. these oaths were binding with what was called the force of a gaes, which involved severe supernatural consequences were the oath to be broken. the iron of the dirk was considered to be holy, which stems from the folk superstitions that iron can protect against mythological creatures. these two,” you point to the simpler of the three knives, “are 17th century dirks, crafted with soligen steel, as there was a sort of magic ascribed to the forging of germanic steel that became popular in later centuries. 

“but, this one is a very early version of the dirk from the early 16th century, and made frompure iron,” you smile as you move on to talk about the third dirk, the one sam had noticed to be particularly ornate, “and therefore more aligned with traditional scottish folklore, as iron is considered to be stronger than any sort of alloy, like steel, against supernatural forces. this one’s definitely my favorite, just don’t tell the others,” you finish off with satisfaction, and even an affection that sam secretly finds adorable.

“it is a beautiful blade,” he agrees, in a way that makes you think he genuinely appreciates its value. “now, is there any sort of supernatural creature that the dirk specifically is used to kill?” sam knows the answer he’s looking for, but he’s always eager to confirm any sort of lore that he’s not intimately familiar with, so he asks despite the weirdness of it all.

this question is certainly very odd to you, and you can’t understand why he’d need to know, but you answer anyway. “well, it can depend on who you ask or what records you look at. in many cases, any old thing made of iron, or silver, depending, would do, especially because most folklore dates back to before the development of the highland dirk. but, there are definitely accounts of supernatural creatures being killed or warded off using a dirk, especially one used for a blood oath that was never broken. some believe the strength of an oath fulfilled made the weapon stronger and able to kill creatures otherwise thought unkillable.”

he takes in all of this information with such a serious and straight face that you really begin to question how this could all be about unsolved murders. he seems to think the folklore is going to help him solve real life mysteries, or maybe he’s just secretly interested in this sort of thing and using the opportunity to learn about it.

“and do you know anything in particular about a creature called the each-uisge?”

“each-uisge?” you repeat, unable to stop yourself from laughing a little in surprise. now you’re perfectly sure this federal government investigator is just a secret nerd with an interest in niche folklore. even his pronunciation is decent, though he neglected the back-of-the-throat sound of the “ch.” 

“well– i mean, yes, there are accounts of each-uisge being warded away by both silver bullets and an iron dirk,” you indulge, “i know less about the each-uisge themselves than dirks, but i’ve never read any account of one being killed. though, i do suppose an oath-strengthened dirk might be just the thing to do it.”

he nods intently. “listen, i’m sure this is a long shot,” agent giles begins, gesturing haphazardly with his gloved hands, and you wonder what sort of strange thing he could ask this time, “but is there a way of knowing if this one,” he points to the pure iron dirk, “might have been used to fullfill an oath?”

at that you can’t help but snort out a laugh. “what, are you trying to hunt down a each-uisge?” you tease. “you know that they’re only located in scotland, right? ... i mean, if they were real, obviously.” by the end, your tone is no longer playful as your mind returns to the news of missing, presumed dead people, with nothing left but their livers found in the nearby lake. then you think about the history of the town, once heavy with scottish imigrants when it was founded in the early eighteenth century. and finally, all in just a second or two, you fully recall the story of the each-uisge, a vicious, shape-shifting horse that drowns its victims at the bottom of the nearest lake and eats their whole body except the liver, which floats to the surface. a chill runs up your spine before you tamp down the ridiculous suspicions that fill your mind.

“right, obviously,” agent giles laughs too, but it’s sort of stiff, like he wasn’t really joking when he asked. you’re certainly not laughing anymore. “as for the dirk?”

you raise your eyebrows, “hm?” is all you can manage as your mind goes sort of blank. there’s absolutely no way that what you’re thinking about could actually be true, so you brush it off and try to listen to the agent—if that’s really who he is.

“can you tell?” he asks again.

“uh– tell what? oh– oh! if it was used to swear an oath?” you prompt. he nods. “well, i mean, ha. not really, not for sure. we have tested, and there are traces of blood on the blade,” you gesture towards it vaguely, “but, um, that could be from anywhere, not just an oath, you know? lots of fighting…and stuff, uh, those days,” your voice trails off as you laugh and nod a little awkwardly, starting to feel more and more confused about this agent giles, no matter how pretty his soft-looking brown hair is. you tell yourself he’s just curious, but he just looks oh so serious, despite the fact that he’s trying to seem casual and normal about this unconventional conversation.

