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dreamauri · 10 months

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‧˚⊹ 𝗱𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ଓ :: 𝗠𝗩𝟭 ‧₊˚⤾

— you are reading: part three !!

╭╯ pairing . . . max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ) ┊ summary . . . a day for max and leila ) ┊ genre . . . angst/fluff ) ╰╮ warning . . . bleeding, passing out, mentions of cpr

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Max found himself petting the sleeping pup gently as he watched Leila sit on his lap and read through a dictionary, helping her pronounce the occasional words.

He had found out that his means of communication of her was through German, one that she'd find muse in making fun of him in while they waited for their flight. "Um . . . Thirsty?" She said confused.

"You're thirsty?" Max looked down into the book, confirming the word. "Let's get you something."

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MEDIA DAY THURSDAY JULY 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

Max had come to learn a lot more about Leila during the flight. Including, the fact that she could not sleep before washing her face, can not sleep with socks nor shoes on, and can absolutely not sleep alone.

He found himself laying back in the business class chair, watching some movie on the presented screen while patting the child that was laying on him.

He's come to like her very much, reminding him of Victoria, his sister, and the relationship he shared with her.

Arriving at Hungary was easy, the two were quick to get settled into the hotel before going down for breakfast. "She eating cereal." Max talked with you over the phone, updating you on his new responsibility.

"If you could get her to eat some protein that would be great. Eggs or chicken, anything." "I have bacon." "Avoid pork." You winced at the idea.

"Omlete?" "Yeah, that's good." Cutting up ⅔ of his dish into bite pieces, he gestured for her to ear. "How's he doing?" "He's OK. Still sleeping. But recovering." Max nodded even though he knew you couldn't see him.

"Leila, eggs?" "Ya3." [ew] She pushed the plate away putting her tongue out in disgust. "Hot chocolate?" "Eh?" She looked up at him confused looking at where the dutchman was pointing, the drinks station. "She likes mango. Try that instead. Alright."

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"Ba7lam M3ak, besafina." [i dream with you, about a boat] The girl sang quietly as she held onto Max's hair as he carried her on his shoulders through the paddock. Sadly enough, the tween was wearing a red ferrari cap that contrasted with Max's navy blue shirt and orange lion cap. "Wen ba7ar tani." [where we go sailing again]

"Aussieee." Mkayla cooed once she spotted the australian shepard, leaning down and showring the pup with affection. "Thank you, Max. I'll take it from here." She gestured, ready to take the child off the driver. Leila clung to Max's leg once he put her down, hiding from the middle aged woman. "allez, ma chérie. Max a des choses à faire." [come on, sweet heart. Max has things to do]

Leila shook her head. "je veux rester avec Maxie." [I want to stay with max.] "She can stay with me." Max nodded with a soft smile, gently placing his head atop Leila's head to comfort her. "C'est charles." The tween whispered watching the ferrari driver pass by.

"Lets go say hi." He picked her up from under her armpits, setting her on his waist. "Thanks, Mkayla. C'ya, Aussie." With a quick farewell, Dutch boy quickly caught up to the Monégasque. "Non non non, tu vas m'embarrasser." [no no no, you're going to embarrass me] "I don't speak French." He reminded her, even though he could probably put together what she said.

"Charles, Mate." "Max!" The drivers greeted each other, sharing a quick, hand shake. "What's this?" Charles was obviously curious, its not everyday you get to see max carrying a child wearing Ferrari merch. "Babysitting. This is Leila. She's a big fan." He introduced, holding the girl towards Charles like she weighed nothing.

"Well Hello." "Salut." Her voice was small as Max set her down. "Ah, tu parles français?" he kneeled down to her height, a small smile covering his face. "Oui, J'habite en France." "Très beau." He winked at her, taking the hat of her head and signing it. "I'll see you around, Leila." He ruffled her hair, putting the cap back on. "She doesn't speak english." Max told him. "You might want to stick to the french." ". . . How have you been communicating?" "We haven't."

". . . Did you kidnap her?" "What?! Why would you even think that? Look, if I put my hand out she'll take it— Leila seriously? You're dumping me now?" The girl took Charles' hand smiling happily. "I thought she doesn't understand what you were saying. I think I'll keep her." The Ferrari reminded, picking the girl up to his chest. "She doesn't." Max folded his arms as the girl giggled, sticking her tongue out at Max. "You owe me a football match." He booped her nose.

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FREE PRACTICE Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Goan!" [goal] She whisper shouted, as she kicked the ball ( she somehow got her hands on ) between Max's legs. He could only smile as he watched her kick the ball around the garage as everyone packed up for the night.

"Bist du bereit, zurückzugehen?" [are you ready to go back] "Dein Akzent ist sehr schlecht." [Your accent is very bad] She teased making Max once more give up on using the language for being made fun of by an eight year old.

"Yallah." [come on] He held out his hand. It was the only word he knew, disappointingly for you. After spending a week in an arab house hold, he was able to pick a few words, including: la2 [no], inshalla [in gods willing/never gonna happen], and khalas [enough]. He already knew Habibi [darling/sweetheart], but that wasn't making anything any better.

"Leila, seventeen is going to kill me." He picked her off the floor starting to make his way out of the garage. "attends- uhhh . . l'anniversaire de nunu c'est demain, on doit lui faire quelque chose." [wait uhh, nunu's birthday is tomorrow. we have to make her something.] "Anniversaire, birthday? Who's birthday?" "l'anniversaire de dix-sept, seventeen." "You want to buy her something?" "Make."

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"Fuck mijn nek." [fuck my neck] Max groaned, flexing his musche as he opened his eyes after they adjusted to the sunlight. He was sleeping on the ground which had become a mess of paper, glitter, and beads. The only thing was missing was the girl that had passed and left him do all the work.

"Lei— Oh shit. Leila?" He quickly stood up, sobering up from his sleep to start starting for the tween. "Lei—" "Shh." You came out of the bathroom, covering his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed in surprised as you put a finger over your mouth, which held your toothbrush. "She's sleeping." Your mouth was muffled as you pointed at the girl sleeping in bed in her pyjamas.

Max sighed in relief, moving to the night mare that has been haunting hm for the past two days, adjusting the blanket over her. "She likes me more than you." Max whispered, putting his hands on his hips proudly. You could only glare at him as you continued to brush your teeth.

"Cousin thief." You mumbled going back to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste. "Hey I— I got something for you." Max came back with a neatly wrapped up box. "Happy birthday." You looked between the gift and him, a small smile creeping its way onto your face.

"You don't have to—" "—I'll keep it then—" "—mine." You took it out of his hands, gently starting to unwrap it. "It's a bottle." "It's water bottle." He chuckled clarifying, smiling with a shrug. "You broke yours so and I know you loved the last one. So, I thought I'd get you a new one." "Oh that is sweet. Thank you, thirty three." Your turned around, starting to fill it up with water.

"Thirty three?" "Yeah, since you keep calling me by my number." "That's because I don't know your name." "You kon't know your teammate's name?" You gasped, faking heart break. "I didn't— Hey! Don't know!" You laughed, wiggling your eyebrows as you exited the bathroom. "Senta." You answered.

Max peaked his head out the door, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Is that your name?" "It's my middle name." ". . . Isn't that German?" He asked confused. "Pick a country. First France, and then one from the middle east, now Germany? What's next?" "Netherlands." You joked making him glare.

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QUALIFYING Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"There he is! Lighting up the whole paddock!" You cheered as Daniel rolled passed on the scooter in the Alpha Tauri fireproofs. "Seventeeeeeeeeeeeen~" He pointed at you with the laugh that made your heart warm. "Danieeeeeeel RIIIIIcardOOOOOOOOO." You sang as you swung Leila's hand.

"Up you go." "ba3raf atla3 lewa7di." [i can get up on my own] She huffed folding her arms as you set her on the couch in the hospitality. "ana 3arfa, bas enti betegbari besor3a awy." [I know, but you're growing up so fast.] You kissed her cheek gently. "lazem aro7 delwa2ti. wa3d mesh hatemshi men hena?" [i have to go now. promise you wont leave] "wa3d." [promise]

Q1 :: you easily made it into q1, sitting in the top ten comfortably knowing you wouldn't be knocked out. rolling back in the pits, you waited in the garage with the warm tires which you'll stick with till the end of Q2.

"Who's out?" "Sargent, Magnusson, Hamilton, Tsunoda, Albon." "Hamilton? Huh." You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "He forgot he's in a Mercedes?" You joked as the team started pushing you out for Q2. "Danny is in, whoo!" You cheered to yourself as you waiting for the go.

"Who's P1 right now?" "Zho." "What? You're joking. Good for him." "Not for you though." "Eh, easy peasy lemon squeezy."

Q2 :: "We are P3. P3." "Who's ahead?" "Norris and Kraus." "Which Kraus?" "Killian." "Alright, you think I have enough time to give it one more?" "Negative. Negative. We are ok where we are. You will have a chance in Q3."

A sigh came from your mouth as you rolled back in your garage to get a change of tires.

Q3 :: "P1! P1! Great job Seventeen." "Yaaaaay." You cheered quietly giggling as you let the other cars pass by on their hot laps. "And Max?" "Max is P3. P4, P4." "Oh? Who's up?" "Kraus is P1." ". . . Which one?" "Meike." "Really?" Your voice darkened. "I'll give it to him."

"Starting grid tomorrow is Meike, you, Killian, Norris, Verstappen, Zho—" "Wait you're joking. Max P5? Are you sure? Is he ok?" "Affirmative." "Dang it. I'm sandwiched by two brothers now, I swear if they drag me into their family drama I'm going to **** **** ****** ******** **** ******." Safe to say you traumatized Jj. "A—alright. Just don't fined."

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"Happy birthday to you." You heard the team and Lando sing down the pitlane. Happy birthday dear Meike, happy birthday to you." Laughs errupted throughout as Leila watched quietly. "Yala halan balan. Heya Abu El fasad. Haykoun 3iedmilad El Leila as3ad El a3yad. Fal yaha Abu elfasad." [an egyption (?) continuation of the birthday song] You hummed quietly.

"Betghanilo leh?" [Why are you singing for him] Leila asked taking her back pack off. The garages were mostly empty now, you had dismissed a Mechanic, taking up his sweeping chores instead of him.

You shrugged in answer to the question. It just felt right. "Toz fih." [A vulgar/extremely rude way of saying who cares] "3andi 7ega liki." [I have something for you] Getting up in a random chair and dumping her bag on the table. "Max!" She called. "Found a cupcake from the Aston Martin hospitality!" Max raised the cupcake as he entered the garage, proudly placing it in the table top.

"What is this." You laughed looking at both of them as Max held up a lighter. "Sanna 7elwa ya gameel." "Oh no." You sighed hiding your face as they begun singing. Leila had apparently force-taught Max the arabic version of the happy birthday song, and his accent was horrible, with the occasional mistake. "Sanne 7elwa ya gameel. Sanna 7elwa ya, nunu/senta. Sanna 7elwa ya gameell~."

Leila did a little zarghroota ( failing miserably ) as you laughed blowing out the little flame. "How old are you now?" Max asked leaning on the table, with a look of mischief on his face.

"The big two three." You joked folding your arms, leaning on the table as well. "Hah, I'm older." "Older than dinosaurs." You mocked, a genuine smile on your face as Leila pulled you away from Max, handing you a pop out card.

"Aw look, is that me?" "Da enti, Dija, baba, teta, gedo, ana, we da Max lewa7do." [that's you, dija, dad, grandma, grandpa, me and that's Max in the corner] you could only laughed as she pointed at the drawing Max.

"He looks just like you." You teased as Leila pulled out 2 handfuls of accessories. "I technically made these since, Leila slept and abandoned me." You laughed as she put the bracelets and necklaces on. "I love them. Shukra, ya 2amar." [Thank you, beautiful] You kissed Leila's cheek, offering a hug to Max next.

"Thanks Max, you made my day."

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RACE DAY Friday July 22 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Killian." Walking down the pitlane, the older of the Kraus Brothers looking to his side seeing his dad, gently holding his shoulder. "Give us a minute." Leon dismissed the mechanic, pulling his son aside.

"Deal with that Seventeen girl. She losses this round. We won't have to worry about her nor her ego again. Make sure your brother wins." "I- . . . Alright." He couldn't even protest because the man walked away, walking to the pole winner car.

"Killian? Killy willy?" "Huh?" Everything alright, mate?" "Yeah . . . Everything is-" He got in to his car with a deep sigh. "Everything is. Peachy."

"It's lights out and away we go at the Hungarian Grand Prix."

Lap 1 :: "Meike gets away well, so does Seventeen, so does Killian. It's masked driver sandwiched between two Krauses." "I can already tell this will not end well for Seventeen."

"There is contact on turn one, and the two Alpine drivers are out! Zho drops a few positions and Riccardo spins out."

Lap 6 :: "Verstappen overtakes Norris on turn 3 and he is now in P4, one position away from the Kraus vs Seventeen battle. Max is charging forward to aid his teammate."

Lap 38 :: Killian felt his heart beating in his mouth, you were going to over take his brother any moment now, and gain P1. He couldn't let you lead. He couldn't over take you either, the plan that he had scripted had failed. And he had no other choice.

"Sorry." He whispered to himself.

"OH! AND- KILLIAN DRIVES INTO THE REAR OF SEVENTEEN!" "Massive crash there catching Norris, Hamilton, Leclerc and Sainz!" "Verstappen was able to get away safely. And that is a red flag."

"Oh fuck! Y/N? Is she okay?" Max's voice popped up on the big speakers as he begun to slow down. "She has not responded yet." "I need to-" "Max stay in the car. Stay in the car. The marshals will take care of it. Red flag. Red flag."

As soon as Killian managed to get out of the car, he heard crying. Like a seven year old balling her eyes out.

Back in the garages, Max was quick to leap put of his car, running through to your garage. "She's up. She's—" "What is she doing?!" He yelled, gripping his hair, watching you on the screen. You were lifting up the side of Lando's flipped car so he could crawl out.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" He shouted at you even though you couldn't hear him. Lando was the quick to run to the medics once he got out. "GET TO THE FUCKING MARSHALS!"

You could feel your head spinning as you let car drop the few inches you lifted. You couldn't hear anything, and you your limbs were numb. Your ears were pulsing as you took a step forward to the Marshals, only for you to find yourself weaken.

"And she's on the ground— she fell!" "Where are the marshalls?! She's bleeding! WHERE ARE THE MARSHALLS?!"

Max could hear the commentators, his ears ringing as he watched someone come to your aid. The world was blurring before him as he watched them commence CPR.

Sobs. Snapping out of his trance, Max found a lost Leila at the entrance of the garage, crying her eyes out. Not even waiting a second he was quick to lift her into his arms, bouncing her gently as he tried to calm her down.

Mkayla was quick to come for support, whispering reassuring words to the tween in her second language. "C'est bien. C'est bien, Leila. Y/N est bien." [It's ok. It's ok, Leila. Y/N is ok]

Max himself didn't even know if she was going to be okay. He's seen crashes like that, and they never ended well. Especially after seeing the fate as the previous holder of the number Seventeen had met.

Final Lap :: "and Max Verstappen takes the win. Breaking the record of the most consecutive wins with 12 races in a row."

"This is for, Seventeen." He sighed as he crossed the line. "This was her win." "Thank you, Max." The Dutch heard Christian over the radio, a deep shaky sigh coming from the driver.

Hopping out of the car, Max was quick to go to where his team waited for him, patting his back gently as he pulled the reaching Eight year-old into his arms. Pulling her over the fence ( not giving a single shit about getting fined) , he kept her in his arms as he walked to the cool down room.

Sitting in between the two Krauses, he braided the girl's hair gently, occasionally wipping the silent tears that streamed down her eyes. When it came to the podium, Max had failed convince Leila to wait for him, ending up with her joining him, hugging his leg on the top pedestal as they played the National anthems.

He felt anger, raged. Watching Meike celebrate made Max want to punch him in the face. But he held back, holding up his trophy slightly for his team, before walking out hand on hand with Leila.

17: oh no im bleeding to death

lando: *not injured, is fine*

17: i want to play prince charming

( taglist ↳ @lorarri - @benedikwonn - @mycenterfold - @iamahallucinanionnn - @lizzieolseniskinda - @chelseyyouraverageluigi - @michellekstyles - @ironmaiden1313 - @azxulaa - @mistrose23 - @lazybot - @hockeyboysarehot - @iloveyou3000morgan - @livster

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xelasrecords · 2 years

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The Worth of Gifts

Han Jumin x Reader

This is basically a love letter to Jumin because that one line that he said in his route lives in my head rent-free. Waking up at 6.30 am on the weekend just to write this was worth it.

Words: 1.4k

Masterlist Read on AO3

"I have brought a couple of things for you, my love." Jumin rushed in a flurry of cold wind as he entered the bedroom that you shared together, his navy blue coat billowing behind him. He settled down a horde of shopping bags on the bed that you were lounging on. They had lined both his arms up to his elbows and you found it curious that he was doing the hard work alone, without the presence of a trailing assistant nearby.

You had been on your phone engrossed in your favourite TV series when Jumin came in. Immediately, you sat up straight and scanned the bags of different colours and sizes that were strewn across the bedding. "A couple of things?" You raised your eyebrows at him. "I don't think I would define it that way. Which dictionary are you using? Maybe I should get one too to understand you better."

"A dictionary? I'm afraid I don't have one ready at my disposal. I calibrated my purchase decision based on the number of things I wish to give you, and these barely count towards anything." Jumin was about to expound on it more when he saw your face lighting up with mischief. "Ah, you were teasing me."

