Pantalone Becomes a REAL Fanfic Writer!!

Writer's Block Blocked by a Particularly Annoying Presence.

Pantalone huffed in distress as his attention drifted between his work and his unfinished novel. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to add to the story! Perhaps it was his work that was fogging his mind? He hastily signed one last document before casting the rest of the papers aside. He had to think of something soon. There was a deadline, and he strived to complete one chapter a day. It's not like he didn't want to write, he just.. couldn't seem to find the motivation. Could this really be a writers block? This early into the project?

He groaned, planting his face in his palm. How could something like this make him feel so defeated? His mind felt like a clutter. He could think about anything, everything, except for new material! A writer's hell, how fantastic. But, could he even consider himself a writer? This dumpster-fire of a fan fiction couldn't even compare to the works of professional writers.

Well, there was no use in trying to surface anything from the growing void in his head. Perhaps he could just.. go do something else... like, maybe, cook a meal! Yes, he actually really craved a good bowl of dragon beard noodles, the more he thought about it. Now, where did he leave that recipe—

—A sharp knock on his door made him jump.

...Shorty followed by the faint creak of the hinges as it opened.

"Oh, Pantalone!~" A familiar voice cooed.

Pantalone rolled his eyes irritably. What a way to ruin his few minutes of peace. Just what he needed, his irritating husband barging in without any warning whatsoever.

"Dottore? Oh, dear Tsaritsa, didn't I teach you how to knock?"

"I did, didn't I?" He said through a sharp toothy grin.

"You're not supposed to enter without a response you dumbass!" He bristled.

"I'm still learning," the blue-haired man replied in a mockish tone.

"Enough foolery. What is it you need from me?"  He hissed. Dottore sat down onto Pantalone's wooden desk without invitation. "Is that really a question, dear? You know what I require." Pantalone huffed a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Over on the file cabinet," he answered stiffly.

Dottore's red eyes widened in shock beneath his crow-like mask. "That easy? Really? You've grown soft over time, banker." He teased, coiling a curly strand of Pantalone's midnight hair around his finger. "Don't get used to it. I purposely set your budget aside because I knew you were due for a visit." He groaned.

"How kind."

He rose from his seat on the banker's desk to the file cabinet a few feet down from him. He opened the tarnished burlap bag to estimate the amount inside. "Adequate. You seem to be getting better about this." He raised his eyebrows in shock. "Mhmm." Grumbled Pantalone, his attention departing as he hastily scribbled down a few words down on a document.

"It reminds me of when we first met."

"Hm?"

"Remember? You weren't always so stingy with your funding. Sometimes, I could even sweet talk my way into getting some extra, so I could spend it on my own enjoyment behind your back."

"You what?"

Dottore burst into a mad cackle.

"Oh, don't be so cold, 'Lone~ It was a long time ago~"

"Don't act like you wouldn't do it again if you could." Pantalone snapped.

"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't..."

"...Actually, tell me more about what you remember from our past," Pantalone invited, gently patting the top of his desk. Dottore accepted, sitting back down onto his previous spot.

"I remember you being a lot nicer to me," he laughed.

"Oh, please. Anyone with even a little bit of dignity knows that it's not very polite to be an ass to anyone upon first meetings. That's for later in the relationship."

Dottore laughed. "Oh, you and your stupid etiquette."

Pantalone lazily continued his work as he spoke. "What else do you remember?"

"Not much. I do remember the first time we really got into depth with one another. I'll never forget the time you told me your real name."

Pantalone glared at him. A sharp warning; he didn't want to hear that name cross the tongue of anybody, and he only told Dottore about it upon his promise of never saying it to him or anyone else.

"Why are you asking me this, anyway?" Dottore asked, subconsciously tracing random patterns on the desk.

"I have a very sharp memory. I remember some of the first ever moments we had together, and I was curious to hear your point of view." He glanced down discreetly at the work-in-progress fan fiction, which was riskily exposed and lying on his desk. Dottore cocked an eyebrow.

"What's that?" He nodded toward the paper.

Pantalone felt his entire face turn warm and red. His eyes widened and flicked around the room a few times, as if searching for an escape. He blatantly panicked and swiftly swiped the paper off from his desk, crumpling it a little in his tense fist.

"Work." He blurted.

"Just work?" Dottore smirked. "You seem pretty desperate to hide it from me." He teased, leaning toward Pantalone, as if hoping to get another peak.

Pantalone grumbled. "It's for our anniversary.." he spewed. Dottore startled for a moment.

"Ah, I see."

Pantalone wiped his mouth, gently tucking the paper away in one of his desk's cubbies.

Thank the Tsarista for his swift thinking. He was almost dead, a new toy for Dottore's sick experiments. Damn the Archons, how could he possibly screw up that bad? His heart still pounded from the sheer adrenaline.

It fell silent after that little panicked outburst. It was certainly a little awkward. Dottore fidgeted mindlessly, Pantalone tapped his pen on a stack of papers.

"Well, I've got some projects to go start," said Dottore, shaking the bag of mora for emphasis. "Be sure to hide your little gifts for me better next time, dear." He teased and landed a peck on Pantalone's cheek.

"Be sure not to be a little snoop next time," Pantalone fired back playfully.

The echo of Dottore's deep chuckle flowed through the air before being muffled by the door as it clicked shut behind him. Pantalone listened closely to Dottore's footsteps until they sounded far enough away, to which he then released a far overdue pent up exhale, clenching his chest and sinking into his office chair. He pulled out the paper again and read over the bold title a few times.

Good news is that his writers block seemed to dissipate. He had regained new motivation by slyly dragging a little bit of Dottore's perspective out of him, and now felt the urge to release the many paragraphs bubbling up in his mind.

But Gods above, that was of the stupidest mistakes he had ever made in his entire life time. He managed to save himself, at least, although he felt a little bad for using an anniversary gift as a cover up.. especially since he hadn't exactly started looking for one yet.... But he had plenty of time before then. Right now, he needed to focus on completing— or at least starting— another chapter. And as he started the first paragraph of a fresh chapter, he felt relief as he realized that maybe he would meet the deadline, after all.