“hm,” is the only little sound he makes in response, like he’s almost disappointed and considering something weighty you don’t know about because of your unsure answer.

and because you hate to see that little frown on his face, you keep talking, “but, it’s more than likely that this blade was owned by a high ranking clansman, possibly even the chief, as indicated by the ornate nature of the handle and overall high quality. oaths were, in retrospect, decently common to make, even more so for high ranking clansmen.

“which means it is very likely that at least one, maybe many oaths have been sworn using this blade. of course, there’s no telling whether each oath was fulfilled, but considering the cultural importance of loyalty and honor and the roles of oaths in such, it wouldn’t be far fetched to consider this dirk as the kind strong enough to kill a each-uisge. if, you know, you wanted to know a random, cool, and totally niche fun fact about one of my favorite weapons in this museum’s storage room,” in the last sentence, you speak in a clunky, awkward sort of way as you run out of interesting tidbits to info-dump and your mind instead wanders back to the undeniably peculiar circumstances surrounding this conversation. the laugh you let out at the end is quiet, and far more nervous than humored.

the smile he gives you then is sympathetic, like he knows this is all weird and maybe a little alarming if you’re willing to question your non-belief in the supernatural. you’re no longer sure at all that he’s an fbi agent, but strangely enough, you don’t find yourself feeling distrustful of him. your gut tells you that he’s good, and you decide to trust it.

“all of this was a big help,” he says, the sincerity in his voice almost tangible, “thank you.” that makes you feel good, because it seems to you like he’s just trying to help people. with what, you’re not sure, and then you sort of wish that he’d made some sort of joke about how this last part of the conversation wasn’t actually helpful, just interesting. interesting and completely irrelevant to the livers on the lake. 

you swallow hard, “of course. glad i could be of help to you, agent.”

“sam,” he corrects. “just sam is alright.”

“oh. right. just sam,” you nod and wonder if the feeling in your chest could be your heart fluttering. your eyes flicker from his face to his broad shoulders, to his pretty, big hands and the way his right middle finger taps against the side of his thigh. then, worried you’re staring, your gaze flits down to your own hands, resting on the table, then to the daggers you know so well. yet, you look at them different this time. you’ve certainly wondered about the oaths that may have been sworn by their blades and their connections to traditional superstitions. but now you look at them and wonder if it’s real. if one of these blades had been used to ward off a real-life myth in the past, or been magically strengthened by blood and kept promises. sam—you think sam fits him so much better than agent giles—has shifted your perspective of the things you’ve been studying and learning about and loving for years and years of your life.

it’s true that you’ve always been one to daydream, to wonder; that’s where your fascination with folklore and fairy tales comes from. always, you’ve looked for rumored mythological weapons in the real world and marveled at the less historic possibilities of the things you study. and you think that if it were anyone else, or if he talked to or looked at you in a different way, you wouldn’t be questioning your reality like this, but you are. maybe you’re predisposed to believing, or just too curious for your own good, but you know at that moment that you won’t be able to let this go.

sam clears his throat to break the awkward silence, and he thinks he can see the gears in your head turning, the way they have been since he asked about the each-uisge. he hopes desperatly you won’t ask him if he thinks this is all real, all because he doesn’t think he could lie to you anymore. there’s something about your authenticity, your intelligence and innate curiosity, and the goodness that you so clearly carry with you that simultaneously makes him want to tell you everything and protect you from the truth. the latter option is always his go-to, rightfully so, but he can’t explain to himself the way that he purely just wants to share with you, bring you closer to him through a shared understanding of the world. sam thinks he must be crazy, because he just met you and thinks it would be entirely possible to fall right in love with you if he got the chance to get to know you.

then he realizes that he’s the one staring. “right, well… i should get going. you know. i’ve got another lead i need to follow up on,” he forces the words out like he doesn’t want to go, and it’s true. he doesn’t, but if he spends more time with you, he’ll have to keep lying, and he doesn’t want to do that. more importantly, he doesn’t want to expose you to anything more that could put you in danger.

“right. right, of course,” you nod, and you’re practically breaking his heart because you fail to hide the disappointment on your face for a split second. he hadn’t realized he was looking at you that carefully to catch the look, but he doesn’t regret it. he’s discovered that he likes looking at you enough to not care much about that sort of thing. “would you like me to show you out, or do you remember the way?”