You gave him a playful shrug. "Maybe?"

"I see." His lips curved into a sly smile that matched your own.

You took account of the things he got you. They were things you had mentioned in passing or had pinned on your Pinterest boards and saved in your wish list. It was astonishing that he remembered everything. That he remembered and thought to gift them to you because he thought it would make you happy.

Throughout your life, all you wanted was to be known, to be seen by someone who loved you and someone whom you loved back. And here he was, showing you how much he knew you so casually as if it was a given. This love language of his, although it overwhelmed you at first, was something you could learn to get used to in time. You had never been pampered lavishly before, but hey, there was a first time for everything.

"Jumin, love," you started.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why did you get me so many things?" You looked at him in awe. "I appreciate everything you bought me. I mean, do you know how long I've longed for these?" You shook your head while peeking into the bags. "You are something else, Jumin. But I have to wonder, why of this magnitude?"

"This isn't anything. I can do so much more for you."

"I know, but why?" You pressed, genuinely curious.

Jumin wasn't one who would deflect from sensitive questions that came from his beloved. Like you, he wanted you to know everything about him. He was secretly relieved that the both of you shared the same desire. He couldn't imagine being with someone who couldn't care less about his more vulnerable side.

"If you must know, it's because that's what everyone expects from me since I was little," he said, his head tilted down almost imperceptibly. You didn't miss it, and you detected a slight tremble in his voice nearing the end of the sentence.

It tugged at your heartstrings seeing him like this. Carefully, you pushed aside the shopping bags and crawled towards him. You came to a kneel in front of him and swept your fingers through his tousled dark bangs. "You don't have to prove your love to me through material means. My love isn't something to be earned or bought. You deserve to be loved simply because you exist." You took a breath, diffusing the anger that burned in your chest at the unfair expectations Jumin had to live up to since he was young. No kid should ever shoulder that kind of responsibility, and that included corporate heirs. "I love you for being the Jumin that you are."

He raised his eyes on you, and you found his gaze faltering, unsure. It was a silent urge to go on. "Think about it. Think about how our relationship first developed. In the beginning, I was interested in you because you're smart and funny in the most unexpected ways. Then, I saw how caring you are towards your friends and family. How you offer unwavering support for them despite being the butt of their jokes most of the time." You brushed the back of your hand against his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

"I just did what I had to," he muttered.

You couldn't let Jumin throw out more self-undermining statements. For someone so confident and self-assured, it hurt to see that he felt the need to cover up this part of him before his own friends. "You have that sense of duty because you love us. Deny it as much as you want, but it doesn't diminish the truth. You know, it surprised me how non-judgmental you actually are despite the firm personal beliefs that you hold. You let other people be themselves, and that's what I want for you, especially when it comes to this relationship." Your hand found its way to the back of his neck, compelling him to raise his eyes to you. "Don't ever think that you can only be accepted if you provide enough things for me. You are enough. I'm happy with you even without them."

Jumin was silent. When you were talking with such ferocity, you didn't notice that you had inclined your body so close towards him, near enough that your noses were touching.

Jumin rested his forehead against yours. "How do you always know the right things to say?" he breathed out.

"I only see what is already in you." You pressed a brief, tender kiss on his lips, tasting the cold air from his earlier excursion outside.

"Thank you for reminding me of your love," Jumin said, his expression an earnest reflection of how he felt about you.

"You can always ask for one whenever you need it. I'm your endless supply of support."

"What would I have to give in exchange for this dubiously free support?"

You grinned. "Nothing, I'm naturally generous! Just press the button and I'll come running spewing out motivational speech. I won't stop until you wind me down."

"Wind you down," Jumin appeared to be in thought before continuing, "like this?" He stole a quick peck on your neck.

Instantly, you felt heat rising up your cheeks. "Hey! That'd just wind me up," you scoffed.

"Then I'd have to do it more often." He attacked you with tiny kisses all over your face, nose, chin, and jaw, and trailed down to your shoulder. You burst into laughter, pretending to pull away from him but bringing him down on the bed with you instead.

The shopping bags around you rustled. Jumin toppled on top of you and you could feel the fabric of his dress pants rubbing against your bare thighs. He was smiling and man, your heart was taking flight on its own. This beautiful, beautiful man. You could never get bored of looking at him. He was above Greek statues. He was real.

"I love you," Jumin said quietly.

"Funny. I feel the same way." You tapped on his nose. "But we probably should get these out of the way if we want to do more." You gestured at the sea of bags lying nearby and wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. "I don't want to ruin these gifts you procured for me with blood, sweat, and tears."

Jumin sighed. "Must we? I can just get the replacement for them later."

"We absolutely must."

"Fine." He was about to push himself back up when he halted. "Wait, I have to clarify. Do you mind if I still buy you things?"

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "Of course I don't. You're allowed to shower me with love, only don't do it to prove your worth to me."

Jumin took a second before replying. "Earlier, you expressed your wish to understand me, but you seem to have understood me well. Sometimes even better than I do myself." He chuckled to himself before training his eyes on you again. "I want to understand you deeper too if you would let me."

That wasn't even a question. "Once again, you're allowed, Jumin." You dragged him into another kiss, the mess around you be damned.

Buy me a glass of something that's definitely not coffee because I can't stand it but it is the website's name if my story touches you in some way? No worries if you don't. I'm still grateful you've read all the way through here.

#jumin x reader #jumin han #jumin #jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mystic messenger jumin #mystic messenger #mm jumin #mm #mystic messenger fanfiction #mysme #jumin han fluff #mystic messenger imagines #xela writes #jumin han comfort #jumin han fanfic

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comfy-whumpee · 1 year

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Love Lets Go

The Birdhouse has occasional group therapy. CN: BBU, alcohol.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump

“Let’s talk,” Miss Kaur said, “about what love is.”

Avis sat on the edge of the windowsill in the living room. Beside her on the loveseat were Florence and Kamala, inseparable as usual. On the left, in the armchair by the old fireplace, Boo curled up with no apparent interest in the conversation around them. Against the opposite wall was the doorway to the dining room, and the dining chair that Miss Kaur had brought in for herself. Finally, rounding out the ring, was the green sofa with Tenten and Roman at opposite ends, sat in their identical straight-backed, hands-folded pose that was a mark of their similar training.

Group conversations were a new thing. It wasn’t strictly therapy for them, but it was a way to open topics of discussion and build connections in the group, as well as a way for them to learn from each other. They were trying it out to see who benefitted, who got nothing from it, and whether anyone would react negatively. Avis was mainly hopeful that being present would help Boo, even if they still refused to respond to anything around them.

They had picked a broad theme for the first attempt. One relevant for all involved, as best they knew. After the question, there was a long pause. They all had ideas to think through before daring to say them aloud.

Avis waited in silence for Kamala to speak. It was always Kamala. She couldn’t stand awkward moments like this. Her smile was kind and gentle. “Love is a strong feeling of care for others,” she answered. Avis would have bet money that it was the definition listed in the dictionary in the study.

Kamala didn’t seem to know how obvious it was that she often recited answers that she thought were correct, rather than give her own feelings. She also didn’t seem to realise how impressive it was that she could remember so many passages word for word.

“Love is being inc-cc-cluded in things,” Tenten offered after another hesitation. Avis thought of his occasional presence at other people’s activities. If they needed a second participant, Tenten was always willing. Perhaps that was love, to him.

The silence dragged on. Miss Kaur eventually broke it, looking at the others. “Does anyone else have any initial ideas?”

Roman stared at his feet. Boo stared into space. Florence was the one who spoke. “Love is when someone looks after you.”

Better than expected, Avis thought with relief, relaxing slightly.

“Thank you for sharing, Florence. Would you like to contribute, Roman?”

Roman glanced up, startled. His voice was whisper-soft. “Love is wanting something even if you try not to.”

Avis watched as Miss Kaur absorbed that response, nothing but the slight pause before her reply to give it away. “Thank you, Roman. Could you tell me something you love?”

“Attention,” Roman answered promptly.

“Beauty,” Florence supplied, sensing that the question was coming to the rest of them.

“Making other people happy,” Kamala put in.

There was a pause. Florence looked at Tenten while everyone else pretended not to.

He shifted in his seat, only a slight turn of his hips to give away his discomfort even as he held still in the formal sitting pose, the rest of his tics vanished under his focus. “I love - this house,” he said, looking at Miss Kaur and nobody else. “It-t’s old and has winding hallways and exp-posed beams. Everyone gets their own room and they’re all, all different. It, it-t has a range in the kk-kitchen and a fireplace in here, so it’s always warm.” He stopped, hearing himself talk, and scratched his cheek. “I’ve been um, been wanting t-to say that for a while,” he admitted.

Miss Kaur was smiling. “Thank you, Tenten, for sharing that. I liked hearing your reasons.”

Tenten smiled back, pleased at the praise.

Then, the seconds began to pass again.

Roman was checked out, staring at the floor with distant eyes. Attention was decidedly not something Roman sought in the shelter, but perhaps he was different before. Or perhaps he was told that he was, and believed it now.

Florence was playing with the hem of their skirt, drawing repeated attention to their bare thighs through the slight movements of their hands. The question had brought something up for them, too. Beauty and its form were always difficult for them to parse.

Reliably, Kamala spoke up. “I like this house too, but people are more important to me. I’m happy if I can make someone else happy.” She gave a picture-perfect Platonic smile. “And I want everyone to be well, of course.”

“Can you give us your reason for that, Kamala?” Miss Kaur suggested.

Kamala froze, briefly, subtly. It wasn’t an answer she had prepared, it seemed. “Well, that’s - that’s obvious.”

Avis knew the line. Platonic caretakers find nothing more fulfilling than being the best partner to their owner, and answering their needs with diligence and perfectionism.

“If people are happy I can feel happy too. It’s nice to know you helped someone.”

Tenten nodded in agreement.

Boo sat on the armchair, looking between them all without a twitch of an expression to show their thoughts. But at least they seemed to be following the talk, now.

“What do we think about the idea of self-love?” Miss Kaur said, when it became clear that the group had nothing else to add. “Roman,” she called his attention back, “I’d like you to start. What is your view on self-love?”

“Um,” Roman said, eyes skittering away. He wasn’t fully present, still. Some thought was catching at him. “Self-love is when you love yourself?”

“Yes,” Miss Kaur agreed, despite the non-answer. “What might that look like, to love yourself?”

There was a significant silence.

“I’d like us to think about what Kamala said,” Miss Kaur suggested, steering the ship back on course again. “Kamala said, and forgive me for paraphrasing here Kamala, that she loves people, and she especially loves looking after people and helping them. When you said that, Kamala, were you including the people in this room?”

Earnestly, Kamala nodded.

“I’ve had conversations with some of you about seeing yourselves as people. We have worked on that knowledge, that to survive the pet industry doesn’t mean you are no longer people. This means we are, according to Kamala’s principles, deserving of love, help and kindness.” She glanced at the woman in question, who looked alarmed by being used as an example. “That includes Kamala herself.”

The clock in the kitchen was audible through the doorway. Nobody else even moved. It was difficult for them all to think through this barrier, especially when she tied it to ideas of worth and support.

“We all have an idea of love,” Sunita said quietly, with the warmth she felt for this group suffusing her tone. “What we lack, and this is common of most people, is the ability to apply that knowledge to ourselves. When we love ourselves, we learn how to treat ourselves fairly. We learn how to make compromises and how to assert boundaries. We negotiate all of those things with ourselves, and it’s not necessary for us to do that before bonding with others, but it is invaluable practice for forming sustainable relationships in the long-term.”

Kamala nodded, because she thought she was supposed to. Florence looked lost.

“Only you can be your worst enemy, and only you can be your best friend,” Sunita summarised. “Learn how you like to be treated. Then you can teach those around you. Let’s take a pause now for reflection. Take yourselves off to wherever you’d like to be, and think, write or talk aloud through your thoughts. We’ll come back in half an hour.”

Florence sat doodling shapes on a piece of paper they’d found, with a stubby pencil Avis left in the kitchen for writing the shopping list. They were drawing hearts, one of the few symbols they knew. Hearts meant love. It seemed relevant.

It was a strange conversation they were having today. Loving others was easy for Florence; they had been made to, and the way that their love had changed hands was important to them finding their place.

They were made to give, not to keep. But they wondered if they could.

Could you love yourself without being able to see yourself?

It was too far to go up to their room. They could have gone up, and nobody would have said anything, but if they missed too much therapy, Avis would get involved.

They stayed in the armchair, staring at the emptied room as if nothing about it had changed. Their voice was miles away at the best of times, but today it may as well be on another continent.

No matter what they learned from Sunita Kaur, they didn’t know how to live differently. They would only learn everything that they lacked.

Kamala waited patiently to be allowed back into the therapy room, iPad on her lap. She had a comic book open, but between pages, when she could sneak glances, she was trying to find some information about the therapeutic conversation they were having together. Normally, Mrs Sunita followed a treatment plan or template exercise that meant Kamala could find all she needed, given enough time.

Searching what is love led to nothing useful. It was too common a question. She read some articles, but they all seemed vague and at times, in disagreement about what it was.

Still, she knew from Mrs Kaur’s expression that she had said some things right. There had been approving looks, and she had used Kamala’s words to explain something. So she was doing well.

She could be good. Good pet, good friend, and good at therapy.

The bathroom was quiet and private. Tenten liked bathrooms. They were designed to be easy to clean, and they were the only place nobody ever raised eyebrows when you locked the door. He could spend as long as he liked inside, and people would only give him vague, concerned questions about whether he was okay, without prying into specifics.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, resting his wrists on his knees. He breathed. He was doing well today, only his hand twisting erratically, everything else loose and behaving itself.

Mrs Kaur was asking hard questions.

He let the thought walk by. It wasn’t his place to try and predict what would happen, nor to practice what he would say. His job was to read and respond. Find what they want and provide it with the appearance of effortlessness. Mrs Kaur wanted his honest thoughts, and he could provide.

An arm goes around his shoulders and he doesn’t move. Carved from stone, he thinks to himself, as the lights of the television flicker over them both in the dim light. He doesn’t like that Tyler is tipsy. It makes him nervous, remembering the Christmas party last year where he got in a drunken fight with Phil. They were friends again the next morning, but it was still unnerving.

He has to be carved from stone. Unflinching, unfeeling.

But Tyler doesn’t hurt him. He just sits there, smelling of sweat and alcohol, watching the screen. They’ve gone to commercial, but Roman can’t leave now. He can’t pull away.

On the screen, two men are buying a house together, talking to a nice, smiley representative from a bank so they can get a mortgage.

“Are you gay?” Tyler asks abruptly.

It’s only after he’s processed the question that Roman realises that’s what the men on the screen are meant to be. His heart sinks. “I don’t…know,” he admits after a moment.

“Yeah, of course you don’t. You wouldn’t know unless you tried being with a guy, right?” Tyler’s voice is casual, but something shifts underneath, and Roman swallows. “You don’t remember anything, you wouldn’t know.”

“No,” Roman affirms, between numb lips. Dread is climbing up his throat with claws.

“Would you want to know? I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna date. But it’s – interesting, to know, right? It’d be good to know.”

Tyler still won’t look at him. Roman looks at his lap, feeling like the arm around him gets heavier every second, every breath, every word out of Tyler’s beer-stained mouth. “I don’t mind,” he whispers.

“’Course not,” Tyler agrees, except he doesn’t sound like he’s listening. “You don’t mind. You wouldn’t mind. And you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Roman opens his mouth to ask, tell anyone what?

“Half an hour is up, Florence.”

“Okay.”

They got up, leaving the scrap of paper behind. They returned to their seat, where Kamala had already returned on her own. Florence didn’t think Boo had moved.

Avis rapped on the bathroom door. “You ready, Tenten?”

“Yes, Avis.” The door opened. Neither of them commented on Tenten’s half-hour bathroom break. They both knew he’d needed the space.

With everyone else returned, Avis went looking in search of Roman, climbing the stairs. She had left him until last because she knew that, against her expectations, he had been hit the hardest by the conversation today. It would have, she hoped, a profound impact on everyone. But something had triggered for Roman, and she wasn’t yet sure what.

She didn’t find him in the bedroom. She checked the bathroom, and the music room. He wasn’t in any of them.

She circled the floor to the big window, but he wasn’t in it. She climbed to the third floor.

There, the library door was ajar.

The Birdhouse’s library was a long room with a wider bottom half, taking a chunk out of the third bathroom, which could afford the loss. It was lined down one wall with huge shelves, each one containing multitudes. There was fiction and non-fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, realistic stories, mysteries and thrillers and crime, fairy tales, myths, legends, poetry and drama, illustration and photography, craft books, art books, comic books, cookbooks, books on gardening, DIY, health and wellness.

On smaller shelves around the room were the personalised collections: Kamala’s riot of colour for all her Marvel needs; Florence’s photo collections from places across the globe and their easy reading novels; Tenten’s recipe books and the two history texts he had shyly asked for. Boo didn’t have anything on their shelf, but Avis knew they used the library sometimes, when nobody else did.

Roman was sitting in one of the eight armchairs scattered around the room. It was facing the window, but the curtains were closed from last night. He didn’t seem to be looking out of them.

Perhaps, Avis thought as she sniffed the papery air, this room was the most like an office.

She set herself down in the nearest armchair, nearly sinking into the plush fabric. “Hi, Roman.”

“Hi, Avis,” he said, his voice barely audible.

She sat for a minute, watching. He barely moved. He was sitting in the chair upright, feet on the floor, hands at his sides as though he’d forgotten to position them. His head was tilted down to place his gaze on the floor, but he wasn’t moving.

