The Valentine’s Day Pick-up Line Texting Meme

[pantheraliam]

Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?
Because your leg looks like it may be broken. Do we need to call the hospital?


Directions:
1. Post a TL with your character name and canon; include preferences or a starting text if need be
2. Make up your own pick-up line or find one from a generator
3. Start text threads on other TLs using your pick-up line
4. Have fun!

Open to all fandom characters, OCs, AUs, CRAUs, etc.

Comments

Barrington Whelk | The Raven Cycle | OTA (misfires HIGHLY encouraged)

[cadereagratia]

i'm so sorry

[aluciner]

Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido:
Attice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans.

[You ever just misfire Latin love poetry intended for someone else entirely to your former Latin teacher? Kill him now.]

there are real actual tears in my eyes

[cadereagratia]

[He cannot say that he is familiar with that particular experience, no. Also, he has no idea that that’s what’s happening right now. In fact, he has no idea what’s happening right now period.

[No way this was meant for him. Who would it even be from? This has to be some sort of joke, probably an old classmate from his mid-range university fucking with him.

[Fantastic. Happy Valentine’s Day.

[So he fires back:]

Os et labra tibi lingit, Manneia, catellus: non miror, merdas si libet esse cani.

["Your little dog licks your mouth and lips, Manneia.
I am not surprised — it always enjoyed eating shit.”

[Get fucked, asshole.]

[aluciner]

Ouch. Why am I in the doghouse this week? I haven't even ignored your texts recently.

[Ronan Lynch owns a phone, but he is working on using it. It's not going particularly well, as evidenced by this entire situation. He absolutely still thinks he's texting someone else entirely.]

[cadereagratia]

[Yeah, well, so does Whelk. And he’s not happy about it (though he’ll probably be much unhappier when he finds out who he’s actually texting).]

You’re very funny. Now kindly cut the shit. I’m not in the mood for this tonight.

[Or any night, what with his pervasive and all-consuming hatred for almost every single person on the planet.]

[aluciner]

Great. Gansey's gonna call me in like two minutes asking what I did this time, isn't he?

[And the answer will be, as usual, that the trouble found Ronan. He didn't go looking for it.]

[cadereagratia]

[Mc-fucking-scuse me?

[Did he just say Gansey? As in Richard Campbell Gansey the Whatever from Aglionby Academy Gansey? Oh hell no. No, this is not happening right now. He is far too sober for this and he’s not even sober right now.]

Who is this I’m speaking with?

[Because if it is a student, he should probably stop cursing and talking about how their pussy tastes like shit. Suddenly Whelk is really wishing that this is just James from third year practicum fucking with him.]

[aluciner]

It's Ronan. How many people send you Latin poetry? If it's more than just me, I'm gonna need to have a talk with them.

[It's your lucky day, Whelk! A student is texting you and absolutely appears to be convinced that you're dating.]

[cadereagratia]

[There have been many times in Whelk’s short life - particularly in the last seven years - that he wished he was dead. This quite possibly tops them all. All hope is not yet lost, however, because while Ronan Lynch - perhaps his most hated student - is currently trying to romance him via text in a dead language on Valentine’s Day, he doesn’t appear to actually know that it’s his Latin teacher who he’s texting, and even Whelk can find it in himself to be grateful for that fact.

[Were Whelk still a seventeen-year-old himself, he might consider continuing to fuck with the poor kid for as long as possible while screenshooting every single one of his texts as future blackmail; luckily for Ronan, he is not, so he will not (plus he has to use a shitty tracfone these days where you have to hit like fourteen buttons at once to screenshot something and it’s extremely aggravating - I digress).

[Merciful and kind, Whelk simply texts back:] Wrong number.

[Hopefully that should put an end to this.]

[aluciner]

[??? Wrong number?? What's that supposed to -

Ronan finally checks who he's been texting and squints at the series of numbers. Oh hell. He's swapped the last two numbers and has been texting weird shit to a random person.

A normal person would probably just text someone via the contacts. Ronan actually types the phone numbers in every time because he has an eidetic memory and also no idea how to use technology. Occasionally, you're 17 but you just have boomer energy when confronted with technology.]

Fuck, sorry.

[That seems like the end of it except, like five minutes later:]

Did you look that up just to fuck with me? The verse.

[What are the chances that he randomly texts someone and they know Latin well enough to text insulting poetry back? Like, yeah. Everyone at Aglionby takes Latin, but there's only a handful of them who actually pay enough attention to have understood what Ronan sent in the first place.]

[cadereagratia]

[Whelk should really let it die at this point. There’s positively no excuse to keep texting a student this late on a Saturday night after narrowly avoiding certain death via total and utter humiliation. And yet, something in him - perhaps the 3-5 hard seltzers (they’re cheap and ever since college anything sweeter than that makes him vomit immediately upon consumption) in him - feels like he needs to defend his knowledge or something. You’re not better than him, Lynch.]

Both of those poems are positively ancient.

Martial, Epigrams I.63. Look it up.

[aluciner]

I know what it is. I'm asking why you do.

[He could just ask who he's talking to, but that's not as much fun.]

[cadereagratia]

I paid attention in Latin class.