“i’m alright,” sam answers on instinct before his heart breaks doubly because your eyes look sad again for a moment, “but let me walk you back to your office. or, no, let me buy you that superfood salad for taking up your time,” he amends quickly.

“i already ate lunch, but– shit,” you interrupt yourself, cursing when you realize he was flirting. then you get flustered, “no, i mean– uh, well– okay! er, no, that’s okay, i mean,” because there’s no taking back the fact that you already said you ate lunch already. you take a breath to steady yourself, “but you can definitely walk me back to my office, let me just put these away, it’ll be quick–,” your hands rush to wrap up the daggers before you remember their fragility, “oh– sorry! thank you for the offer, though! that would’ve been completely unnecessary, i’m just glad i could help. not that i wouldn’t– uh,” you gulp anxiously, “not that i wouldn’t eat lunch with you, of course– well, if that’s what you were implying which maybe it wasn’t, which, in that case–”

sam who cuts you off, “it’s alright,” he reassures before you can keep rambling, “that is what i’m implying, but…” he quiets for a split second, only because he’s a littly shy, “it’s okay. maybe, yknow, when the case is over, we can go for lunch, if that’s alright with you?”

you inhale sharply, nodding silently before remembering you should answer aloud too. when you do, your voice is a little breathless, “yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” then, you’re fighting back a grin.

“great,” he doesn’t hide his own smile as he dips his hand into a jacket pocket and hands you his card. “call me tomorrow, we can set up a time.” you accept the card with a shy smile, and one beat, two beats of silence pass before the both of you realize you’re staring at the other.

in sync, you snap out of it, gazes jerking elsewhere and hands flying anywhere to get busy. you turn to the blades on the table and he focuses on fixing up the black jacket of his suit. you try to ignore him as you put the artifacts away, expecting for him to have said goodbye and left by the time you turn back to him. when you look at him in confusion, the corner of his mouth quirks up when he realizes you’ve forgotten that you said he could walk you back to your office.

he vaguely motions towards the door, “shall we? i’ll walk you to your office, then i’m good to find my way out.”

“oh! right, of course!” you nod, “yeah.” with your lips pursed in an awkward smile, you turn to the door and walk towards the exit without looking to see if he follows. but you don’t have to, because a half-second later, he’s right by your side, which you can attribute his long strides to. you like the way he lingers close to you, closer than he did when you first walked in together, even if it makes you feel flustered so that your hands mess with the hem of your shirt.

you stop at the office door, turning to him and expecting your goodbye to happen surrounded by the empty, white walls of the hallway.

but, he points to the door with his chin. “i’ll walk you in,” he explains, “show that asshole, mark, that you’re friendly with an fbi agent.”

“oh,” you sigh out through a smile, “you don’t have to do that, yknow. i know he’s an idiot.”

he laughs at that. “yeah, he absolutely is,” he agrees readily, “but, i still wanna. i think of it as part of my job to scare off assholes.” especially from pretty people like you, he wants to say. he’s just too shy for that, thinks it would be too soon to say it.

“well then, be my guest,” you smile as you open the door and let him follow close behind you.

“thank you for all of your help,” sam says, repeating what he said before, louder than he has to so that mark, a few desks away from yours, can hear it all, “you really helped move our investigation along. i think we’ll be able to wrap it up soon, thanks to you.” you’re sure that he’s over-exaggerating, but you certainly aren’t going to stop him from proving a point to mark.

“it was the least i could do,” you play along, trying to hide your grin from your coworkers, because you can feel all their eyes on you. when you sit, sam looks down at you with nothing short of affection, just for a moment before your eyes settle back on his pretty face.

“have a nice rest of your day,” he smiles before turning away. then he reaches the door, not too far away, he turns back around and speaks for everyone to hear, “don’t forget to call me, yeah?” before disappearing and leaving you a flustered, grinning mess. you can’t help but steal a look at mark and feel satisfaction run through your veins at his utterly shocked expression. 

he looks to have gone through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, and it’s frankly hilarious. he can’t seem to possibly consider the fact that you absolutely just pulled a (not?) fbi agent, not to mention one who’s that tall and just plain attractive. you can’t wait to catch whatever comical expression he wears when he sees you greeted by sam in the museum foyer during your lunch break for a date (because surely he’ll be sitting in the café watching people walk in and out as he’s chewing on his nasty sandwich).

part two : now you know