“I like this room,” Avis ventured after it became clear he had nothing to say. “I think it’s lovely. Things can get hectic with the others around and all the things to do, but your reading time in the library is always special. Peaceful.”

He didn’t unstick. She sensed that he wanted to, somewhere inside him he was straining to, but he wasn’t in control. He was being unobtrusive, that deadly word that both of her Help at Home rescues staked their lives on.

She rested her arms on one side of the chair, making sure she was as close to his direct line of sight as she could be. “I’m getting the sense that you’re paralysed right now, Roman. That’s okay. It’s not unusual to get stuck sometimes, when someone is faced with something that they can’t handle. They adapt, or they suffer through it. Often, they suffer in the same way as they have suffered other things before.”

Roman gave a slight nod, just enough to show he was paying attention. Was it genuine communication, or even a request for her to carry on? Or was it another trained motion? She wasn’t sure. He was still so new.

“This is because your brain learns how to survive. That’s like its superpower, like Ms Marvel. Have you seen Kamala’s comics?”

Another nod of five degrees.

“Your brain adapts. It learns what was safe and got you through a hard situation, and when you’re put under stress again, it uses that same technique. Sometimes, that technique is freezing.”

Sometimes, it was self-annihilation through service to others. Sometimes, it was emptying of thoughts and focusing only on sensory experiences free of trauma. Sometimes, it was becoming nothing at all.

Sometimes, though, it was talking. Sometimes, it was Tenten gripping his elbows and trying to explain where his head had gone, so he could find his way back.

Avis relaxed, reassured by the thought. If Tenten could do it, so could Roman. “Think about where you are, Roman. You’re in the library right now. You’re looking at the curtains. What colour are they?”

His lips moved, almost soundlessly. “Purple.”

“That’s right. A nice muted, dusky purple. What texture?”

“C-coarse. Sturdy.”

“Excellent. What about where you’re sitting?”

He looked down. It seemed as though he hadn’t seen the chair before. “C-Cream.”

Then his eyes went to her, and she waved. “Hi, Roman.”

He exhaled. She wondered how long he’d been holding that one lungful of air. “Hi, Avis.”

Mrs Kaur nodded. “I’ll talk through it with him in private next time I see him. I expected there might be some difficult moments, but I didn’t foresee Roman reacting so strongly. It sounds like he needed some help to come out of his memories, but he was able to go about the rest of his day normally.”

Avis felt tension drop away from her shoulders as Sunita laid it out so simply. “Yes. That’s true. How were the others after we left?”

Her words were edged with concern, which Sunita politely pretended not to notice. “Oh, fine. Boo listened, the others talked. They weren’t quite able to express things about themselves just yet, but we had a good moment where they offered love to each other, and saw it reflected back. I think that’s a very positive start.”

Avis chuckled softly to herself. “I can imagine. Kamala and Florence always have nice things to say about each other, and Tenten is nice about everyone.”

Sunita smiled, the coy smile of someone who has a surprise to reveal. “It was more than that, actually. Florence wanted to talk about Boo.”

Avis’s eyebrows rose.

“Apparently, Boo helped them on a bad night some weeks ago. They needed company, and help getting food. Boo provided. Florence, by their own admission, loves very easily and very loyally… But there seems to be a connection there.”

“That’s incredible.” Hope swelled in Avis’s chest as she tried to imagine Boo expressing feelings to Florence, even through pauses and movements. “That’s a big win from today,” she said.

“Exactly.”

“And what is love?” Dr Cerasale asked.

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut, folding her arms. Turn it back on her, would he? Typical. “Love is dedication, affection, patience and – and believing in them.”

The therapist nodded. “And how might you describe your love for yourself?”

Oh, doubly turning it back on her. He was good.

Avis shrugged. “I don’t love myself or hate myself. I am myself. I just am. All my love is for my – rescues. And my son.” She cut him a look as he stopped before he could get the first syllable of his next question out. “Those are the most important people to me.”

“Avis,” he said, almost warningly.

“I know what you’re going to say. I didn’t replace my missing boy with them. I would have ended up here eventually, even if Florence hadn’t found me. I had to help. Even if I couldn’t help him. I know grief plays a part in it, but I won’t listen to you making it sound like grief is the only reason I’m doing such a good thing.”

He didn’t interrupt when she paused, so she carried on.

“Besides, no matter my reason, they’re getting help. I’m far from perfect, but I can give them resources and equip them for their new lives as free people.”

“And how about when they fly the nest? How will you feel then?”

Avis was about to say fine, but a sudden grief knocked her thoughts clean off track, and the word was lost. She took a breath and she felt herself circling the whirlpool. She fell still.

Leaving the nest, letting them fly. Watching them soar. Seeing their plane disappear over the horizon, her baby leaving home for his first holiday without her.

Kids left home to find themselves, not lose themselves.

“I don’t know,” she said eventually. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

Cerasale hummed and nodded. “When the time comes for them to leave, as they all will.”

They might not, Avis thought to herself. Roman might not be able to cope with everyday living on his own. Tenten could always be vulnerable to exploitation. Kamala still recreated power dynamics that put her subservient to others. Boo was still mute. Florence was still barely literate.

“How does it feel, to think about that?” he probed gently. “Your rescues leaving the sanctuary?”

“Scary,” she said honestly. “Seeing them go. Not knowing what will happen to them, not being there if anything does.”

“Do you think that is likely?”

“Of course it is. Bad things happen to everyone, but ex-pets most of all. The survival rate in American shelters is horrifying.”

“Permit my ignorance, but is the situation here comparable to that of the USA?”

“Well, no. It’s better here, there aren’t WRU vans on every corner waiting to abduct them. They’re emancipated, they have distance, they have legal status. But it’s all in the data, and it’s bad. They’re gullible and overgenerous and don’t stand up for themselves. Letting them go isn’t just scary, it’s dangerous. Legitimately dangerous.”

“But people do it. In the USA, as well as here. Do they not?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course.” Avis frowns. “But my rescues are – the Birdhouse is for complex cases. Rescues who didn’t all want to be rescued, or rather, like, they wanted to be rescued but still want to be owned. Just in a different way. Rescues who wanted rescue, but wouldn’t have wanted it if their owners were different.”

Cerasale nods, letting that sit for a moment. She’s stated her case. Her argument is pretty sound. But she knows he’s not just going to let that pass.

“Again, correct me if I’m wrong. But I wonder if that description is accurate for all your rescues. You have often spoken, in admiration, of Tenten’s innate desire to be free. For example.”

“Tenten would have stayed with his family if they hadn’t made him wear a collar.”

He looks at her thoughtfully. She dodges his gaze.

“For a while, anyway,” she mutters. She knows she’s not being fair, and guilt prickles at her for fibbing about Tenten to get her therapist off her back. “He wanted to try living independently. If he can’t, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Think of Tenten,” he suggests. He’s gentle, but firm. “He won’t be the only one, but perhaps he is the one you can see most clearly right now. He has many life skills, he is interested in learning and growing, he participates in therapy, and he wants this.”

She hugs her elbows, feeling chastised, the burn worse because she knows he’s right. She’s always known. Tenten will be the one who leaves first.

“It will be a scary, bittersweet day. But ultimately a happy one.” He checks the clock on the table to the side, angled so she can’t read it. “We’re about ready to wrap up. I want to pick this back up next week. How are you feeling?”

She thinks about it. It’s been a hell of a fucking week. They always are.

“I miss my son,” she says.

#bbu #whump #my fic #recovery whump #pet whump #the birdhouse #avis #roman #tenten #boo #kamala #florence #flawed caretaker #therapy #comfort #guilt #conditioning #deconditioning #tyler #alcohol

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chryzure · 1 month

Text

in the absence of words

ALT TITLE: well jacks isn’t the jealous one for once. odd.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: azure’s busy planning their happy zombie afterlife after getting mad that he doesn’t have the dictionary memorized anymore

—-—

The artificial night of the cells—stinking of cold stone and the tang of old steel—feels a reversion to where he’d started. Locked up. Trapped. Waiting to be strapped down and prodded at: the scientific specimen of a dead man yet walking. Though he has companions with him this time around, the animal part of his eroded brain lights up in low, rumbling alarm. Tension sings along his muscles, raises his haunches, and helplessness crowds in on him.

Safety had been Valor’s reason for stopping here, Blue knows, but it feels like he’d only chosen the abandoned police station as an excuse to lock Blue up—like he’s been trying to convince Kitty and Jacks to do ever since their escape. After they’d set up the perimeter, when Valor suggested Blue get his own cell separate from his two companions, the feeling graduated to outright suspicion.

Valor doesn’t like him in the slightest. Never did. And now that there aren’t procedures that require Blue—now that there isn’t a base for procedures to take place in—he’s looking for a way to rid their remaining group of him. Locking him away was a good way to accomplish that.

(Blue knows this because he thinks of doing the same thing to Valor.)

When he posited that likelihood to Kitty (already seething from the suggestion that Blue not sleep beside her, and he thinks his chest hurts from seeing her refuse to leave him), Valor had been quick to protest. Of course not, his blurting response, as his overbright green eyes flickering between Kitty and Jacks before stopping on Blue again. His mouth had flickered too—tightening, downturning, then straightening. Zombies can’t sleep, but they also can’t chew through metal. It’s about safety.

No matter what he said, though, his flickering gaze held different words. The wordless words that Blue still struggled to remember the meaning of. The wordless words Kitty knew innately, that Jacks trusted her to read best. There was meaning there, the same meaning Blue had seen back at the fallen base, when Kitty dragged Blue into the vehicle behind Jacks and set her jaw in a stubborn way that Blue’s body remembered more than his mind did.

Valor’s unsaid meaning flared when Kitty and Jacks chose to share the cramped cell with Blue regardless of Valor’s wishes: dark and stormy and his green, green eyes ablaze.

There’s a word for it, Blue thinks, curling tighter on his thin bedroll, beside Kitty, beside Jacks. He ponders on it. For that look.

There’s words for lots of things—almost everything, Kitty had once said, even though Jacks had snorted after she said that and Blue was back to being confused by these words he had to relearn.

Once, Blue would’ve recognized it immediately. Or he’d like to think so, to lessen the sting. In a time before he had to articulate each movement, each thought, each expression before he could set into action. He’d been smart before.

You’re still smart. Always smart, Kitty’s voice echoes in his head now, the reprimand for every time Blue grows frustrated with his limited capability.

But he’d still say he was smarter, then. A vaster vocabulary. A living vocabulary. Not one made mostly from rigged movements from a mouth more suited to chewing through flesh.

Kitty denied this—denies, still—but Blue learned of the extent he’d lost from Jacks, after he’d unstuck Blue’s stutter for the upteenth time. A word for everything, even if you didn’t say it, and though Jacks said it laughingly, the oncoming of one of his black moods darkened his eyes. Blue remembers how Jacks sat there afterwards, eyes shuttered, staring at the chessboard between them—breaking his silence only to add, Kitty would know what you meant anyway. You two had your own secret language without me.

What he didn’t say, what Blue eventually found he meant, was that he missed exactly that. As if it were a pleasant experience. Blue wishes he could feel the same way, but when Jacks and Kitty communicate without him, a sickly feeling pulses at his fingertips and he wants to grab hold of them and scare them into telling him their meaning.

He hates it. He admits it to himself now—in front of Kitty, he pretends he is content with being a strange, semi-intelligent, undead creature. But alone, he knows he’s horrified with how much knowledge has been lost in his transformation.

If he remembered, he’d know why Valor hates him and why he tries to keep him apart from Kitty and Jacks. For all their secret words they don’t clue him in on, Blue knows he never wants to be separated from them. Even for this night, he knows he would’ve rattled the bars on his new cell all night if Valor insisted Kitty and Jacks sleep in a different cell.

Now, Blue has to riffle through his shortened memory banks for hardwon correlations and messy, rule-breaking strings of letters. It’s hard, like it always is, his mind drifting off along paths lush with visuals, sensations, instinct. Corralling himself in is hard.

Harder still with the heat of the two living bodies tangling around him. Their warm, human-scent hovers around him, cradles him, a perfume that triggers further not-words.

It almost makes him hungry—but not in the dangerous way that Valor accuses him of. Not in the teeth-clacking, jaw-snapping, straining way of the others. Instead, it’s a hunger nested in his chest cavity, where something thumps in Kitty’s and Jacks’s, where nothing moves in Blue’s. It aches worse than when Valor forbade any prey in Blue’s cell for a month. Ten times worse. And when he feels warm breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck, the ache sharpens.

For this other reason, Blue hates his new limits. He’s different from other flesh-eating monsters and he knows it has to be because of Kitty and Jacks, and he can’t figure out how.

His thoughts scatter again as another breath rustles through his hair. Closer. The heat of Jacks at his back has grown closer, shuffled near to Blue’s body as Jacks slips into a real sleep. Kitty, at Blue’s front, still has that vigilant tension he’s never seen her without, as if ready to leap up and fight at the slightest provocation. Even in her sleep—as Blue thinks her to be now, though he’s never been sure—she holds onto it. But her heat similarly seeps into Blue’s non-temperature-regulated body like a salve.

His eyes flicker down to see her face upturned to him, her eyes closed in a soft, silvery line.

The hunger-ache in his chest worsens.

In the dark, he loses himself for an indiscernible amount of time in this ache. It grows more and more profound as Kitty’s slight frame presses against one side of him, takes a blade’s edge when Jacks relaxes further and sprawls halfway over him.

More than anything, Blue hates his limits for establishing themselves before he could remember. He wishes he remembered Kitty and Jacks in the before—much more than he recalls now. Wishes he remembered the same history they tell him, instead of just memorizing it in burned and twisted circuits.

He only has his body’s memory, locked away from him with bars stronger than the steel locking them in for the night. It hurts him that he only knows their importance, but not why he knows they’re important.

His frustration—his hunger-ache, maybe—finally obliges, and fishes the word from the mires of his death-slowed mind. For Valor’s green-eyed, venomous stare, it’s so simple that Blue almost grows frustrated twice over. Jealous. Envious, perhaps. Sick with want, every time Jacks and Kitty choose a walking corpse over him.

A delirious, bitter, self-satisfied, happy spark shoots through his chest, bright enough that, for a moment, Blue almost thinks he can make his own thumping something in his chest cavity to match the two folded against him. For the first time in his undead life, Blue has gotten one-up on Valor, and it sends a light feeling through his every vein, urgent and excited. Energy where he normally feels nothing more than dull awareness.

He shifts, tries to roll to his back with his new effervescent feeling—but Jacks holds onto him before he can complete his movement. Mumbles something that Blue is sure is meant to be coherent, but comes out as a muddled string of sound. And Kitty hums, presses harder against Blue, similarly locking him in place. Though his body fizzes with self-important aloofness, he melts at the unuttered desires of the two that love him even in death.

As Kitty and Jacks finally settle, so close to Blue that they are no longer on their own bed rolls, Blue thinks Valor has very good reason to be jealous. The world is ending, and Valor thinks that Kitty and Jacks are the only two still living he can yoke himself to. That they’re the only three that can stand a chance with death around them.

But as Blue revels in their warmth and falls into the stupor that is as close to sleep as he can get, he knows that the world is ending. And everything dies eventually.

And Kitty and Jacks will always choose him, even after their lives.

#w.mine #s.chryzurejacks #au.zombie

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mommastanberry-blog · 7 months

Text

“I still don’t understand,” she said. “What was it from that memory that caused you to stop using mud…” The fire in his eyes made her cut herself off.

He sighed. “That night, when I realized what my father had meant by celebration, I felt this tug in my chest. You saw it, I was just about to touch the portkey when it happened. I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew my feet needed to take me somewhere. It wasn’t until I saw you that the tugging stopped. I was so confused. I was about to grab you and take you with me and the portkey, but Arthur Weasley showed up and got you out. I was so relieved, not that I knew at the time that that was what the feeling was, it took weeks of sulking in my room trying to figure out why I had done that to come to that conclusion.”

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. He had been scared for her safety. He risked himself to ensure that she had made it out. She tried to find the words to speak, but she didn’t know where to start.

“Say something, Granger.” Draco looked nervous. She forced out a smile, but it did nothing to comfort him.

“I usually know exactly what to say.” She said finally, “I am the girl everyone goes to when they need all sorts of words, but right now, I can’t even find one.”

“Sum it up then.” He said, but he could tell that made it worse, “One word. Think of one word to describe it all”

“Have you lost your mind Malfoy? How could I possibly sum anything up in one word?”

“Try,” he said as he smiled.

Draco resumed their dancing. He carried them across the floor with grace, clearly learned from a private teacher growing up. She had so much to say, how could she possibly begin to wrap it all up into one word for him?

She thought back to earlier. All the pretty words he dropped on her; how she deserved more than what her two friends could ever offer her. She was upset at what he said, but she couldn’t deny that he was right. They never cared about her unless it benefited them, she had just complained about that herself before the ball.

He was waiting for her response, but she still didn’t understand his angle. She hadn’t really spoken to Draco since he thanked her for testifying on his behalf at his trial. He wasn’t mean to her or anything, they just didn’t really interact with each other. The 8th years all shared a dorm together, and there were many nights where it would be just the 2 of them up studying side by side on a couch. But they didn’t speak, it was just a companionable silence, the old animosity gone.

She looked into his eyes again, searching for something. She felt that pluck in her chest once again.

What is that? Is it Draco trying to enter my mind? Draco? Draco?? When did he become Draco?

“Why don’t you give me a word then, if you’re so clever?” she blurted out.

“I have a word; I’m just waiting on yours.” He smirked. He was enjoying this.

She rolled her eyes. She dug deep, thinking of all the words she could.

Fun, nice, different, shocking, happy….

Hermione looked around and noticed the entire room watching them. They weren’t staring, they were likely too worried about being noticed, but she could see their eyes darting to them whenever they could.

She brought her gaze back to Draco, felt the tug, and instantly knew there was only one word that she could say to him. One word that would encompass her confusion, her enjoyment of the night, and her gratefulness for him noticing the real her.

“I have run through every word I can think of, and no word in the dictionary can possibly describe my feelings.” She said, smiling up at him.

“You couldn’t possibly have gone through all the words in the world in that small amount of time, even with your big brain.”

“I’m not finished.” She said cutting him off. “And for the record, I did run through all those words. That’s how I realized that it isn’t a word at all. Not really.”

“What is it then?” he asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

She let go of his hand and lifted her arms around his neck. She could feel his pulse pounding against her wrists. He placed his hands on her hips and slowed their dancing down to a gentle rocking. She steeled herself and locked her eyes with his. The plucking sensation was vibrating intensely like it wanted to burst from her chest.

With a smile, she leaned forward and whispered it in his ear, “Draco.”

Before Hermione could register his reaction, his lips were on hers.

The pulse exploded from her chest, and the world fell away. She ran her fingers through his hair while Draco’s arms tightened around her waist and lifted her up till she was just barely on her toes.

The world around her felt warm. Like lying out by the lake in the summer sun. She opened her eyes and swore she saw a flash in Draco’s eye.

He leaned down, and just as she had done to him, he whispered into her ear.

“Hermione”

They said no other words. They just rocked back and forth to the rest of the song.

#draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #harry potter #ao3 fanfic #hp fanfcition #fanfiction #Spotify

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billyhargrovesupsidedownshadow · 2 years

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Okay, I'm making a longer rant (because if there's one thing that triggers my barking response it is fucking language) about how people who have never learned any language shouldn't be allowed to do it because @sepulchrally-handsome enabled me into this

Or How Stranger Things Fucked Up One More Thing

There are three specific I would like to talk about: Robin And The Evil Russians In American Mall, Hopper In Russian Prison, and El Can't Speak Properly

1. Robin And The Evil Russians In American Mall

So okay, you have a tape record of a code in a language you don't know even the alphabet to. First of all, you are so lucky that the sender was speaking this clearly with a good pronunciation and voice, and so fucking slow, and using full words instead of short versions and everything. You are also lucky as hell the recording is that clear and that your player is this good

So Robin hears this tape and manages to write it down using English transcriptions of Russian letters, then reverse them back into Russian letters to find them in the dictionary and translate them into English. She can do that because she know English (native), Spanish, Italian and French, according to the show

A. She know three languages from the same family and a language that is basically an ugly bastard child in its own family. Russian is from a completely different subfamily of Indo-European language family. It has completely different lexicon and grammar system (which is relevant), so none of this knowledge would've helped her, really, only maybe very vaguely to understand that different languages work differently. Learning three fairly closely related languages doesn't exactly show that you can pick up a language easily, it shows that you understood the system of this family, that's it (I know, I learned Dutch after German)

B. She could've figured out the consonants in Russian, but not the vowels. Russian, unlike a lot of Indo-European languages, has an extremely lazy pronunciation system. Unless the vowel is stressed, is in the syllable right before the stressed one, or is in the beginning of a word, it becomes just a sound. It's a sound all vowels become if they are in any other position than I mentioned before. They all become the same. You actually can't tell what letter it is, because in the writing they are all different, but they sound the same

Like молоко - milk - is pronounced roughly like [m'lak`o] which can be spelled малако, мелако, мылако (technically also мулако but there's a small difference) x actually using о as the second vowel. If you don't know the language, it's very hard to figure out which letter to use, which would be crucial in their situation, since they wouldn't be able to find a wrongly spelled letter in the dictionary

C. Russian has something English doesn't, that being inflection. This means the words have endings that change depending on the form it needs to be (like have/has, but basically all the words change). In dictionaries the words are give in their initial form (infinitive for verbs, singular male for all the other words). Without actually knowing how to decline words, you won't be able to figure out their initial form, even if you have a little grammar handbook in the beginning of the dictionary. You need to know the gender of a noun, and you can't always tell by just looking at it. Also, their dictionary is very small, so...¯\_(ツ)_/¯

All of this wouldn't have been an issues if they said she knew Ukrainian or Belarusian. The spelling is different, the pronunciation is different, the grammar is also different, but I still would've been like ehhh she probably could figure it out, she at least knew the alphabet and a lot of roots are the same. Hell, even if she said Polish or something, I would have found it so insane

2. Hopper In Russian Prison

I was willing the guy from Alaska slide (despite the fact that his language was kind of too complex, it's alright, maybe he reads a lot and talks to people who talk in such language a lot), but Dmitri? No

At first I was like hmm how likely it was to find a person who spoke English at all working as a prison guard in Kamchatka in what, 87? But then I figured out that it was actually possible, a lot of schools taught English and not German by then, and because of how USSR worked, there was always a chance to get a good language teacher pretty much anywhere

Okay, so there was a chance that people around Hopper knew some English. They could've been able to establish communication. But do people who don't know any foreign languages actually understand how much it takes to talk well? That it takes even more to understand someone? There's just straight up no way in hell Dimitri would've been able to talk the way he did. He actually uses complex constructions, words and even phraseology that he couldn't have picked up from Hop

You can not actually have a good command of a language without practicing it, reading and writing and talking and listening in it. Language goes away very fast. There was actually no reason for him to practice since school, so his language would've been very basic. To pick up complex phraseology you need to consume content in this language, and that was very much not a thing in USSR

He could've talked to Hop but just a bit better than the way Hop is shown talking in Russian actually, maybe with a few more words. Plus the accent dodjjd like no, he talks way too clearly for most people from general Russian population

AND does anyone even comprehend how hard synchronised translation is? It's impossible to do without prep, and that's what Dmitri was supposed to be doing when Hopper was telling his story to the guys that were supposed to fight the monster. It's freaking impossible, I know, I was trained to do it djdnjd

3. El Can't Speak Properly

This one is actually the one I'm the least sure about, since I'm not actually a specialist in this field, and my friend I discussed this with is just a pediatrician so she has some idea, but just enough to send someone to a specialist if she sees something wrong. Plus this can totally be explained as an individual thing for El and I actually would be totally fine with it, so it's kind of less annoying for me than the first two, but still

Okay, we have s1 El. She can't talk very well. Fine, it's her character, plus if we take that her powers are kind of like controlled epilepsy, then who know what kind of damage she gets and what triggers what, epilepsy is very unclear. It's still kind of weird how she doesn't use pronouns even in situations when she clearly needs them since English is her only language and English needs its pronouns, but okay, maybe she was that isolated

And then season 4 rolls out

And I go))) they just made all of it lose any sense

She is shown to have had fairly free communication with the staff, with other kids, all the other kids speak like normal kids. Henry and Brenner and the guards and the medical personnel are all shown to speak to her like normal. She's around 8 when the whole debacle happens. By then, her language and understanding of her vs the world had to have been developed enough for not to be able regress into actually not knowing pronouns, it's what kids at two learn to do when they are starting to separate themselves form the world, it's a very basic thing. Losing her vocabulary? Okay, but she would've snapped back when they got her out pretty quickly. However the show insists that she still has some trouble with her words , in the present for the show time

There's a chance that it's the consequences of her being the only experiment for a couple of year and them overworking her brain, plus using a lot of power for opening and closing the portals and stuff, or her just having individual language development issues, I'm even ready to take it that she spoke better in the flashbacks because she was projecting her teen self there, but it's never actually stated, so we can't know for sure

Still her understanding probably should've been better I think

I have a master's degree (with honours btw 😘) in this shit, so I'm almost qualified enough to speak about language here, plus due to personal reason I'm intimately familiar with the language situation in USSR. I'm not that good at child development, but these are things that my pediatrician friend and I agreed on

#stranger things #like a really long one<3 #that's definitely a post

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politicsarecool2 · 1 month

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“These sayings/insults are incredible gems from an era before the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words! I hope you delight in them as much as I have. 😅♥️

1. "He had delusions of adequacy. ” Walter Kerr

2. "He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”- Winston Churchill

3. "I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure. - Clarence Darrow

4. "He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”-William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

5. "Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?"- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

6. "Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it.” - Moses Hadas

7. "I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” - Mark Twain

8. "He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.” - Oscar Wilde

9. "I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one.” -George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

10. "Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one.” - Winston Churchill, in response

11. "I feel so miserable without you; it's almost like having you here” - Stephen Bishop

12. "He is a self-made man and worships his creator.” - John Bright

13. "I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial.” - Irvin S. Cobb

14. "He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others.” - Samuel Johnson

15. "He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up. - Paul Keating

16. "He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.” - Forrest Tucker

17. "Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?” - Mark Twain

18. "His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.” - Mae West

19. "Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.” - Oscar Wilde

20. "He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than illumination.” - Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

21. "He has Van Gogh's ear for music.” - Billy Wilder

22. "I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But I'm afraid this wasn't it.” - Groucho Marx

23. The exchange between Winston Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison." He said, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

24. "He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know." - Abraham Lincoln

25. "There's nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure." -- Jack E. Leonard

26. "They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge." -- Thomas Brackett Reed

27. "He inherited some good instincts from his Quaker forebears, but by diligent hard work, he overcame them." -- James Reston (about Richard Nixon) —Robert L Truesdel”

From FB

Unknown MP on witnessing Winston Churchill fail to wash his hands in the members WC after urinating .."At Eton, we were taught to wash our hands!". Winston .. "At Harrow, we were taught not to piss on our fingers!" 🤣

More…

“Dorothy Parker reviewing a book

This book is not one to be tossed lightly aside but hurled with great force.

Parker on Margot Hemingway

Who broke he leg

She broke her leg by sliding down a Barrister.

Margot Asquith to Jean Harlow - who always pronounced the T at the end of Margot.

“ no dear the T is silent - as in Harlow.

Dorothy Parker and a rival were heading towards a door

“Age before beauty “said her rival motioning DP to go first

And Pearls before Swine said DP and she sailed through the door.

Disraeli was once asked the difference between a misfortune and a Catastrophe

He replied

If Gladstone were to fall into the Thames that I suppose would be a misfortune

But if someone were to pull him out that would be a catastrophe.

French Catholic ambassador took the English Protestant ambassador to a gallery and showed him a painting which he knew would enrage him

A painting of Christ with the French King on one side of Christ and the Pope on the other side.

Without missing a beat the English ambassador thanked him for the informative tour and said

I always knew that our Lord was crucified between two thieves but until now I never knew their identity.”

#cute sayings #quotes

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bolanosbrithany · 7 months

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Integrated Project 2nd Period

Brithany Bolaños

3rd BACC “B”

Definition of: Story, tales, science fiction

Story: A story is the telling of an event, either true or fictional, in such a way that the listener experiences or learns something just by the fact that he heard the story.

Tales: A tale is a comparatively simple narrative, either fictitious or true, written or recounted orally in prose or in verse. A tale often recounts a strange event, focusing on something or someone exotic, marvellous, or even supernatural.

Science fiction: Science fiction is a genre of speculative fiction, which typically deals with imaginative and futuristic concepts such as advanced science and technology, space exploration, time travel, parallel universes, and extraterrestrial life.

Story (Literature for English)

It’s 2050. Water scarcity is now something that everybody is aware of and seen as a huge problem. Especially those who have water; they hide it so nobody asks them to give some. It’s sad but it’s what we have to do to survive.

One day, I saw something really far away. At first, I was like: “What is it? I cannot see it clearly”. Undoubtedly, I tried approaching that thing but it seemed that it was moving away. Since it was crossing the border of my home, I decided to stop. Apart from this, I just wanted to forget about what I just saw since it had been a long night. The next day, I woke up, everything was pretty normal. I ate my croissant with café and a taco, as always. Then, I went and talked to my animals to stop feeling lonely. After talking to them, I went to do some yoga and later play my mom’s piano to relax. Time was just passing by and guess what, I saw it again. This time, I approached it totally. It was a kind of hole in my “neighbour's house” with a small light coming from the bottom. I didn’t want to get involved, so I was about to return to my place when I heard a voice: “Please, save us! We don’t want to live without water!”. “Save us? Live without water?”, I questioned myself about what I just heard. Despite my doubts, I carried on and, without thinking twice, I jumped into that hole.

It was 2023. I travelled back in time, when there was still water. I knew that destiny wanted me to save our future. I started getting known around the world because I was telling everybody that I came from the future. Nonetheless, people didn’t trust me until I went to a famous news agency to prove it. I talked about what was going to happen to water if we didn’t stop contamination. Additionally, I gave them ways of using water with responsibility. I knew I couldn’t stay longer in 2023 since my hands started blurring. I said goodbye to everyone and closed my eyes to return back home.

I opened my eyes and turned around. Suddenly, I realized the world did change! There were as many people and animals as before water scarcity. There was water everywhere! “I missed you a lot!” I said to my family and fiancée, which I haven’t seen for so long. I hope everything stays the way it is now.

References:

Travis, M. W., & Staff, T. (2011). What is a story, and where does it come from? TheWrap. https://www.thewrap.com/what-story-and-where-does-it-come-32636/

Tale - Definition, Meaning & Synonyms. (n.d.). In Vocabulary.com. https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/tale

Wikipedia contributors. (2023). Science fiction. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Science_fiction

Video (English for Oral Presentations)

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icephas · 1 year

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Lesson 3, The Tithing Contract

January 14-20

Sabbath Afternoon

Read for This Week’s Study: Genesis 14:18-20; Malachi 3:10; Deuteronomy 12:5-14; Leviticus 27:30; 1 Kings 17:9-16; 1 Corinthians 4:1, 2.

Memory Text: “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, That there may be meat in mine house, And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, If I will not open you the windows of heaven, And pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” Malachi 3:10

In Genesis 14, Abram had returned from a successful hostage rescue mission in which he had saved his nephew Lot, Lot’s family, and the other people taken from Sodom. The king of Sodom was so grateful for the rescue that he offered Abram all the spoils of the battle. Abram not only refused the offer but gave a tithe of all that he possessed to Melchizedek.

Immediately after Abram’s tithing experience, the Lord said, “Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward” (Genesis 15:1). In effect, the Lord was telling Abram, “Don’t worry. I will be your protector and provider.” Then, much later, Moses told Israel as they were about to enter Canaan, “Thou shalt truly tithe all the increase of thy seed, that the field bringeth forth year by year. … that thou mayest learn to fear the Lord thy God always” (Deuteronomy 14:22, 23).

Ellen G. White wrote: “Men were required to offer to God gifts for religious purposes before the definite system was given to Moses, even as far back as the days of Adam.” Testimonies for the Church, vol. 3, p. 393

What does all this mean for us today?

Sunday, January 15

Tithe Equals a Tenth

Dictionaries define tithe as “a tenth part of something” or “10 percent.” This definition is likely taken from the Bible narrative. Tithe is simply returning 10 percent of our income, or increase, to God. We understand that all we have belongs to Him in the first place. The tithing legislation given to Israel at Mount Sinai points out that the tithe is holy and belongs to God (see Lev. 27:30, 32). God asks for only His 10 percent. Our offerings of gratitude are separate from and in addition to the tithe. The tithe is the minimum testimony of our Christian commitment. Nowhere in the Bible do we find any indication that God’s portion is less than a tenth.

Read Genesis 14:18-20 and Hebrews 7:1-9. What was Abram’s response to meeting Melchizedek? What does this teach us about how far back in history the practice goes?

The first mention of tithe in the Bible is in Genesis 14, which tells the story of Melchizedek’s meeting with Abram. The last mention of tithe in the Bible recalls the same encounter, but the words “tenth” and “tithe” are used interchangeably (see Heb. 7:1-9). Note in the Hebrews story that neither Melchizedek nor Christ were of the tribe of Levi, so tithing precedes and follows the specialness of the Levites. Tithing is not exclusively a Jewish custom and did not originate with the Hebrews at Sinai.

Read Genesis 28:13, 14, 20-22. What did God promise to do for Jacob, and what was Jacob’s response to God?

When Jacob left home, running from his angry brother, Esau, one night he had a dream of a staircase that ascended from earth to heaven. Angels were going up and down on it. And God stood at the top and promised to be with Jacob and someday bring him back home. This single young man had a real conversion experience and said, “... then shall the Lord be my God … and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee” (Genesis 28:21, 22).

Why is it important to understand that tithing, like the Sabbath, was not something that originated in the ancient Israelite legal or even religious system? What message should we, who live after the cross, take from this truth?

Monday, January 16

Where Is the Storehouse?

Read Malachi 3:10. What can we learn from this verse about where our tithe should go?

Though specific directions are not given in the text, it is nevertheless evident that God’s people knew what He meant by the word “storehouse.” God does include in His directions, “That there may be meat in mine house”. His people understood that God’s house initially was the sanctuary — the elaborate tent that was built by specific directions given to Moses at Mount Sinai. Later when Israel lived in the Promised Land, the central location was first in Shiloh and then more permanently at the temple in Jerusalem.

Read Deuteronomy 12:5-14. These verses do not indicate that God’s children could use their own discretion as to where their tithe was deposited. What principles can we take from these verses for ourselves today?

As members of God’s family, we want to understand and practice His will regarding what to do with our tithe. In the biblical narrative, we learn that three times in each year — Passover, Pentecost, and Feast of Tabernacles (Exod. 23:14-17) — God’s people were to travel to Jerusalem to bring their tithes and offerings personally and to praise and to worship God. Then the Levites distributed the tithe to their brethren all over the land of Israel (see 2 Chron. 31:11-21, Neh. 12:44-47, Neh. 13:8-14). In harmony with this biblical central storehouse principle, the Seventh-day Adventist Church has designated the local conferences, missions, and unions of churches as storehouses on behalf of the world church, and from which the ministry is paid.

For the convenience of church members, the tithe is brought to the local church, where, as part of their worship experience, members bring their tithes and offerings, though some use online giving. The local treasurers then forward the tithe to the conference storehouse. This system of tithe management, outlined and ordained by God, has enabled the Seventh-day Adventist Church to have a worldwide and growing impact in the world.

Imagine if everyone decided to give their tithe to whomever they wanted to, at the expense of the Adventist church itself. What would happen to our church? Why is that practice, then, such a bad idea and contrary to Scripture?

Tuesday, January 17

The Purpose of Tithing

Read Leviticus 27:30 and Numbers 18:21, 24. What does God propose to do with the tithe?

Because God is the owner of everything (Ps. 24:1), He obviously doesn’t need the money. But because the tithe is His, He tells us what to do with it, and that is to use His tithe for the support of the gospel ministry. And, therefore, the needs of the ministers are taken care of with God’s tithe.

The tribe of Levi — the ministerial force in the Old Testament — was not given large properties, as were the rest of the tribes. Levi was given certain cities, including the cities of refuge, with enough land around them for personal gardens. They were supported by the tithes of the others, and they themselves also tithed their income.

Read Acts 20:35. What’s the message here, and how does this relate to the question of tithe?

Tithing is important because it helps us establish a relationship of trust with God. To take one-tenth of your income and “give it away” (though, technically, it belongs to God anyway) truly takes an act of faith, and only by exercising faith will your faith grow.

Think, for instance, about the end-times, too, when those who are faithful cannot buy or sell, as depicted in Revelation 13-14 (see week 11). To have developed a trust in God and in His providences and power and love will be of paramount importance when it seems as if all the world is against us. Faithful tithing can surely help develop that trust. Even before then, how crucial for all of us to have learned to trust God, regardless of our situation.

A second big reason for financial faithfulness is to access the promised tangible blessings of God. As part of the tithing contract, God has promised blessings that are so large that we won’t have room enough to receive them. With our surplus, we can help others and help to support the work of God with our offerings.

In what ways have you experienced the great truth that it is, indeed, “more blessed to give than to receive”?

Wednesday, January 18

Tithing on the Gross or the Net Income?

We calculate our tithe on our “income” if we are paid by the hour or by a salary, and we pay on our “increase” or profit if we are self-employed and have our own business. In many countries, the government takes out taxes from the worker’s pay to cover the cost of services done for the people, such as security, roads and bridges, unemployment benefits, etc. The question of gross or net primarily involves whether we return tithe on our income before or after such taxes are taken out. Those who are self-employed can legitimately deduct the cost of doing business in order to determine their actual profit before their personal taxes are deducted.

Studies of membership’s giving habits reveal that the majority of Seventh-day Adventist tithe on the gross income, that is, before taxes are taken out. In fact, according to the Tithing Principles and Guidelines, published by the General Conference in 1990, “Tithe should be computed on the gross amount of a wage or salary earner's income before legally required or other employee authorized deductions. This includes federal and state income taxes which provide for services and other benefits of responsible citizenship. Contributions to Social Security may be subtracted-See Guideline 111-F.” — Page 22.

Read 1 Kings 17:9-16. What was the widow’s situation before Elijah came to her? What did the prophet ask her to do first before taking care of herself and her son? What can we learn from this account about the question at hand?

The widow of Zarephath was told by God that a man of God was coming to see her (1 Kings 17:9). When Elijah arrived, she explained her dire circumstances. Elijah first asked for a drink of water and then added, “Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth” (1 Kings 17:13, 14).

Was this selfishness on his part, or was he simply testing her faith — in fact, allowing her to exercise her faith? The answer should be obvious.

As we have been told, “Everyone is to be his own assessor and is left to give as he purposes in his heart.” Ellen G. White, Testimonies for the Church, vol. 4, p. 469.

How do you explain to someone who has never given tithe the blessings that come from giving it? What are those blessings, and how does returning tithe strengthen your faith?

Thursday, January 19

An Honest or Faithful Tithe

Read 1 Corinthians 4:1, 2. As children of God and stewards of His blessings, what kind of people are we asked to be?

So, what does it mean to be faithful with our tithe? This week we have reviewed several of the constituent elements of the tithe: The amount — which is a tenth, or 10 percent, of our income or increase. Taken to the storehouse — the place from which the gospel ministers are paid. Honoring God with the first part of our income. Used for the right purpose — the support of the ministry.

It is our responsibility as church members to uphold the first three items; it is the responsibility of the storehouse managers to make sure that the tithe funds are used properly.

And, the tithe is not discretionary on our part. The tenth and the storehouse are both part of our responsibility. We don’t set the parameters; God does. If I don’t return a full 10 percent of my “increase,” I’m not really tithing; and if I don’t bring that 10 percent to the “storehouse,” I’m not really tithing either.

Read Matthew 25:19-21. When are we called upon to give an account of our management of God’s funds? What is said to those who have been financially faithful?

“Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse’ (Malachi 3:10), is God’s command. No appeal is made to gratitude or to generosity. This is a matter of simple honesty. The tithe is the Lord’s; and He bids us return to Him that which is His own.” — Ellen G. White, Education, p. 138. Managing for God is a unique privilege — and a responsibility, as well. He blesses and sustains us and asks for only a tenth, and then He uses His tithe to provide for those in the ministry, as He did for the tribe of Levi during the times of ancient Israel.

Some argue that they don’t like how their tithe money is used and hence either don’t tithe or send their money somewhere else. Yet where did God say, “Bring the tithe to the storehouse, but only if you are sure that the storehouse is using it right”?

Friday, January 20

Further Thought

Read Ellen G. White’s most comprehensive tithe document in volume 9 of Testimonies for the Church, pp. 245-252. Study Section III of Counsels on Stewardship, pp. 65-107.

“If all the tithes of our people flowed into the treasury of the Lord as they should, such blessings would be received that gifts and offerings for sacred purposes would be multiplied tenfold, and thus the channel between God and man would be kept open.” Ellen G. White, Testimonies for the Church, vol. 4, p. 474. This is an amazing statement. If we were all faithful tithers, God would bless us with funds to increase our offerings 1,000 percent.

“In the third chapter of Malachi is found the contract God has made with man. Here the Lord specifies the part He will act in bestowing His great gifts on those who will make a faithful return to Him in tithes and offerings.” Ellen G. White, Review and Herald, December 17, 1901.

“All should remember that God’s claims upon us underlie every other claim. He gives to us bountifully, and the contract which He has made with man is that a tenth of his possessions shall be returned to God. The Lord graciously entrusts to His stewards His treasures, but of the tenth He says: This is Mine. Just in proportion as God has given His property to man, so man is to return to God a faithful tithe of all his substance. This distinct arrangement was made by Jesus Christ Himself.” Ellen G. White, Testimonies for the Church, vol. 6, p. 384.

Discussion Questions:

Dwell more on this idea that the practice of tithing did not originate in ancient Israel. How does this fact help us understand the perpetuity of this obligation on our part before God?

In class, discuss the question posed at the end of Monday’s study. Think what would happen if people decided to send their tithe somewhere else. What would happen to our church? Would we still even have a church? What’s wrong with the attitude that says, Well, my tithe is so small in contrast to everything else, it doesn’t matter? What if everyone thought like that?

Share with others what you have learned and experienced from giving tithe. What can you teach others about the practice?

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jiilys · 3 years

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would u help me out for a second. im in the mood to write for the first time, and i think your style is beautiful. sitting down n actually trying though, im stuck as fuck! i’m realizing that in your dialogue/scenes you’ve got a lot of Little Things. little tiny elements that are subtle & just enough. how are you deciding that lily is building a house of cards at the moment or sirius is sitting in a tree or whatever during a given scene? how do you come up with those ideas for dialogue that are so silly & real & sneakily tender? do you know where it’s going when you begin? any advice for just… starting something?

ps: i appreciate you. you make it look easy & that’s very very cool

This is a lovely question!! Sorry it took me so long to get to it, I didn’t want to get it wrong. Also I’ve included some examples to try and explain what I mean in practise, but it also comes off rather like plugging. tragically this is unavoidable. Anyway, all that being said I have no idea how to advise you about dialogue and coming up with it, I think just listening to people talk helps. Don’t forget contractions, and when in doubt always trust the reader to keep up, real people don’t say perfect or even grammatically correct sentences a lot of the time. We also cut each other off all the time, especially when we’re trying to be funny. Like, here’s an example from warm front:

“He’s not even two. He probably would have thought it was, like, having a lie down or something.”

Harry was laughing now, “A lie down?”

“Yeah, a spontaneous, truck-induced–“

“–Permanent–“ “

–Permanent, lie-down. I’m almost jealous now actually.”

Another thing, but people say um and like or can't speak or cut themselves off, especially when they’re nervous. James when Lily says she loves him for the first time: ‘“Wow,” He breathed, “I’m– wow.” He put both hands on her cheeks and kissed her crazy, abruptly, dumbly. Her head spun.’ He can’t even speak! Dumb boy.

I think natural dialogue sometimes just requires you to read it aloud, which is very embarrassing but ultimately quite useful in trying to figure out whether something sounds normal or not. Use casual words, and try not to go dictionary hunting: if you cant think of the word chances are your character can’t either

In terms of concepts I have no idea, but I do have a few tips. I write all my short one-shots in one document (its called ‘just bad’ lmao) so its easy to start something, write a few lines, and then if it doesnt work just start a new concept, but still have all the old stuff handy. if you feel like you’ve written yourself into a corner its probably because you took a wrong turn earlier, so its just a matter of going back up and figuring out where you turned onto the dead end, or where a line could be funnier and/or sadder and/or more meaningful. Sometimes the bare bones of a decent line is there but you have to work it a little.

In this harry/ginny thing where harry is apologising for all the attention and ginny brushes him off she says:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

The response went through a few drafts, all variations on the same thing:

(1) “You’re funnier.” [too short, doesn’t make sense, and not really that funny. unholy trinity]

(2) “You make it funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, “It’s not– you make it like that.” [this could work! I have no idea why I cut this, I think I forgot abt it lmao]

(3) “You’re the funniest person I know, Harry said, sincerely, and Ginny felt her heartbeat all through her, “You make it funny.” [jumping from ‘its more funny than annoying’ to getting this sincere out of nowhere is a little much, even for harry who is famously whipped]

I ended up going with this:

“It’s nothing,” her voice, all force, “Anyway, it’s more funny than annoying.”

“You’re funny.” Harry said, looking at her for real, flustered, “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”

It follows the flow of the conversation and I think the way he says it, ‘you’re funny’ like its obvious, and then being like oh fuck and over-explaining it stumbling a little “I mean– you make it funny. That’s all you.”. You know when you like someone and you say something that gives you away before you can stop yourself? I wanted it to sound like that. Just gotta keep in mind how people behave, we are so stupid a lot of the time, we give ourselves away.

The thing about short stuff i find is implying a lot of history without actually describing a lot of it. I normally do this by having memories come up as almost shards, one second of feeling. You know when you’re in a conversation with someone and they mention someone or a past event, and it rises to the top of your brain, but only for a second? i find sometimes when you’re reading stuff people will try and replay entire memories or events mid-conversation, which is not something you do when you think. You don’t need to replay it beat by beat, you were there! This sounds vague as hell so I’ll try and show you what I mean:

From good crimes: “Petunia is engaged.” Lily’s voice, raw and wrong, “To Vernon. Eliza Hunt told me at the supermarket.” Sudden flashes of Petunia, the only time he’d ever met her, sat in the back of Lily’s twenty-first, pinched and whispering. “Whose Eliza Hunt?” This seems as good a thing to say as any.

pretty on the nose (the phrase ‘sudden flashes’ is pretty so i'll allow it from past me). But see how you don’t need to know how Petunia didnt talk to anyone, how she left early, how she was the odd one out: you don’t need to read all that, you already know because she was sat in the back and because pinched is such a mean verb, spiteful and sharp, you can already imagine how the evening went without me saying so

From my proposal take, after Sirius finds out they’re engaged: Sirius’ grip on his shoulder tightened for one second, still grinning, and James knew what he meant. “I know.” He said, because only Sirius had been there for all of it, when they were fifteen, drunk on Firewhiskey for the first time and James had said I think I’ve fucked it, I think I’ve fucked it but I like her for real.

you don’t need a description of the whole night, what party they were at, who they were with, what they were talking about: the important bit is that Sirius was the first person he told, and that they’re both remembering that at the same moment because they’re soulmates lmao. You know when something big happens for a friend and you feel so full of pride & love that you feel like you’ll burst into confetti?? this needed to feel like that, and you only need a flash for it

I feel like I’ve sort of strayed off from what you asked me, which is really advice on how to start something. I normally start with a line, usually of dialogue, and then try and build from there because dialogue is my thing. You might have a different thing! Some people write from concepts or locations, or an image. i might start with one or a few lines of dialogue, write them down, and then try to build from there. For example for the proposal thing I started from james just saying “Marry me”, which I find more romantic than ‘will you marry me’, purely because it sounds like he simply couldn’t stop himself from saying it, like it rushed out. Another example, this thing started from just “don’t be mad at me” “okay” James agreed instantly, because he is such a sucker for her.

When I write I don’t normally know where I’m going! I normally set out to write something I think is vaguely funny and evokes An Emotion, and then I just play around with stuff until I get there. when I write certain stuff and I have scenes in mind, stuff I want to happen, but I find that if I try to plot it to tightly its not exciting to work on, because sometimes you write a good line by accident, that you hadn’t thought of when you sat down, and you surprise yourself. That is a really nice feeling! i want to maximise that feeling.

'What I mostly try to remember is that writing something down, anything down, is useful. Sometimes you write for a whole night and dont get anything useable, but its like clearing pipes. Sometimes you have to flush through shit to get to the good bits. All the rough stuff, the things you don’t like or didn’t work, you wrote to get you to the stuff that did work. All of the bad shit got you here! It wasn’t a waste, you were working to find the good thing

If I had any tips its just the usual stuff, read! It is annoying how much that helps. Also, and I know this may make you shudder, but reading poetry is useful just because in no other literary or media form is language so important. In comics you have pictures, in novels you have plot and character, in film you all that and cinematography, but in poetry you live and die by how good the words are. If you want recs here’s my poem roundup tag, that I do sometimes, or if you want something just now read this by Anne Carson, which uses words like ‘smashing’, ‘boatwash’, and ‘green’ in the best way possible. Also it has these lines: “Recently having learned to recognize the type of tree called sycamore, / I see them in any forest— / the ones that look harrowed, / in shreds, but / go also / straight up into life,”

I mean, think of a sharper image than that?? It’s not possible. Just try remember to stay true to your characters and that in real life, the little stuff is the big stuff. Little things the people around you do normally show they care more than big speeches, and if you want to show love that’s how to make it feel lived in. You want to build a world! the little stuff is usually the world. Take some from your own or dream the ones you wish you had.

This truly was a very kind message and I’m so grateful you like my stuff, I hope any of this was even half-useful, although now reading it back it is borderline nonsensical. I’m going to bed now, good luck with the writing, and don’t forget to send it to me!!

caro xoxo

#writing bitching #said it already but loved this message it was so thoughtful. seemed pretty articulate to me i think ur writing is gunna be just fine!!!#rooting for you & anyone trying to write something rn. words suck and are difficult! they are also better than drugs & sex. regretable #kindnesses

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brockadoodles · 3 years

Text

evermore - b. boeser

AN: Uh, UH, guess it’s been too long since I’ve hit you all with my true brand, angst about my fave blonde boy. So here you go. This is my evermore album fic. Please feel free to yell at me after.

Word Count: 2206

Warnings: Angst.

You sat idly in the front seat of your car, parked outside of an unfamiliar building in the most familiar city. Coming back to Vancouver had opened a wound in your chest that you had spent more time than you cared to admit to patch. Each thread you pulled through your heart, hoping to somehow tie it back together just enough to stop thinking about your own biggest regret.

Regret was a feeling you spent your entire life trying to escape from. You often told people as you grew up that you didn’t have regrets, instead, each decision would lead you down a path. One path would be the right one, and others would be a lesson that you had to learn, no matter how painful it was. It was ignorant of you to miscalculate the meaning of the word because when you dropped Brock’s had and subsequently his heart, it took approximately an hour for the feeling to sink into your chest and build a home there.

You sighed deeply as you worked up the energy to get out of your car. You knew that you were back in Vancouver to stay, you knew that it was long past time to return back home where you belonged. But stepping out of your car and unloading the bags into your new place cemented it as reality. It meant you had to face everything you ran away from. It meant you had to live in the same city as Brock again and the thought was like a hand on your shoulder that was holding you underneath the water, with just enough air to survive but not enough to escape.

You left Vancouver, the place that you had spent your entire life because you thought the opportunity was better. It wasn’t until you came back to the same hometown that you left, a broken heart stitched onto the sleeve of your sweater that you realized. You were ready to tell him you were wrong, that you realized home would never be home again without him, even if his presence was still all over the city. His face quite literally littered the city and you could pick out his apartment building every time you looked at the skyline. But you never felt further from him than you did now because in that apartment was where he started a new life, where he was building a home with someone else.

You spent the next week settling in. You took your time because all of it felt overwhelming. Each day you woke up with an attempt to tell yourself that it would get better but each night as you fell asleep, your mind was invaded with dreams of him. Dreams of life that your heart was telling you that you should have had.

The dreams were supposed to go away, they weren’t supposed to invade your soul as you watched the broken relationship fade further and further away. It had been too long to hold onto this feeling of hope that maybe, somewhere deep down he was still who you were supposed to be with. It felt like you were trapped above the trees and watching as he built an entire life without you. Brock moved on, and you were still there trying to grasp onto willow trees whose leaves slipped out of your grasp each time your fingers touched them.

It was the dictionary definition of torture, having every dream riddled with Brock. Every time you dropped your head to a pillow and your eyes fluttered shut you saw the entire scene where it all fell apart. Only in this version, when he got down on one knee you didn’t grab his arm and stop him. You didn’t start crying because you had to say no, without the explanation that he deserved. In the dreams, your champagne problems didn’t blow up the only love you had ever known. But the dreams weren’t real, and each time you woke up with that painful reminder that the ring was now on someone else’s hand, because you had left instead of fighting the mess of your own mind for him.

It took less than two weeks to run into him again. You had assumed it would happen at some point. For a city that had almost 2.6 million people living there, it was small when you knew your way around. Life had a way of fucking you just hard enough that it wasn’t even unexpected you would run into him in the most mundane of places, a park. You knew Brock had dogs and you knew that the very place you were walking through was in fact, a dog park. You also knew he still lived in the same apartment, the one that you once spent your days in. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from thinking about the person that now occupied that space with him because part of you selfishly thought maybe everything you had heard from mutual friends wasn’t true, maybe he hadn’t moved on.

Brock walked up to you slowly and sat down on the bench next to you. The mere feet of space between you felt taunting. He was right there. His hair was a bit longer than it was the last time you saw him, and the scruff on his face made him look older. He was a shadow of the Brock you knew yet he still felt as familiar as someone could. You made no move to speak, instead, you thought about how if the strangers passing by could sense that you once spent nights tangled together only to have the two feet between you feel like the distance between the sun and the stars.

“I heard you were back,” Brock mumbled. He turned slightly to look at you, a half-smile adorning his features as you blinked back the onslaught of tears you could feel behind your eyes.

“Yeah, two weeks ago about.” You replied. Brock just nodded in response and took a sip of the coffee he had in his hands. Likely the same order he always had, a medium drip with just a splash of cream. You hated that you remembered. Brock fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a small envelope and resting it in his hands. Your name was written in handwriting that you didn’t recognize.

“I actually, uh, knew you were here.” He spoke, handing you the small envelope. You took it from his hand. When you opened it you saw an invitation. An invitation that was for his wedding. You ran your fingers over the words, the embossed lettering was beautiful. The location, the botanical garden, was the exact type of place you would expect Brock to get married.

“It would mean a lot to me to have you there. Regardless of how we ended, you were one of my best friends, and I don’t blame you for any of it.” Brock’s voice filled the silence as you struggled to find the words.

“I’ll be there, Brock.” You whispered, a sad expression in your eye that he noticed. There was so much more you wanted to say, there was always more that you wanted to say when it came to him. Each time he came home you hoped that would be the time you’d finally admit it, you’d admit to him that you weren’t over what happened. You weren’t over him. Each time the words were almost there, bottled up in your chest just needing to travel into the air for him to hear. But you never found quite the right thing to say and consequently, you never got to know that for a time, it would have been everything that he wanted to hear. Instead, you were left to the images in your dreams, the ones where you did tell him you loved him and you were sorry, where it all worked out and he wasn’t marrying someone else.

That wedding invitation haunted you. It sat on your desk, untouched as you carried moved through the next few months. You had started a new job that you were excited about, and each day things were getting easier. The dreams that once felt like they were never going to leave had slowly started vanishing. You were, for the first time in what felt like years, waking up feeling more at ease. It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that the dreams resurfaced, one last hazy cloud that you hoped would dissipate in the morning forevermore.

It felt like a new beginning with him, new roots in an entirely new world that was only crafted carefully inside your dreams. A dark forest where you ran through it, hand in hand, in the rain, and he kissed you in front of the cottage covered in green ivy. The plant spiraling up the building like your heart spiraled out of control. The kind of love that you feel deep beneath your skin, a steady rhythm that followed the beat of your own heart. The kiss entirely complicated everything, and it felt fucking good to be complicated for once, to be the person who got to experience the love that people only wrote about in sonnets. But the dreamland wasn’t real, it wasn’t crafted by anything other than your own imagination. As the scene fizzled into dust in your hands, you felt your eyes well up with tears, because he wasn’t yours. He would never be yours again.

The sharpness of her voice shattered the haze that you were looking through. Her hard words echoing in your mind with each breath as you shot up from bed with a hand to your chest.

“I think he did it.” And he did. In your dreams, he did it every time, and her voice breaking as she said it in your dreams made you sick to your stomach at the thought. Because love at the betrayal of another isn’t an honest or true love at all, and you wanted no part in it. Even if it was just your subconscious dreaming about it.

You did your best to push your thoughts down as you got out of bed. You took your time making your coffee, stopping to take a moment to sit in front of your window. Your small orange cat, Nora, was curled up in your lap, purring steadily as you took the last few moments to relax before what was going to be an emotionally exhausting day. You took your time getting ready, locking the door to your apartment, and arriving at the botanical garden with just enough time to slip in without running into anyone you knew.

The problem with this being Brock’s wedding was that you knew so many of the people here. His friends that you once shared together, his parents who once thought that this would be you and their son. You didn’t want any of them to realize that you were there. You were there because it meant something to Brock. It was the last thing you could give him to hopefully make up for the hurt you caused him. The same hurt that he had found a way to move on from, leaving you right where you left him, dust in your hair, and the same solemn expression on your face.

You sat by yourself in the back of the garden, the space around you was decorated in dusty pink peonies and clouded with baby’s breath. It was beautiful, tragically beautiful watching her walk down the aisle. You had seen it so many times in your own dreams, the evermore sense of dread in your heart as this day approached gathering up into your throat, threatening to send tears down your cheeks. In another life that would be you. In a dream world, that would be you. But this wasn’t a dream, and you had to let him go.

The closure was something you never searched for. To you, Brock was always who you thought you would have it all with. You thought it would be you standing there in front of all of your family and friends, you thought it would be you with the home and the family with him. You were so deep in the own hurt you caused when you left that you told yourself over and over again that it would still happen, he was still your forever because even if right then wasn’t the right time for you, the right time was coming. It wasn’t until you saw him smile at her as she walked down the aisle that you knew, Brock had moved on. He was happy, and that was the closure that you didn’t know you needed.

You didn’t stay, you couldn’t. So you stood up and smoothed your pale blue dress out, slipping out the back with a soft click of your heels that wasn’t audible over the symphony echoing in between the stained glass windows. It hurt, more than anything you ever thought could hurt, but as you stepped out into the rain and flailed down a cab, you took one last look at the church and let Brock go. You never turned back.

#brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #evermore fic #brock boeser x reader #canucks imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #canucks fic

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squeiky · 4 years

Text

!!!List of papyrus things!!!

(Update 3! mini update.)

For anyone who needs more info on the guy! Since you usually dont see alot of info about him!

A list of stuff thats just papyrus's tid bits i've collected overtime!

(Disclaimer: some things can be taken off of memory, though I did search most of the stuff up, so you dont have to worry too much. But if your feeling unsure, search it up! And correct me while your at it.)

his room doesn't play/have music.

(If you have reunited playing at enter his room, it'll disappear forever. Untill you go back and let it play again. Even without reunited, a song that plays no matter what room your in, doesn't play any music.)

Never takes off his battle body.

(According to sans, he only takes it off if he has no other choice too. Otherwise he'll just put clothes ontop of it, or just repaints it if needed. He does how ever, change his pants but never takes off the top.)

the minute "royal gaurd " is out of the picture, he's got nothing.

(It was the one thing he worked up for. When the royal gaurd disbands He says he "working hard on doing absolutely nothing". Then again this can be interpreted as papyrus does say he is working on something, despite not being a royal gaurd yet.)

He lies. (And can manipulate)

(Though he is really bad at lying, he seems to manipulate just fine, though its usually not out of malice. He gets undyne to befreind you by mentioning "challenge", which is a weakness of hers, since she never can turn down a challenge. And has lied about floweys name to her to. Has lied to sans or atleast mislead him about the things he knows about. Pretended he didn't know what a lab was during a call in hotland, but if you call him when sans isn't there, papyrus mentions the lab as if it was common knowledge instead of saying "Labrador-y?" As if he had no idea.)

Changes up his attacks

( if you get captured a few times, you see variation in his attacks. If you do it right, you can get him too skip half of his entire attack.)

Calls his own puzzles "Awful"

(This happens after battling papyrus, he says "WHO KNEW THAT ALL I NEEDED TO MAKE PALS... WAS TO GIVE PEOPLE AWFUL PUZZLES AND THEN FIGHT THEM??" This could be interpreted in many ways.)

Spikes, fire, traps, fencless bridges: are all safe for children, according to papyrus.

("EACH AREA HAS TO HAVE A PRECARIOUS BRIDGE" -bridge likely to collapse, dangerous. "ITS MANDATED BY THE GOVERNMENT. OF COURSE KING FLUFFYBOY WANTS TO UNMANDATE IT SAFER." "WHY?! WONT HE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!)

Has "talked" with asgore before.

(Sadly, asgore and papyrus has crossed paths. Asgore advises him not to but dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. Papyrus wants to put dangerous puzzles around town, for the children. This results in them bickering over saftey laws, with papyrus usually winning.)

Tried to start a flowey fan club

(On multiple occasions calls flowey "his best freind" and shows genuine love for the little guy. He even gave flowey a little red scarf to match his, during the 5th anniversary winter alarm clock.)

Has photo-graphic memory for phone calls.

-call in the room where undyne chased you. He seems nervous, or atleast stressed out during this call. I'll leave any and all interpretation to you.)

(Ps: papyrus has bad memory, but good photographic memory?)

His disliking for grease

(Says this during a call with undyne in grillby's place. Undyne says she loves grease, and he quickly dismisses his opinion in favor of hers. Of course, papyrus HAS visited grillbys before, as the dogamy and doggeressa mention him with sans. )

Calls alphys "great"

(During the first tile puzzle, he praises alphys by calling her "THE GREAT DR. ALPHYS" )

Knows about undynes crush on alphus

(He teases undyne a few times on this, leading to the "hot voice" and "audible wink" papyrus lines. He's not oblivious to the things around him, unless he chooses to be.)

Put limes in his eyes!

(Conversation in hotland! The guy thought limes where cucumbers and stuck them in his eyes. When. He thought it wasn't working he put more limes. It burned like hell but he says it was all to have "mettaton's bishoning eyes")

Knows about mtt's eyes

(Nobody seems to know that mettaton has eyes?! Undyne confirms this fact. Papyrus is the only one who outright mentions it.)

He got mettaton to do the tile puzzle thing

(FOR SOME UNEXPLAINED REASON- mettaton was the tile puzzle robot alphys built. The puzzle robot papyrus had during his own tile puzzle. Infact, during mettaton's tile puzzle in hotland, he says that you'd is this a few hundred rooms ago. If you call papyrus, he starts rambling on all the instructions again. Hehe.)

he likes dinosaur oatmeal

(According to the undertale tumblr, flowey response to "whats papyrus's favorite food?" Is DINOSAUR OATMEAL!! YAY!)

really enjoys mtt's show and mtt in general.

(and mtt even helped him with a tile puzzle)

enjoys cars

Owns a car bed

(Want to drive one)

really freaking artistic!

(Paints a whole bridge, makes a snowpapyrus, made his own costume/battle body, built a okay replica of a sentry station)

The red book on the table in the skelebro's house is infact his!

(For specifics, the quantum mechanics book with infinite books inside of it. It isn't specified who reads it, but both brothers should be capable as jokes and puns are not out of papyrus wardrobe.)

has his own shed and tools.

(Also known as "the punishment shed, doghouse, cpature zone, guest room, a garage" or undyne's pun which was "the coolshed". Ah, to be enriched by shed puns... Wonderful.)

tried to learn the "horoscope"

(Got "stumped" according to sans)

thinks junior jumble is harder than crossword

wants a 6 pairs of hot pants and 6 pairs of legs to wear those pants

has a dream of owning a shop where he just sells flames

(Call near in waterfall, near the turtle man shop.)

He's very influential

(If he's the only one killed in a neutral run, even without undyne, a revolution will still occur. Look into it yourself if need be.)

Called himself a genius

(During the instance, where he talks to you after turning the light on in sans's room.)

Can't really tell when someones mad

(He couldn't tell when undyne was mad at him during a call. He asks us too.)

Doesn't watch anime.

(He thinks its like cartoons for babies. Jokes around with undyne for awhile before taking it all back once he knew she watched anime.-during one of the calls.)

Brutal kind of guy

(He says this himself, i don't exactly know WHY he thinks this of himself, but he does.)

Bookworm

Owns a bookshelf

(He has a book Its where his vast dictionary comes from.

Knows about the time and space manipulation tactics sans uses.

(HE KNOWS- HE MENTIONS IT WHEN HE TURNS ON THE LIGHT IN SANS'S ROOM!!)

believes you can be a better person, if you just try.

(And he's right. Even if you kill him he still believes this, beacuse well.. Its true. Undyne wont forgive you and try to kill you, sans won't fight you, bht he's still right either way)

Knows about river person

(He asks about how river person is doing. No body seems to know about river person, and its unsure if undyne knows about their prescence.)

The days in his date scene (Monday, Tuesday, weekday, Thursday,e.c.t ) changes depending on your computer. Even though the date in undertale is always Monday.

(River person has a scheduled thing that matches up to your computer date as well, but this is about papyrus, not river person.)

Weird abilities

(Flying and super speedy twirling, flying backwards. He doesn't even hide it.)

He's pretty freaking tough!

(According to undyne, the person who defeated asgore.)

His "absolutely normal attack" is a giant cluster of bones.

(In theory, his attack could be the size of the entire area, including the giant bone at the end.)

Papyrus can lower the giant bone at the end of his "absolutely normal attack"

Has Collection of bones (or was planning to make one.)

(The room behind the sink was made for.. His attacks/bones. Before toby(dog)came in and made a shrine instead.)

Is annoying dog's favorite target.

Has a cannon, spears, fire thingy, and a dog at his disposal.

(Displayed during the bridge scene)

One persistent dude.

Likes to say "NYEHEHE!"

Has alot of MTT items.

Owns makeup!

(Mtt brand of course!)

Never dated anyone before.

(He says it himself.)

owns a dating manual

Not much of a sleeper.

(To the point where he just calls sleeping "naps" which aren't that long. He outright says he's always working, so he doesn't sleep.)

Dislikes hotland

dislikes hotland x2

Dislikes hotlands puzzles

Dislikes hotlands ethics.

Doesnt know much about hotland

(Says he knows it like the back of his hand!)

Says he never taken off his gloves, so he has no idea how his hands look like.

(He wears gloves or mittens on top of his gloves. And refuses to take it off, like his "battle body")

Calls hotland's steam puzzles garbage.

Dislikes hotlands conveyors

Thinks L1 and R2 stand for left and right

( Of course, it takes him awhile. He starts making puns, and tries to compare the words to pasta, and THEN comes to the conclusion that its left and right. Its Trail and error.-)

Knows about death.

(Said he wanted to meet death one time during a waterfall call.)

He pauses when speaking as a lost soul.

("I MUST CAPTURE A HUMAN! THEN EVERYONE WILL. ...." This is unusual as he is the only one that pauses. This can be interpreted, but it is rather interesting nonetheless)

Alright this is a bit more interpretive. Things may not be 100% facts down here.

Disclaimer: i will be putting "Interpretive" in red coloring for things that have may my interpretation or opinions in! Please do be mindful in your search, and take it with a grain of salt. It doesn't make it comepelty wrong, it has facts! Just muddled with oppinions.

Ready?

self-worth problems.

( can be called interpretive: He always feels very unimportant, as if he doesn't actually matter. During a call in waterfall, with the puddle hallway, papyrus talks about not letting it "get to you" or something along the lines of that. Since undyne speaks from her experience with the puddles, then i'd assume papyrus would too.)

(I think its just a sign of self doubt or insecurity. Someone once said its dysphoria, which is a cool headcannon for paps or something. What ever it is, he has some demons that he doesn't want to let out.)

Forgetable.

( according to the genocide description)

( Interpretive: Other than that, he's not even noticable. Though, there are a few people that appreciate him, most dont really acknowledge him. Unless you kill him of course!)

Sad/depressed?

( interpreitive as well:Before the human showed up, sans explains how his brother was feeling quite down lately. We see a.. Happier side of papyrus through out our journey.. He vents out to us, the player/human, about things he dislikes, or troubles he faces. Hes like a froggit. Life is hard for a froggit.)

Smiles through things.

("This is where I tried to capture you! What a bad memory." -quote he says as he smiles through it all. He does have a sad emote, but so far i have only seen it during a call in hotland, where the CORE was shown. As your adventure is coming close.. To an end.)

Uses his playful "OUCH!" emote when you straight up kill him. Instead of his hurting/in pain emote when flowey catches him off guard before absorbing everyonesones souls.

(The reason is unkown, but that emote is normally associated with more of "light taps." Examples are, toriel's fireballs at asgore and flowey. Unless... Cutting off his head was considered a "light tap" then, but flowey wrapping him in painful vines is considered more painful than getting his head chopped off and still having enough consciousness to joke about it.)

He knows his cooking sucks and that nobody likes it.

(He's not naive. He knows. He even says it. "Nobody has like my cooking before!" - QUOTE. This isn't some hidden fact. He's trying his best, "mabye next year, he might even make something edible." -sans quote.)

That was all the stuff i gathered for now.

Feel free to tell me anything i haven't added! :)

yeah, hes a pretty cool dude, ain't he?

(Edit: i've added some new things to the bunch, and fixed/deleted ome opinions or unrelated junk. Please, continue helping me add!)

#papyrus #papyrus quote #undertale #undertale facts 101 #sans and papyrus

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Text

Princess Angelina II was never fond of being told what to do.

Ever since she was a little girl, she loved being defiant. However, her parents were strict and had their ways of forcing her to do things anyway, so she adapted. If her parents wanted her to study? Fine, then she would read every book in the library and become far more intelligent than most of her teachers and would “smart ass” them constantly. Of course, her parents disapproved, but Angelina knew they technically couldn’t punish her this way, as she was doing what they asked after all. Still, she was aware that she was treading on thin ice, but she continued anyway, as it felt like the only thing keeping her sane.

It was this mentality she carried with her during her least favorite activity of all:

Meeting Suitors.

The moment Angelina turned 16, her mother began arranging meeting after meeting with different princes and noblemen, all of which she hated. They were always so prideful and stuffy, they never had a sense of joy or humor in them. So, as was natural for her, she never refused to see them, but while they talked she’d always attack their pride and make sure they never wanted to see her again. She had hoped her actions would’ve given her a reputation as an “ineligible princess” but alas, rumors of her beauty and singing kept them coming.

And so today Angelina found herself preparing yet again to meet with another boring suitor, this time a prince who was soon coming of age and was to rule the neighboring kingdom fo Ticktockia. Angelina spent several weeks reading up on the history of the country, as well as learning their customs, and knew she was ready by the time he arrived.

“I don’t want you to play any funny games this time, Angelina. Ticktockia is a very important ally, and I don’t want you embarrassing my good name,” her mother, Queen Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca I, was quick to remind her right before the doors of the throne room were to open. Angelina wanted to roll her eyes, but didn’t have the energy or the time, as the doors were opened, and the prince entered.

The prince of Ticktockia was a human, which she had expected. He was a particularly... interesting piece of work. He was growing a mustache, but he was very bad at it, and so it looked wispy and gross. his fashion sense was something else entirely, and he wore a giant clock on his chest, which Angelina recalled as the symbol of Ticktockia (as it was the meaning behind their name).

“Hello,” He greeted her, but didn’t bow. Angelina rolled her eyes internally and curtsied.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” She said. He only nodded in response.

This was gonna be fun.

“Well, off you two go then,” Angelina the First waved the pair off, and Salazar held his arm out and Angelina took it, and they went off into the halls of the castle.

“So... Prince... Salad bar is it?” Angelina asked.

“Salazar,” He corrected, snappy. Angelina smirked.

“Right, right, right, my apologies,” She said. “So... where are you from again?”

“Ticktockia, one of Warnerstock’s most important allies..? Surely you’ve heard of us,” He said, annoyed.

“Not really, no,” She shrugged, removing her arm from his.

“Oh please, we’ve made all of your clocks,” He pointed out.

“Oh, those old things? They break every other week, we honestly should replace them all,” She lamented, internally pleased when she saw his anger rise and saw him desperately try to hide it.

“Well then,” he huffed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t blame you, you are just a woman after all. I shouldn’t expect you to know the history of such an important country.”

Oh he did not.

“I can assure you Salazar, I know more of Ticktockia’s history than you do,” she warned. He smirked.

“Sure you do,” He said.

“Who was the 17th king?” She quizzed. Salazar paused to think.

“King... Edmund?” He asked. Angelina shook her head.

“King Raymond the Beloved. He helped create an era of peace in the land and helped create new trade routes for kingdoms all across the lands,” Angelina said.

“Everyone knows King Raymond. I was simply... pretending not to know,” He so obviously lied.

“Alright... who was the 20th king?” She asked. Salazar thought once more, stroking his gross wispy mustache.

“Easy, King Walter,” He lifted his chin in the air.

“Wrong. It’s your father, King Jonathan,” She said with a condescending smile. Salazar glared at her.

“Well I never,” He huffed and crossed his arms.

“Never what? Studied anything in your life? Because that’s something I’d believe. I mean, come on, who doesn’t know their own father?” She snorted. Salazar looked at her with disgust.

“You are very unladylike,” He said.

“It’s an art,” She replied.

“Mhm,” He mumbled, continuing their walk through the castle once more.

“So.. tell me... what about your kingdom do you know?” She asked.

“We’re the number one supplier of clocks in the world,” He stated.

“Right, but other kingdoms are coming up close behind, so I’d keep a close eye on that if I were you,” Angelina pointed out.

“Ridiculous,” He scoffed.

“Oh, but it really isn’t. Your methods are old and outdated and so people from the outside have worked on improving your old designs and they’re only becoming better and better,” Angelina said nonchalantly. Salazar’s eye twitched.

“You know, this really isn’t the way you should talk to your betrothed,” He snarled.

“Betrothed? What on earth makes you think we’re betrothed?” Angelina jumped in surprise.

“I was invited here, no?” He eyed her up and down. “I was promised a bride, and seeing as you’re the prettiest one around and I was invited, we’re betrothed,” he said, placing a hand on her waist, to which she then jumped back and away.

“Hate to break it to you, dimwit, but that’s not how this works.” She outright glared at him.

“Oh please, there’s no sense in fighting it,” He rolled his eyes. “I want you, and so you’re going to be mine. Nobody says no to me.”

“Oh I’m sure they do, you probably just ignore it or are too much of a moron to see it,” She spat.

“I am not a moron.” He raised his voice, but Angelina wasn’t frightened.

“Sure. And my name isn’t actually Angelina,” She rolled her eyes. “Get real, you know almost nothing about your own kingdom’s history, and I’m sure if I wanted to bore myself further I’d discover you know nothing of Warnerstock, and it’s very apparent you haven’t a single clue of manners or decency in front of a princess.”

“I. Am. Not. A. Moron,” He clenched his fist.

“Oh please! If I were to look up the word ‘moron’ in the dictionary, it would have a picture of you. I mean- assuming you’re betrothed to me just because my mother invited you here? My mother may hate my guts, but she’d never do that,” Angelina smirked.

“I can have anything I want, just watch me,” He growled, stepping towards her, and Angelina realized just how much taller he was than her.

“You’re nothing more than an arrogant, stupid, brainless, spoiled baby that hasn’t heard ‘no’ nearly enough in his life,” She defied him, and he raised his hand and struck her across the face so hard, she fell to the floor with a loud thud.

Angelina laid on the ground a moment, realizing what just happened, feeling the sting and burn in her cheek. Slowly, she sat herself up.

“You hit me,” She looked up at him. He dusted off his hand.

“You’re truly a disgusting creature, Angelina.” he scowled. “I showed you nothing but decency, and you lash out like the vicious animal you are.”

Not even wanting to dignify his bullshit, she instead called for the royal guards. Salazar’s eyes widened as four guards came into the room from their posts, and upon seeing their princess on the floor with a newfound bruise and the neighbor prince red in the face with anger, they were quick to separate the two.

“I won’t forget about this Angelina. I’ll be back, and I’ll make sure to give you hell once I’m in charge,” He declared for all to hear as he was escorted out. Angelina shuddered as she was helped up by one of the guards.

“You alright, Princess?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” She said, not wanting to get into it.

Despite the stinging in her cheek, she had done what she had to.

“Just take me to my mother, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear about this,” Angelina sighed. The guards nodded and she was escorted to her mother’s private study. She knocked on it once before entering.

“Angelina, why am I not surprised?” Her mother didn’t look up from her paperwork, shaking her head. “What happened?”

“He had to leave early,” Angelina said.

“He just barely arrived,” The queen remarked, before looking up at her daughter’s face and frowning.

“Angelina, what did I tell you? I told you you had to be on your best behavior and you deliberately disobeyed me,” She set down her work.

“Well gee, I’m sorry alright?” She rolled her eyes.

“You and I both know that isn’t true. Honestly Angelina, why do you feel the need to sully the kingdom’s good name like this?” Angelina the First rubbed her forehead and stood.

“Because it’s dumb. All of this is. The suitors, the manners, It’s just so dumb,” She complained.

“Angelina, I’m not having this conversation again,” The queen stated. “These rules and rituals are tradition. You don’t have a choice. One day you will marry a suitor I picked out for you, whether it makes you happy or not.”

“I’d sooner die,” Angelina glared.

“If you had any sense in you, you’d learn to bite your tongue, Angelina. Or do you want to be hit a second time today?” The queen raised her hand with her wedding ring on it and Angelina flinched. The queen smirked a little.

“That’s what I thought,” She said, before sighing and returning to her paperwork.

“We’ll have to reschedule the other suitors I had planned to visit this month until that bruise heals. We can’t have rumors spread,” She said, writing something down. If she had been feeling better, Angelina would’ve smiled. Her mother went silent a long moment, the only noise being the scratch of her quill touching the paper. Eventually her mother looked up at her, with an expression that looked like a mix of disgust, tiredness, and annoyance.

“You can go now,” She said. Angelina curtsied for her mother, and then left.

For a while, Angelina found herself wandering the halls of the castle as she rubbed her bruise lightly. She knew she had done what she had to, but she still felt dazed. Perhaps it was from hitting her head, but she felt... odd. Light headed was the best term she could think to describe it.

It wasn’t too long before Angelina noticed that she had wandered into the garden. That was good. The flowers and fountains did a lot to clear her mind on days like these. Eventually, she made her way to the middle, and sat down on the bench and watched fountain and birds that stopped to bathe in it. She couldn’t be sure of what she was feeling, but whatever it was, it was a lot.

After awhile of just sitting there, a familiar voice called out, and Angelina looked up and felt herself revive a little.

“Angelina! There you are,” William smiled and ran to sit down next to her.

“Hi,” She smiled and scooted over so there was room.

“How was your- oh my... what happened?” William gasped, referring to the bruise.

“O-oh it was nothing, really,” Angelina brushed it off.

“You’re hurt Lena,” He frowned with concern. Angelina took in a deep breath and sighed.

“A suitor visited today- Prince Salazar of Ticktockia. I pushed things a little too far this time and well... he got pretty mad. And now my mother is pissed that I managed to make one of our strongest allies hate my guts,” Angelina chuckled sadly.

“Lena... I’m so sorry. That’s terrible,” William said, his eyes watering. Angelina didn’t know how to respond.

“William- I’m okay. Really. I’m used to it,” She tried to laugh it off.

“You’re used to it?” His concern only grew and Angelina bit her words.

“I-i mean...” She sighed. “You know my mother by now. I’m used to this.”

“Lena, I’m so sorry. Nobody should ever, ever hit you, especially your own mother,” William said.

“Thank you William,” She smiled tiredly at him.

“Lena, I swear to you, so long as I live, I’ll never let anyone hurt you like this ever again,” He held her hand and kneeled on the ground.

“W-william, I-i don’t know what to say,” She sniffled, and realized her own eyes were starting to fill with tears. Quickly, she wiped them away. William then stood and pulled her into a tight and loving embrace. At first, Angelina was hesitant, but she chose to embrace it, and she hugged him back, and found herself quickly sobbing into his shoulder.

“It’s okay Lena, I’m here. It’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore,” he promised, and Angelina believed him. She felt safe in his arms, and never ever wanted to let go. She wanted to stay with him forever, safe and happy and secure. She knew he’d never hurt her, ever.

She loved him.

Princess Angelina the Second was in love with William.

She smiled a little and embraced him even more.

No matter what her mother tried to do or who she tried to set her up with, Angelina knew she was in love with William, and nothing was ever going to change that.

#animaniacs #wakko's wish #king william warner #queen angelina warner #yakko wakko and dot parents #my fics #animaniacs fics #janetbrown711 #king salazar #pre canon #fjakdsl;afjsl #I want what william and angelina have #tw child abuse #tw abuse #tw hitting

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shivada-jade · 3 years

Text

Timing (4)

main pairings: albedo x reader sucrose x reader

characters: venti, aether, paimon, albedo, sucrose ➡ mentioned: diluc, kaeya, klee, hu tao warning(s): time travel aftermath (beforemath?... it's time travel, what can i say) is difficult to explain

timing's masterlist can be found here

Venti scratches his head and winks, sticking a tongue out. "Eheh, well~" He starts, "Because it's happened all so quick, I don't think all the information came in a click."

A pointed finger makes its way to his cheek, thinking, "But it was like... a loud ringing in my ear. I feel like I know someone, but their face isn't clear."

Paimon stomps her foot in the air. "Listen here, tone-deaf bard! Your rhymes are bad, I wish Diluc left you charred!" Her eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her mouth, "What the heck did you do to me!" Venti laughs, placing his hands out. Aether sits criss-crossed on the grassy plain of Windrise, cluing together what Venti said. A sudden ringing and a unfamiliar memory is all the info he is given. Lately, a few number of people have been getting these "ringing" sounds in their ears, and headaches included, some more severe than others, some not. Even Paimon had a few of them. The Archon sighs and lays down on the grass beside the traveler. His arm acts as a pillow as he turns to his side, "A big wonder it is indeed." He hums. "Sadly, I don't think I have the answers for you to get a lead." The floating pixie huffs, "Come on, Aether! This bard won't even help us to help him! Archons! If Venti or I can't explain, I'm sure there's other people who can." She tries to drag the blonde by the ear and miserably fails. Aether, being used to Paimon's antics, swatted her away like a fly to some random bush. It will take her a while to get out of that bush. "Venti, you said that it was like things repeated itself?" Aether questions. "Not exactly. It's incredibly hard to explain as a matter of factly. It's like..." the bard trails. "It's like I'm forgetting, but at the same time... I'm not forgetting." A leaf dances above them and Venti's hand reaches it. "Forgetting is hard for someone like me," says Venti. "Because I am the Archon, who loves the City of Free." Aether straightens his back, looking around. "Relax~ no one's here to listen but you and... Paimon, wherever that pixie went to." Venti rolls to his back, laying flat on the grass, looking at the sky. "As funny as this is, but these memories... or my forgetfulness... they're leading me back to Master Diluc and that tavern of his." He sits up and makes a 'shush' noise, shoving a finger in Aether's sight. Venti continues, "I don't want to hear another word. Yes I may be a drunkard, but do not be absurd. The ringing is constant now, so much that I'm used to it. Perhaps Master Diluc can help with his wit." The green cape on the bard wooshes as he stands. He offers his hand to the traveler and helps him up. He then goes to a bush and pulls a fae out of it. "Haha! Twigs and leaves match you well. Don't you think Aether?" he asks teasingly, nudging the boy, "Doesn't Paimon look swell." Paimon grabs a stick out of her hair and throws it at Venti who swiftly dodged the attack. The pixie's face is covered in dirt and leaves. Her hair is a mess and her... profanity is excess. Rocks are thrown at Venti who laughs flees because the mischief he made. "DAMN YOU TONE-DEAF BARD!!" Aether laughs. "AND YOU," Paimon faces her traveling friend. Aether doesn't laugh. "YOU THREW ME IN A BUSH AND DIDN'T BOTHER TO HELP ME." Aether runs, following Venti to Mondstadt.

...

"And you're telling me that [Name] is changing Mondstadt history as of now?" Sucrose nods eagerly, clutching the book Lisa lent to her earlier. She flips to different pages and points to parts where it has your name on. "Some of these pages never even existed yesterday. It changes every time, and Miss Lisa gets headaches from them," she pushes her glasses up. "I'm assuming Miss Lisa gets these headaches because of being a scholar and knowing the original history of Mondstadt before [Name] time traveled. It's like, she suddenly knew information she never read about. She looked so surprised when she said it out loud too." "Goodness," Albedo huffs, wrapping his mind around what Sucrose told him. "It is a definite possibility, but is Lisa alright?" He asks, referring to the headaches. Sucrose nods again, "Yes. I recommended some herbs I use for myself with headaches... though I'm not sure if they will be strong enough." She closes the book and puts it in her bag. Albedo hums, sitting down on a fallen tree- a spot you, Sucrose and himself would take rests on when Dragonspine got too cold. He remembers the uncharacteristic laughs he heard from himself and Sucrose when you added a little joke into your observations on the project you were working on. He misses that. He misses your joy. He observes the lampgrass, dull because of the shining sun. The Whispering Woods isn't as mysterious as it may seem. Just a couple of trees making a forest and a pile of dirt hiding Klee's treasure. Mayhaps in the past where you are right now, the Whispering Woods is more eerie than what Albedo and Sucrose see right now. Were you scared? Were you in trouble? Did you even want to go back? You could make history for yourself by explaining what you already knew of the future. Were they worth coming back to? These questions spin in Albedo's head. The blonde inhales deeply and looks up to the leaves on the trees. "Then is it possible we have the answer to returning [Name]? Perhaps fate is responsible for this, because as a Knight of Favonius, we are required to learn the history of Mondstadt..." Albedo trails off, leaving his thought bubbling in the air. "Fate can be cruel." Sucrose sighs and sits next to Albedo, toying with the chemicals handing on her waist. "The book [Name] was in... Lisa said it was about Dawn Winery; Ragnvindrs' history." Sucrose tilts her head down and purses her lips. The conversation turns silent. Sucrose pulls off the gloves on her fingers and holds them up, staring at it. You gave it to her on her birthday, rambling how much you hated how she forgot to wear gloves because she was excited to experiment. She wears it everyday now. Whenever there's a tear on it, she would always make time to sew it up, or if she didn't have this time she would beg Noelle to fix it back up for her. She recalls sewing up a pair of your own gloves for your birthday. She was exited to give it to you after she sewed on little gems and charms on to it, but when she visited your lab, you were gone. You weren't at your home either. After two days of not showing up, you were declared missing. She misses you. Sucrose looks up, remembering something, "Mister Albedo!" She places her gloves on her lap. Albedo turns his head to Sucrose to show he is listening. "Did you find anything in Old Mondstadt?" Albedo shakes his head, no, then returns to staring at the grass underneath his feet. He often looks off in the distance, always lost in thought these days you disappeared. Sucrose deflates a little, tangling her fingers in her mint hair. She stares at an apple tree, thinking if she was the same as Albedo when you left- distracted and unaware. Before you were gone, both of them were content. Sadness or disappointment wasn't in their dictionary when you were around, except for that time you invited a couple treasure hoarders for tea to sweet talk your way into buying some of their stolen materials for free. Overall, Albedo and Sucrose were happy. Their works were done faster and research had never been more

successful.

When you were proclaimed missing, Albedo was livid and so close to blowing up Mondstadt. He became snappy and grumpy. He became aloof. Only Klee would calm him down when he yelled at the knights by presenting him Dodoco. "Mommy says, whenever I feel sad all I have to do," she would start saying, "Is hug Dodoco, and remember I have a big brother who loves me and lots of people in my family who loves me too!"

The knights had to thank Klee every time she arrived. When you were proclaimed missing, Sucrose left her comfort zone to find you, calling your name out to different caves in Dragonspine and even going to Liyue to find you. When she stumbled into a funeral parlor and asked if they saw you, she almost cried when the owner started preparing a funeral for you with balloons and streamers. Jeez, even Kaeya was affected. Sucrose realizes how much more tense the Cavalry Captain was when you were gone. Always focusing on herself and Albedo, she forgot Kaeya was your friend to. Kaeya was so relaxed around you. His lies almost disappeared with you. He was genuine with you. She clenches the gloves on her lap, feeling horrible she forgot. She wasn't sure about the other Knights, but she knew there were others close to you as well. "Well," Albedo smiles. "At least we have a guide. Ragnvindr, right? Master Diluc might be able to help us." He stands, walking to the trail that leads them out of the woods. He turns, waiting for Sucrose to follow, "Come now, let's be positive." In a daze, Sucrose quickly puts her gloves on and saddles her bag on her shoulder, following the Chief Alchemist. "Of course," she pushes her glasses up again. "Let's go."

(part 5)

#genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #albedo #sucrose #genshin #albedo kreideprinz #mondstadt #genshin reader insert #genshin venti #venti #aether #paimon

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letterstomilen · 3 years

Text

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 2) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe’s unfortunate love life starts at the age of eight. He, of course, did not call it “love” when he’s eight. When he was eight, he plucked a couple of weeds and sunflowers from his neighbor’s garden before he went to the park and handed them over to a classmate he doesn’t remember the name of now.

Handed over is an understatement here, seeing that she fell over from him shoving the flowers towards her chest before declaring, “Please marry me!”

In hindsight, storming over with the delicacy of an elephant with two left feet was not the best idea. But as somebody who recently discovered that watermelons could not grow out of your stomach no matter what, he was not the brightest. (Lumine now would argue that this is still the case. Unfortunately.)

She, as all eight-year kids would when faced with a loud boy that shoved you to the ground, started bawling. It didn’t help that Childe wasn’t aware of the fact that some worm wriggled in with the weeds and sunflowers he uprooted, with said worm now wiggling on the glittery, cursive ‘i’ in ‘Magical’ on her t-shirt.

This promptly resulted in her mom heading over and a long talk over dinner that night on why you should not ask girls to just marry you at your age.

“So I can ask boys then, right?”

Pleased with the loophole he discovered at age eight, Childe toothily smiled at his mom, who sighed and shook your head.

“You can’t ask anybody to marry you when you’re eight. And please don’t throw flowers at them too.”

The stolen flowers resulted in him being on his neighbor’s blacklist for the next couple of years; this in itself was fine, seeing that Childe was always a bit of a troublemaker and it was bound to happen at some point. However, the crying girl left a big impression on him even as he got older.

It did help that the older he got, the more silver-tongued he became, but this resulted in short-term relationships and a famous incident that once got dubbed ‘Tartaglia’s Shakespearean Slipup.’ (It involved a drunk retelling of Macbeth, several dumb questions, and a shirt that could never get the stain washed off of it.)

So in short, Childe’s love life is, to put it bluntly, a travesty. It has been downhill ever since he was eight years old, and nearly two decades later, he’s sure that he finally hit rock bottom.

“Tonia,” he begins, wondering how his little sister could be so cute yet so cruel at the same time, “what did you not tell Zhongli?”

“Hmm… Oh, I didn’t tell him about your obsession with his channel!” And cue the self-satisfied smile before she took another sip of his coffee.

Oh lord, she learned it from him.

“Anything else?” he presses, wondering what kind of image he has of him now — definitely not a good one. No amount of smooth talking or knowledge about petrology could save him from his past mistakes. He’s sure that Zhongli would not take kindly to the plethora of times that his insobriety has made him infamous among certain groups of people.

And he’ll admit just to himself, he was wholly unprepared for this. He couldn’t even be lulled to sleep by his voice last night — which is unfortunate because the series where he discussed the inspiration behind Tao Yuanming’s work just came out and if there’s one thing Childe likes, it’s poetry — because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he knew who he was.

Except not as Childe. As Tartaglia, his younger sister clarified, ever so proud of herself that she taught somebody how to say his birth name correctly, never mind that it stumped even the most persistent of professors.

“Not really! He said he likes listening to me brag about my older brother! ‘Cause he’s an only child and everything. Actually… he mentioned that you’d like to hear your stories sometime. Sweet, right?”

“My stories,” Childe echoes slowly. “The ones I told you when you were a kid? The fairytale rip-offs?”

“Yup.”

“Including the one where the kids locked the evil queen up and used her Magic Mirror to cheat on their tests?”

Admittedly, he was a bit lazy with that one. But Tonia was just eight and Childe was half-awake, trying to remember the difference between Hudibrastic and hija. So, like any good literature major with a bone to pick with their academic advisor, he decided that he’d very subtly rehash Snow White and make it all about cheating. (On tests of course.)

“Yuup. They got in trouble, right?”

They didn’t, but his mom would have his head if he said otherwise, so he smiles at her, ruffles her hair, and says with the attitude of a picture-perfect older brother, “Of course. The evil queen immediately sent them to the dungeon. So don’t cheat, okay?”

She nods, rewarding her compliance with another sip of his coffee. The library is fairly close to their apartment, as all things in Liyue are. A tightly packed city by the sea where you were sure to know everything about your neighbor and their neighbor. Which meant that the tenants next door still remembered when Childe first moved in and spent a week high on ambien, only to invest his time in writing a paper about how Snowpiercer was the sequel to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (When they spoke for the first time, they asked politely if he could please turn down the volume, because it was difficult to sleep when your neighbor watched the two movies consecutively with the volume all the way up at three in the morning, don’t you think?)

(The paper ended up being legible to only the most dedicated of readers anyways.)

Deciding that they’re an appropriate distance from the entrance of the library now, Tonia stops walking and drags her brother towards the benches. “Now, before I take you to meet Zhongli, I just want to ask you one thing.”

He looks at her expectantly, wondering if she’s going to ask if he remembers what Lumine said. Don’t embarrass yourself, don’t act shady, and before you do something—think ITWTWW? (A.K.A Is This What Tsaritsa Would Want? A joke that arose after a particularly hellish class last year after the professor’s attention towards Childe was a source of debate—did she hate him? Did she think of him as her son? Did he—a suggestion brought forth by Aether—remind her of annoying neighbors that’d spend all night partying? To this day, he still doesn’t know.)

“What is it?”

“Did you bring your library card?”

“Huh?”

It turns out, Childe learns five minutes later with relief that his long-forgotten library card was collecting dust in his wallet, that Zhongli has a limit on books he can check out because he’s always forgetting them. And his overdue fees are quite an impressive sum—both for a library volunteer and anybody that’s frequented a library for the past decade.

But to the library’s great relief, he’s only checking out books nobody has ever checked out in the past so by default they belong to him now. (No harm no foul—unless you’re the occasional poor individual that has to research an incredibly specific and niche topic only to find out that the book is not in the library at the moment.)

Tonia sounds immensely proud of herself as she informs him of this while they wait for him to finish help somebody find a book. Help is an understatement, Childe realizes, as he watches Zhongli talk, smiling as he ensnares the visitor in an answer to a question where “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

It’s ridiculously cute. Really. Tonia seems used to this sight as she drags Childe closer to the two. Zhongli must’ve realized that he slipped into a tangent because he apologizes and points to the nonfiction section before opening his book once more.

“Oh… I forgot.” Tonia purses her lips the same way Lumine does as she sighs, lowering the hand that she was enthusiastically waving moments earlier.

“Hm?”

“He won’t notice us. Ah, Zhongli,” she says melodramatically while they watch him flip through pages in a book, her tone every bit the longing princess in books they poured over when she was younger. “Why can’t you see us? Isn’t my wonderful big brother enough to catch your attention?”

He’s very flattered. Really. He knows that compliment was partially influenced by letting her have a lion’s share of his drink and Lumine’s sarcasm, but he takes it in stride, squeezing her cheeks. Tonia rolls her eyes in response, and heads over to Zhongli, chatting him up quicker than Childe can respond.

“And this is my older brother,” she introduces, gesturing her hand towards Childe, who smiles brightly, hoping he looks every bit the composed person he doesn’t feel like right now.

Zhongli is just as charming in person and it doesn’t help that just the realization he’s standing right here makes Childe’s pulse race, contributing to his increasingly forced smile that he reserves for uncomfortable situations. Oblivious to that, Zhongli smiles at him—one that is ingrained in his memory from days of watching it on loop —and says, “You must be Tartaglia, right? Tonia told me a lot about you.”

Oh fuck.

His first thought: of course she told him about him. He knew beforehand, the dread of being characterized through his sister’s dramatizations of Childe’s mistakes. It’s partially why he could only get up this morning through two cups of coffee and dunking his head in the freezer for several minutes.

But also his name—

Childe’s torn between asking why the hell his sister told him his real name or excusing himself to go read a dictionary to cool his nerves. Even though he’s well aware most of his family calls him Tartaglia still—mainly his parents when he’s in trouble (which, to be fair, is most of the time)—most people in Liyue call him Childe for two reasons.

One, Tartaglia is a mouthful and two, after many questions about how his name was pronounced only to get it butchered on several occasions, he’s stopped. (Scaramouche, Tsaritsa, and Signora are the only ones who call him that at this point, really; but he’s convinced Scaramouche does it just to vex him.)

“Yes,” he chokes out. “That’s me. Tartaglia.”

Childe decides that if Zhongli would just say his name and nothing else, he would die happy. Which is a mortifying thought but maybe a little bit of an upgrade from falling asleep to listening him talk about rocks. Isn’t it?

“You can call him Childe,” Tonia offers. “My brother doesn’t like it when people call him Tartgalia.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ out of realization and sheepishly says, “My deepest apologies, Childe.”

“N-no—” Childe starts, his sister’s expression burning into the back of his head. “It sounds really nice when you say it. Call me Tartaglia—anything you’d like, really.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Tonia smiles mischievously, implying that she never forgot all along as she raises a finger to her chin in mock thought. “You watch his ASMR channel, don’t you?”

“You do?”

They both turn to Childe, who’s sure this is turning into an interrogation; their burning gazes, the expectant silence, and a question he’s reluctant to answer.

“Yeah. I’m a huge fan,” he confesses brightly. “My favorite series of yours is the petrology one. It felt really nostalgic.”

He never thought he’d remember high school clearly ever again, but the videos made his classes a little less lazy. And the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he slept in class would follow, lulled to sleep by a lecture he couldn’t quite remember. But he recalled his friends’ amusement clearly when they asked how he managed to sleep nearly every class, only to get a cheeky smile as an answer.

“Is that so? May I interest you in some books then? There’s quite the collection here, although I’m not sure which would interest you the most then. Any preferences?”

Ohhh, his expectant look was so cute. But Tonia looks bored at the prospect, so he clears his throat instead.

“Actually, I came here to check out Legend of the Lone Sword so I could follow along with your newest video,” he finally says. “Could you show me where it is?”

“Hmm… We do have two copies but unfortunately both have been checked out. One has just been checked out by Xingqiu and the other… ah, it’s still at my house. We’re having difficulties with the video unfortunately because Venti said… now what did he say?” Zhongli asks himself, humming as he takes out his phone and reads out loud.

“’Find somebody that’s willing to record the video and help you set up b-c’… er, before Christ?”

“Because,” Childe clarifies.

“Thank you. ‘Because I can’t do it without laughing’,” he finishes before sighing. “Also several crying emojis followed by a wine emoji and a suggestion for me to find Diluc…? There are also several other texts that I would not be able to read out loud but that’s the gist of it. As soon as I manage to find somebody, I’ll be able to return the book so you can check it out. My apologies.”

Diluc? All Childe remembers about him is what Lumine once said about him.

‘I was convinced him and Kaeya hated each other until I found out they were siblings.” A pause. Then: ‘I’m still fairly sure they hate each other. They’re at each other’s throats a lot. Diluc more so.’

He had not considered him to be a rival in love. Granted — that’s limited information from several years ago but it’s not as if Childe knows that many people outside of his own department. But still.

Eager to save any chance of a love life, Childe says, “Why don’t I help you record?”

“That’s a great idea! Then my brother can read the book while he stays over. Right?” Tonia presses on, smiling far too brightly for his taste as Zhongli muses, considering the possibility.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Childe nearly stumbles at the sight of his relief. Really, his smile isn’t good for his heart—neither is the look he gives him, as if he hung over the moon that very moment. “None at all.”

“What a relief… I’ll tell Venti immediately that I can record the ‘ASMR: Boyfriend Reads to You’ video.”

—What?

Zhongli looks up from his phone after he texts his friend and tilts his head slightly in confusion, his earring brushing against his shoulder.

He looks adorably concerned and maybe a little bit aware that he’s responsible for Childe’s reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no. Nothing. That’s great. Good. I’m excited to be your boyfriend.”

Tonia lets out a little giggle and he’s sure that there’s somebody at the library silently praying for his downfall as he hurriedly corrects himself. “For the video, of course. Should I give you my number so we can set a date?”

Not deterred by Childe’s flustered expression, Zhongli nods as he hands him his phone. Maybe this is what he expected—that’d most likely be the case if most of his prior knowledge about Childe came from Tonia, who delights in both embarrassing and complimenting her brother like there’s no tomorrow. “Of course. Please give me your number.”

So with the shame of a college student that never managed to shake off his competitive streak from high school, Childe types his number in and promises himself that this won’t happen again.

(His younger sister lords it over him anyways on the way home, a skip in her step as she recalls it.)

Childe 2:34 i got his #

Twin 1 2:35 for the video recording*

Twin 1 2:35 u also embarrassed yourself. tonia told me all about it lol

Ugh. Of course she did. Childe peeks his head into his sister’s room, hearing her recount the library incident with a few more exaggerations poking fun at what he did than he’d like. Aether must be having the time of his life, which should make them equal considering that Childe made him think that Scaramouche was the best TA ever and would be even nicer if you made him an apple pie. (He hated apples.)

Well. They’re even now, aren’t they?

Childe 2:38 ya but he didn’t notice so its ok. BTW neither of u told me he was that airheaded

Twin 1 2:38 itd be funnier that way

Childe 2:39 oh yeah it was really cute

Twin 1 2:41 didn’t need to know that. anyways u do know how to work a camera right?

Childe 2:41 yea…? who do you think takes all of tonia’s pictures

Twin 1 2:42 no i mean like actual professional cameras used to record

Hm… That was a bit of an oversight on his part, wasn’t it? He texts a quick ‘yeah’ because it couldn’t be that bad and he’ll watch several videos on how to work a camera later, won’t he? There should be three buttons max. Easy.

Not to mention he took an elective on film and he’s watched Zhongli’s videos more times than he can count at this point. So really, there’s not much to worry about. The only problem is that he needs to build up immunity.

If he looks like a “blushing maiden”—Tonia’s words, not his—every time Zhongli looks at him, wouldn’t that be trouble? It’s bad enough that he embarrassed himself in front of his twelve-year-old sister but to look like a fool in front of the same guy his sleeping schedule depends on would be debilitating in more ways than one.

Deciding that he won’t let himself lose this time around, he sends a quick text to Zhongli saying ‘Saturday at 4:00 PM, right? See you there :)’ to psyche himself up before deciding a plan of action. There must be something that’ll impress him—no, completely sweep him off his feet.

More aware than ever that he’s fitting the image of a lovestruck idiot his sister painted him as, Childe watches his phone as it pings with a single ‘OK’ and ‘I am looking forward to working with you’ trying to convince himself that his erratic heart rate and the heat rushing to his face is just a side effect of working with somebody that he greatly admires. (It is, by all accounts, infatuation — but he’ll try to ignore that for now.)

#Genshin Impact #Childe/Zhongli #Childe & Tonia #Childe & Lumine #asmr fic p2 #asmr fic

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